Page 1 of Between Two Shores

Chapter One

BETHANY

Bethany Michaels stared at the patches of beige regurgitation adorning the Navy officer's impeccably polished shoes—her vomit.

Holy crap.

Clinging to the rail of the Rottnest ferry, she begged her stomach to settle and cease its tumultuous protest. Grateful that she’d had nothing more than coffee that morning, she took stock of the minimal damage. Gradually lifting her head, she was met with the soothing cadence of an American voice.

"Are you okay, miss?" A pair of deep brown eyes locked onto hers, offering solace.

His Navy colleague, seated behind, grabbed a handful of napkins from his backpack and shoved them into the hand of the man she’d just puked on. Onlookers stared, some with empathy, others with disgusted frowns. An Asian woman used two hands like a make-shift mask, covering her entire nose and mouth, and slunk to the back of the cabin.

It's seasickness, not a viral threat, lady.

Bethany blinked in slow motion. If only she could lie down somewhere soft. The man before her came into focus again. He steadied her other arm. Aftershave mingled with whispers of salt swirled around her.

Must sit.

He handed her the napkins. As she wiped her lips, she mumbled, “Thank you—and I’m so sorry.” She pulled from his hold, kneeled to the fiberglass floor, and swiped the brown saliva concoction from his black steel cap boots.

“Ma’am. I’m fine.” He touched her shoulder. “Please, come sit down.”

As he supported her arm, his gaze bounced from her eyes to her lips, and settled on her chest. Typical sleazebag. Like his Navy buddy behind him, who had checked her out earlier.

“That’s a nice pendant you have there.” The stranger’s drawn-out words sang in her ears.

Bethany clutched at her necklace. “This is extremely special to me.” Her mother’s photo nestled inside the antique clasp.

He straightened to his full six-foot-frame. “It’s not often a young person wears those. Must be from someone special?”

Her brow furrowed. Asking questions usually fell to her as a struggling reporter. If this sailor wasn’t turned off by her retching on his shoes, he must be desperate for female company. Bethany wouldn’t be drawn in by his act of kindness—not from his type.

“Yes. Not that it’s any of your business.” Her face heated. What had she said? He might genuinely want to make conversation and nothing more.

The man chuckled. “This is true.” His laugh lines relaxed as he tapped his uniform-covered chest. “Unfortunately, the American Navy’s reputation in Fremantle isn’t that upstanding. They sure think Australian women are beautiful, but I’m a Deployment Resiliency Counselor and it’s my job to keep the boys respectful at port.” He shrugged.

The flush on her face must be tomato red by now. “Oh my—I do apologize, sir. I thought you were—” She eyed the sailor seated on the metal bench, tapping his phone screen.

A swish of waves from a passing speedboat revived her nausea. She grappled for the rail.

He held her free arm. “Miss, you should sit. Let me get you some water.” He led her to the bench, near the younger sailor, then strode away.

His friend glanced at her with a lop-sided grin. “Trouble with your sea legs, ma’am?”

She forced a smile. The acid in her throat still stung. Bethany faced the staircase. The counselor’s toned legs pounded the stairs and disappeared to the drink and snacks bar on level one. She didn’t want to be left alone with his buddy too long.

“I’m Officer McKillip. But call me Wally.”

Bethany turned toward the guy, and he offered a peppermint Tic Tac. She squinted at the offer. Did her breath stink? How embarrassing. She took two mints from the container and nodded. “Nice to meet you.”

Crunching on the candy, she scanned the cabin, relieved most people were preoccupied and had stopped staring—all except an old Italian woman wearing dark sunglasses. The little lady probably thought the tint hid her eyes well enough. Or maybe she didn’t care and found the scene before her entertaining.

“And you are?” Wally interrupted her thoughts with his distinct southern twang.

Why couldn’t she bring herself to have a civil conversation with this guy? Her father had raised her to treat all people equally without judgment. They needed to have that mindset for the community centre they ran. Like fingerprints, the code of conduct had melded into her psyche.

High school memories flashed in her mind—the ones of sailors coming into port, taking over the streets, arms dangling from pub windows. They’d whistled and leered, finding something alluring about her school uniform. More bile rose to her throat. She wouldn’t throw up on this sailor too—would she?

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