A GREAT CATCH: Chapter Three
Friday morning arrived windy
and warm, with filmy rays of sunshine seeping through a cloudy sky. As
Lucas pulled his Jeep Cherokee into the employee parking lot behind the
Stanhope port office, he could see his ship waiting quietly at anchor.
"This is it," he muttered.
Lucas grabbed his duffel
bag as he got out of the car. He rubbed his damp palms against his dark
blue trousers and made his way toward the Taliesen, thinking the
refitted passenger steamer looked as out of place amid the bulky commercial
freighters as he felt.
But she sure was a sight
to behold.
The Taliesen was a
grand old girl, if well past her prime, and there was nothing quite like
a shiny new coat of paint to hide the years of wear and tear.
Unless it was a new uniform.
Thank God for the familiarity of a uniform.
"Morning, Captain!"
Lucas raised an acknowledging
hand at a group of deckhands gathered outside the ramp leading to the ship's
cavernous car deck and cargo bay. They sat on empty dollies, enjoying an
early-morning smoke and coffee from the ship's galley.
"You're here early," an older
man said.
Lucas stopped beside them,
not so much because he wanted to, but because it seemed he should. "I wanted
to check her over one last time."
A young man with shaggy dark
hair dug into the pocket of his gray uniform shirt, then held out a pack
of Camels toward Lucas. The familiarity caught him off guard every time,
even though he knew the hierarchy and code of conduct he'd lived with for
half his life had no place here.
"No thanks," he said. "I
don't smoke."
The man shrugged, tapped
out a cigarette, and lit up. "She'll pass any test you can give her," he
said, puffing with gusto. "The mate's been riding our asses all week. We
got you a fine ship."
Lucas eyed the group. "Has
Jardine been working you hard?"
The men laughed, and someone
muttered: "She can work me hard anytime."
A grinning deckhand turned
to Lucas. "Yes, sir, she sure knows how to crack that whip."
Again, the men laughed. With
a stab of irritation, Lucas registered the sexual innuendo, and almost
warned them against such talk. But Jardine wouldn't appreciate his effort,
and his intervention would undermine her authority more than it would help.
"And where is Jardine?" he
asked instead.
"In the hold, bitchin' out
one of the greenhorns."
"We have a busy day ahead
of us," Lucas said evenly. "I'm sure you all can find work to do."
The smiles faded, and a few
men shoved their hands in the pockets of their trousers or coveralls.
"Yes, sir. We were just finishing
up our break."
With a curt nod, Lucas headed
for the Taliesen's hold. Behind him, a low voice murmured, "Stuck-up
bastard, ain't he?"
He could've turned and barked
out a stinging rebuke, but a man didn't wear these captain's stripes unless
he'd earned the right to do so, and that meant projecting a façade
of control and confidence. Whether he felt it or not.
No mistakes, he reminded
himself.
The metal ramp clanged as
he strode into the car deck, refusing to let his stiff leg slow him down.
The place smelled of decades-old layers of oil and grime no amount of paint
could disguise.
Although still mostly empty,
the hold would soon be packed with not only passenger's vehicles, but cargo.
Dee Stanhope, nobody's fool, refused to rely solely on passenger profits.
Once in the hold, Lucas didn't
have to look for his mate -- he could hear her. For a moment, the sound of
her voice wrapped around him, uncomfortably intimate in the dim light.
Her raspy, low voice perfectly matched her sultry looks. The first time
he'd met her in that noisy Traverse City college bar, her voice and challenging,
frank stare had sent a jolt of hot lust straight through him.
"You're name's Marshall,
right?" that same voice was demanding; still alluring, still a siren's
call to something bone-deep within him.
"Andy Marshall, yes, sir...I-I
mean, ma'am."
A brief silence. "Are you
nervous, Marshall?"
"Some, yeah. It's my first
time out."
Lucas moved forward quietly
until he could see the two of them. The "greenhorn" under fire, blond and
wiry, couldn't have been much more than eighteen or nineteen. He stood
stiffly in front of Jardine, who sat perched on a crate, clipboard resting
across her lap. She wore a thin-lipped look of annoyance.
Poor kid.
"Marshall, do you understand
what 'in trim' means?"
"Yes, ma'am. It's, like,
about balance?"
"Right. And if the ship is
out of trim, it's what?"
"Listing," the kid answered
firmly.
"Excellent, Mr. Marshall.
Now, keeping that in mind, please explain why you've arranged all twelve
tractors back there" -- she jerked a thumb over her shoulder toward Lucas,
but didn't turn -- "against the starboard hold?"
"Because Mr. Sherman told
me to?"
Jardine sighed. "And you
didn't think it was strange?"
The kid shifted uneasily.
"I didn't want to look stupid, or bother the officers with too many questions."
"Mr. Marshall, my officers
and I don't consider questions stupid. Answering questions is part of our
job. I like questions. I like a trim ship and a happy captain. Okay?"
"I'll ask next time."
"Good. Right now, move six
tractors to port. We have a lot full of cars and trucks to load according
to point of departure, and that doesn't include the cargo and other vehicles
we'll be picking up in Chicago. It's going to be tight in here."
"I'll get right on it, Miss
Jardine." The kid headed for the tractors, where Lucas stood watching the
exchange.
"Hey, Marshall," Jardine
called.
When he saw Lucas, the young
deckhand froze, the panicky expression on his face as readable as a neon
sign: what to do first, answer the mate or acknowledge the captain?
"Hi, sir." The kid almost
saluted, but stopped himself. "Yes, ma'am?"
Jardine twisted around, a
frown creasing her brow when she saw Lucas. Her gaze cut toward Marshall,
softening a fraction. "There's a lot to remember at first about working
on board ship, but you're doing fine. Go take a break. You've earned one."
The kid bobbed his head.
"Yes, ma'am."
Lucas waited until the sound
of Marshall's footsteps faded away before walking toward Jardine. The dim
lighting left her face half-shadowed -- but the shadows gentled the fierce
thrust of her chin and unwavering stare, and added a graceful flair to
the straight back and wary tension of her muscles.
Still 200 percent female,
no matter how hard she tried to hide it or deny it.
Damn; here he was, alone
with her for the first time in two weeks, and instead of trying to talk
to her and face this anger between them, he was checking out her curves.
The silence stretched on
for several awkward seconds before Lucas cleared his throat, the sound
echoing loudly. "You handled that well."
"Thank you."
Silence fell again. She slowly
came to her feet, holding the clipboard against her breasts as if it were
a shield.
"I've been watching Marshall.
He's a hard worker and smart, which is why some of the guys are playing
pranks on him." She hesitated, then met his eyes squarely, and asked, "Is
there something you need from me?"
Plenty; but nothing you'd
willingly give me ever again.
He took a quick, sharp breath.
Where the hell had that thought come from? "I'm doing a final walk-through
on the ship."
"She's ready. I've gone over
every square inch of the Taliesen myself."
If she got any stiffer, she'd
shatter on the next puff of breeze.
"I'm sure you have," he answered
mildly as he moved closer. "But this is my ship, and the safety of every
single one of her passengers and crew is my responsibility. It's not that
I don't trust you, but I still intend to look her over myself."
Jardine's chin inched higher -- but
she didn't back away. "You're one of those hands-on kind of captains, huh?"
"I've always been a hands-on
kind of guy." He held her proud, angry gaze, and added softly, "Remember?"
Her eyes darkened, and a
flush stained her cheeks.
He instantly regretted his
words, but the hostility radiating from this serious, straight-backed company
robot, who wasn't anything like the woman he remembered, kept tripping
up his good intentions.
"Look," he said, suddenly
weary of the games, the guilt, "let's cut through the bullshit. I know
you've got problems with me. Which one am I dealing with here: that I walked
out on you years ago, or that I sent your brother to the bottom of Lake
Michigan?"
She flinched, and grief briefly
shadowed her eyes before she fixed him with a steely stare. "All of it.
I've always been an all-or-nothing kind of gal. Remember?"
At her mocking reply, his
muscles went taut as sharp desire curled deep in his belly. The tension
thickened between them until he could almost taste it.
"Tessa." He touched her stiff
shoulder before he could stop himself, and she recoiled immediately. He
drew his hand back. "Walk the ship with me. We need to talk."
She shook her head, backing
away with the clipboard crushed to her chest. "I've got too much work here
to do."
As if on cue, the echo of
male voices sounded nearby -- no doubt the deckhands, returning to work as
he'd ordered. Frustrated, Lucas glared over his shoulder, but couldn't
very well order them back outside.
He turned back in time to
catch a look of relief cross Jardine's face. "Get Shea to handle the cargo."
"I'd rather not. Unless that's
an order, sir?"
The deckhands shuffled to
a stop, watching the exchange with curious expressions.
He had the authority to force
her to go with him, but doing so held no appeal -- and not only because he
didn't want to give the crew something to gossip about. Years of rising
through the ranks had taught him to pick his battles.
"It's not an order, only
a request." He waited a moment longer, in case she changed her mind. When
she didn't, he added tersely, "Carry on. I'll see you topside in an hour."
"Yes, sir," Jardine said,
her tone subdued.
He gave a brief nod to the
staring deckhands, then climbed the narrow, steep ladder up to the salon
deck.
Somehow they'd have to get
beyond it all, and for the next week, as they circled Lake Michigan, he'd
give her a chance. If she still hadn't come around by the time he docked
the Taliesen at Milwaukee again, he'd pin her down for a talk. Without
revealing more than he had to, he'd let Tessa Jardine know in no uncertain
terms that he needed this ship as much as she did -- maybe even more so -- and
he wouldn't put up with her hostility.
Lucas leaned back against
the railing and breathed in deeply. The morning air smelled fresh and new,
and the strong wind -- southeasterly, about eighteen to twenty knots -- felt
cool against his face after the stifling heat of the hold.
He'd be sailing the ship
through a few six-foot waves. It wasn't what he'd wanted for the old girl's
launch, not with a green crew and 400 passengers, most of whom had probably
seen the movie Titanic a half dozen times apiece.
He walked down the starboard
deck, running a hand along the bottom of the lifeboats secured above him,
all freshly painted blaze orange. Neat rows of life vests hung from the
lines strung through metal eyelets on the overhead -- just as they had when
she'd sailed in her heyday, over fifty years ago.
The ship lay quiet, except
for the low thrum of the banked engine and an occasional shout from a deckhand.
Standing back against the rail again, he ran his gaze from the smokestack
to the mast and pilothouse. Colorful ensigns, strung along the mast, snapped
and billowed in the wind.
The ever-present knot in
his belly twisted tighter, but he paid it no mind and headed below deck
to the engine room. Ducking through the low hatch, he found the hot, cramped
areas in turmoil. Chief Engineer Amos Lowery stood yelling at his engineers,
mechanics, oilers, wipers, and firemen, sending them scurrying along the
deck and catwalks.
"Is there a problem?" Lucas
asked, pitching his voice above the noise.
The chief -- a crusty old-timer
who made no secret of his contempt for the Coast Guard and its officers,
retired or otherwise -- barely glanced his way. "Nope. Just a bunch of lazy
asses thinking they can stand around all day drinking coffee and eating
donuts. Shea called. The coal truck's here. We got work to do."
Which meant it was time to
start boarding passengers.
Unneeded in the engine room -- and
unwelcome -- Lucas circled back through the two bustling cabin decks. He returned
the shy smiles of the housekeepers as they moved between staterooms, checking
to make sure the beds were neatly made and all the amenities in place.
He stopped in the aft galley for a cup of coffee and a jelly donut as the
cooks and stewards rushed around him in a chaos of last-minute preparations.
He sniffed the air, and his stomach growled, loudly.
"Smells good," he called
over to the chief cook.
"You want me to make you
breakfast?" she yelled back, beaming, her rounds cheeks shiny with perspiration.
"Eggs or bacon? Pancakes?"
Lucas shook his head, holding
up his cup and donut. "I'm all set, thanks."
After leaving the galley,
he walked along the narrow corridor between staterooms, trailing his fingertips
along the bulkhead, feeling the pulse of his ship and listening to the
language of her creaks and groans as she rocked at anchor.
The beeping of his pager
cut across his satisfied perusal. He glanced at the number, pulled out
his cell phone, and dialed the dock office.
"Hall here," he said.
"Miss Jardine has cleared
the ship for boarding, sir. We're waiting your word."
"Go ahead. I'm giving the
salon deck a quick inspection, then I'll head for the pilothouse."
Lucas slipped the phone back
in his jacket pocket and made his way through the main lounge and cafeteria
and went topside to the salon deck.
Outside, all the chaise lounges
were neatly stacked. Inside, the raised dance floor, cordoned off by a
white railing decorated with cast-iron seashells, awaited its first dancers.
Under overhead spotlights, the bar's curving bands of silvery chrome gleamed
against contrasting black laminate.
Lucas almost expected to
see Humphrey Bogart belly up to it and order a whiskey on the rocks. The
bartenders -- two college boys on summer break wearing white shirts and black
trousers and vests -- laughed as they polished and stacked glasses.
When the bartenders saw him,
their joking stopped, replaced with a wary, respectful silence.
Lucas hesitated, and in an
attempt to put them at ease, he asked, "Everything ready to go?"
"Yes, sir," quickly answered
the tall blond. "This is the best-stocked bar I've ever worked. We've got
everything from raspberry ale to Jack D, just like Mrs. Stanhope wanted."
With a nod, Lucas headed
out on deck again. Once there, he watched passengers thread their way up
the ramp and onto the main cabin deck, where Chief Purser Jerry Jackson
and his team would be greeting passengers, collecting tickets, and dispensing
instructions with cheerful efficiency.
Lucas ducked through the
hatchway leading to the pilothouse. He took the steep, narrow steps two
at a time, slowing only when he saw a familiar figure waiting for him.
For an instant, as their
gazes met, he had a crazy need to find out if her lips were still as soft
as they looked, and if she still made those little sighing sounds when
kissing.
"I was wondering when you'd
show up," Jardine said, those full, kissable lips pursed. "It's almost
time to get under way."
He stepped closer until his
body almost touched hers. She went very still, eyes widening in alarm.
He held her gaze for a moment longer in a silent warning, then brushed
past her without a response.
Wheelsman Kip McNulty came
to his feet. Second Mate Rob Shea turned from the radar and nodded a greeting.
As they watched him, bodies taut and eyes bright, Lucas sensed a charge
of expectancy in the air; excitement mingled with launch-day jitters.
"We'd better fire up the
boilers," he said. Taking hold of the engine telegraph's handle, he swung
it briskly and set the telegraph at STAND BY. A moment later the engine
room rang back, signaling it had received the order. Within minutes, the
ship's pulse accelerated and the thrumming grew louder.
Lucas turned toward Tessa.
"Are we ready for cast off?"
"The anchor detail's on standby.
Rob just got word the last passenger is on board. We're ready on your order."
She added stiffly, "Sir."
Lucas caught Shea's raised
brow before he turned away and radioed a warning to the engine room that
he was starting the motor generator setup. To Tessa, he said, "Weigh anchor
and cast off all lines."
"Weigh anchor, aye."
He faced the wide window
bay, and moments later the ship started to vibrate beneath his feet. The
lights dimmed and flickered as the windlass strained to raise its huge
anchor.
Hundreds of spectators had
braved the heat to give the Taliesen a proper send-off. They lined
the dock, service roads, parking lots -- even the walkway of the breakwater.
The passengers crowding the railings smiled and waved.
The ship shuddered a final
time, and a loud, metallic clang reverberated through the ship,
signaling that the anchor was stowed.
"The watchman's on board,"
Jardine said from behind him. "All the mooring lines are in."
Grasping the steam whistle
toggle above him, Lucas gave it a firm yank. The deafening blast reverberated
over land and water. Babies and toddlers burst into tears, children clapped
their hands over their ears, and adults cheered and waved.
"Time to take this old girl
for a ride," he said. "Let's see what she's still got."
Lucas let off the whistle,
and as a rush of anticipation and pure exhilaration swept over him, he
looked at Jardine -- and caught an answering gleam of excitement in her eyes,
a faint hint of color on her cheeks.
"Mr. McNulty, I'll steer
her out of port myself."
McNulty stepped silently
away as Lucas set the telegraph at ASTERN SLOW. The bow thrusters slowly
eased the ship away from the dock. As he swung the wheel, its smooth wood
vibrated from the powerful thrum of the engine and the responding tension
of her rudder.
"Atta girl," he crooned.
God, it was good to feel
a deck pushing beneath his feet again. All the whispering doubts and fears
slipped away as the Taliesen slipped from her berth, her bow swinging
toward open water. He ordered the engine AHEAD SLOW.
Now the passengers and spectators
along the breakwater waved in earnest. Even the deckhands and officers
from nearby freighters and tugs hailed the Taliesen as she steamed
past, escorted by a Coast Guard utility boat.
Lucas checked the compass,
and rudder and wind gauges. Outside, a noisy chorus of gulls contended
with the low roar of the wind and waves, and he glimpsed the splash of
foamy white spray as the Taliesen's bow sliced through the water.
It was the most beautiful
sight in the world, one he thought he'd never see again. And as the Taliesen
began to ride the waves, something deep within him suddenly loosened.
The laugh broke free before
he even knew it was coming. Shea let out an answering whoop, punching his
fist into the air in a victory salute, and McNulty stood grinning from
ear to ear.
At the radar, Tessa turned.
For a moment, nothing else
registered: not the live feel of the ship in his hands, not the beckoning
blue horizon, or even the faces and voices of his crew around him. Only
her eyes, and within them the spark of some deep emotion he couldn't quite
read.
Lucas looked away and sounded
the master's salute on the whistle -- one long blast, followed by two short
ones. On cue, the Coast Guard boat let loose with the ceremonial water
cannon, directing a playful spray of water from their firehose up toward
the huge bow of the Taliesen.
"Looks like an ant spitting
at an elephant," Lucas said, grinning.
He glanced Tessa's way again -- and
this time a wide, gamine smile illuminated her face. Dazzled, he didn't
remember where he was for several seconds -- or what he should be doing. He
forced himself to look away and focus instead on the wide blue horizon
opening before him.