Always Ready (7 page)

Hey Sis,

I went to Brett Sellers’s shop and took a look at his work. I like him, and I think a set of his harness is just what you need. He put one together, and I picked it up today. I’ll ship it to you tomorrow morning, so watch for a big box.

He paused and read over what he’d written. He wasn’t given to long reports on his activities. He called home now and then and e-mailed when he had a chance. Should he mention that Caddie had gone with him to the harness shop? When he’d gone home last Friday, Caddie was just a breath of hope. Now her presence in his life was a reality.

But if he said anything about her, he’d have to explain who she was and why she rode along and what they’d done for the rest of the day. And a gazillion other things. If he didn’t lay it all out there, Robyn would call five minutes after she received the letter, breathless and eager to know all about the “new girlfriend.” Which was sort of a joke. No one knew better than Robyn how rarely Aven dated.

Best not to mention Caddie yet, he decided. If things didn’t work out, it would be too embarrassing to explain why. Yet, after today. . . His pulse jumped as he remembered how much fun they’d had, lingering in the museum until they’d thoroughly viewed every exhibit. He’d talked her into lunch. She’d insisted she wasn’t tired but had taken some painkillers at the restaurant.

Afterward they’d gone to a bookstore where they spent another hour browsing and talking nineteen to the dozen about books they’d read and whatever else came to mind. Inconsequential things somehow had become fascinating when he discussed them with Caddie. She’d admitted at last that she was tired, and he’d reluctantly driven her back to the base.

Aven wished he could see her again, but he had to be on the bridge of the
Milroy
at 0500. And she would fly to Seattle in a couple of days to visit her family for several weeks.

He would miss her. He’d never felt this way about a girl before. Okay, woman. Boatswain’s mate third class. His laugh echoed in his empty apartment. Most of the women he’d met since joining the military were either off-limits or nonbelievers. Caddie was not only single and close enough to his rank so they could socialize, but she was a Christian. And she’d promised to drop him a postcard from Washington. He drew in a deep breath, thinking about that. He could look forward to that postcard waiting for him when he came in from his deployment next week.

How long would she be gone from Alaska? She’d said the doctor recommended six weeks off duty, but her captain had suggested she go back to light duty after four, if the surgeon okayed it then. Time would tell.

The letter lay unfinished on the desk. He wouldn’t mention Caddie until after she came back to Kodiak. A lot could happen in a month, and he didn’t want to get Robyn and his mother all excited about possibilities and have to disappoint them later.

Any time he’d had serious thoughts about a girl before, it hadn’t worked out. Caddie was different, and he felt different—more alive and optimistic because of knowing her. Caddie intrigued him more now than she had when he first met her. Even so, he wasn’t ready to believe it would last. It was too soon to hope too much. He picked up the pen.

It was great seeing you all last weekend. Wish I could come home for a longer visit. Maybe next month. This fall for sure. How’s Grandpa doing? Sold any more pups lately?

He scrawled a couple more lines on his letter and signed it. He would hug the day with Caddie to himself for a while. If things progressed, he’d let Robyn in on it later.

❧

Caddie enjoyed her visit at home and treated her physical therapy sessions as a new challenge. Soon she was out walking daily around the small town outside Seattle, with her camera slung around her neck. She’d picked up photography as a child and loved finding just the right angle for a nature shot. Aspects of light and shade intrigued her. Birds and animals comprised her favorite subjects, and she wished she’d had more time to take photos in Alaska. Every day at home, she walked to the river half a mile away to capture the moods of the water on film. She looked forward to returning to Alaska and photographing its wild waters in all their fury and beauty.

By the end of the second week, when her younger sister, Mira, and brother, Jordan, left for camp, she wandered aimlessly about the house. She did as much housework as her healing arm would allow, while her mother was gone to work during the day, and walked longer distances to stay in shape. She missed her teenage siblings, but she was glad they had the chance for an adventure.

“We should have cancelled the kids’ camp reservations,” her mother said at supper one evening. “You don’t have anyone to talk to while I’m at work. If we’d known you would be home—”

“No, I’m fine. I’ve found people to chat with when I go walking. And anyway, the kids have looked forward to camp for months. You couldn’t change that.” Caddie resolved to try to keep her impatience better camouflaged.

She’d sent Aven the promised postcard, depicting the Seattle skyline, and written her home address at the bottom. For nearly two weeks, nothing happened, but at last a return postcard came from him. A Kodiak bear nudged her cub up a verdant hillside. Caddie stared at it for a long time. She wished she had taken that picture. Even more, she wished she was back on the island.

That night she at last told her mother about Aven and showed her the postcard.

“Ah, now I see,” was her mother’s response.

“See what?” Caddie turned the card over and read his innocuous message again:

We’re in port for 2 days, then out again. The usual mayhem. Hope the arm’s better.

Aven

No revelations there.

Her mother smiled. “Tell me more about him.”

To her own surprise, Caddie talked nonstop for ten minutes about Aven—what he looked like, his manners, his family, his faith, and his love of the sea.

“If you went back early, would you be able to see him?” Mom asked.

“I don’t know. His ship could be out for weeks.”

“But there’s a chance.”

“I suppose.” Caddie nodded with a rueful smile. “You’re right. If I go back, I’ll be close by if his ship docks again.”

“You should go.”

She eyed her mother’s placid features. “It’s not like we’ve dated a lot, Mom. Only that one time.”

“But it won’t happen again if you stay here.”

“Well. . .you wouldn’t mind?”

Her mother shook her head. “I’ll miss you, of course. I always do when you’re gone. But it seems to me it’s important to you. You need to do this.”

❧

When Caddie stood again on the dock at the base in Kodiak the following Monday, she knew she’d taken the right course. Her own ship’s vacant berth gaped along one side of the pier. The
Milroy
was also at sea, but she needed no more than five minutes at the PX chatting with the wives of some of the seamen on board to tell her they expected the cutter to return by the weekend.

She spent the afternoon unpacking and setting up more physical therapy sessions and a checkup with her surgeon. She took out her camera and the new telephoto lens she’d bought in Seattle. Maybe this would be a good time to get some wildlife close-ups.

Jo-Lynn drove her to the doctor’s office the next morning.

Caddie studied the surgeon’s face as carefully as he examined her arm. Would he pronounce her fit for duty? What if her arm had been permanently weakened by the injury?

“Does that hurt?”

“No.”

“How about now?”

She winced. “A little.”

“When does your ship deploy next?” he asked, flexing her elbow gently while he fingered the joint.

“Not for eight days. It’s scheduled to dock Saturday and go out again next Wednesday.”

“Hmm.”

What was that supposed to mean? She watched his eyes keenly.

The doctor’s dark brows contracted as he extended her arm again. “I want to leave the cast on another week. You’re not ready to lift or tug on ropes yet.”

She smiled. He obviously hadn’t much sailing experience. “But after a week? Can I go back to sea then?”

“I can’t say for sure.” He turned on his stool and consulted his computer screen. “The trouble with active duty is that they expect you to be active. They want you to do everything you did before your medical leave. But we want to avoid reinjuring that arm at all costs. Better to take a longer leave than to go back too soon.”

“So. . .when will we know?”

He swiveled to face her again. “Come in Monday. I’ll want another X-ray then. I’ll send a copy of my report to your CO today, but I’m recommending at least another week of sick leave. We’ll see how things look then. You may be able to resume light duty. And don’t worry about it. Relax. See some sights. This is the best time of year to see Alaska. Enjoy it.”

❧

“This is the U.S. Coast Guard. Heave to.” Lieutenant Greer, the skipper of the
Milroy
, spoke into the public address system, hailing the crew of a small cabin cruiser that danced over the waves in front of them. Beside him, Aven watched the small, quick boat dash for shallow water.

Greer brought his fist down on the wooden rail. It was plain to all that the vessel’s crew defied him. The boat the
Milroy
pursued wasn’t going to slow down, let alone heave to and let them board.

“You want us to fire a warning shot?” Aven asked.

Greer, who enjoyed the courtesy title of “captain” on the law enforcement cutter, shook his head. “Too close to shore. We don’t want any accidents.”

Aven stood beside his skipper on the bridge, watching helplessly as the runaway boat churned for a strait between two islands. “We can’t follow them through there, sir. The tide’s not high enough.”

“Are you sure?” His skipper looked over his shoulder at him.

“Not unless the tide’s high.”

Greer frowned. “It’s close.”

The truth was the tide had turned an hour ago and the channel they raced toward would only let the 110-foot cutter escape without scars under ideal conditions. “Too risky.” Aven’s stomach clenched when he pictured what could happen if they tried it.

The skipper swore. “How long to go around to the east?”

Aven did some rapid calculations. “Too long.”

The shores of the hilly, tree-covered islands drew closer. Aven’s pulse thudded. If he were Officer of the Deck, he would never risk taking the cutter in so far an hour past high tide. He started to speak again but thought better of it. Couldn’t contradict the captain.

As the smaller boat disappeared around a point of land, Greer called, “Change course.”

Aven exhaled. They would survive to settle things with the boat’s owners another day.

The cutter swung around, but the usually agile ship seemed to catch itself and stall. A loud crunch drew everyone’s gaze to Greer. A shudder ran through the hull. The captain swore again. “Holland, get below and find out what’s going on.”

Aven ran for the ladder. As he scrambled down to the engine room three decks below, he could tell the
Milroy
had freed itself and was not hung up on anything below the waves. That was a relief. But there was bound to be some damage.

The chief engineer met him in the doorway to the engine room and assured him they weren’t taking on water. “May have some trouble with the prop, though.”

Twenty minutes later, Aven climbed more slowly up the ladders. He’d already reported to the bridge by radio. The boatswain had joined Greer. It was nearly time for the shift to change, and he would replace the captain as Officer of the Deck. The cutter moved sluggishly through the sea, and Aven didn’t have to ask to know they were headed for Kodiak and repairs.

“You got that boat’s call numbers, right?” Greer called as Aven entered.

“Aye, aye, sir.” He’d given the information to the operations specialist before they’d scraped bottom, but he didn’t say so. Greer’s expression was sour enough. Aven walked over to the ops specialist’s computer console.

The man rapidly keyed information into the computer and scanned the results. “Got it, sir. They’re out of Larsen Bay.”

“Larsen Bay?”

“Affirmative.”

The town of about a hundred residents lay on the west side of Kodiak Island and catered to sport fishermen. Bears and salmon canning, that’s what the village was best known for. Several commercial fishing boats operated out of there.

“Should we contact the state police?” Aven asked. Something about the Larsen Bay connection teased at his memory. When Greer hesitated, he shrugged. “We don’t have proof they were smuggling. It was an anonymous tip.”

The skipper turned toward the hatch. “Wouldn’t hurt to let them go rattle the owner’s cage. I’ll be in my quarters.”

Aven recorded the afternoon’s events in the log, including the short-lived pursuit of the cabin cruiser. Occasionally citizens called in tips about illegal activities on the water, and the Coast Guard was expected to follow up on them. The fact that this boat’s crew hadn’t wanted to stick around and answer questions lent some credulity to the informant’s call.