Born Ready (8 page)

Well, he was hot. There wasn’t any woman that could deny that. Toothy grin, chocolate-colored hair, strong chin, body like a Greek god. Seriously. He was too delicious.

Right, and since when have you ever gone for pretty boys?

There was Jed, but that was a brief descent into craziness that luckily hadn’t lasted long. She’d swiftly come to her senses in regard to Jed. It had been a red-hot romance that sparked quickly and burned out just as speedily. No, if she ever even gave marriage more than a passing thought, she would hook up with a cerebral guy who could keep up with her mentally. None of those tasty morsel guys. They were good enough for a snack, but they wouldn’t do for a banquet.

Her feet left the dock and hit the sand. Fully aware that Scott was still watching her, she started to run, anxious to get away from him, get back to the safety of her apartment.

What is this? Are you scared of him, Jacqueline Birchard? Since when have you been scared of any man other than your father? You don’t kowtow to anyone.

She wasn’t kowtowing to Scott Everly.

No? Why are you running? Why did you obey him?

He was bigger than she was. And stronger. It came down to physics. He was in command because she was a woman.

Oh, that made her madder than ever.

In reality, in the back of her mind where she did not want to admit it, she knew Scott was right. It was sketchy for a young woman to be out in the mangrove channels alone at night. All kinds of peril lurked there. She knew it, but her background seemed to buy her a lot of immunity from trouble. When people found out who her father was, they forgave her anything.

But not Scott.

He was different.

Yes, he was clearly a fan of her old man, but he hadn’t allowed his admiration for her father to cause him to back down from his stance.

You like him.

She did not like him. What she felt for him was the exact opposite of like. She loathed him. She couldn’t stand him. She found him an arrogant, heavy-handed, smart aleck.

Oh, God, I do like him.

Jackie cringed, bound up the steps to her upstairs apartment. She dug in her pocket for the key, unlocked the door, pushed inside. Her heart was pounding with much more than the exertion of running the short distance across the beach.

Nonsense. This was all nonsense and she had to stop it right now. She was so close to having everything she’d worked her entire life to achieve. She would not allow him to derail her career.

No matter how much she might want to take him to bed.

IT WAS ALMOST 10:00 P.M. by the time Scott returned from making sure Jackie got home safely.

He pulled into the driveway at his mother’s house to find her sitting on the front porch drinking a glass of iced tea laced with lime wedges.

“Hello, son,” she greeted him.

“Hi, Mom.”

“Want a glass of iced tea?”

He shook his head. “I’m good.”

“What have you been up to?”

Scott climbed the steps, leaned down to kiss her upturned cheek, and then sank onto the lawn chair beside her.

Palm trees swayed in the night breeze. The windows were open and from inside the house he could hear the old family phonograph playing his mother’s favorite record. Bobby Darin sang, “Beyond the Sea.” It was a song his father used to sing to his mother. The air smelled heavily of gardenia from the bushes planted at the side of the house.

Home.

No matter how far away he strayed, Key West was always in his heart. There was no other place like it on earth.

His mother, still slender and pretty at fifty-five, wore a floral print cotton dress and a pair of beach sandals. She had her hair twisted up on her head and puka beads at her neck. “I thought you were coming by for dinner.”

Chagrin pushed through him. He should have called her, but he’d gotten caught up with investigating Jackie Birchard. “I’m sorry,” he apologized. “Time got away from me.”

“Were you out with your friends?” she asked hopefully.

He shook his head and told her as much as he could about what was going on at Sector Key West.

“I should have known.” A faint smile flickered at her lips. “You’re just like your father.”

Pride puffed his chest. “How’s that?”

“Once a Coastie, always a Coastie.”

“That’s bad?”

She shrugged. “It’s why you didn’t marry Amber. Because she wanted you to stop being who you are.”

He nodded. “For the most part.”

She sighed softly. “I worry about you, son.”

He reached across the space between, briefly squeezed her hand. “Mom, I’m not going to end up like Dad. For the most part, I’m a desk jockey.”

“Once a Coastie, always a Coastie,” she repeated.

“Meaning?”

“You can ride a desk all you want, but your heart is on the ocean.”

She was dead right. He could not argue the point.

“You’re going to have to find a woman as much in love with the sea as you are.”

“Why do I have to find a woman at all?” he asked, thinking—for no reason at all—of Jackie Birchard. Who could love the ocean more than the daughter of a famous oceanographer, more than a woman getting her PhD in marine biology? He remembered how she’d flipped him off and he grinned.

“You don’t want to spend your life alone. Trust me on this.”

“Dad wouldn’t want you to grieve this long,” he said. “Are you dating?”

She shrugged. “Now and again. It’s different when you’re older. When you’ve had the love of your life. No one can ever live up to your father.”

“Maybe they don’t have to. Maybe instead of comparing men to Dad, you could see them for their own attributes.”

“Listen to you. Sounding so grown-up.”

“I am over thirty.”

She pinched his cheek. “You’re still three to me.”

They sat in the dark for a long moment, not talking.

“I met Jack Birchard’s daughter tonight,” he said.

“
The
Jack Birchard?”

“Yep.”

His mother leaned forward. “What’s she like?”

“Spunky.” He told her a little bit about his altercation with Jackie, leaving out the parts a guy wouldn’t want his mother to know.

“She sounds like a real firecracker.” Humor edged his mother’s voice.

“That’s an understatement.”

“Is she single?”

“Most likely. She’s too spiny to be in a relationship for very long.”

“Is she pretty?”

“Mom, don’t start with the matchmaking.”

“Is she pretty?” his mother repeated.

“She’s too skinny. My first thought was that she needed a big bowl of my chicken and dumplings.”

“Your father used to cook for me,” his mother recalled wistfully.

“Pot roast was his specialty.”

“So, is she pretty?”

“Yeah.” He paused. “She’s pretty.”

“Blonde?”

“How do you know?”

“You’ve got a type, son.”

“Am I that easy to read?”

“For a mother, yes. Don’t worry, you put on a good cryptic front for everyone else.”

The conversation made him feel antsy and he wasn’t sure why. “How are Megan’s wedding plans stacking up?”

“You need to go for your tuxedo fitting tomorrow.”

“I know, I know. I’ll do it.”

“Megan’s boss is throwing a belated engagement party for them this weekend.” Megan worked as a dolphin trainer at the Key West aquarium. “Maybe you can bring Miss Birchard.”

“Mom! Seriously?”

“I’m just saying.”

“Geez. I’m not dating Jackie Birchard. Even if she is blonde, she’s not my type. She’s too smart for me for one thing.”

“Oh, she’s a challenge, huh?”

“You know what I mean. She’s working on a PhD.”

“Sometimes it’s the brainy women who really need a down-to-earth man to keep them anchored.”

“You were supposed to say I’m just as smart as she is.”

“You know you’re smart, but books were never your strong suit. You shine at common sense.”

“I made it through college.”

“With a 2.8,” she reminded him.

“English ate my lunch.”

“But you were great at science. Remember when your father brought you that chemistry set for your tenth birthday?”

“And I blew up the doghouse. At least Rex wasn’t in it at the time,” he said, referring to the golden retriever he’d had while growing up.

Shannon laughed and the sound of his mother’s laughter lifted his heart. “You were grounded for a month.”

Scott propped his legs up on the porch railing.

“Does she like you?”

“Who?” he asked, pretending he didn’t know who she was talking about.

“Jackie Birchard.”

“I think the word
hate
was bandied about.”

“There’s a thin line between love and hate.”

“No matchmaking, Mom.”

“I’m sorry,” she apologized. “I just want to see you as happy as Megan.”

“I am happy,” he replied staunchly.

“Are you?”

“Absolutely. I’m doing a job I love.”

“In D.C. Far away from Key West.”

“I’m here now.”

“I want grandchildren. Is that so wrong?”

“Pester Megan and Dave.”

“I want
lots
of grandchildren.”

“I remember when I was sixteen and started dating and you told me that if I made you a grandmother before you were ready that you would—”

“Okay.” She chuckled. “Point taken.” She pantomimed zipping her lip. “I’m shutting up now. Your love life is your own affair, but let me just say, Jackie Birchard sounds like a keeper.”

5

Once a Coastie, always a Coastie.

—Shannon Everly, Coast Guard widow

ON WEDNESDAY, two days after her run-in with Scott Everly, Jackie finally got her equipment working again and was back on track with her research.

Today, she sat at the bar at the Conch Café not far from her apartment. Normally, she did just fine on her own. She had a low need for social contact, but once in a while the apartment got claustrophobic, so she stashed her eight-hundred-page marine biology text and her notes and her charts in a pink tote bag decorated with sand castles and sauntered to the restaurant.

The bartender, who was an irritatingly friendly kid named Tad who was putting himself through the local junior college, let her spread her work out on the far side of the bar and didn’t hassle her to buy drinks. She had a half-full piña colada in front of her, but her entire attention was focused on her work.

Her fingers cramped from all the writing she’d done. She paused to shake out her fingers, surprised to discover the ice in her drink had melted and the sun was sinking low in the sky. It had been two o’clock when she’d walked across the beach, the sand burning hot through the thin soles of her flip-flops.

She had on a simple blue tank-top dress and had her hair pulled back into a ponytail. She wore it that way ninety percent of the time. It was easier. She wasn’t one for getting frequent haircuts, so that left out short hair.