Magic Moment (9 page)

She remained motionless, not wanting to disturb her roommate. Her mind was weary, but sleep wasn’t forthcoming. She closed her eyes and started counting zucchini.

She was up to zucchini number 212, and still not sleepy.

Drip … drip … drip …

Laura’s eyes flew open.

Drip … drip … drip …

She sat up in the bed. The moonlight’s glow flowed from the uncovered windows, brightening the room. She listened more intensely.

Drip … drip …

Prickly rain had started falling. The third window wasn’t closed entirely. The rain fell on the window seat, Chase’s head, and his shoulder. He slept soundly under the unexpected shower.

Laura slipped out of bed and padded across the room. She leaned over him and pulled the window shut. The contraption slid open. She repeated the action, but the window refused to cooperate. The water seeping in wasn’t enough to flood the cabin, but annoying to anyone sleeping on the window seat.

“Chase,” she called in a low voice. No response, she gently shook his shoulder. “Chase, you can’t sleep here.”

His eyes opened, blinked but didn’t focus. “Why not? You still mad at me?”

He must have assumed she didn‘t want him sleeping in the room with her. “You can’t sleep on the window seat,” she told him. “It’s raining, and the window’s broken. You’re getting wet.”

“I’m fine.” He closed his eyes. A water droplet hit his nose.

“Chase, you can’t sleep on the window seat,” she said, her voice stronger.

“I’m fine.”

“Sleep on the floor.” She tugged the blanket. He tugged back.

“Chase. You’ll get sick.”
Why were men so stubborn?
“Chase!” The floor was hard, but at least it was dry.

His eyes remaining closed, he waved her away and struggled to stand. Dragging the blanket behind him, he staggered to the bed, plopped down on top of its quilt, and pulled his own covering over him.

She stared at the immovable form that appeared quite comfortable. He hadn’t opened his eyes or lost a minute of slumber. She could sleep on the floor. That idea was quickly scratched. The surface was hard under the soles of her feet. Imagine how stiff a person’s back would feel in the morning. She couldn’t blame Chase for not wanting to sleep on the floor.

Laura slid beneath her neatly arranged covers. This would work for one night. He was on top of the blanket and quilt, and she was beneath. This was an emergency. They were adults.

Lying on her side, her hands tucked beneath the pillow, Laura listened to the droplets tap, tap, tap on the windowpane. She actually enjoyed the sound of rain, found the steady pitter-patter soothing.

“I’m cold,” he said simply.

His weight shifted as he turned and one hard arm looped itself around her waist. Her slim frame stiffened, his movement more surprising than offensive. He pulled her closer, drawing her tightly against his chest.

“Chase.” She didn’t move a stunned muscle.

“This is better,” he muttered.

She hadn’t the chance to reply as his light snores mingled with the rhythmic raindrops.

The foghorn blare roused Chase, intruding on the best night’s sleep he’d had in months. Chase was generally a toss-and-turner during the night. Opening first one eye, then the other, he frowned. The sun flooded three luminous cylinder beams through the windows, the brightness stinging his eyes. He had been enjoying his slumber.

Yawning, he stretched overhead, tossing his legs over the side of the bed. An inert form caught his attention. He turned his head slightly, glancing over his shoulder. Laura, lay on her side, sleeping effortlessly. She was curved toward him, her golden locks spread across the pillow, eyes closed, breathing lightly, contentment smoothing her features.

He swallowed hard. What the hell were they doing in bed? Together? He was supposed to be on the window seat. He groaned, feeling a deadly unease crawl through him.

No, he didn’t.

Did he?

He hadn’t had much to drink last night, wine at dinner and a few whiskies when they returned to the boat. He had consumed more alcohol during one night in an Atlantic City casino and drove back to Philadelphia without incident. He had bedded less attractive women and recalled every detail. God … please tell him he didn’t take advantage of Laura. Not after what she had been through.

“Laura, wake up.” He waited. “Laura.”

Long-lashes fluttered and her sparkling emerald eyes opened, then stared. “Somebody die? You look grief-stricken.”

“How did I get in bed?” He paused. “With you?”

“A window is broken. It started raining, and you got wet on the window seat.”

Flinching with self-loathing, a low moan escaped him. Was that the lame excuse he had offered to get into bed with her?

“I suggested the floor, but you plopped into bed. I didn’t have the heart to throw you out. If I offended your modesty, I apologize.” She chuckled, lifting the blankets and quilt. “Look. We had plenty separating us.”

I didn’t have the heart to throw you out,
she had said. He remained dumbfounded.

“Your virtue is still intact.” She laughed and rolled over, presenting him with her back. With a contented sigh, she snuggled deeper beneath the bedcovers.

Chase shook his head, amazed. Wasn’t this a new one? At least, for him. Sleeping with a woman — only sleeping. For Chase, if there was no copulating, there was no reason for a woman taking up space in his bed.

He admired the willowy form wrapped in the down quilt. He liked this woman, and not because he appreciated how pretty she was after having sat across from her for three years. There was something about her he just hadn’t pinpointed yet, a quality that made him enjoy sharing a meal with her, sharing the boat, and sharing the bed — even if only to sleep.

He remembered their conversation the previous evening, before she had stormed off to bed. If she had prevented him from a soaking, she couldn’t be too angry. He smiled at the thought.

After he showered and changed into jeans and his college black football jersey with the yellow number 5, Chase guided
Madre
back into the bay. He checked his cell phone messages. Two more from his father, both berating and shouting a stern “Chase, call immediately.” He laughed. Good, maybe his father was worried that Chase had taken Laura to the FBI. He got perverse pleasure in ignoring the messages, aware the older man was seething back at the warehouse.

Yet he wasn’t ready to tell Laura. How do you tell a woman that your father tried to have her killed? Chase still had difficulty understanding and accepting the situation himself.

“Hi. Want a granola bar?”

Laura stood next to him, chewing on one bar, offering him another. No other woman was seductively sexy in green sweats. Her golden locks were pulled back tight in a rubber band, the bruises had faded into a light blue stain, and apple red blushed her cheeks. Man, he loved looking at her.

He winced, rejecting her food offering. Even the sweet, honey scent of a granola bar turned his stomach. Her jovial laughter had a smile tugging at his mouth.

“Don’t you have any real food?”

“During the summer months, I do. I use the boat more.”

She munched on the sweet treat, looking serene and content.

“Chase, about our argument last night, about your father’s involvement,” she said. “I’m sorry. I — ”

His reply was quick. “Nothing to be sorry for.” He didn’t want to discuss his father, knowing she was right about his connection with her assault and not ready to tell her. He found a distraction. “Want a lesson on navigating a boat?”

Her face brightened. “Sounds like fun.” She tossed the last bite into her mouth. “How much longer until we reach the Chesapeake?”

He slid off the stool and nudged her to sit. “Another day or two, depending how long we drop anchor at night. You’ll be safe there. My Aunt Lonnie will enjoy having you.”

“How long do you think I’ll have to stay? I don’t want to impose on your aunt, or leave my condo unattended for too long.”

His aunt would welcome her for as long as Laura wanted to stay. Especially after he clued Aunt Lonnie in on why they were popping up at her door. He struggled with how much he should tell his aunt about his father’s involvement. To say that Aunt Lonnie had never liked her brother-in-law was a polite way of phrasing it.

Also, something else that hadn’t occurred to Chase … Laura’s life in Philadelphia. She had a home, friends. If someone were trying to call or visit her and be unable to find her, to them it would seem as if she disappeared off the face of the earth. Although her mother had passed away, there had to be someone who would be concerned about Laura if she wasn’t heard from for a few days. There had been some guy he’d overheard her talking to on the phone on occasion … Jim, John, something or other. She had been setting up a time to meet him for dinner.

Was Laura’s relationship with this man serious? Was he waiting to hear from her? Wondering where she was? Should Chase suggest that she call him?

A nagging instinct told Chase Laura should stay hidden. For the time being, he shouldn’t encourage her to call anyone.

“You should stay with Aunt Lonnie for however long it takes me to look through the warehouse files and figure out what’s going on.”

He stood behind her, an arm along each side of her waist, cradling her, and explained the control panel. His chin brushed her cheek, jump-starting his heart. She had used his dandruff shampoo, the only type aboard. Menthol had never smelled so erotic.

She listened intently as he described the mechanics. She asked questions, eager to try out her new knowledge, and admitting her minor errors with humor.

Madre
passed through a narrow, watery strip that demanded their undivided attention.

“You’re doing well, skipper,” he said. She was a quick learner.

Laughter pinched her voice. “Yeah, I haven’t rammed into another boat, yet. Of course, there are no other boats in the ocean.”

“What will you live on until you find a new job?” He felt uneasy that she might suffer financially from a situation not of her making.

“My rainy day money.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Your what?”

“My father died in a car accident.” She explained the drunk driver, the ensuing lawsuit, settlement, and the trust fund her mother had set up.

“We were fortunate financially, not overwhelmingly wealthy, but Mom and I never hurt for money,” she said. “I was lucky to get a full college scholarship. The trust fund money has sat for years, untouched, collecting interest.” She paused, then sighed. “Maybe now is the time to open my antique shop.”

“Your what?”

She tossed him a quick glance over her shoulder. “When I was little, my mother and I enjoyed going to flea markets. I wanted us to open an antique store. With Mom’s death, the idea got put on the back burner.”

She was quiet, and Chase was at a loss for words. He had the feeling nothing had been the same for Laura since her mother had died. Her starry-eyed look, the green glitters dulling, reminded him how much she missed her mother, an emotion he understood.

“I don’t know, maybe the shop’s just a dream,” she said.

Nothing wrong with dreams, he wanted to tell her. But perhaps talking about the shop and her mother hurt too much. Instead he said, “You’re doing so well with this boat, you should consider starting a boat charter service.”

Her tone was cheerful. “I’m still learning. I won’t be an expert until tomorrow.”

They laughed, both enjoying the lighthearted exchange.

“How long have you been a sailor?” she asked.

“Since law school.”

“Why aren’t you practicing law?”

“You’ll say I’m strange. My father did.”

“I’m not your father. Try me.”

“He had wanted me to go into corporate, do something like mergers and acquisitions. But I chose constitutional law.”

She nearly spun all the way around to face him. “You’re kidding?”

He nodded. “I naively thought I could right the wrongs, stick it to the bad guys, and do right by the good ones,” he said. “Until I clerked. The law is a game. Too few people care about what’s fair or right. When you’re a crusader, after a while, your head hurts from hitting that brick wall.”

He considered for a moment, then went on. “It’s about winning, and trying to one-up the next guy. It’s supposed to be about justice.”

She turned back to concentrate on the open sea. “More people should share your convictions.”

“I didn’t see many of those folks practicing law.”

“Chase, what was your mother like?”

He took a minute and reflected. Growing up Michelle and Dick Donovan’s son had been like being the rope in a tug of war, his mother’s virtue versus his father’s irreverence. “My mother was a quiet woman. She died while I was in college. Cancer. Painful, but mercifully quick. I used to tell her why I wanted to be an attorney.”

“She encouraged you?”

He shook his head. “She didn’t discourage either,” he said wistfully. “My mother kept her opinions to herself, especially if they differed from my father’s. She had a good heart and a kind word for everybody. I remember her buying coffee and donuts whenever she saw homeless men on the grates. Whenever I see these men in single-digit weather, huddling over a steam vent, I hear her say, ‘Chase, get those men some coffee.’”

Laura’s voice was gentle. “Your mother sounds like a very special person.”

“She was. My parents, two totally different people. Caring for strangers. Not a Dick Donovan-like trait.”

“Caring for strangers, a Chase Donovan-like trait.”

“If you’re referring to yourself, you’re not a stranger.”

“I hope not,” she said with mock astonishment. “We shared a bed last night. I couldn’t let you stay on the wet window seat.”

He shook his head. “I must have been totally out. I don’t remember you waking me up.”

“Oh, I carried you.” She coiled her right fist and flexed her arm in a bodybuilder’s gesture.

They both laughed, and Chase impulsively made a move that shocked him. His arms encircled her waist. He pulled her back against him and squeezed her tightly. Although he expected Laura to tense or shy away, she reached up and gently patted his cheek. She had interpreted his gesture as two friends sharing a warm exchange, he assumed. Only for Chase, friendship had nothing to do with his actions.