Stranded With The Captain. Sharon HartleyЧитать онлайн книгу.

       CHAPTER THREE

      STANDING ON THE bow of Spree, Cat waited for instructions from the captain. The fiberglass beneath her feet rumbled with the vibration of Spree’s engine. The smell of diesel fuel floated on the steady north wind, which tossed her ponytail, tickling her neck.

      It was almost 5:00 p.m. and they were finally beginning their journey.

      Her job was to release the dock line and throw it onto the dock. Joan stood on the back of the boat ready to cast off the stern line.

      Debbie, hungover and tipsy from a second bottle of champagne, sat in the cockpit. Her task was to stay out of everyone’s way. During the safety instructions, she’d complained about queasiness, so the captain sent her up on deck for fresh air. Instead, she went to her cabin and fell asleep. Joan didn’t have the heart to wake her, so they never went out for that sailing lesson.

      Cat refused to let Debbie’s resentment of the entire known world spoil her excitement. She was about to embark on an adventure, something that even sounded a little daunting. Who’d have thought that she, Cattleya Sidran, the biggest coward in the known world, would actually look forward to something scary? For sure her mom and dad wouldn’t believe it.

      “Release the stern line,” Javi yelled to Joan.

      When Javi instructed her to release the bow line, Cat heaved the rope onto the dock. He gave Spree some fuel, motored out of their slip toward the channel that led out of the marina.

      “That noisy motor isn’t helping my headache,” Deb muttered when Cat scrambled back to the cockpit and sat beside her.

      Cat shrugged. She didn’t much like the motor, either, but they couldn’t raise the sails until they were out in the ocean and had room to maneuver.

      His jaw set, the captain alternated his focus between the water ahead and a depth finder mounted on the cockpit. Spree had to stay dead in the center of the channel that led out of the marina. The instrument “pinged” every so often, indicating they were close to running out of water beneath the keel—running aground, Javi called it, quite obviously not a good thing.

      He was fully dressed now, wearing khaki shorts, a blue T-shirt and matching visor. Polarized sunglasses covered his dark eyes, but the shirt couldn’t hide the biceps in the arms that gripped the wheel. The earring glinted in the setting sun, again reminding her of a pirate.

      But he wasn’t a pirate. Just a sail bum she found mysteriously attractive.

      The depth finder pinged several times. Javi cursed, then muttered, “Pardon me, ladies.”

      “Have you ever run aground?” Cat asked.

      He grinned. “More times than I care to remember.”

      “Well, that’s reassuring,” Debbie said, one hand holding a huge straw hat in place on her head.

      Joan caught Cat’s eye and shook her head. Even Joanie was running out of patience with Debbie’s negativity.

      Other marinas and businesses concerned with boating interests streamed by Spree on the right—or starboard, Javi said it was called at sea. On the left, or port, was a natural area full of mangroves, their long spidery trunks covered with roosting pelicans and a nasty odor. The narrow channel widened into a harbor, and Spree passed a large group of sailboats, their bows all pointed the same direction.

      “Are those boats anchored?” Joan asked.

      “They’ve picked up a mooring, which is more permanent, but there’s a fee,” Javi said. “Dropping an anchor is free.”

      The wind steadily increased the farther they got from the marina. The commercial area gradually turned residential and some amazing homes appeared.

      Javi nodded at Deb. “We’re about to clear the shelter of land. Trust me, you’re going to lose that hat.”

      Debbie removed her hat and tossed it through the opening into the cabin below.

      When they got offshore, the wind plastered Cat’s T-shirt against her body. The stiff breeze also chopped up the ocean, causing Spree to wallow through the waves.

      Cat glanced at Deb, but she didn’t complain about the rough ride.

      “Ready for your first lesson, Cat?” Javi asked.

      She jumped to her feet. “Sure.”

      “Take the wheel.”

      When Cat placed her hands on the smooth metal, it was warm, either from Javi’s body heat or the sun, and she felt the rumble of the engine in her fingers. He stayed behind her, his tanned arms around her and his hands also on the wheel. She took a deep breath, got a whiff of his spicy aftershave and forced herself to concentrate on the captain’s instructions.

      “Turn the wheel to starboard, like you’re driving a car, and get the feel of how the helm reacts,” he said.

      “Easy enough,” Cat said, and within a few minutes got the hang of how the boat maneuvered. Not hard at all.

      Then Javi stepped away, leaving her to steer alone. After a brief moment of panic, she enjoyed the sensation of being in command of the sleek boat. It was like driving a car. Sort of. She swallowed and stared at the whitecaps in the ocean.

      Joan gave her a thumbs-up.

      “You’re doing great, Cat,” Debbie said.

      “You okay?” Javi asked.

      “I’m fine,” Cat said.

      “So are you ladies ready to go sailing?” Javi asked.

      “Definitely,” Joan said.

      “Anything to stop that noise,” Debbie said.

      “I’m going to raise the mainsail,” Javi said, and moved the engine lever to Neutral. “Cat, steer the boat to port and put the bow directly into the wind.”

      “How do I know when I’m directly into the wind?” Cat asked.

      “See these ribbons?” Javi flicked a ribbon attached to a wire supporting the mast. “These are called telltales. When they’re streaming directly to stern, you’re in the eye of the wind.”

      “Got it.”

      She turned the wheel to the left until the telltales flowed toward the back of the boat where the dinghy hung off davits. Javi went forward on the deck, did some magic with lines, and a huge white sail rose on the mast, flapping so loudly she could barely hear the engine.

      “Now slowly fall off the wind,” Javi yelled.

      Cat steered to the right. The wind caught the sail, which billowed and quieted. Javi returned to the cockpit and pulled the huge metal pole attached to the bottom of the sail—the boom, she remembered—toward the center.

      The sail grew taut, and Spree darted forward like a racehorse released from the starting gate. She felt a tug on the wheel and overcorrected, which made the sail snap crazily again, so she turned the wheel until the sail became taut again.

      Javi grinned at her and shut down the engine. The vibrations abruptly ceased. Without the engine noise, the only sounds were the rush of wind on the sail and the ocean flowing over Spree’s hull. She hadn’t realized how intrusive the sound of the diesel engine had been until the natural sounds took over, a huge relief to her ears.

      But with the wind pushing on the huge mainsail, Spree definitely tipped to that side,