THE SMALL ISLAND they pulled into was definitely laid back.

As they approached, Kerry peered over the railing with interest, noting the gorgeous white beach and the cluster of small, sun bleached buildings behind the spare, patched together docks.

“Now, Kerrison,” she murmured to herself, “we’re not doing the Waldorf here.”

Of course, she wasn’t dressed for the Waldorf, anyhow. Kerry glanced down at her stonewashed, white short overalls and sandals, her lips twitching as she imagined her family’s reaction to the worn fabric and the cutoff, sleeveless gray sweatshirt she wore under it.

“I’m just a proper marine vagabond, I am.”

Dar skillfully navigated the Bertram into a slot at the end of the dock. Kerry tossed the bow rope to the young boy who ran up to greet them, then took the stern rope and jumped onto the wooden surface, pulled the line taut around the rusted cleat, and tied it off.

“Thanks.” She smiled at the boy, who shyly smiled back at her. He had dark skin, and brown shaggy hair and eyes, and he was dressed in a pair of denim shorts and nothing else.

His eyes went past her and widened a little. Kerry turned her head to see Dar leaping off the boat, a broad grin on her face. “Hey, Rufus,” she said, pausing and sticking her hands into her pockets.

“What do you think?”

“Wow!” the boy replied. “Killer boat, Dar!” His eyes roved over the vessel. “C’n I ride it?”

Dar chuckled. “Later, yeah.” She put a hand on Kerry’s shoulder. “This is my friend Kerry. Kerry, this is Rufus.”

Rufus studied Kerry warily. “Hi.”

Kerry held a hand out. “Hi, Rufus. Nice to meet you.” She waited for the boy’s hesitant handclasp, and then returned it gently.

Rufus backed off a step. “I’ll go tell dada you’re here, Dar,” he said, and then he turned and ran off, bare feet almost soundless on the wood.

Dar exhaled as she watched him go. “I’m looking forward to 42 Melissa Good seeing his father,” she said, guiding Kerry up the dock. “He was in the service with Dad.”

“Ah!” Kerry smiled. “His friends are always interesting people.”

“Mm,” Dar agreed. “He doesn’t know.” Her eyes flicked to Kerry’s face. “About my father being alive. There’re no phones out here. I think he keeps it that way on purpose. Dad was going to make a run out here, but I told him we were stopping, and that I’d pass the news.”

Kerry read several levels of meaning in her lover’s words.

“Hm.” She studied the small cluster of weatherworn buildings. “I’m looking forward to meeting him, then. He lives here?”

“He runs the joint we’re having dinner at,” Dar said. “After he got discharged on a medical, he came out here and set up this place.

He and his partner—they do all the cooking and brew their own beer.”

Kerry’s ears perked up. “Partner?” she queried. “Partner, like you and me partner?”

Dar nodded.

“Hmm.”

“They adopted Rufus. He showed up one day on a little raft and just refused to leave.”

Kerry absorbed all that as they walked off the dock and onto a shell-strewn path. As they approached the buildings, a figure came out onto the porch of the largest one, placed hands on the porch railing and leaned on it.

“Look at what that damn wind blew in, wouldja?”

The man behind the railing was tall and had a chunky build, but that’s not what Kerry noticed. He was also missing a leg. Below his right knee, swathed in an overlarge pair of dark green khaki shorts, extended a metal frame. On the end of the frame was a well-worn shoe. He had thick, silvered brown, curly hair and a bushy beard, and his skin was criss-crossed with thin but noticeable scars.

Dar lifted a hand. “Howdy, Charlie.”

The man limped down the wide, wooden steps and came to meet them, pulling Dar into an enthusiastic hug. “Damn, it’s been over a year, Dar. Where’ve ya been?”

Dar released him. “Here and there,” she replied. “Charlie, this is Kerrison Stuart.” Her arm draped over Kerry’s shoulders. “My chosen one.”

The man turned to study Kerry, who was hard pressed to hide her bemused surprise at Dar’s new term for her. “Ahhh, so that’s where you been, huh?” He held out a hand. “Ms. Stuart, it’s an honor and a pleasure.”

“Mine too.” Kerry rose to the occasion, clasping his hand firmly. “I hear you make some mean conch chowder.”


Terrors of the High Seas 43

Charlie laughed, clapping Dar on the shoulder and gesturing toward the larger building. “C’mon. Let’s go siddown and let me prove out my reputation. We got some catching up to do.” He limped ahead of them, obviously used to his disability to the point where it didn’t appreciably hamper him.

Kerry and Dar followed after him, Dar with her arm still draped over Kerry’s neck.

“Chosen one?” Kerry inquired softly, giving her lover a curious look.

Dar’s jaw bunched, and she glanced down at the ground before she snuck a look at Kerry’s face. “I’ll explain later,” she murmured as they reached the steps. “It’s a compliment.”

“Duh.” Kerry bumped Dar’s hip with her own as they walked up the stairs. “Looks like we’ll have lots of interesting things to talk about tonight.”

“Hm.” Dar held the door open and they went inside.

KERRY GLANCED AROUND curiously at the inside of the little shack. They were seated at one of six tables, all made of hand worked driftwood. The room wasn’t much bigger than her bedroom at the condo, though at the rear, swinging doors led into the kitchen. Though the large, square windows on three sides of the room let in the glow of sunset and a cool breeze, the place was lighted by oil lamps hanging on the walls and sitting on the tables.

Two other tables were occupied, one by two scruffy-looking men in beachcomber outfits, and the other by a handsome islander and his female companion, who—to all appearances—were on their honeymoon.

“Smells great in here,” Kerry commented, sniffing appreciatively at the spicy, delicious scents coming from the kitchen.

A quirky grin twisted Dar’s lips. “Not too rustic for you?”

“Dar,” Kerry frowned, glancing down at herself, “did I forget to rip the alligator off my shirt pocket or something today?”

Dar fingered the woven rope salt and pepper holder. “Just kidding.”

“No, that’s the second time you brought this up.” Kerry shook her head. “Are you really that sensitive about dragging a Midwestern WASP around with you?” She turned her head and regarded Dar seriously, finding soft, round blue eyes gazing back at her. “Honey?” She put a hand on Dar’s in pure reflex.

After a moment, Dar cleared her throat with a touch of sheepishness, and propped her chin on her fist. “Yeah, I really am that sensitive,” she admitted quietly. “Sorry.”

Kerry relaxed a little, stroking Dar’s fingers with her own. “I’ll 44 Melissa Good just have to work on that, then.” She glanced up as Charlie limped over, almost jumping up to help him as he navigated a tray toward them.

“Naw, just siddown, there, little lady.” Charlie managed to get the tray on the table without spilling a thing. “Go figure. Bud’s over on the big island, right when I need ’im.” He set a large bowl of steaming, spicy scented, almost stew-like soup in front of each of them. “There ya go.”

“Wow.” Kerry blinked at the mass of rich broth and seafood.

“This looks great.”

Charlie grinned at her. “Ya got good taste, but I knew that—

seeing as you picked old Dar here. Get you anything else for now?”

Kerry looked up at him. “The biggest mug of beer you have. I think I’ll need it.”

An even bigger grin split his face. “You got it. Dar, same for you?”

Dar nodded vigorously.

“All right. I’ll get these here folks taken care of, then we can sit down and catch up… how’s that?” Charlie picked up his tray.

“Sounds great,” Dar replied. “Thanks, Charlie.”

He winked at them, then limped back toward the kitchen, disappearing behind the two swinging doors.

Kerry waited a few moments, watching Dar out of the corner of her eye. The dark haired woman was fiddling with her spoon, a pucker visible above her eyebrows. “Dar?”

“Hm?”

A tumble of words suddenly filled Kerry’s mouth and she let them out, almost without thinking. “You want to talk about it?”

Dar cocked her head, gazing at Kerry curiously for several heartbeats, then she put her spoon into her chowder and stirred it.

“It’s…um...” She hesitated as Charlie returned and put two huge tankards with nice, foamy heads down in front of them. “Thanks.”

Kerry grinned in appreciation. “Ditto.”

Charlie chuckled, and then headed off toward the next customers.

Kerry took a sip of her beer. It was rich, with a nutty taste—

smooth, and very, very potent. “Ooh.” She licked her lips. “This could be dangerous.”

“It is.” Dar took a sip of her own brew, then a second, longer one before she set the mug down. “The last time I was here, I got in trouble with it.” She studied the tankard. “Charlie and my father were good friends.”

Kerry accepted the sudden change of subject with grace. She made an encouraging noise. “Mmhm.”

“But Dad and Bud never got along,” Dar continued with a sigh.

“Bud hated him, and it took me a long time to figure out why.” She Terrors of the High Seas 45

glanced at Kerry. “The last time I was here, he told me that he was glad Dad was gone.”

Kerry stopped dead in mid-motion. She put her mug down and looked around the place. “What the hell are we doing here, then?”

she asked with a sputter. “That guy’s lucky he’s not around. I’d kick his ass. For that matter, why didn’t you?”

Dar grinned wryly. “He was drunk, I was halfway there, and he ended up apologizing for being a jackass,” she said. “He told me then that he’d always been convinced that Dad was after Charlie.”

“Wait.” Kerry covered her eyes. “Wait…wait…wait. He thought your father…” She peeked between her fingers. “Your father, Andrew Roberts, the sailor man, the most hetero male I think I’ve ever known, was chasing his partner?”

Dar nodded. “Yeah.”

A clue waddled inside the door and pecked Kerry on the foot.

“So you’re nervous about telling them he’s alive.”

Dar nodded again. “Yeah.” She exhaled, scrubbing her face with one hand. “Isn’t that pathetic? I can tell the president of Exxon to tap-dance on his boardroom table, but I get nerves doing this.”

“Relax.” Kerry felt a sense of relief at unknotting Dar’s mood.

“We’ll get through it… after we get through this really great smelling soup and this awesome beer.” She patted Dar’s knee under the table. “I’m sure it’ll be okay.”

“Yeah.” Dar visibly unwound, taking a spoonful of the chowder. She chewed it, swallowed, then reached over and brushed her knuckles against Kerry’s cheek. “Thanks. I know I’m acting a little off tonight.”

“You’re never off,” Kerry reassured her, then sampled some of the chowder. “Oh, wow! This is awesome.” Spicy, it was full of seafood, from shrimp to scallops to its namesake conch. “You better eat yours, before I do.”

Dar stifled a grin, resting her chin against her fist as she consumed her soup.

IT WAS FULL dark out before Charlie finished taking care of the five other groups of patrons who came in. He dusted his hands on his shirt and limped over to their table, settling down in a chair across from Dar. “Well, Dar, how’ve you been?” he asked.

“All right,” Dar drawled softly. “You?”

The grizzled man nodded. “Life’s been good,” he said. “Quiet out here, but the place has a good rep; we make out all right.” His eyes flicked around the room. “Bud’s doin’ okay. He’s putting on some weight, but he’s finally chilled out and decided he likes the life out here.”

“Glad to hear that.” Dar could feel a light buzz from the beer, 46 Melissa Good and the meal—a large plate of fresh fish after the chowder with a whole loaf of fragrant herb bread—was making her sleepy.

Kerry was finishing off her tankard, the light from the oil lamp casting her light green eyes in shades of amber. She was watching them quietly, her weight shifting slightly to bring her knee into contact with Dar’s as she listened to the conversation.

“What about you?” Charlie asked. “Aside from the obvious.”

He turned a grin on Kerry. “Tell me about your chosen one here.”

“What would you like to know?” Kerry asked with a charming smile. “I work in the same business as Dar does...I’m from Michigan…I love your cooking and your beer…”