“There aren’t many boats in the water.”
“Most people store their vessels in dry dock during the winter season. Ice can damage the hulls.”
“You don’t have yours stored?”
“I haven’t had it taken out of the water yet this year.”
“What about the ice?”
“I have what’s called a bubble system installed. Keeps the water surrounding the hull from freezing.”
They started down the wooden floating dock. The slip where Jake kept the Stormy C. was located at the end of the second row. She was a sleek twenty-eight-foot Beneteau 285 he’d bought used three years earlier. He’d always dreamed of owning a sailboat. Now that he had one, the job kept him so busy he rarely sailed.
Jake stepped onto the deck and offered his hand to Leigh. “Be careful. It’s slick.”
She accepted his hand and followed. “Looks like we’re in for more snow.”
“Lake effect,” he said. “Welcome to Michigan in November.”
Her hand was like ice within his. He found himself not wanting to let it go. Not now. Not ever. But Jake didn’t have the luxury of indulging in the pleasure of holding her hand. Not when there was a killer with both of them in his sights.
Tugging the flashlight from his coat pocket, he unlocked the hatch and lifted the dual doors. The nautical odors of mildew and damp teak greeted him as he descended the companionway steps. He checked the forward and aft berths and the head. When he was satisfied they were alone, he went back on deck to the cockpit, turned on the bilge blower and started the diesel engine.
Leigh was sitting on the galley settee when he returned. Jake thought he’d never seen anyone look as tired as she did at that moment. Her shoulders were slumped. Her head hung slightly. He figured he didn’t look much better.
“Heat should start pumping in a few minutes,” he said. “Ten minutes and we’ll have hot water.”
“This boat has a shower?” She perked up.
He motioned toward the head. “It’s small but functional.” He then reached into his coat pocket for his pistol. “There’s a restaurant in town a few miles from here.”
“I’m starved…” Her voice trailed when she spotted the gun.
Jake pressed it into her hand. “I’m going to lock the door behind me. You’ll be safe here. But just in case, I want you to keep this with you. Take it into the shower. Take it to bed. But be prepared to use it if you have to. You got that?”
“What about you?”
He patted the pistol he’d lifted from the thug back at the grain elevator. “I’ve got this one in case I need it.”
He prayed he wasn’t going to need it.
LEIGH DIDN’T THINK she was ever going to be warm again. She huddled beneath the hot spray of the shower in the tiny head of Jake’s sailboat until the water ran cold. When she shut down the faucets, she heard Jake moving around in the galley.
She’d been trying not to think about the kiss they’d shared back at the grain elevator. But her mind—not to mention her body—would not let her forget it. Intellectually she knew Ian Rasmussen pre sented a much bigger problem. She should be thinking of ways to stay out of his grasp. Instead she kept thinking about how it had felt when Jake’s mouth had been pressed against hers….
Exasperated with herself, she quickly toweled herself dry. She was loath to put on the same clothes, but with nothing else to wear she didn’t have a choice.
The aroma of something warm and delicious titillated her nose when she opened the door. Jake was in the galley with his back to her. Then he turned and she noticed the bottle of wine in one hand, two plastic wineglasses in the other.
For a second he looked sheepish. Then a slow smile tugged at his mouth, and she felt something begin to melt inside her.
“I figured we could both use a little down time,” he said.
Leigh didn’t know what to say. Down time was one thing. Sharing a bottle of wine with a man whose smile could melt even the most steadfast of female resolves—a man she was wildly attracted to—was quite another.
“It’s French,” he added. As if that mattered. “Merlot. I hope that’s all right.”
“Oh. Um.” It was as intelligent an answer as she could muster at the moment.
“How’s the bullet wound?” he asked.
She stared, her heart beating just a little too fast as he set the glasses on the table and poured. “Fine.”
“Warm enough for you?”
Hot, she thought dazedly, then realized that would not be an appropriate response and shrugged. “It’s fine.”
“I bought soup.” He motioned to the tiny stove-top burner in the galley. “If you’ll keep an eye on it, I’d like to grab a quick shower.” He handed her a glass of wine.
Leigh accepted the wine, hoping he didn’t notice that her hand was trembling.