Jack put the chair back and got in. I could see the smooth nape of his neck over the seat back. Seriously, was every part of him like the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen?
As soon as we were moving, his hand came down the gap between his seat and the door and touched me lightly on the ankle.
I pursed my lips, inhaling deeply through my nose. My chest began a deep steady thump, and I wanted to close my eyes and just revel in the feeling of his fingertips on me. Rummaging around in my brown leather purse, I pulled out my mirrored sunglasses and slid them on. I shifted my foot forward, and his hand closed lightly around my leg.
The Harbor Master at Palmetto Marina was salty and weather-beaten, with the palest blue eyes I’d ever seen. He also may have been the only person in the world who had no recognition of Jack.
Devon filled out paperwork for the charter boat, and then we bought enough drinks, sandwiches, and snacks for an apocalypse and headed down the jetty.
“Wow,” I said, getting a good look at the large white yacht at the end. “This one?”
“Dang!” Jazz echoed my surprise. “This beats tooling around in Cooper’s dirty old Carolina Skiff dropping crab traps. This has to be like forty feet.”
We climbed on board, and Dan, the captain, who was also older and turned out to be the second person in the world to be completely oblivious of who was on his boat, gave us a tour and showed us where to stow our stuff. We all settled on the front sundeck, chatting over the sound of squawking gulls.
Cap’n Dan glided us slowly along the no wake zone toward the open sound, the cool salty wind whipping errant strands of hair into my eyes.
“I wish Monica was here,” Devon said. “She loves the water. Loves being on a boat.”
“Where is she?” I asked.
“She’ll be here next week, we had a couple of projects we were finishing up.”
“So what are we doing?” asked Jazz. “I’m happy to just lounge on the boat, but are we doing something specific?”
“I wanted to get here and check out the spots our locations department had listed.” Devon answered her.
“So, you’re just approving them or something?” Jazz asked.
“Well, normally we go with the locations people, but Jack thought we could make a day of it and check a few other places out ourselves.” He glanced at Jack, and they exchanged a look.
Jazz caught my eye, and winked.
“Do you know anything about Marsh Tacky horses?” Jack asked me.
“Well, they’re local and in danger of extinction. I think there are less than three hundred left,” I offered.
He nodded. “Yeah, they date back to the Spanish colonials and are really sturdy and good in swampy water, so they’ll be perfect for the movie, we think.”
“That’s right,” Jazz said, lying back on one of the white cushions to get more sun. It was chilly out on the water despite the clear bright sky. “I heard they have Marsh Tacky races on the beach on Daufuskie Island. It’s coming up in a few weeks, I think.”
“Yep, that’s where we’re headed,” Devon said. “Normally they come on a barge the morning of the event from surrounding stables.”
“Damn, that must be a sight to see,” Joey added.
Jack twisted his ball cap around to the back. “I spoke to a local guy who keeps a few on the island.” He dropped his shades a second and caught my eye. “So that’s what we’re headed to do today. Race horses on the beach.”
“Oh my God, seriously?” Jazz squealed. “That is so freaking cool!”
Not to mention apparently quite dangerous, and the sum total of my riding experience was … nil. I swallowed nervously. Wow.
Daufuskie Island was only accessible by boat, making it uniquely sheltered from massive development. The stable owner’s land was right next to the beach, nestled among massive pines, palmettos, and ancient, sprawling Live Oaks strewn with Spanish moss. We could see the ocean glittering through the pines from where we were standing on the crunchy brown pine straw that carpeted the ground.
“It’s typical that someone from California would be the one to show us what a freaking amazing part of the world we live in,” said Joey. He nudged Jack as a local Gullah boy walked a chestnut Stallion over to us.
Devon left us to speak to the stable owner about permission to film and get the skinny on the logistics of using the barge to bring film equipment.
“Who dun’ gunna rai dis ‘un?” the boy holding the horse asked us in his Gullah dialect. He looked about twelve, young but sinewy under his deep dark skin.
The horse was handsome and strong looking. Jazz and I both found ourselves stepping back a bit as the boy tied its lead rope loosely on the split rail fence.
Jack looked at my brother blankly.
“Oh, sorry. He asked who wanted to ride this horse first.”
“I think you and I should race first,” Jack said. “Show the girls how it’s done. Maybe make a wager.”
“This guy wants to date my sister,” Joey told the boy and then pointed at me.