Tim had vacated. "I live in Arizona."
"I hear you've got major rocks in Arizona."
"We do," she agreed. "Do you climb?"
"Some."
Blake twisted his body free and said, "Good work, Tim. When the whole interior's that smooth, we'll be ready for the first coat of varnish."
"Where's the kid?" asked Tim. "I could use some help."
"I'll help," said Claire.
He looked at her with something approaching horror, and she laughed and said, "Show me."
"It's precise," said Tim.
"I can see that. I've never sanded a boat, so I'll need instructions, but I've done precision work, grinding telescope lenses, making my own telescopes. I'll bet you the cost of lunch that I'll pick it up pretty quickly."
"You've built telescopes?"
"Yes."
"Lunch?"
"Lunch," she agreed.
"What do you think, Mac? Should I give your chick a try?"
Blake had his hands in his pockets. She couldn't read the look on his face, but it wasn't a smile.
"Try her out on the starboard pilot berth. She can afford to buy you lunch, but make sure you can afford to buy hers if you lose."
"Right," said Tim, grinning now. "I'll get more sandpaper."
For a big kid, he was amazingly graceful as he ducked past them and climbed the stairs, leaving her alone with Blake's frown.
"It's harder work than you think. You'll get your hands roughed up, and your shoulders are going to be sore as hell by the time you've spent half an hour upside down in that pilot berth, sanding overhead."
"They're my shoulders. How do you expect I'll get Jake to listen if I just stand around like a chick, watching the macho action? It's easier to talk to someone you're working with than someone who's just hanging around and obviously doesn't belong."
"This isn't Jake.
"I know that."
"All right, but don't overdo it. Will you be OK here with Tim if I go out for a bit?"
Looking for Jake, she thought. "I'm fine. I'd rather not have any more witnesses than necessary if I do lose this bet.
He smiled then. "You'll ruin your manicure."
"I'm not soft, Mac, whatever you think." It was the first time she'd called him Mac, but she thought it suited him here, where he acted tough while devoting himself to straightening out delinquent kids. "If the state of my manicure bothers you, you'd better think twice about tonight's dance."
She didn't expect his laughter, didn't expect him to jerk her into his arms with a hard motion before he covered her lips with a searing kiss, but she gripped his arms hard and the wild surge of energy flooded her body just as he let her go.
"What was that about?" she gasped.
He didn't answer, just brushed her lips again and turned away to grasp the rail beside the stairs. "I'll be back," he said, and she had no idea whether he meant it as a promise or a warning.
Mac knew any woman with eyes like hers was bound to be more complicated than she looked. He'd expected her hesitance, her thoughtfulness—it fit with the eyes. He figured those eyes might have an effect on a kid like Jake, but he sure as hell hadn't expected her to bond with a tough case like Tim, having a pissing contest about precision, for Christ's sake, and coming out with a draw.
He hadn't expected a woman who could innocently wear a slippery blue dress as if it were seduction itself to turn around and suddenly cloak herself in battered denims and offer to sand his boat.
She'd never worn jeans back in high school.
Building telescopes. Sanding one of his boats.
The way it was looking, he wasn't going to get her together with Jake any time soon and this low-risk affair was beginning to look more like a high-yield explosive.
A wild streak's a fine thing, so long as you know the price before you commit, and you 're prepared to pay. Do you know the price here, Mac?
Mac figured that's what James would have said if the Cessna hadn't crashed. It was James who had taught Mac to count the cost, James who'd talked a seventeen-year-old punk into going back to school, James who was responsible for his being a shipwright
"I hear you've got major rocks in Arizona."
"We do," she agreed. "Do you climb?"
"Some."
Blake twisted his body free and said, "Good work, Tim. When the whole interior's that smooth, we'll be ready for the first coat of varnish."
"Where's the kid?" asked Tim. "I could use some help."
"I'll help," said Claire.
He looked at her with something approaching horror, and she laughed and said, "Show me."
"It's precise," said Tim.
"I can see that. I've never sanded a boat, so I'll need instructions, but I've done precision work, grinding telescope lenses, making my own telescopes. I'll bet you the cost of lunch that I'll pick it up pretty quickly."
"You've built telescopes?"
"Yes."
"Lunch?"
"Lunch," she agreed.
"What do you think, Mac? Should I give your chick a try?"
Blake had his hands in his pockets. She couldn't read the look on his face, but it wasn't a smile.
"Try her out on the starboard pilot berth. She can afford to buy you lunch, but make sure you can afford to buy hers if you lose."
"Right," said Tim, grinning now. "I'll get more sandpaper."
For a big kid, he was amazingly graceful as he ducked past them and climbed the stairs, leaving her alone with Blake's frown.
"It's harder work than you think. You'll get your hands roughed up, and your shoulders are going to be sore as hell by the time you've spent half an hour upside down in that pilot berth, sanding overhead."
"They're my shoulders. How do you expect I'll get Jake to listen if I just stand around like a chick, watching the macho action? It's easier to talk to someone you're working with than someone who's just hanging around and obviously doesn't belong."
"This isn't Jake.
"I know that."
"All right, but don't overdo it. Will you be OK here with Tim if I go out for a bit?"
Looking for Jake, she thought. "I'm fine. I'd rather not have any more witnesses than necessary if I do lose this bet.
He smiled then. "You'll ruin your manicure."
"I'm not soft, Mac, whatever you think." It was the first time she'd called him Mac, but she thought it suited him here, where he acted tough while devoting himself to straightening out delinquent kids. "If the state of my manicure bothers you, you'd better think twice about tonight's dance."
She didn't expect his laughter, didn't expect him to jerk her into his arms with a hard motion before he covered her lips with a searing kiss, but she gripped his arms hard and the wild surge of energy flooded her body just as he let her go.
"What was that about?" she gasped.
He didn't answer, just brushed her lips again and turned away to grasp the rail beside the stairs. "I'll be back," he said, and she had no idea whether he meant it as a promise or a warning.
Mac knew any woman with eyes like hers was bound to be more complicated than she looked. He'd expected her hesitance, her thoughtfulness—it fit with the eyes. He figured those eyes might have an effect on a kid like Jake, but he sure as hell hadn't expected her to bond with a tough case like Tim, having a pissing contest about precision, for Christ's sake, and coming out with a draw.
He hadn't expected a woman who could innocently wear a slippery blue dress as if it were seduction itself to turn around and suddenly cloak herself in battered denims and offer to sand his boat.
She'd never worn jeans back in high school.
Building telescopes. Sanding one of his boats.
The way it was looking, he wasn't going to get her together with Jake any time soon and this low-risk affair was beginning to look more like a high-yield explosive.
A wild streak's a fine thing, so long as you know the price before you commit, and you 're prepared to pay. Do you know the price here, Mac?
Mac figured that's what James would have said if the Cessna hadn't crashed. It was James who had taught Mac to count the cost, James who'd talked a seventeen-year-old punk into going back to school, James who was responsible for his being a shipwright
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