A GREAT CATCH: Chapter Two
Not while he still had balls and a heartbeat.
Lucas watched Tessa march
up the ramp to the deck, her hips swinging with irritation and drawing
his attention to how her white trousers fit snug against her bottom, showing
a hint of panty lines: high-cut panties, the kind that would make the most
of the great pair of legs hidden beneath her uniform.
He briefly closed his eyes,
until the scent of her baby shampoo drifted away on the breeze. After all
this time, he still couldn't smell that powder-sweet scent without remembering
a nineteen-year-old Great Lakes Maritime Academy cadet whose fingers and
mouth had been anything but babyish.
Somehow, he expected she'd
have grown beyond baby shampoo. God, the rest of her sure had grown up.
Quickly killing that thought,
Lucas grasped the metal rail and followed his mouthy mate.
If they didn't find neutral
ground, and fast, one of them would have to leave this ship. It sure as
hell wouldn't be him, and he suspected nothing short of death would get
Tessa off the Taliesen. It had been a long time, but some things
a man didn't forget.
Just then, she shot a snotty
glare at him over her shoulder.
And there were some things
a woman wouldn't forget, either. Or forgive.
On deck, he made his way
toward the sound of Kowalski's smoke-roughened voice relaying the Taliesen's
history.
"...was built in 1908 and
converted to a metal hull in the forties. She was retired from service
in 1974 when the cost of maintaining her became too expensive. Mrs. Stanhope
purchased the ship six years ago and began the restoration project with
the help of public donations..."
While Kowalski rattled out
trivia, statistics, and amusing anecdotes, Lucas kept away from the crews
toting cameras and sound equipment, and the half dozen local television
and newspaper reporters.
He'd rather corner a desperate
Colombian smuggler with an AK-47, or even turn back a boatload of miserable
refugees, than face another question about the McKee.
Lucas glanced at his mate, at the proud lift of her chin and wind-tousled dark hair -- and wished to
God the reminder of every stupid mistake he'd ever made in his life wasn't
wrapped around the luscious, never-forgotten body of Tessa Jardine.
Guilt shot through him, and
an all-too-familiar knot tightened in his belly. What he really needed
was a grueling, mind-numbing swim. How could he have thought he'd prepared
himself for this?
"We're heading to the pilothouse.
Are you coming?"
At Kowalski's questioning
voice, Lucas looked up. Everyone, including Jardine, stood staring at him.
Waiting.
"My apologies." He caught
Jardine's gaze. "I was just admiring the view."
Jardine's dark, thick-lashed
eyes widened, then she spun on her heel and walked stiffly away. As Kowalski
and Dee guided the media up to the pilothouse, Lucas followed, his mood
grim.
He shouldn't have let his
temper slip loose, but if Jardine wanted to poke sticks through the cage
of his self-control, it was only fair to warn her he would grab that stick
and poke right back.
As everyone squeezed inside
the small room overlooking the bow deck with its neatly stacked lounge
chairs, Lucas positioned himself far away from her. The pilothouse still
smelled heavily of varnish and paint, and the window frames gleamed with
a suspicious wetness.
Dee had moved the Taliesen's
launch forward with relentless force, despite the controversy surrounding
the Yarwood trial's accusations of negligence against Stanhope Shipping
in the McKee accident. The best way to deflect negative publicity
was with something new and exciting and equally controversial -- like hiring
as captain the key player in that same accident.
"Captain Hall." The Milwaukee
Journal Sentinel reporter's voice cut across Lucas's thoughts. "Would
you mind explaining the purpose of this equipment?"
As Lucas came forward, everyone
made way for him without his having to ask.
"The ship's wheel, of course."
He grasped the polished wood and gave it a twist back and forth, then laid
his hand on the instrument beside him, the brass cool beneath his fingers.
"This is the engine order telegraph, or chadburn, which transmits speed
and directional orders to the engine room. As Mr. Kowalski explained earlier,
the Taliesen is equipped with a quadruple expansion steam engine.
She's one of the last steam-fired passenger ships on the Great Lakes."
"Will we get to see -- "
"Miss Jardine will take you
below deck for a tour of the engine department," Kowalski assured the Sentinel
reporter.
Lucas then pointed out the
GPS, gyrocompass repeater, magnetic compass, radar, radio, and chart room.
Using the simplest language possible, he explained the line of gauges mounted
near the ceiling that measured wind direction and speed, rudder angles
and engine RPMs, while several of the men nodded as if they understood.
"Amazing," said Pointer when
Lucas had finished. "Guess this means I shouldn't complain about driving
my Saturn on cruise control down the I-94."
His comment garnered several
laughs and smiles, then Kowalski led the group out of the pilothouse. Single
file along the narrow corridors of airy aqua- and-ivory hues, gleaming
chrome trim, and tan carpeting, they trooped through the public areas:
the dance floor and bar, cafeteria-style dining room and retro-looking
soda fountain, movie theater, children's play area, gift shop, even the
ship's museum. All stood empty and quiet, but within a few days, these
rooms and halls would once again ring with the sounds of passengers and
crew.
Kowalski allowed the reporters
a peek inside private rooms, from the economy Pullman cabins to the larger,
pricier suites located on both decks.
"It's not as fancy as a luxury
liner," said a petite blonde in a red suit. She sounded disappointed.
"The Taliesen wasn't
meant to compete with luxury ocean liners, but to provide comfortable,
affordable travel on the Great Lakes," Dee replied. "All those fancy interiors
you saw in the movie Titanic wouldn't work here. Wooden decks and
walls are against Coast Guard regulations. Fire hazard, you see."
"It's still pretty nice,"
said one of the cameramen. "Bet you couldn't build a ship like this today
without spending a small fortune. Man, look at that bar!"
They'd returned to the dance
lounge, gathering before its focal point: a vintage Art Deco black-and-silver
bar shaped like a crescent moon.
"We've restored the Taliesen
to what she would've looked like during her heyday, which is why the passenger
areas have an Art Deco Modern appearance," Dee explained, her eyes shining.
"I compared paint chips and fabric swatches myself, and hired a company
to reproduce the original furniture designed by Warren McArthur. I spared
no expense for authenticity. Of course, we've had to make changes to bring
the ship up to modern safety standards. I've also modified the crew and
officer quarters and converted one car deck to another berth deck. But
otherwise, the Taliesen is largely unchanged. She's not only a working
ship, she's also a museum."
That spawned yet another
discussion on economics and the shipping industry as the group trooped
back up to the pilothouse, where Lucas sought out Jardine again. She stood
at the back of the room, stifling a yawn.
With her attention elsewhere,
he let his gaze linger. A full mouth complemented her exotic slanted eyes,
olive-tinted skin, and dark hair, which she wore much shorter than he remembered.
She looked indecently good in the practical shirt and trousers of her uniform -- as
well as natural. She carried herself with a confidence that said she'd
found her place in the world.
Lucas felt a small, sharp
twinge of regret that he couldn't claim the same thing.
His perusal moved upward,
following the curves of a body no uniform could disguise -- and met Jardine's
eyes. He didn't look away. What did she see when she looked at him?
He had a pretty good idea,
since her attitude spelled it out -- and he'd hardly expected otherwise. As
she'd avoided being alone with him over the past weeks, his hopes had faded
that they could ever put the McKee -- and her brother's death -- behind
them.
"Captain, can you tell these
people about navigation on the Taliesen?"
Glad for the distraction,
Lucas turned to Kowalski. With his back to Jardine, Lucas spent the next
ten minutes explaining basic navigational techniques, until Dee ordered
Jardine to fetch a sextant from the chart room and demonstrate how it worked.
Then Jardine had no choice but to stand close to him in the hot, sweaty
press of humanity crammed into the pilothouse.
The scents of starch and
baby shampoo drifted his way. The sunlight added an auburn tint to her
hair, and its softly polished sheen invited a touch.
Shifting back from her as
much as he could, Lucas clasped his hands behind his back, his fingers
tightening.
"A sextant provides the basis
for all celestial navigation," Jardine said, holding up the instrument.
She didn't look at him, totally oblivious -- thank God -- to his line of thought.
"It measures angles in degrees, minutes, and seconds. The angle between
the star and the horizon is called altitude and -- "
"Isn't that interesting,"
interrupted Ms. Red Suit. "But what I'd really like to know, Ms. Jardine,
is how it feels to work on a ship full of men."
After a short silence, Tessa
put down the sextant on the wheelsman's empty stool. Her arm brushed against
Lucas, since she had no room to move away. "I'm asked that question a lot,
actually. If it helps, think of my work as similar to corporate middle
management. In addition to directing the ship's course on my watch, I handle
the daily paperwork, cargo and inventory, personnel, and resources-management
tasks. It's like an office job, except my office happens to float."
"Oh, I see. So it's like
he's the boss," Red said, pointing a long, painted nail at Lucas, "and
you're his secretary."
"No, that's not what I said."
Jardine's body went stiff beside him. "I carry out the captain's orders,
but I also issue orders and delegate responsibilities to other crew members.
I'm a deck officer, ma'am, not a receptionist."
Red Suit pondered that for
a moment, a faint frown on her face. "But do you ever feel overwhelmed?
Do the men obey you as they would a male officer?"
"We've moved out of the Dark
Ages," Dee cut in smoothly. "Orders are orders, regardless of the officer's
gender."
"So sexual discrimination
isn't ever an issue?" asked Pointer, plainly sensing a potential hot spot.
Now there was a loaded question.
Lucas glanced from Jardine back to Dee, who stood watching him with a small
smile.
"The older generation can
be a little slower to warm up to change," Jardine answered in a carefully
neutral tone. "But most crew members judge me by my abilities, not my gender."
"In addition to Miss Jardine's
comment," Dee said, "I'd like to add that personal relationships are against
Stanhope's company policy."
"Always?" Pointer leaned
forward, bright interest in his eyes. "Didn't you say your chief cook is
married to one of the men in the engine department?"
"Married crew members of
the same rank aren't an issue, but we don't allow relationships between
officers and subordinates."
"What about between officers?"
Red Suit asked. Lucas didn't miss the woman's quick glance down his body
and could almost see her mentally stripping away his uniform. "Captain
Hall, are you married?"
"No, ma'am, I am not."
Beside him, Tessa twitched.
"Miss Jardine, are you?"
"No."
Lucas's gaze shifted briefly
to Jardine's clasped hands, even though he'd already noticed the lack of
a diamond twinkling on her ring finger.
"This isn't relevant," Dee
interrupted, giving the petite reporter a cool look. "Personal relationships
between officers are against policy for the same reason officer and subordinate
relationships aren't allowed -- it's a conflict of interest and complicates
the chain of command. Now, I think we've covered everything we need to
up here. Mr. Kowalski, Miss Jardine, please take our visitors down to the
engine department."
Jardine nodded and motioned
toward the door. "This way, please."
"Are you coming along, Mrs.
Stanhope?" Pointer asked.
She turned and smiled at
Pointer. "I'll wait here with Captain Hall. It'll be a little crowded if
we all go."
When everyone had ducked
through the hatch, Lucas turned and held back his irritation. Whenever
possible -- the inevitable public functions aside -- he avoided being alone with
Dee.
"So," she said once the footsteps
and voices faded away. "I think that went well. How about you?"
Lucas leaned back against
the wheel. "Not bad. The ship looks good. You charmed them, and Kowalski
impressed them with his stories and barrage of statistics."
She walked closer, saturating
the room with the scent of an airy floral perfume. "The business with the
McKee went better than I expected. Tessa did well."
Lucas's inner alarm went
on full alert. Interacting with Dee Stanhope was a little like swimming
through shark-infested waters, so he played dead, letting no emotion show
in his eyes or voice. "Jardine strikes me as the type who always gets the
job done."
Dee moved closer, her body
almost touching his. "You're certain the
McKee incident won't be
a problem between you and Tessa?"
Although he didn't move back,
Lucas glanced out the window bay, tracking an orange forklift lumbering
along the dock, and told Dee what she wanted to hear.
"She's a professional. Whatever
personal gripes she has with me, we'll work through them."
"I expect you will." Dee
rested her hand on his arm, long enough for him to feel the warmth of her
skin, but not long enough to be outright suggestive.
Lucas looked back at her,
catching the faintly amused, assessing look in her eyes.
"This is my baby I'm placing
in your hands. My dream," Dee said softly. "I need my crew to work together,
or I'm going to fail. Do you have any idea how many of those nice, smiling
businessmen out there today would love to see Old Rolly's Folly fall flat
on her face? One mistake is all it'll take, and my investors will pull
out and we all go down."
"I won't make any mistakes."
"I suppose not." Her expression
was thoughtful as she stepped away with a final pat to his shoulder, slender
fingers lingering. "You can't afford to, can you?"
"No," Lucas said, smiling
humorlessly as an inner anger burned. "I can't."
###
Against her expectations,
Tessa enjoyed touring the media through the bowels of the Taliesen
and talking about her favorite subjects. At least she didn't have stand
near Hall any longer, or feel his stare boring through her back.
How convenient, though, that
the Pink Widow had stayed behind alone with him -- especially with the captain's
cabin just off the pilothouse.
"You're frowning." Darryl
Pointer's voice interrupted her thoughts. "Is something wrong?"
"No, I...have a headache,
is all. It's been a long couple of weeks."
Pointer smiled. "And now
you're stuck baby-sitting us. If it helps any, the sacrifice is appreciated."
She still hadn't forgiven
him for his earlier interrogation, but managed to smile back. "Thank you."
"Ms. Jardine, these boiler
things are safe, right?"
Tessa looked over at the
blond, red-suited reporter, who picked her way carefully through clanging
pipes, throbbing hoses, greased gears and shafts, and sweating crewmen
who weren't shy about eyeing her legs or breasts.
They didn't look at Tessa
like that. Or if they did, they were smart enough not to get caught.
"Extremely safe, ma'am. Steam
engines have evolved a long way from the ones that used to blow up the
old paddle wheelers."
The group didn't linger in
the engine room, although there was a moment of aghast fascination as they
watched the firemen demonstrate how a conveyor belt delivered coal to the
boilers, the inferno within glowing red-hot and blasting heat.
"It's like stepping back
in time," Pointer said once they were on deck again. He tugged his tie
loose, and his dark skin gleamed with sweat. "Are you sure that job's legal?
You don't chain those poor guys in there like slaves, do you?"
Kowalski made a dismissive
motion with his hand. "The shift rotates often, four hours on duty, eight
hours off. It's not the classiest job on earth, but without the firemen
and coal tenders, the Taliesen goes nowhere."
"Man, you couldn't pay me
enough to work in there," Pointer said with feeling. "It gives a whole
new meaning to the word sweatshop, you know what I'm saying?"
"Which underscores the crew's
dedication toward making the Taliesen a success," Kowalski said
smoothly. "I believe this wraps up our tour, ladies and gentlemen, so unless
anyone has additional questions, I'll escort you all back to the business
office. We have drinks and a buffet waiting."
No questions followed; just
a murmured "thank you" here and there.
Kowalski nodded. "Good. Miss
Jardine, please let Mrs. Stanhope know we're returning to the dock."
"On my way," Tessa said.
She took her time, enjoying
her first unhurried look at the ship since she'd first arrived in Milwaukee
to begin fitting her out. While she wasn't personally a fan of the industrial
look, it suited the Taliesen. The clean, uncluttered lines and light
colors opened up the ship, and made her look and feel bigger than she really
was.
When Tessa stepped back inside
the pilothouse, she was relieved to see Hall nowhere in sight, although
her boss stood propped elegantly against the magnetic compass, her hips
framed by the compensation spheres.
"I take it the tour is over?"
Dee asked, examining a long, pink fingernail.
In spite of herself, Tessa
couldn't help checking for signs of a quickie -- but not even a single hair
was out of place on Dee's head. And the woman was still standing; a sure
sign nothing had happened in the captain's cabin, unless Lucas Hall had
lost his touch over the years. And that was highly unlikely, seeing as
how nothing else about him had changed.
"Yes, ma'am. Kowalski asked
me to tell you they're heading back to the dock office."
"Good, I'll join them." Dee
looked up. "But first, if you have a minute, I'd like to talk with you
about this thing between you and Captain Hall."
Tessa hesitated, suddenly
uneasy. "I'm sorry, ma'am, but I'm not sure what you mean."
"What else could I mean,
Miss Jardine? I'm referring to the McKee incident, of course." The
Pink Widow cocked her head to one side, her delft blue gaze direct and
discomforting. "You handled the reporter's questions well, thank you. But
I sensed a certain...tension between you and the captain. You assured me
your brother's death wouldn't be an issue. Has that changed?"
Tessa tamped back her rising
temper. What did the woman expect, that she'd blithely forget? As if she
could ever put it behind her, working day after day with Lucas Hall as
a reminder.
"I can keep my professional
and personal feelings separate."
Dee smiled. "You're my kind
of woman, Miss Jardine. So dedicated and ambitious."
Coming from anybody else,
it might've been a compliment. But with Dee Stanhope, Tessa didn't know
what to make of it.
After a brief silence, Dee
said, "Have I ever told you how much I admire your willingness to give
up a traditional lifestyle in order to pursue your dream?"
Where the hell was this heading?
"No, but thank you."
"I chose the more time-honored
route to my own dreams."
Right -- as if marrying a rich
old man could be called "time-honored" in this day and age.
"Some people don't approve
of how I did it." Dee smiled, as if she'd read Tessa's thoughts. "But Rolly
understood my needs, even if he wasn't the most enlightened man. If he
were still alive today, you never would've been hired as first mate."
"I know that, ma'am." With
an effort Tessa kept her voice cool, even as she realized where this was
heading.
"And you know how important
it is to me that the Taliesen is a success, Miss Jardine. I'm taking
quite a chance on you."
"Yes, and I am grateful,
ma'am."
"Then I trust you won't disappoint
me."
"I won't."
"Good. Now, one more thing,"
Dee said, stepping away from the compass. "Forgive my bluntness, but you're
an attractive woman, and I feel a need to remind you that a relationship
with a fellow officer is, really and truly, against the rules."
The unspoken implication -- and
threat -- hung between them. Tessa hadn't gotten this far in her career by
acting like a doormat, and if she'd harbored even an iota of interest in
Lucas Hall, she might've argued with Dee.
But she only wanted to forget
the man and everything he reminded her of.
"I understand," Tessa said.
"Completely."
"That's what I was hoping
to hear." The Pink Widow smiled again. The woman never seemed to stop smiling.
"Now, I must be off. One more performance for the media, then we can call
it quits for the day. Let's head back to the office together."
Tessa would rather roll in
hot coals. "Sorry. I have to check in with Lowery on a few things first."
Not true, but it was a good
enough excuse to avoid spending one more minute in this woman's company.
"Very well." Dee walked past,
hips swaying, her silk skirt swish-swishing. At the door, she stopped and
looked back at Tessa. Her smile faded. "I'd be here Friday for the launch
if I could, but there's no way I can miss the Cleveland meeting. Promise
me you'll take good care of my baby."
"As if she were my very own
ship," Tessa said -- and that, at least, was the absolute truth.
After Dee's departure, Tessa
leaned back against the wheel and let out a long, low sigh.
Alright, there'd been an
awkward moment or two today. Still, she and Hall had appeared together
for the first time in public and the world hadn't come to an end. Maybe
if she spent enough time around him she'd build up an immunity to the bad
memories, and working with him wouldn't be so bad. She only had to treat
him as she'd treated all her past captains: "Aye, sir" or "No, sir" or
"Right away, sir."
How hard could it be to look
at him as just another uniform?
Her confidence bolstered,
Tessa headed out of the pilothouse and nearly collided with the short,
squat body of Chief Engineer Amos Lowery.
Maybe the day's bad luck
hadn't quite run out.
"I saw the boss," Lowery
said, his gaze locked on Tessa's breasts. "She said you wanted me. I like
the sound of that."
Once the older man looked
up from her chest, Tessa stared him straight in the eye. "She was wrong.
Now move."
"Hey, Jardine! How come you're
never nice to me?"
Tessa pushed past him. "Bite
me, Lowery. I'm in no mood to put up with you today."
The man's mocking laughter
followed Tessa as she clanged down the ramp, annoyance fueling her forceful
stride, and headed for the small office building off the pier.
Amos Lowery was a card-carrying
member of the good ol' boys club; a man who still believed a woman's work
was carried out in the kitchen or flat on her back.
Too bad Lowery was indispensable.
He was one of the few existing engineers who knew his way intimately around
a steam engine, hardware as outdated as the old man himself.
Really, she should be used
to it by now. Discrimination and sexual harassment, subtle or outright,
was a fact of life for any woman working in shipping. Every year she'd
spent in the business had added another thick layer to her skin -- but some
days, even that wasn't enough.
In the dock office, Dee and
her poster-perfect captain held court in one corner of the room, surrounded
by most of the guests. Everybody else hovered around the food tables.
Tessa's dark mood lightened.
Nothing relieved stress better than a full stomach. Unfortunately, these
days most of what she ate seemed to mutate instantly into fat cells on
her hips.
Several people smiled a greeting
at her, and Tessa grabbed a can of Diet Coke and smiled back. For the next
half hour or so, she didn't have to do anything more taxing than smile,
make small talk, and munch on fussy hors d'oeuvres.
She was contemplating the
number of calories in a dollop of shrimp sauce when Rob Shea, the second
mate, ambled over to join her. He, too, wore his dress uniform, his sandy
hair was neatly combed, and he smelled a bit strongly of cologne. "Hey,
Tess."
"Where were you earlier?"
"Kowalski wanted me to stay
in the office in case any of our guests showed up late."
"You missed all the fun."
Rob shrugged. "Darn."
Tessa's attention shifted
across the room toward the Pink Widow, who was laughing, her blond head
bent close to Hall's. Bothered by the intimacy of the exchange, Tessa looked
away. The small window air conditioner wasn't keeping up with all the body
heat being generated in the room.
"I'd sure like to know how
that woman manages never to sweat," she grumbled.
"She's plastic," Rob said
with a grin, then added, "Your brother won't put in this afternoon. I just
heard the Houghton set out from Gary a day behind schedule."
"Figures." Disappointing,
but pretty much business as usual. She popped the shrimp-topped cracker
into her mouth, her attention drifting across the room once more.
Dee had her hand on Hall's
forearm and then, to Tessa's surprise, she reached up and straightened
his tie.
What a...wifely gesture.
Feeling tired, sweaty, and
hopelessly inelegant in her permanent-press uniform and steel-toed safety
shoes, Tessa made a show of glancing at her watch. Her headache was throbbing
again. "Time for me to head out. See you tomorrow morning at six."
"He sure knows how to land
on his feet."
"Who?" Tessa followed the
direction of Rob's gaze toward Dee Stanhope and Lucas Hall. "Oh. Yeah,
I guess some people are lucky that way."
"You don't like Hall?"
Tessa glanced back at Rob,
noting his arched brow. "What difference does that make? He's the skipper.
You know the routine."
"You're not going to forgive
him about Matt, are you?"
Good old Rob; always blunt
and to the point. They'd been friends since their days at the academy,
and had dated briefly not long ago. Rob knew her too well for her to bluff
him.
"Even if Hall gave that rescue
attempt his best effort, the sister part of me -- " Sudden grief hit her,
still sharp and strong, as if two years hadn't passed since Matt had died.
After a moment, she finished softly, "The sister part will always feel
he should've known better."
Rob frowned. "He made a mistake."
True enough. Unfortunately,
Lucas Hall seemed repeatedly to make his mistakes in her life.
"I worry about bad blood
between you and the skipper. It'll cause nothing but trouble."
Again, Tessa glanced toward
Hall -- and met his gaze head-on. Even from across the room, the intensity
of that look sent a jolt of shock through her. After a moment, he lifted
his plastic punch glass in a mock salute.
Cheeks burning with anger,
Tessa turned back to Rob, but didn't meet his blue eyes as she gave him
a comradely jab to his shoulder. "There won't be any trouble. We're the
ones who have to do all the work. He just has to stand around and look
good."