As he took the ship’s wheel in his hands, a wave of nostalgia washed over Cooper. One of the proudest moments in his youth had come when Uncle Johnny let him drive this boat for the first time. He’d secretly pretended to be a pirate, scanning the murky waters for telltale turbulence that meant an obstacle below the surface-then scanning the horizon for merchant ships to plunder.
He heard a noise behind him and turned. Allie had joined him at the bridge, a pleased smile on her face. It was the first time he’d seen her smile, and even his jaded, suspicious heart wasn’t immune to the effects.
Oh, she was a heartbreaker, all right. Uncle Johnny, an aging, alcoholic widower, must have been putty in her hands.
“Do you know how to cast off?” she asked.
“You can do that,” he said smoothly, gripping the wheel more tightly. “My place is here.”
“Like hell. Get off my bridge.”
“Our bridge. We’re partners, remember?”
“Have you ever piloted a boat in your life?”
“Yes. Uncle Johnny taught me.”
“How long ago?”
All right, so it had been more than twenty years ago. “It’s like riding a bicycle.”
“Have you even looked at a nautical chart in the last ten years? Sandbars have moved. Reefs have changed. So if you even remember where all the hazards were umpteen years ago, they’re different now. We have a new sonar system since you were here. Do you know how to use it?”
She gave him a derisive up-and-down visual exam, taking in his choice of sailing clothes, no doubt. Khaki shorts, a golf shirt and Top Sider moccasins with white soles-perfectly sensible, weekend-casual clothing-in fact, very similar to what the passengers wore. But he felt almost too formal. She wore only those faded cutoffs and a white tank shirt with an embroidered Remington Charters logo over her left breast. And a nice breast it was.
She also had the tanned skin and gold sun streaks in her hair to prove her authenticity.
A wave of heat washed over him. Funny, he’d never found the outdoorsy girls to be his type before. Most of the women he’d dated were professionals-with a few idle heiresses thrown in. But even though Allie was out to fleece him, he found her lack of pretense refreshing and appealing. No makeup, no long lacquered nails, no five-hundred-dollar shoes or salon highlights. Just five-foot-three of pure woman.
Gradually he loosened his grip on the wheel. He hated to admit it, but she was right. He was acting like a macho jerk.
“Do you know where to find snapper?” she asked.
He backed away from the controls, holding his hands out in a gesture of surrender. “Okay, fine. Today you’re the captain and I’m the first mate. But tomorrow we’ll trade.” He would watch everything she did and reassure himself he was perfectly capable. How hard could it be?
ALLIE STEAMED AS SHE GUIDED the Dragonfly out of its slip and across the no-wake area around the marina. Did Cooper Remington honestly think he could just waltz in here and start running charter excursions on childhood memories?
It was tempting to let him have the Dragonfly. Let him sink the business, if not the boat, before his first season closed.
But she couldn’t walk away. Everything she had, everything she’d built over the years, was tied up in this business. All the money she’d saved to buy her own boat, she’d sunk into the Dragonfly to keep her afloat since Johnny’s illness set in. She couldn’t face starting from scratch.
She could probably get a job with one of the other charter services. Yeah, they were all competitors, but friendly ones. Everybody in Port Clara-and up and down the Texas coast, for that matter-knew she had the experience, not to mention an uncanny sixth sense for finding the fish. Her boat might be humble, but her customers always left with full coolers.
Once she got into open water she set a course for the most likely place to find schools of snapper. It would take more than an hour to get there. During that time she needed to make sure all the men had the correct equipment and bait, and she had to serve them up a snack.
This group was easy. They’d all fished with her before and they knew their stuff. Mr. Cox, who’d been fishing for forty years-most of those with Johnny-could answer any questions. Her only real challenge was to avoid Mr. Nelson’s roaming hands.
She looked down at the deck and spotted Cooper. He’d found a deck chair and a soft drink and was in an animated conversation with one of the passengers. She was going to have to watch him every minute-the guy was used to being waited on, not the other way around. And God knew what he was telling her customers.
“Cooper!” she called down. “Come take over the helm.” All he had to do was go in a straight line and avoid hitting any other boats. Surely he could handle that.
He looked up at her and grinned. “Aye-aye, cap’n.”
Once she had him safely ensconced in the captain’s chair, she set to work with the rods and reels, making sure each man had equipment he was happy with, untangling line, figuring out who would be positioned where.
“Is it true, what that Remington boy said?” Mr. Cox asked in a low voice. “Is he taking over the business?”
“He’s going to try.” Allie made it sound like she wasn’t concerned. “Johnny’s family isn’t happy about the status quo, and Cooper is going to try to break the will.”
“Think he can do it?”
“The Remingtons have large coffers of discretionary cash to fight a legal battle. Obviously I don’t. So we’ll have to see.”
“That hardly seems fair.”
Allie patted Mr. Cox on the arm. “Life’s never fair.” So far, that had been her experience. But she kept thinking that sooner or later she’d get an even shake. She’d already had her father’s boat stolen out from under her by her conniving uncle. She deserved a break.
“I just want you to know,” Mr. Cox said, “that I’ll take my business wherever you land. You know your stuff.”
His loyalty touched her. She had so many good friends in Port Clara, but she also knew people from all over the country and the world. Johnny’s customers had hailed from as far away as Vancouver and Buffalo-even Japan. Many of them had booked again this season, even after learning of Johnny’s death. They were willing to give her a try. If all of them were as loyal as Mr. Cox, she could bring a valuable client list to any other boat she signed on with.
But that thought didn’t cheer her much. She loved this boat. She’d put so much care into it-painting, sewing new cushion covers for the salon, scrubbing the hull. She’d even designed the Remington Charters logo, with Jane’s help.
All so the rich Remington boys could trash it.
Okay, she didn’t know for sure they would, but it wasn’t their lifeblood or they wouldn’t have spent all those years in New York pursuing landlocked jobs. This was a lark for them. If they sank the boat or trashed the business, they would just move on to their next entertainment.
Like her uncle had, after he’d trashed her father’s business. Last she knew the Ginnie, named after her mother, was in Key West.
Allie shook off her nostalgia. She had snacks to put out-cold cuts and bread for sandwiches, apple and orange wedges, potato chips and pretzels.
Once she had the food squared away she checked on Cooper. She stood at the top of the ladder, watching him without his notice. Already he looked less buttoned-up, more relaxed. With the wind ruffling his short hair and the sun on his face, he was more handsome than ever. But it was the expression on his face that stopped her, made her reconsider.
He looked blissed out. Like he’d never been so happy. Obviously he did love sailing, even if he’d been away for a while. For the first time she could see a family resemblance between Cooper and his uncle.
She felt her heart softening toward him even as other parts of her sprang to life.