The Mariner's Gift (2 page)

“Yes, you do. I just hope I don’t throw up on your deck.”

“It’s okay. There’s a mop and bucket in the back. Knock yourself out.”

She grinned, despite the very real possibility of tossing her cookies on his boat.

He looked out toward the bay, the wind ruffling his hair. For a moment, she had the almost irresistible urge to reach up and touch it.

“Why Alcatraz?” he asked, turning back to catch her staring.

“Uh…” It took a second before she realized he’d asked a question. And another second to think of the answer.
Cripes.
“This is the fiftieth anniversary of it closing. I tracked down a man who was a guard there in 1961, and talked to him over the course of a few weeks. Most of the time when you think of Alcatraz, you think of bad people, of course. But you’d be surprised at some of the stories of redemption that came out of there. I pitched it to my editor as a Christmas article and she liked it.” Zola shrugged. “So here I am.”

She couldn’t see his eyes through the sunglasses, but could tell he was watching her closely.

She was suddenly aware of how she must look. Soggy hair, runny mascara, and all. “What?”

“Nothing. I’m not surprised, is all.”

“At what?”

“If anyone could turn an old prison into a holiday story, you could.”

Zola smiled and pulled her jacket closer around her neck. “It really is an interesting place. Full of history, gorgeous location.”

He patted her knee and she stared at his hand as if it were going to start unbuttoning her blouse next.

“I can’t wait to read it.”

“Thanks for sitting with me,” she said. His fingers were long and thick, squared at the tips. Even they were sexy. She swallowed hard, forcing herself to look back up at his face like a normal person. “I feel like a rookie. For a kid who grew up by the bay, I never really made friends with seafaring vessels.”

“I’m happy to. Besides, I never miss an opportunity to be seen with a pretty girl. Don’t underestimate the size of a man’s ego.”

Her heart skipped a little at that. Was he flirting with her? It was hard to tell. In high school, he’d been like this with everyone. As if on cue, the boat rocked, sending her sliding toward him. She put a hand out and stopped herself before ending up in his lap.

Sitting up straight, she tried to regain some composure. This was ridiculous. She was only going to be there for a few days. Research Alcatraz, visit her parents, and then fly back to LA. A quickie with Captain O. Tworek was not in the cards. She was smarter than this. Only her libido, which seemed to have hopped into a time machine back to the year 1992, wasn’t cooperating in the least.

He grinned, making her blush all over again. “Don’t worry, Zo. We’ll find you those sea legs yet.”

Chapter 2

Oliver watched Zola from a distance. He followed the group from the boat with his hands in his pockets, listening to the tour guide’s monotone narration. He must have walked these chilly halls at least a hundred times, but it never got old. He’d been fascinated with Alcatraz ever since his first visit as a twelve-year-old. Afterward, he’d driven his parents nuts by memorizing every line of the Clint Eastwood movie, which ended up sounding fairly ridiculous in Polish.

But today, he was only interested in one thing—the way Zola Mitchell’s form-fitting coat was hugging those slender curves. He hadn’t seen her in so long. Since being married to Jill. Before Lauren was born. And that seemed like a lifetime ago.

As if sensing his gaze, Zola turned around and smiled before running a hand over her butt, as if worried she’d sat in something. He nodded and waved. Maybe he was being too obvious, but he was having trouble hiding it. He’d always thought she was cute, but a little on the nerdy side with those glasses that were too big for her face and that long, brown hair that always hung in two skinny braids down her back. Zola had been pretty back then, but she’d blended, and her shy personality hadn’t helped either. This Zola, the one with the Halle Berry haircut and the deep brown eyes that were unobstructed by coke-bottle lenses, did
not
blend.

Oliver stopped when the tour guide paused to point out the cell which had housed Robert Stroud, the infamous Birdman of Alcatraz. “You can still find his book,
Stroud’s Digest on the Diseases of Birds
, on shelves today,” the guide said.

The group muttered a collective “
Ahh
.”

Oliver leaned against the wall and watched Zola scribble on a notepad. Her head was bent in such a way that reminded him of studying with her all those years ago. It had never really occurred to him to ask her out then. But it was occurring to him now.

“Oliver, my boy. What brings you in today?”

Oliver turned to a portly man who was just about half his height and twice his width. Oscar Nunez had been working there for over a decade and knew more about Alcatraz than anyone Oliver had ever met. He extended his hand and Oscar shook it enthusiastically.

“How goes it, Oscar? I have a friend in town who’s taking the tour, so I thought I’d follow along.”

Oscar turned and scanned the crowd. “Oh?”

“She’s a journalist for the
LA Times
. She’s going to write a Christmas piece on The Rock.”

“A Christmas piece, huh? That’s a new one. Where is she?”

“Tan coat. Red scarf.”

“I
see
,” he said, giving Oliver a wink.

“Don’t get any ideas, brother. She doesn’t live here.”

“So?”

“Not exactly convenient picking her up in LA to grab a pizza.” Even as Oliver said it, he knew that probably wouldn’t stop him. He wasn’t looking for any kind of relationship. But a date, he could do.

Oscar smacked him on the back with a meaty hand. “I know my favorite European would never pass up an opportunity to charm a lady.”

“I don’t—”

“Let me know how it goes.”

Before Oliver could answer, the other man was off, surprisingly fast on his short, stocky legs.

The tour guide herded his group like ducklings down the ancient, breezy corridor. “To your left, you’ll see two solitary confinement cells. As you can imagine, this was quite an incentive to behave yourself during your stay on Alcatraz. Feel free to step inside one at a time, folks.” His voice echoed off the cement walls while his charges leaned in to snap picture after picture.

Oliver watched Zola step into one of the cells and then emerge a second later, her eyes impossibly wide. She caught his gaze and mouthed
I’m claustrophobic
.

He nodded, noting that she seemed flushed. A little nervous around him. In this way, she was exactly the same. He remembered feeling protective of her in high school. She’d seemed so delicate, like the slightest hurtful word might crush her under its weight. He still sensed some of that, but he also saw in her a maturity that wasn’t there before, even at their high school reunion. She’d grown in more ways than one. He guessed her job had a lot to do with that. You couldn’t write for one of the country’s biggest newspapers and not toughen up quite a bit in the process.

Oliver listened to the wind howl outside the cloudy, single-paned windows above where they were standing. Even from inside, he could smell the sea air and hear the noisy gulls overhead. He crossed his arms over his chest and dropped his chin, never taking his eyes off Zola. He’d definitely ask her out. He wanted to catch up. But he wasn’t going to fool himself into thinking that was all he wanted to do.

* * * *

Zola stood on her tiptoes, trying to catch a glimpse of the beautiful antique sleigh and the team of reindeer that pulled it. Stars glittered above and it was chilly, but not freezing since they were several blocks from the bay.

Oliver stood behind her, and every now and then she’d turn and catch his eye. He’d smile, but hadn’t said much since arriving at the parade a half hour ago. It was too loud, cheering and band music drowning out most everything else.

He’d asked her to dinner after the tour yesterday. She’d been so dumbfounded that she’d almost forgotten to be seasick on the cruise back. Almost.

Today had been so busy with visiting her parents and organizing the notes for her story that she’d barely had time to be nervous. But last night when she settled into her cushy childhood bed, the butterflies had practically flown away with her.
Oliver Tworek.
She was going on a date with Oliver Tworek! Well, technically his words had been “hang out”, but still.

Now, standing on the curb in front of him with the two glasses of wine from dinner warming her blood, she wondered if he could possibly know how attracted she was to him. How attracted she’d
always
been. She was grateful he’d suggested the parade. It’d be hard to jump his bones right there in front of a thousand toddlers and Santa Claus himself. Maybe the wine hadn’t been such a great idea. It was making it difficult to clearly list all the reasons she shouldn’t want to pursue anything with this man. After all, this was only one date. Anything that happened between them, hypothetically of course, would surely be a one-night stand. And she wasn’t that kind of girl. Never had been. Never would be, no matter how hot she was for this guy.

Zola felt him lean in behind her. Felt his stubbly chin graze her neck. Then he spoke in her ear, and his breath was hot against her skin. Goosebumps immediately sprouted along her arms.

“We’ll never see the fireworks from here. Too many people.”

Turning, she nodded, trying not to maintain eye contact for too long, just in case he’d gained the ability to read minds since their senior year in high school.

“But I know a great spot. You game?”

“Sure!” She had to shout to be heard over the squeals of all the kids flanking them. “Where?”

He reached out and took her hand, his fingers wrapping confidently around hers. “Follow me.”

Chapter 3

The Lauren Marie
. That was the name of Oliver’s small boat docked about ten minutes from the parade route. Zola stood on the deck with a glass of wine in hand. So far, so good. The rocking on the water was minimal since the slip was sheltered a bit from the wind. The alcohol was making her fuzzy, but Zola was nervous and it helped.

Oliver leaned with his elbows on the railing and looked at his watch. “The paper said they’d start at nine. You okay? Cold? Seasick?”

“Nope. I’m good.” Zola turned around so her back was to the railing and looked up at the clear night sky. The stars seemed to have multiplied tenfold since dinner. They twinkled merrily, as if in some cosmic celebration of this unexpected date night.

She looked over at Oliver, who was looking back. She smiled, feeling a little wobbly. The expression on his face was hard to read. For the first time, she let herself wonder how many women he brought out here on a regular basis. The chilled wine he’d produced was certainly an indication that it could be often. Zola took another sip and looked back up at the stars.

“Just so you know, I don’t do this often.”

Zola looked over so quickly that her wine sloshed onto the deck. “I didn’t… I wasn’t…”

Oliver smiled. “I know it looks that way. But I’ve been saving that wine for a while. It was a birthday gift from my folks.”

“Oh…uh.”

“It’s okay. Admit that’s what you were thinking.”

He was teasing her, something she remembered well. “I guess I was wondering a little.”

“Knew it.”

“Well, you
did
have a reputation back in the day.”

“Guilty.”

“But not anymore?”

“I’m a changed man, Zo.”

“Oh?”

“A failed marriage does that.”

Zola frowned, sensing there was some sadness behind Oliver’s easy smile. Maybe it wasn’t so easy after all. “I’m sorry, Oliver.”

“Don’t be. Turns out I deserve better. My daughter sure as hell deserves better.”

Zola knew he had a ten-year-old, Lauren, and that her mother had left when she’d been about seven. Zola didn’t have kids, but couldn’t fathom the thought of leaving them. There was no excuse. It was unspeakable. But that was the extent of what she knew about Oliver’s situation.

“How’s Lauren settling in? Does she like San Francisco?” She tried keeping her tone light, but it was difficult.

“She does. It really helps having my parents here. They’re close and she doesn’t trust easily.”

“Of course not. I know she must be very special. I’d love to meet her someday.”

Oliver didn’t answer. The muscles in his jaw bunched a few times before he looked away. Water slapped at the underbelly of the boat and was the only sound between them for a few long seconds.

“So tell me about you,” he finally said. “How’s life as a big city writer?”

Zola took another sip of wine, liking how it warmed her belly and made her feel more confident than she actually was. “Oh, well. It’s okay.”

“Just okay?”

“It’s… I don’t know. Good. But I miss it up here. I don’t really know very many people there and all I do is work.”

“You?
No.
”

“Hush. You sound like my mother.”

“Besides visiting your parents, when was your last real vacation?” he asked.

“You’re looking at it.”

“This? You’re researching a story.”

“One in the same.”

“Zola. Come on.”

“I know.”

He stood up straight and faced her, looking really, really good. Maybe she should quit with the wine now while she still had firm control of the placement of her underwear.

“If you don’t like it,” he said, “why don’t you come back? Your family is here. You’ve got friends in the bay area.”

“I’ve actually thought about it.”

He grinned slowly. “Am I that convincing?”

She fidgeted with the stem of her glass, wondering how he’d managed to maneuver this conversation into such dangerous territory so quickly. But that was Oliver. Everything about him seemed dangerous at the moment. Dangerous and tempting.

“I have a question for you,” she said as a chilly gust of wind blew her bangs across her forehead. The distant laughter of people on a nearby boat carried across the dark, mirrored water.