their help, he had even forgiven them, but by then sailing was only a horrid reminder of his increasing disability....
"Well, then," said Jake, "I'll have the pleasure of giving you something yo—" He broke off. "Would you like to sail?"
He couldn't possibly have been going to say, something your husband couldn't give you, because that would be ridiculous, but then what...? Vanessa nodded mutely, and before long the car was speeding through Stanley Park and then into a small parking lot. She could see boats moored in the distance and a sign saying Royal Vancouver Yacht Club.
You didn't have to be in Canada very long to know that a yacht club with Royal in the title was going to be pretty exclusive, Vanessa thought. Jake parked the car near the clubhouse and pulled a duffel bag out of the back seat while she changed her shoes.
Near the end of a long dock he pointed out a beautiful sloop-rigged sailboat with a furled jib in deep burgundy. As they drew closer she saw that the boat, thirty-five or forty feet long and painted gleaming white, was trimmed with a long racing stripe in the same burgundy. Underneath the stripe on the bow was the name, Skookum Sail. The canopy over the cockpit was also burgundy.
As she clambered aboard after him, she asked, "That word Skookum. It was in the restaurant name. What does it mean?"
He was unlocking the padlocks on the main hatch and all the storage lockers in the cockpit. He moved around the boat with an easy economy that showed her how much at home he was on a boat.
" Skookum is a Chinook word meaning big, good or strong," Jake said. " Chuck is a body of water. The ocean, for example, is called salt chuck in Chinook jargon, and sometimes skookum chuck— 'big water'. Skookum chuck also means 'strong water' — in other words, rapids. Take your pick."
The explanation delighted her. Vanessa laughed. "And I thought it was named after a man named Charles!"
"It is," said Jake. "It's owned by an old ex-fishing guide, ex-member of provincial parliament named Charles Catfish. Chuck is a very big man, and somewhere back in history he picked up the name Skookum Chuck."
Jake pushed open the cabin door and threw the duffel bag down inside.
"If you want to change, you'll find something in the forward locker," he said, and stood to one side to let her climb down into the cabin.
It was beautiful, and it had everything. There was a small galley, a bathroom with a shower, two large lounges that obviously converted into sleeping quarters at night—and quantities of teak panelling and trim. She found the locker without difficulty and sorted out a navy jersey and a pair of worn blue jeans that were large for her around the waist, but not too bad around the hips. They were obviously men's jeans and quite possibly Jake's, since he was slim-hipped for his height, and she had to roll them up at the cuffs. There didn't seem to be anything feminine anywhere in sight, even in the bathroom. Perhaps Louisa didn't like sailing?
The engine started while she was changing, and when she climbed back up on deck they were moving out between rows of parked sail and motor craft toward the open water of the harbour.
Jake looked up with a smile as she came through the hatch, and then his jaw tightened and his eyes went so dark she gasped; it was as though she had hit him.
"What's the matter?" she demanded, and Jake drew his brows impatiently together.
"Matter? Nothing's the matter," he said.
But she wasn't going to be put off. "What were you thinking of just now, when you looked at me?" she asked.
"What?" he asked irritably, bending over to prod a dial.
"What were you just thinking of?" she persisted.
After a moment, he said, "I was thinking that I like seeing you wearing my clothes—hardly a tragic thought."
No , she thought . It isn't. So why were you looking at me as though you wanted to kill me ?
For some minutes they were on the motor, and she watched the magnificent trees of the park pass as Jake