His Last Defense

Rick Dunham, one of Dunham Seafoods’s owners, signaled for another round, then shrugged.

“I’m considering it.” He raised his voice above the din of the chattering crowd that filled the Kodiak dive favored by local fishermen. He popped a pretzel into his mouth and shot her an assessing look as he crunched. “These are the best quota numbers we’ve ever received and we need to fill them.”

Over his shoulder, white lights blinked above a long, garland-wrapped bar where bearded men jockeyed for the best spot to watch the Seahawks game. A Christmas tree glowed red then green in the corner. Metal fishing lures dangled from its branches and reflected the light.

Rick’s partner and younger brother, Sam, whistled. “Four hundred K. That’s a lot of clams, eh?” He elbowed his brother. “Get it?” When Rick only glared at him, he continued. “But is she man enough for the job?”

“Of course,” Nolee insisted, keeping her voice firm. Squashing her doubts. Captains didn’t second-guess themselves. Her jaw was clenched so tightly it ached. She needed this to happen.

A waitress appeared and slid three dark ales across the table, foam sloshing down their sides. She pocketed the credit card Rick handed her, then hustled off.

“Fish and Game gave us special permission to start fishing preseason.” Rick raised his glass and met Nolee’s eyes over the brim. “Now that’s wasted.”

Regret bit deep, but she kept her face impassive. She tightened her grip around the cool glass to hide the slight tremble in her fingers and the exhaustion she felt after her close call. She hadn’t expected the bout with hypothermia to take so much out of her, but she wasn’t about to back down from a second chance.

Something too damn rare in her world. “Pacific Dawn needs a lot of work,” Sam said, referring to another boat in their fleet. One in need of repairs, but possibly seaworthy with some elbow grease. He swiped foam off his moustache with the back of his hand while a cheer went up around a nearby pool table.

“I’m not afraid of hard work.” She swigged back the malt. The smooth, mellow taste dissolved on her tongue. She blinked gritty eyes. Ordered her aching muscles to relax. Moments ago she’d expected an ass-chewing (which she’d gotten, understandably), followed by a kick out the door. Now she might have another shot at her dream. She wouldn’t screw it up.

Rick gulped more beer, then lowered the half-drained drink to the table. “You’d need to bring her up to code before the regular season starts. That’s only twelve days.”

“No problem,” she said with more confidence than she felt, given she had no clue how much repairing the vessel needed. No matter what, she’d make it work.

Please give me this chance.

Sam jabbed a finger in her direction. “And we need that quota met.”

As did she. Rick and Sam didn’t need to spell out that her career was done if she mucked this up.

It was hard enough to become a captain, something she’d only done because Bill had taken her under his wing and taught her when he could. Yet even if she succeeded in getting to captain again, with a bad record she might have trouble getting a crew to sign on to work with her. She had to turn this around. No matter the odds, she had to take the gamble.

“I’ll top those tanks.”

“With crab this time, not water,” guffawed Sam, cracking himself up. Suddenly his smile fell and his thick eyebrows knitted. “No more screwups. Our insurance might cover one lost boat. Not two.”

A waitress bearing a steaming plate of chicken wings passed the table and dropped off their bill. Nolee’s nose twitched at the spicy aroma. How long since she’d eaten? Slept? She was used to the punishing mental and physical demands of each crab season. But the anxiety that’d dogged her every thought since she’d woken in the clinic, minus one ship and plus several unwanted feelings for a certain swimmer, had taken its toll.

Rick signed the slip and pocketed his pen. The flat line of his mouth suggested he wasn’t crazy about taking another chance on her. She’d be willing to bet he was hard-pressed to find another captain with any experience if he was willing to roll the dice with her.

“I’ll get my crew and begin work tomorrow.” She stood and extended a hand. Took charge of the situation. What did her Aunt Dai always tell her to do? Lean in? If she angled any farther, she’d topple over.

Her bosses shoved themselves to their feet. They exchanged a long look and then Rick grasped her hand. Pumped it up and down. “You’ve got yourself a boat.”

“For now,” Sam interjected, clapping her shoulder, sealing this last-ditch bargain she had to keep.

She grabbed her fleece off the back of her chair and yanked it on. At the far end of the bar, the live rock band swung into a guitar solo that squealed and whined, the sound blasting from wall-mounted speakers. Some of the milling plaid-and-jeans-clad men and women lifted their drinks and hooted. Their ball-cap-covered heads bobbed approval.

When a bouncer tossed a couple of tussling men outside, a gap appeared in the throng and Nolee’s eye landed on Dylan, sitting in a dark corner across from his Uncle Bill. She glimpsed Dylan’s chiseled jaw and noted his eye-popping body in a fitted green thermal shirt that she imagined did great things for his sexy eyes.

Buoyed by her win with the Dunham boys, she was on her feet and heading for Dylan before she had time to think it through. But she was drawn by the attraction that’d flared to life yesterday in a kiss she hadn’t been able to stop thinking about.

She wove through the crowd just as Bill stood and pulled on a lopsided winter hat that looked to be the work of one of his six daughters. He never left port without having them sing him “Eye of the Tiger” for good luck and their drawings and pictures festooned his wheelhouse.

As she neared, she overheard Dylan saying, “I’ve got this.”

“Hey, Captain Bill.”

The older man looked up from zipping his coat and a broad smile creased his weathered face. “Nolee!”

Dylan’s eyes swung to hers and the flare of heat in them made her pulse speed.

Bill engulfed her in a musk-scented bear hug that squeezed the breath out of her and lifted her off her feet. When he set her back down, she put a hand to her hair and felt Dylan’s gaze. Her heart hammered in her chest.

“Heard about yesterday. Hell of a thing.” Suddenly Bill jerked as if stung, and yanked a cell phone from his back pocket. He muttered under his breath then shoved it away. “Shoot. That’s the wife again. Gotta go. Stop by Easy Rider when you can. Sure I can find some work for you.”

Without waiting for an answer, he waved and disappeared through the crowd.

She spun a chair around backward, straddled it and beamed a full-blown cheeky grin meant to blast away the concern darkening Dylan’s eyes. Pity. Growing up poor, powerless and dependent on others’ charity, she’d had more than her share of it. She wouldn’t let anyone feel sorry for her. Wouldn’t let herself.

Besides, there was no denying it felt damn good to see Dylan. Seeing him in the hospital, feeling the old connection had melted away some of her reservations... And since he’d be leaving town soon, it was safe to bask in his sexy hot glow. She hoped. “You’re off the hook.”

The beginnings of a wry smile teased up one side of his gorgeous mouth. His shirt molded to his sculpted chest when he twisted around to search for a wallet. Her mouth watered. “How’s that?” he asked without turning.

“Got another boat.” She lifted the mostly empty tumbler in front of him. Sniffed. “So I’ve got the next round.”

“You what?” He straightened and his eyebrows rose. In the dim light of the pub, shadows gave his symmetrical face dangerous angles that caught her eye. Turned the blood in her veins warm.

“Two Jim Beams, Sheryl,” she called to an approaching waitress, forcing herself to look away. Act unaffected. She cracked open a peanut, tossed it in the air and caught it neatly in her mouth.

She needed to stop her runaway thoughts of Dylan. The devastating effect of his arousing kiss yesterday hadn’t lessened. Not a bit. In fact, it’d seemed to intensify as she’d lain awake in her small apartment over her cousin’s garage, staring at a neighbor’s blinking Christmas lights, imagining him in bed beside her, distracting her troubling thoughts in the most erotic way possible.

And now that he sat only feet away from her, the effect was devastating. She couldn’t stop staring at his hands. Recalling the strong feel of them on her yesterday in the clinic. His lips on hers. Electric. She’d thought the sensual side of her had died when he left Kodiak. But apparently he was the only man she’d met who could light that particular spark for her. Turned out, she’d missed it.

Warm, she stood and pulled off her fleece. When her head emerged, she caught Dylan staring at her, his eyes intent. His body still. Her jeans had ridden a little down her hip, revealing a small red-white-and-blue anchor tattoo.

“When’d you get that?” he asked, his voice hoarse. Without taking his eyes off it, he raised his glass and bolted back the rest of his drink.

“You like it?” She arched an eyebrow at him and sat again, enjoying the normally übercontrolled man’s discomfort. Besides, it distracted him from any proceed-with-caution speech he looked like he’d been about to make. Tonight, riding high on her newly resuscitated career, she didn’t want doom and gloom to rain on her parade. “I’ve got a couple more you might appreciate.”

“I—I—” He swallowed hard, reminding her of that serious, earnest boy she’d met on Bill’s boat who’d rarely spoken a word to anyone, who’d never smiled or joked around, but worked like a man possessed.

It’d become her mission to break his concentration back then, to make him laugh, get him riled, just feel something. Her daredevil antics had finally worn him down until he’d loosened up, then opened up, prompting her to lower her guard, too.

The old wound on her heart throbbed, a phantom pain, like a missing limb. It’s not there, she reminded herself. Those feelings. Gone now. Poof.

“What’s going on, Nolee?”

“Dunham Seafoods is giving me another boat.” She tapped her fingers on the tabletop along to the beat of the band’s Lynyrd Skynyrd cover and raised her chin a notch.

He frowned. “They just happen to have one they hadn’t bothered putting out this year?”

She shrugged, looking as unconcerned as possible. “It needs a few repairs.”

“How many?” he asked heavily.

“I don’t know,” she admitted, unable to hold out when he looked at her so directly.

He rubbed the back of his neck and gave her that squinty look she’d always found so sexy. “You have no idea how much work the boat needs to be seaworthy?”

She took a deep breath. “I’ll know tomorrow when I inspect it.”

“So you just accepted, sight unseen?”

“Yes.” She stabbed the cherry in the bottom of Bill’s glass with a toothpick.

“Why would you do that, Nolee?”

Sheryl returned with their drinks. At the shake of Dylan’s head, she trotted off with a quick wave, leaving Nolee’s money on the table.

“Because I’m a captain minus a boat,” Nolee insisted. “In case you forgot.”

“How could I?” His eyes searched hers and she dropped her gaze, uncomfortable with all that worry. “Look, you could work for my uncle. Take a breather. Figure things out. You’re a first-time captain. You shouldn’t be taking a boat out unless it’s been proven.”

“I’ll get it up to code.” She raised her glass, refusing to let his worries get into her head when she had enough of her own. “Cheers.”

“By when?” he asked, ignoring her toast. Placing his elbows on the table he leaned closer and his distinctive, clean male scent, a blend of soap and sea, sand and sun, rose around them. She breathed deep. After he’d left Kodiak, she’d fallen asleep clutching one of his old hoodies, her nose buried in the worn fabric, until eventually his smell had disappeared.

Not so her attraction, it seemed.

“The regular season starts in twelve days.” He swirled his whiskey.

“I know,” she said, firm, not letting his doubts burst her bubble. Or the tantalizing nearness of him sway her. “But I’ve got to fill my quota.”

“What is it?” he asked, sounding wary. A throaty howl rose from the game-watching crowd at the bar, accompanied by a hail of insults for the Seahawks’ opponents.

“Four hundred K.”

Dylan leaned back in his chair, fiddling with the top of a leftover beer bottle. He shook his head. “That was taking into account the preseason. Your time’s cut by a third.”

“I’ll make it.”

“Be reasonable, Nolee. Who are you going to hire this late in the season?”

“My crew.” Though, oddly, four of her six men hadn’t returned her calls today when she’d checked in to see how they were doing.

“Bill told me he’d heard some of them got hired already. You know experienced hands are hard to come by.”

She blinked at him, thoughts scrambling. “Oh.” To cover her confusion, she gulped her drink and fought off a cough when the back of her throat caught fire.

“Right.” He raised his voice when a pack of boisterous locals swarmed close to play darts. “You don’t have enough help.”

“I’ll hire some.”

One of the players landed a bull’s-eye and a deafening roar erupted.

“This late in the season?” Dylan asked once the noise died down. “The only guys you’ll get won’t have much experience, or references. Going out to sea, this time of year, with a green crew, is suicide.”

“Cod season’s over.” She drained her glass, needing the boost. “Some of those guys might be looking for work.” Dylan had a point, not that she’d heed it. Catching fish instead of crab wasn’t the same thing at all. Not even close.

“Why are you doing this? Taking these chances?”

She shrugged. “It’s not chance when you know what you’re doing.” All the confidence she’d gained from her accomplishments filled every syllable, full and weighty. She wasn’t the same woman he’d left nine years ago, not that he seemed to recognize that.

“You shouldn’t have been out in that storm yesterday.”

“Weather reports didn’t predict it’d jog that far west.”

“You gambled.”

“To get ahead, you have to.” Seeing him revert back to the by-the-books, all-work-no-play guy bugged her. “You know, you and I aren’t that different,” she added, when he didn’t speak. There was a brief silence. She looked at him, but was discomfited by the intensity of his gaze.

“What do you mean?” Their fingers brushed each other as they searched for unshelled peanuts in the bowl, the contact making her skin tingle in awareness.

“We both like living on the edge—we just went after that in different ways.”

He stared at her for such a long moment, she wondered if he’d heard her. The crowd around the dart game swelled and a few pressed close to their table, jostling Dylan’s elbow, making his drink slosh onto the surface.

He threw a couple of twenties on the table, stood and extended a hand.

“Let’s go,” he said. It was more a command then an invitation. Maybe his sense of humor had slipped lately, but not that air of authority, that strength that’d always drawn her. Challenged her. Turned her on.

She jammed on her knit cap, slipped a hand in his and let him lead her through the crowd, the group parting, making way for his broad-shouldered march. “Where?”

He paused at the door outside, lifted their hands and rubbed hers lightly against his chest, sending sizzles of excitement shooting through her. His voice deepened.

“Somewhere I can actually talk some sense into you.”

* * *

OUTSIDE, THE CHILL shimmered off the frozen ground but did nothing to tamp down the heat Nolee’s nearness stoked inside Dylan. Dressed in a blue fleece and faded jeans that outlined her delectable curves, and work boots that underscored her tough-girl persona, she drew his eye. Kept him looking as they tramped across the icy parking lot.

A ragged plume of air escaped him. Being this close to her, alone, was playing with fire. He was having a hard time keeping his hands to himself. Yet he needed to make her see reason.

And satisfy the drumming hunger to have her to himself for a few moments, one last time, before he shipped out of Kodiak.

“My truck’s over here.”

Nolee spotted a red pickup that must be his, and she looked at him directly. The wind lifted and tossed long dark strands of her hair across her lips, luring his attention to their fullness, making him remember the soft feel of them against his yesterday. Driving him to want another taste.

“Okay.”

A moment later they were seated on the plush seats, the ignition purring to life. Heat blasted from the vents and an old-school thrash band tune thumped in the dark, intimate space.

“I remember this song,” Nolee mused, shooting him a sidelong glance.

When she rubbed her gloveless fingers together, he raised his hands to hers, touching them, and then, more firmly, enclosing them within his own. He brought them to his mouth and blew on them, unable to resist the impulses pounding through him.

Her liquid eyes rose to his and the challenge in them made his stomach muscles tighten, his whole body respond.

It took every ounce of strength to tamp down his desires and focus on what he’d brought her out here to say. What he needed her to hear.

“There’s a difference between calculated risks and recklessness,” he began. His voice emerged husky, low. She was so close he could feel her breath. Her body was rigid, listening, her fingers now laced in his. Her cool skin was blistering.

“We both like putting everything on the line. Admit it.” Her mischievous smile kicked up his heart rate by several blood-pounding notches. She smelled like an ocean sunrise and he breathed deep.

“Not true.” He lowered their joined hands to her lap. She was wrong. He wasn’t the wild risk-taker his parents saw him as—she really was that way, not him.

“Come on,” she scoffed in that tone that’d always called him on his bullshit. “Remember the time we jumped from Jagged Rock Falls? You took my dare.”

He nodded mutely, recalling that twenty-foot leap into churning waters, her body pressed to his afterward, behind the roaring falls. The material of his jeans tightened around his swelling groin. “I could never say no to you.”

He brushed a thumb along her knuckles and a visible shiver passed over her skin.

“You should have,” she whispered against his cheek, straight into his ear. His whole body hummed with unleashed hunger for her, not heeding the warning reminder in her words when he damn well should have. He forced himself to let go of her hand.

The music shuffled to another one-hit wonder hair band tune and she tensed beside him. “Is this the...”

He gritted his teeth to keep the telling admission from escaping. Then she snapped her fingers beneath his nose and shot him a knowing look. “It’s the playlist I made for you for your nineteenth birthday. Why are you still listening to this?”

“Some things have a way of sticking with you.”

The teasing look in her eyes faded and she blinked a little too swiftly before she dropped her gaze.

They sat in silence for a moment and he stared out the windshield at the point where the black sea met the sky.

“You didn’t object when I dared you to jump in our ice fishing hole, either,” she said after a moment.

“We nearly froze to death.”

“We warmed each other up,” she countered.

The buzz of blood in his veins at that wicked memory seemed to throb along to the thumping beat. “We made good use of that fishing shack.”

He caught the quirk of her lips in the gloom. “Though we didn’t catch a single fish. Not that we cared.”

No. He’d only cared about Nolee back then. Had insisted, over her objections, that he would give up everything, his dreams of joining the Coast Guard, of leaving Kodiak, because she’d been what mattered most.

And she hadn’t felt the same way.

The windshield began to fog and he flipped the heater to defrost. A couple of snowmobiles whined in the distance and a memory resurfaced. “We stole that ski-doo.” He felt himself smile at that crazy day that’d nearly landed them in the ER and jail.

“Borrowed,” she clarified, shifting, her knee bumping his. He was aware of the press of her against his side, hip to hip, leg to leg, arm to arm.

“We didn’t have permission.”

She sighed. “The real crime was Mr. Strout never riding the damn thing. Plus, I didn’t hear you complaining when you did donuts with it. You had us going fifty miles an hour.”

“That was kid stuff. This is real life.”

“Exactly, Dylan. It’s my life. I call the shots in it. Only me.”

“You came way too close to losing it yesterday,” he growled.

She reached a hand to his cheek. Laid her palm flat against it. His breath lodged in his chest and his mind went blank. “But I didn’t.”

No. He was acutely aware of just how alive she was here beside him, short-circuiting his brain. His defenses against her were running low. God knew, he was trying his damnedest to do the right thing and save her from her worst instincts before he left Kodiak.

“What if you hadn’t been rescued in time?”

“Then I would have died doing what I love. Isn’t your motto So Others May Live?”

“That’s different.”

“Is it?” She angled her head and her dark eyes met his in the dimness.

“I risk my life to save other people’s lives. You’re risking yours for profit.”

“You’re wrong.”

“Then what?” He stroked a hand through her mane of straight, glossy black hair, the strands running through his fingers like a silken waterfall, her eyes closing in pleasure.

“I want to be independent. Free,” she murmured.

He watched her breath quicken and he felt the barrier he’d erected between them start to crumble.

“We’ve both always wanted that,” she added.

Something inside him shifted. Loosened. “Nolee. I don’t want anything happening to you.”

She raised her face, lips parted, as if in a question, and put her hand to the scar above his brow, tracing it with her fingertips. “The worst thing that could happen to me is nothing.”

He groaned at the brush of her mouth against his jaw. In an instant he had her in his arms, his heart pounding against hers. It was only a few seconds, but it was as much as a man on the edge could take. He stripped the hat from her head and tossed it on the dashboard, while his lips descended to hers.

And he kissed her with all the longing that had been plaguing him since he’d laid eyes on her again.

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