Free Sail Away by Lisa Jackson Page B

and rumble as the furnace for the first floor kicked on. “Two for two,” she told herself, smiling with satisfaction as she dusted her hands on her jeans. Now, if only her father didn’t rush out here in a panic when he received a call from the Coast Guard. Facing Victor again tonight wasn’t in her plan.
    Nor was Adam Drake, for that matter. What in the world was she going to do with him? He didn’t seem inclined to leave her, and she experienced ambivalent feelings about his being here. Sure, she could use the company and he’d helped her save the Marnie Lee, she thought guiltily, but he cramped her style as far as her independence was concerned. She could hardly claim to be a self-reliant woman when a man had linked up with her.
    “But only for one night,” she reminded herself again. “Tomorrow he’s history.” If the Marnie Lee could limp into harbor, she’d take Mr. Drake back to civilization, put the boat up for repairs, then wait until the Marnie Lee and the weather cooperated.
    And where will you go? she asked herself for what seemed to be the ten thousandth time. Alaska? Hawaii? L.A.? Mexico? “Wherever I want to,” she muttered as she made her way back to the lobby.
    Adam hadn’t been idle. He’d stacked yellowed newspapers in the grate, and with the help of a few dry leaves and a chunk of fir, attempted to light a fire. He struck a match and held it to the tinder-dry fuel. The leaves and paper caught instantly, and flames crackled over the dry logs.
    Marnie caught him leaning back on his heels, surveying his work and warming his palms against the small heat. His poncho had been discarded, hung on a peg by the front door, and his wet shirt clung to him like a second skin. His hair was beginning to dry, but still shined beneath the light shed from the wagon-wheel chandeliers suspended overhead.
    He glanced her way when she entered, and rose to his feet. “Success,” he said, motioning toward the sconces mounted against the walls.
    “Some. At least we’ll have light and heat, though I don’t know about the furnace. There might not be much oil in the tank. But so far,” she said, crossing her fingers, “it’s humming along.”
    “All the comforts of home.” His eyes met hers, and his expression turned jaded. “Well, at least all the comforts of my home. I can’t speak for yours.”
    “Are you going to badger me for the night? If so, you may as well start walking. There’s a town a few miles down the road.”
    “Believe me, you weren’t part of my plan.”
    “Then we’ve got something in common.”
    “I doubt it.”
    Boy, did he know how to get under her skin. “For your information, not that it matters, until today I lived with my father.”
    “And now?”
    She lifted a shoulder. “I guess I don’t have a home.”
    “Unless you count the waterfront condominium in Seattle?”
    “My father signed the lease.”
    “But you lived there.”
    “It wasn’t mine.”
    “What about the Tudor on Lake Washington?”
    “My father’s.”
    “So you are on some kind of independence kick, aren’t you?” His eyes narrowed dangerously before he turned and using a long stick, prodded the fire. “The poor little rich girl. Had to leave all Daddy’s money, but had no other means of transportation than her yacht. Sorry, Marnie, it just doesn’t wash.”
    “Then what do you think I’m doing?”
    “Having a temper tantrum—an adult temper tantrum, but a tantrum nonetheless.”
    “And you,” she said, shoving her hands in her pockets and crossing the room to show him that she wasn’t the least bit frightened of him, though in truth, he did scare her. “What’re you doing?”
    “Just lookin’ for the truth.”
    “From me?”
    “You’ll have to do,” he said, beginning to unbutton his shirt. “I’d really hoped that I could deal with Simms tonight.” She watched his fingers as the buttons slid through their holes, and the back of her throat turned desert-dry. What was he