“Mm.” Kerry was slowly rubbing Dar’s back, easing the tension she felt there. “What did you do?” she asked softly.
“Called them jackasses and told them to go find some class before the company had to buy it for them,” Dar admitted.
“That’s my Dar.” Kerry leaned her head against Dar’s collarbone, soft chuckles emerging from her throat.
“Yeah, well.” Dar had to smile herself. “After that, they never did say anything about rednecks in any meeting I was in.”
No. Kerry hugged her frequently curmudgeonly boss. “I bet they didn’t.” Just like no one says anything about you… in any meeting I’m in. Damn right.
Chapter
Five
THE SMALL ISLAND they pulled into was definitely laid back.
As they approached, Kerry peered over the railing with interest, noting the gorgeous white beach and the cluster of small, sun bleached buildings behind the spare, patched together docks.
“Now, Kerrison,” she murmured to herself, “we’re not doing the Waldorf here.”
Of course, she wasn’t dressed for the Waldorf, anyhow. Kerry glanced down at her stonewashed, white short overalls and sandals, her lips twitching as she imagined her family’s reaction to the worn fabric and the cutoff, sleeveless gray sweatshirt she wore under it.
“I’m just a proper marine vagabond, I am.”
Dar skillfully navigated the Bertram into a slot at the end of the dock. Kerry tossed the bow rope to the young boy who ran up to greet them, then took the stern rope and jumped onto the wooden surface, pulled the line taut around the rusted cleat, and tied it off.
“Thanks.” She smiled at the boy, who shyly smiled back at her. He had dark skin, and brown shaggy hair and eyes, and he was dressed in a pair of denim shorts and nothing else.
His eyes went past her and widened a little. Kerry turned her head to see Dar leaping off the boat, a broad grin on her face. “Hey, Rufus,” she said, pausing and sticking her hands into her pockets.
“What do you think?”
“Wow!” the boy replied. “Killer boat, Dar!” His eyes roved over the vessel. “C’n I ride it?”
Dar chuckled. “Later, yeah.” She put a hand on Kerry’s shoulder. “This is my friend Kerry. Kerry, this is Rufus.”
Rufus studied Kerry warily. “Hi.”
Kerry held a hand out. “Hi, Rufus. Nice to meet you.” She waited for the boy’s hesitant handclasp, and then returned it gently.
Rufus backed off a step. “I’ll go tell dada you’re here, Dar,” he said, and then he turned and ran off, bare feet almost soundless on the wood.
Dar exhaled as she watched him go. “I’m looking forward to 42 Melissa Good seeing his father,” she said, guiding Kerry up the dock. “He was in the service with Dad.”
“Ah!” Kerry smiled. “His friends are always interesting people.”
“Mm,” Dar agreed. “He doesn’t know.” Her eyes flicked to Kerry’s face. “About my father being alive. There’re no phones out here. I think he keeps it that way on purpose. Dad was going to make a run out here, but I told him we were stopping, and that I’d pass the news.”
Kerry read several levels of meaning in her lover’s words.
“Hm.” She studied the small cluster of weatherworn buildings. “I’m looking forward to meeting him, then. He lives here?”
“He runs the joint we’re having dinner at,” Dar said. “After he got discharged on a medical, he came out here and set up this place.
He and his partner—they do all the cooking and brew their own beer.”
Kerry’s ears perked up. “Partner?” she queried. “Partner, like you and me partner?”
Dar nodded.
“Hmm.”
“They adopted Rufus. He showed up one day on a little raft and just refused to leave.”
Kerry absorbed all that as they walked off the dock and onto a shell-strewn path. As they approached the buildings, a figure came out onto the porch of the largest one, placed hands on the porch railing and leaned on it.
“Look at what that damn wind blew in, wouldja?”
The man behind the railing was tall and had a chunky build, but that’s not what Kerry noticed. He was also missing a leg. Below his right knee, swathed in an overlarge pair of dark green khaki shorts, extended a metal frame. On the end of the frame was a well-worn shoe. He had thick, silvered brown, curly hair and a bushy beard, and his skin was criss-crossed with thin but noticeable scars.
Dar lifted a hand. “Howdy, Charlie.”
The man limped down the wide, wooden steps and came to meet them, pulling Dar into an enthusiastic hug. “Damn, it’s been over a year, Dar. Where’ve ya been?”
Dar released him. “Here and there,” she replied. “Charlie, this is Kerrison Stuart.” Her arm draped over Kerry’s shoulders. “My chosen one.”
The man turned to study Kerry, who was hard pressed to hide her bemused surprise at Dar’s new term for her. “Ahhh, so that’s where you been, huh?” He held out a hand. “Ms. Stuart, it’s an honor and a pleasure.”
“Mine too.” Kerry rose to the occasion, clasping his hand firmly. “I hear you make some mean conch chowder.”
Terrors of the High Seas 43
Charlie laughed, clapping Dar on the shoulder and gesturing toward the larger building. “C’mon. Let’s go siddown and let me prove out my reputation. We got some catching up to do.” He limped ahead of them, obviously used to his disability to the point where it didn’t appreciably hamper him.
Kerry and Dar followed after him, Dar with her arm still draped over Kerry’s neck.
“Chosen one?” Kerry inquired softly, giving her lover a curious look.
Dar’s jaw bunched, and she glanced down at the ground before she snuck a look at Kerry’s face. “I’ll explain later,” she murmured as they reached the steps. “It’s a compliment.”
“Duh.” Kerry bumped Dar’s hip with her own as they walked up the stairs. “Looks like we’ll have lots of interesting things to talk about tonight.”
“Hm.” Dar held the door open and they went inside.
KERRY GLANCED AROUND curiously at the inside of the little shack. They were seated at one of six tables, all made of hand worked driftwood. The room wasn’t much bigger than her bedroom at the condo, though at the rear, swinging doors led into the kitchen. Though the large, square windows on three sides of the room let in the glow of sunset and a cool breeze, the place was lighted by oil lamps hanging on the walls and sitting on the tables.
Two other tables were occupied, one by two scruffy-looking men in beachcomber outfits, and the other by a handsome islander and his female companion, who—to all appearances—were on their honeymoon.
“Smells great in here,” Kerry commented, sniffing appreciatively at the spicy, delicious scents coming from the kitchen.
A quirky grin twisted Dar’s lips. “Not too rustic for you?”
“Dar,” Kerry frowned, glancing down at herself, “did I forget to rip the alligator off my shirt pocket or something today?”
Dar fingered the woven rope salt and pepper holder. “Just kidding.”
“No, that’s the second time you brought this up.” Kerry shook her head. “Are you really that sensitive about dragging a Midwestern WASP around with you?” She turned her head and regarded Dar seriously, finding soft, round blue eyes gazing back at her. “Honey?” She put a hand on Dar’s in pure reflex.
After a moment, Dar cleared her throat with a touch of sheepishness, and propped her chin on her fist. “Yeah, I really am that sensitive,” she admitted quietly. “Sorry.”