The Summer Wind (27 page)

Devlin went to the cooler and retrieved two beers. He put them in koozies and handed one to Dora.

“Make yourself comfortable, pretty lady,” he told her as he rushed back and forth across the boat untethering the ropes. When he was done, he went to the wheel.

Dora opened her can, then moved to stand close to him under the awning. He reached out to slip an arm around her and tugged her closer.

“Glad you’re here,” he said, giving her bottom a modest pat.

Dora laughed for the pure joy of going out on the boat with Devlin on such a perfect day. “Me, too.”

It was still early. The sun was rising overhead in a cloudless sky. Devlin slipped his arm away to lean back, half standing, half sitting against the captain’s chair. He reached for the throttle with one hand, while the other was on the wheel as he slowly revved the motors. They growled and gurgled as he guided the Whaler through the narrow marsh creeks.

Dora held on to the rocking boat as she moved to sit in the second seat beside him. She held her beer, but her fingers itched to drive the boat. She knew a captain didn’t like to give up his wheel and she didn’t want to press—at least not on their first outing.

As the boat took off, she thought back to when they were young and she and Devlin had been out on his boat. He used to let her drive. When her hands were on the wheel, he’d come up behind her and put his hands on her waist. He’d told her he was steadying her, but as they bounced along the waterway he’d leaned closer, wrapped his arms tighter around her, and buried his lips in her neck. Her toes curled as she remembered the rush of feelings.

She remembered how great a kisser Devlin was. Day after summer day they went out on the boat alone to explore the winding creeks and deserted hammocks, stopping at frequent
intervals to explore each other’s bodies with equal excitement and adventuresome spirit.

Dora opened her eyes and studied the man at the wheel from behind her sunglasses. Was it really twenty years ago? Where did the time go? He’d aged some, as she had. She could see the weather-beaten texture of his skin, the first gray hairs at the temple. Their bodies were fuller, softer. Her gaze traveled to his mouth and she smiled furtively. He still had those beautiful lips.

They had traveled years apart, too, she realized. Yet today, back on a Boston Whaler in these familiar creeks, with Devlin, she thought,
I feel sixteen again.

Devlin guided the Whaler out of creeks into the wide and heady Intracoastal Waterway. Once there he slowed the boat to a stop, stepped aside from the wheel, and waved his hand, indicating Dora should come closer.

“Come on, honey, let’s give you a chance at the wheel. I seem to recall you were pretty good at handling one of these things.”

Dora burst into a grin. He’d remembered! Clearly she wasn’t the only one taking a trip down memory lane. She set her beer into a holder and began walking across the boat when another boat roared past them, sending huge wakes their way. Dora lost her balance in the rocking boat and tottered with her arms stretched out wide.

Devlin grabbed her waist. “Hold steady, girl.”

Dora clung to his arm a moment, like it was her anchor. When she got her balance, he released her and she clumsily walked the few feet to the wheel and grabbed hold.

Looking up, she spotted the speeding boat weave past another boat in the queue ahead. It was filled with four teenagers, all insolent, bronzed, and beautiful.

“Damn hooligans. Someone ought to arrest those boys, speeding like that,” she blustered.

Devlin laughed beside her. “Aw, hell, Dora. We were just like that. What goes around, comes around. Come on, sugar. Let’s show ’em how it’s done.”

She glanced over at him. She couldn’t see his eyes behind his shades but knew there was a boyish sparkle of mischief in them.

“You’re a bad influence on me,” she said.

“Always have been”—his lips spread to a grin—“Mrs. Dora Tupper.”

He’d used her married name for the first time. She hadn’t been aware that he knew it.

“What you waitin’ for, girl? Let’s get this ol’ tub going!”

Dora reached down to grab the throttle and pushed it forward. The Whaler’s engine growled again and they took off along the waterway. Dora lifted her chin, feeling the vibrating, powerful engines under her control, the push of wind against her cheeks.

“Put a little muscle on it, Dora. You drive like a girl.”

Dora burst out in a laugh and accepted the dare. She gripped the throttle with her hand and pushed forward hard. The engines screamed as they churned water and the boat tore off down the Intracoastal Waterway. The boat bounced on the small waves like a bronco, cool droplets splashing her face, and the wind coursing through her hair, streaming it back like a flag. She let out a whoop while beside her, Devlin let loose a rebel yell. She hadn’t felt this alive in years.

Devlin stepped behind her and placed his hands on her waist.

“Just like old times,” he said, lowering his lips to her ear.

Dora leaned back against him, enjoying the feel of his hard body against hers. She slowed the boat, wanting to enjoy the moments as they cruised the waterway. She rolled her palms along the wheel, one eye on the shallows, the other on signals, passing slower boats with finesse.

“Stay left at the split,” Devlin called, pointing out the direction.

“Aye aye, Captain.” She veered left, maneuvering the boat to a narrow creek bordered on both sides with cordgrass growing so high that she could barely see over it. It felt more like they were traveling through a long tunnel.

“Where are we going?” she asked. “It’s getting narrow in here. If the tide goes out, we can get stuck.”

“We’re good here,” he told her with confidence. “This is deep water.” He leaned forward, his lips close to her cheek. “Don’t you remember where we are?” he asked, his voice suddenly husky.

She caught the scent of beer on his breath and enjoyed the feel of his chin grazing her skin. She studied the long stretch of cordgrass and for the life of her couldn’t remember. She shook her head. “No.”

“Keep going,” he told her encouragingly.

She drove the boat at a slower pace through the narrow creek before it opened up again to a wide area of water spotted with several small hammocks. The breeze picked up in the open area and brushed away the cobwebs in her memory.

“I know where we are!” she exclaimed, turning around to face Devlin, laughing. “This is our old hangout.”

He slipped his arms tighter around her waist and said teasingly, “More than a hangout, if memory serves.”

She blushed and faced forward again, her eyes lingering on the rounded hammock in the distance, a jungle of tall palm trees, live oaks, Chinese tallow trees, and shrubs. This had been their spot. The isolated place they’d anchor and make out and talk for hours. This secluded haven was where she’d lost her virginity. She smiled, realizing Devlin remembered.

“You ol’ horn dog,” she said with a playful push.

“Can’t teach an old dog new tricks.”

He nuzzled her neck and she felt again she was racing along the Intracoastal.

“We can pull anchor right up yonder,” he said, pointing to a shallow spot near what had been their favorite hammock. “Seems as good a place as any to have some lunch.”

“Lunch? I didn’t pack lunch, just some things for us to munch on.”

“You weren’t supposed to. You don’t think I invited a lady out for a trip without seeing to the details, do you?”

“I don’t remember you ever bringing food to this hammock before.”

“Yeah, well . . .” Devlin rubbed his jaw in embarrassment. “I’ve grown up a bit since then. Learned some manners at my daddy’s knee.”

“Your daddy? I’ll wager you learned through trial and error with all the pretty girls you’ve brought to this hammock since me.”

“None of them were as pretty as you.”

Dora felt embarrassed by the compliment. Of course she wasn’t the prettiest.

“Stop it, Devlin. You don’t have to say that.”

“Say what? It’s the truth. You’re beautiful.”

“I said stop it,” Dora snapped. “We both know I’m not.” She turned her gaze away. “At least, not anymore.”

Devlin took the wheel as the mood shifted. Dora went to stand at the opposite side of the boat. Devlin brought the mighty engines to a stop and set anchor. The boat rocked lightly in the current, immersed in a sudden great silence.

Dora stared at a pair of white ibis standing in the shallow water along the shore, their elegant orange down-curved bills digging in the mud. They appeared so beautiful, so serene.

Devlin walked to her side and, taking her waist, turned her to face him. He took off his sunglasses. Then he reached out and took off Dora’s. This close, Dora could see the network of fine lines around his stunningly pale blue eyes. She couldn’t look away.

“Dora Muir Tupper,” Devlin said. “You’re still the prettiest girl I ever saw.”

When Dora looked into his eyes, she saw a pulsing kindness and sincerity that couldn’t be faked. She felt her own eyes fill with tears and thought to herself,
Lord help me, I still have a crush on this man.

Their gazes locked. Everything that needed to be said was said in that long look, words that the intervening years had made too complicated for translation into syllables. Dora raised her arms around his neck, not worrying this time if her body wasn’t slim and perfect, if he felt more skin than was there
before. He’d called her beautiful and she’d seen the truth in his eyes. She would, she decided, believe him.

When Devlin lowered his head, Dora knew that this time, she wasn’t a fumbling sixteen-year-old. No, not at all. She felt every inch a luxurious woman. As she pressed her curves against him, she thought,
We are all Eve’s daughters
.

It was late by the time Devlin drove Dora back to Sea Breeze. He kissed her good-bye once, then again, then once more. They giggled softly, each acknowledging that they didn’t want to stop. When, at last, she extricated herself from his arms, she adjusted her shirt and smoothed her hair, glad for the darkness.

“See you tomorrow?” he asked.

“Call me.”

“Soon as I wake up.”

She looked at him askance. “Lord, what time is that?”

“Whenever I open my eyes.”

Dora chuckled. This was one dog that would not be tied to the post.

She opened the car door and closed it as softly as she could, not wanting to wake up the household. Mamaw had kept the light burning for her. She was likely asleep, and Harper was likely still tapping away at her keyboard, lost in whatever it was she was madly working on. Feeling safe from discovery, she waved and watched Devlin drive off into the night.

No sooner did she start walking toward the front door than Lucille’s porch lights went on.

“Shit,” Dora muttered under her breath.

The cottage’s front door opened and Lucille came out in her long white nightgown and blue floral-patterned robe. Dora didn’t know if she’d ever seen Lucille in her nightclothes before and she couldn’t quite grasp it in her mind.

“Sorry if I woke you up,” Dora said in a loud whisper, walking closer to the cottage porch.

“You didn’t. I couldn’t sleep.”

Dora reached the foot of the porch. “Are you okay?”

Lucille waved her hand in dismissal. “Oh, just an old woman’s aches and pains. I ain’t had a good night’s sleep since I turned sixty. Gettin’ old is not for sissies. I reckon I’ll just sit out on the porch awhile, let this fine night cast its spell.”

“Want some company?”

“Why, sure. Love it. Want something to drink?”

“Not a thing,” Dora answered, stepping up the stairs onto the porch. She took the rocking chair beside Lucille, dropping the canvas bag on the floor.

Lucille’s dark eyes studied her. “You look like you got some sun.”

“Lots of it. Hope I don’t peel.”

“Put aloe on your skin tonight and drink lots of water.”

“I will.”

They rocked awhile before Lucille said, “That sure was a long boat ride.”

Dora closed her eyes as images of Devlin flashed across her thoughts. That first kiss on the Boston Whaler had lit a fire in her that she hadn’t felt in a very long time. It felt both as though she and Devlin had picked up right where they left off when they were sixteen, and like they were exploring something fresh and new. They were older, more world-wise, certainly more experienced.
Being with Devlin was like scratching an eighteen-year-old itch. She felt again the ripple of pleasure she’d experienced when he’d found the itch and scratched it, but good. Again and again.