Hot Waters
Erica Lyon
Published by Tsunami Ridge Publishing at Smashwords
Copyright 2010 Erica Lyon
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
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Hot Waters
Erica Lyon
Contents
To my husband, Steve, for his love and understanding;
To my mentors, K & D, for their support and friendship;
To all three for believing in me, even when I didn’t believe in myself;
Thanks.
Aleksandr Rezhnenko stood on the deck of the trawler, his hands clasped behind his back. The butt of his pistol rested in the vee formed by his arms, and his feet rode the rolling deck with ease. He could smell the rank odor of the open holds. They had thrown over the spoiled fish, watching as the great white devoured the stinking mass, and the holds still stood open. They would have to close them soon, against the coming storm.
Martin Green clung to the rail, a few feet in front of Rezhnenko, sweat running down his face. Green’s fishing boat was tied up alongside the trawler. His first mate waited at the rail of his ship, straining to hear the exchange. Rezhnenko stared from one to the other, weighing his options. He knew the Americans had tried to cheat him. It was only a question of who would take the blame.
“It was a mistake, Captain. I apologize. We were in a hurry; afraid we would miss our meeting. The rest of the merchandise was just misplaced.”
Rezhnenko stared at him until Green dropped his eyes to the briefcase at his feet. Krushkin and the Petrov brothers, the trawler crew, had retreated to the wheelhouse where they were carefully avoiding any contact with either man. This was none of their affair, and they clearly had no desire to get between their captain and the Americans.
The bay was quiet, and the rain forest of the Olympic Peninsula was an impenetrable blackness that surrounded them. Rezhnenko continued staring, watching Green sweat. He felt the power he held over the man, and the anxious eyes of Green’s first mate followed his every move.
“And if I had taken your word, and not checked it? What then?”
Green glanced up, his expression a mixture of hope and dread. “You would get your merchandise. I swear it.”
“How?” The single harsh syllable made Green jump as though he had been lashed, knocking the briefcase off the deck, onto the boat below. The deck rolled as a swell moved across the bay, and he clutched at the rail.
Rezhnenko didn’t move.
“I would do whatever was necessary.” Green shrugged elaborately, but the gesture did not disguise the fear-sweat that coursed off his body.
“I wonder if you would.” Rezhnenko’s voice carried a note of curiosity. But he didn’t have the time to indulge it.
He stepped toward Green and clapped a meaty hand on his shoulder. “We have done much business together over the years, you and I. We have made a lot of money.”
Green’s eyes lit with relief at the trace of affection in Rezhnenko’s voice.
With one swift, sure motion, Rezhnenko brought the gun from behind his back and fired a single shot into the American’s temple. Green didn’t even have time to register surprise before the life left his eyes.
Matthew Carpenter stepped through the bedroom door of his apartment, and into chaos. Drawers open, clothes strewn around the room, suitcases pulled off the top shelf of the closet.
“My God, Sara. What happened?”
His wife stood at the foot of the bed. Her dark eyes glared at him, and she planted her fists on her slender hips. “I’m packing. What does it look like? We have to leave in the morning.”
She slipped past him, her hip banging against his, and grabbed an armload of shirts from the open drawer of the cheap upright dresser. “There’s frozen lasagna in the oven. It’ll take about an hour.” She stuffed the shirts in an open duffel bag. “By that time I should be packed.”
She made two more trips to the closet and the dresser, brushing past Matt, elbowing him out of her way. With the drawers standing open, there was barely room for her to pass him in the narrow room. The bedroom window was open, the blinds angled to allow the summer evening breeze to cool the stuffy room. Matt could hear the muffled roar of traffic on Highway 101, a block to the west.
She started past him again. He reached out and grabbed her arm, stopping her. He put his other hand under her chin, forcing her face up, until their eyes met.
“You mean to say that all this is because you’re packing?” He glanced around the room. It looked vaguely dirty in the twilight filtered through the cheap plastic blinds, in desperate need of the coat of paint he kept promising. He dismissed the thought and turned back to Sara. “Do you have any idea what you’re doing?”
Anger and resentment flashed between them. They had been together long enough to know each other’s weak spots. Both of them stubborn and proud, they stared at each other, mouths hard, eyes grim. Neither wanted to back down.
Sara wrenched her arm from his grasp. “I’ve packed your clothes often enough. Just let me get this done,” she snapped.
Matt still held her chin, unable to look away. Her dark curls tumbled around her shoulders, released from the tidy ponytail. Her cheeks were flushed, and her skin held a faint sheen of perspiration. A muscle twitched at the corner of her jaw causing a faint tremor against the palm of his hand.
What was it, he wondered, about his wife’s temper that was such a turn on? Why did her flashing eyes and grim mouth make him want her so badly, he ached? He gave up trying to decide if it was the fire of her emotion, or the challenge of getting past the wall of anger.
Slowly, daring her to resist, to pull away, he lowered his mouth to hers.
The world moved in slow motion as he pressed his lips to hers. Her mouth was hard, unyielding, but he persisted. He planted tiny, gentle kisses around the tight corners of her mouth, and brushed his lips against the harsh line of hers.
He was rewarded, as he knew he would be, by a softening of her mouth, a rush of warmth, and the feel of her full lips against his. Her mouth opened slightly, allowing his tongue to play over the softness of her lips, the sharp edges of her teeth, the rough surface of her tongue.
Matt loosened his grip on Sara’s chin. He trailed his fingers along her jaw line, and caressed her earlobe. He could feel her pulse behind her ear. Already her heart was hammering, responding as his mouth held hers.
He threaded his fingers in her hair, pulling her head back and looking into her eyes. They no longer flashed, but instead smoldered with the stirring of her desire. The sight of her, knowing she wanted him, sent his own arousal even higher. He could feel an erection straining at the buttons of his tight jeans.
His free hand began to roam her body, sliding over the firm planes of her back, dropping down to cup her bottom. He loved the feel of her, the way her cute little butt fit into his hand, the way her body pressed along him. He squeezed, and felt her arch, pushing her crotch against his. Only a few inches shorter than Matt, she had long legs, and they fit together perfectly.
The heat of anger that had been between them shifted, and the heat of passion replaced it. Their bodies, accustomed to each other, knew the places to touch and be touched. Sara’s arms wrapped around Matt’s neck, and she nipped at his bottom lip, her sharp teeth holding and pulling, but not biting. It sent a wave of pure pleasure through Matt to stab at the straining buttons of his jeans.
She slid one hand up to play with the hair at Matt’s collar. She moved the other hand to the front of his shirt, barely brushing against the outline of his nipple.
At the touch, Matt groaned. He buried his face in Sara’s neck, alternately nipping and licking. He could taste the salt of sweat and sea spray on her skin, the residue of their day’s work aboard Excelsior. Her hair smelled of diesel fuel, and ocean and shampoo. It was a heady mixture--the faint memory of Sara’s fragrance after her morning shower, mixed with the smells of the boat--and it drove him wild.
Matt slid his hand from Sara’s hair and wrapped his arm around her, pulling her even closer, molding her slim body to his. Her breasts were crushed against his chest, her crotch pressed to the bulge in his jeans. Electricity flowed between their bodies, a never-ending current that ran through his veins and ignited a fire deep inside him.
Matt pulled back from Sara’s neck and once again found her mouth. Her lips were soft, swollen in imitation of her other, still hidden lips.
“God, you smell good.” It was true. Matt had never thought of diesel fumes as sexy, but right now, mixed with sweat and sea spray, it was the most erotic scent he had ever known.
Sara laughed. “You must be crazy, Matthew Carpenter! I’m sweaty and stinky, and I reek of diesel, and probably dead fish, too.” She sighed as he caressed her back, then slid his hand around to cup her breast. “But if this is what happens, maybe I’ll just put high-test in my perfume bottles from now on.”
Her back arched, and she pressed her breast into his open palm. He closed his fingers around the soft flesh, squeezing and stroking. With an impatient tug, he pulled her t-shirt loose from the waist of her jeans, and snaked his hand underneath to tease her rigid nipples. Somehow, she had already shed the constricting sports bra she had worn to work.
Once free of the shirt, Matt returned his attention to Sara. Her shirt was bunched at her neck, exposing her naked breasts. He loved to look at them, to watch their tips darken and harden when he touched them. Even more, he loved the feel of them in his mouth, the way they leaped and responded to the touch of his lips and tongue. He teased himself with the thought for a moment, then put thought into action.
Her nipple seemed to press into his mouth, as though begging for his attention. He rolled his tongue around the edges, then flicked it across the top, savoring the tremor he felt pass through Sara. Carefully, he took the taut flesh in his teeth, tugged gently, and began to suck.
Sara bucked and moaned, and Matt could feel the heat rising from her skin. She rubbed her mound against Matt’s bulging jeans. With trembling fingers, she reached for his waist.
The feel of her hands against the skin under the waist of Matt’s jeans was torture, pure and simple. She was driving him mad, and he was loving every minute of it. She skimmed a finger beneath the top button, tickling and teasing his navel. She tugged at his jeans, and they settled a little lower on his hips.
She fumbled with the button, as Matt’s lips and tongue and hands continued to tease her nipples. She managed to open one button, then two and three, and then she had him in her hand, her fingers wrapped tightly around his throbbing shaft.
Matt’s knees buckled at her touch, and he grabbed her to keep from falling. Definitely time, his desire-fogged brain said, to find a flat surface, any flat surface, before they both fell over.
Dragging Sara with him, Matt staggered to the edge of the bed. Sweeping aside the duffel, the piles of clothes, and God-knew-what-else, Matt cleared the bed, and pushed Sara down. He pulled her shirt over her head, and grasped the waist of her jeans.
In one quick motion, Matt unzipped her jeans and skinned them down her long legs. She was naked now, except for a wisp of delicate nylon panties, a sexy delight hidden beneath the sturdy denim of her jeans. Her skin was flushed with desire, and he could clearly see the swollen lips he had imagined earlier.
He lowered himself next to her, reaching to slide his hand across the slippery nylon. Sara moaned, and pressed herself against his palm. Her breathing was ragged, and he could see the trip-hammer rhythm of her pulse in the veins of her neck.
Sara reached for him, her fingers closing around him once more, and Matt had to grit his teeth to keep from exploding then and there. Wait, he told himself. Be patient. This was for both of them, and Sara needed time.
Matt forced himself to slow down, to think of anything but what Sara was doing with her busy hands. He concentrated on Sara, carefully removing her panties, stroking her long, limber legs. Brushing the trembling patch between them, he ran his hand up one thigh and down the other.
But Sara wouldn’t let him slow down. Busy hands tugged at his briefs, stripping them from him, then tickled and teased, rubbed and stroked and squeezed, until Matt’s breath came in great shuddering gasps, and he couldn’t hold back any longer.
He raised himself over her, holding himself suspended for a moment longer. Her eyes begged for him, and her hands pulled at him, guiding him toward her.
Then he was inside her, hard flesh against soft, fire meeting fire, until it threatened to consume them both. He lay still for a moment, feeling her body tense around him, squeezing him, urging him on. And he responded, moving slowly at first, then faster.
She matched him, stroke for stroke, thrust for thrust, her body straining against his. Her back arched, pulling him deep inside, straining to hold him even tighter.
It was a force of nature, powerful, wild and unstoppable, like a wave, building far out to sea, and rolling inexorably toward the shore. Sara rode the crest, her body bucking and arching, and she pulled Matt with her. Together, they tumbled over the top, felt the wave break and foam and run up the shore, its power ebbing as it gathered itself to retreat and form again, somewhere far out to sea.
Matt rolled aside, taking his weight off Sara. His skin was slick with sweat, and his heart raced. It had been like this, wild and overpowering, since the very first time. It still astounded him, and scared him a little.
Cradling Sara in his arms, Matt pulled her head against his chest.
Outside, the traffic had slowed as twilight deepened to evening. The breeze that ruffled the blinds now held a chill. Sara’s breath was soft and warm on his cooling skin, her body smooth and sleek. He slid his hands along her back and sides.
It was, he realized with a start, what he did every trip. Each time, before he left, he made love to Sara and held her close. He stored memories--sights, sounds, smells--to keep him company in his narrow bunk aboard Excelsior. He saved little pieces of Sara to keep away the loneliness of the vast Pacific until he could come home to her.
But this time would be different. Instead of memories, he would be sailing with the real Sara tomorrow. He didn’t know whether to be excited or terrified of the prospect. He knew he loved Sara more than anything in his life, but having an inexperienced hand aboard could be a disaster.
“Mmm,” Sara snuggled closer, her lips peppering his chest with tiny kisses. “You smell good, too.” She drew a deep, contented breath, releasing it slowly across his chest.
“You always smell good to me,” she continued, drawing little circles around his navel with her fingernail. It tickled, though Matt was too relaxed to really care. “You smell like you. Nobody else smells that way. It’s a mixture of all the things you are--the boat smells and the yard smells when you cut the grass, and the coffee on your breath, and something that I can’t even identify, I just know it’s you.”
She dragged her finger up his stomach, making his muscles twitch in response. “I think I could pick you out of a crowd with my eyes closed. You just smell, I don’t know, right somehow. I can’t explain, I just know it.”
Matt rolled to face her, pulling her close. The two were one, a tangle of arms and legs, intertwined and inseparable. He knew what she meant, he had experienced it, too. But it wasn’t any mystery. The only thing he remembered from his required biology class was that smells were nature’s way of getting people together. But it was more fun to believe it was something special, just for them.
The buzzing of the oven timer broke the mood and sent Sara scrambling for her t-shirt. Pulling the wrinkled shirt over her head, she trotted into the kitchen and silenced the timer.
Matt sat up slowly, shaking off the stupor that had overtaken him.
Sara was, unfortunately, right about needing to pack. He was ready, of course, but he had stalled her packing, hoping he would find some way that she didn’t have to go.
“It needs a few more minutes,” Sara called from the kitchen. He heard the oven door slam, and the sound of her bare feet on the worn kitchen linoleum. “I’m just going to take…” Sara’s voice paused when Matt dashed past her into the bathroom and turned on the water. “…a shower!” she yelled, following him into the tiny bathroom.
Matt grinned at her. He was naked, and she wore only the wrinkled “I love Newport” t-shirt and the contented air of a woman recently loved. She peeled the shirt over her head, poked him in the ribs, and squeezed past him while he was distracted.
She beat him into the shower, but that guaranteed nothing. Matt slid the flowered plastic curtain back, and stepped into the tub behind her. She was adjusting the spray, turning the water hotter than he liked, but he wasn’t going to give in.
“Hey!” Sara slapped at his hand that reached for the soap. “I got first dibs.”
“Ah,” Matt snaked his other arm around her and gained possession of the slippery bar. “But I was here first.”
“Only a technicality,” Sara said, turning to face him. Water streamed through her hair and down over her face and body. She shook her head slightly, sending a spray of water droplets from the ends of her dark hair. “Besides,” she continued, “I want to wash my hair first, anyway.”
The faint smile that curved her mouth gave the lie to her indifferent tone. It was a game they both knew, one that had endured from the earliest days of their marriage. At first they couldn’t stand to be apart for the time it took to shower. Over time it became a loving game they sometimes played after sex.
Knowing the next move, Matt rubbed lather into Sara’s bath sponge and began scrubbing her back. The floral scent of her shampoo mixed with the clear, clean smell of the soap, as suds mingled and flowed down her straight back. He could feel the bunched muscles beneath his hands, the result of a long day working on the boat. He knew those knots would be stiff and sore by morning. She would ache, but she’d never admit to him that she hurt.
He rubbed her back, under the pretense of scrubbing away imaginary dirt. That, and the hot shower, would go a long way toward easing her muscles. But he knew it wouldn’t be enough.
Sara hummed deep in her throat as Matt rubbed and soaped. She let her head drop, her shoulders and neck exposed to his hands, asking without words for his touch. She stretched and turned, lifting her hands over her head. Taking his cue, Matt continued soaping her breasts, her belly, and lower.
Sara sighed once more as he ran the soapy sponge down each leg. “That feels good,” she murmured. “I’ll give you a week to stop.”
Matt chuckled. “If we had a week, I’d take you up on that.” He rinsed the sponge and put it back in the tray. “Maybe someday…” His voice trailed off, and he bent to plant a kiss on Sara’s wet mouth. “My turn?” he asked.
Sara nodded. She reached for the bath brush, soaped it, and began rubbing it briskly over Matt’s back. He stood still as she ran scratchy bristles across his body. Somehow it soothed his muscles, taking away the tension and fatigue that knotted his back and legs.
Sara was staring at the ceiling, the first faint light of a summer morning outlining the windows, when the alarm buzzed. She had spent most of the night doing exactly that, staring and worrying. How had she ever talked herself into this? What in the hell had she been thinking?
She knew what she had been thinking. She had been thinking of the dwindling balance in their bank account and the cost of paying a hand. She had been desperate, and like all desperate people she had done some stupid things. And now she was stuck with the choices her stubborn pride had forced her to make.
Matt sat up, rubbing sleep from his eyes as he slapped at the alarm. “Damn thing,” he muttered. He turned to Sara. She usually slept through his alarm, but this morning she was wide awake. She tried to smile.
“You okay?” he asked.
“Just nervous, I guess. You know how it is when you start a new job.” She lifted the corners of her mouth, tying to hide her fear behind a smile.
“You’ll be fine. There’s nothing to worry about.”
“Don’t lie to me, Matt. There’s plenty to worry about. What if I mess up?”
Matt looked hard at Sara. He was uneasy, even if he wouldn’t admit it, and she knew it.
“Trust me. Just do what I tell you, when I tell you. If I say jump, don’t stop to ask how high, just do it, and trust me to know why. Sort of like the Army, I guess. Pretend I’m the drill sergeant. Like in the movies.” He grinned at her, taking some of the sting from his lecture. “And my first order is to give me a kiss.”
“Sir.” Sara fell into the game, and for a moment her smile felt genuine.
“Yes, sir.”
# # #
Twenty minutes later, Matt parked the pickup in the dirt parking lot, two blocks up the hill from the boat docks of Newport, Oregon. He switched off the rattle of the ancient engine, and he and Sara climbed from the cab. The sky was dark, the gray of approaching storm clouds now hiding the light of dawn.
Neither one spoke as they walked down to the dock. His duffel bumped against his hp, and he could hear the gruff voices of the other crews. They called to each other, readying the boats for another fishing trip. Matt shivered inside his heavy coat and shoved his hands deeper in his pockets. Summer was here, but the Oregon coast was often cold in the morning. The chill had sunk deep in his bones, and he knew he wouldn’t be warm again until he got back home. He could only hope that Sara realized what she had let herself in for.
“Is it always like this?”
“Like what?” He didn’t want to answer her questions, didn’t want to think about all the things she didn’t know. She knew next to nothing about Excelsior, or about fishing. What made him think they could do this?
Matt glanced at her, hoping to reassure himself. She carried her duffel over her shoulder, leaning slightly against the unaccustomed weight, and worry lines bracketed her mouth. If she was going to survive this trip, he would have to be confident enough for both of them. And, he suspected, he would have to carry even more of the work than he usually did. He loved Sara, but he wished there was an experienced deck hand walking beside him down the wooden planks of the pier.
Lamp posts rose through the planking, the sulfurous yellow of vapor lights forming halos in the light rain that floated down from the gray skies. The planks were slick with rain, water puddling in cracks in the wood. At the base of the lampposts, starfish had been exposed by the receding tide. A young sea lion surfaced a few feet away, barking loudly, and gliding among the moored boats, drawn by the pungent odor of tons of baitfish sluicing into tanks.
The tide was coming back in now, climbing the pilings and slowly submerging the brilliant reds and oranges of the starfish. The boats were alive with crews preparing to cast off as the tide climbed over the breakwater. A flight of gulls wheeled overhead, screeching their demands for a handout. Ignored by the fishermen, they settled on the public pier a few hundred feet away, and dug at the trash left by vacationing tourists.
Matt and Sara passed the Lois Jean, and Matt heard someone call his name. He turned to see Josh waving from among the crab pots piled on the deck. When Matt let him go, Josh had taken a berth on the Lois Jean, and would be in the frigid waters of the Bering Sea for the next two or three months. “Good luck out there,” Josh called.
Matt waved back and called, “You, too.” Seeing Josh made Matt wish again that he was taking him, and not Sara. But Josh had to be paid, and Sara didn’t, at least not in cash. He just hoped the cost of an inexperienced woman wasn’t too high. There wasn’t any margin for error in the middle of the Pacific.
# # #
Sara held the fuel nozzle in the starboard tank, the sharp odor of diesel assaulting her nose. She tried not to think about the pile of dollars the pale fluid represented. At least they weren’t paying Josh to help, she was doing it.
When the pump shut off, she passed the hose to Matt, and he filled the port tanks. She stepped inside the wheelhouse, glancing at the mismatched electronic gear. Some of it had come with the boat, and some they bought second- and third-hand. It was obsolete, but it was what they had. And it was better than no instruments at all.
She pulled the checkbook from the cupboard where Matt kept his receipts. The cupboard door had broken, and was patched with an old piece of floor tile, brittle with age. A splinter of the tile scratched a narrow line of red across the back of her hand.
She tried not to look at the figures that represented their slim balance, as she wrote out the check for the fuel. Even so, she was depressingly aware that, without a catch, they wouldn’t be able to pay their bills at the end of the month.
As they pulled away from the fuel dock, Sara didn’t know what to do. She had no idea what her job was. Matt was doing everything all at the same time, everywhere on the entire thirty-seven foot length of the boat, and without a single wasted gesture. She felt useless, watching him wind the worn ropes and lash down the battered floats and dented buckets. Worse than useless, she could do something stupid, or dangerous, without even knowing it.
Although they had arrived after the others, Matt was first away from the dock, headed into the growing wind and rain, the steady thump of the diesel like a giant heartbeat echoing across the water.
Avoiding the lines and the controls, Sara shouldered the two duffels and carried them below. At least she knew where to stow their personal gear. As she clambered down the worn rungs of the narrow ladder to the tiny cabin that would be her home for the next few days, the boat heeled over and she heard Matt yell.
She dumped the bags on the floor and scrambled back up the ladder. If there was trouble, she would have to try and help Matt take care of it.
She found him standing at the wheel, his face drained of color, except for two harsh patches of red on his cheeks. His eyes were wide and she followed his stare. Just ahead of them, the stern of the Janice Lee threw up a sharp wake.
“What happened?”
“That stupid bastard!” Matt’s voice shook with anger as he watched the Janice Lee churn toward the narrow mouth of the bay. “There’s a no-wake speed limit in the harbor, and the sonofabitch knows it as well as I do.” He breathed hard, and Sara watched as he battled his temper.
“I’m two minutes ahead of him at the fuel dock, and he has to make up the time by blowing by me, about ten knows over the limit.” Matt shook his head. The anger drained from his voice, replaced by disgust. “Stupid bastard. Always looking for a shortcut. Moves like that get people killed.”
Sara went back below to stow their gear. She stuffed clothes in the sticky drawers under the bench. She checked the meager assortment of cans in the dingy cupboard and thought about eating, but the close confines of the cabin and the fumes from the diesel soon combined to send her topside again. She didn’t get seasick, but her empty stomach was having trouble adjusting to the steady motion. She told herself she just needed some fresh air.
Matt stood at the wheel, charts spread in front of him, one hand on the throttle control. He looked as though he was born at the helm of a ship. Though they were inside the harbor, the boat was rocking through a steady chop, part of it the wake of the speeding Janice Lee. As they approached the narrow mouth of the bay, the Janice Lee was clearing the breakwater, headed for the open sea with her throttle wide open.
The steep cliffs of the central Oregon coastline rose on either side of the bay, and salt spray erupted into the rain-soaked air with each wave that broke across the jagged rocks. It was a vivid reminder of the ocean’s power.
A vein stood out on Matt’s forehead, as he wrestled the wheel. The speeding boat had forced him to veer off course, and he had to pull his boat back into the narrow channel that formed a safe passage between the rocky outcroppings at the mouth of the bay. He was staring intently at the array of instruments in front of him as he guided Excelsior through the breakwater and into the open sea.
Sara poured a cup of coffee from the thermos and put it in the gimbaled holder that hung off the edge of the chart table. It fascinated her to watch the bearings hold the cup level and steady as the boat rocked along, riding the turbulent water.
Rain hammered at the forward windows of the wheelhouse, and water ran along the side windows, driven sideways by the force of the wind. A narrow ribbon of water drops dotted one window where the caulking had chipped away. The rigging hummed with the wind, and eerie moaning sound that sent chills up Sara’s spine.
“Couldn’t we wait for this to pass?” she called to Matt, over the roar of the wind and rain.
“You know better than that. The season opens today, so we go today. Fish and Game can close it down if we reach the harvest limits, and I want to get as much as I can while it’s open.”
“But it’s getting worse out there, Matt. Isn’t there something...”
“We go when we have to.” He cut her off, unwilling to debate what they both knew was a necessity. “This is a storm we can get through.”
Sara retreated to a corner of the wheelhouse and stared out at the ocean. The radio crackled with static, then she heard the voice of the Coast Guard weather report. Although she didn’t know the map coordinates, she understood enough to know the storm was coming up from the south.
She peered over Matt’s shoulder at the compass. They were moving west by northwest, running on the ragged edge of the storm. She wondered how far they would have to go to escape the rain that pounded at the windows.
Looking back out the window, she watched as a wave broke across the deck. For a moment, the water stood a foot deep on the deck, then it began to run off through the scuppers. The water poured over the side in a steady stream, but before the deck was clear, another wave broke.
“Matt!” Sara’s heart was racing as she watched the waves cover the deck.
“We can ride this out, Sara. It may take a couple hours, but it will pass. In the meantime, there isn’t much else to do.” He set his mouth in a grim line, his expression and body language dismissing Sara as completely as if she were still asleep in her bed at home.
Sara stood in the corner of the wheelhouse, uncertain whether to climb down the narrow ladder to the cabin, or stay where she was. Would it be worse to watch the storm batter them, or only hear it behind the closed curtains in the cabin? She decided to watch. Knowing was better.
The rain continued, a gray curtain obscuring the water ahead of them. The instruments glowed in the gloom of the dim light, and Matt continually glanced from the green and gold readouts to the charts spread across the table on his left.
The boat heeled hard to starboard, sending Sara into the starboard bulkhead with a thump that she knew would leave a bruise. For a moment she was pinned against the bulkhead, as though gravity was pulling her sideways. Instead, to her horror, it was pulling her down. They had caught a swell broadside and were listing heavily.
“Sonofabitch!” Matt’s sharp curse grabbed her attention. She turned to look at him. He was braced against the rack holding the GPS system, hanging onto the wheel at an insane angle. His jaw was compressed with the strain of holding the wheel steady, and the muscles in his arms stood out in tense ropes.
Slowly, reluctantly, the boat began to right herself. Gravity loosened its hold on Sara, and she pried herself away from the bulkhead. She could feel the floor beneath her feet returning to a horizontal position, and she released the breath she didn’t know she was holding.
Matt scrambled to get his feet back under him, and Sara watched in fascination as he dragged the wheel around. The boat turned into the swells, Matt’s arms straining with the effort. Sara could feel it now, as they rode into and over the waves that were building.
They continued for long minutes, climbing laboriously up one wall of water after another, occasionally feeling the ocean give way beneath them as a wave crested and broke. Excelsior struggled through the wind and rain, plowing stubbornly ahead.
Sara clung to the edge of the chart table, her lips caught tight between her teeth. She had never been through a storm at sea, and she could only hang on as stubbornly as her husband and the boat, and hope they could ride it out. Matt continued to wrestle with the wheel, his entire concentration focused on the boat. Occasional drops of sweat ran down his face to drop, unheeded, from his chin. Sara suspected she could have exploded a bomb in the wheelhouse and he wouldn’t have noticed, but he wasn’t frightened or concerned, just determined.
After an hour that felt like a lifetime, Sara heard a change in the whistling in the lines. It dropped from a whine to a low moan, and she could feel the wind slowing. The rain continued, but the gray curtain thinned and she could see a short distance ahead.
The swells grew smaller, and now they were moving forward instead of climbing up and over mountains of water. As she watched him, the muscles in Matt’s arms and back lost their rigidity, and she knew they were through the worst of it.
The diesel continued to throb and Excelsior plowed on through the rain. The deck was no longer awash, and Sara could see that the battered gear Matt had lashed down before leaving the dock was all in place.
The rain continued to fall through the morning, and Sara busied herself carrying coffee and sandwiches to Matt as he plowed ahead, scanning the water for signs of fish.
“Is there something else I can do?” she asked, breaking the relative silence that had followed the roar of the wind and the crashing waves. She had tried desperately to think of something, but she hesitated. It had begun to sink in that one stupid mistake could get them both killed. It was a sobering thought.
“Just be patient,” he told her. “Once we find the fish, there will be plenty for you to do.”
Her question worried Matt, though he didn’t tell her so. She would have to be told each move to make, and he wouldn’t always have time to explain why. He hoped she would remember what he said, and do as he told her, without hesitating. He loved Sara, but he missed Josh. Get over it, he told himself. We can’t afford Josh.
Despite her efforts to hide it, Matt had seen how Sara moved when she didn’t think he was looking. She was stiff and sore from yesterday, and the pounding she had already taken was making it worse. He would have to watch her, make sure she didn’t overdo and put herself completely out of commission, or make a mistake because she was tired. It was one more thing to worry about with her aboard.
Something in the water caught his eye, and he stared through the steady rain for a moment, then steered a course for the spot. After nearly ten years on the water, Matt knew what he was looking for. But as the catch declined, it was getting harder and harder to find.
“Fish?” Sara asked.
“Looks like it.” Matt waved his hand in the general direction he was traveling, knowing Sara still couldn’t see anything except empty miles of water. She wouldn’t have to wait long, though.
Matt slowed the engines. He checked the charts again, and looked at the second-hand SONAR fish finder. They were over a popular feeding ground, and the SONAR was pinging like crazy. It was time to go to work.
The engines were idling, the boat drifting for a moment. Matt pulled the hood of his jacket up and checked the zippers and belts. He pulled a pair of heavy deck boots over his shoes, then turned to help Sara into her gear.
Josh had taken his gear with him to the Lois Jean, and Sara had been outfitted with an odd lot of hand-me-downs and castoffs, most of them in sizes that would hold at least two of her. He pulled up the suspenders on her trousers, zipped them shut, and cinched them around the middle with an extra belt. Her jacket was a decent fit, and he tried to ignore the odd sensation he got as he fastened the crotch strap. Now wasn’t the time.
Sara’s boots were new. It had been their biggest expense, but Matt knew it was the one area where they couldn’t risk any shortcuts. Her life might depend on staying on her feet, and a proper pair of boots could avert potential disasters.
He checked over her gear, and gave her a “thumbs up.” She looked up at him, her tiny face dwarfed by the bulky jacket and over-hanging hood. She looked like a kid playing in dad’s work clothes, and the thought gave Mat a chill. This wasn’t play; it was real, it was dangerous, and his life was in her hands. Please, he prayed silently, don’t let her do some damn fool thing that’ll get us both killed.
“Let’s go!” Matt signaled her to follow him to the stern where the giant spools containing the nets sat waiting.
He started the winch motors, engaged the clutch, and the nets began to unreel into the water. “Keep feeding them out,” Matt called as he headed back to the helm.
# # #
This was it, the reason she had come. Sara clipped the safety line of her jacket to the jack line, as Matt had showed her. She adjusted the wrists of her gloves to make sure they were secure, and guided the nets coming off the spools.
Rain was still falling, hard and cold, and Sara was grateful for the foul-weather gear and thermal underwear. Without it she would have been soaked through, the minute she stepped out of the wheelhouse.
The spools turned at a steady rate, and Sara watched the heavy nets unrolling as Matt carefully maneuvered the boat to avoid tangling them. They spread across the water, disappearing beneath the surface, their position marked only by the bright orange floats that marked the edges of the net. Sara tried not to think about how much money floated in the wake of Excelsior. She concentrated, instead, on maintaining her footing on the wet, rolling deck.
Her hands grew chilled inside the bulky work gloves, but she knew better than to take the gloves off for even a minute. She had seen too many fishermen with mangled fingers from being caught in nets or tangled in lines. She wished she had thought to light the charcoal in her hand warmer, but it was too late now to stop and take care of it.
Sara concentrated on the nets as Matt piloted the boat through the choppy waters. The sky was getting darker, and a cold wind blew across the deck. Sara cinched her jacket tighter, and kept feeding out the net.
Her right arm was stiffening from the blow she had taken when they heeled over. All her muscles ached from yesterday’s long hours readying the boat.
The wind changed direction, sending a volley of raindrops straight into her face. For a moment she couldn’t see, but that didn’t stop the nets. The spools turned and the net slid past her hands and over the transom into the ocean.
She swiped her face with one thick glove, dashing the water from her eyes, and focused on the nets.
Nothing else mattered for now, except laying the net in the water and pulling the fish out. She forced herself to ignore the protests of her arm each time she tugged at the heavy cable that formed the edge of the net. Her legs wobbled, and she locked her knees against the instant of weakness. She tried not to think, only to visualize the perfect placement of the net and the catch that would follow. Nothing else mattered. Just the net and the fish.
Sara’s vision narrowed and she no longer saw the ocean, or the sky. She didn’t feel the rain falling on her, or hear the drops as they hit the rubberized outer layer of her hood. The constant sound of the wind faded into the background as she listened to the creak of the spool and the whine of the winch. Her world contracted into a few square feet of deck, a width of transom, and the slow slide of the net through it.
The last section of net slithered over the transom, breaking the monotony of Sara’s vision. The winch freewheeled, now relieved of its load. Remembering Matt’s instructions, Sara quickly grabbed the motor control and shut it down. The sudden movement sent a spasm through her shoulder, and she gritted her teeth against the pain.
Sara allowed herself a few seconds’ surrender to cold and fatigue, then she forced herself to clamber over the deck to the wheelhouse. The nets were in the water, but the day was far from over.
When she reached the wheelhouse, Matt handed her his coffee cup. The last of the coffee was only lukewarm. She swallowed, and felt the coffee all the way down. She had shared the sandwiches earlier that morning, but that was a long time ago.
A sigh escaped her lips, and Matt gave her a sharp glance.
“Tired?”
“A little,” she admitted. “But I know there’s a lot more to do.”
Matt reached for her and draped a rubber-clad arm over her dripping shoulders. “There’s time for a quick break,” he said. “I’d really appreciate if you made some hot coffee. Just wait for it, and bring me a fresh cup, if you would.”
Sara pulled off her boots and clambered out of her jacket and fishing pants. She left them hanging in the wheelhouse. Getting them back on would be painful, but she couldn’t climb the ladder in them.
When she reached the bottom, she started a pot of coffee, and gingerly lowered herself to the narrow bench that was the cabin’s only seating. It was cold and hard, but being able to sit at all was a slice of heaven. Especially since she knew another session of hell was waiting for her topside.
Hell, Sara decided, wasn’t fire and brimstone. It was cold, dark rain falling everywhere, soaking into everything. While she waited for the coffee, she stripped off her shoes and socks. Even though her boots were watertight, she had managed to get some water in her shoes, and her socks were damp.
With an effort, she levered herself off the bench and reached in the drawer underneath for a clean pair of socks. The feel of soft, dry cotton on her cold feet was a pleasant shock. She sat for a minute, letting her feet warm, but the chill didn’t leave. Sighing, she dug in the drawer and pulled out a second pair. At this rate she would be out of dry socks by tomorrow afternoon.
That would be a problem for tomorrow. For today, she had to get back on deck. She clutched the metal vacuum bottle in her hand and began the crawl up the ladder to the wheelhouse.
By the time she reached the third rung of the ladder, Sara’s arms were shaking in protest. Her muscles spasmed, and she longed for a few minutes to rest. Instead, she hooked an arm through the rung in front of her and hung on until the tremor passed, then continued up the ladder. There was no time to rest. Not now.
When she crawled back into the wheelhouse, Matt took the coffee and quickly filled his cup. Blowing across the surface to cool it, he wrapped one hand around the mug. After a moment, he changed hands. Sara understood what he was doing, using the hot coffee to warm his hands. She had done the same thing just a minute earlier as she filled the vacuum bottle.
Static filled the wheelhouse, as the radio crackled to life.
“Excelsior. Excelsior. This is the vessel Lois Jean.”
Matt picked up the mike and keyed the switch. “Lois Jean, this is Excelsior. Switch and answer on channel six eight, over.”
Matt switched the radio from the hailing frequency, and Sara heard Josh’s voice through the tinny speaker of the radio. “We thought you might be out here. Passed three boats with their nets out about five miles south of you. Looks like we might have more weather coming in. Over.”
“Roger that. As though we didn’t have enough already. Have a safe trip. Over.”
“We’re careful.” Josh’s voice turned anxious for a moment. “Any idea what was up with the Janice Lee this morning? Looked like he almost swamped you before you could get out of his way.”
“Don’t know, but he was sure in a hurry. When I get back, I’ll talk to the harbormaster about the speeding.”
“Do that. Give that pretty deckhand a hug for me. We’ll see you in a couple months. Out.” The voice dropped out, replaced by the quiet hum of background noise, and Matt switched back to the hailing and emergency channel.
Sara struggled into her gear, managing to dress herself without Matt’s help. While she buckled and zipped and cinched, he maneuvered the boat into position to haul in the nets. By the time she was finished, he was locking the autopilot.
“I’ll need your help for a couple minutes, then I want you to come up here and take the wheel.” Matt flipped up his hood, and his face faded into shadow.
“The wheel? I can haul nets.” Sara tried to make her voice convincing. She was determined to do her share.
“We take turns. That’s how I do it with Josh, that’s how I’ll do it with you.”
“But the autopilot--“
“I don’t trust the autopilot for long, and neither should you. Like I said this morning, just do what I tell you, and we’ll do fine.” Matt’s voice rose, and Sara cold hear the edge of command that he’d learned as a crew leader on other boats. “It may sound silly to you, but I’m the captain on this vessel, and my word is the law.
“And don’t argue. You’re tired, and tired people make mistakes. Out here a mistake can get us both real dead, real fast. And dead is forever.” He turned and opened the hatch, admitting a blast of cold rain, carried on the rising wind.
His words stung, as though she had been slapped, but she knew he was right. She cinched her jacket tight, and followed him to the stern.
The wind pulled Matt’s words away, and she had to depend on his hand signals for direction. They pulled up the rough edge of the net and secured it to the spool. She helped him open the hatch covers to receive the fish, and to start the winch motor.
Matt checked the motor setting, and gave her a “thumbs up.”
“You go forward,” he yelled over a lull in the wind. “Keep the compass steady and the engines at slow. Just hold her on course while I haul in the nets.” He kissed her hurriedly, and shoved her toward the helm. “Go! I’ll handle this.”
Her hands shook as Sara took the wheel. She had piloted the boat before, for brief minutes when they were docking, or helping Matt when he ‘test drove’ Excelsior after repairs. But she had never had the wheel on the open water, and never during a storm.
Gripping the wheel tightly with both hands, Sara focused on the compass. She couldn’t worry about Matt hauling in the nets by himself, or wonder if they had managed to get any fish. She stared at the compass and willed it to stay at the same heading. If she just concentrated hard enough, she could keep the course.
Matt struggled with the heavy nets and the rising wind. It was a tough job, and it was even harder without a hand. But he and Josh had done it, and he was determined to make this work with Sara. He could feel the boat wallowing a little as the seas rose, but she seemed to be holding the course he had set. His job now was to trust Sara and get the nets in before the weather worsened.
The winches strained, pulling the water-heavy nets from the ocean. A few black rockfish fell from the nets, eventually growing to a steady stream. It wasn’t a full load by any measure, but it was better than he had expected.
They would need at least another load this size to make this trip pay, he thought as he watched the fish slide into the hold. But right now he needed to relieve Sara. She was too exhausted to stay at the wheel for long. He slammed the hatch shut, tightened the latch, and made his way to the helm.
Sara was staring at the compass, her hands tight on the wheel, white knuckles straining to hold it steady. Matt could see the tight line of her jaw jutting from the hood of her jacket, the muscles at the corners bunched with tension. Her shoulders were hunched, the muscles tensed into knots that he could feel without seeing them.
When he touched her shoulder she jumped as though she had been scalded. She had been so focused on her course that she hadn’t heard him come in. Matt stroked her arm, unwinding her fingers one at a time from the wheel.
“Thanks, honey. You did a good job.”
Sara surrendered the wheel to Matt, and retreated to her corner of the wheelhouse. He heard her peel off her gear and hang it on the hook by the hatch. She moved slowly, and he wondered how long it would be before she gave in to exhaustion.
The wind and rain battered their little boat for another hour before it relented. Usually he and Josh would trade off, but this time it was up to Matt. He wrestled the wheel, feeling the muscles in his arms and shoulders straining to hold a steady course.
He continued north, trying to stay ahead of the main body of the storm. Finally, the wind died and the rain slacked off. The western sky was light and Matt could see the dark clouds rolling eastward, headed for the shoreline. The coastal cities were in for a rainy night.
Sara had been quiet for a long time, but he’d been too busy to notice. Now he turned, and found her curled up in the corner, her head pillowed on her arm, sound asleep. He set the autopilot and, although it wasn’t fully dark, started making the boat fast for the night.
He made a cursory examination of the deck, and cast a quick glance over the nets, checking for damage. Nothing to worry about. A little water here and there, but no lines had snagged, no nets had ripped.
He took a minute to check the hold. It was about a third full. A better catch than he had expected. If Josh were here, they’d spread the nets again and go on. But Sara was exhausted, and they had done as much as they could for one day.
Matt wanted to run north another hour or so, to put them well out of the weather for the night. But he couldn’t leave Sara asleep on the deck. He put one hand on her shoulder and shook her gently. Pain flashed across her sleeping face at the touch, and Matt yanked his hand back. He hadn’t meant to hurt her.
Sara’s eyes blinked open, and she looked up blearily at Matt. “Are we there yet?”
Matt laughed out loud, partly in amusement and partly in relief. At least her sense of humor had survived their first day, even if her body had given out. There was hope for tomorrow. “You’re as there as you’re gonna get today,” he said. “I’m thinking it’s time to call it quits. Go below. Get warm. Get some rest. I’ll be down in a little while.”
“You better eat your ice cream, before it melts,” Sara said. She reached for the scoop and the carton, sliding them across the postage stamp table in front of Matt. The bench was hard and narrow, but it felt good to rest her battered body. It also felt good to have Matt’s arm around her, and she wondered what it would be like to make love with the constant rocking of the boat.
Matt had heated a can of stew and they had eaten quickly, hunger battling with exhaustion. Now they were sharing the carton of vanilla ice cream Sara had smuggled on board hidden in the grocery bag. It was one of Matt’s favorite things, but she didn’t think it would keep.
“In fact,” she continued talking around a spoonful, “I was worried it wouldn’t last this long.”
Matt shook his head. “Honey, there’s four tons of ice down there. I think the ice cream was safe for a few hours.”
# # #
A tendril of worry snaked through his brain. Sara knew so little about the workings of the boat. So many things could go wrong.
He wrenched his thoughts from the dark images that were forming. Certainly things could go wrong, but he was an experienced seaman, and he would just have to see that she didn’t make any major mistakes.
Outside, the night was pitch black. They were drifting, alone on the ocean. The other boats were still south of him, strung out in a miles-long picket line to drift with the currents and the wind through the night.
But inside there was light from the electric bulb powered by the generator, and the hatches were battened down against the cold night wind. He buried his face in Sara’s dark hair and planted an affectionate kiss on the top of her head.
“I can’t eat all this, you know,” Matt said, gesturing at the half-empty carton. “It will keep ‘til tomorrow. Really,” he said, at Sara’s skeptical look. “Believe me, that much ice will give us plenty of chill to keep half a carton of ice cream for one day.” He picked up the carton and bumped his hip against Sara’s to scoot her over and let him out. As he went up the ladder to the deck, he called back to her. “Remember, I depend on that ice to keep hundreds of pounds of fish fresh. A little ice cream isn’t even a challenge.”
# # #