Storms of Passion (3 page)

Vivian nodded. “I think so, yes.”

“Be honest with yourself, and know it’s okay to seek your heart’s desire. Do you know what
it
is?”

“Yes.” Vivian nodded again. She was completely mesmerized by the psychic sitting across the table. Madame Rose’s voice had a slight horse tenor of an active, indulgent smoker. She was a woman obvious use to commanding attention, and the theatrical delivery of her
reading
had Vivian riveted to every word. It was as though the psychic was in Vivian’s head reading her innermost reflections. Contemplations Vivian seldom even admitted to herself.

Madame Rose continued. “Money is not your motivator and for that reason you will always have money. Adventure is the key to your success. You want it, you crave it, and it’s right out there waiting for you. Stop trying to be someone you are not.”

Vivian grew scared of the brash lady with the hypnotic black eyes—the only psychic-like feature she owned.

Squeezing Vivian’s hand, Madame Rose stared deep into Vivian’s soul. “If you do not set your heart free, you will wither and die unhappy, and unfulfilled.”

“What a cow!” said Jess after Vivian relayed her fortune to her friends.

“No way,” said Steph. “I didn’t believe a word the turban wearer told me. I thought I got the dud.”

“No.” Marcy shook her head. “No, that will not happen. Don’t give that crazy psychic’s words any consideration. What a crock! Look at you! While we change diapers and attend house chores, you’re free to do whatever you want. That woman definitely read you wrong!”

Chapter Two

As weeks went by and winter thawed to spring, the psychic’s words danced like a mantra in Vivian’s head. Yes, a passionate love was possible. And yes, romance was worth searching—worth waiting for.

“I think a vacation is what you need. How long has it been since you went somewhere nice?” Marcy turned to Vivian as they walked to the park with her children.

“Well, Mark and I went to…”

“In that case, too long, eh?” Marcy interrupted.

“Too long,” Vivian agreed, cuddling Isaac, while Marcy’s oldest son, Jon, bolted like a shot toward the slide.

Who would Vivian go away with? She had never gone on vacation alone. It’s not that she was afraid to travel alone. She just never contemplated going off by herself before. She did lots of things by herself obviously, she was a single woman. Being alone in your own back yard was distinctly different then being single while travelling. Women did it all the time, but could she? The prospect of travelling somewhere foreign just seemed lonely and, to be honest, a little needy, like she would be seeking something. But maybe she was?

She still smarted from the last time she attended one of her mother’s society balls by herself. Vivian hadn’t imagined the stares and the whispered words behind pale manicured hands. Her mother’s upper class friends had treated Vivian as though she was diseased, or in mourning. They talked a little louder, leaning toward her with their head slightly bent in sympathy. She despised their watchful eyes looking upon her with pity at being alone.

****

Mackenzie Blackwell stood at the helm of his full rigged ship, the Navigator, squinting at the setting sun. His large, black Labrador Retriever sat stoically at his side, also appearing to watch the horizon for land. Tiller, the watchman in the masthead, said he spotted land to the west.

From his current position, Mackenzie could not see any sign of land, which they hoped to reach by nightfall. But if he had timed everything correctly, Tiller, the monkey-like youngster should be correct, as they had been pushing for Halifax harbour for the last week to off load their cargo of rum and other contraband.

Mackenzie’s strong tanned features gave him every air of authority. He checked the sky and the tack of the wind. Reaching a slender fingered hand into the breast pocket of his oilskin, he retrieved his scope to get a better look at the horizon. The fingers grasping the instrument looked more suitable for playing the piano than running a ship. But that was another life. As his narrow wrist snapped the spyglass to its full extension, he commanded the master, the man trusted to know all the routes and the weather, better known as the ships keeper, to maintain the current course.

“Aye, aye, capt’n,” Burke responded.

Though no one would know by looking at him, his face a careful mask, Mackenzie always grew antsy as he approached land. Land was dangerous. Land meant patrols and possible conflict. In the open sea, he could best and outrun just about any ship of the line. But being close to land changed the odds. A careful gambler, Mackenzie didn’t favour when the odds were not on his side. The only time he chose to port was when he was in need of supplies and ready to make his drop, which meant his ship was weighted down with cargo and not as swift. This in turn meant there was always the chance that more than one frigate, be it English or French could corner, leaving no room to manoeuvre and escape.

Ohhh, this was just the kind of book Vivian loved to sink her teeth into.
I could get into the romance of this guy. The whole historical adventure of sailing away on the high seas. I can almost reach out and run my fingers through his too long hair, taste the salt of the sea on his lips.
Her tongue poked out to moisten her lips.

Reading the first three chapters easily, Vivian typed her report of recommendation for this submission to the publisher. Sending an email to the author, requesting the next three chapters for preview, was a delight in Vivian’s day. The author was an unknown, but if the story kept the momentum going, Vivian was sure they would have a winner. But she was getting ahead of the game. She would have to wait and see what the next chapters brought.

As she sat at her computer composing the submission report, she had an urge so strong she acted on the impulse before she could second-guess what she was doing. She typed
learn to sail
in the search prompt. She wanted the adventure she always read about. Now was the time.

What am I doing? I can’t just fly off somewhere to learn how to sail. Especially alone. Mother would have a hay day, saying my actions were foolish. Maybe if I were still a kid—still in my twenties. Maybe, hmmm, but I’m going anyway.

She looked at the manuscript. A piece of the sea, the adventure of being in the open ocean, and a sexy man at the helm. This was the theme she loved in every romance.
A theme that would make for an exciting and unusual vacation.
Vivian grew more excited with the idea.

Before she could think too much about a sailing cruise where she would learn how to sail, she went on Expedia booking her flights, hotel, and the boat charter.

“You did what?” Vivian’s mother screeched in a most unladylike fashion during their family dinner. It was Sunday and her mother had just placed the turkey on the table. Her mother didn’t cook often, but when she did, the meal consisted of one of three dishes—turkey, pot roast, or ham.

“What are you going on about?” Vivian’s father, Peter, chimed in with his resolute, accountant’s voice. He placed a turkey leg to the side of his plate. “Didn’t you learn anything with Mark? Get your head out of the clouds. My gawd learning to sail, that’s crazy!”

“Your father’s right. It’s simply not proper for a woman to go off alone. You don’t know what the crew members will be like. In fact, it’s complete foolishness. Cancel the trip.”

Vivian explained how much she anticipated learning something new. “Geez, can’t you see what a great opportunity this is for me. I don’t want to be that person that grows old watching other people live their exciting lives on TV. I want to be the person having fun.” Vivian cut into her meat, stuffing a chunk in her mouth without tasting it. “As for the crew members, they’re a lovely maritime family who have built ships for generations. They now take tourists out and teach them the ancient art of sailing.”

“Listen to you. What romantic rubbish,” Peter said in an all-knowing smug way, determined that he knew all and no one could tell him different. He mixed the turkey gravy with his mash potatoes, picking up a scoop-full of the creamy vegetable on his fork. He was poised, ready to place the blend in his mouth when he paused. Waving the heaping fork in gesture, his lips parted in a slight sneer. “You sound like you wrote the ad for them.”

Vivian loved her family. She had to. Loving her family was a pre-requisite.
No matter what, you have to love your family.
Do other children feel like me? Like they were plucked from a stork, because I can’t imagine how I came from my parent’s loins. I’m different. Too different. They know and I know, but still try to change me. Why must everything be an argument? Some grand debate?

“You’ve both made up your mind about this trip without actually listening to a word I say.” Vivian lowered her fork to the side of the china plate, finished with arguing with them and resolute in her decision to proceed whether her parents supported her choice or not.

“We’re listening,” her mother said with an exaggerated strain in her nasal tones. She dabbed her over-lined lips with her snow-white napkin. Lowering the large cotton square back to her lap, and taking the time to fold the linen just right over her perfectly creased pants, she finally raised her green-melon coloured eyes to Vivian. The image of motherly concern etched her porcelain cheeks. “Rebecca’s daughter, Nancy, just got married. You remember her from summer camp?” When Vivian stared at her mother un-answering, her mother continued. “Rebecca thought for sure marriage was never going to happen for Nancy. Wild that one.” She paused and rolled her eyes, before focusing her attention back to Vivian. “Anyway, Rebecca encouraged her daughter to go on one of those on-line dating sites and now she’s married. No more foolishness.”

It was the same old story. Always a different example, but every conversation ended with a statement about how Vivian wasn’t married. Headline news in this house in bold capital letters—Vivian Margaret was not married.

Starring at her mother biting her lip with her front teeth, Vivian fought the urge to throw her napkin on the table and leave.

Agghh, Vivian wanted to scream, but her parents would see it as an emotional collapse and recommend a
nice
doctor, who wasn’t married. Why did they only focus on her failures? Why couldn’t they see her success—the café and shop? Oh, yes, they’d say that accomplishment was due to her business partner’s vast abilities as a chef. What about her fairly prominent position within a publishing house doing a job she loved? No, not tangible either. Reality remained, Vivian wasn’t married and hadn’t provided them with grandkids. Her brothers married and reproduced soon after. Obviously her parents thought something was wrong with her, and as a result, they treated her like a child.

Vivian tried again to justify her plans, taking a different tract outlining her trip as a simple vacation. “It’s just a chance to get away. I need a break.”

“Hell of a time to take a break,” her father jumped in, having finished his dinner and wiping his face with his napkin, “Leaving your business partner, with two small kids of her own, to hold down the fort.” He shook his head. “Running off is irresponsible, that’s what I would call this little
break
of yours. We should review your first quarter financial statement before you go running off somewhere. Maybe it’s time for a reality break. Time to get your priories in order.” He emphasised his words, lifting his hand to make air quotes.

Vivian pressed her lips together and didn’t speak of her trip during the remainder of dinner. She allowed her brothers and their wives to monopolize the conversation, finally releasing a sigh of relief when it was time to leave.

As she gathered her coat and purse from the closet, Vivian’s mother held her purse while she pulled her coat over her arms. “Now, promise me.” Her mother tapped Vivian’s cheek. “You’ll cancel this foolish trip and plan something nice with one of your girl friends.”

Having endured the battle of dinner, Vivian would not surrender. Taking a step back from her mother’s reach, she straightened her shoulders. “No, Mother. I’m not going to promise. You think I’m foolish, but I’m a thirty-one year old woman who will do as I please.” She grabbed her purse from her mother’s hands.

Her mother rolled her eyes and storm off to the kitchen.

“Now who’s acting like a child,” Vivian muttered under her breath as her brother walked toward her.

“Don’t fuss, Sis,” Tyler said, reaching in the closet to get his wife’s jacket. “You know our folks are the way they are. So set in their ways. Mother wouldn’t think of getting groceries at a different store for heaven’s sake. You go for it. Have fun. You deserve it. I’ll even drive you to the airport.” He gave her a kiss on the cheek.

Vivian turned to leave, smiling for the first time all evening.

Chapter Three

“Shit,” Tuck muttered, slapping the palm of his hand flat on the water’s surface. Taking a deep breath, he lifted the goggles from his eyes and settled them on the top of his head.

“Brother, you just don’t know how sweet this is.” Nate gloated as he boosted out of the water with one arm to perch on the side of the pool. “Kicking my little brother’s ass in the pool, at long last!”

“Yeah, yeah, little brother, whatever. You’re older by what, eight minutes?” Tuck grinned, moving into Nate’s lane to smile at his twin. Though Nate’s features were similar to his own, they were not identical. “Enjoy victory while you can.”

As Tuck alighted from the pool, Nate continued the banter. “What you need, little brother...” He wrapped his arm around Tuck’s shoulders as they headed to the men’s dressing room. “Is a good woman. Enough of the fast food crap. You need a good woman to keep you home, happy, and satisfied.”

“We all can’t be as lucky as you to grab them out of the cradle and convince them you are the only one in the world. No, some of us have to hunt.” Tuck smiled, happy his brother and Emily, high school sweethearts that they were, had each other. They gave Tuck hope that perhaps someday, when he was ready, he would settle down. But the trauma, or drama, depending on how you looked at it, of the last couple of years, made him shy of opening up to anyone again. Burned is what some may call him, and twice shy.