Surely his cousins would see the sense in such an argument.
But there was no time to worry about that now. He had to dig through his suitcase and come up with something that made him look less like a corporate lawyer and more like a happy-go-lucky beach bum.
At precisely 10:25, Cooper pulled his rental car into the marina parking lot and hurried to the Dragonfly’s slip. He wasn’t worried that Allie would sail without him. But he didn’t want to delay the cruise and have his customers believe their captain was a slow-moving slacker.
Yeah, Captain Cooper Remington. He liked that. And the customers would like it, too, having a man in charge. Not that he didn’t believe Allie was competent. But she wasn’t very big, probably not real strong, and fishing was a manly sport. If he were paying a bundle for a fishing charter, he would want someone who looked like he knew what he was doing to be giving advice.
He would avoid mentioning the word captain in front of Allie, though. First he would ease her into the idea that he was the one in charge.
As he approached the slip, he saw a group of men in shorts and golf shirts on deck. Some were milling around, others had already found deck chairs. Given their pale complexions, he guessed they were corporate execs on vacation.
Poor stiffs. He felt a bit smug, knowing he’d escaped the hallowed halls of corporate America to live his dream.
These were guys he understood.
“Good morning,” he greeted them. “I’m Cooper Remington, your c-” He stopped himself just in time. “Your co-host. What’s it going to be today, black drum? Maybe some Spanish mackerel?”
“Wrong season for mackerel,” the oldest man in the group said, coming forward to peer critically at Cooper. “Allie says snapper are running thick in the bay. Remington, you said?”
“Yes, sir,” Cooper responded, a tad less sure of himself now. Of course, mackerel season was later in the summer. He knew that. He thrust out his hand. “I’m the new owner of Remington Charters. Johnny was my uncle.”
“Wait a minute,” the older man said, holding up one finger. “Are you the nephew who puked on my fish?”
Cooper winced inwardly. A very long-time client, apparently. No wonder Allie hadn’t wanted to disappoint him. “That was my cousin, Reece. I’m the one who cleaned the fish afterward.” He’d been the only one capable. Reece couldn’t stand to look at fish guts, and Max had been too young-and too easily distracted-to be trusted with a sharp knife.
“Well, okay then,” the man said, backing off. “I’m sorry for your loss. Johnny was a heckuva boat captain. I understood his gal was taking over.”
“We have some legal technicalities to work through,” Cooper said smoothly, “but for now she’s helping me out. Can I get anyone a beverage?”
“Allie already showed us to the coffee,” another of the men said. He had a thick Texas drawl, and Cooper already didn’t like the way he said Allie’s name or the sly smile that briefly crossed his face.
Allie shouldn’t be running this business by herself. Captaining a boat the size of the Dragonfly was no easy task. Uncle Johnny had said that often enough. Storms, rocks and reefs, other boats piloted by people who didn’t know what they were doing-hazards were everywhere, just waiting to waylay an inexperienced sailor. And then there were the predators-the two-legged variety. Allie’s reaction to him and his cousins during their first encounter meant that she was at least aware of the threat.
But did she have any way to deal with it? Did she really have a gun, or was that a bluff? Would she even know how to shoot a firearm?
“We’ll be under way soon,” Cooper said. Soon as he found Allie and let her know he was on board and they could get started.
He went below, getting a first impression. The decor hadn’t changed much in fifteen years. Still those same nautical-themed curtains at the windows; still the same blue carpeting. Everything was just more faded now. It did look as if someone had given the place a fresh coat of paint in recent history, and the seating area in the salon had new upholstery.
“Allie?”
“Down here.”
That was when he spotted the open hatch. She was in the bowels of the boat. Cooper remembered that Johnny had spent a lot of time messing with the temperamental engines, which hadn’t been new even back then.
Cooper moved closer, until he could see Allie, a wrench in her hand, a smear of grease across her face.
“Engine two won’t start. You know anything about diesel engines?”
“Um, no.” This wasn’t good. His first time on a Remington Charters cruise as the owner, and the boat can’t leave the dock? Made him look like an idiot. “I can call a mechanic.”
“Only if you can pay for it out of your pocket. I can’t use the operating account.”
“We have to call-”
“Just give me a few more minutes,” she said crossly. “I think I know what the problem is. Are the troops growing restless?”
“They seemed happy enough when I greeted them. And why is there no money in the operating account?” He couldn’t help the sharp note of suspicion in his question. Just because Allie had big green eyes and a really cute turned-up nose was no reason to believe she was too innocent to wipe out the company coffers. She could have done it Friday, after kicking Cooper and his cousins off the boat.
She looked at him as if he were the stupidest person in the world. “You froze the account.”
“Right.” He’d forgotten about that.
“But even if you hadn’t, the business isn’t exactly rolling in money. I had to make some very expensive repairs to the engines a couple of weeks ago, repairs which were supposed to prevent this-” she pointed an accusing finger at the ailing engine “-from happening. The insurance rates have gone up again. Then there’s the price of fuel and…Why am I telling you this? Just look at the damn books.”
She leaned over the engine again, applying her wrench to a rusty bolt with no success. By propping one shapely leg against the boat’s hull as leverage, she finally cracked the nut loose. She unscrewed it and lifted a metal plate, revealing a spaghetti bowl of multicolored wires.
“Ah-hah,” she said with a note of triumph. “Just as I thought, another short. Would you look at this wire? It could have caused a fire. When I get hold of Mickey…” She busied herself yanking the charred wire from the spaghetti, then reached into a tool box for a length of replacement wire. She deftly stripped the rubber casing off the ends and reconnected…whatever it was that had become disconnected.
“Who’s Mickey?” Cooper asked.
“Worst mechanic in Port Clara, that’s who. Could you go turn the ignition and see if the thing starts?”
“Won’t it just short out again?”
“Maybe. But I have lots of wire. I’ll just have to jerry-rig it well enough to get through the day. Then I’ll call Mickey and have him fix it right this time.”
“Shouldn’t you call someone else?”
She pointed the wrench at him. “Ignition? Please?”
Cooper didn’t like being ordered around. But the fact was, she obviously knew more about boat engines than him. If there was one thing corporate law had taught him, it was that knowledge is power.
He would have to learn. Meanwhile, maybe allowing Allie to stick around awhile-just till he got his sea legs-wasn’t such a bad idea. And speaking of legs, he needed to stop looking at hers, even if she insisted on showing them off in those Daisy Dukes.
He was baffled by the fact she’d refused to even entertain a settlement. She was going to lose everything.
He climbed up to the bridge. A set of well-worn keys dangled from the ignition. He turned the key, and both engines sputtered to life. He whispered a prayer of thanks that he didn’t have to disappoint loyal customers.