Love's Stormy Gale (Heartsong Presents) (2 page)

Cooking supper for Dad would give her a breather. Olivia locked her car, then trudged to the house. She put on some soft music, and minutes later was up to her elbows in homemade pasta dough. A trip to the market that morning had yielded a fresh catch of clams. Olivia put the stockpot on to steam. She was feeling better already, she realized as she fed the dough into the pasta maker.

“How’s my girl?” her father’s voice called, taking her back uncounted years with his old greeting.

“Great, Pop! I’m making clams Alfredo with linguine.” The aroma made her stomach rumble.

Her dad eased a suspender off one shoulder as he entered the kitchen. “Smells good.” His brown gaze darted around the kitchen; wrinkles lined his smile. “But it’s been a long time since the kitchen looked this messy.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it all.” She grinned, remembering her tendency to let the dishes go.

When supper had finished cooking, Olivia joined her father at the old dining table. As she ate her clams and pasta and tossed salad, Olivia watched her father’s hands as he twirled the noodles with his fork.

As much as she hated the thought, she realized her father was growing old. The knuckles of his hands, swollen and callused, spoke of his years of hard work. Yet he didn’t complain; only every now and then he rubbed his fingers.

Someday she’d be all alone.

“Why so serious looking all of a sudden?” her dad quizzed.

“I was just thinking.” How could she tell her father that she thought of him as an old man?

“Well, don’t think so hard. It looks painful.” His gruff tone was offset by the twinkle in his eyes.

Trust her dad to joke about what was on her mind. Olivia had to laugh to herself as she scrubbed the pots and pans later on. He would make fun of serious situations. But that didn’t work. Olivia had tried, but humor made a poor balm to cover old pain.

After she left the dishes on the rack, and pots and pans drying on towels spread on the counter, Olivia went into the formal parlor. Pictures covered with a thin film of dust still covered the mantel, and one on the end caught her eye. The picture still packed a punch.

The three of them stood on the pier next to her father’s boat. She couldn’t recall who’d taken the snapshot. Her mother clutched her father’s arm and wore a pasted-on smile, the same kind Olivia used when putting on a brave face. Olivia, probably two years of age, was perched on her father’s shoulders.

How long after that photograph was taken did her mother leave them? Olivia didn’t know, but she remembered seeing a snapshot of her fourth birthday, with just she and her father sitting in front of a birthday cake.

Olivia set her jaw and glared at the picture of the trio that had once been. “I’m not like you, Ma. I came back.”

Chapter 2

“G
ive me a couple o’ months, Pete, and I’ll have a down payment for the
Isabella Rose
.” Jonathan sipped from his coffee cup and set it back on the wooden counter. He’d have to hurry to make it to the dock on time. But a man couldn’t beat the breakfast at the Sea Dawg, or the deal he was about to iron out with Pete.

“Good deal, man. The wife’s been after me t’ open a tackle shop or somethin’. Don’t want me out there anymore. At least I’m gettin’ out of the business with life and limb, and can fin’ly get a little peace at home.” The fisherman rubbed the stubble on his chin and made a huffing sound. “Plus she’s tired of going to all the kids’ ball games by herself.”

“All right, I’ll look you up before the end of the summer.” Jonathan swallowed the last of his coffee.

The men exchanged nods as Jonathan picked up his breakfast ticket.

The balmy summer air outside reminded him again of the simple gifts of life. Simple, yet priceless. Another morning to give thanks for being alive. Jonathan fended off the memory of his father’s phone call the night before. “I want more for you, Jon. Trawling is a fruitless struggle against the sea and the bureaucrats who try to tell a man when and where and how much to fish. I’m glad your mother and I retired to Florida,”
his father had said.

The exchange of words that followed reminded him of Olivia’s sharp tones her first day on a tour the week before. Since then she’d avoided him, and he couldn’t blame her. He had assumed they were better friends than for her to ignore him. Jonathan decided to put his assumptions aside.

Instead, he would start counting the days until Pete’s boat was his. The open sea beckoned like an old friend. A fickle friend, yes, but Jonathan knew better than to try to tame its wildness. Things happened on the water and sometimes men and women didn’t come home from their voyages. That was life. He could deal with it, and he hoped Olivia could, too. In God’s hands wherever he went, Jonathan would keep shipping out and fishing. When it was his time to tell planet Earth good-bye, it was time.

At least he and Olivia hadn’t been assigned to the same boat so far. He wasn’t sure about her emotional ability to handle being out on the ocean again, no matter how Maggie had assured him that Olivia could do it.

Jonathan still remembered Olivia’s tenacity to jump in with her whole self, holding nothing back. It drew him to her like a magnet, even now, when too much remained unsaid between them. He quickened his steps to the docks and tried to push Olivia from his mind.

* * *

Jonathan’s lighthearted whistle coming from inside the boat made Olivia’s pulse jump.
Scaredy cat.
There was nothing to fear, from Jonathan or anything else on a sunny summer day like today. She paused at the cabin door to watch customers line up at the dock. Their excitement made the air crackle, and Lord willing, she and Jonathan would find them some whales. After Jonathan recovered from the shock of realizing she was working his boat of course.

A wry smile tugged at her lips. Olivia fought the urge and headed for the source of the whistling. She entered the cabin.

Jonathan’s back faced her; curly dark hair ruffled in the light breeze filtering through the doorway.

He whirled around, and as expected, stopped his whistling. “Liv.”

The familiar nickname came out in a hoarse rasp.

Olivia’s first impression was how good Jonathan looked, even better than an unbidden memory or the quick glimpse last week on the boat. His face and arms glowed a ruddy bronze from hours on the water. But his dark molasses eyes wore a guarded expression, as if he were encountering a wounded animal. She’d hurt him by leaving, she knew. The other day when they’d first seen each other, she hadn’t allowed herself to take in the sight of him, as she was doing now.

Her voice came out in a croak. “Maggie didn’t feel well this morning, so I’m covering her tour.”

Jonathan gave a noncommittal nod and turned back toward the open engine room door.

Olivia didn’t ask if he minded her presence. She could see his broad shoulders tighten and tug at his T-shirt. It wasn’t like she’d volunteered to tour with him. If anything, she had steered clear of Jonathan since that first whale watch. Facing the past was hard enough. Seeing Jonathan again and pretending the past hadn’t happened was another matter.

“So, how long have you been piloting?”

“A year and a half or so.” Jonathan’s thick capable fingers snapped his toolbox shut. “Had to do something to make a living. I help with an occasional fishing charter. Nothing major.” He used a rag to wipe his greasy fingernails, gave up and tossed it onto the toolbox. He moved past her.

Who was giving whom the cold shoulder now? She pattered after him, feeling much like a puppy trotting after an annoyed older dog. So he’d started piloting for Terry’s whale tours six months after she’d left town.

“Look,” she called out, “if you don’t want me here, just say so. Maybe Terry can find someone else.”

“I never said you weren’t welcome.”

“Okay.” Olivia swallowed hard. “This isn’t easy for me. Being out here, I mean. But it’s something I have to do. I have to be out with the whales again.”

Jonathan nodded. She noted his strong jaw clench and unclench. “How’s your dad?”

“Good.” She mentally snuffed out a wispy flame of concern for her father’s health, and pulled the touring notes from her briefcase. Her real reason for coming home, the one thing that goaded her into facing her fears: something was wrong with Dad. No matter, he went out day after day to check his lobster pots. But he’d been coughing and had lost weight.

“Has he been having a pretty good season so far?” Yet another question from Jonathan.

“I don’t know. He hasn’t said, but then even when times are good, Dad lives like a miser. But he eats out too much. And you wouldn’t believe the junk food and frozen dinners in the freezer.” Olivia shook her head.

“Sounds like my fridge.”

Olivia noticed Jonathan’s slight grin. Her throat caught, and she swallowed hard. He’d been lonely, too.

“Maybe I’ll cook supper for all of us like I used to.” She couldn’t believe she’d spoken the words aloud.

“I’d be there, like I used to be.”

Olivia refused to think of Robby, the other former member of the “three musketeers” who used to haunt the Shea house at suppertime. “I’ll let you know. Sometime.” She turned to her notes, reassembling her composure. They couldn’t go back. Old times had come and gone.

A grief counselor had told her once about a “new normal” after losing Robby. But just exactly what that normal was, Olivia couldn’t fathom.

She was already getting seasick and they hadn’t even left the dock. Why else would she feel so queasy and quivery inside? Olivia headed down the narrow metal stairs to the cabin below. As soon as the passengers had boarded, Olivia began what she called her “Whale Story” and introduced the morning’s staff. The fore and aft mates stood at their respective places on the ship, and the third busily took orders at the snack bar.

Meanwhile Olivia continued a delicate verbal dance with Jonathan during the first part of the trip, as if they were venturing closer, being friendlier. Then the past would loom up again, and they’d circle away.

Olivia delivered the usual harbor narration as they passed landmarks of Fairport’s harbor. She spoke too quickly, she knew, when she pointed out the fisherman statue. The memorial to the town’s fishermen who perished over the past centuries caused a stab of remembrance that threatened to interfere with her forced calm.

Now that she’d been out on the water, Olivia enjoyed the sensation of skimming across the waves. She had missed this. From the smiles on the faces she could see below, most of the passengers shared her enjoyment.

* * *

Jonathan busied himself with the latest weather forecast, even though he had checked the printout not thirty minutes ago.

The wind whistled through the open windows and tugged at Olivia’s hair. Her eyebrows furrowed as she read Maggie’s notes. Jonathan wanted to smooth the anxiety from her face and allow his fingers to touch the wayward wisp.

He recalled the last time he’d touched her hair. He had run his fingers through the silken strands. Olivia, in his arms like he’d always dreamed. Except she was saying good-bye, running from the pain of loss that plagued them both. Now that she had returned, what would happen?

The confines of the pilothouse caused them to rub elbows. Jonathan wondered how he’d survive a summer of seeing Olivia day after day. She could never know the nights he’d lain awake, missing her. He had battled his longing into submission, and until now he’d assumed it was dead.

He liked his life the way it was now. His feelings for Olivia needed to stay in the past.

Jonathan cast a glance in her direction. Pink suffused Olivia’s cheeks while he allowed his glance to linger.

Until the boat reached the open water, Olivia kept up such a stream of chatter that Jonathan hoped she didn’t pass out from lack of breath. She hit verbal overdrive when describing the fisherman statue. He caught himself grinning.

“What? What is it?” Olivia’s gaze bored into him. “You’re laughing at me.”

“How do you do it?”

“What’s that?”

“Keep talking so fast without turning blue.”

She snorted. “I don’t talk that fast.”

“Uh-huh. Next time I’ll clock you on it.”

“Right. Whatever.” She made a face, then looked at the horizon and smiled.

They both saw the minke whale in the distance, a swift, sleek black body with a small dorsal fin disturbing the waves. The passengers pointed and gestured.

After reaching
Stellwagen
Bank, a nearby section of ocean known for its whale population, they had no difficulty spotting a small group of humpbacks about one hundred yards off the starboard bow. As Olivia continued her narration, Jonathan forced himself to focus on the workings of the ship. Other whale-watching tours were still en route to
Stellwagen
and radioed him. He advised them of the whales’ location.

The clang of feet scaling the metal stairway to the wheelhouse caught Jonathan’s attention. Brad, one of the summer interns who helped with the snack bar, stuck his head in the door. “Capt’n, the engine’s sounding kind of funny.”

“I’ll check it out. Take the helm, Liv.”

Fear flickered across her face for an instant. She muted the microphone. “All right.”

Jonathan followed Brad down to the main deck where he saw a few faces filled with concern. Most of the passengers, though, were focusing on the whale activity. The engine chugged and spluttered.

Olivia’s voice continued over the sound system, although Jonathan heard a hint of hesitation in her speech. Good. At least she’d kept up with the program. He unlocked the door to the engine room. The pungent smell of diesel fuel nearly bowled him over as the engine gave a final cough, then died. Flooded engine. He found the toolbox and started working. After twenty minutes of tinkering, Jonathan realized he needed to contact another boat to be nearby for safety’s sake at least.

“Brad, get Tim and Caitlin and meet me in the wheelhouse,” Jonathan said to the young man hovering nearby.

Now to break the news to Olivia. He breathed a quick prayer as he crossed the deck to the stairs. Jonathan headed up to the wheelhouse, pushing through the door. Olivia’s face had paled. One trembling hand held the wheel, the other her microphone.

* * *

Olivia’s knees had turned to jelly. She hated it when that happened.

Jonathan touched her arm. “Hey, you okay?”

She nodded. The rhythm of the waves rocked the boat side to side, back to front, side to side. “I’m fine now. Don’t worry about me. How’s the engine?”

“Flooded. But no worries, we’ll get it restarted in a few moments.”

After Jonathan restarted the boat, the rest of the voyage seemed to take twice as long. She kept Jonathan at bay by sticking to her script, and making notations of the whales she’d seen. One of the females had a new calf. New to her anyway. Jonathan might know the name of the youngster, but Olivia decided to wait until they returned to shore and ask Terry about the humpback.

Too much had happened, Olivia guessed, to repair even a semblance of the friendship she and Jonathan used to have. Robby had been an integral part of their relationship. With him gone, they didn’t have anything left in common.

Relief swept over her when they docked in the harbor.

She wouldn’t let herself think what she had years ago.
Why hadn’t Jonathan been the one lost at sea instead of Robby?
She didn’t want to lose him either.

When she pulled her car to a stop at the house, she saw her dad’s pickup truck in the driveway.

“Pop, I’m home.” She could hear his snore filtering back from the front room. She heard a grunt, then a rustling noise—he’d probably fallen asleep reading the paper. Olivia opened the refrigerator door to unload some groceries she’d picked up on the way home.

Her father entered the kitchen. “Had a good catch today. Kept back a couple of two-pounders for supper, if you want to steam ’em later.”

“Sounds good. Did you get a good price at the market?”

“Good enough.” His lined face wrinkled into a smile. “You had a bit of trouble today?”

Olivia had never learned to play poker. Besides detesting gambling, she couldn’t mask her feelings very well. “We broke down about fifteen miles out. Jonathan got the engine started again.”

“Ah, so you did end up on one of his boats.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” She gingerly reached around the lobster for a can of soda. Good thing its pincers were secured with a rubber band.

“I think it’s a good idea if you and he work on a boat together.” With creaking joints, her father settled onto one of the kitchen chairs.

“Is that so? What if I don’t think so?” Olivia washed the soda can lid, then popped it open.

“You lost your nerve.” His wise old eyes filled with concern. “And being with that Barrotta boy will help you get it back again.” Olivia turned to the window over the sink. She could barely make out the harbor’s edge beyond a small stand of trees.