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Yet what she’d told him had been true. She couldn’t, in good conscience, leave anyone alone in the waters off Great Point. Even the disagreeable lieutenant. It was asking for trouble, no matter his skills or equipment. She’d dug in her heels for his own good, whether he appreciated it or not.
Not being the obvious conclusion. And that didn’t bode well for a favorable response to her request—more like demand, she acceded—that he wipe the citation off her record.
The wharf came into sight, and Kate cut back the throttle, trying to recapture her earlier lighthearted mood. But that felt like ancient history now. As in B.C. Before Cole. And she doubted it would return unless the citation issue was resolved in her favor.
An outcome that seemed increasingly remote in light of their back-to-back unpleasant encounters.
With that conclusion, any lingering vestige of good cheer vanished as quickly as the sun in a sudden Nantucket storm.
Do you have a death wish or something?
Katherine MacDonald’s question echoed again in Craig’s mind as he jabbed at the buttons on his microwave. It had been bothering him since she’d voiced it six hours ago, and the refrain was beginning to get on his nerves.
Grabbing a soda out of the fridge, he pulled the tab, easing the pressure in the can with a pop and a fizz. Too bad it wasn’t that easy to release the pressure inside of him, he lamented. Yet he couldn’t lay the full blame for his tension on Ms. MacDonald. Although her blunt question had exacerbated it, in all honesty it had dogged him for three long years.
Exercise, he’d discovered, had proved to be a good temporary release valve. Ocean swimming in particular, especially when conditions were difficult. He’d never stopped to analyze why he sought out risky locations, but he supposed a psychologist delving into motivations might see it as a subconscious challenge to the sea: You took my wife and son. Just try to take me.
And there was some truth to that, he conceded. With every yard gained, with every swell overcome, with every undertow and riptide conquered, the pressure inside him dissipated. Each time he emerged whole and victorious from battling the waves, he felt a satisfying sense of triumph.
But the satisfaction didn’t last long. And one of these days, if he continued to take chances, he’d lose. It was inevitable. In risky conditions, the odds were always stacked in favor of the sea. He knew that as well as the mouthy charter captain did.
And maybe that’s what he wanted, deep inside, Craig was forced to admit. Maybe he wanted the sea to take him, too. To end the pain and loss and guilt forever. To give him the peace that had eluded him since the accident.
Katherine MacDonald might be right.
Maybe he did have a death wish.
The microwave pinged, and he withdrew the bland packaged dinner of sautéed chicken breast, broccoli and rice that had become one of his staples. He knew the drill by heart after three years of this fare: remove the plastic cover and let the meal rest until the steam escaped.
Rest.
The word stuck with him as he slid the disposable container onto the counter in the kitchen of the commander’s quarters—a three-bedroom ranch house a mile from the station. Far enough removed to let the officer in charge find rest from his or her duties.
Unfortunately, the comfortable dwelling had the opposite effect on Craig. Though modest in size, the house felt cavernous and the silent rooms were depressing. Instead of being a haven of rest, it only served to remind him of all he’d lost.
As Craig straddled a stool at the counter and toyed with his meal, the passage from Matthew flashed through his mind: “Come to me, all you who labor and are burdened, and I will give you rest.”
The minister had quoted those words at the funeral for his wife, Nicole, and his son, Aaron. But they’d been unable to penetrate his thick, isolating shroud of grief, offering no consolation then…or in the intervening years. All his life, he’d attended services every Sunday. But when tested by fire, he’d felt burned rather than fortified by the God he’d worshipped. Church attendance had become a meaningless gesture that left him feeling more empty and alone than if he hadn’t gone. In time, he’d stopped the painful Sunday routine.
Routine.
Perhaps that was the key, Craig mused, dissecting a piece of broccoli with his fork. In many ways, his faith had become nothing more than a once-a-week visit to church, driven by habit rather than compelling belief. Perhaps if he approached services and prayer with an open heart, seeking God’s will rather than demanding answers and immediate solace, the Lord would provide him with the peace and rest he craved.
It was worth a try, he supposed.
Because he couldn’t keep living with the disheartening sense of hopelessness that plagued his days. Nor could he continue to take chances with his life, raising the stakes with every swimming excursion until at last he lost his gamble with the elements. It wasn’t fair to Vicki. As Paul had reminded him, his daughter needed him. Him. Not the high-priced nannies he’d hired over the past three years, who saw to Vicki’s physical needs but who couldn’t give her the one thing she needed most.
A father’s love.
Pushing aside his picked-over dinner, Craig rested his elbows on the counter and dropped his head into his hands as guilt gnawed at his gut, churning his dinner like an angry ocean agitates seaweed.
It wasn’t Vicki’s fault that she looked just like her mother, sharing the same blue-green eyes and hair the color of sun-ripened wheat. It wasn’t her fault that every time he took her small hand he was reminded of the son he’d lost. And it wasn’t her fault that he’d shut down emotionally to dull the pain, rendering him incapable of giving her the love she deserved—and needed.
As time passed, he’d known he had to make things right. The guilt over his neglect had begun to nag at him day and night, deepening the crushing burden of culpability he already carried. Although Vicki had never been a needy child, demanding attention or special care, she deserved the security of a loving parent. He hoped the move to Nantucket would give him the chance to provide that.
The rightness of his decision had been reinforced the day he’d left Vicki in his mother’s care before heading to the island, with a promise to pick her up in six weeks, once he’d settled in.
As he’d knelt in front of her, prepared to give her a quick hug, she’d stopped him cold with a soft, uncertain question.
“Are you really coming back to get me?”
Jolted, he’d looked at her. Really looked—for the first time in a long while. And what he’d seen had made him want to cry.
Deep in those blue-green eyes had been a sadness and a loneliness as profound as his own. Far too profound for any child that age to know.
His had been caused by senseless deaths that had robbed his world of light and laughter.
But hers had been caused by him. The very man who should have loved her and protected her and made her world secure.
His throat constricting, he’d leaned over and pulled her close. “Yes, Vicki. I’m really coming back. And things will be different on Nantucket. I’m not going to work as much. We’ll spend more time together.”
When he’d released her, she’d stepped back and reached for his mother’s hand, skepticism narrowing her eyes.
Truth be told, he shared her doubts. There was no manual, no rule book, no SOP for rebuilding a daughter’s world and winning her love. He was flying by the seat of his pants, prepared to improvise as he went, as he’d often been called to do in precarious rescue situations.
He’d already decided there would be no more full-time nannies. He would only hand off her care while he was at work. For now, he’d lined up traditional day care, but in time he hoped to find a more personal, in-home arrangement.
He also planned to change his work habits. He’d put in a lot of hours these first few weeks on the job, learning the ropes, but once Vicki came he intended to leave work on time, pick her up at day care, fix dinner and spend the evening with her. And hope he could make up for all the years he’d abdicated his responsibilities.
Rising, Craig deposited his half-eaten dinner in the trash, reminding himself to stock up on some kid-friendly food before he picked her up in two weeks. And he needed to prepare a room for her. A place where she would feel welcome and loved.
He also needed to get over the death wish a certain out-spoken charter-fishing boat captain had forced him to confront.
Craig swiped at a few stray crumbs on the counter, leaving the surface pristine, as he thought back over his encounters with the red-haired dynamo. Although he might not appreciate being on the receiving end of Katherine MacDonald’s fiery temper, he had to give credit where it was due.
She wasn’t easily intimidated. And she said what she thought.
Like it or not.
To his surprise, Craig found his lips curving into a smile as he pictured her on the deck of the Lucy Sue, eyes blazing, cheeks aflame, hair whipped by the wind as she’d glared at him. And while he finished tidying up the kitchen and prepared to call it a day, he found himself looking forward to their next encounter.
Which made no sense at all.
Chapter Three
“I have to run a couple of errands, Barlow. I’ll be back in an hour.”
Ben looked up from his desk and grinned at the commander, who was standing in the doorway. “No problem. I’ve got it covered.”
“There’s not much to cover. It’s a pretty quiet Monday.”
“Enjoy it while it lasts. Once the day-trippers and summer people arrive, you won’t have a minute to call your own. You won’t believe some of the calls we get. Last year, some guy forgot to install his drain plug and ended up sinking his boat.”
A smile tugged at Craig’s lips. “I can’t wait.”
“Trust me. You can.”
His smile lingering, Craig took advantage of the springlike weather and headed down Easton Street on foot. From what he’d gleaned about his predecessor, Sandra Medart had had a high profile on the island. Most Nantucketers had known her on sight, and both locals and crew had liked and respected her. She’d initiated a popular boating safety program, attended all community events and maintained an open-door policy, encouraging anyone with marine-based concerns to come directly to her. According to Barlow, she’d excelled at the PR aspect of the job.
To date, he’d done little to emulate her example. Now that he had his sea legs, however, he figured it was time to show his face in the community. And a walk through town wouldn’t be a bad place to start.
Turning onto South Beach Street, it took him mere minutes to reach the heart of the historic town, with its cobblestone streets and labyrinth of tiny lanes. He knew his dark blue slacks and matching shirt, with the twin silver bars on the collar that signaled his rank, would identify him at a glance as the new commander, and as he strolled around he drew more than a few curious looks. Only year-rounders populated the quiet town center on this early April Monday, and when he nodded and smiled in response to their discreet perusal, several approached to welcome him.
Forty-five minutes later, after grabbing a paper at The Hub and stopping at a few other spots Barlow had identified as local hangouts, he headed down Main Street toward the harbor. After three short blocks, the cobblestones of the town’s primary thoroughfare merged with Straight Wharf, where many of the commercial boats were docked.
The Lucy Sue among them.
Pausing at the entrance to the wharf, Craig debated his next move. As he’d left the station, he’d tucked the original copy of Katherine MacDonald’s citation in his pocket. But the matter didn’t require his personal attention; he could send one of his crew members later to handle the resolution of such a minor violation.
Except it wasn’t minor to Ms. MacDonald. She’d made that very clear. And as long as he was in the area, he supposed he ought to stop by and see if he could smooth things out—all in the interest of good PR, of course. Why else would he put himself in the path of the human hurricane?
A few reasons popped to mind, but he quickly squelched them. Despite appealing green eyes that flashed with life and passion, despite the intriguing juxtaposition of a delicate physical appearance with a strong character, despite vibrant hair that sparked with every movement, only a masochist would want to deal with her temper.
He was here on business. Period.
His decision made, Craig strode past the shuttered souvenir shops. Within minutes he found the Lucy Sue, gently rocking in her slip on the wharf. There was no sign of the red-haired skipper—or anyone else. No surprise there, he supposed, considering most owners wintered their boats on the mainland. Those who didn’t spent little time aboard in the off season.
What did surprise him was the flutter of disappointment in the pit of his stomach. Where in the world had that come from? Last night he’d found himself looking forward to their next encounter, and today he was seeking her out. Logic told him he should be going out of his way to avoid another exchange with the argumentative captain.
But for some reason he wasn’t.
Rather than try to analyze his odd reaction, he propped his fists on his hips and surveyed the boat at close range. He knew from the citation that the Lucy Sue was an older model, but he hadn’t realized how old. She had to have been built twenty or twenty-five years ago, he estimated. Yet she was well maintained. He saw no evidence of barnacles below the water line, nor any indication of oxidation topside, suggesting the fiberglass hull was polished and waxed on a regular basis. The deck was stain-free, and the teak trim had been varnished rather than allowed to weather to whitish-gray. The finish looked fresh, too, free of obvious chips or scuffs. It was clear a lot of elbow grease had gone into keeping the boat in tip-top condition.
While everything he could see was cosmetic, Craig knew that anyone who took such meticulous care of the appearance of a boat was likely to be as diligent about mechanical maintenance—and safety. In light of the number of charter slips, he also concluded that Ms. MacDonald hadn’t been exaggerating about the competition. Two good reasons why the flare citation had upset her.
And based on the traces of worry and sorrow he’d glimpsed in her eyes as she’d squared off with him across his desk on Friday, the last thing she needed in her life was more stress.
Craig couldn’t erase the events that had led to that emotional confrontation. But if she’d followed through and replaced the flares, as she’d promised, disposing of the citation in his pocket was going to be his top priority this afternoon.
What was the Coast Guard commander doing at the Lucy Sue?
Kate’s step faltered as she turned a corner on Straight Wharf and caught sight of the tall officer standing beside her boat. The last thing she wanted was another skirmish with the line-toeing lieutenant.
For a few heartbeats she considered retreating. His back was to her, giving her a good view of his broad shoulders as he looked over the Lucy Sue. She could disappear before he noticed her.
But running from problems didn’t solve them. If he’d decided to let the citation stand, she might as well get the bad news now rather than later. And his presence suggested the news was bad rather than good. Why else would he come in person, except to turn the tables and wield his authority by scuttling her request? After the way she’d treated him in their previous encounters, she couldn’t blame him if he took advantage of the opportunity to put her in her place.
Her shoulders slumped a fraction, and she shifted the bag she was toting from one arm to the other. Then she forced her feet to carry her forward, her sport shoes noiseless on the wharf. She stopped a few feet away from the grim reaper and drew a fortifying breath.
“Planning to do another inspection, Lieutenant?” She’d intended to keep her tone neutral, but a touch of defiance crept in.
He swung toward her, his features etched with surprise. And some other emotion she couldn’t identify.
“That wasn’t on my agenda.”
“Following up on the one already done, then.”
“Yes. I was in town anyway and thought I’d drop by.”
“I got the flares.” She edged passed him on the finger pier, juggling the bag as she prepared to board.
“Let me hold that for you.” He took the sack from her before she could protest, glancing at the package of spark plugs on top. “Engine problems?”
Rather than give him a direct answer, she swung into the boat and reached for the bag. “I’m always prepared.”
“You do your own maintenance?”
“Most of it. My neighbor helps me on the trickier things. And speaking of being prepared, let me show you the new flares.” She ducked into the cabin, retrieved the flares and rejoined him thirty seconds later on the wharf. “As you’ll see, I’m covered for the new season.” She handed them over, annoyed once again at the defensive note that had crept into her voice. For the life of her she couldn’t manage a pleasant tone with this man.
The lieutenant took the flares in silence, scanned the expiration dates and handed them back. “Everything seems to be in order.”
Tipping his head, he folded his arms across his chest. His powerful, well-developed chest, Kate couldn’t help noticing, her gaze dropping in the direction of the name tag on his shirt pocket.
“So what happens next?” She forced her chin back up, toward eyes as blue as the ocean on a sunny Nantucket summer day. Tensing, she braced for bad news.
He reached into the pocket of his slacks and withdrew the original citation, which had been folded into neat, precise squares. Watching her, he tore it into small pieces, disposing of them in a trash can a few steps away.
Her eyes widened. “Does that mean…are you going to expunge it from my record?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Your request was reasonable. Even if you weren’t.” He gave her an assessing look, a touch of amusement sparking in his irises. “Do you always overreact when you’re angry?”
It was a fair, but incendiary, question, and she stiffened. “I’ve been told I don’t suffer fools gladly.”
He cocked one eyebrow but remained silent.
You idiot! Kate chided herself, hot color stealing onto her cheeks. The man has just done you a huge favor, and you insult him instead of thanking him? How ungracious is that?
Swallowing past her embarrassment, Kate shoved her hands into the front pockets of her jeans. “Look, can we start over?”
“That might not be a bad idea.”
“Okay. Good. The thing is, I appreciate your consideration. I’m sure you noticed the Lucy Sue is an older model. It’s not as jazzy as most of the other charter boats, nor does it have all the bells and whistles. A clean safety record is a selling point I can use in my advertising to help me compete. Without it…” She shook her head and shrugged.
“My executive petty officer tells me you’ve been at this a while, Ms. MacDonald.”
The wind whipped a lock of hair across her cheek, and she tucked it behind her ear. “Yes. My father-in-law started the business. He retired and passed it on to me and my husband when we married. But I’ve been fishing my whole life.” She moistened her lips as she considered whether to extend an olive branch, then decided it couldn’t hurt. “By the way, my friends call me Kate.”
She noted the flicker of surprise in his eyes, as well as the twitch that tugged at the corner of his mouth. “As in Kiss Me, Kate?”
At the mention of the Cole Porter musical based on Shakespeare’s Taming of the Shrew, Kate grimaced. “I suppose that’s a fair question in light of our relationship to date. And I apologize for my bad temper. You hit me on a rough couple of days. Believe it or not, despite my red hair I usually stay on a pretty even keel.”
The skeptical tilt of his head brought a rueful smile to her lips.
“I don’t blame you for doubting that claim. But it’s true, Lieutenant.”
He returned her smile. “The name is Craig. And I suppose I’ll find out the truth for myself if our paths cross again.”
“I expect they will on occasion. It’s not a very big island. Unless you continue to be the invisible man.”
A puzzled frown creased his brow. “The what?”
Grinning, she shoved her hands deeper into the pockets of her jeans. “The invisible man. That’s what the locals are calling you. You’ve hardly shown your face in public.”
“I’ve been busy getting up to speed at the station. But I’ll be more visible in the community in the future.”
“I’m sure everyone will look forward to that.”
He shot her a speculative glance, as if he was tempted to ask whether she looked forward to it, too. Instead, he smiled and edged back. “In the meantime, a pile of paperwork awaits me.”
“Thank you again for your help with the citation.”
“It was my pleasure, Kate. Take care.” With a wave, he headed toward Main Street.
She watched him leave, liking the sound of her name on his lips, waiting until he disappeared before boarding the Lucy Sue to tackle her chores.
But long after he was gone, she kept replaying their conversation in her mind. For once, it had not only been civil, but enjoyable. And he’d proved to be more flexible than she’d anticipated, bending the rules for her despite the way she’d treated him. In his place, she doubted she would have been so forgiving—or generous.
As she stored her supplies below, Kate was forced to concede that her initial assessment of the commander as a stuffy, rigid, rule follower might have been a little too hasty—and a little too harsh. Still, one cordial exchange wasn’t enough to convince her she’d been entirely wrong about his character. Before she revised her opinion, she’d have to see a whole lot more of him.
And much to her surprise, despite their rocky start and her earlier resolve to avoid him as much as possible, she found that prospect quite appealing.
“I smell cinnamon! Oh, goodie!”
Breaking free of Kate’s grasp, Maddie headed straight for the plate of cinnamon toast waiting for her on the hickory table in Edith’s cozy kitchen, her eyes bright with pleasure.
“I gave her breakfast already, Edith. You didn’t have to do that.” Kate entered her neighbor’s back door at a more sedate pace, stopping two steps into the room.
“I wanted to. I like doing things for people I care about. Have some coffee.”
“I can’t. I’m already running late.”
“You can be at the high school in five minutes. I’ll pour you a cup to go.” Edith retrieved an insulated mug with a lid from the cabinet and lifted the pot from the coffeemaker. “Besides, I wanted to tell you about an interesting experience I had last night.”
The woman’s studied casualness put Kate on alert. “What happened?”
“I met your lieutenant at the market.” She added cream to Kate’s coffee with a quick tip of the pitcher. “I must admit, his manner wasn’t at all what I anticipated based on your description. He was charming.”
Kate’s neck grew warm. “I’ve revised my opinion a bit.”
“Since when?”
“Since he erased the citation from my record yesterday.”
“Did he, now? How interesting.” The older woman secured the lid on the mug and grinned at Kate. “Must have been your charm.”
Kate made a face at her. “Very funny.” Checking her watch, she hoisted her purse higher on her shoulder and changed the subject. “I’ve got to run, Edith. It sets a very bad example when the teachers are tardy. Call me if you have any problems with Maddie.”
“I’ve got the nebulizer routine down if we need it. Don’t worry.”
A shadow of distress tightened Kate’s features. “It’s hard not to.”
“You know what Mac would have said.”
“Yes.” The whisper of a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “‘Don’t look for trouble.’” She leaned over and hugged the gray-haired woman, who was more like family than mere neighbor or friend. “I’m sorry I’ve had to call on you so often this school year. I can’t remember ever being asked to sub this much. But the extra money’s been a godsend.”