Beyond Reach

She didn’t want to live in the city for the rest of her life. Her good friend Sally thought she should stay there so she’d meet more men; the countryside was devoid of eligible males, according to Sally. But, for now, Lucy was through with men. Big blond men who weren’t there when she needed them. The only kind she ever seemed to be attracted to.

A woman in a colorful sarong skirt was approaching the bench. Lucy collected her wandering thoughts; this wasn’t the time or the place to deal with her problems with the opposite sex. Perhaps this woman could direct her to the police station.

Then, from the corner of her eye, Lucy saw a flock of gulls rise in the sky over the moored yachts. She stood still, her gaze following the graceful curves they were inscribing against the depthless blue of the heavens, where the rays of the sun made the flashing white wings translucent. Their cries were like the cackling of a coven of witches, mocking her decision. Making nonsense of it.

Responsible. Sensible. Should. Ought. Horrible words, Lucy thought blankly. Words that had ruled her life for as long as she could remember.

The woman in the sarong skirt had already walked past her. In sheer panic Lucy made a small gesture with her hand, as though to call her back. Then her hand fell to her side. Feeling her heart pounding in her chest, she knew that somehow she had made a decision. A momentous decision. She wasn’t going back. She was going to walk down the dock and find Seawind and do her level best to get herself signed on as cook and crew.

Rubbing her damp palms down her skirt, she fastened the image of the gulls in her mind’s eye like a talisman and crossed the road. The sign was still there, its black letters every bit as forceful as she remembered them. There was an urgency behind the words, she decided thoughtfully. Whoever had written them was desperate. Good. All the more chance that he’d hire her. That she’d have four weeks at sea. Four weeks to figure out why the job she’d worked so hard to create had swallowed her up in the process. Four weeks to try and understand why she was always drawn to the wrong kind of menhandsome, blond, sexy, undependable men.

Four weeks to have fun?

She suddenly found that she was smiling. Taking a deep breath, Lucy marched down the dock.

She passed Lady Jane, Wanderer, Marliese and Trident. Then she stopped in her tacks, feeling her heart leap in her ribcage. Seawind was painted white with dark green trim, her furled headsail edged in green, the bimini awning over the cockpit a matching green. She was beautiful. Wonderfully and utterly beautiful.

‘Can I help you?’

Lucy jumped. A bemused smile still on her face, she turned to face the man who had seemingly appeared from nowhere. He was standing on the dock four or five feet away from her, wearing a faded blue T-shirt and navy shorts. For a moment, knocked off balance, Lucy thought she must have conjured him up out of her imagination, for he was big, blond, handsome and sexy— exactly the kind of man who had become anathema to her over the last few months. The kind she was intent on avoiding at any cost. ‘Oh, no. No, thanks,’ she said. ‘I’m looking for the skipper of Seawind actually.’

‘Are you applying for the job?’

None of your business, thought Lucy. ‘Yes, I am.’ With a sudden clutch of dismay she said, ‘It’s not filled, is it?’

‘No. What are your qualifications?’

‘I think I should leave that for the skipper, don’t you?’ she said sweetly.

‘I’m Seawind’s skipper.’

Then why didn’t you say so in the first place? Lucy thought crossly. And why in heaven’s name did you have to be big and blond and overpoweringly masculine? Smothering the words before she could speak them, she held out her hand with her most professional smile. ‘I’m Lucy Barnes.’

His grip was strong, his own smile perfunctory. ‘Troy Donovan. Tell me your qualifications.’

He had every right to ask; he was, after all, the skipper. She said calmly, ‘Would you mind if we went on board? I’m not used to the sun and I’m not wearing any sunscreen.’ Her sunscreen, along with everything else, was back at the villa.

After a fractional hesitation he said, ‘Go ahead.’

She stepped from the dock to the transom of the boat called Seawind, and without being asked slipped her feet out of her sandals before stepping on to the teak deck. The bimini cast a big square of shade. The wood was warm and smooth under her bare soles. She had to get this job, Lucy thought, determination coursing along her veins. She had to. Waiting until Troy Donovan had positioned himself across from her, she said, ‘For nearly four years, as a teenager, I spent all my free time sailing. Daysailers, Lasers, and then as crew on a forty-five foot sloop not unlike this in design.’

He said edgily, ‘Would you mind taking off your sunglasses? I like to see the person I’m talking to.’

She pushed her glasses up into her hair. Her eyes were her best feature—thick-lashed and set under brows like dark wings. Beautifully shaped eyes, that hovered between gray and blue and bore tiny rust flecks that echoed the rich, polished brown of her hair. Her face had character rather than conventional prettiness: her chin pointed but firm, her nose with a slight imperious hook to it. To the discerning eye it was a face hinting at inner conflicts, for, while her lips were soft and her smile warm, a guardedness in her eyes hinted that she might withhold more than she gave.

Troy Donovan said abruptly, ‘How old are you now?’

‘Twenty-five.’

‘Haven’t you sailed since then?’

Unerringly he had found her weakest point. ‘No—I’ve lived in Ottawa for many years. But I’ve never forgotten anything I learned, I know I haven’t.’

‘Where did you do your sailing?’

‘Canada. Out of Vancouver.’

‘So you don’t know these waters at all?’

She tilted her chin. ‘I can read charts, and I’m a quick learner.’

‘Can you cook?’

Although one of Lucy’s favorite haunts was the Chinese take-out across the street from her apartment building, her theory had always been that if you could read, you could cook. Somehow she didn’t think that particular theory would impress Troy Donovan. But her mother had always taught her that you could do anything you put your mind to, and not even several flunked physics exams and a failed engagement had entirely destroyed Lucy’s faith in this maxim. With a nasty sensation that none of her answers were the right ones, she said evasively, ‘I haven’t actually cooked on a boat before. But I’m sure the same general principles hold true at sea as on land.’

‘What about references?’

His eyes, too, were gray. But unlike hers they were a flat, unrevealing gray, like the slate from the quarry near her old home on the west coast. With a sinking heart she said, ‘I’m self-employed. But I can put you in touch with the bank manager where I do all my business dealings, and my physician would give you a personal reference.’

He looked patently unimpressed. ‘You can come back tomorrow, Miss Barnes. If I haven’t found anyone by then, perhaps I’ll reconsider you.’

He was dismissing her. He wasn’t interested. She was going to lose out on something that she craved more than breath itself. Lucy said in a rush, ‘I don’t think you quite understand—I love the sea! I come alive on a boat that’s under full sail. I’d give everything I own for four weeks on the water.. .please.’

He had been standing with one hand wrapped around the backstay. Straightening, he ran his fingers through his hair and said, exasperated, ‘I’ve got enough on my mind without taking on someone who’s never sailed here before. I’m sorry, Miss—’

‘I’ll do it for nothing,’ she blurted. ‘Food and board, that’s all.’

‘Are you in trouble with the law?’ he said sharply.

‘No!’ Her brain racing, she sought for words to convince him. ‘Haven’t you ever wanted anything so desperately that you’d sell your soul to get it? You don’t really know why—you only know that your whole body is telling you what you want. That you’re denying yourself if you ignore it.’

So quickly that she almost missed it, a flash of intense emotion crossed the carved impassivity of his features. He, like her, had pushed his sunglasses to the top of his head, where they rested in hair that was a thick, sunstreaked blond. While Lucy was something of an expert in body language and the long term effects of tension, she didn’t need her expertise to realize that Troy Donovan had been under a severe stress of some kind for far too long: the toll was clearly to be seen in his shadowed, deepset eyes, his clenched jaw, the hard set of his shoulders.

He didn’t answer her question. Instead he said slowly, ‘So you’re desperate… Why are you desperate, Lucy Barnes?’

‘I—I can’t tell you that. I’m not sure I know myself. But I’ll work my fingers to the bone and I’ll do my very best to please your guests. And I’m certainly strong enough physically for the job.’

His eyes ranged her face with clinical detachment. ‘You don’t look strong. You look washed out. In fact,’ he continued, with almost diabolical accuracy, ‘you look as though you’re not fully recuperated from some sort of illness.’

Damn the man! He’d found every chink in her armor. Worse than that, by telling him how much she wanted the job she’d revealed to him a part of herself that she would have much preferred to keep private. ‘I’ve had the flu,’ she replied shortly, and with reckless disregard for the frown on his face plunged on, ‘Why don’t you take me out for a trial run? So I can prove I’m the right person to crew for you.’

‘Give me one good reason why I should bother doing that.’

She had nothing to lose and everything to gain. Her nails digging into her palms, Lucy said with false insouciance, ‘Your notice said you needed someone immediately.’ She looked around and gave him an innocent smile. ‘And I don’t exactly see a huge line-up of other applicants.’

As his facial muscles tightened she felt a thrill of primitive victory. He said flatly, ‘The trouble is, it’s too early for college students, and anyone else who’s half reliable has long ago been snapped up by the big charter companies.’ He added, his gray eyes inimical, ‘Let’s get something straight, Miss Barnes. I’m the skipper, you’re the crew. I give the orders and you take them. Is that clear?’

Refusing to drop her own eyes, Lucy said, ‘Those are the rules on board, yes.’