Marcus had a sudden yearning to make this kind of outing possible for other sick kids; a morning out in the fresh air in the midst of the soothing waters of the bay, with dolphins occasionally coming to frolic alongside the boat, far from the acrid medicinal scents and bleak beige realities of the all-too-necessary hospital.
He snorted under his breath at his own foolishness; he was getting as bad as Beka. It wasn’t as though he was going to stick around long enough to get involved with something like that, even if he wanted to take on the responsibility. Which he didn’t. Just thinking about all the things that could go wrong made his gut clench, like back when he had men to protect from flying bullets and roadside ambushes.
A glance toward the port side of the boat showed him an unwanted glimpse of Beka and Fergus, their blond and red heads close together as they whispered about something that made Beka flash that sunshine smile that was so rarely aimed at him. He turned back to answer one of Tito’s never-ending questions, and a splash told him that Fergus must have gone into the water.
“Be right back,” he said to the kid, and wandered casually over to where Beka was standing, looking over the side of the boat.
“Thanks,” he said, gruffly, not used to having any conversation with her that wasn’t an argument of some kind. “For being so nice to Tito, I mean. I know he was probably annoying you with all the ‘How come you have to wear a special outfit?’ and ‘Do the fish nibble on your toes?’”
Beka laughed, a sound as silvery as a salmon’s flashing belly. “He’s great, Marcus. And I think you’re really sweet for bringing him out here. All those questions just mean he’s thinking, and that’s never a bad thing. I didn’t mind at all.”
Sweet. Nobody had called him sweet in . . . well, maybe never. He was a lot of things: loyal, tough, dependable—but sweet? Hardly. Marcus could feel a flush spread over his cheekbones. She thought he was sweet. He didn’t know whether to be flattered or appalled.
He was about to answer, probably with a sentence that was both stupid and clumsily polite, when he noticed something odd: Fergus’s gear, including his neatly folded wet suit and carefully checked air tanks, sitting next to Beka’s tanks on the damp deck. Marcus glanced around; no Fergus. What the hell?
His mouth was opened to ask her about it when a panicked yell from Tito had him sprinting across the boat instead, his heart beating almost as rapidly as his pounding footsteps.
“Marcus! Marcus!” Tito yelled as he wrestled with a fishing pole that was suddenly bent almost double as it dipped down toward the water. “I think I caught a fish! What do I do now?”
Beka had followed him over at a slightly more sedate pace. “Way to go, Tito!” She gave a tiny shake of her head as Marcus moved to grab the pole away from the boy. “You can do it!”
Taking the hint, Marcus stood behind Tito and put one hand on the pole to take some of the pressure off, and used his other hand to steady Tito as he hauled mightily on the rod.
“That’s it,” Marcus said. “You’ve got it. Keep reeling in. Slow and steady. Pull up on the rod, then reel in a little more. You’re doing great.”
Beka grabbed the hand net and had it ready to slide under the wriggling pumpkin orange fish as the guys worked together to heave it over the side of the boat. Tito was beside himself with joy, jumping up and down and whooping as Marcus gently removed the hook from the fish’s mouth.
“That’s one of the best looking cod I’ve ever seen,” Marcus said. The thing was longer than Tito’s arm. “That’s going to make one heck of a dinner, kiddo.”
Marcus laid the fish out on the deck and started to clean it, only glancing up briefly as Fergus climbed back on board and stood dripping to receive a high five from Beka. The former Marine shook his head in bafflement. There was definitely something odd going on here, but damned if he could figure it out.
“Nice cod,” Fergus said, padding over to stand next to him. “Beka said the boy is pleased. That is good.”
“Yeah, it is,” Marcus said, peering up at the other man suspiciously. “You wouldn’t happen to know how a fish miraculously appeared as soon as you went for your little swim, would you?”
Fergus just smiled, showing teeth that looked slightly pointed in the glare of the bright midday light. “The boy is happy, yes? This is what matters.”
Marcus shook his head. He was clearly losing his mind. What did he think the other man was, some kind of fish whisperer?
“Right.” Marcus put the cleaned fish on ice. “I guess we might as well head in now.” He hesitated, thinking about how terrific Beka—and Fergus, of course—had been with Tito.