Sweet Promise (10 page)

"Very well. You'll have eight shots altogether, two per gun. When you're ready you call 'pull' and crewman Belso will fire the thrower. While you're firing I'll load another gun for you, and after the second shot we'll trade. Are there any questions?"

"No, I understand."

Mr. Ricci worked the pump to feed a shell into the chamber and handed the shotgun to Joanna. She hefted it experimentally. Shouldering the gun, she sighted down the vent rib, testing for balance and fit. It was a plain-Jane model, but it wasn't at all barrel heavy, and it pointed perfectly. Satisfied, Joanna lowered the gun and turned to tell the officer she was ready—and froze when she saw Sean standing beside him, watching her.

"What are you doing here?" she blurted out angrily before she could stop herself.

"I came to shoot trap, the same as you."

"Since you and Mr. Fleming seem to be the only ones interested this afternoon, I suggest that you alternate shooting," Mr. Ricci put in. "A bit of friendly competition usually sharpens skills, I find."

Leaning a hip against the rail, Sean folded his arms over his chest and looked amused. "Suits me."

It had been on the tip of Joanna's tongue to refuse, but one look at Sean's face changed that. She tilted her chin defiantly and studied his complacent expression through narrowed eyes. "I'm game if Mr. Fleming is," she said finally.

"By all means." His smile deepening, Sean gestured for her to start. "Ladies first."

Joanna adjusted her stance and shouldered the shotgun. "Pull!"

The clay target sailed out from the ship, rising toward the bow. Sighting down the vent rib, Joanna swung the muzzle of the gun in a sweeping arc along the same path and pulled the trigger as the bead on the end of the barrel passed over the target. It exploded into dust at the same instant the gun recoiled against Joanna's shoulder. She pumped the gun and the empty shell ejected to the side.

"Pull!"

This time the clay disc flew out at an angle to the stern, caught a down draft and began to drop rapidly, but Joanna powdered it just before it hit the foaming wake.

She exchanged the empty gun for a full one, and without hesitation, shouldered it and called for another bird. In rapid succession, Joanna demolished the remaining six targets, clipping two and powdering the rest.

As the eighth disintegrated, she turned and calmly handed the shotgun to Mr. Ricci. Then she looked at Sean.

The smug amusement was gone from his expression. He stared at her, one brow cocked in faint surprise. Finally he dipped his head in acknowledgement and smiled wryly. "Good shooting."

"I'll say!" Mr. Ricci chimed in. "That was great!" He turned and grinned at Sean. "Looks like you've got your work cut out for you, Mr. Fleming."

Trying not to smile, Joanna stepped back and relinquished her place to Sean. As Joanna had done, for a moment he tested the gun for balance and fit, then shouldered it and called out, "Pull!"

With deadly accuracy, Sean proceeded to blast target after target, and with each hit Joanna's spirits dropped. By the time the eighth clay pigeon disappeared in a pool of smoke, she had gone from euphoric to grimly determined.

Handing the shotgun to the officer, Sean turned to her with a maddeningly polite smile and said, "Your turn, I think."

It was a direct challenge, one Joanna was more than willing to accept. Bruised feelings and a day of emotional turmoil had her nerves strung fine, and she was spoiling for a fight of some kind. For the moment, a contest of skill would do. Returning his smile with cool assurance, she stepped back into the firing position. As she accepted the shotgun she said offhandedly, "Let's make this round doubles, shall we? Just to make it interesting."

Crewman Belso emitted a low whistle as Mr. Ricci shot Sean an inquiring glance. "Very well. Doubles it is," he said when Sean nodded his agreement.

Concentrate,
Joanna instructed herself, fitting the gun's recoil pad against her shoulder.
Just keep your eye on the target and stay calm. Don't rush.

"Pull!"

Two birds sailed out over the water, one high and toward the bow, the other straight out from the side in a steady rise. Joanna swung the gun toward the first, fired, and a split second after it shattered, she pumped the action, and in a continuous motion, swung back to the right and picked off the second.

"Terrific!" Both the second mate and crewman called out in unison. Joanna let out her breath and felt some of the tension drain out of her. She traded guns and forced herself to concentrate.

Her soft voice, the shotgun blast, the metallic click and glide of the gun's precision action—for a while they were the only sounds. Steadily, repeatedly, Joanna called the terse, one-word command, fired, pumped the shotgun and fired again. When finished, she had hit fifteen of the sixteen targets.

It was not as good as she had hoped for and certainly not the best round she had ever shot, but it wasn't bad. When she turned to Sean her eyes issued a silent challenge.
Top that, if you can.

Very quickly, it began to appear that he could. Joanna stood gripping the rail, her face calm as she watched Sean hit the first six targets without a bobble, but inside she was mentally kicking herself.
Oh, Joanna, you fool. You shouldn't have missed that last bird. And you wouldn't have if you hadn't gotten overconfident.

The next two birds sailed out over the water in opposite directions, low and dropping fast. Sean got one, but the other splashed into the ocean just as he fired the second shot. Joanna had to bite her bottom Up to keep from cheering aloud.

The momentary exhilaration faded quickly though as he proceeded to powder the next six. Joanna didn't question why winning was so important to her. She only knew that it was. Tightening her fingers around the rail, she held her breath when Sean called for the last two birds.

He fired twice. The first clay disc shattered; the other whirled away and dropped into the ocean.

Stunned, for a moment Joanna couldn't believe it. Then a feeling of fierce satisfaction exploded inside her. She managed, just barely, to resist the urge to kick up her heels and whoop, but there was no hiding the triumph in her eyes when she turned to face Sean.

She had expected anger. Instead Sean flashed his devilish smile and looked her over in that lazily curious way of his. "Congratulations. Where the hell did you learn to shoot like that?"

"My father used to love to shoot trap and skeet. He taught me." She gave him a saccharine smile. "One of the advantages of being a spoiled rich brat."

Sean stared at her thoughtfully, but if he detected the wounded pride behind the challenging little barb, he said nothing. "How about a rematch?"

"Sorry. It's getting late, and I promised Tony I'd meet him for a drink before dinner." She started to leave, but Sean stopped her.

"Joanna... about this Tony character. What do you really know about him?""

"What do you mean?"

"Well....you seem to be spending a lot of time with him."

"No more than you are with Gloria," Joanna countered, beginning to feel the first stirrings of anger.

"Maybe. But the difference is, I'm old enough to handle a shipboard romance."

"Oh, I see. And I'm not, is that what you're saying?" Joanna was furious now. She couldn't believe his gall. "Well let me tell you something, Sean Fleming. I'm twenty-two years old, almost twenty-three, and well past the age of consent. So just mind your own business."

Sean watched her stomp away, his brows shooting upward. Bemused, his eyes traveled down her stiff back to the angry sway of her very womanly hips. Almost twenty-three. It wasn't a great age, true, but Joanna was right: she wasn't a child.

Which was exactly how he'd been thinking of her—as Claire's little girl. But Joanna was a young woman. A very attractive, very desirable young woman. Recalling the way her hazel eyes flashed with anger, the determined way she tilted her chin, Sean's mouth quirked up in a lopsided grin. She had her mother's pride and spunk, and that unbending, ladylike dignity he'd always admired.

But she's also mule stubborn and competitive as hell.

Sean discovered, to his surprise, that he found the combination very appealing.

Chapter Six

S
unrise at sea, Joanna decided, was an experience not to be missed. She leaned against the rail and watched the sky lighten from dusky blue, to mauve, to pink pearlescence. She watched the shafts of sunlight shoot out from the horizon, streaking the dark turquoise sea with gold. The world seemed to explode with color and light: silver edged clouds of lavender and crimson, dancing waves spangled with glittering sequins, an orange ball of flame rising against the deepening azure heavens. In the distance, the island of Antigua was a dark speck that grew steadily larger and greener as the ship plowed majestically through the heaving water. Enthralled, Joanna took it all in, mindless of the cool breeze or the salt spray that dewed her skin and gathered in tiny droplets in her hair.

"It's lovely, isn't it?"

Blinking, Joanna turned her head to find Susan leaning on the rail beside her. She smiled and returned her gaze to the sea. "Yes. Yes, it is."

They stood in comfortable silence for a moment, soaking in the beauty of the morning. "I didn't expect to see you up so early," Susan said finally. "When you didn't show up for dinner last night I was worried that maybe you weren't feeling well."

"No, I'm fine. I just decided to have an early night, so I ordered a light dinner in my suite." Actually, it had been the prospect of facing Sean again that had kept Joanna in her cabin, but she wasn't about to admit that to Susan. "How about you? What are you doing up so early?"

"I wanted to get a look at Antigua while Lori was still asleep," Susan sighed. "Since I won't be going ashore, that's about all I can do."

"Oh, but you shouldn't miss Antigua. It has some of the most beautiful beaches in the world."

"I know. But we really can't take Lori. We tried it yesterday in St. Thomas, and she got so fussy after a few hours we were all miserable." Susan gave a fatalistic little shrug and grimaced forlornly. "Bill and I decided to take turns going ashore."

Joanna hesitated a moment, then placed her hand on Susan's arm. "Look, I have a better idea. Why don't I keep Lori while both of you go ashore?"

"Oh, Joanna! We couldn't do that—"

"Of course you can," Joanna insisted, cutting off Susan's flustered protest. "I was planning to stay on board today anyway. Besides, I've seen Antigua. So there's no reason why you shouldn't go. Unless, of course, you're worried about leaving Lori with me."

"Oh, no! I'm sure—"

"Good. Then that settles it. I'll have a quick breakfast on deck, then I'll go find a steward and have a crib set up in my suite. When you're ready to leave just bring Lori to me there." Before Susan could object further, Joanna hurried away.

* * *

An hour and a half later Bill and Susan arrived at Joanna's suite loaded down with two diaper bags full of supplies and babbling their thanks. Interspersed among them was a list of last minute instructions.

Lori whimpered when she realized that her parents were about to leave her, which set off another round of doubts and protestations, but Joanna finally managed to shoo the grateful couple out, with orders that they weren't to return until it was time for the ship to saiL-

When the door closed behind them Lori really started to howl. Dismayed, Joanna watched the tiny bottom lip curl pathetically and tears spill from the big blue eyes, and for the first time she began to wonder if maybe she hadn't been just a bit hasty.

"Now, now sweetheart, don't cry," she crooned. "Your mommy and daddy will be back. And you and I are going to have a wonderful day together, you'll see."

Lori's cries rose two decibels. Joanna paced
the
floor and bounced the child on her arm. "Come on, sweetheart. Don't cry. Please don't cry. Look! Here's one of your play pretties." She grabbed a stuffed toy from the top of one of the bags and shook it in front of Lori's face. "See, Lori? See? Isn't this nice?" Joanna squeezed the terry cloth rabbit, and it made a shrill little squeak. Lori looked away and shrieked.

The child's nose ran profusely, and her cheeks were slick with tears. As her cries took on a hysterical note her face turned a brilliant shade, somewhere between red and purple.

"Oh, baby, please, don't do that. Please don't cry."

Joanna may as well have been talking to the wall, for all the good her pleas did. She made a desperate sound in her throat and bounced harder.

Could she hurt herself, crying like that? Joanna wondered frantically. It seemed likely. At the very least she was going to make herself sick if she kept it up.
Oh, you idiot! Why on earth did you offer to baby-sit? What you know about babies would fit into a thimble, for Pete's sake.
Lori screamed harder, right in Joanna's ear. She winced and sent up a silent prayer and continued to pace.

It took a moment for the sound to penetrate Lori's shrieks but finally Joanna realized that someone was knocking on the door. She rushed to open it, reacting to the summons like a drowning man who had been thrown a lifeline. To her it meant only one thing: help had arrived.

Her hopeful expression turned to dismay when she threw open the door. "What are you doing here?" she demanded.

Ignoring her question, Sean plucked Lori from her arms, stepped inside, forcing Joanna to take a hasty step backward, and closed the door behind him. "Hey, cutie. What's all the noise about, huh? If you don't knock it off they're gonna put us off the ship, did you know that?" He hoisted the baby in the crook of his arm and tickled her tummy with his other hand. Lori's cries quietened to sharp little snubs, and she stared at him solemnly with wide, tear-drenched eyes.

"That's my girl. You don't really want to be making all that racket, do you, sweetheart?" Very gently, Sean brushed the tears from her cheeks, and to Joanna's astonishment, Lori let out a shuddering sigh, stuck her thumb in her mouth, and laid her head on his shoulder, as docile as a lamb.

"How did you do that?" Joanna demanded, wide-eyed.

Sean absently massaged the baby's back, his big hand covering her from shoulder to waist. He fixed his intent gaze on Joanna, and once more ignored her question. "The Adamsons told us at breakfast that you'd volunteered to keep Lori today. I thought maybe I'd better give you a hand."

She bristled instantly, forgetting her desperation of only a moment ago. "And just what makes you think I need help?"