The captain of the speedboat slowed to maneuver a wide arc around the group, doing an observation lap. Sharlene’s posture stiffened. Drake felt her heart racing so fast the beat competed with the thundering motor. A shaky hand wiped moisture from her unbelieving eyes.
“Uncle Moot!” she screamed while scrambling to be free of Drake’s shielding embrace. He held tight. “He’s alive, Drake!”
“I see him.”
Moot stood at the wheel as big as day. Pausing from the strenuous steering job, he gestured to Sharlene by tipping the brim of his cap. The use of one hand nearly cost him control of his hobbling craft. The quick recovery brought a smile to his lips.
Sharlene escaped Drake’s hold and darted to the narrow foot ledge rimming the boat. The going was risky for the surface glistened with water. The deck shoes she wore hardly mattered for she slid a time or two before arriving safely on the forward platform. Drake closed in on her sporting a not-so-pleased look.
“You’re going to get yourself killed!”
The bite of his words stung. Sharlene was just about to retaliate when she recognized that mournful look in his eyes. Her ire deflated. She refused to blast him after realizing he only had her best interest at heart.
Besides, she was elated with the turn of events. Her world revolved from tragedy to triumph. Her uncle survived a horrific ordeal. Thanks to the stabilizing effect of the man next to her, Sharlene had reasons to smile again.
Drake shepherded Sharlene to the captain’s chairs situated in the bow. He stole her hand once they sat in the open air. They had front row seats, which enabled them to see Moot hard at work. Drake marveled at Moot’s abilities to wrestle with the wheel, especially at his advanced age. He had no idea Moot tussled with the outrage of him getting too chummy with his kin. Or that he overlooked the fact Sharlene was very receptive to him.
It was sailing at a snail’s pace, but they finally floated into port to the accompaniment of boat horns and cheers from the dock. Drake was astonished by the number of residents gathered to welcome home one of their own. He witnessed Sharlene’s hyperactivity. She barely contained her eagerness to disembark with restless pacing until their boat pulled up at Clyde’s. He had an image in his head of her leaping to the dock because the gangplank took forever to go down.
Drake trailed her, keeping a close eye out for her safety. Sharlene was off and running through the store to get to the street. She trampled anyone in her way, slowing only when she reached the dock. He heard her uncle before he even rounded the corner. Moot aggressively resisted all attempts to load him onto a stretcher.
“Nothin’ wrong wit’ me!” He fended off his would-be helpers.
“Uncle,” she called. Drake delayed his approach while she stood at Moot’s side. “You need medical attention.”
“I need a swig,” he balked, pushing up on one elbow to leave the stretcher.
“You deserve one, ol’ friend.” Clyde rushed up, out of breath. “On the house!”
Sharlene eased closer when Moot seemed to have trouble finding his land legs. His gait had him staggering all over the place. She stepped every time he did to maintain close proximity.
Drake stayed his distance primarily because Sharlene’s uncle insisted on clinging to whatever happened years and years ago. Until now, the story held no importance. The fact he desired to act on his attraction to Sharlene Mouton changed his outlook on things. She offered no put-ons. The enduring qualities she possessed reeled him in every second he was in her company. Her caring nature and uplifting smile enchanted him.
Prior to this, he had all but given up on the dating scene. Too much drama. Too little substance. A simple swamp tour whetted his appetite to indulge again. The brief, electrifying encounter with Sharlene lit the spark of life dimmed by his loss. He would chance her rejection rather than not give himself a chance at all.
He wasn’t the only one following them into the store. Those instrumental in pulling off the daring rescue sent their loved ones home. They hung around swapping stories and hoisting a few in celebration, thanks to Clyde’s generosity. Drake took in the way they closed ranks around Moot at the nosiness of an embedded reporter. She didn’t go away empty-handed. Her persistence got her a quick interview with lots of local flavor. But not one with Moot.
The festivities carried on with Drake winding his way out back to the dock. The waterway shimmered silver in places highlighted by the bright shining moon in the sky. Diamonds cluttered the inky night, a stark difference from the day’s dawning. A flash streaked across the sky to fizzle into the darkness.
“That was gorgeous!”
Drake turned. It was as if the star’s trail transferred its energy to them as they looked at each other from across the open spaces. His emotions rioted.
Her graceful stride brought her toe-to-toe with him.
“You’re gorgeous,” he blurted.
“My head says I slept the enemy. My heart has no business hinting—
it’s
not so sure.
“Skeeta!” Moot rammed the fission to smithereens before Drake could answer.
“Uncle Moot,” Sharlene protested. “It’s time to use my real name.”
He stumbled forward. “Time to head to the house.”
She grinned. “You’re drunk.”
“Got a right to be.”
“Yes, you have,” she agreed. “Come on. Let’s get you home.” Starting him on his way, she paused to look at Drake. “Do you always redeem yourself with such flair?” He looked puzzled. “The boat was a nice touch.”
“Wait’ll you see what I do for an encore.” Her brows quirked. “Need a ride home?”
“No, thanks.” She refused his kind offer. Sharlene corralled Moot as he headed off down the pier. “The truck.” The realization she was stranded struck.
They thanked Clyde on the way out the door. Drake and Sharlene sandwiched Moot between them on the walk to his car. A couple of times he halted midstride to scrutinize Drake, weaving back and forth in his boots. “Son of a bitch!” His condition exposed a side that surprised Sharlene and apparently flabbergasted Drake. Moot moved on, leaving them with their jaws hanging.
The ride to Moot’s progressed in companionable silence until Sharlene gave in to temptation. “Who’s Becky?” she whispered, certain Moot’s snoring in the backseat covered her question.
“My grandmother.”
She tried to find his eyes, but the dash lights couldn’t compete with the darkness.
“Why do you ask?”
Sharlene’s inquisitive nature took hold. “Did she ever live in Pauchex Pass?”
“I don’t believe so.”
“Drake, who was the relative you mentioned that resided here back then?”
“My grandfather was born and raised here. Left in his early twenties after his father was killed in the war.” Even though they spoke in lowered voices, Drake’s rumbling punctured the quiet. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”
Sharlene swiveled his way. “That’s there’s a connection? Yes, I am.”
“You believe Mr. Mouton and my grandfather were sworn enemies?”
“No.” She rejected his conclusion. “Not at first, anyway.”
“Come on, Sharlene. If you know something, spit it out.”
The edge in his voice told her he didn’t like where this topic headed.
“I think my uncle and your grandfather were in love with the same woman.”
Drake let loose a hearty laugh that circulated in the car and cuddled Sharlene all over. She liked what she heard. Hearing that degree of cheerfulness from him was encouraging. Maybe he was on the way to healing.
“Well, I guess that’ll do it…turn friends into enemies every time,” he rationalized.
“Their dislike apparently went to the extreme, Drake.”
“Explain that.”
“They seemed to have had a…a duel.”
“What?” he exploded.
“Shh,” she cautioned. She twisted around to see Moot, head thrown back, mouth wide open. “I have your company contacts to thank for that piece of info.” The need to twist the knife was too hard to resist. “The reporter poked me in the ribs with the name he intended to investigate. The public relations man used the duel to bribe BabyBabe99er into silence. Need I say more?”
“Goddammit!”
“Don’t talk to me like that,” she demanded, preparing for a fight. “And lower your voice.”
“Why didn’t you tell me he threatened you?”
“What would you have done, Drake? You work for them.”
The headlights cut a perfect horizontal line, splitting the darkness in half. Trying to mask the fallout of the argument was virtually impossible for Sharlene as Drake flew down the two-lane highway. Personal overtones of the dispute clamped her mouth shut. Disappointment and anger, emotions she had no right to entertain, reared their ugly heads.
Shortly afterward, Drake veered off the highway and directly onto the private road that lead to Moot’s house. They traveled the half-mile through the thickets to the front door where he and Sharlene got out without a passing word. Sharlene opened the rear door to rouse Moot. Drake waited at her elbow to lend a hand.
“Uncle Moot, we’re home.” She clawed at his arm to get him to stir.
“I’ll get him,” Drake said.
Sharlene pivoted only to find herself physically shuttled aside. “You get him then.” She had her doubts about Drake handling her uncle’s dead weight because of his wiry appearance.
Apparently, Drake had no such qualms. She scrutinized him when he shifted Moot’s lower torso to clear his legs from the car, bent with a shoulder to his middle, and heaved him out—up—and over his shoulder. Sharlene retreated a step to avoid a collision as he backed into the clearance to avoid bumping Moot’s head. The quizzical look on his face deserved acknowledging, but she remained quiet about it.
“What?”
“What…what?” She covered her disbelief by preceding him up to the porch.
He admired her sensual moves as she hopped up the steps in a hurry to open the door. Her actions caused him a tremendous discomfort. Moot’s frame was a feather compared to the pressure in other parts of his body. Just remembering the last time he and Sharlene climbed those steps together simmered the blood in his veins.
She turned on the light, faced Drake suddenly, and caught the diamond glitter in his ebony eyes.
Oh my God! I’m a cougar, and he’s a cub!
“Bring him in here.” She dashed to Moot’s room and threw back the covers. “Lie him down. I’ll get him out of those damp clothes.” As soon as his head hit the pillow, she braced her palm on Drake’s upper arm to start his departure. “Thanks for your help.” Sharlene exchanged places with him and sped toward the door. “See you later, Drake.”
The disapproving grunt swung her around. Drake had already removed Moot’s boots and worked on getting his wet jeans off. Next to hit the floor beside the sweat socks was his T-shirt. Sharlene cut him off when it seemed he was about to say something.
“If you know like me, you’d stop right there.”
“He’s a man. I’m a man.” He braced for a discussion he knew to come. “Better me than you.”
“He’ll be so angry I let you anywhere near him.”
“Sharlene, you had no choice due to your concern for his health. Remember, he spent hours battered by an angry sea. Your defense is his well-being.”
She ransacked Moot’s chest for nightclothes, providing Drake a pair of clean striped pajamas. At that point, she left a man to do a man’s job. Sharlene busied herself in the kitchen putting the finishing touches on the coffee started last evening. Drake’s appearance provoked her to head for the door.
“Thanks again.” She flung it wide open.
“Aren’t you going to offer me a cup?”
“I’m worn out, and I’m sure you are, too.”
“You owe me the rest of the story, Sharlene.”
“You know all I know.” She kept her answers short and curt to discourage his visit.
Drake covered her hand, the one holding the door. “I really came to warn you yesterday.” He eased the door to a close. “I didn’t tell anyone your identity,” he promised, leaning closer.
Sharlene ducked. “Business association only.” The coffeepot beeped right on time. She escaped right under his nose.
Two mugs and the fixings hit the table. Sharlene used that distraction as her invitation for him to wander over to a seat. She bustled about the kitchen in an attempt to give the goose bumps that sprang up on her arms time to vanish before she joined him. She’d forgotten the warm, homey sensation that surrounded one when in the presence of someone special.
Sharlene poured the steaming hot coffee, took her seat, and sampled her creamy, sweetened brew. She eyed Drake over the rim of her cup, cognizant that he pretended indifference to her blatant observation. Her secret thoughts evaporated into thin air throughout the cozy kitchen with each hindered breath she inhaled.
* * * *
The very idea Drake faced a challenge to his love sobriety intensified the nagging question about his future. He had muddled through life on autopilot since the tragic deaths of his family nearly four years ago. Work was his company keeper—his sanity regulator. Looking at the gorgeous redhead on the other side of the table had him wondering if he was ready for a heart fixer. Better yet, was she ready for him?