Anne Duquette - Castillo's Bride

“Fine, that sounds reasonable,” he said a bit grudgingly. “But keep in mind that I have no intention of being the junior partner on this venture. We’re equal partners and I expect to be involved in all decisions before you discuss them with other people.” At her curt nod, he paused, then continued quietly. “I want you to understand something, Ms. Collins.”

Aurora geared the little motor into idle. Silence washed over their patch of water as the orange of the setting sun slid across its surface. In no danger of traffic this late at night, the dinghy rocked slowly with the harbor surge.

“You told me about your family. Now let me tell you about mine. Or rather, what’s left of it.” His words were terse, low, emotionless. “Thanks to a hurricane ten years ago, I’m the only father left for nine nieces, five nephews and their mothers. My two brothers are dead. My father and grandfather are dead. My sisters’ husbands are dead. My older cousins and nephews are dead—all drowned. You’re looking at the sole male support of what was once a thriving family and a thriving family business. If I go down, they go down with me. At present, half of the San Rafael is all I have left to offer. If anything happens to me before we salvage it, they have nothing. So I repeat—when it comes to future decisions about this venture, you’ll keep me informed at all times. Got it?”

Aurora met his gaze full on. “You have my word.” She reached for the motor. “I’m sorry about your family. You must miss them terribly.”

“Yes.”

The water lapped gently at the wooden sides of the dinghy as her hand rested on his arm. After a brief moment, she twisted the forward gear shaft. The electric motor started up again, propelling the Tempest Tantrum back to Neptune’s Bride.

The sun had disappeared by the time they climbed back aboard Bride. Jordan secured the dinghy in its resting place on the stern diving deck. Aurora tilted the motor out of the water, then sprayed off the saltwater with fresh water from her slip’s hose.

“I’m going to shower,” she said. “There’s a common cabin I use as a sitting room. You’ll find the North County and San Diego newspapers there, if you want them. Help yourself.”

“Thanks.”

Moments later, he watched her head up toward the slip-gate and the private showers, key in hand, a fresh towel rolled up in the other. Jordan leaned against the railing, watching the sun sink the final distance below the waterline. Family conversations, cooking smells, children’s laughter and the barking of ships’ dogs mingled with the sounds of jazz, radios, and auto and marine traffic. The closeness of the slips, much narrower than those he was used to, made outdoor familiarity simple.

People greeted other people with the warm familiarity he’d known in every port. Yet this woman was different. Aurora had exchanged brief greetings with several people, but remained somewhat aloof. Friendly yet uninvolved. She was certainly loyal to her own family—but they seemed far removed from her life.

What kind of woman runs away from her family—a family she obviously loves? I would have done anything to hold on to mine.

Honesty compelled him to answer his own question. She was probably no different than the kind of man who could walk away from a loving fiancé. He’d seen no other option at the time, but at least his family had understood. Apparently hers never did.

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