Tattered Innocence (13 page)

Rachel’s mind reeled; her stomach flopped
like a fish on a cleaning table. “You’re sailing with us?”

The back of his fingers trailed across her
cheek. “Yes, I am.”

She jerked away from the current that
ricocheted between them. “And you told Sheri what?”

His gaze fell to his tennis shoes, and his
ears tinged pink. “Going diving with the guys.”

He sat across from her, propping his
forearms on his knees. His eyes lasered into hers. “You can’t know
how much I’ve thought about you.”

“You could have found me.” Rachel bit her
lip and broke away from his gaze. Across the finger pier, Leaf
dozed in his cockpit slumped against the cabin.

“Obviously.”

“Three months too late.” Great. Now he knew
she’d wanted him to come after her.

His eyebrows lifted. “You still care.”

Not if someone had asked her fifteen minutes
ago.
Oh, God, help me. Please.

Bret reached out and tugged on the chain
around her neck until she felt the heart pull away from her skin
and slip out over the neck of her T-shirt.

Her skin tingled, flashing anger through
her. She didn’t want to respond to him, didn’t want him to know she
still wore his locket.

The thumping of wheels on the dock caught
her attention.

Jake parked the dock master’s golf cart at
the
Queen’s
bow and climbed out. He grunted as he strained
to haul the sail from the bed of the cart.

“Doesn’t matter,” Rachel said under her
breath. “It’s wrong.”

“Yo, Rachel, Leaf, give me a hand,” Jake
called.

Rachel jerked her head for Bret to follow
and headed for the gangplank.

Leaf let out a loud yawn, eyed Bret, and
pulled his Heath’s Natural Foods cap back down over his eyes as if
Bret’s presence meant his services weren’t needed.

Jake glanced first at Rachel and then Bret,
wiped his palms on his surf shorts, and reached over the sail to
shake Bret’s hand. “Jake Murray, Captain.”

Bret gripped Jake’s hand. “Bret Rustin.”

Their eyes met, lions circling each
other.

“Welcome aboard. Give us a hand with the new
mainsail?” Jake squatted and butted a shoulder under the sail.

Rachel directed Bret to the middle of the
sail. “Lift here.”

Bret leaned close as he grabbed the sail.
“Whatever you say, my Cassiopeia.”

Rachel grasped the sail. Bret’s vat of
obscure literary allusions made her feel stupid, as usual. She
would enroll in a college class at the end of this cruise if she
had to read every word of the textbook herself.

They wormed their way across the gangplank
and deposited the sail on the fore cabin.

Rachel reached for the passenger list
hanging on a clipboard inside the hatch and ran her finger down the
column. “Stateroom Three.” She should have checked the guest list
before now and spared herself the shock.

Bret’s arm brushed against her as he stepped
through the companionway and she flinched away.

Rachel watched him make his way through the
salon.

Jake lifted a brow. “A little drama?” he
said somewhere near her ear.

“A little.” She clutched the clipboard and
jogged down the steps.

Bret pushed open his door and motioned for
Rachel to follow him into the tiny space.

She hesitated, then stepped into the room.
“Why did you come?”

He reached across her and pressed the door
closed. Pleading eyes peered up at her as he sat back on the
bunk.

His thumb rubbed his empty ring finger. “I’m
ready to leave Sheri. I need you too much.”

The wintergreen from his breath mingled with
the scent of Obsession and the faint musty sailboat smell before a
breeze blew in through the porthole. His mouth eased into a
tentative smile. “I’m here to sail—” he tapped the pendant around
her neck “—but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t have hopes.”

Her heart thumped against the clipboard
clenched to her chest, her eyes welded to Bret’s.

Three sharp raps on the door.

Rachel jumped.

Jake’s voice passed through the plywood door
inches from her ear. “Rae, where’s the passenger list?”

Rachel flung open the door. “Here.” She
jammed the clipboard against Jake’s T-shirt and shoved past him in
the narrow passageway. She pasted on a smile as she passed a
nautically clad elderly couple trailing Jake.

Jake followed her aboveboard and muttered,
“How was I supposed to know what was going on in there? What if the
guy was hurting you? You didn’t have to get so testy.”

“Yeah, he’s hurting me all right, but not
the way you think. I can handle Bret.” She glanced down the
companionway to make sure no one was in earshot. “FYI, he’s the guy
I was running from when you hired me.”

“Figured.”

A couple in matching tire-tread sandals
crossed the gangplank.

“Hi. We’re Karl and Ginger Groostringer.”
The woman stumbled over the last name and laughed. “We’re
honeymooning on the
Smyrna Queen
.” Ginger shook her
bleached-blond bob and Rachel counted six piercings in each ear,
unusual for a woman in her fifties. The groom was one of the few
men Rachel had ever seen who could pull off bald-on-top with a
ponytail.

“Congratulations!” Rachel shook their hands.
“I’m first mate, Rachel.”

Jake introduced himself and motioned them
through the companionway. “Stateroom Four is in the bow.”

After disconnecting the water and power
lines, Rachel sped along the deck toward the cold cuts she’d
forgotten on the galley counter. She barreled into Bret. He grabbed
her by the arm to steady her. The warmth of his hand spread all the
way to her face.

Bret grinned. “I haven’t caused a blush in a
long time.”

Rachel shrugged off Bret’s hand. “I wasn’t
looking where I was going.”

“You always were hard to hang on to. Maybe
that’s what hooked me.”

Her fascination with Bret had grown so
gradually. Only now could she put her finger on when things had
veered from innocence. Her mind arched back to the dusk after a
swim team practice.

She had tugged her assistant coach jacket
tighter and tossed a stray pull-buoy into the bucket in the pump
house. She heard doors slamming, swimmers shouting to each other,
and tires peeling out of the Aqua Park Aquatic Center lot. She
stepped onto the pool deck.

Sun sheened the pool to orange glass and
back-dropped Bret’s lean, lanky form walking toward her. Attraction
bubbled between them.

Rachel shut the pump house door and locked
it with the key on the lanyard around her neck. She moved through
the door to the parking lot ahead of Bret. She could almost feel
his eyes boring into her back between her shoulder blades. The
crackle of magnetism rooted her feet to the sand parking lot. The
last car pulled onto Eaton Road. She heard the whoosh and thunk of
Bret’s shutting the Aquatic Center door, the click of his key
turning in the lock, then quiet.

They stood, not moving, beside their cars in
the last vestige of daylight. Darkness settled around them, and
still she didn’t turn around, didn’t dare.

Bret’s stomach growled and broke the
tension. She laughed and turned toward him. “Good night, Bret. Go
home to your supper.”

“Saved by the growl.”

She waved and walked toward her car.

After that, by unspoken agreement, they both
entered their cars before the lot emptied. The season wound down,
their wins and losses evening out. They wedged conversations
between coaching and slating meet rosters. Tension stretched like a
bungee cord between them.

But it hadn’t stayed innocent.

Rachel coiled the halyard at the foot of the
mainmast.

A shadow fell across her on the fore
cabin.

Bret had hovered for two days.

She squinted at him. “What do you want?” The
wind dried the sweat on her neck.

“I want you, Rachel.”

“You’re married.”

He took the rope out of her hands.

Her breath drew in at the brush of his
fingers against hers.

“We both fought this thing. We didn’t ask
for it, but it happened.” He hooked the rope on the cleat at the
base of the mast. “You have my word—I’ll leave Sheri. Rachel,
you’re holding me off, but you want me, too. It’s written all over
your face.”

Her eyes flew to his. How could he still
read her so well after all this time? She’d done the right thing,
albeit way too late. Why hadn’t God taken the attraction away? She
glanced around the
Smyrna Queen
.

He bent his head toward her. “We could
continue this conversation below—”

“We wouldn’t
have
conversation
below.”

“Would that be so bad?”

She never noticed the olive oil smoothness
of his voice before. It ran over her now, warming her and repelling
her at the same time.

Bret lifted her chin with his finger and
repeated his question. “Would it be so bad? Remember—”

“No! I…’m in love with someone else—with
Jake.”

Jake ducked under the boom. “Rae—” His voice
croaked like he hadn’t spoken all day. He cleared his throat.
“Would you take over the helm for a few minutes?”

“Sure.” Her voice amplified as though she’d
downed three shots of espresso.

Jake glanced at the back of Rachel’s head as
he climbed into the aft cabin. Her chin pointed toward the horizon
beyond the bow and her hand rested on the wheel.

He had ducked under the boom and faced
Rachel before her words registered.
I’m in love with someone
else... with Jake,
she’d said. Could the wind have been in his
ears? Maybe she loved cake… or steak. He shook the playground
rhymes out of his head. He knew what he’d heard.

He reached into the bin for the chart he
needed to study. Rachel probably had said she loved him to throw
the slime ball off her trail.

What if there was a grain of truth in
Rachel’s words?

True, he had spent more time with Rachel in
the months they had been sailing the
Queen
than he’d spent
with Gabs in the year they dated. He and Rachel worked together
like they were made to be a team, each anticipating what the other
would do. His friendship with her had soared past superficial long
ago. He trusted her implicitly. He
liked
Rachel. But
love?

Not going to happen. He wouldn’t let it.

He smoothed the map across Rachel’s bunk
which had been his chart table before her arrival. As he bent over
the chart pinpointing their location, he caught Rachel’s scent—like
the smell of pines on the island they’d discovered.

Sixteen hundred watt attraction had sprung
up between them. Those tiny freckles on her nose and across her
cheeks broadcasted her vulnerability—like her tears had the day of
the storm. But light years separated wanting to make out with
someone and loving her.

His mind scrolled back through the days
since he’d interviewed Rachel. He smiled, remembering how indignant
she’d been when she thought sleeping with him was part of the job.
She’d never given him any indication she wanted more than
friendship.

But what if she
did
?

On Wednesday Rachel looked up from stacking
mixing bowls and pans in the dishwasher. Through the hatch an
orange orb settled on the horizon. The beauty touched off a melody
and words she’d always known. “Amazing grace… how sweet the
sound….” She hadn’t sung, other than with the boys during the
storm, in a long time. The song seemed to pull in the beauty from
the sky.

Jake shot her a curious glance from the
helm.

At first she sang because of the beauty.
“That saved a wretch like me…” Then, her voice swelled to fortify
her against Bret.

As if summoned, Bret popped out of his
cabin. His eyes widened in surprise.

She kept singing, “I once was lost, but now
am found, was blind, but now I see….” She wiped the counters down
and ignored Bret leaning against the fridge. She concentrated on
the forgotten joy of song.

The hand-holding honeymooners, both in
tie-dye tonight, leaned against the aft cabin and watched her with
attentive expressions. Julio, another guest, who had only spoken
enough to tell them he was in software, bent his dark head over the
coaming on the deck outside the cockpit like he listened, too.

She hadn’t meant to gather a crowd.

Bret’s full lips thinned. His eyes
narrowed.

Her voice crescendoed as the song ended.

Connie, in a navy windbreaker dotted with
gold anchors, leaned into the cabin and applauded.

Rachel shot her a grin of thanks.

The guests filtered to other parts of the
Queen.

Bret crowded into the galley. “You never
told me you sang.” The hard edge in his voice raked through the
beauty. “I thought you were over your family’s religion.”

She gripped the lip on the counter. “People
change.”

“Karl Marx said, ‘Religion is the opiate of
the masses.’”

“You’re not winning any points.”

His hand settled on hers. “I didn’t mean to
insult you. If you feel a need for religion, you have my
blessing.”

Rachel stiffened. Annoyance and desire
swirled inside. She didn’t want to be attracted to this man, but a
disconnect glitched between her brain and body.

He lowered his voice. “Is Jake religious?
Look, I can always revisit the religious icon stage I went through
in college.”

His fingers ran along her jaw, over her
shoulder, and down her arm raising a trail of awareness in their
wake. She jerked away.

His hand dropped to his side, hurt etching
his eyes. “I’m not the devil. I’m the guy who loves you.”

His sincerity danced across her nerves,
leaving her hyperaware of his nearness.

He loves me.
Not for the first time,
doubt crept in.