Course of the Heart (5 page)

She spoke to him, something about her needing to get away from him so he wouldn’t continue to be in danger, and how she could make it back to that bus stop and be out of Drew’s life. He shook his head at her words, but soon found he couldn’t follow them, as if they had fallen into a well . . . down . . . down.

The last thing he remembered was her covering him with a light blanket.

Samantha managed to get small amounts of water down Drew during the night, although he fought her. His skin grew hotter and by daylight he was racked with chills. She struggled to move him enough to get a clean dry sheet under him and found blankets in a locker, with which she covered him. The storm front they had passed through on the way across the Gulf caught up after sun-up, and the rain hammered the cabin bulkhead. The boat shifted and moaned with the heavy gusts. She walked the entire cabin to make sure water wasn’t coming in from anywhere. The air in the cabin was rapidly cooling as the front passed through.

He woke and mumbled about a pump, and pointed to the instrument panel near the radio. She located a toggle switch labeled Bilge Pump and flipped it to the on position. She heard the motor whine and then water splashing against the hull of the boat. Within minutes the hum of the bilge pump motor changed pitch and she could no longer hear the water splashing. She flipped the switch to the off position, and made a mental note to repeat the procedure later on.

As she sat across from where he lay she began to feel the fear that had been creeping into her body all night. Every sound from the wind and rain made her flinch. Could Brad find them? She shuddered to think that if he were able to locate them, she could provide little resistance. She stood over Drew for a moment, adjusting the blankets as his body racked with shivers. His skin remained hot. With each dressing change the area around the gash on his arm became more swollen and red, defiant to liberal applications of antibiotic cream.

She hurried to the master head and rummaged through a locker, finding nothing that might help reduce the fever. For the next twenty minutes she scoured through every locker she could find until she happened across a plastic bag with a few medicine bottles. She found what she was looking for and hurried back to him.

The thermometer registered over 103. Panic took hold and her heart began to race. She had to do something. She had never felt so helpless. She shook three gel tablets from an ibuprofen bottle into her hand, along with a large antibiotic capsule from a sample box. She filled a cup with fresh water and lifted Drew’s head. In his delirium, his arms flailed out and caught her across her face, making a direct hit to her sore eye. Shooting stars filled her vision and for a moment she thought she might faint. The ibuprofen and antibiotic, along with the cup of water spilled across the deck and were lost in the dim light of the cabin.

The wind picked up and the boat pitched and rolled. He sat up, wild eyed and mumbling. She took his arm and gently pushed him back down onto the berth. He offered little resistance. With a flashlight she located the spilled medicine and filled the cup once again with water. After calming whispers and great effort she managed to get the medicine down him. His eyes opened for a moment and once again he attempted to sit up. Samantha pushed him down again, but he frowned and pushed her away.

“Pee.” His face showed the desperation.

She was immediately uncomfortable.

“It’s okay,” he said, looking toward the master head. “I can make it.”

She stood and placed his arm around her shoulder as he swung his feet over the side of the settee. A rack of shivers hit him and his teeth chattered in the cold air of the cabin. He fought to steady himself on wobbly legs and took a few steps toward the head. As she inched toward the head with him, his legs gave way. He teetered toward her and fell onto the cabin floor, squarely on top of her.

The impact knocked the air from her lungs. She lay for a moment on the cabin floor as the boat continued to pitch and roll. His masculine scent permeated her nostrils as she fought for air. For a fleeting moment she found the feeling of his hard body on top of her erotic. He soon shifted and rolled off her as he regained consciousness.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, lying flat on the hard floor of the cabin. He shivered violently. “Guess I’m pretty weak.”

“It’s all right.” Her senses and breathing returned to normal. “Just lie there for a moment.”

But he had already begun pulling himself onto the settee. Once on the cushion again, he covered himself quickly with the blankets and looked urgently toward the head.

“Wait here.” She located a large empty plastic jar and returned as he lay shivering.

“I’m sorry to be such a problem. But if I don’t get to relieve myself soon . . .”

“Here.” She held the jar out as she approached him, handing it to him.

He struggled to sit up. “Jeez, I’m shaking like a leaf. Do you mind going topside, so I—”

“Of course.” She couldn’t hide the smile that crept across her face, but it soon faded as she climbed up the ladder. His vulnerability had caught her by surprise. She had expected something else, an arrogance that would support his reputation. Instead her heart went out to him, and for a moment she realized that he might not be the womanizing monster other had suggested.

Or was this part of his plan?

Chapter 4

The last two days were a blur. The only clear memory was how Samantha had been so attentive in caring for him. She’d been kind and gentle all during his infection.

His strength was coming back slowly. The cut was beginning to heal and most of the soreness was gone. Although he had returned to duty, she’d insisted on helping him rig and ready to sail. Returning to Islamorada was out, so the course was set to take them through the Straits of Florida, dead on course for the next stop at Andros, Bahamas. He patched the radio through to the estate attorney in Fairhope. The conversation quickly went downhill.

“I have my reasons for not making the stop at Islamorada,” Drew said, speaking into the radio transmitter.

“This is very irregular, Mr. Richey,” came the tinny voice through the speaker in the main cabin. “We like to follow the instructions of the deceased to the letter–it’s a matter of legality. You understand.”

“Yes, I understand,” he said impatiently. “But as I clearly stated, I am unable to go to the bank at Islamorada. So would you please arrange for that money to be available at the bank on Andros? We . . . I should be arriving in the Bahamas in about three days.”

“Very well, Mr. Richey,” he said in a patronizing tone. “If I might be so bold as to ask, is this because the Islamorada installment is from a branch of the First State Bank? It is my understanding that this bank holds the Note on the boat.”

He had given little thought to the bank that held the Note on the boat, or the fact that his father had co-signed the loan. The arrangement was made in an attempt to teach Drew the value of financing, since it had been him who wanted the boat to start with. Drew had gotten notices from the bank concerning payments due, but he had not mentioned it to his father. Apparently he had stopped making the payments, as Drew got closer to graduating from law school.
Thanks for the heads up, pop.

“What does that have to do with my stopping to get money bequeathed by the Will?” He was trying hard to hold on to the last bit of patience he could muster. He turned his back and lowered the volume as Sam descended the steps into the main cabin. She abruptly did an about face, back onto the deck.

“Mr. Richey, my inquiry is for your benefit and information. It is out of courtesy that I tell you that your bank has contacted this office in an attempt to attach a lien to your assets.”

“They can do that? Besides, I don’t see how the loan could be in default. My father insisted on co-signing the loan and has been making the payments.” A little lie and playing innocent couldn’t hurt.

“Well, I’m sorry, but they can and according to the letter we received, the loan is most definitely in default. To put a lien on the property is perfectly within their rights. According to the letter, your boat has been stolen.”

His anger rose. How could his father stoop so low?

“So, they could take over the funds that I’m due from the Will?”

“Exactly, however this process can take several weeks. May I inquire how much remains on the Note?”

“Quite a lot,” he said, glancing up the hatch toward the deck. Sam was nowhere to be found. “I still owe a lot on the boat. A good hunk of change.”

“As I said, Mr. Richey, this is a courtesy call to let you know what’s going on. I suggest you contact the bank, or your father, and let them know your plans to pay the Note off once you get the final settlement from the estate. That
is
your plan, is it not, Mr. Richey?”

“Of course, it’s my plan.” He was pacing now. “What can I do to stop this action?”

“As I said, you can call the bank and make other arrangements for payment of the debt.”

“I’ll do that.” He reached for a pen and paper and resolved to make the call first chance he got. “Do you mind giving me a number I might reach them? I’m out in the middle of the Gulf Stream, not a phone booth in sight.”

The trustee gave him the number and finally agreed to have funds available both at Andros and Great Exuma. Even with good winds, it might take nearly a week to get to the money, and it was becoming obvious to Drew that they would have to use provisions wisely to make it.

He joined Samantha in the cockpit, set bearings for an east–southeast course, tied the wheel off, and sat down hard on the port settee.

She left for a minute and soon emerged from below, a beer and bottled water in hand. After he took the beer, she must have thought he needed to be alone and turned right back around and went below under the pretense of cleaning the cabins.

After a short while, she rejoined him, glazed in sweat from her work. He had to admit she had been a workhorse, always cleaning, always looking to tidy her stateroom, the heads, the main cabin and deck.

The morning sun appeared above water in front of them. The fresh sunlight bathed her dark olive skin.

“I put us about two days from Andros, and another two days to Great Exuma.”

She sat on the starboard settee, her shades glistening in the early sunlight. “Do we have enough provisions to make it to Andros?”

Apparently she had heard more of the conversation than he had thought, or perhaps she had the uncanny ability to read his mind. She seemed to know what he was thinking. “It might be tight. We might want to use seawater to bathe and conserve what fresh water we have for drinking and cooking. I think we have enough canned goods to ride us through, if you don’t mind eating a lot of tuna and beans. I have fishing gear we can set out. Who knows, we might even catch something we can eat.”

She smiled, sending a strange feeling to his stomach. She had one sexy smile.

“Will there be a store for provisions at Andros?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t mean to pry, but if it’s a matter of money, I would be happy to contribute. I couldn’t help but overhear. I don’t have a lot, but what I have is yours—I mean until you can get to that bank. After all, I’m small, but you might have noticed I have a healthy appetite.”

He grinned. “Thanks, but I’d rather you save your money for travel expenses. It’s going to cost you more to get wherever it is you want to go now. Not many bus lines in the Gulf Stream islands.”

She looked down and smiled. He decided to wait her silence out. In a few moments, she took a deep breath and looked at him.

“Can we talk about that?”

“About what?” His expression must have given his uncertainty away. She appeared to want to speak, but remained mute. “This is about Brad, right?”

She nodded. “You don’t know him, Drew. He won’t stop until he tracks me down. He’s not stupid. He’ll figure out our course, and you can be sure he will have all our possible ports of call staked out. He has a lot of friends in a lot of different places. Contacts he’s made over the years in his business.”

“His business?” Drew leaned forward. “Why do I have the feeling you’re not telling me everything?”

She placed her head in her hands and rubbed her face. “He’s a former cop who now has a private investigation company.”

He stood, winched in the mail sail and tightened the jib as the wind softened. He shoved the winch handle into the pouch a little harder than he intended.

“I think my chances are better in getting away from him if I fly out of bigger airports, like the ones that feed San Juan from St. Thomas or St. Croix. I think I’m a sitting duck if I try to catch a commuter from the smaller islands of the Bahamas.” She leaned forward and touched his arm. “I’ll pay you, Drew. Please. I can be a big help along the way. I’ll pull my weight and pay my own way. And if he shows up again, I’ll walk away with him before I’ll let him hurt you again. Believe me, I’ve thought a lot about this, and I don’t want to put you in any more danger. You’ve done well in standing up to him, but I don’t want to push that luck.”

He busied himself trimming the sails, mulling over all she’d said, knowing he’d never let her leave with that asshole.

“Look,” she continued, “I don’t know why you left Fairhope and what your business is with the banks, and I know it’s none of my business. But whatever you’re doing, I feel like you could use help. Well, as long as you’re not breaking any laws . . .”

He studied her for a long moment. “Can you take the helm for a minute?”

She stood and took the wheel, as he went below. He made his way back to his stateroom and opened a clothes locker, pulling the urn box out onto his berth. Opening the box he removed the urn and made his way back to the cockpit. As he stepped up the ladder and walked into the cockpit, her eyes landed on the urn. Her mouth flew open.

“Why do you have Janet’s urn?” Her question was little more than a whisper.

“Do you know about the Will?”

“What Will?”

“Janet’s Last Will and Testament.”

“I don’t know anything about her Will. I attended her funeral and just recognized the daisy design on the urn. It was her favorite flowers.”

“You attended her funeral?”

“Yes,” she scoffed, then tears formed in her eyes. “That’s how it works. You go to your best friend’s funeral.”

He opened his mouth, but could find no words.

She was silent while he anchored
Sail Out
into a tight inlet several miles west of Andros. The small island provided shelter from the wind, and was far enough from the main island to avoid being seen.

She had listened to his story concerning her best friend’s ashes, and found it strange that he was included in a Will of a girl he hardly knew. She thought it insensitive of him to refer to the woman she had known as her best friend all her life so casually. How calloused could he be? To him, Janet was little more than a paycheck.

The night was bright with a three-quarters moon, as she brought food onto the deck. Drew was under the boat, inspecting the sensor for the knot meter, which had stopped working during the day. As she set the table with silverware, glasses, and candles to add light to the darkness, he surfaced near the stern and flopped snorkel gear on the transom. She stood at the stern with a cold beer as he pulled himself up and removed his fins.

She had an urge to pour it over his head.

This was the guy her friend had always wanted her to meet? She thought back to the many times Janet had urged her to come along for a sail with others on his party boat. Janet had always been one who lacked self-confidence. Maybe she thought if she got Sam on the boat with her, that Drew would be more approachable? Had Janet wanted her there for moral support, or had she thought Sam would be a better match for Drew? Either way, she had been wrong—Drew was simply not her type. Was he? She had habitually said no to Janet’s invitation, primarily because she had always thought Drew was a rich playboy snob.

“Thought this might taste good right now.” She stooped and handed him the bottle.

“Yes, thank you.” He raked his hair over the crown of his head. He switched the marine flashlight off and placed it in the cockpit, leaving them in the moonlight. The light glistened across his shoulders and reflected off the calm waters of the inlet. The breeze had died and the water was glassy, giving a perfect reflection of the moon, as it rose in the east. “Think I found the problem on the sensor. Should be fine now.”

“Dinner’s ready whenever you are,” she said coldly, ignoring the burning feeling in her stomach as he stood in the moonlight. Was there any situation where he didn’t look God-like? “If you’d like to shower off first . . .”

“Did I say something to make you mad?”

She swallowed hard and looked away. “No, why do you ask?”

“You seem different since you saw the urn.”

“No, I’m fine.” She turned away. “Dinner will be ready in a minute.”

“Let me dry off and I’m ready.” He dabbed the towel on his arms and chest. Reaching over to the wheel, he skinned into his T-shirt, glancing at the table as he smoothed the shirt. “Wow. That looks very nice.”

She could see his white teeth in the moonlight. “If all of this is to convince me to let you stay, I have to say it isn’t necessary.”

She hadn’t even thought about the implication of the candlelight dinner and considered responding, assuring him that was not her intention, when he placed his finger over her lips, holding her arm with his other hand. With his touch came a certain calm and for a moment she wondered why she had been so perturbed with him.

“Samantha, there’s no way I am going to turn you over to that monster. And if I were to hurry you off this boat first chance I have, that’s exactly what I would be doing.” He let go of her arm and turned toward the table. She found it hard to breathe. Was it from the relief she had felt from his words, or from the strength of his touch? Was it the taste of salt from his finger, the warm feel of his hand as he gently took her arm? Her heart pounded; her legs were weak.

“You okay?”

She jerked her head around to face him, feeling uncomfortable as her body continued to respond to his touch. Once again she thought of Janet and her attempts to get her and Drew together. Had Janet seen something in Drew she hadn’t?

“Yes . . . yes. I’m . . . fine. Let me get the food.”

Conversation was sparse during the meal. He seemed distracted, although whatever was bothering him didn’t appear to slow down his appetite. He leaned back in the chair and sighed.

“That was absolutely delicious. You’ve worked miracles with what you had to cook with. Thank you.”

“My pleasure.” She stood to clear the table.

“No, please.” He reached across for her hand. “Let me, you’ve earned a rest. Why don’t you relax while I take care of this?”

While he rinsed the dishes from the transom, she made coffee. All the while she struggled with her conscious. As he returned the soap and dishes to the galley, she stepped up onto the deck once again with the coffee. Although she gave him room to join her on the port settee, he sat across from her after taking his coffee.

“Thanks.” The boat shifted slightly as the winds picked up and changed direction. The anchor lines creaked. A seagull sang out from across the inlet.