Wanting a Family Man (Raven’s Cove #3)

Chapter Ten

C loe might not have had the best start in life, but she had always been determined to get ahead. She did her homework and went the extra mile and tried very hard to never let anyone down.

So she bought herself a cheap spiral-bound notebook from the grocery store and made copious notes while Sarah walked her through her duties as a steward. She studied the map and memorized the itinerary and double-checked the groceries against the menu.

When they took Storm back to the house that evening, she borrowed Emma’s laptop to get her Food Safe certificate, then registered for the Marine Radio certification. That got her the study materials, and Johnny was an instructor so he could issue her the exam.

While she was online, she searched out the native animals they were likely to see. She wanted to know a little about them and recorded some fast facts.

She also wrote down the names of the tribes that had occupied these coastal islands since the last ice age and asked Trystan how to pronounce their names. He taught her how to say hello and thank you in Haí ? zaqv ? a, which was the Heiltsuk language.

At 7:45 a.m., she changed into her new Raven’s Cove T-shirt—she hadn’t wanted to spill coffee on it before she’d officially started working—and came on deck to greet the passengers who had slept in the lodge last night.

“Hí ? aú.” Trystan greeted the half-dozen people gathered on the wharf near the steps he set down from the Storm Ridge . He spoke briefly in Haí ? zaqv ? a, which was a language full of throaty sounds peppered with round, musical notes and soft hisses.

“I said, Hello, I’m Trystan Fraser, captain of the Storm Ridge ,” he translated. “I’m looking forward to showing you some of the unique and beautiful places within the Heiltsuk territory. Please remember this is not a playground. It’s the home of everyone and everything that lives here. Keep your heart and mind and eyes open. Take only photos. This is my steward, Cloe. She’ll give you your cabin number and we’ll help you stow your luggage before we cross to Wág ? ís ? a to collect the rest of our passengers.”

Cloe had already learned that Wág ? ís ? a was the Native name for Bella Bella. The first mate, Johnny, would also join them there.

Everyone smiled and shuffled an eager step forward.

The first to board were a middle-aged German couple, Trudi and Renz, with their two sons, Karl and Stefan, who were fourteen and eleven. Next was a pair of honeymooners from Regina, Nathan and Christina.

Everyone oohed and aahed as they bumped their way down to the cabins.

While the guests were unpacking, Trystan started the engine and Cloe stepped off the yacht to do the one thing she was really nervous about: casting off.

“Do you want me to do it?” Trystan asked her, coming out on deck. He wasn’t openly laughing at her, but she suspected he wanted to.

He cast off alone all the time, when he took the boat for refueling after everyone had disembarked, but Sarah had said this was something she and Johnny did as part of their duties. Cloe was determined to not only do it but get good at it.

She started by stowing the steps. Then, as luck would have it, Sophie came up to her as she was clumsily untying the bow line. Cloe already felt pressured because the engine was grumbling and the two German boys had come on deck to try on life preservers, watching her as they did. She was all thumbs.

“Good morning,” Sophie said.

“Good morning. What are you doing here?”

“I work here.” Sophie gave an amused pluck at the front of her coveralls. “I was diagnosing a problem on that trawler, but I thought I’d come over and say bon voyage. I’m kind of jealous that you get to do this.” She tipped forward to whisper, “Even though I hate cooking and cleaning up after people.”

“That doesn’t bother me, but yeah. I kind of feel like I should be paying him ,” Cloe said in an undertone. “Do you know, um, what I do with this now?” She stood with the rope in her hand.

“Sure.” Sophie showed her how to coil it, then toss it onto the bow. “Do the stern, then come back for this one.” She pointed at the middle tie. “Hang on to it as you climb aboard. Otherwise, you could be waving like a loser from the wharf or you’re dragging up a wet line. That’s the voice of experience, by the way.”

“Ha. Thanks.” She followed Sophie’s suggestion, grasped the final line, took hold of the rail, and brought the rope with her as she stepped aboard.

After climbing on and off the Storm Ridge about twenty times in the last two days, Cloe had figured out how to do it with some semblance of grace, at least.

Trystan was in the open doorway to the saloon, watching all of this, likely ready to snatch her out of the air like a cat with a bird if she started to fall into the drink. He nodded approval and lifted a friendly hand at Sophie.

“See ya Sunday,” he said to her before he invited the boys to join him in the fly bridge while they crossed the passage.

The boys stripped off their jackets and followed Trystan up the stairs, leaving Cloe to put the life preservers back in the hatch. She began to see exactly what her job would entail.

As the adults filtered up to the saloon, she offered coffee, serving it in covered thermal mugs that guests would take home with them so she wrote their initials on the bottoms. By the time she had handed out a latte, an Americano, and an Earl Grey tea, they were at the wharf where she had waited for the water taxi two short days ago.

It felt like a lifetime had passed!

As she hurried onto deck to tie up—and realized it was more anxiety-invoking than casting off—she saw a heavy-set man around her age wearing a Raven’s Cove windbreaker and ball cap. He had black hair and thick eyebrows, round cheeks, and a thin chinstrap beard that framed a friendly smile.

“Yáu,” he called, which sounded a little like “Yo,” and indicated he would catch the bow line.

Cloe tossed it to him, then hurried to the stern, which he also caught because he was freaking good at this.

“You must be Johnny.” She hurried to get the steps in place.

“You must be Cloe.” He secured the steps with a calm confidence like Trystan’s, as though he’d been around boats his whole life and regarded the gap between wharf and vessel as nothing more than a puddle. He shook her hand as she came onto the wharf.

Trystan came out to greet the four other guests waiting to board. Cheri and Annette were visiting from New York, and Brielle had brought her mother, Elodie, as a sixtieth birthday present.

A few minutes later, they were underway. Johnny provided the safety briefing while Cloe popped some welcome snacks into the oven and ensured everyone was comfortable and had a beverage if they wanted one.

The morning was cool, but not cold. The sunshine came and went behind fluffy clouds. Whitecaps dabbed the chop on the blue-green water.

What Cloe had assumed was the coastline when she was on the ferry was actually a network of islands, passages, fjords, and inlets. They passed a few small beaches and rocky cliff faces, but most of the shoreline was thick forest that grew right down to the tide line.

“Why don’t you have big sandy beaches like we have in California?” she asked Johnny when he brought her a few stray dishes for washing.

“We do where the open ocean hits. This coastline is basically a submerged mountain range.”

“That’s why there are so many islands,” she realized. “I’m used to thinking of islands being built by volcanoes, like Hawaii. But what are those boulders that disappear?” Her hands were in the sink so she used her chin to indicate the weird dark gray shapes that rose briefly and sank again.

“You are new here, aren’t you?” Johnny said with a chuckle before he called up the stairs. “You see those humpbacks off the starboard, Skip?”

“I do now,” Trystan called down.

As the yacht changed course, Johnny gathered the passengers to watch the noses of the whales come up to the surface then sink back down.

Cloe hurried to take the baked pastry bites out of the oven and turned it off, not wanting to miss a thing. A moment later, Trystan cut the engine.

“We can’t get too close,” Johnny said as he handed out binoculars. “But you can see there’s at least three of them. They like to feed in groups by diving deep then coming up in a spiral.” He drew a coil in the air. “They release bubbles to push all the herring together, like a net. Then they open their mouths and take a big gulp.” His fingers closed against his thumb like a sock puppet. “They strain the water through those grooves in their throat, called baleen.”

“Is that a family? Or how do they organize?” Elodie asked.

“Could be,” Johnny answered. “Orcas are more likely to stay in pods of matriarchs and daughters for most of their lives. Humpbacks develop social relationships by choice.”

“Are they endangered?” Annette asked.

“They’re slowly coming back. Growing up, I hardly ever saw them, but it’s better now.”

Gulls circled over the patch of water while two distinct breaths puffed into the air. The long, sharp ridge of one whale’s back broke the surface in a long slither before disappearing with a lift of its tail, like a friendly wave good-bye.

“We’ll probably see more,” Johnny reassured everyone. “They feed up and down the coast all summer then migrate south, to California and Mexico, or over to Japan for winter. Good spotting, Cloe.”

“Clear?” Trystan asked from the open window where he was hanging his elbow.

Johnny did a quick check that the whales hadn’t come toward them and called out, “Clear.”

Trystan started the engine and they motored toward the mouth of an inlet.

“That was exciting,” Cloe said to Trystan when she took him the last of the pastries and a fresh cup of coffee. “They’re bigger than I expected.”

“Fin whales are bigger, but I’ve only seen one once, on a trip north to Kitimat. Thanks for this.” He saluted her with the covered mug. “You didn’t need to.”

“I was coming up anyway. I was starting a list of the wildlife I’ve seen since I’ve been here. It made me realize that bingo cards might be fun for the guests. At least, the kids might like it. I could make them myself.”

He lowered his mug, taking his eyes off the water and leaving his free hand resting loosely on the wheel. “You should have told me you were one of those, Cloe. I feel betrayed.”

Her stomach dipped. “One of what?”

“A keener. Someone who makes lists. And plays games. I bet you wanted to origami the washcloths into animal shapes and leave them on the pillows, didn’t you?”

“I only know how to make bunnies and you need an elastic band,” she mumbled, looking out the far window.

“You can’t set a precedent like playing games. Next thing I know, I’ll have an orange under my neck and I’m hugging a stranger.”

“We only have grapefruits. I’ll be your partner,” she promised.

His mouth twitched and his gaze flickered from her face, lower, then out to the water, leaving her chest warm and tingling.

“Sure. Go ahead if you want to. What kind of prize were you thinking if they win?”

“A ball cap?”

“A ball cap for a line, a T-shirt for a full card.”

“Cool.” She slipped back downstairs, then enlisted the boys since they were habitually checking their devices only to realize they still didn’t have service.

It turned into a fun exercise where the boys practiced reading and writing English while combing through a wildlife identification book and writing down the animal names.

“A cougar can jump twelve meters ? Does that mean they can get on the boat?” the younger, Stefan, asked with alarm, eyeing the distance to shore.

“I don’t know why one would want to,” Cloe said. “Unless you crumple up that paper. Cats can never resist a ball of paper, can they?” She batted her hands in the air like cat paws.

“Or string,” Stefan said, laughing, but alerting her to an obvious danger. “You have lots of string here.” He pointed toward the bow where the line was coiled.

“I want to see one,” Karl said with a sly look at his little brother as he wrote it on his card.

They stayed on the stools at the island, making cards for the other guests while Cloe began the lunch prep, which was a crunchy quinoa bowl with steamed shrimp and brightly colored precut veggies, topped with a peanut sauce that smelled of tangy lime and spicy ginger.

It was a good thing she asked around first, because there were several guests who gave a hard “No, thank you” to cilantro so she left it on the side.

The boys ate at the island while their parents and the New Yorkers sat in the dining nook, admiring the bingo cards they’d been given. The mother-daughter pair went upstairs with their bowls, chatting with Trystan while they ate. The honeymooners snuggled at the outside table that offered a view off the stern.

Cloe had several offers to help in the galley, but she waved them off, reminding them, “You’re on vacation.”

Also, if they were on schedule, they would be coming into Ocean Falls—which they were. She heard Johnny speaking to the guests on deck and opened the window so she could hear better.

“There’s the Storm Front . This is their last day. Give them a big cheer and a wave.” They did and an answering cheer came in return.

The noise brought the rest of the guests on deck where Johnny was sharing the history of the ghost town they were visiting.

“Seventy years ago, nearly four thousand people lived here in Ocean Falls. It was a thriving company town built around the hydroelectric dam and the pulp and paper mill. There was a hospital, an apartment building, a four-hundred-room hotel.”

Cloe dried the last dish and put it away, then came on deck to see the substantial buildings that still stood, making it seem as though they were arriving at a thriving port.

“An Olympic silver medalist trained at the pool here,” Johnny continued. “He was one of several champion swimmers who got their start here. The mill closed in the eighties and now there are fewer than a hundred people living here.”

The engine slowed to a low rumble as Trystan nudged it toward the wharf. Cloe watched how Johnny moved, stepping off and leaning back on the line to pull the boat in closer before tying off. He secured the bow line she tossed him, then he came to show her how to efficiently loop the stern line so it was secure but easy to release when it was time to cast off.

The Storm Front arrived at the wharf as Trystan cut the engine. Cloe caught one of their lines and practiced her new technique before introducing herself to their first mate, Wayne.

The moods on the two boats were distinctly different. The guests on the Storm Ridge were starting their vacation. They were listening eagerly, wanting to hurry up and see stuff, while the Storm Front passengers were sun-kissed and relaxed, fumbling to find a hat or walking shoes, barely paying attention to Trystan when he came on deck to address them.

“If you stop by the marina office, they’ll have a walking tour map for you. Entering any buildings is strictly at your own risk. Take your time. We’ll have a happy hour here at four and get underway at five.”

Cloe wistfully watched the guests file up the wharf, then she turned to reboard the Storm Ridge , realizing Trystan was watching her.

“Do you want to look around?” he asked.

Her heart swerved with self-consciousness. She was being obvious again.

“That’s okay. I have dinner prep and heads to tidy.” And she was lucky to be here at all, she reminded herself.

“We have lots of time. Let me check in with the other crew, then I’ll show you around. You okay to stay behind if we go for a walk, John?”

“For sure.” Johnny nodded as he finished stowing a life preserver.

“Okay.” Cloe’s mood took a lilt of excitement and a different apprehension when she realized she would be alone with Trystan. It was always a struggle to keep her attraction under wraps, but she was curious about this place. “I’ll get my real shoes.”

*

“Were you afraid I’d get lost if I went alone?” Cloe asked with a wryness that struck Trystan as nervous.

Maybe this had been a bad idea. She had changed out of the cheap flip-flops she wore as deck shoes and into her cheap, well-worn sneakers. She seemed to have found a sports bra that snugly constrained her breasts, which was a pity, but she was still incredibly attractive with her smooth, bare limbs and cheeky, short hair that was frizzed with tight curls on top. He noticed the plumpness of her lips way too often, but couldn’t help doing it again.

“It’s an opportunity to ask you how you’re liking the work so far.” And remind himself that she was his employee. He forced his attention forward. “Any mal de mer?”

“Seasickness? Not at all. And what ‘work’? Everyone is really nice. I’m not exactly stuck in a cubicle. Oh, look!” She caught at his arm to stop him as she pointed into the water. “Otter. I have it on my card already, but they’re so cute. I could watch them all day.”

She leaned in front of him, trying to see around the pile that anchored the wharf. The crown of her head was right under his chin.

He made himself take a step back.

She looked up in sudden awareness and her lips trembled into a smile of apology that didn’t quite stick.

He tried to ignore the sense of being drawn into a field of crackling energy while she rubbed her bare arms as though chilled.

Or as though she had felt that same electricity between them.

They continued walking in loaded silence.

The frontage road was paved, but not recently. It was cracked and patched and took them past the first few buildings, which were in good repair. The one labeled Court House was actually the post office and clinic, among other things.

Soon they arrived at the hotel, which was a boxy U-shaped building. Every window had been smashed out and water stains ran down its once golden-yellow exterior.

“It looks so sad when you get up close,” Cloe said.

“It’s sad that it was put here in the first place. I know it’s hypocritical of me to resent that. It’s not like the Storm Ridge runs on wind. My show leaves a footprint. I wouldn’t be happier if they were still logging the shit out of these valleys, turning trees into toilet paper, but this is such a testament to shortsightedness. Maybe they thought they’d be here for generations, so it was worth erecting something like this, but how could they think that? Trees don’t grow that fast.” Money. That’s what they’d really wanted the paper for. To print more money.

“Have you ever been inside it?” Cloe asked, still studying the hotel with curiosity.

“Lots of times. When I was growing up, my uncle lived here. I visited often. My cousin and I went through all the buildings. We might be responsible for some of the tagging,” he admitted with an unrepentant shrug. He was definitely not without culpability when it came to environmental damage. “Do you want to go in?”

“I’m kind of enjoying the sunshine. I heard Johnny say they have two hundred days of rain here.”

“True. The views are pretty from some of the windows, but the building is full of mold. Think flophouse with a side of fungus.”

“Ew. No black lung for me, thanks. The view from here is spectacular enough.” She looked back toward the wharf and the ferry slip. “I can’t get over how green everything is. I’m used to thinking of ghost towns as the Old West with tumbleweeds blowing down the dusty street. Like there was nothing left to stay for. This is more like Mayan ruins in the jungle.”

As someone who had seen Mayan ruins in the jungle, he couldn’t disagree.

They continued on. She turned her head to look at the rusted frame of a swing set in an unmowed field and up to the roof on a derelict house where the moss was as thick as a high-quality mattress. Overgrown shrubs were trying to consume the sagging structure. A bicycle leaned against the outside wall, all but hidden by the grass that grew to its handlebars. Vines had swallowed the porch rail and posts.

“Look at this tree!” Cloe chuckled with astonishment at a cedar sapling rooted in the moss that had collected on concrete steps that led from the broken pavement of the road to the house. The tree was four feet tall and leggy, but otherwise healthy.

“Will it live, do you think?”

“I’ve seen hundred-foot trees growing out of what looks like solid rock so it has as good a shot as any.”

“This gives me hope. It makes me believe the planet could heal from the damage we humans do, if we only gave it time.”

“You should see the high school, then. The skylight blew out years ago. The library is a fern grove now.”

“That’s so cool. You should set an episode here. Show people how nature can survive the damage done by man.”

He suspected she was being facetious, but he suddenly saw the town through a fresh lens. Huh.

They tracked upward toward the dam holding back Link Lake, where a dramatic curtain of spill water cascaded over the rocks below. When they reached the end of the observation path, they met up with the women from New York, taking a selfie.

“Can I help?” Cloe snapped while the pair embraced and smiled, shared a kiss, and made silly faces.

They left the pair laughing and ambled along a dilapidated road across the top of the township.

Trystan absently helped himself to a huckleberry as they passed a bush growing out of the top of a broken, rotting stump.

Cloe stopped in her tracks. “Can you eat those?”

“I just did. They’re like blueberries only red.” That one had been a little tart because they weren’t quite ripe yet. “Try one.” He picked a fat one and offered it.

She warily took it and popped it into her mouth, sealed her lips, and started to make a sour face before giving it a considering nod of not bad .

“Can I pick a few for the guests to try?” she asked.

“Sure.” Leaving ample food for wildlife was as instilled in him as breathing, but they would only take a handful. “Step there and get those ones. They’re riper.”

She set her foot on the gnarled root of the stump and he braced her elbow while he reached up to tilt the branch down for her. She stretched, one hand splayed on his shoulder for balance—

“Whoop!”

He caught her as her foot slipped and she toppled against him. His arm was full of lithe waist and he was intensely aware of the press of her breast against his chest.

“City girl. Did you never climb a tree as a kid?” He tried to yank his libido back under control as he helped her find her feet, but he was way too aware of how soft and pretty and flushed she was, eyes bright and lips parted.

Really pretty lips that rolled inward before the tip of her tongue wet them. She was still leaning into him, gaze flickering to his own mouth as if she expected…

He bit back a groan.

With a disconcerted blink, she dropped her hand from his chest and stepped back only to stumble over the same root.

“Oh, shit!”

He caught her again and now they were both laughing and holding on to each other.

“Are you drunk?” he teased. “Are you okay? Are you sure?”

The sun was hot on his neck and shoulders and arms. Maybe it was something else filling him with heat. His senses sharpened so he could smell every layer in the air: summer and earth, forest and salt water. Her. She smelled vaguely of his own body wash and Storm’s laundry soap and an underlying spicy almond warmth that was purely her.

He felt the imprint of her fingertips on his forearm and chest. He heard her swallow and could have sworn her heartbeat was in his ears.

Her silvery-gray gaze was pinned to his mouth again, making his lips sting. When her gaze lifted to search his eyes, her eyelids grew heavy. Her body tilted forward a fraction.

Yes . He tightened his hold, drawing her closer.