A Woman With Secrets. Inglath Cooper
at this late date was next to nil. And she wasn’t about to let this boat sail without her. When Karl arrived back in Richmond, she intended to be somewhere in the middle of the ocean where he wouldn’t stand the remotest chance of finding her.
“Captain Hunter!” she called out in the most humble voice she could muster.
He turned around, looking surprised to find her still standing there. “Was there something else I could do for you?” he asked.
She faltered under the set look on his face, cleared her throat, then said, “I’m not interested in a hotel. I’m booked for this cruise. I don’t intend to change my plans.”
He didn’t say anything for several seconds, but merely stared at her as if she were a child for whom he had to find a convincing argument. “Look, Ms. Winthrop, you can’t expect the rest of the group to carry your weight—”
“Captain Hunter,” she interrupted, digging her heels in. “I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself. I don’t expect anyone else to do it for me.”
He watched her for several drawn out moments. Resisting the unfamiliar urge to fidget under his level gaze, she stood her ground. To her surprise, he let out a deep sigh and said, “Fine.”
Relief whisked through her, followed quickly by a surge of indignation. Why did she care what he thought of her anyway? It wasn’t as if he were what she’d expected. What had Tyler said about his old law school buddy? “Smart guy. Summa cum laude at Yale…”
This was what a summa cum laude from Yale did with his life? She’d assumed “running the cruise” meant from some skyscraper in New York City or wherever such types operated their investments. Not “running the boat,” as in, sailing it, cleaning it, docking it.
And the man wasn’t exactly dressed like the captain of a boat. His white T-shirt and cutoff jeans said Rebel with a capital R. So maybe he was handsome in a who-cares-what-the-rest-of-the-world-thinks sort of way. His dark blond hair had streaks of light in it. And his eyes were blue, like sea water.
She put a stop to her observations. She’d had enough of handsome men to last her a lifetime. Karl had been handsome. GQ. Drop-dead. Turn-your-knees-to-water handsome. He was also a slug.
The man with the city-block-wide smile jogged back down the dock, his expression expectant when he called out, “You two get everything squared away?”
With his return came the realization that, unfortunately, she needed Cole Hunter and his less-than-cruiselike boat. Her disappearance would give Karl time to cool off and accept the fact that where their farcical and now dead marriage was concerned, she would be the one to have the last word. And she really, really wanted the last word. “Yes, I think so,” she said.
Harry Smith sent a victory fist into the air. “Great. You don’t know what you’re in for, Miss Winthrop!”
She somehow suspected that he was right.
She waited while the two men held a huddle a few yards away, their voices low and hushed. Ignoring them, she stared off into the distance, concentrating on the sounds of sails snapping into line, laughter ringing from a yacht headed out of the harbor, a black French poodle barking from its guard post aboard an enormous catamaran.
The conversation behind her built to a crescendo. Harry Smith’s voice carried a note of appeal, while Cole Hunter’s rumbled resistance to whatever his friend was suggesting. Finally, the captain took the distance of the dock between them in a few swift strides, commandeering her two suitcases without saying a word. Her heart leapt into her throat. She shot after him, protesting, “That’s all right. I can carry those.”
But he kept walking, long, marked strides that said a good deal about his level of agitation. She slowed her pace and drew in a calming breath, reassuring herself that he had no idea what was inside the bag.
Even so, she frowned at his back. She didn’t care if the man was Tyler’s friend. He was rude. And she had a feeling that before this so-called vacation was over, she would tell him so.
She followed him down narrow stairs, through a doorway barely wider than her own body and into a cabin the size of a large closet.
“This is where you’ll be staying,” he said abruptly, plopping her two suitcases down by the bed.
With him in it, the room seemed Alice-in-Wonderland small. It was neat and clean though, the bed crisply made, the air tinted with the remnants of furniture polish.
“Anything you need?” he asked, obviously anxious to go.
“A pitcher of iced tea and a sandwich would be nice,” she said, infusing the request with politeness.
His smile said you’re kidding right?
Actually, she wasn’t. She hadn’t eaten in twelve hours. Something told her she should let this one go though.
“Dinner’s at seven,” he said and turned to leave.
“Captain Hunter?” she called out.
He ducked back inside the doorway with a look of restrained impatience. “Yes?”
“The other passengers. When will they be arriving?”
“Couple hours,” he said.
“Oh. Good, then,” she answered, reassured to know she wouldn’t be sailing off alone into the sunset with Captain Grump and his sidekick.
After he left, she sank down on the bed, her stomach rumbling. Was she crazy? Maybe she should just get off the boat now. Maybe she should have stayed and confronted Karl. Taken the lizard to court and let him explain to a judge where the million dollars in his closet had come from. But she hadn’t relished the idea of handing out a chunk of her father’s already depleted funds in legal fees. Besides, Karl would need a little time to come to grips with the fact that he’d have to find some other means of financing Tiffany’s decorating habit.
And, too, she told herself, spending the next ten days on a boat headed through the western Caribbean could only be so bad. At least she wouldn’t have to worry about Karl finding her. For now, at least, that was all she cared about.
FROM THE CORNER of the deck, Cole watched the lovely Ms. Winthrop struggle with the tarp he’d asked her to fold.
He could have done it himself. He hadn’t needed to call her up from her cabin to do it, but he was holding out the hope that she’d change her mind and leave before the rest of the passengers arrived. He didn’t have a good feeling about this woman.
Not to mention that Harry’s matchmaking antennae had been on high alert since the moment he set eyes on her. He was certain God had finally taken pity on poor sex-starved Cole Hunter and sent him a woman no man could resist.
A breeze caught the end of the tarp and jerked one end of it from her grasp. Her dark navy pullover had started to cling to her arms and shoulders in wet patches. Sweat glistened on her forehead and upper lip. Several strands of blond hair had escaped the barrette at the back of her neck and stuck to her cheek.
He crossed the deck and reached for one end of the canvas. With a pointed look at her navy shirt, which now clung to her skin in some interesting places, he said, “By the way, dark colors draw the sun.”
CHAPTER THREE
Man has a thousand plans, heaven but one.
—Chinese Proverb
CLEARLY, HE THOUGHT she was an idiot.
Folding a tarp. As though the boat would have sunk if she hadn’t accomplished the task posthaste. She patted the final edge into place and managed an even reply, “Thanks for the tip.”
“Don’t mention it,” he said.
From the other end of the dock came a lilting, “Yoo-hoo!”
Two older ladies with bluish, salon-set hair walked toward the boat, both