The tinny sound of a two-stroke engine distracted her from the pesky seagulls. A Zodiac, one of the more expensive rigid inflatables, was sputtering slowly through the anchorage, a lone sailor in a ragged T-shirt at the tiller. She wondered why the sailor would choose an underpowered outboard when the dinghy could easily accommodate 70 horsepower. The driver, his bronzed, muscled arm draped over the tiller, ignored the smoking, sputtering engine as he steered against the afternoon tide.
Leila yawned and considering a late afternoon nap, leaned out over the railing to shake the dust off her rag.
The passing sailor lifted his billed cap, revealing pale skin where the cap covered a high, patrician forehead. Dark hair curled neatly around his ears, and a long nose hooked over a thick, short beard. His overlong hair and ragged T-Shirt did nothing to diminish his handsome and expressive face. Suddenly, she wanted to hear if his voice was as nice as he looked.
She called, "Thanks for slowing down. We seem to pitch and yaw every time one of the fishing boats comes by."
He cupped an ear to show he couldn't hear over his sputtering engine.
Something lit in her breast, and, on impulse, she leaned out over the stanchion. "You just come off that pretty white ketch?"
He pushed the tiller over, circling back to slide along her hull until he was looking up at her. "Sorry?" His frank appraisal reminded her that she'd eschewed the bra after her shower.
She blushed and jerked the blouse to her chest. "I said, 'Is your engine dead?'"
His grin went wider, his white teeth glinting in the late afternoon sun like unsheathed knives. Pirate, she thought, laughing to herself. And I bet he's got a wicked sense of humor too.
In an attempt to hide her blush, she plowed on. "The anchorage is between the green buoys —" she said, pointing, "you pay three dollars a day and Gustavo will give you a key to the shower, pick up the garbage and laundry and deliver drinking water — but you can drink the city water — we do."
Though his smile held, she could've sworn she saw disappointment flicker across his eyes, and it made her blush again. He thinks I'm married? Oh, God, why do I care what he thinks? Unable to stop herself, she blurted, "That is — my crew and I, we drink the local water."
His smile only deepened. He seemed to be enjoying himself.
She gulped back a laugh, mumbled something about work, and retreated into the shelter of her cockpit. Fanning herself with the rag, she giggled quietly while his ancient two-stroke puttered away. Must be the heat. Reminds me of that movie set in Morocco when I very stupidly fell in lust with my pirate-playing co-star. Of course the actor was good looking, but so stupid he had to have his lines fed to him.
With the sun dropping behind the mountains, café doors were flung open to the cooling air. Fresh fish, caught today, sizzled on hot grills. Whole fish dinners could be bought for only a couple of dollars. Leila's mouth watered at the thought of dessert. She was especially fond of the Mexican version of ice cream, which was full of ripe fruit and frozen into thick bars. But since Gabe took her dinghy, she could forget about any of those treats. She put away thoughts of dinner out; after all, just having a few hours to herself was reward enough.
She leaned against the cushions and listened to the water lapping at her hull. Taking Gabe Alexander out of Ensenada was going to work. He would find a room in town and he'd stay put, right where he belonged. Then, she could honestly tell her sister there was nothing to worry about.
It was the least she could do — after all, Leila owed Katy her life.
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