Sutherland’s Pride (21 page)

“The skipper of the boat assigns the duties,” Flynn informed her. “Anyone refusing to carry out said duties will be keelhauled.”

“Keelhaul away, then, because I am not cooking.”

“You’ll get awfully hungry.”

“Maybe I’ll starve to death. You can toss my body overboard and let the sharks have me.”

“Pride.”

“Yes, Flynn?”

“You have a son to think about.”

“Poor Johnny.” She added in sorrowful tones, “Poor, little, motherless boy.”

“Pride.”

“Yes, Flynn?”

“Don’t.”

He was serious, she saw. Pride shut up and hid her smile.

Flynn slowed the boat to yield the right of passage to a ketch under sail. He kept his gaze fixed straight ahead, which was a good thing since their passage was cluttered by other boats.

Pride stood and walked around the small enclosure, studying the white, cushioned benches placed for the comfort of guests. She came back to examine the electronic gadgets the helm was equipped with, many of them things Flynn had talked about for years.

She climbed back onto the chair beside Flynn’s. “What are we going to do on this boat?”

“What do you mean?” He glanced at her. “It should be obvious that this is a pleasure boat.”

“That’s just it,” Pride pointed out. “About this time on your sloop, we’d be hauling down the jib and hoisting something else in its place. You’d be running around tightening this and loosening that, and tacking first this way, then that way. What are we going to do if you don’t have to sail?”

“We’re going to talk.”

That’s what she was afraid of.

“I’m better at writing,” she said. “Why don’t you submit your questions and subjects for discussion then let me retire to my cabin and type up some answers? I’ve got my laptop, so you’ll get a lot more food for thought if I can write than you will if you want to listen to me waffle around.”

“I’d rather listen to you waffle around, thank you.” Flynn smiled at her. “Go below, darling. You’ve been in the sun long enough.”

Pride looked at him in disbelief.

“Either that, or put on a hat,” Flynn added. “I’m not having you sunburned or sick the first day out.”

He was right, she acknowledged. It was all too easy to sit in the breeze and be deceived about the sun’s burning power as the early morning sun climbed higher in the sky. Soon, it would be midday, and her fair skin would be most vulnerable. With an envious glance at Flynn’s dark tan, Pride went below.

She went through the salon and into the white Formica-covered galley. She was almost tempted to start something cooking when she studied the conveniently located appliances.

Opening the refrigerator and the cabinets, Pride marveled at the way Flynn had packed in groceries of every conceivable kind. He was right. They had enough supplies to keep them in luxury for a good two weeks at sea.

She shut the cabinets and stalked toward her cabin. She didn’t have two weeks to dawdle around at sea. She had a son to take care of and article deadlines, not to mention the Tracy Eric column, which should have her editor at the
Chronicle
very nervous by this hour.

She located a hat, jammed it on her head, and stalked back up to the nav station, where Flynn, bare-headed and magnificently male after shedding his knit shirt, enjoyed his new purchase.

“Flynn, I can’t stay out here longer than this afternoon,” she began, without preamble.

“Sure, you can,” Flynn said. “In fact, you’d better plan on it.”

“My column has to be in by noon today at the very latest,” she argued. “It’s supposed to run tomorrow. They’re holding space — ”

“Then you’d better go finish it up, hadn’t you?” Flynn asked, unperturbed. “We have Wi-Fi, so all you have to do is hit the ‘send’ key.”

First, she had to finish the column.

Steaming gently, Pride went to her cabin, set up her laptop, and read over what she had written. It detailed her son’s introduction to his father and his father’s reactions to her son’s antics. She would be the first to admit the column skimmed neatly over the deeper emotions, but at the moment, she felt she simply could not do them justice.

However, her editor, Christi Dumont, thought the column would do very well.

“The readers will love it,” Christi wrote in a return email. “They’re all romantics at heart, and your column right now is just like a soap opera.”

“He’ll be lucky if I don’t strangle him,” Pride wrote back.

“If you kill him, I want to be the first person notified. And if you wind up marrying him, I want Tracy Eric to go out in glory,” Christi returned.

Pride fought off the urge to break her laptop over Flynn’s head. She went instead to the cabin and placed a phone call to her cousin Gloria.

“You’re
where
?” Gloria asked.

“You heard me. He says he’s abducted me, and I’m stranded somewhere in the middle of the Gulf of Mexico. Tonight I think I’ll steal the dinghy and row to shore.”

“Are you kidding?” Gloria said. “Stay out there and have it out with him. It looks like he’s in the mood to listen to you at last. You might as well take advantage of it.”

“That’s a misconception if there ever was one. Nothing has changed. He’s still ignoring my feelings. He didn’t even ask if I wanted to go boating. He just grabbed me and hauled me out here.”

“I don’t think he’s ignoring your feelings,” Gloria said thoughtfully. “I think
you’re
ignoring your feelings. Why don’t you try listening with your heart instead of your ears, for once? I think you’ll find out that Flynn was as hurt as you were.”

Pride breathed fire. “I’ll listen to Flynn exactly the way he listened to me three years ago.”

“You’re still holding on to the bitterness and hurt of the past. Don’t let it cost you your chance at happiness.”

“What makes you think Flynn Sutherland is my only chance at happiness?” Pride demanded. “There are other men out there, you know.”

“So how many of them have you been out with in the past two years?”

“Just because I’ve been too busy to date much — ”

“Don’t hand me that. I heard what you had to say about all three of them. It was perfectly clear that you were comparing them to Flynn and they were coming up short. Wise up, Pride. You have a heaven-sent opportunity. Don’t muff it while you keep waiting for him to turn into your father.”

Pride replaced the receiver and huffed out a breath. She should have known better than to call Gloria.

The person she really wanted to call was Johnny, but since she lacked the Sutherlands’ phone number and she didn’t want to go up and talk to Flynn again, that was out of the question.

She went to the aft deck and sat on one of the comfortable chairs in the shade. There, she watched the shore recede until it was no longer visible on the horizon, and she began to see fewer and fewer boats.

She was tired, she realized suddenly.

Tired of fighting, tired of being strong, tired of pretending single motherhood was a piece of cake. She dozed, pleasantly lethargic, awakened and dozed again.

The sun rode at high noon by the time she heard the big motor cut off. Moments later, she heard Flynn’s footsteps.

“I thought you’d have lunch going by now,” he said, casting himself into a chair beside her.

Pride didn’t feel called upon to answer him. She merely raised her brows and continued to gaze out over the water.

“Pride,” he said gently, “I don’t blame you for being mad at me. I’ve behaved like a prize ass.” He paused, but she said nothing. “Aren’t you going to agree with me?”

“What for?” she asked. “Facts are facts.” She turned to face him. “I want to go home, Flynn.”

“You shall, but not right away.”

She came to a gentle boil at this expert application of heat. “When?”

He smiled. “I don’t think you want to hear the answer to that.”

“Probably not, but when?”

“I’ll take you home just as soon as you agree to my proposal.”

“And what, please, is your proposal?”

“It’s really quite simple. All I want is what I should have had three years ago — you.”

“You had me three years ago, Flynn. You just didn’t want me.” She propped her chin on her hand and stared at the water. “The fact that you’re willing to propose now says it all as far as I’m concerned.”

“It does, indeed,” Flynn agreed. “I’m proposing now because I’ve gone three years without you, and life has been pure hell.”

Pride stared at the water and said nothing. If Flynn had really wanted her, she had been easy enough to locate. He was just trying to talk her into marrying him so he could have easy access to Johnny.

“What will it take to convince you I’m serious?”

“I have no idea. I’ve told you, I’m moving back to Houston. You can see Johnny every day if you want to. I’m not going to be doing things to circumvent your rights as a father. Can’t you let it go at that? You don’t have to be married to me to have free access to your son.”

“I’m not talking about Johnny,” Flynn said. “I’m talking about us. You and me. I want you to be my wife. I want the woman I love with me again, the way it used to be.”

“She doesn’t exist anymore,” Pride said. “People change in three years, Flynn. I’m not as trusting or as hopeful as I used to be.”

“I’ve noticed. What you’re really saying is that you don’t trust me.”

“All I’m saying is that I’m a different person now. If you got to know me, you’d probably change your mind about wanting to marry me.”

Flynn smiled and leaned forward. “That’s why you’re here. I’m going to get to know you again.”

• • •

Flynn watched Pride pick at the plate of hot tamales he served her for supper and wondered if he had gone too far by hauling Pride out on the high seas for negotiations. Rather than berate him, or try to get him to return her to shore, she had chosen to sit in lethargic silence on the aft deck most of the afternoon, gazing out over the water.

He had anchored the boat far out in the Gulf, with no other vessels in sight. But he had yet to engage Pride in any sort of meaningful conversation.

“Is something wrong with the tamales?” he asked.

“They’re fine. I’m just not very hungry.” She nibbled a bite of tamale. “I was sick this morning, and I’m still not too sure of my stomach’s status, so I’m being very careful.”

“You were sick? Why didn’t you tell me?”

He studied her pale face and too-slim figure. Pride needed a long rest, but making her take one required major coercion. He wondered how to get it across to her that she was on vacation.

“All it involved was a little nausea. Once I threw up, everything was okay.” She shrugged. “I thought it might be a virus, but whatever it was, it seems to be over.”

He watched her with concern. “When was the last time you had a vacation?”

She said nothing and cast him a sardonic glance.

“That’s what I thought. You need a keeper, Pride Donovan, and I’m taking on the job.”

“What has catching a virus got to do with a vacation?” Pride wanted to know. “When there’s a child in the house, especially one who attends preschool or daycare, viruses flow through the house in a steady stream. You should hear some of the things my readers tell me.”

“You need more rest,” Flynn said. “Your immune system is probably down.”

She gave him a frustrated look and ate a tamale in a defiant way. “In that case, don’t look for me to cook you a good breakfast in the morning. I’m going to be sleeping late.”

“Fine. I can see I didn’t abduct you a minute too soon,” he said. “You’re going to bed early tonight.”

Pride ate a piece of lettuce leaf. “There’s nothing wrong with me, but I have no objections. Especially if it gets me out of washing dishes.”

“I don’t think I’m going to allow you to do anything. You’ve been going at ninety miles an hour for the past three years, haven’t you?”

She shot him a suspicious look. “I’ve been busy, yes. With a baby on the way and a living to earn, I couldn’t afford to sit around much.”

“Those days are over.” On that Flynn had decided. “So get used to it.”

Pride gave him the first real grin he had seen that day. “If you insist.”

“I do.”

“Then would you mind signing a little note to that effect?” She gave him a melting look. “In blood, and in triplicate, please.”

Satisfied, he grinned back. “Anything you like, darling.”

Flynn sat on the aft deck and watched the moon cast a lighted lane across the dark Gulf waters. Ordinarily, he never second-guessed himself, but this occasion was an exception. He had screwed up royally in regard to Pride, and he feared his efforts to mend the situation might wind up in the screw-up bin also.

He wondered briefly why he had believed Pride would be easier to reason with if he brought her out on the Gulf on his new boat. It was becoming more and more obvious that Pride considered the action another attempt to override her wishes and rob her of her right to choose.

He smiled grimly. It was, of course, but he had hoped she wouldn’t notice that.

No doubt he had gone flat out crazy. If he had any sense, he would take her back to shore first thing tomorrow morning.

He sighed and leaned forward, balancing his elbows on his knees. All his instincts urged him to grab her and make her his without delay. Unfortunately, Pride had other ideas, although he had no idea what they were. All he knew was that they didn’t seem to include him.

She had insisted on talking to Johnny before she went to bed, and he had obligingly called his parents. They were, he learned, quite thrilled with Pride’s last “Single Mommy” column, which examined her feelings upon introducing her son to his paternal grandparents.

He had read the column also, but what he derived from it was the tremendous sense of relief Pride felt at knowing her son had grandparents he could love, and who would step in if something happened to her.

Tracy Eric said very little about the reappearance of her “former lover.” In fact, she seemed to be going out of her way to avoid discussing him.

Pride would sleep with him, go out with him and spend time with him and Johnny as a family, but she avoided all talk of marriage and she refused to write a word about her feelings for him. If she still had any.