It's a Wonderful Wife (8 page)

Jesse had been adamant the home be state-of-the-art without being pretentious, saying the only people he wanted to impress were his children—catching Cadi by complete surprise, since the guy wasn't even married. That's when the idea of Winnie the Pooh had come to her—he had bought Hundred Acre Isle—and she'd realized the outside of the house had to be just as important as the inside. So she'd drawn an outdoor fire pit, a big scruffy dog, swings hanging from several tall pines, a fountain shaped like an open clamshell that would double as a wading pool, and, of course, hidden pots of honey. But it wasn't until Stanley had taken her to the island a third time that she'd added a working periscope rising up through the roof of the children's playroom, footpaths spidering through the forest, a freshwater pond fed by the spring she'd found, and a treehouse overlooking the small, sheltered beach on the south end of the island.

Oh yeah, she'd had many dreams of playing on that beach with her handsome, sexy husband and their children, not one of them wearing a wide-brimmed hat as they'd splashed around all the way up to their necks in the numbingly cold water.

Cadi turned on the shower. “I might have missed the boat—
ship
—with Jesse Sinclair,” she murmured as she shed her bra and panties and stepped under the warm spray, “but after a couple of years of travel, there's no reason I can't be witty and sophisticated for when the
next
Mr. Right comes along.”

Wait; why was she expecting him to come to her? Heck, there was a good chance Mr. Right was right now getting ready to head out on his own adventure, and what was to say she wouldn't find herself camped across from him in Yellowstone or Glacier National Park?

Now there was a dream with real-life potential. And how cool would it be to tell her children that she'd met their daddy in a redwood forest? Or on an airplane or a train. Or better yet, on a big scary roller coaster.

Wow. She should send Jesse Sinclair a thank-you card for making her realize it was time to get off her own comfortable couch.

Heck, maybe she'd even invite him to her wedding.

SEVEN

Having found it was the only place he could get decent cell phone reception, Jesse sat leaning against a boulder atop the high ridge on his island, sipping his third beer while watching the last light of dusk fade in the western sky as he debated whether or not to install an antenna to strengthen the signal. So far he was leaning toward no, figuring a constantly ringing phone more or less defeated the purpose of having a sanctuary. But probably the biggest reason he liked not being readily available was because in his experience, whenever Sam or Ben—or in this case,
both
—left several text and voice messages asking him to please call while neglecting to mention why, Jesse knew he wasn't going to like the ensuing conversation.

Best-case scenario, he'd be heading back to New York in the morning. Worst-case, their larger corporate jet was already on its way to Maine and he'd be in Brazil this time tomorrow, trying to wrestle two of their ships away from a dock full of disgruntled longshoremen. The strike was in its third week, and despite telling their captains
last week
to get the hell out of there even without a back-load, the crews were refusing to cross the picket line to board their ships.

The email he'd sent before leaving New York had said that if they weren't at sea by midnight tonight, every last one of them was fired and could find their own way home. Looking to save their necks—as well as their generous paychecks—the captains had likely called Ben, who had in turn likely called Sam, and now both brothers were after him to fix the mess.

Jesse took another sip of beer as he pondered which one should have the pleasure of being told to go to hell right along with their captains and crews. He'd just spent three friggin' weeks dealing with the Brazilian longshoremen while paying a small fortune to house his men at a four-star beach resort in hopes of keeping them out of trouble, as well as placating a frantic logistics department fielding calls from businesses on four continents asking why their products were sitting on docks and rotting in the sun.

Jesse set down the empty beer beside the others and called Ben. “If you're going to insist on keeping a Maine address,” he said the moment Ben answered, “you at least have to read the emails I send you. Specifically the ones pointing out when I'm on vacation.”

“And if you insist on running off to your island, you at least have to answer your phone.”

“I only just realized I can't get a decent signal here. When my phone didn't ring all day, I thought everyone was respecting the fact
I'm on vacation
.”

“Who takes off in the middle of a strike?”

“Anyone who's
trying
to have a life outside the office.”

“You need to go down there and fix this, Jesse.”

“I didn't see your name on the vacation roster. You go down and fix it.”

There was a moment's silence. “My passport's expired.”

Jesse snorted. “Then I guess it's a good thing you and Mike got back from last month's fishing trip when you did, and saved Emma the trouble of having to fly her fancy Cessna under the radar to sneak you back across the Canadian border.”

Another silence, then a sigh. “A word of warning, brother: a man's lying skills go to hell the moment he says ‘I do.' Not that it appears you will ever have that problem.”

“If I don't stay single, who's going to run all over the globe putting out fires? Because it looks to me like you and Sam are on some pretty short leashes.”

“Did you really tell Simms and Poe they're fired if they didn't get out of port by midnight?” Ben asked, apparently deciding to ignore the dig. “You put it in writing?”

“I was pissed. Those longshoremen aren't about to stop empty boats from leaving. If anything, they'd consider it a victory. When Starrtech realized last week that the strike could go on indefinitely, their crews got out without any problem. So why can't our guys do the same?”

“It's called solidarity.”

“No, it's called an all-expenses-paid vacation at an overpriced resort. I say we move them to some dive up in the mountains and see how long before they decide to come home.”

“Come home empty,” Ben reminded him.

“Those ships aren't making any money rusting at the dock, either. If I have to go down there, I'm bringing a couple of skeleton crews willing to cross that picket line.”

“Good luck finding them.”

“Oh, I'm pretty sure a sizable bonus will bring them crawling out of the woodwork. It has to be cheaper than what the resort
your
secretary booked our men into is costing us.”

That got Jesse a chuckle. “I think Deloris has a thing for Captain Poe. So you'll go down and fix this? Alone?”

“I can't drive two freighters all by myself.”

“Offer those bonuses to our men already there.”

“No,” Jesse growled. “That's nothing short of extortion. If our crews realize they can hold our boats hostage, we're sunk. The only way for this to work is to leave them high and dry.”

“Or you could go down and lead them across the picket line,” Ben countered. “Simms and Poe are obviously betting you won't.”

Jesse dropped his head with a succinct curse, knowing but not liking that Ben was right. Dammit, he didn't want to leave.

“Take Pamela with you,” Ben suggested, “and finish your vacation at the resort after you get our ships on their way.”

He sure as hell didn't want to do that, either. “I'm over Pamela.”

There was another silence, then an equally nasty curse. “You're going to talk to someone who specializes in commitment issues if I have to drag you to the appointment myself.”

“Last time I was at Pamela's, I found
wedding
magazines.”

“Every mother signs their daughters up for those magazines on their eighteenth birthday. I think it's in the rule book they get when they leave the hospital with a girl baby.”

“I checked the labels,” Jesse snapped. “And Pamela's subscriptions started a month after she
accidentally
missed her ride home from the Henderson party. Aubrey Henderson set me up.”

“Did Aubrey also make you
stay
at her niece's that night?”

Nope, not liking this conversation at all. “Nathaniel is begging for more responsibility. Why can't he go?”

“Because no one's going to take a kid who looks like he just started shaving last week seriously. You're the one who's been dealing with the longshoremen, and the only way they'll let our crews on that dock is if you're leading them.” Ben hesitated. “What's going on, Jesse? Sam and I usually have to talk you out of rushing into the middle of these messes.”

“This was supposed to be my first night sleeping on my island. It's gorgeous, Ben,” he said quietly. “No matter where I'm standing on Hundred Acre, I can hear waves breaking on the ledges. And my contractor said he thinks there's an osprey nest at the south end, and I've seen two adult ospreys lugging fish in that direction all day.” He sighed. “I've been waiting almost a year to fall asleep to the sound of waves hitting my shoreline.”

“Get this mess cleaned up and you can spend the rest of the summer firing off emails to Nathaniel while listening to waves hit your shoreline.”

“Fine. I'll call Regina and she can get her crew together and fly up in the morning.”

“Don't bother,” Ben drawled. “She somehow managed to land the Boeing in Trenton half an hour ago and should be refueled and done filing her flight plan by the time you get there.”

That surprised Jesse. He'd expected to have to drive all the way to Bangor, since he'd thought only their much-smaller Lear could land in Trenton. “Just so you know, I'm giving myself that bonus. Oh, and based on the short glimpse I got of my house, I'm also going to need a hefty raise to pay for it.”

“The model is done?” Ben said in surprise. “What does it look like? Send me a picture.”

“I wasn't able to get a picture before it was crushed.”

“Crushed?”

“Long story. I'll fill you in when I see you at Jen's bon voyage party.”

“
If
there's a party,” Ben said on a chuckle. “Willa called the other day and told Emma that once Sam realized how close Jennifer is to leaving, he started threatening to take an ax to the hull of her sloop. Hell, Willa said he actually tried to hide the girl's sailing prosthesis.”

Jesse involuntarily shivered. “I've been tempted to deep-six that sloop myself. But what I can't figure out is how come Willa's okay with her niece sailing solo around the world.”

“Probably because she remembers being nineteen. Jennifer will be okay,” Ben said, although he sounded like he was trying to convince himself more than Jesse. “That girl's as much at home on a moving deck as she is on land. And she's too smart to make stupid mistakes. Besides, I've already given her charts to our logistics department, so some of our smaller boats will be taking a few detours over the next year.”

Faster, specialty cargo carriers, Jesse knew, that hadn't been part of Tidewater's fleet until three years ago, when Willa's then-sixteen-year-old niece had started planning this voyage. And near as Jesse could tell, about the only other person not worried that Jennifer—who had a prosthetic right foot—could circumvent the world solo was Emmet Sengatti, the man who had designed and personally built the
Spitfire
.

“She'll be okay,” Jesse echoed, also trying to sound confident. “That boat has enough technology on board to practically sail itself.” He dropped his head with a heavy sigh, resigned to the fact he'd be falling asleep tonight to the drone of a jet engine. “Give little Hank a hug from me, and tell him Unc-J is bringing him back a surprise from Brazil.”

“Nothing alive,” Ben warned. “We still haven't recovered from your last surprise.”

Jesse couldn't help but grin. “You never found the gecko?”

“I'm pretty sure Beaker ate it. The dog started looking guilty about a day after it went missing and has been glued to Hank's side ever since. You want to spoil your nephew, just make sure he has a fleet to inherit that isn't two freighters short.”

“Oh, I intend to get our boats back. I'm just not guaranteeing Simms and Poe will be at their helms. Bye, brother,” Jesse added, ending the call before Ben could respond. “And thanks for nothing,” he muttered to the huge orange moon peeking halfway over the ocean horizon.

Dammit, he didn't want to leave.

Although . . .

He was tempted to stop by Whistler's Landing tonight on his way to Trenton and see if Miss Glace might like her very first plane ride to be in a fast, comfortable corporate jet, with him serving as personal tour guide on her first foray into the world.

Not that she probably had a passport—expired or otherwise.

Jesse reached in his pocket and pulled out Cadi's fake engagement ring, then held it up in front of the moon as he wondered how any woman in this day and age, even one living so far off the beaten path, could be so . . . parochial. Hell, he'd bet a year's salary that instead of realizing the flowers she would have received this afternoon were to let her know he was romantically interested, Cadi would assume they were an attempt to sweet-talk her into rebuilding his models.

He probably shouldn't have kissed her this morning, but he hadn't been able to pass up the chance to see if those lips tasted as sweet in real life as they had in his dreams. He palmed the ring with a chuckle, remembering they'd tasted like bittersweet Moxie—which he'd tried today—and glazed doughnuts. He also remembered they'd gone from slackened in surprise to perfectly still, making him wonder if it had been so long since the woman had been kissed that she'd forgotten how to respond.

Or maybe she simply hadn't wanted to, worried that kissing a virtual stranger after just losing a fake fiancé was a step in the wrong direction.

Then again, maybe she didn't think
he
was Mr. Right, either.

And wouldn't that be ironic: a world-class woman-dodger being dodged by the very first woman he could see himself actually getting serious with.