The Sooner the Better
Page 12

She’d gone to sleep without washing her face and brushing her teeth for perhaps the first time in her life. Her hair was uncombed and her stomach empty. What she’d eaten the night before had ended up feeding the fish.
A sound startled her and she glanced up to see Jack standing on deck, hands on his hips as he squinted out at the bright blue water. He didn’t look any better in daylight than he had at dusk. If anything, he seemed even more unkempt and unfriendly.
“Good morning,” she ventured.
He glared at her and didn’t return the greeting. Apparently he wasn’t a morning person.
“Would you like me to put on a pot of coffee?” she asked. Despite his grudging manner, she wanted him to know she was grateful for his help. And she was more than willing to do her share.
“Cook up some eggs while you’re at it,” he snarled.
She hesitated, not understanding the malice in his voice. “All right. How would you like them cooked?”
“Over easy,” he said. “I prefer the yolks runny.”
“Okay.” She wasn’t entirely sure how she’d manage, but she’d learn that soon enough. “If you’ll kindly tell me where the coffee and the eggs are, I’ll see to it right away.”
“Where the coffee and the eggs are?” Jack repeated, speaking with exaggerated slowness. “You don’t know?”
“No.” She hadn’t seen them the night before when she’d brought him the orange. Perhaps there was another fridge somewhere, or a cooler.
“My supplies are back in El Mirador.”
“But…” It took a while for the implication to register in Lorraine’s mind. “You mean to say we don’t have any food?”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying.”
She was ten times hungrier now than before she knew this. “What are we going to do?” she asked in growing alarm.
“Fish. Sardines make good bait.”
She grimaced.
“What’s wrong now?” he demanded.
It seemed silly under the circumstances, but he had asked. “I have trouble watching anything die, even a fish.”
He laughed as if he considered that uproariously funny. “Then do without.”
Six
The woman was utterly useless. If he hadn’t known that before, Jack would’ve ascertained it in about two seconds.
“I’ll fish,” Lorraine finally said after a lengthy silence, “but I refuse to…clean any.” She turned her back on him. Disapproval radiated off her like sonar waves. Her nose was so high in the air, he thought with amusement, it was a wonder some bird didn’t land on it.
“Do you have a problem with pulling your own weight?” he asked, not that he was looking for an argument. He was more interested in seeing how far he could push her.
“Of course not. I’ll pull my own weight.”
It was too early in the morning to argue. Besides, he was hungry. He missed his morning coffee and was in no mood to deal with an unexpected passenger, especially one who’d inconvenienced him as much as this woman had. Not only that, she didn’t seem to recognize that he was doing her a favor by saving her stupid ass from jail.
“I want to know what you plan to do about our predicament,” she said next.
Well, excuse me. All he needed now was for Her Highness to start issuing commands.
“I already told you.” With his back to her, he worked at rigging up the first fishing pole. He secured the bait—the sardine was nothing he’d seriously consider eating himself—and locked the rod into place. Once he’d finished that, he set up the second pole. With two lines in the water, he doubled his chances of scoring breakfast. He hadn’t so much as caught a fish and already Miss Pull-her-own-weight was letting it be known that she wasn’t about to dirty her delicate fingers.
“Sight of blood makes you squeamish, does it?” he taunted.
“Hardly,” she said in a huff.
He arched one eyebrow and finished with the second rod.
“I find the idea of fishing barbaric.”
“You can have breakfast or, as I said earlier, you’re free to do without it.”
“Fine.”
Unlike him, she’d enjoyed a decent dinner—the dinner he should’ve had over at Thomas’s place. Whether or not she ate breakfast was her choice. Jack couldn’t care less.
“Um, I realize how that must sound,” she said, apparently reconsidering. “It’s not that I don’t appreciate the offer….”
“Hey,” Jack said as he moved forward, “you go ahead and do what you’ve got to do.” He started the engines and the boat took off at a slow easy troll.
Lorraine looked as if she was about to be sick again. Her face went from healthy pink to ashen, followed almost immediately by a faint tinge of green.
Jack resisted asking her how she was feeling. That seemed too cruel, even for him. One look said it all.
Her Highness staggered back to the chair and collapsed into it.
Luck was with him, and in less than ten minutes he’d snagged his first fish. A red snapper, which made for excellent eating.
Lorraine didn’t move from her throne the entire time it took him to reel in breakfast. Nor did she show any signs of interest when he took his catch below, gutted, filleted and fried it up in a skillet. The scent of the fish frying made his mouth water. It didn’t come any fresher than this. He could have eaten in the galley, and often did. Not now. With a good deal of ceremony, he dragged another chair onto the deck and placed it beside Lorraine’s. Then he carried up his plate, along with a cold beer, and settled down. She glanced once in his direction, and Jack recognized the look. Hunger. After insisting that she didn’t like fishing, her pride wouldn’t allow her to give in and enjoy a fine meal—even if he did say so himself.
“I don’t mean to be a pest…” she began.
“It’s a gift.”
“A gift?”
“Being a pest. You appear to have a real talent for it.”
That shut her up for a few minutes, as he’d suspected it would.
“What are we going to do about the lack of supplies?” she asked after a while.
Jack could tell from the forced evenness of her voice that she was having trouble controlling her temper. He figured she probably didn’t lose it often; a fine Southern belle like Lorraine had good manners drilled into her the way boot camp had taught him the basics of soldiering.
“I’ll answer your question if you answer mine,” he said, savoring the last bite of fish and washing it down with a swallow of beer. There was plenty left in the galley, but he didn’t mention that. If she wanted breakfast she’d have to ask for it.
“All right,” she said with obvious reluctance.
The boat bobbed gently, and she’d regained some of her color. A good sign, he supposed. Until she found her sea legs she’d be miserable. Jack wasn’t sure which he preferred. Sick as a dog, she still managed to be a nuisance. He hated to think how much she’d annoy him when she was a hundred percent herself.
“You wanted to ask me something?” She sounded impatient.
He weighed his thoughts. Teasing her was definitely entertaining, but he felt a little confused about this unaccountable need to learn what he could about her. It must be on account of Thomas; he simply wanted to know what kind of woman his friend had for a daughter. “I realize this isn’t any of my business,” he said, “but I’m afraid curiosity has gotten the better of me.” He chuckled dryly. “What’s your husband like? Is he as much of a prude as you are?”
Her gaze fell to the wedding ring on her left hand as though she was surprised to see it there. Forgotten Mr. Whoever-he-was already?
“I imagine the two of you are quite the pair,” he went on. “Do you ever jump each other’s bones?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“You know, get so hot for each other you can’t wait to get your clothes off. That’s when sex is best, don’t you think?”
Her eyes went wide as if she couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “I find you both vulgar and offensive.”
Jack laughed. It was far too much fun baiting this woman. “You don’t like me any better than I like you. That’s perfectly fine by me. But you can’t blame a guy for being curious about the type of man who’d marry someone as highfalutin as you.”
“I don’t know what—”
“I bet you and your stuffed-shirt husband make love every Wednesday and Sunday nights, regular as clockwork.”
“That’s none of your business!”
He laughed again. “I’m right, aren’t I? You do it in the dark, too. And when you’re done you make polite little sounds, give each other a peck on the cheek, then roll over and go to sleep.”
“Is there a reason you’re so interested in my love life?” she asked. She was pretending to be bored but not doing a very good job of it. He watched as color seeped up her neckline and into her cheeks.
He ignored the question.
“Are you interested in the love life of every woman you meet,” she asked, still faking disinterest, “or is it just me?”
Jack snickered as if to suggest someone like her would be the last woman on earth to tempt him. “Just wondering,” he answered. “I’m not doing a survey or anything.” However, much as he hated to admit it, she had a point. He didn’t normally provoke women. There was just something about her….
It was the clothes she wore, he decided. The conservative pantsuit. No one wore white out here. Not that it looked so white anymore. And it didn’t help matters that it fit her like a glove. She’d removed the jacket and the short pink top hugged her waist and allowed him to speculate about the soft swell of her breasts beneath. He shook his head. The woman had no sense; if he’d had nefarious designs on her—which he certainly didn’t—she’d be in trouble.
“You’ve asked your question, Mr. Keller, stupid as it was, and now it’s my turn.”
“Feel free.” He gestured toward her.
“You’ve already started drinking. I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“You get to ask me a question, sweetheart, not preach a sermon.”
“All right.” She cast him a look of pure disgust. “What exactly do you intend to do about the lack of supplies?”
He laughed at the sheer foolishness of her question. “You don’t have anything to worry about, Your Highness.”
To her credit, she ignored his teasing. “So what are we going to do?”
The answer seemed obvious. “Buy more, of course.”
Lorraine had never disliked anyone so fiercely in her whole life. Jack Keller was rude, insensitive and vulgar. It was beyond comprehension that her father had freely handed her over to this…barbarian. Reluctantly she had to conclude that her situation must be far more dangerous than she’d realized.
The morning had seemed interminable. The sun beat down with an intensity that robbed her of strength. All wit had abandoned her. Jack seemed to take great pleasure in ridiculing her and calling her ridiculous names like Your Highness. He spouted insults, and when he wasn’t mocking her, he called her Raine. The only person who’d ever called her that was her father. When Jack said it, he made it sound, somehow, as though he was speaking to a disobedient child.