Sailing In Style

“And the hall carpet is completely saturated, so the six rooms along that length will have to remain unoccupied until it can be replaced.”

“I...”

“Let’s do a math lesson here. Couple thousand for the carpet and wood repair. Six rooms times two hundred dollars per night, times two weeks.”

Cy’s left temple began to throb as he calculated the cost of flooring alone.

“So we’re getting into the sixteen-thousand-dollar range. Maybe more. Very inconvenient, especially since we’ve got an unusually big group boarding at the end of the month.” She waved a hand. “You’ve racked up a nice bill of damages, Mr. Franco.”

“No problem. I can pay it.” If he sold his truck and depleted his savings account, it might be enough.

“The curtains are ruined, also. Did I mention that? They have to be custom-made, of course, as they’re an odd size.”

His other temple began to pulse.

“I think it’s safe to say that’s another couple hundred added on. I’m so glad we have that clause in the event contract that the contractee is responsible for any damages to the River King caused by event attendees. That’s smart, isn’t it?”

“Smart.” Cy wondered how much he could get for a kidney. He had a spare, after all. “Um, what happens if I can’t quite come up with the cash all at once?”

“I thought you might say that.” She gave him a smile that was scarier than Jack Nicholson’s in The Shining.

CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_44c7d09f-2a1d-50fd-9fdc-119f44118742)

IT WAS NEARLY 11:00 p.m. when Cy Franco was finally able to take off his ridiculous shoes. He sat on a chair in the empty reception room considering the offer he could not refuse. The Godfather himself would have been impressed.

His brain tried to put things in order, but his body was afire with nervous energy. He finally dropped to the floor and started in on some push-ups to clear his mind. Somewhere around the tenth push-up, he spotted his sister’s feet, clad now in stylish mules.

“Talk to me,” she said.

Eleven. Twelve. “Just burning off some energy. Isn’t it time for you and Pike to go?”

“Talk to me,” she repeated.

“Nothing to say.” Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen.

Now one stylish mule was tapping impatiently. “You’re barefoot, doing push-ups and Irene is walking around like a cat on a quail farm. Spill it, or I get the jumper cables and torture it out of you.”

He stopped doing push-ups and rolled over onto his back, staring up at her. He’d never been able to hide things from Rosa. She had this weird twin sixth-sense thing going on, and truth be told, he was a terrible liar. He took a deep breath and let it all out. “In a nutshell, I flooded my stateroom and caused somewhere in the neighborhood of sixteen thousand dollars in damage and lost revenue. She’s within her rights to demand restitution. I didn’t read the contract carefully enough before I signed it. I was in a hurry.”

Rosa closed her eyes.

He went on. “Carson Spooley is a celebrity concierge. I had to look up exactly what that means, but basically he’s like a glorified personal assistant, checking out this tug as a possible wedding location for somebody named Dizz. I have no idea who Dizz is, but apparently he’s somebody famous and Irene is desperate for him to love this boat and book his wedding here.”

She opened her eyes in surprise. “Dizz is a talent scout. He hosts the reality show Acting Up. He discovers actors and makes them into stars. The winners of his show land themselves an agent and a role on a network TV show. He’s engaged to Tiffany, an actress he discovered in season two.”

Cy shook his head. “Dizz and Tiffany? Don’t any of these people have last names?”

“To the point, brother.”

“I’m to redesign and decorate the reception room and dining area in the space of three weeks on a sixteen-thousand-dollar budget. If it passes muster and Spooley convinces this Dizz person to book the wedding here, I’m off the hook.”

“Three weeks? That’s insane, even for twice the budget.”

He sighed. “Yeah. The only good news is that business has been terrible and she doesn’t have many overnight guests at the moment. They can use the smaller room for dining.”

“And if Dizz doesn’t book the boat for the wedding?”

“I owe her sixteen thousand dollars per the contract I signed. Don’t worry. It’s coming out of my pocket. I messed up and I’m not going to take Dollars and Sense funds to fix it.”

“That’s irrelevant because Dollars and Sense doesn’t have any funds anyway, not until we get a few jobs booked.” Rosa sank down cross-legged on the floor. “There’s got to be a way out of this. Do you want me to see if Pike can find a loophole?”

He shook his head. “Thanks, anyway.”

“But you’re in this mess because of me. I’d give you the money if I could, but...”

“You don’t have it.”

“No, and Pike sold off everything to buy Pelican Inn. The honeymoon is a gift from his uncle or we wouldn’t have been able to afford it.”

He sat up. “No worries. This old boat needs my magic touch anyway. The history this place is steeped in...you wouldn’t believe it.”

“Then why the worry crease on your forehead?”

“That’s a character line, not a worry crease.”

She looked at him, with those brown eyes so different from his blue ones. She favored their mother, the woman who had drunk herself into an early grave. He had their father’s coloring and easygoing mind-set. For the most part, anyway.

Rosa’s brown eyes continued to drill into him with sisterly affection. “Cy, why don’t you tell me why you left the water running?”

He sighed. It would do no good to lie. “I thought I saw Piper.”

Rosa put her palm on Cy’s cheek. “Oh, honey. I love you, but if you really did see Piper, then you know what you need to do.”

“Run?”

“In the opposite direction. As far and as fast as you can.”

He closed his eyes. “I have. I am. But she’s still there.”

He could still feel the rain from that night three years before, pattering down, drilling tiny holes in the sand on a perfect Southern California beach. Not to be daunted by a little thing like weather, he’d erected an enormous umbrella over the picnic blanket, sheltering the bouquet of purple peonies. Roses were for ordinary women, not a one-of-a-kind, breathtaking creature like Piper. The storm came, and with it, high tide.

Piper did not.

Soggy flowers. Sputtering candle. A single text. I can’t. I’m sorry. It’s over.

He understood the finality in the text, the truth she had been trying to communicate for weeks and he had steadfastly refused to hear. That night, mixed with the shush of the storm and the pounding of the waves, he’d finally heard. He’d handed over his heart to a woman who didn’t love him. Not enough, anyway.

He’d stayed until the tide had come to claim the sodden bouquet. He’d let the ocean have the ring, too, hurling it out across the sea until the band of gold lost itself in the moonlit sparkle of the waves.