Windward Whisperings (4 page)

With two bottles of expensive champagne tucked in a brown bag, Garrett strolled with the guys
and departmental heads. They cut through the marina’s dry dock. As large as a football field, he
knew it served as both a sales and boatyard operation.

To make conversation, he’d point out the obvious. “More boats sit on land than on water.” His
new sloop would sit among them until Woody’s Wharf had an open slip.
Edgar said, “Work areas with electric power are available at two dollars per hour. Myself? I like
tinkering.”
Vinny Devine, the head of sales, chortled. “Boats sit on trailers, stowed for months or maybe
years until owners launch them. I could care less after I sell them.” His tone was like honey, but
Garrett remembered how his shoulder hurt when the former running back had thrown him against
the lockers.
That thought escaped him when he scanned parking spaces for a Bentley. Kitzie had once said
she’d never drive anything else.
Ahead, Naiad employees gathered in clusters on the boardwalk in front of Woody’s. He shook
hands and introduced himself.
“Ahoy, mates!” Edgar yelled to the throngs lolling about the wharf. “My boat’s over here, in the
first slip. If you haven’t met my wife Maryrose, she’s on top.” Edgar climbed aboard and walked
about the carpeted bridge.
Maryrose, wearing a blazer with a yacht club insignia on the lapel and skipper’s cap, gave him a
peck on the cheek. She yelled down, “I want a good name, everybody. It’s going to go on the
transom, lifebuoys, and the topside.”
“You won’t be disappointed, Maryrose.” Kitzie appeared in front of their unnamed vessel and
waved to the crowd with both hands. “Today we’re honoring Garrett Mackenzie, acting CEO. Some
of you might already know him. He grew up here.” She seemed to float, her voice low and calm.
Garrett took a few steps forward. “We’re here to have lunch and name the Wedemeyer’s boat.
Our advertising department calls it a picnic boat. Most of you have worked on the Naiad-20 in some
capacity. Would anyone like to add some detail?”
Vinny made a vague salute. “It has a diesel inboard, a keel, and a bathroom in the bow.” After he
spoke, he moved near Kitzie. He said something, and she backed up. He had the gracious little
hostess blocked against a post.
Garrett didn’t like it and decided to put a respectable distance between them. This was lunch,
not a cocktail party. Wordlessly, he angled his shoulders and moved between them.
Vinny’s cell rang, and he walked away to answer it.
“Nice rescue, Garrett.” She lifted a dainty hand, the color of caramel, and dropped it on his arm.
“You’re a trooper, the way you’re introducing yourself around.”
“I’ve come a long way.” He was staring at her slender throat gleaming in the sunlight when
Vinny appeared again.
The salesman stuck out his shovel chin. “The guys are going out for steaks at a strip club
tonight. Want to come?”
“Maybe another time, thanks.” Garrett watched the man drift off, regretting that his response
came out like a groan.
Kitzie, rolling her eyes, made him wonder if a certain amount of anger bubbled inside her. He
asked, “Who’s getting on your nerves, me or him?”
There was silence until a light breeze shook the bougainvillea on a trellis behind her, and the
papery flowers rattled dryly. She looked around to see if anyone was looking at them, and then
moved her hand into his in a show of understanding. “Vinny Devine isn’t totally evolved, but
consider this. A night out with the boys might drop your profile to a human level.”
“The gutter should do it.” He sucked in his breath.
“I know your job forced you to attend this shindig, not your personality. Put yourself back into
circulation.” She gave his hand a squeeze and turned away.
He worked his way in a different direction along the wharf. He stopped where Sedona sat with
her feet up, asked her how she was doing, and then headed toward Vinny and his gang. He did his
best to chat. The whole time, he watched Kitzie as she made people laugh. He’d never known a
woman who could charm like her.
With her own timing, it wasn’t long before the kitten sashayed behind him. “I’m impressed you
didn’t hide below deck.” Her shoulder brushed against his back.
He turned his head and whispered, “That’d be against my better judgment. You’d be bent out of
shape and would kick me in the shins. That’s a scary thought.” He wished she’d laminate herself
onto him. When he turned to face her heart-shaped features, he felt pressure against his zipper. The
intensity of his attraction was inappropriate and a waste of perfectly good hormones, he thought.
She was a bossy little number, completely wrong for him. There was no justice in the world. He
noticed that she was muttering again.
Delicate black brows lifted. “Gar, what do you have in that bag?”
“Two bottles of champagne.”
She smacked herself on the forehead with the heel of her hand. “Uhh!” Black hair shifted on her
narrow shoulders. A dark squall was rising, but he’d learned to be oblivious to her outrages. “I get
really frosted about broken glass.” She grumbled the words like colorful cursing.
“I’m not a mind reader.” He muttered a crude phrase of his own. “You’re a bit in the extreme
these days.” After another minute, he realized she was mad at herself.
“Of course, it’s a tradition.” She looked at him, her expression momentarily vulnerable. “I’d kick
myself in the butt if my foot wasn’t pointed the other way.”
“Hey. I’ll say the libation, shake one bottle, uncork it, and let it fizz over the bow. We’ll recycle
the bottle, and give the second one to Maryrose and Edgar. No one will die.”
“Silly me.” Her rusty voice gave off a crestfallen hue.
“You seem to die over many things.”
She watched the Wedemeyers’ vessel bob in her slip. Sun sparkled off the lapping blue water of
the bay. Farther out, greedy gulls swooped behind fishing boats. The smell of the salty sea filled his
nostrils. “Air smells good. I know we agree on that point.” He turned and watched her pick up a
clipboard from the serving table. “What’s with that?”
“I want you to list all my good qualities.”
“I like how you’re honest about lying.”
“Thanks, I’m kidding. These pages are for boat naming. Come with me, and I’ll let you carry the
clipboard.” She handed it to him. As she stepped aboard, the boat, broad in beam, hardly rocked.
He hated himself for following her like a puppy onto the bridge. She worked for him, yet she
was calling the shots. On deck, he slouched against the cabin wall, stretched out his legs, and crossed
them at his ankles.
She whispered, “Gar, at the top of each page, I wrote down boat name categories. You’ll get the
gist when I explain the naming procedure to the crowd.”
The cabin door pushed open, and the Wedemeyers stepped outside. Looking mildly
embarrassed, Edgar helped his wife, Maryrose, perch on the captain’s chair. Her legs were bone thin,
but her butt looked like two large melons. Quickly, Edgar gathered his wits and bellowed, “Gather
in, folks.”
Spread along the boardwalk, employees transferred their attention to the boat.
Kitzie smiled and yelled, “We’ve set up categories to name the Wedermeyers’ craft.” The gilded
light of the noontime sun above gave her black hair a sparkling sheen.
He stopped admiring her when she waved a Monte Blanc pen in front of his face. “The ball’s in
your court.”
He took the pen, read the heading
Hard Work
, and said, “Folks, I’m going to name a category.
You’ll call out boat names.” Doing something with her raised his spirits. “Ready? Let’s hear
suggestions for hard work.” He wished she’d scoot closer.
In public, she was careful about personal space, evident from when she’d attempted to back
away from Vinny. She knew the nuances of office politics and pantyhose. Except, in her case, she
didn’t wear any. He wished he hadn’t thought about that.
She took a step toward the edge of the cockpit. “I’ll go first with
Serious Overtime
.”
Edgar shouted, “
Floatin’ a Loan
.”
Gar had to write fast. It didn’t matter who did the shouting. He heard “Bill Collector” and “Risk
Taker,” and wrote them down.
“Thank you, those were excellent.” Kitzie flipped a page on the clipboard and nudged him.
He yelled, “The next category is
Sentiments
.”
Her smile broadened as she took in the crowd. “Think Valentine’s Day. February is next month,
and we already have reminders. Try to go beyond candy, flowers, and elegant restaurants. How will
Edgar and Maryrose feel when they’re out in their boat, far away? Wedermeyer is a Germanic
surname. I’m going to suggest
Fahrfrumwerken
.” She took his pen, wrote in big block letters, and
turned the clipboard to the crowd.
He heard chuckles from its impact. “Far-from-working.”
Maryrose said, “Kitzie, could you put those German double dots on top of the vowels?”
“Nice, I hadn’t thought of that.” Her laugh alone seemed to work the crowd.
From her reclining chair, Sedona shouted, “
Beats Workin’
.”
“Okay, Sedona!” She jotted it down with a flamboyant flick.
Garrett let out a breath. “
Island Time
.” Alone on an island with her came to mind as well as
The
Windswept
, but he didn’t say it. He had his own boat to name.
She said, “I’m adding
Serenity
to the list. We could probably go on with sentiments until the
Fourth of July. One more, please, and we’ll wind this category up.”
Garrett said, “
Obsession
.” He was thinking about Valentine’s Day and romance on a high scale.
He wasn’t above using clichéd gestures to achieve the desired effect. Any woman expected
conventional niceties. In his heart, romance was more private.
Naming a boat was something like the word games he’d enjoyed with Kitzie. When his thoughts
centered on Strip-Scrabble, he held his clipboard directly across a certain part of his anatomy that
grew hard. He’d never dated a woman who liked her kind of amusements.
Kitzie removed papers from the clipboard he awkwardly held and handed them to Edgar. “You
and Maryrose don’t have to decide on a name today.”
Garrett’s mind went into overdrive, not wanting the game to end. “What about giving the boat a
financial value? I offer
Liquid Asset
.”
There was utter silence. He felt uncomfortable. The crowd had come up empty. Perhaps they
were bored.
A small crease developed between her eyes. “I don’t think we can top that one, so let’s move to
another category.” She seemed to be concentrating. “Let’s bat around the emotional value of water.
How about
Fanta Sea
?”
He took the pen, heard “Odd-a-Sea,” and wrote them both down.
The silly names people come up
with.
A Native American who’d introduced himself earlier as Bob Thundercloud, stepped up.
“
Okoboji
. It means ‘Beautiful Blue Water’ in the language of the Dakotas.”
“Thank you, Bob.” Kitzie smiled. “We’ll complete our naming session with the ‘Miss’ category.
We know what they are, ‘Miss Take,’ ‘Miss Fortune,’ and ‘Miss Understood.’ There, we’re done.”
“Give us a minute.” Edgar conferred with Maryrose. “We’ve decided on
Liquid Asset
.”
“Congratulations on your boat name and anniversary.” She must have known the crowd was
getting antsy. “Hey, everybody, let’s eat. We’ll save the ceremony until later.”
Kitzie whispered in Garrett’s ear. “That was your suggestion. You must be proud.”
“I’m surprised he didn’t name the boat
Ass Wipe
after himself.”
“Now, now.”
Off the boat first, he offered his hand to her. She stumbled getting off. It felt nice when she fell
onto his chest.
The crowd converged on the food tables, and they followed. She picked up a wrap with her
delicate fingers and handed it to him. “You’ll like this.”
He bit into it and found it delicious. “Never had a Swiss cheese, ham, celery, avocado wrap. It’s
like a salad.”
“Try the other kind, too. It’s crab.” Kitzie handed him a glass of lemonade, his all-time favorite
drink. “Excuse me. I need to tell the chef to bring out the cake. Just before we cut it, you’ll do the
libation.” She disappeared into the restaurant.
Soon a large yacht-shaped cake was rolled out. He positioned himself at the bow of the soon-tobe-named
Liquid Asset.
Kitzie climbed on deck and tooted the horn to get everyone’s attention. “We await Mr.
Mackenzie’s libation.” She spoke with a cotillion hostess’ rapture.
He shook one of the champagne bottles. He’d memorized a quip. “On behalf of the Naiad
Boatworks, we wish all who sail aboard this vessel good fortune. May the ancient gods of wind and
sea keep this mast from sailing under low bridges and power lines.”
People applauded and stood around flimsy plastic chairs.
He uncorked the bottle and aimed it at the bow. Golden bubbly shot forth. He held the empty
bottle for recycling and handed the second one to Maryrose. “This is for you and Edgar to enjoy.”
In a sudden move, Edgar intercepted it and turned toward the wharf. “This vessel is hitherto
christened
Liquid Asset
.” He crashed the bottle across the bow.
Kitzie bit her lip in silence as glass broke into the ocean. The shatter summed up her
disappointment. She shuttered as she looked over at him.
He whispered, “Should I give him the heave-ho, warden?”
She simply pursed her lips. Her beauty was spellbindingly female even when she was irritated. In
their decade apart, she’d found a different kind of nobility. She’d become all too sensible. Those
who weren’t were beneath her.
He was more comfortable with the old Kitzie, the flighty, flirty girl. This wisp of a woman was
no longer her, and he lifted his hands in surrender. “Hell with it, Kitzie. I would have done it myself
if you hadn’t advised me against it.”
She almost smiled. “It’s all right, Garrett.”
“Damn, that’s gracious of you. We have to work together this afternoon. By the way, everything
in your cubicle will be set up in another hour.”
“Fine, I’ll have time to go to the gym. A two-hour lunch will rejuvenate my brain for fiberglass
fact gathering.”
“Don’t push the envelope.” He’d push later, ask her to dinner. He wanted to get reacquainted.
Seducing her back in their hometown would be an awesome way to get revenge for the way she
dangled him on her little finger and left a hole in his heart. For revenge to be sweet, he needed to
play boss, at least at office.