West Wind (9 page)

"That's right, ma'am. What can we do for
you?"

"Well, I have a boat and it's a real mess,"
she began apologetically. "I need to have it moved and then, I
guess, do whatever magic you do."

"Is this a fiberglass boat?"

"Yes, it is."

"What's her length, overall?"

"Uh, what?"

"How big is the boat?"

"I'm not sure. It's a Zephyrus; does that
help?"

There was a brief pause before the man
answered. "Thirty-two; those boats had a short run and only one
design."

"Well, this one is special, despite roosting
chickens and lily pads in living room."

"Cabin. Lily pads in the cabin," Brett said,
chuckling. "Where is this boat?"

"It's at Mr. Blair's house, next to his
barn." She reeled off the address. "It's been sitting for at least
twenty years, so it's going to need a lot of work."

"I can go take a look at it and give you an
estimate. Why don't you give me your name and telephone
number."

"I don't need an estimate. I want this boat
restored to her original condition," she said, proudly remembering
to call it by its feminine pronoun. "I don't care what the cost
is."

Brett didn't respond at first. Then, "Miss,
you sound like you're new to sailboats. Let me give you some
advice: When you fall in love, run like hell."

"Excuse me?" Sabrina's gut clenched.

"Run, and don't look back. This boat could
end up costing you ten times what she's worth."

"That's what she's worth to me," Sabrina
said. "Look; you're right. I don't know what I'm doing. That's why
I'm calling you. But I do know this: I want this boat in pristine
condition."

"Bristol."

"What?"

"Bristol. Boats are restored to Bristol
condition, not pristine."

She giggled. "Whatever, Mr. ... What did you
say your name was?"

"My name is Brett Story. I'm assistant
manager of the Warren Boatyard."

"Mr. Story, I appreciate you trying to talk
me out of throwing money at you. You may not hear this often, but
today, money is no object. In fact, if you'll meet me at Mr.
Blair's house with a truck or trailer, or however you people move
boats around on the land, then I'm prepared to give you a $20,000
deposit."

"I can be there in an hour."

Not a bad businessman after all
, she
thought. "That's what I want to hear. Thank you, Mr. Story."

Sabrina hung up her cell phone. "I'm doing
it, Grandmother."

Next, she called the hospital and talked to
Shirley Piper, her grandmother's personal nurse.

"She's doing very well, Sabrina. In fact,
we're beginning physical therapy today. We need to get her moving
so her hip mends properly. The doctors say it was a small fracture
and she's ready to try the walker."

"Thank you, Shirley. I really appreciate what
you've done for her. May I speak with her?"

"She's having a sponge bath right now and
then will eat breakfast. Can you call back in about an hour?"

"Sure. Well, actually, it will have to be a
little later. I'm going to pick up my new boat."

"How nice! You bought a new boat?"

"Well, not really new. But she will be like
new when she's finished."

Sabrina signed off and looked at the small
clock on her cell phone. It was a little after nine; she called Mr.
Blair and arranged to meet him again, this time with a mover.

"That'll be fine, missy. You might want to
come over here a little sooner and get rid of the peeps. Unless you
want some chickens."

"Mr. Blair; surely you will remove your
property from my boat."

"I would if I could, girly, but I can't climb
no ladder and my eyesight isn't what it used to be."

Sabrina gritted her teeth.
Fine
, she
thought,
you old crook.

* * *

Sabrina bailed many buckets of greasy, black
water from the cabin, removed three hen's nests, and tossed eight
bales of hay from the boat by the time Brett Story arrived. He
efficiently maneuvered a tractor-trailer next to the barn then. He
climbed onto the truck bed, removed chains from a forklift and
drove it down the ramp, parking it by the sailboat. Then he hopped
off to study the Zephyrus. Once Brett had weighed his options, he
guided the long, padded blades of the forklift under the sailboat
and lifted it, swinging it effortlessly onto the long tractor bed.
Once again, Brett hopped off the forklift and then slung several
webbed straps across the boat, cinching it to the trailer. Next he
deposited the broken lead keel in front of the boat, then drove the
little forklift back up the ramp and attached the chains, securing
it to the tractor-trailer.

The process took less than twenty minutes.
Looking at Sabrina, he shook his head. "You sure you want to do
this?"

She handed him a check for $20,000. "I'm
sure."

Now that he had the boat secure, Brett took a
moment to study Sabrina. "Didn't I see you last night at Maude's?
Weren't you … uh, didn't you and …"

He stammered, suddenly realizing the
awkwardness of the situation.

Sabrina's cheeks reddened. "Maybe. I had
dinner there last night," she said, looking away. "I'm Sabrina
Windham and this boat was designed and built by my grandfather, Don
Windham," she added, pride flushing her cheeks.

Brett stared open-mouthed.

Sabrina waited for another response but only
Brett's silence filled the gap.

"Well, my grandfather and his partner, Derek
West," she amended. "I'm determined this boat will be restored and
like I said, I don't care what it costs. It's that important."

Brett exhaled. "Right. Well, guess I'll be
off. I'm going to need you to come by the boatyard this afternoon
to sign some paperwork. No matter what you say, the boss will
insist on an estimate. He's particular about the paperwork." Brett
eyed the Zephyrus warily. "I think he's going to want to deal with
you, and your boat, personally."

"No problem. What time is best for you?"

Brett stepped up to the truck cab and opened
the door. "I'd say after three. We've got to do a survey first.
Then we can write up a list of priorities."

"Great; see you then," Sabrina said, rubbing
her hand across the chalky, swollen belly of her boat. Without the
keel, the boat sat close to the ground. She grinned once more at
Brett. "Too late I'm afraid to 'run like hell.'"

"They do get under your skin. Kinda like a
woman. Well, not in your case. Maybe. Ah, I better get a move on
before I put my foot deeper in my mouth."

She winked at him. "Men; I prefer men. With
one exception," she said, stroking the boat once more.

Sabrina stood beside Mr. Blair in the
overgrown weeds in his front yard as Brett drove the 18-wheeler out
of the barnyard and disappeared down the highway.

"Well, missy, you got yourself some project
there."

Chapter Four

Jay was in the machine shop, the radio
blasting loud rock music when Brett returned with the loaded truck.
He didn't hear the engine or the air brakes over the music and the
grinding wheel that he operated, shaping a new engine mount. A rag
tossed at his head alerted him to Brett's presence.

"Where have you been?" he growled.

"Working; which is more than I can say for
you," Brett countered. "Wish I could drag my lazy ass to work
whenever I wanted."

"Yeah, well I misplaced something this
morning."

"Wouldn't be a sexy brunette, would it?"

Jay tossed the rag at Brett. "Mind your own
business. What's that?" he gestured to the laden truck.

"That, my friend, is our next project. I've
got a cashier's check for $20,000 and I need a survey and estimate
quick."

Jay stepped out of the attached shed and into
the boatyard. He recognized the boat immediately, swiveling to
glare at Brett.

"What the hell is this?"

"It's a Zephyrus, buddy."

"I can see that. What the hell is it doing
here?"

"Picked it up this morning down on Route 136.
Customer wants it restored to Bristol. Says she will pay whatever
it takes. This here twenty grand deposit," he said, patting his
shirt pocket, "is a down payment."

"Well, I don't want it. Get rid of it."

"Come on, Jay. Get real; we can use the work
and you know it. Besides, this is a project boat. We restore this
classic and we'll get some great publicity. Think what Shawna can
do with the web site. We'll put photos of before and after. It'll
be great."

"I don't want it here. I'm not going to touch
this boat," Jay snarled. "Get it out of here."

"Well, Jay, here's the thing. This boat just
happens to be Hull Number One of a design by Don Windham and his
partner, Derek West. You are West's grandson and, here is the
clincher, the new owner is the granddaughter of Don Windham."

Jay swore viciously and picked up a piece of
two-by-four. In a rage, he swung at the boat. The dull gel coat
cracked.

"Jay, calm down. Man, this is Karma. Don't
you see?"

"No, I don't see."

"You will. It gets better. The granddaughter
is a sexy brunette named Sabrina Windham."

This took the wind from Jay's sail and he
stepped back, tripping over the dropped board and sitting hard on a
box of old canvas sails.

"Knocked you on your ass, didn't I?"

Jay swore viciously, then stood up, wiped the
sawdust from his jeans and walked to the back lot where seals
littered the rocks. He dropped into the cockpit of his old wooden
skiff and pulled the outboard cord. The well-maintained engine
roared and within moments Jay careened down the Warren River,
headed for Narragansett Bay.

Brett calmly released the cinched webbing
around the Zephyrus and picked up the forklift's remote control. He
had a survey to complete before three o'clock.

* * *

Sabrina arrived at the boatyard a little
early, anxious and excited to get started.

"Hi Brett," she called out. The chubby man
was bent under the hull, thumping it with a rubber mallet.

"Hey, Miss Windham. I'm almost finished with
the survey."

"What exactly is a survey?"

"Well, I examine the boat, the way a
physician would a patient, looking for problems. I make a list and,
based upon the survey, you know how much the boat is worth."

"I already know how much she's worth,"
Sabrina said. Her confidence had given her an aura of serenity.
"Every penny."

"Must be nice to have money to burn, because
that's what you're going to do with this clunker. Now, it breaks my
heart as a businessman, but I have to recommend that you forget
restoring this boat. It's going to take at least six months of
steady work and probably fifty thousand to make this boat new
again. Well, new and improved."

"You don't want the job?" Sabrina cocked her
head and smiled gently.

"Oh, believe me, I want the job. My boss,
now, he's a different story." Brett sighed. He didn't want to do
it, but Jay was too stubborn for his own good. "Can I talk to you
openly?"

"Certainly."

"Let's go to Maude's. We're going to need a
quiet booth and I'm going to need a beer."

"But it's only three o'clock," she
protested.

"It's time," he said, matter-of-factly. He
escorted her to the gate and locked the boatyard. In the distance,
Sabrina heard muted barking of seals. The fence looked familiar,
too. An uneasy feeling came over her and she looked over her
shoulder. Jay's apartment was near here. She opened her car door.
"Shall I drive?"

"No; leave it. Maude's is just a couple of
blocks away. Let's go," he replied.

Sabrina felt déjà vu and shivered. "Maybe I
need a beer, after all."

They walked quickly and soon she recognized
the weathered tavern. The parking lot still contained motorcycles
and pickup trucks. "Don't these people ever go home?"

Brett chuckled. "Yes, but they come back the
next day."

Inside, the tavern looked friendly and its
cedar-planked walls glowed in the filtered sunlight. Brett pointed
to an empty booth near the back of the building. An old, stocky
woman with frizzled gray hair approached them, menus and a
dishtowel in her hands.

"Afternoon, Maude."

"Hey Brett. Where's Shawna today?" She eyed
Sabrina with mistrust.

"She's at home, as always. This here is a
client of the boatyard, Maude. She's picked up a sailboat that
needs some work."

Maude nodded. "You mean that piece of crap
you hauled by here this morning?"

Sabrina grimaced.

"Ayuh, that's the one," Brett said. "Miss
Windham here has bought herself the original Zephyrus."

"Windham, you say?" Maude looked closely at
Sabrina. "Don Windham's daughter? Nah, you're too young. You his
kin?"

"Yes," Sabrina said, leaning forward eagerly.
"You knew my grandfather?"

"Used to," Maude said, wiping the table and
dropping the menus without ceremony. "Went to school with him and
Derek. Those two were best friends. Tragedy that was, the
fire."

Maude cleared her throat. "Listen, the
kitchen isn't too busy if you two want something special."

"Thanks, Maude," Brett said. "Can we start
with a couple of lagers? Sabrina, are you hungry?"

Rattled, Sabrina picked up the menu and
scanned it. "Umm, actually, I am. I forgot to have lunch today.
I'll have, um, how about a bowl of chowder and a BLT?"

Maude nodded. "Brett?"

"Thanks; I'll just have a beer. Shawna's
cooking pot roast tonight," he said, rubbing his large belly.

Maude peered at him over her glasses. "You
tell her I said hey, and good luck with the new baby."

Brett nodded and the old woman shambled off
to the kitchen. He grinned at Sabrina. "She's a bit protective.
Shawna's her grandniece."