Heather Macallister - Jilt Trip

Ah, Nikki. Just the thought of her filled an emptiness in his life that he hadn’t realized was there. He couldn’t remember the time before Nikki.

He inhaled with a sigh, reassured by the familiar faint musty smell of the Honey Bee’s bedding. Nikki combated mildew with the fervor of a religious zealot, but never completely obliterated it, despite her best efforts.

They so seldom had the opportunity to air the bedding in the master stateroom because it was frequently in use. Once he was in Nikki’s arms, he forgot everything but her touch, her scent and her taste. Smiling, Carter burrowed deeper into the pillow.

He supposed they could have adjourned to the guest cabin in the bow on occasion, but it was subject to the movement of the boat more than the master stateroom and not nearly as restful. Not that they rested all that much.

Shifting on the berth, Carter sniffed. Nothing from the galley. Nikki must not have started dinner yet.

He visualized her standing barefoot in the galley, wearing a swimsuit top and cutoff jeans. Her skin would be lightly tanned a peachy bronze, liberally sprinkled with freckles in spite of all the sun block she slathered over her body.

He’d come to depend on Nikki’s instantaneous transformation from business partner to domestic goddess. The boat was always stocked. He’d asked her once how she managed to have fresh lettuce, rib-eye steaks and whole milk for his coffee. She told him she always kept provisions in the office refrigerator, rotating them so she and Carter could leave at a moment’s notice.

He was grateful, he truly was. He should dictate a memo reminding himself to tell her so. Where was his tape recorder? He tried to search the shelf above the berth, but his arms wouldn’t cooperate. They were so heavy…

Lulled by the hum of the generator, Carter drifted back to sleep. Strange dreams disturbed him. Nikki didn’t look like Nikki anymore. Her hair was blond instead of chestnut brown. Her eyes were blue instead of ocean green. Her skin was tan and she’d finally managed to get rid of her freckles.

He’d liked her freckles. He’d made several attempts to count them all, but was usually interrupted. An interruption would be welcome now, as a matter of fact. Very welcome.

He waited and the dreams continued, shrouded in swirling white. Nikki in a wedding dress. But Nikki hadn’t worn a traditional wedding dress.

Flowers. Nikki had worn mostly flowers. White roses.

Carter smiled, then frowned. Roses were bad, he remembered, but didn’t remember why.

In his dreams, he tried to ask the shadowy figures, but no one would tell him. It gave him a headache, though that could have been from the noise. He didn’t remember all this humming and pounding on the boat before. Was the beating of his heart sounding in his head?

Maybe if he lay very still, the noise would stop. But stillness was relative, he discovered. Though he didn’t move, his body experienced a gentle up-and-down sway. A relentless, never-ending sway.

Carter swallowed, his mouth dry and cottony. He wanted a drink of water, but his stomach immediately rebelled. Hunger…no, seasickness. Seasick? Carter Belden was never seasick.

He would will this away. He visualized a grilled rib eye, charred on the outside, bloodred on the inside—and was immediately sorry.

What had happened to his sea legs, or rather his sea stomach? Just how long had it been since he and Nikki had been aboard the Honey Bee? Weeks? Months?

Years. The knowledge came to him accompanied by a great sadness. Something had kept him away from the boat. So why was he aboard it now? He cracked open his eyes just enough to see yellow and closed them again. Yes, he was aboard the Honey Bee.

But he didn’t remember getting to the boat. In fact, the last thing he remembered was…

“Nikki!” he bellowed, to his instant regret.

Pain ripped through his head and exploded behind his eyes with such ferocity that he actually opened them to verify that he still had his sight.

He wished he hadn’t. The hideous decorating scheme Nikki had chosen for the craft—black, yellow and white stripes—assaulted his vision.

Head throbbing anew, he shut his eyes against the garish yellow walls Nikki thought would add light to the cabins below deck.

He’d indulged her because they were newly married and because the wall covering, yards and yards of it, was fabric, not vinyl. But instead of disintegrating the way he’d expected—and hoped—the heavy canvas had worn like iron.

She’d even had matching swimsuits sewn out of the leftovers, for God’s sake. He’d refused to wear his in spite of the hurt looks she’d cast him.

He’d given her a little diamond bee pin to make up for it.

He hadn’t seen her wear it in a very long time.

“Carter?” Nikki’s voice sounded above him.

“Go away and let me die in peace.”

“Hold these.”

He felt her take his hand and plop something into his palm. “Does this involve putting anything in my stomach?”

“Aspirin.”

“Forget it.”

“Carter, having a headache is normal. Aspirin will help.”

“Normal? You drugged me.”

“Yes.”

“There’s nothing normal about drugging someone. Therefore, the resulting headache is abnormal.”

“Impeccable logic. You’re right, as usual,” she agreed, cheerfully unrepentant.

“Ha!” He groaned. Being right hurt his head.

“Take the aspirin, Carter.”

Moaning piteously, he struggled to sit up. Leaning against the bulkhead, he blindly shoved the pills into his mouth. Nikki practically drowned him with the glass of water. Justice would only be served if he puked all over her, he thought, managing to swallow the pills.

They sloshed around in his stomach as he tried to counter the movement of the boat. “What are we in, a hurricane?” he grumbled.

“No, seas are calm.” Nikki maintained that irritatingly serene voice adopted by those who were dealing with grouchy people.

He opened his eyes. The room spun, but he focused on the waistband of her shorts, then tilted his head back and squinted at her.

Kneeling, she tugged away his bow tie and unbuttoned his collar button. She had started on the second button, when he covered her hands with his.

She raised her eyes and he was hit by the force of her green gaze. His pulse drummed in his ears as she awakened feelings long dormant, feelings he thought were dead, not just asleep.

Feelings he had no right to be feeling.

“I’ll be right back,” she whispered, rocking back on her heels and withdrawing her hands all in one graceful movement. She disappeared out the doorway, returning within moments.

“Don’t walk so loud,” he mumbled.

Nikki sat on the edge of the berth, doing horrid things to his equilibrium. “Sip some of this. You need lots of liquids.”

She wrapped his hands around a warm mug and, only because he knew she’d nag until he cooperated, Carter brought it to his lips.

“Good God almighty, what’s this?”

“Defatted chicken broth,” she replied in that same conciliatory voice. “It’s good for you.”

He rolled gritty eyes toward her. “You’ve shanghaied me. Don’t pretend you’re concerned about my health.”

Her lips drew together in a thin line, her most unattractive expression. “It’s your own fault. I had no idea you had become the sort of man who would guzzle champagne moments before he was to walk down the aisle.”

“I was provoked. Set up.” Since there was nothing else, he drank more broth. Not bad. In fact, the rancid taste was beginning to leave his mouth. He swallowed again, noting that he didn’t feel as queasy. The stuff even muffled the drums in his head, allowing a few thoughts to filter through. “I’m not too clear on recent events. Am I married?”