Hours to Cherish, Page 2

  Jim McCay stepped up. “I guess you start with me, Cat.” He shook her hand. “Gentleman’s agreement with a lady, ma’am.”

  Cat chuckled in return. He was brash, but she liked Jim. He was a young lawyer from Maine, and she often wondered how he could manage to keep a practice when he spent most his time in the Bahamas.

  “It’s agreed that Sam stands as final judge?” Cat asked.

  McCay nodded. Sam was Cat’s dockman—a Bahamian with a black-satin body the size and strength of a brick wall. Sam was ageless; he had taught Cat the island when she was a child, and now he was more friend and mentor than employee.

  He was frowning now, his dark eyes highly disapproving.

  “Sam is final judge,” McCay agreed. The other men nodded silent approval. The honesty of the gentle giant would never be questioned.

  “Let’s get to it then, shall we?” McCay grinned.

  “You’re on!” Cat laughed.

  Jim moved down the dock, joined by the others who would watch the action. On the shore Cat could see that half her island had turned out for the races. Anne Blackstone, the beautiful Eurasian who taught the children of Tiger Cay’s single grammar school, had even let the children out of classes for the event. Cat’s nervousness made her queasy. Was what she was doing right? She doubted Jules would think so. But after the fact, she could surely cajole Jules from anger.

  “I don’t like this, Cat Miller, not one bit!”

  Sam’s broad hand caught her arm right before she could jump to her Hobie Cat. She lightly tugged at her arm to pull away.

  “Sam—I know what I’m doing.”

  “The Frenchie isn’t gonna like it,” Sam scowled, but Cat knew that concern prompted his harsh warning.

  “Sam,” Cat said softly. “Jules doesn’t ever have to hear about this.”

  “Ummph! News travels fast on the grapevine, Cat.”

  Cat listened to Sam’s beautiful patois uneasily. He was right. Her races would hardly be kept secret, although she knew the islanders would never give her away.

  “Jules will understand when I explain,” Cat insisted.

  “You haven’t got seventy-five thousand dollars.”

  Cat lowered her eyes and shrugged. “I’m not going to lose these races, Sam.”

  Muttering his disapproval beneath his breath, Sam left her, powerful arms crossed over his chest. Cat raised her sail and easily followed McCay out to the marker, automatically testing the feel of the breeze. Calculation was the factor that would give her the race.

  Positions were taken by the marker. From the shore, Sam fired a single shot. The race was on.

  Cat let out her sheet line, hiking out for balance as the sail caught. Her entire attention turned to the task at hand. She didn’t notice that another man had joined those on the dock.

  He was about the same size as Sam, younger, though, and trimmer. He stood barefoot in faded blue cutoff jeans. His skin was very, very bronze, as if he seldom left the sun. His hair was a tawny color, coarse, and bleached almost white in streaks from constant exposure. His handsome physique was visible even in a crowd of healthy sun worshipers, but that was about all. His chin was covered with a thick beard, not fussily clipped but evenly trimmed. His full, sensual lips were hidden by a mustache. His eyes were guarded beneath a pair of very dark sunglasses.

  He stood near the beach, in the background, but though his eyes were hidden, they were sharp and shrewdly assessing.

  He watched the race and studied Cat as she had previously studied her contenders. He watched as she won race after race. An eyebrow lifted as she graciously consoled the losers, assuring them that the wind had been with her and that they were fine sailors.

  Still, the victory was in her eyes.

  He shrugged inwardly. She had always needed a bit of taming.

  His vision flickered briefly over her lean, lithe body, her firmly shaped legs, long and silky to the eyes, her breasts straining slightly against the cotton of her shirt. He smiled slightly and felt a stirring within him. Then he lifted his head slightly and closed his eyes. He turned his concentration to the breeze, feeling it with his entire body. And then, his hands casually on his hips, he moved down the dock to issue his challenge.

  CHAPTER TWO

  EXHILARATION WAS TAKING CAT for a very high ride. Her guilt was buried deep beneath her triumph as she tried to control her exuberance and slip an arm through that of Clancy Barker. The crusty old seadog was looking so crestfallen she felt she had to cheer him up.

  “Come on, Clance, I’ll buy you a Bahama Smash up at the lodge,” Cat said. “That will take the sting away!”

  “Hmmph!” Clancy sniffed dejectedly. “I don’t know, Cat. I thought I had you for sure on the turn.”

  Cat lowered her eyes to hide her smile. Clancy hadn’t even been close at the turn. “The turn did almost do me in, Clance,” she said aloud. “Next time, maybe …” Cat paused with her eyes brilliantly shining and turned around to hail the other sailors. They were still staring at the crystal-clear water of the harbor, apparently shell-shocked. It was impossible that a woman had beaten them all.

  “Come on, guys!” Cat laughed. “I’m picking up the tab!”

  Jim turned to her with a sheepish grin. “This is one time, Cat, when I will let you pick up the tab!”

  Cat had been walking backward as she spoke. She pivoted again just in time to avoid colliding with the man walking toward her.

  “Excuse me,” she murmured, frowning and automatically assessing the stranger. Hers were the only docks on the island, and the tiny airstrip was seldom used. She hadn’t seen this man before, she was sure, but there was something about him that made her think she should know him. His sun-sleeked torso was the deep brown acquired only after continuous exposure to the elements; his body was that of a man who lived and breathed a physical life. Even next to Jim, who was superbly toned, this newcomer was awesome. At five eight, Cat seldom found herself looking up as she was now. A little flutter of nerves tickled her stomach, and it was a disturbing feeling because she couldn’t quite pinpoint the cause. She was dimly aware that a certain vitality emanated from the man; something about him permeated the air with an almost primitive masculinity.

  Cat recovered from her peculiar initial sensations and took a step back, trying not to be overly obvious as she further scrutinized the man. His broad chest was thickly covered with golden brown hair that trailed to a narrow line before it disappeared into the waistband of his cutoffs, where his frame became attractively trim. The frayed edges of the cutoffs, his only garment, displayed his strong, sinewy legs.

  Cat flicked her eyes to the stranger’s face, although there was little to be read there. Dense sunglasses hid the color of his eyes and their expression; a full beard didn’t exactly hide the rugged strength of his jaw, but it did leave one wondering. His nose was long and straight, a bit prominent but handsomely so, even if it did hint at arrogance.

  Cat blinked suddenly, and her frown deepened. There was something about him … No, it had to be her imagination. But her instincts told her that she knew this man.

  He hadn’t moved after her quick “Excuse me” and now stood returning her stare, a slow grin creeping devilishly into his features.

  “Mrs. Miller,” he said, and Cat raised a brow at the sound of his voice, the eerie sensation of recognition creeping through her. Obviously this man knew who she was.

  “Yes?” She hadn’t really meant to, but she grinned in return. She recognized immediately that this was a man who had a way with women, but that didn’t particularly bother her. She carried her own streak of flirtatious femininity. She fully understood the pleasant but meaningless appreciation that could pass between a man and a woman.

  “Congratulations, you handle your sail quite nicely.”

  “Thank you,” Cat murmured, still smiling but feeling her brow begin to furrow again. His low, husky voice was like a ripple of velvet. It seemed to strike at something within her, that strange nagging sense of
familiarity again. She gave herself a mental shake. She didn’t know the man with the rather long and wild sun-streaked hair and radiating masculinity. This had to be nothing more than a case of déjà vu. Or perhaps it was the type of man she recognized. Those who combed the out islands on their own were a hearty, assured breed. Seafarers with self-confidence.

  His devilish grin deepened. “Are you up to another challenge?”

  Cat lifted a single brow higher with a bit of skepticism. Surely this man had been watching. He must have realized that it was not only her skill but her thorough knowledge of the harbor that had given her the victory. It was not a matter of conceit that gave Cat her confidence, she had simply lived and breathed sea and sky and sails for twenty-nine years. If she hadn’t acquired a certain talent, she thought wryly now, she would have had to be totally inept.

  “Sir,” Cat said hesitantly, not at all sure it would be ethical to take this stranger’s money. She had known her other challengers: knew well that any pain from their loss would be that of pride—not finances. She had no intention of leaving anyone in monetary straits. She paused for a moment, lowering her voice so that she could not be heard by the others—now interested observers—on the dock. “I know this harbor and area better than my own face. I’m very hard to beat.”

  It was the stranger’s turn to lift a cryptic brow. “Are you afraid to take on a contestant you haven’t bested before?”

  Cat flushed slightly and sighed with exasperation. “I’m not afraid. I’m merely trying to warn you—this is my harbor.”

  The man’s grin deepened and he quietly replied, “I appreciate the warning. I’m still willing to take my chances.”

  Cat was no longer feeling disturbed in the least; her exasperation was fast turning to irritation. The man seemed determined to hang himself, and then she would have his fiasco on her conscience! She winced inwardly, then took another step backward and allowed her eyes to rest tellingly upon his faded and tattered cutoffs. “Sir,” she repeated, purposely setting a hint of disdain to her tone, “these gentlemen and I were gambling for rather high stakes.”

  “Yes, I know,” the stranger returned, switching his balance from muscled leg to muscled leg as he crossed brawny arms over his chest. “Fifteen thousand a race, I believe. I’d like to raise the stakes.”

  “Raise the stakes!” Cat exclaimed incredulously.

  “Yes … Raise the stakes Five hundred thousand,” he replied with amusement, repeating himself with the slightest pause between his words as if she were slightly deaf and uncomprehending.

  Cat couldn’t suppress a shocked gasp.

  The stranger kept grinning. “Cat got your tongue, Mrs. Miller?” he queried, his voice an irresistible dare. “Or are you not quite as capable as you believe you are?”

  She should have walked on by the man and his ridiculous proposal, but his husky, insinuating query had sparked a boiling fury deep inside her. The man was preposterously arrogant—definitely the type who deserved the lesson of falling flat on his face.

  Cat contained the sudden turmoil of hostile emotions that had zapped her like a lightning bolt and coolly planted her hands on her hips. “Forgive me,” she said dryly, “but how do I know you’re good for five hundred thousand dollars? That is quite a sum, you know.” At that particular moment it didn’t occur to Cat that she was worth nowhere near that sum herself.

  The stranger shifted and pointed off the horizon, toward the shimmering jewels of the sea that were the lower Exumas. Riding about a half mile offshore was a very impressive yacht—a vessel a good sixty feet in length. Cat shielded her eyes with a hand and stared across the water. Even at this distance it was apparent that the boat was one of the newest models by one of the most prestigious companies. Her paint was dazzling in the sunlight, so clean and white that she sat like a diamond in the azure sea.

  The yacht itself could easily be worth five hundred thousand, Cat thought dryly. She dropped her hand and turned, tilting her chin back and looking inquiringly at the curious newcomer.

  “Yes, she is worth quite a sum,” the man told her, his velvet voice still low with amusement “And yes”—his voice lowered again—“she is mine.”

  Cat stood silent for a moment, thoughts whirling through her mind. Five hundred thousand …the amount was dizzying. She couldn’t even begin to imagine that much money. But it meant total freedom, total independence to pursue her own dreams. Jules would surely be annoyed when he heard how she had acquired the sum, but Cat was equally sure she could handle Jules. She loved him; he loved her. He had refused to help her, and God help the man, but he should know her by now! In time, she could get him to laugh with her … She would explain that she had had to do it, that her challenger had been this macho tough who seemed to think himself the right hand of Neptune.

  “Well, Mrs. Miller?” The stranger shifted his weight again, clearly portraying a humoring patience. His voice turned to a nerve-wrackingly thin silken whisper. “You seem willing to take on old men and boys. Shall we see how you fare against a man in his prime?”

  “Modesty,” Cat snapped, “does not seem to be one of the virtues you have acquired in this prime of yours.”

  The stranger shrugged. “I’m a gambler, Mrs. Miller. You appear to be one yourself.”

  He was goading her and Cat was also aware that he had done as excellent job of pricking her beneath her skin. Although none of their audience had heard the preposterous sum proposed for the bet, Cat was well aware that everyone present knew she had been challenged. This man and his infuriating arrogance had placed her in a precarious position. She maintained the power to rule her realm with no sexual harassment from either the rugged salts who were her customers or the other owners of nearby islands and docks because she had earned the men’s complete respect. It had taken her years to build that complete respect. Refusing a challenge from this man could cost her heavily. And damn! He deserved to have the pants beaten off him!

  What if she lost? The thought hit her sinkingly for a moment, but she forced herself to brush it aside. She couldn’t allow herself a moment’s hesitation—or a measure of fear. She couldn’t allow him to chew away at her self-confidence; she couldn’t afford a case of nerves. She blinked, and in that time her mind whirled. She had to answer his challenge, and she couldn’t afford to lose.

  She stared at the stranger, shook her head slightly, as if driven by pure exasperation to humor him. “Sir,” she said wearily, “if you must, you’re on.”

  His lips now were a compressed line, but Cat could sense that behind the dark glasses his eyes still registered his amusement. “The Hobie Cats belong to the lodge, I assume?”

  Cat nodded. “Take your pick.”

  The man turned down the dock, inclining his head to ask, “Same markers?”

  “Yes,” Cat called back, returning to her own small craft with a springing leap.

  “Good luck, Cat!” she heard Jim McCay call. She compressed her lips, nodding to Jim but not at all sure he wished her luck at all. She highly resented the looks she saw upon the faces of her immediate audience. They were her friends, but in certain corners of their hearts they were hoping she would lose. For the same reason she was determined to best the domineering newcomer. She was a woman; she had bested them. Just as she thought the stranger deserved a comedown, it would salvage the pride of the men she had taken to see her finally succumb to one of their own sex.

  Cat clenched her teeth together, then shrugged. There were certain things about human nature that couldn’t be changed.

  “Cat!”

  Cat paused as she heard her name hissed admonishingly. Even before she met his scolding dark eyes, she knew it was Sam who had called her. He balanced his weight expertly between the dock planking and fiberglass boat.

  “What, Sam?” Cat asked, annoyed with the lecture she knew she was about to receive.

  “What do you think you’re doing, missy?” Sam charged, with the familiarity of long affection and acquaintance. “You tell m
e what you bet that man. I saw your face, missy, and I know you, so don’t feed me none of your lies.”

  “Sam—I’ve never lied to you,” Cat protested.

  “That’s right, so don’t start now. What’s the bet?”

  Cat tried to slough off “Five hundred thousand” and sound casual, but it was a little ridiculous even to attempt to make such an amount sound anything but absurd.

  “Five hundred thousand!”

  “Shhhhhh,” Cat implored; she didn’t want the amount known to the entire island.

  “You ain’t got no five hundred thousand!”

  “And I didn’t have any seventy-five thousand, either!” Cat hissed back, relenting immediately as she saw Sam’s brow furrow with worry. “Sam,” she implored, “what was I going to do? I was trapped!”

  “And what are you going to do if you lose?”

  Cat hesitated. No papers had passed—none were necessary. A gentleman’s agreement such as this was honored by all parties.

  “I’m not going to lose, Sam. You know I’m the best there is in a Hobie Cat—”

  “I know you’re the best I’ve ever seen,” Sam agreed sagely, “but, missy, I ain’t ever seen the likes of this man. …” Sam paused in midsentence, frowning as Cat had earlier.

  “What is it?” Cat asked quickly. “Do you know him?”

  Sam brought a gnarled black hand to his forehead. “I’m not sure, but …”

  “Mrs. Miller!”

  The call came from the stranger, an imperious reminder.

  “I’ve got to get out there, Sam.”

  “You could lose Tiger Cay.”

  “And if I don’t get out there, it won’t matter if I lose it or not. Sam, I have security and freedom in the islands because of two things. I’m rumored to be as tough as nails, and I have you. Besides,” Cat added, lowering her lashes to hide the misery underlying her words, “I can always turn to Jules—”