Katy Lee - Grave Danger

“How do you take your coffee?” Wesley called to her. “Sugar, cream?”

“Black, one sugar,” Lydia answered.

The swinging doors at the back of the restaurant burst wide. An older woman with a pouf of frizzy, bleached-blond hair bounced out. “A girl after my own heart,” she announced as she zigzagged through the maze of tables and patrons until she stood in front of Lydia. “Strong, but a little sweet. Hiya, I’m Tildy, and you must be the anthropologist. I’ve never met an anthropologist before. To be honest, it sounds a little creepy to me, but please come sit. Tell us all about it.”

Wesley saved her. “Actually, Tildy, we can’t stay. We’re eating while we work today,” he informed her as he passed Lydia a tall white to-go coffee cup and a brown paper bag of some kind of food.

“Oh, right. Those boys found some pirate bones, I hear.”

“Pirate?” Lydia questioned. Was that what everyone thought? Then she remembered Wesley’s statement about protecting the islanders. He must have told them the bones might be ancient. “Could be,” she said, going along with it, suddenly not wanting to upset anyone here in this comforting and homey atmosphere, either.

“Wesley, don’t work this lovely lady too hard. And be sure to bring her back for lunch. I think once you taste what’s in the bag, you’ll be back for more.” She winked at Lydia and touched her hand that held the bag. Her gentle touch felt motherly and gave Lydia’s heart pangs. It had been twenty years since she felt her mother’s touch. Her breath caught at the unexpected pain of loss, but she smiled through it at this woman who looked at her with such openness. These were the good people Wesley was trying to protect.

“I’ll be back,” Lydia promised, and meant it as she let Wesley lead her out the door.

They walked in silence for a few minutes, then Wesley snatched the bag from her hand. “Are you ready for this? Tildy makes a great apple strudel.” He removed a flaky pastry from the bag and took a bite, then held it out in front of her mouth. “Go ahead. You’ll love it.”

Lydia hesitated with a little shock. Never had she eaten from someone’s hand. It felt so personal and intimate. Butterflies fluttered about in her stomach. You’re making too much of this, she told herself. It’s just a bite of pastry. Not even from the same side he bit from. Just take a bite.

Lydia opened her mouth to the sweet. She meant to take a nibble, but Wesley pushed a little more in her mouth and she ended up with a generous amount. “Mmm. This is good.” She licked a smudge of apple filling from the corner of her lips and dived back in for another bite.

He laughed, a rich deep sound. “If you could see your face.”

“What about my face?” she asked while still chewing.

“I guess there’s a good reason Tildy calls them her German delights. Your face is quite delighted.”

“Well, it’s good. Real good.”

“Told you so.” He held up his coffee cup and took a sip, reminding her of her own delicious drink in her hand.

She sipped carefully of the rich molten lava. “Mmm. Perfect.” She licked the nutty flavor from her lips. “I can see why you come here.”

“Wait till you see what she gives you for lunch. It’s because of her that I’m so healthy.” He patted his belly, or non-belly, from what she could see. The man was sure fit.

“She takes good care of you, does she?”

“Especially since my mom died.”

That’s right. He said he lost both his parents. “Oh, I’m sorry. When—?”

“Eight years ago. No big deal. We should get going. You ready?” The swift subject change told her he might not mind sharing his pastry, but all intimacies ended there. He continued. “No roads lead to that part of the island, so we’re taking the boat. I see you don’t have gloves still. You can wear mine.”

The sight of the black leather gloves he held out to her stumped her. The image of the gloved man who had tried to take her kit flashed before her eyes. Were they the same pair? She reached for the soft leather but couldn’t be sure. They were sure alike.

“Do you want to drive the boat?”

Her head shot up, gloves forgotten. “Really? Are you sure? I’d love to, but I’ve never driven a boat before.”

“You should probably learn, then, in case I’m not available to bring you over to the site.”

If her hands were free she would have clapped. She settled for smiling big. “Let’s do it.”

Wesley smirked. “I’ve never seen anyone get so excited about driving a boat. You look ready to burst. When you grow up on an island, piloting a boat isn’t a big thing.”

“Well, I think it’s pretty exciting.”

Within minutes his sheriff’s boat zipped them away from shore with Lydia beside him, memorizing every piece of equipment and direction he threw at her. “You’re a fast learner, Doc,” he yelled over the motor. “Hold on while I get us through the rocks, and then I’ll give you the wheel!” Even though he smirked from the helm, his concentration was fully on maneuvering around the huge flat rocks sporadically jutting out of the water’s surface. Danger signs bounced on buoys all around, warning of the submerged rocks, until they finally broke through.

“Okay, you ready?”

She nodded emphatically, and he took her hands and placed them in the positions where his hands had been. He might have removed his hands but not his body. A little beside her, a little behind her, he guided her every move. His close presence brought back the butterflies again, but soon her task at hand overcame them.

After a few minutes of puttering, Lydia got the hang of manning the vessel and opened her up. She screeched at the power the fast pace gave her. Exhilarating didn’t come close to describing the freeing feeling. Her screeches turned to all-out laughter.

She never heard Wesley laugh, but when she peered out the sides of her eyes she found his smile locked on her.

As well as the dented eyebrows of puzzlement. Something confused him.

She raised her own eyebrows at him to ask what, but he changed his attention forward. “So, do I pass the driver’s test?” she asked.

Wesley didn’t answer.

Lydia thought maybe he hadn’t heard her over the engine noise. She repeated herself.

“Hold on, Doc,” he said, taking over the wheel. “There’s an unknown vessel out at sea a little too close to my liking. Might be someone off course.”

Lydia moved back and scanned the horizon. At first she didn’t see what he was talking about. Then a speck of something white appeared way off in the distance. “Is it a boat?”

“A yacht.”

“You don’t know who they are?”

“We’re going to find out.”

He shifted the boat into high speed, buckling Lydia’s knees. Her hands shot out for the bench seat behind her before she fell to the floor. “A little warning next time, please.” She put a little bite into her words as she took her seat.

“I’ll try to remember.” He didn’t sound too convincing.

Wesley skimmed across the ocean until they finally pulled up to the yacht’s portside and turned off the motor. He lifted a bullhorn to his mouth. “This is the sheriff of Stepping Stones. I need the captain of the vessel to please step out on deck.”

No sound but the waves lapping the hulls below and the seagulls squeaking above in the sunshine could be heard.

“You have thirty seconds to come out or I come aboard,” Wesley warned through the megaphone, but still no reply came.

Lydia offered her two cents. “I don’t think anyone’s here. It’s too quiet.”

“I agree,” he replied, his voice deep and serious. His hand went to his belt to flip the holster cover off his gun. “Wait here. I’m going aboard.” Leaning over he pulled his boat closer to make the leap across to the aft of the yacht. His body moved in a perfect blend of fluidity and muscled strength.