Anne Winston – Born to be Wild (страница 3)

Celia rose from her desk, quickly pasting a semblance of a smile on her face as the kid babbled on about the incoming yacht. Most of the staff had worked for Milo before she’d taken over, and she hated for them to see her blue. Their spirits rose and fell right along with hers.

She went to the door eagerly, glad for the distraction. The kid was easily impressed, but if he was right, she wanted to see the yacht. The young worker said it was one of the newest models available—and one of the costliest. Extraordinary wealth was common in the area around the Cape but a brand-new yacht built to spec from any of the top makers was worth a close look. If only to drool over.

Walking to the door of the shack, she stepped out onto the pier, shading her eyes from the morning sun as she squinted southeast toward the opening of the small harbor. The sleek silhouette of a cruiser glided in and she watched as one of her staff directed its captain to a slip then waited until the boat was tied up. A man leaped from the deck of the yacht to the pier and conferred with the dock worker for a moment, and she saw the boy pointing her way.

The man came striding up the pier toward her. He was tall and rangy, with wide shoulders and a lean, easy movement to him that would make a woman look twice. His dark hair gleamed in the sunlight—

And her heart dropped into her stomach where it promptly began doing backflips. The man coming up the pier was Reese Barone.

She barely had time to recover, to gather her stunned sensibilities into some semblance of a professional attitude. Thank God Roma had warned her that he was in the area.

“Hello,” she called as he drew near. “You need a temp mooring?”

“I do. I’d really like to get a slip at the dock if you have one available for short term.” The voice was very deep and very masculine, shivering along her hypersensitive nerve endings like the whisper of a feather over flesh. He extended a hand. “Celia. Dare I hope that you remember me?”

“Reese.” She cleared her throat as she took his hand, giving it one quick squeeze before sliding hers free and tucking it into the pocket of her windbreaker. Was it her imagination that made her feel as if her palm was tingling where their hands had met? “Welcome to South Harwich. It’s been a long time.” There. Nice and noncommittal.

“Thirteen years.”

She couldn’t look at him. “Something like that.”

“Exactly like that.” There was almost a thread of anger in his low tone, and it startled her into looking at him. Instantly, she was sorry. His eyes weren’t nearly as ordinary as she’d hoped, but as extraordinary as she’d remembered. Thick, dark lashes framed irises of gray. At the moment they looked as dark and stormy as his voice sounded. Crackling energy seemed to radiate from him. What could he have to be mad about? He was the one who’d taken off without a word.

“Mrs. Papaleo?” Angie, her office assistant, stuck her head out the door. “Maintenance is on the phone.”

Maintenance. She needed to take the call. She had to get the fourth piling replaced; it hadn’t been the same since that boat crashed into it on the Fourth. Angie could help Reese. Twenty-two and supremely capable, Angie Dunstan had worked for the marina since before Milo had died. Angie could charm a bird from its tree—and she’d be delighted to entertain Reese. Let her deal with him.

“I have to go,” she said to Reese. “Come on in the office and Angie can show you what’s available.”

“You’re the harbormaster?” There was a definite note of skepticism in his voice.

“Yes.” A small thrill of pride lifted her chin as she turned and headed back up the pier. But she couldn’t ignore the sensations that tingled through her as she walked. She could almost feel him behind her.

Well, it didn’t matter. He’d asked for temp space, which meant he’d be gone again in a few days.

“How long have you had the job?” he asked from behind her.

She didn’t turn around or slow down. “Over two years.”

“Somebody retire? I can’t even remember who worked this marina.”

She was at the door of the office by now, and she took a deep breath, turning to meet his eyes squarely. And just as it had in the old days, her stomach fluttered when those gray eyes gazed into hers. “My father-in-law was the harbormaster for years,” she said quietly. “When he died, my husband got the job. Then the selectmen offered it to me after Milo passed away.”

“I heard you were widowed.”

She nodded. God, how she hated that word.

“I’m sorry.”

She saw something move in his eyes and she looked away quickly. Compassion from Reese, of all people, would do her in. “Angie, how about putting Mr. Barone in the Margolies’ slip along pier four. They won’t be back until May and they gave us permission to rent it out on a temp basis.” She gave a perfunctory nod of her head without meeting his eyes again. “Enjoy your stay.”

Enjoy your stay.

That night, lying in the stateroom of his boat, Reese’s teeth ground together at the memory of Celia’s glib words. She’d blown him off as easily as she had thirteen years ago. No, he corrected himself, even more easily. Last time, she’d had her father do it.

Father. That led to thoughts of other things she’d said. Father-in-law. He knew, on an intellectual level, that time had passed. But he didn’t feel any older. And Celia still looked much the same. It was hard to believe she’d married and buried a husband since he’d seen her last.

Had she had something going with the Papaleo guy that summer while she’d been with him? His memory of this marina was vague, since his family had always kept their crafts at Saquatucket, but he could dimly recall the wiry Greek fellow who’d kept things in order years ago. He had an even less reliable memory of the man’s son, no more than another wiry figure, possibly taller than the older man.

No. If she’d cheated on him, he’d have known it. He’d been sure of Celia back in those days. She’d been his. All his.

He swore, gritting his teeth for an entirely different reason as his body reacted to the memories, and flipped onto his back.

Celia. God, she’d been so beautiful she’d taken his breath away. Today had been no different. How could that be? After thirteen years she shouldn’t look so damned good. She was thirty—he knew she’d just had a birthday at the end of September.

The thought pulled him up short. Why did he still remember the birthdate of a woman he’d slept with years ago for one brief summer?

She was your fantasy.

Yes, indeed. She had been his fantasy. At an age when a young man was particularly impressionable, Celia had been lithe, warm, adoring and pliable. If he’d suggested it, she’d rarely opposed him. She truly had been every man’s dream. But that was all she’d been, he assured himself. A dream.

A dream that had evaporated like the morning mist over the harbor once she’d heard the false rumor about him and that girl from Boston.

An old wave of bitterness welled up. He didn’t often allow himself to think about the last words he and his father had exchanged all those years ago. To people who asked, he merely said he had no family.

And he didn’t. He’d never opened nor answered the letters from his mother or his brothers and sisters, mostly because there was nothing to say. He hadn’t done a damn thing wrong, and he had nothing to apologize for. Nick had been the most persistent. Reese bet he’d gotten fifteen letters from his big brother in those first five years or so. There were probably more out there floating around. He’d sailed from place to place so much there would have been no way to predict his movements or the places he might have chosen to dock.

On the other hand, he’d never received so much as a single line from his father. That was all it would have taken, too. One line. I’m sorry.

He exhaled heavily. Why in the hell was he thinking about that tonight? It was ancient history. He had a family of his own now, was a very different person than he’d been more than a decade ago.

The thought brought Amalie to mind and he smiled to himself. He’d never pictured himself as a father, and he certainly wouldn’t recommend acquiring a child the way she’d come into his life, but he loved her dearly. If he could love a child who wasn’t even biologically his so much, what would it be like to have a child of his own?

As if she’d been waiting for the chance, Celia sprang into his head again. He was more than mildly shocked when he realized that, subconsciously, he’d always pictured her in the role of his imaginary child’s mother. Dammit! He was not going to waste any more time thinking about that faithless woman.

Throwing his legs over the side of his bunk, he yanked on a pair of ragged jeans and a sweatshirt and stomped through the rest of his living space to the stairs. On deck, he idly picked up a pair of binoculars and scanned the horizon. Nothing interesting, only one small fishing boat. A careless captain, too, he observed, running without lights.

Casually he swung the binoculars around to the shoreline. The area had been developed considerably since he’d been gone, as had the whole Cape and the rest of the Eastern seaboard. A lot of new houses, some right on the water. The only place that would still be undisturbed completely would be the Cape Cod National Seashore on the Outer Cape, but here along the Lower Cape he couldn’t see that.