Going Overboard Read online

  “Damn, we’re so spread out. I wish you two lived out here.”

  Bowie leaned back in his chair. “I could deal with living like this.”

  “I guess Chance can’t,” Andi said. “Is he still hunched over his laptop in there?”

  “Sad but true,” Bowie said.

  Andi took another sip of her cold beer. “I can’t imagine how he can stay inside, working on that stupid laptop when it’s so gorgeous out here.”

  “To be honest, I didn’t think he would, either. He used to love to fish,” Bowie said. “It’s almost as if he’s deliberately avoiding being around us.”

  “That’s weird.”

  “Yeah.” Nicole gave Andi a speculative look. “Unless…”

  “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

  “That red suit is dynamite on you.”

  “You’re changing the subject.”

  “No, I’m not. You put that suit on while the guys were out staking the boat to the sand, remember?”

  “Well, duh. It was the obvious chance to get naked without embarrassing anyone, so I grabbed it. We’re not exactly loaded with privacy around here, in case you hadn’t noticed. You’d think they’d put a few more doors on this thing.”

  “Yeah, I noticed. I also noticed Chance’s reaction when you appeared in that swimsuit. The guy was salivating.”

  “He was?” Bowie said. “Hey, cool.”

  “I don’t believe you,” Andi said as a flush crept over her skin.

  “Look at the facts,” Nicole said. “It was right after you came out in the suit that he made some excuse about not feeling like a swim and went inside to work on those reports that suddenly became so important.”

  “They probably were really important, as far as he was concerned. The guy’s driven,” Andi said, but excitement stirred in her.

  “I like the looks of this situation,” Bowie said. “Day one, and we already have progress.”

  FEROCIOUS HUNGER PANGS and the aroma of grilling steak proved irresistible to Chance, and he stood and stretched, sniffing appreciatively. Switching off the laptop, he leaned down to peer outside. The sun glowed from behind a bank of clouds stretched across the horizon. A spectacular western sunset could be in the offing.

  A sunset and a steak fry on the beach…with Andi. Now that he wasn’t concentrating on his reports, he could hear laughter and a tape of some tropical-sounding music. He sighed. For the first time in years he had no idea what he was supposed to do. Oh, he knew very well what he wanted to do—become much better friends with the beauty in the red swimsuit. Yet despite his bachelor status, he didn’t feel the least bit free. Jefferson Sporting Goods claimed his first loyalty, and the company was a jealous mistress.

  Sometimes he could almost hear his father’s voice. The stockholders expect us to show a profit and still maintain stability, son. Take risks, but not foolish risks. Watch out for Bowie. He doesn’t understand the difference. There had been a heady joy in being the chosen one, the heir to the throne, but there was also a weight that seemed to get heavier every day. He’d never thought the day would come when he’d feel twinges of envy when he looked at Bowie’s situation. He’d been wrong.

  Watch out for Bowie. And although his father had never met Andi, no doubt he would have warned Chance to watch out for her, too. Still, he couldn’t hold himself aloof for an entire week on this houseboat, just to avoid becoming involved with Andi. That would be boorish and rude. And he’d also starve to death.

  He walked out the front sliding door and glanced at the beach. They’d taken four deck chairs down to the sand, and the empty fourth chair touched him. This afternoon they’d left him alone to do his work, but they obviously hoped he’d show up for dinner. He was so used to people wanting his company because of his position with Jefferson Sporting Goods that it was a revelation knowing someone wanted to spend time with him because they liked him.

  They had the chairs arranged in a semicircle around a bed of embers where they were cooking the steaks. The chairs faced the sunset, which was just starting to pink up. They hadn’t noticed him yet. Bowie still had on his trunks, but he’d added an unbuttoned shirt. Nicole got up to take a picture of him, sitting in his chair, his beer can raised in a toast. Probably because she was self-conscious about her protruding belly, she’d put a filmy cover-up over her bathing suit. Bowie and Nicole looked relaxed and happy, and his heart swelled with love for them.

  A more potent emotion hit him as he studied Andi in her red suit and sarong-type skirt. She crossed her legs and the flowered skirt fell away, revealing her smooth thighs. Chance swallowed. Well, it wasn’t going to get any easier, so he might as well go down. He took off his deck shoes, opened the metal gate at the prow of the boat and leaped the short distance to the sand.

  “Ahoy and avast, matey!” Bowie called, raising his can of beer again. “The grog isn’t half-bad in these climes.”

  “The company’s not so bad, either,” Nicole said.

  “The fishing sucks,” Andi said, “but the grog and the company make up for it.”

  “I figured the fishing wasn’t working out when I smelled steak,” Chance said, walking through the sand to the available chair, which was right next to Andi’s.

  Bowie pulled a beer out of a cooler and tossed it to him. “Andi picked out the brewskies, and let me tell you, the woman knows her beer.”

  “A highly sought-after talent,” Andi said.

  Chance popped the top and took a drink. “Good stuff.” He glanced at Andi, then looked closer. She’d swept her hair up on top of her head, and dangling from both ears were what looked like fishing lures. “Are those hooks in your ears on purpose, or are you the victim of Bowie’s lousy casting skills?”

  “Hey,” Bowie said. “Just because I happened to hook a woman’s cheek once, which really wasn’t—”

  “Ew, Bowie!” Nicole made a face. “How awful! You could have blinded her!”

  “It wasn’t her face,” Chance said. “And she was wearing a string bikini at the time.”

  “Oh,” Nicole said. “Still, that makes me wince, Bowie. I hope now you’re more careful when you cast.”

  “That’s just it. I wasn’t casting. We were out on a charter fishing boat, and everybody else was in shorts and shirts except this Bo Derek clone. I think she was after bigger fish than the ones in the water, if you get my drift. I was bringing in my line, and here she comes, wiggling along listening to Bolero on her headset, I suppose. I got a little discombobulated, and next thing I know, my hook’s in her butt.”

  “Oh.” Nicole glanced at him. “That does sound kind of stupid on her part. Who was this bimbo?”

  “Chance’s date.”

  “Ooo-wee!” Andi threw back her head and laughed. “He got you back, Chance.” Then she flashed him a look that heated his blood. “Better not mess with the Bowieman.”

  “Good advice.” Chance took a long swallow of his beer, which quenched at least one thirst he was feeling. He remembered that woman he’d asked out on the fishing trip. He hadn’t known her very well. Matter of fact, that was the problem with most of the women he’d dated recently. To get to know someone, you needed to spend time with them, and he hadn’t had that kind of time.

  “To answer your question about the decorations in my earlobes, they’re earrings Bowie made. Take a look.” She leaned toward him, bringing her coconut-oil scent close enough to make him dizzy.

  He wanted to nibble on her ear instead of examining her earring. “That’s not an actual lure, is it?” Even as he said it, he realized it was a lure of a different kind, dancing feathers and beads capable of hooking him, but good.

  “Nah, it’s not the real thing,” Bowie said. “I just put together stuff I thought looked pretty. Nicole wasn’t wild about them. But Andi loves ‘em, so I gave them to her.”

  “I do love them.” Andi settled back in her chair and raised her beer can to her full lips. “Hey, everybody, sunset alert. The sky’s on fire.”

&n
bsp; “Wow,” Nicole said. “Id forgotten how spectacular the sunsets are around here.”

  Chance sipped his beer and listened to the sound of steel drums coming from the tape deck. Red and gold unfurled in the sky, spilling over the mountains and into the water.

  “It’s like looking through rose-colored glasses, isn’t it?” Andi said in a voice so soft only he would have been able to hear.

  He glanced over at Bowie and Nicole. They were holding hands and leaning close, caught up in their own private love fest. “It’s also like watching a giant fingerpainting being made,” he said.

  “I like that,” Andi said, giving him a smile. “I used to love fingerpaints.”

  “Me, too.”

  She was silent for a while as the colors slowly faded to brick and a few stars winked on. “When was the last time you fingerpainted?” she asked finally.

  “Thirty years ago.” Funny how he could still remember the claylike scent of the paint and the cool squish of the colors beneath his hands. He’d used his palms, his knuckles, even his wrists to make designs.

  “I wish I’d bought some to bring on this trip.”

  “I think our niece is still a little young, don’t you?” He’d meant it as a joke, but the minute he said the our niece part he got a tingle of awareness. Uncle Chance. Aunt Andi. They’d be linked together even more closely once this child was born. He felt himself sinking deeper into inevitability.

  “I meant fingerpaints for us,” Andi said. “It would’ve been a fun thing to do this week.”

  “Yeah, I can picture you and Bowie getting into that.”

  “I wasn’t picturing Bowie. I was picturing you.”

  He grew uneasy. “Oh, yeah, right,” he said sarcastically.

  “Why not?”

  “Because it’s too childish for me now.” He winced at how crude his response had sounded. “Sorry. That didn’t come out right. I meant that—”

  “You meant exactly what you said. But the thing is, I’m not insulted at all. As a matter of fact, I feel sorry for you.”

  That brought him out of his chair. “Sorry for me?” He faced her. “What in hell do you mean by that crack?”

  “Chance, watch out,” she said.

  “Ah, the peaceful tranquillity of twilight,” Bowie said. “The call of a nightbird. The indignant shout of my brother.”

  “She feels sorry for me because I don’t want to fingerpaint!” Chance said, backing up.

  Andi started to get out of her chair. “Chance, don’t—” Her skirt caught on the arm of her chair, pulling the chair over and knocking her off balance, toward him.

  As he stumbled backward in the process of trying to catch her and stay upright at the same time, he tripped over some rocks and figured they’d both land on the ground. Miracle of miracles, he staggered but stayed vertical, and so did she. Maybe his luck was changing. He released her with a sigh of relief at another disaster averted. “She feels sorry for me,” he said to Bowie and Nicole. “Can you beat that?”

  “Sure,” Bowie said, standing. “I feel sorry for all of us. You just backed into the grill. Our steaks are in the coals.”

  “Oh, hell.” Chance turned to the fire. Instinctively he reached to grab a sizzling piece of meat and singed his fingers. “Dammit!” He stuck his fingers in his mouth. So much for changed luck.

  “Here’s a barbecue fork,” Andi said, waving the pronged instrument dangerously close to him.

  “Keep your distance, woman!” Chance held up both hands. “Next thing I know, I’ll be impaled on that thing.”

  “I was trying to warn you about the fire! Do you need first aid?”

  “Mustard’s the best thing to put on it,” Nicole said, getting out of her chair with a small groan. “I’ll—”

  “No, I’ll get it,” Bowie said. “After two beers I’d need a crane to help me hoist you back on the barge, sweetheart.”

  “Bowie Jefferson, you take that back!”

  “Yeah, Bowie,” Andi said. “You try smuggling a watermelon and see how spry you are.”

  “My apologies, ladies.” Bowie swept them a bow and went over to kiss his wife on the cheek. She glared at him. “Chance, buddy, I think we might want to retreat to the boat, get your fingers taken care of, and return with more libations and the salad while these gorgeous, petite, talented women pull our steaks from the fire. Maybe if we’re lucky, they’ll find it in their hearts to let us eat dinner by the time we get back.”

  “Don’t count on it,” Nicole called after them as they trudged through the sand.

  Chance followed Bowie toward the boat. “Hey, I’m sorry 1 knocked the steaks into—” Sharp pain interrupted his apology as his toe collided with a piece of driftwood. “Dammit!”

  “What?”

  “Stubbed my toe.”

  “I guess it’s been a long time since you’ve walked barefoot on the beach, huh, buddy? You gotta watch where you’re going.”

  “Bowie, right now I feel as if I’m standing in the middle of a damn minefield.”

  “Just relax, buddy. You’re among friends.”

  “And some are more dangerous than others,” Chance muttered.

  5

  ANDI WAS SO HUNGRY that she didn’t even care that the steak tasted like charcoal on the outside. Everyone balanced their plates on their lap. After attempts to cut the steak with a knife and fork nearly tipped her plate upside down in the sand, Andi picked up the piece of meat in her fingers. “If it was good enough for my ancestors, it’s good enough for me,” she said, biting into the steak.

  “Fine for those of you who have working fingers,” Chance said. Bowie had wrapped three of his with gauze.

  “I happen to know you can drive with one hand,” Bowie said. “I’ll bet you can eat one-handed, too.”

  “Ah, yes,” Nicole said. “The old one-handed driving technique. The left hand for the steering wheel, the right hand for taking liberties with us, your dates. I remember it well.”

  “And they always thought they were being so subtle,” Andi said. “They’d be staring straight ahead, like they didn’t even know you were there in the car. But the hand would come creeping over like Thing in ‘The Addams Family.’”

  “You wanted us to look at you?” Chance said. “We’re not about to take our eyes off the road and risk wrapping our pride and joy around a telephone pole.”

  “Yeah,” Andi said, laughing, “and you might wreck the car, too.” She noticed that Chance was on his second beer, and it was having a good effect. He was definitely loosening up. If she could just avoid another mishap, she could build on that “I’m going down to the lake to wash my hands. Anybody else need to do that?”

  “I’ll just lick my fingers,” Chance said.

  “If I play my cards right, I can get Nicole to lick my fingers,” Bowie said.

  “In your dreams, Romeo,” Nicole said. “Andi, would you bring me back a wet napkin? I don’t think I can move from this spot.”

  “Anything for you, toots.” Andi grabbed a couple of napkins and stood.

  “You’re tired, my little cabbage?” Bowie asked Nicole.

  “Exhausted. Don’t forget, it’s two hours later, Chicago time. It’s been a long day for a pregnant lady.”

  “Then I guess dancing wild and barefoot on the sand is out,” Bowie said.

  “Get Andi to dance with you,” Nicole said as Andi started down toward the lake.

  “What about Chance?” Bowie asked.

  “Get him to dance with you, too. Just let me sit and digest that charred steak in peace.”

  Andi hadn’t considered the prospect of dancing on the beach. Would Chance finally abandon his sedate corporate image, or would he let Bowie be the life of the party, as usual? This night could get very interesting indeed.

  She walked to the edge of the lake, the sand cool under her feet near the waterline, and discovered that the lake was filled with stars.

  Fascinated, she rippled the water with her fingers and watched the stars be
come streaks of light, like a thousand comets dashing across the liquid surface. Then she looked up and found that she was standing under a bowl of stars reaching all the way to the horizon. Overcome with the beauty of it, she reached her arms up to the sky. “Hallelujah!”

  “Amen, sister!” Bowie called back.

  “Have you chowhounds looked up from your plates long enough to notice all these stars?” Andi asked.

  “They’re gorgeous, Andi,” Nicole said.

  “But nothing compared to you, my sweet Nicole,” Bowie said.

  “Cool it, Bowie. I’m not dancing with you, and that’s that.”

  “It’s as if Liberace swirled his cape over the sky,” Andi said, staring upward until her neck hurt.

  “Let me know if you see Elvis walking across the lake,” Bowie said. “In the meantime, I’m putting on a dance tape. Despite my heavy-lidded wifelet, the Lake Mead Jefferson Houseboat Party is just getting started.”

  As Andi dipped napkins in the lake, the sound of marimbas and guitars filled the air. She smiled as she listened to Bowie trying to get Nicole to dance with him.

  “Aw, come on, Nic. One little turn around the sand,” Bowie coaxed.

  “Forget it, Fred Astaire. Head on down the line.”

  Andi turned just as Bowie gyrated rhythmically over to where Chance sat.

  “May I have this dance?” he asked, still holding his beer in one hand.

  To Andi’s amazement, Chance got to his feet. Taking occasional swigs of his beer, he started executing a credible cha-cha with his brother.

  “Ooh, have we got style!” Bowie cried. “Have we got rhythm!”

  “Have you drunk way too much beer!” Nicole said, laughing.

  Andi stood, the wet napkins dripping on her bare feet, almost afraid to move for fear the spell Chance was under would break and he’d make some excuse to go type reports again.

  “Come on, Andi!” Bowie called, whirling in her direction and snatching the wet napkins. “Cut in.”

  Breathless and smiling, she entered the dance in Bowie’s place. All she could see of Chance’s face in the dim light was the white flash of his grin as he matched his steps to hers. They didn’t touch, yet they seemed to know when to pivot, when to turn in time with each other, as if they’d been dancing this way for years.