West Wind (6 page)

She changed into a pair of jeans and
sneakers, recalling that Mr. Blair said the boat was stored near a
barn. She grabbed her lightweight black leather coat, and brushed
breadcrumbs off her maroon tailored shirt. She tugged at the
V-neck, now worried that it was too low and too tight.

"I hope he doesn't think I'm making a pass at
him," she said to her reflection. She double checked her teeth for
stray flecks of pepper, then slid her hotel key card into her back
pocket.

Back in the Cadillac, Sabrina looked at the
directions, wishing she'd brought a state map along instead of a
one-page computer print out. The instructions to his house were
clear, but what if she made a wrong turn? How would she make it
back to the starting point? She shrugged, and started the car.

Traffic was still light, and she offered a
brief prayer of thanks. A few minutes later, after turning right,
checking the directions, turning left, checking them again, and
trying to keep her eye on her mileage (how the heck can you go 1.7
miles?), she stopped the car in front of a small, battered
two-story house. In the distance, she saw a barn. Behind that, the
Warren River sparkled.

She pulled into the unpaved driveway and
parked a few yards from a sagging front porch. As she stepped out
of the car, Mr. Blair, a bent old man in overalls and a faded,
plaid shirt, ambled down the porch steps.

"Good afternoon," he rasped. "You the Windham
girl I talked with the other day?"

"Yes sir," she said, extending her hand. His
grasp was strong and his blue eyes twinkled.

"You're a pretty little thing, aren't
you?"

"Thank you, Mr. Blair." She gestured with a
nod to the barn. "Is the Zephyrus over there?"

"Ah yup. Guess you're anxious to see it,
aren't you?"

"I am. I'm very excited. I've never seen one
of my grandfather's boats before."

"Eh? Why not?"

"After he died, my grandmother moved to the
mountains of Pennsylvania. I live in Baltimore, and don't have much
time for recreation."

"That's too bad. Coming from a sailing family
as you do, you should have blue water in your veins. Well, come on
along."

He shuffled through the tall grass, his feet
unfailingly finding the path to the barnyard. Sabrina cringed when
the small old man pushed against a heavy wooden gate. She thought
she should lend a shoulder, but then the gate creaked and swung
open. Chickens cackled and raced out the opening of the barn.

"Don't mind them. They like to nap in here,"
Blair said.

In the shadows on the side of the barn,
covered with several faded and torn tarps, she could make out a
large lump that must be the sailboat. She tiptoed towards it,
unsure what might be living inside. Blair wasn't as shy. He strode
forward and yanked the tarps off the boat.

Sabrina gasped. It was chalky white, with
black streaks running down the hull. The bent mast lay across the
cockpit, crushing the bow pulpit. Varnish peeled off the faded teak
trim.

She looked closer. There were bales of moldy
hay on the cockpit seats and she could hear the "cheep cheep" of
tiny peeps in the cabin.

It sat in a rusted, steel cradle, and its
broken lead keel lay beside it. Blair plucked a ladder from the
side of the barn and leaned it against the boat hull with a thud.
"Help yourself, missy. Have a good look."

"I'm not sure what to look for," she
murmured.

"Well, what is it you want to know?"

"I'm searching for Hull Number One; the first
boat my grandfather made.

Your invoice was the earliest, and I was
hoping that maybe this boat …" her voice faded.

"Well, what you gotta do is climb up in there
and look in the cabin. There's a bronze builder's plate on one of
the walls. That's where it tells you the hull number. Why do you
want Hull Number One?"

"A personal quest, I guess you could
say."

He stepped back. "Like I said, help
yourself."

Sabrina climbed the ladder and stepped
gingerly into the cockpit. She looked over the edge. "In
there?"

"Ayuh."

She inched towards the cabin opening and
removed the warped teak washboards. "Do you have a flashlight?"

"Nope. I have a lighter. Want it?"

"Um, sure. Thanks." She caught the deftly
tossed stainless steel Zippo lighter. She flipped the lid and
timidly rubbed the wheel. After a few tries, the spark caught
igniting a small butane flame. She looked inside. The cabin was
filled with several inches of black, oily water. Chicken feathers
floated on the surface.

"Where did this water come from?" she called
over her shoulder.

"Hatch leaks."

She didn't want to step into the rank water,
so she leaned in and reached her arm forward, the flame casting
shadows on the washed-out teak. The lighter was growing hot,
beginning to burn her fingers. She couldn't see a bronze plate. She
almost gave up, had pulled her hand back toward her face when out
of the corner of her eye she saw it. It was on the bulkhead by the
cabin opening. She clung to the teak grab rails and leaned
inside.

It read, "Zephyrus 32, No. 1, Zephyrus
Yachts, Warren, Rhode Island."

"Yes!" she whispered.

* * *

Walking back to her car, Sabrina wished she
could ask Rose what to do next. She didn't know how to buy a boat,
didn't know what kind of questions to ask, so she started with the
most important.

"I want to buy it. Will you sell?"

"Well, you see, I'm fond of that boat."

"But you haven't taken care of it. You can't
sail it. Why would you want to keep it?"

"I don't. I'm just warming up."

"I don't understand. You do want to sell the
boat, then?"

"Maybe. How much?"

"I don't know. What's a boat like that
worth?"

"It's worth $5,000 to me."

"What? That's what you paid thirty years ago.
I know, I've got the invoice," she cried, pulling the folded paper
from her jeans pocket.

"That's what its worth. Do you want it?" The
canny old man leaned against the Cadillac and squinted at her.

"Yes."

"Then we gotta deal," he said, sticking out
his hand.

Sabrina cautiously took it. "Will you accept
a check?"

The old man looked at her car, then her, then
the car again. "Sure."

* * *

Back at the hotel, Sabrina called Rose. She
whispered into the cell phone, not wanting to disturb her. "It's
here, Grandmother. I've found it."

"How exciting. I bet she's beautiful."

"Not really. It's been stored next to a barn
for a long time, and it looks pretty shabby right now."

"Boats are female, so you must refer to the
Zephyrus properly. Calling her an 'it' is not nice."

Sabrina chuckled. "Boat etiquette, huh?"

"That's right. Now that you're an owner, you
have to follow protocol."

"That's right; we own a sailboat. I gave that
old thief a check today. What should I do now, Grandmother? I have
to get it repaired. I mean 'her.'"

"Find a local boatyard, and talk to the
owner. They can arrange to have it transported to their shop."

"It's going to be more expensive than I
thought," Sabrina warned.

"I'm sure it will be," Rose replied, "but
it's a labor of love, darling. It's worth it."

"I don't know if it's a blessing or a blight,
but I'm glad I have you and that you understand."

"It's a blessing. Goodbye, dear."

Sabrina turned off her cell phone and walked
to the window. She lifted the gauze curtain and looked at the
Warren River shimmering nearby. She relived her adventure,
marveling at all she'd accomplished in one day. Then her stomach
growled. Picking up her purse and leather coat, she headed out,
stopping in the lobby to ask the clerk for directions to a nearby
restaurant.

"Preferably something close. Walking
distance," she emphasized.

The man crinkled his forehead. "Well, there's
the donut shop, but that's not real food. If you go three blocks
that way, you'll come to a little bar called Maude's," he said,
pointing out the glass front door. "It looks like a dive on the
outside, but the food is great. It's early so there won't be a
crowd."

"Thanks," she said, and strutted out the
hotel. She felt jubilant, she felt alive. She rarely had adventures
or took risks, and she had done both today. No matter the outcome,
she enjoyed finding the sailboat and she promised herself that she
would never regret it.

She heard the music before she saw the bar.
It was a weather-beaten building with several motorcycles and
pickup trucks in the parking lot. A neon sign glowed in the window
advertising a beer from a small-town brewery not far from Eaton.
She opened the door and walked in.

The interior was a contrast in light and
dark: well lit over the pool table where two men concentrated on
their game, dim along the far wall, lined with wooden booths. The
bar stools were filled with people Sabrina imagined were
"regulars." She nodded to the bartender and headed for an empty
booth. As she sat down, she plopped her purse on the table and
shrugged out of her coat.

Across the bar, Jay West sipped his beer,
keeping his narrowed eyes pinned on the young woman. As soon as she
walked in, he noticed her. How could he not be aware of the exotic
beauty with dark hair and delicate features? He noted the slim
waist that accented her rounded jean-clad hips, and luscious
cleavage when she shrugged out of her coat. She smiled, her toothy
grin white against dark red lipstick, when the bartender stumbled
in his haste to bring her a menu.

The girl was stunning, exuding refinement and
money. What was she doing in Warren and, more importantly, was she
alone?

Nate, the bartender, nodded vigorously as she
handed him back the menu and asked for the popular Pennsylvania
lager and a cheeseburger.

Jay's upper lip curled into a wolfish
grin.

"Hey, are you listening to me?"

Jay glanced at the heavy-set man on the stool
next to him. While Brett's wife, Shawna, held a scrapbooking
workshop at their house, he relaxed with a beer and dinner at
Maude's.

"No," Jay replied.

Brett looked around, curious until he spotted
Sabrina. "Whoa brother; she's out of your league."

On the other side of the bar, Sabrina noticed
the tall man sitting on a stool. He was dressed in a faded black
T-shirt, and his rough, worn jeans rode up his ankles, revealing a
pair of scuffed work boots. Chestnut hair curled over his ears and
flipped up at the back of his neck. A dark lock strayed into eyes
framed with dark, flaring brows. It was a hip fashion that
pretentious executives paid stylists hundreds of dollars for, yet
this man's style sprang from nonchalance.

High cheekbones slashed his face and a short
beard and mustache muted his mouth. A fisherman?
Probably a
construction worker
, she thought.
Still, he's sexy
.

She grinned a bit too brightly at the
bartender, thanking him for the beer. Nervous, she hefted the
bottle and bumped her front tooth. Clunk.

"Ouch," she murmured, rubbing her front teeth
with her index finger, worried she chipped one. She glanced at the
bar and met Jay's eyes. Was he smiling at her?

She lifted the longneck beer and drank, her
throat undulating with each gulp. She set the beer back on the
table and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. She was aware
of his eyes on her and her skin tingled. She nervously gazed at her
bottle and tugged gently at the label, a game bored females play at
bars. Soon, shreds of wet paper littered the tabletop, but it
worked. The time between placing her order and having a hot, juicy
burger placed before her dissolved.

"Yes, please," she responded to the
bartender's question. "Ketchup and mustard. Thanks."

She lifted the bun lid and poked at the
burger. Hot cheese clung to her finger and she slid it into her
mouth, sucking it clean. As she pulled her finger from her lips,
she looked up and once again saw the man watched her intently.
Blushing with embarrassment, she shifted in her seat and knocked
her purse onto the floor. As she bent over to retrieve it, she
watched in agony as a tube of lipstick rolled across the floor,
bouncing off the barstool next to the man. Sabrina pretended she
hadn't noticed it and shoved the rest of the contents back into her
purse. She decided she would buy another lipstick, considering the
tube lost.

Meanwhile, Nate brought the ketchup and
mustard and hovered at her table. "Can I get you another beer,
miss?"

"Thank you. That'd be great," she said.

She refused to look across the bar,
determined to eat her burger, drink her beer and leave while she
still had some dignity. She didn't understand why she felt
self-conscious, but after a few minutes of trying to eat daintily,
she gave up and devoured the sandwich.

To hell with him
, she thought.
He's
rude, staring at me like that
.

Agitated, she chewed, her cheeks stuffed with
bread and meat. The burger was no longer juicy. It was cardboard,
dry and tasteless. She gulped her second beer, washing down the
last few mouthfuls.

Pulling her wallet from her purse, she
extracted two twenties and placed them on the table. She was
furious. The entire time she tried to eat her dinner, minding her
own business, the obnoxious man at the bar stared at her. Okay, so
she licked her fingers suggestively and a few times she stared back
at him, but enough was enough.

She grabbed her purse and jacket and swung
out of the booth. "Keep the change," she told the bartender, open
mouthed in astonishment at the size of her tip.

In the parking lot, Sabrina slipped into her
coat and hung her purse over her shoulder. She turned in a slow
circle, unsure which direction the hotel lay. As she did, the
tavern door opened, Jay walked out and stopped in front of her. In
his open hand, he held her lipstick. She glared at it for a heated
moment, and then looked into his face. It was shadowed, except for
his lower lip. She fixated on it.