Page 2 of Come Sail Away

She twisted off the cap on her water bottle, preparing herself for a long wait. At least the cabin provided everything she needed to hold out for good while: a sink with water, facilities, living and bedroom accommodations. Not a dire situation yet. The boat should have also been equipped with an emergency kit, including flares. She reached over and began lifting the seat cushions to check the storage compartments. Beneath the bench seat in back she found a bright-orange hard case.

When she opened it, she found a flare gun and cartridges, per Coast Guard regulations. She had to give Max credit; he had a top-of-the-line kit. She loaded the gun and fired it into the air, watching the trail of smoke shoot up and finish with a bright-red burst. She wondered, though, if anyone would actually see it during the daylight. She counted the flares in the case. Three cartridges and six handheld flares. That was it.

Although she wasn’t all that worried. Max would come to her rescue. She was sure of it.

Something moved off the side of the boat then, and she peered over to find the dolphins still keeping her company. She sighed and slipped off her shirt before stretching a towel over the deck. Might as well work on her tan.

* * *

Sully ignored the text from his friend and manager, Paul Grayson, and dropped his phone back into his pocket. He’d respond later. Determined to let go of business while on vacation, he gripped the steering wheel, resisting the urge to retrieve his cell. Expanding his lungs, he drew in a deep breath of salt-tinged air.

It was a gorgeous day for sailing. Perfect, in fact. Sully adjusted the sail to pick up speed. He smiled. God, he loved it even more when she rode the wind. As he glanced at the billowing sail, something caught his eye, a flash of light. A flare? He squinted. He could just make out a boat on the horizon. Had the signal come from there?

His gaze swept the water in every direction. Not another boat to be seen. That was an advantage of going out midweek. Only the fishing professionals were out, and they traveled a lot farther into the Gulf. A signal flare meant trouble for someone, though, so he adjusted his course. It wouldn’t do to ignore the distress signal and discover later that someone had been in dire straits.

Twenty minutes later he was close enough to the boat to see that there wasn’t anyone on deck. Perhaps they were in the cabin, staying out of the blazing sun.

“Hello?” he called. A long silence followed. He hung a couple of bumpers in order to get closer and keep the boats from colliding.

“Oh thank goodness,” a feminine voice said as a shadow approached. “I’m so glad you stopped.”

She stepped into view, the late-afternoon sun shining from behind her. She was wearing a visor that shaded her face, a button-down shirt, open in the front, hung loosely on her frame, revealing a skimpy bathing suit. “I saw a flare. Was it yours?”

“Yes. I turned the motor off while I had lunch, and then it wouldn’t start again. Do you mind taking a look for me?”

“Sure.” Sully tipped the brim of his Los Angeles Rams ball cap and handed her a line to tie up his boat. “I don’t know if I can do anything, but I’ll see,” he said as he climbed aboard.

“That would be great.”

He tried to start the engine. There was nothing but a click when he twisted the key. “I’m not an expert, but it seems to me it’s either a battery or electrical issue.” He walked over to the battery and checked the connections, ensuring they were good to go. Then he tried the ignition again, producing the same results. He shrugged. “I don’t think this is something we can fix out here.”

She stared at the silent engine. “Well, what are my options?” She paused. She ripped her visor from her head and ran her fingers through her hair, tossing her head sideways and looking up again to meet his eyes. “Do you have a radio that you could call me a tow?”

Shock washed over him as he got his first good look at her without the hat shadowing her face. Herfamiliarface.

“Sharper Harper?” he asked.

Her chin lifted abruptly, and she glared at him, her expression shifting to one of puzzlement. She straightened, her demeanor changing, tensing, as she took a step backward and studied him. “Sully McGlamery?” Her voice held the contentious bite of long-standing hurt.

He hesitated, taking her in with fresh eyes. He hadn’t seen her since they’d graduated high school. Back then she’d sported a short, wispy hairstyle, braces, and large-rimmed glasses. He did a quick assessment, glancing down to her toes, then back to her face. Her sun-kissed chestnut hair was long and draped over one shoulder, her body curvy in all the right places, and his gaze lingered a second or two over the cleavage visible through the opening of her shirt. This was not the geeky girl he remembered. Not to mention that without the glasses and braces, she was absolutely stunning, even if she seemed somewhat withdrawn.

“Wait. As I recall, your given name is Sullivan. Correct?”

“Yep, but I’m known as Sully,” he said, smiling wide now. “I’m staying at a resort in Barefoot Bay. I rented the sailboat there. I’ll call them to see if someone can tow you to Mimosa Marina.”

In the same quick-thinking manner he remembered her having, she didn’t hesitate. “That would be wonderful, thank you.”

He nodded, amused. “I can’t believe we ran into each other like this.”

“I know. There must be some formula for how that happens. A few months ago when I was driving to see my best friend in Phoenix, I stopped overnight in a hotel, and low and behold my friend’s sister was staying in the same hotel. It was so bizarre. And last week, in the Atlanta airport, I ran into Simon Black. You remember him, don’t you? He was in chorus with us.” She shook her head. “You make the second person I’ve bumped into from high school in three months. Bizarre.”

“I know. But it happens, huh?” He stepped up and over onto the aft of his sailboat. “Let me see if I can get hold of someone to rescue you. I’ll be right back.” When he reached the radio, he looked up the marina’s contact information on the rental card. He made the call quickly, and sure enough, Mimosa Marina was a BoatUS representative, and they would have someone there shortly.

On his way back to her, he grabbed a couple of bottles of water. “Want one?” he asked as he moved back onto her boat and took a seat across from her beneath the canopy top.

“Sure. Thanks.” She took the bottle and twisted off the cap, a smile of appreciation lighting her face.

A stir of attraction swirled through him, the kind he hadn’t allowed himself to explore in what felt like forever. As a celebrity, women chased after him wherever he went, and he’d long ago grown tired of the gold diggers and teenyboppers. Real relationships were nearly impossible to come by.