The Navy Seal's Rescue. Jo Leigh
“Well, are you coming in or what?”
She grinned and trotted past the porch, straight into his arms.
“Oh, Baby Girl, it’s been too long. And you’re too skinny.”
She leaned back, studying his face. Wow, she’d never thought it would happen, but he was looking his age. “Look who’s talking. Hasn’t anyone been feeding you?”
“I’m not an invalid. I take care of myself just fine.” He pulled her tight again. “Besides, being lean is good for longevity. I’m thinking of going macrobiotic. I read a really interesting book about it.”
“You’d blow away in the wind if you lost more weight,” she said. “I’m actually surprised that you and this old shack didn’t get flown to Oz during that last big northern.”
“That’s the beauty of the Bay, my girl. We’re protected here, just like the pirates.”
“Oh, for... You know the cab driver from the airport was talking about that stupid treasure on my way here. I can’t believe it hasn’t been completely debunked by now, and what’s that smell?”
“Goddammit.” Ronny abandoned her to the kitchen, where at least one chocolate chip pancake had become a lava cake.
“It’s all right,” he said. “I mixed up plenty.”
He always had. Burning meals was another Ronny specialty. Which was troubling. Although she wasn’t going to say anything yet. Not until she found out more about the Jeep accident and the fall on the dock.
“How’s the coffee?” she asked.
“Like always. Tastes like motor oil, keeps you up as long as you need to be.”
“Tell you what, just for a change of pace, I’ll fix you some a little milder.” Anticipating his protest, before he opened his mouth she said, “I’m not throwing away your tar. You can heat it up later. But I need coffee that’s not ninety-four octane.”
“Be my guest, Baby Girl. There’s OJ in the fridge, too.”
Butter sizzled on his old cast-iron grill while she busied herself with the beverages, pouring them both a glass of juice as the new coffee brewed.
“What do you hear from your mother?”
“She’s good. Still living in Paris with the judge.”
“That’s number four, right?”
“Yep. But she likes him. He’s got hobbies.”
“Hobbies. So she can shop all she wants without him tagging along?”
“That’s right.” Cricket grinned. “And they like taking river cruises. I think the last one was from Budapest to Amsterdam.”
“Huh. I’m glad she’s happy.”
“She asks about you, too, you know.”
“What do you tell her?”
“That you’re forever Ronny. That you don’t have a new woman in your life. Or has that changed?”
“Nope. I’m forever me. How about you? Got yourself some hot prospect?”
“I’m too busy working to have any kind of prospect.”
“That’s a shame, Baby Girl. I’d like you to fall madly in love with a good man.”
Cricket smiled. That didn’t surprise her. Ronny had always had a romantic soul. “Well, that’s not exactly off my wish list. Just not in the immediate forecast.”
“Put a couple forks on the table, huh? The food’ll be ready in a sec.”
She did, along with the juice. His old coffeepot took forever, but that was okay. “How’s the charter business going?”
“Good. You know summer’s always busy for me. Lot of tourists wanting to catch their trophies. I had one guy wanting to know where he could get a baby marlin stuffed. Got all upset when I told him we had to throw it back, that it was below the limit.”
“What about your regulars?”
“Yeah, yeah, I get enough repeat business to pay the bills, but the extras help out for the winters. With the crazy weather patterns now, you never know what to expect.” He brought two plates over, each one pretty much covered in a giant pancake. “There you go, Baby Girl. Your favorite.”
“I see you didn’t forget the butter and the syrup.”
“Nope. Never will.” He sat down across from her, at the table he’d had as long as she could remember, made from driftwood by a local craftsman. It was really ugly and wobbled, but it went with the rest of the decor.
Almost everything in the shack was roughshod and the style could only be labeled as beach bum. There were still a couple of lamps that her mother had added, both classic and traditional. Also, the painting above the long couch that had to be worth a lot by now, although she doubted her dad had done much to preserve it. She couldn’t remember the artist’s name, but he’d been renowned back in the day.
“About those charters,” she said, “you are insured, right?”
Ronny stopped eating to stare at her. “Insured? Why would I need that? You’re an attorney. Anything happens and I get sued, you’ll take care of it.”
She dropped her fork. “Are you crazy? The only thing I’d be able to do is visit you in prison.”
A smile with lots more lines crinkling his tanned face made her roll her eyes. “I’m insured,” he said. “Very well, in fact. Both the business and the house.”
“Speaking of, what happened with that fall on the dock? And also, how come you didn’t tell me about crashing the Jeep?”
“Lousy gossips in this town. The Jeep was nothing. A fender bender. I needed three whole stitches. Jeez. As for the dock, it was slick and I fell, that’s it. It happens.”
“Was it the dock or your personal slip?”
“I don’t remember. Does it matter?”
“Of course it does. You’re responsible for your slip. Before I leave, I’m going to the dock to make sure it’s not a hazard, talk to the harbormaster if need be. Even with insurance, if someone breaks their neck and they can prove maintenance wasn’t kept up, they can sue the pants off you.”
“Honey, I hate to tell you, I’ve been without pants on that dock plenty of times before.”
“Ew.”
His hearty laugh hadn’t changed a bit. “Eat your pancake. If you finish it all up, I’ll make you another.”
“Oh, Ronny. I’m not twelve anymore. All this sugar is going to keep me wired all day.”
“And you turned your nose up at my coffee.”
She laughed and ate, enjoying the cloyingly sweet chocolate and syrup despite herself. It reminded her of home, of such happy days. Even when Ronny and her mom fought, they must’ve been civil, because she didn’t remember any of it. After they split, her childhood spent mostly with her father was a collage of shining memories, filled with an ease she rarely found outside the Bay.
“How’s Eleanor and Oliver?” They were his longtime neighbors. Oliver was a retired fisherman and Eleanor worked at the library part-time. They’d watched her often when she was growing up.
“Oliver’s getting old. Can’t walk too much anymore. Working on the sea takes it out of a person. He’s got arthritis so bad his hands are almost useless. Eleanor still goes out to the library three times a week, though.”
“Do they still argue like street fighters?”
“Yeah, but it’s better now that Eleanor doesn’t