work.”
A hearty laugh came over the speaker. “Girl, you’ve been set up. Your friends are playing matchmaker.”
Charity grinned as she turned into the cut on the south side of Boca Chita Key and glanced down at the sonar screen. Twelve feet and no obstructions. She nudged the throttle slightly, and the Dancer slowly picked up speed. She decided that she liked this independent-minded woman and pretended to play out the fantasy.
“Well, the man will be in for a rude awakening if he’s looking for any kind of commitment. A roll in a hammock, maybe, but that’s it.”
Savannah laughed again. They talked for a few minutes, as the Dancer moved through the channel and into the wide-open Atlantic Ocean, the bow cleaving the small swells with little change in the attitude of the boat. The rain continued to fall lightly on the Bimini as the first shades of purple started to brighten the eastern sky ahead.
The wind was out of the east, and the Dancer was headed straight into it. Still too light a breeze for sailing, though. Knowing that Savannah was likely on her fly bridge, Charity held the easterly course until she was three miles offshore, while they chatted about places they’d been.
“I have a feeling we’ll see one another again,” Savannah said.
“That would be nice, Savannah. Next time, the beer’s on me.”
“Fair winds and following seas, Wind Dancer . Sea Biscuit out and back to sixteen.”
Continuing due east, the rain began to fall a little harder and the wind was picking up. The Bimini covered the entire cockpit and part of the cabin roof. If the rain became too heavy, she had a clear plastic dodger that attached to the forward edge of the Bimini and the cabin roof ahead of the hatch. It extended down both sides, halfway encompassing the cockpit. The helm, however, was open aft and to the sides.
After another ten minutes, the rain just stopped. No lightening, no slowing, it just ended, as if it had never been raining. Ahead, the first faint rays of sunshine were beginning to dim the few stars she could see near the horizon. Charity looked aft and could just see the patter of rain on the surface, retreating in her wake.
Still within cell tower range, she took her phone out and pulled up the Weather Channel website. The weather radar map told her that she was clear of the rain, and from what she could tell by zooming out, the day was going to be bright and sunny.
The small surface radar image on the console showed her she was nearly alone on the ocean. Only a few ships further out and some smaller vessels closer to shore, probably fishing boats.
Charity activated the automatic winches, raising the mainsail, then unfurled the jib, hauling it back to the starboard side, all without having to leave the helm. The sails luffed in the light wind, the bow aimed straight into it.
She cut the engine and turned the wheel slightly to starboard. Wind Dancer responded slowly and lost a little speed. Then Charity heard and felt the familiar snap of the sails. The light wind filled them, sending a tingle through her spine and up her neck. The big boat heeled slightly, and she experienced the same rush of excitement she always felt when the wind filled her sails.
As the sun climbed higher, Charity steered more southerly, angling away from shore into deeper water. Once she was pointed due south, she activated the winch control for the forestay, adding thirty percent more canvas area to capture the wind.
Dancer responded better than Charity had hoped, heeling further and accelerating. The computer display on the console told her she had a ten-knot wind directly out of the east, and the boat was clipping along at nearly fourteen knots on the small swells, taking them on the port beam.
As the boat’s forward speed increased, the apparent direction of the wind changed, pointing higher. She activated the winches, hauling the boom and foresails in closer. Dancer quickly reached that perfect equilibrium, using