Page 11 of Christmas Harbor Secrets
“Isobel.” The way he said her name sounded like he’d put it on a tool rack and planned to use it carefully.
“I’m not leaving,” she said, but it didn’t come out as defiance this time. It came out as a line she was willing to hold because of something besides pride. “But… the loan. I’ll think about it.”
He nodded once, not pushing, and tipped his flashlight toward the starter. “Blowers are done.Ready?”
She tucked the rabbit and washer back into the tin and slid it into her pocket like it was expensive glass. “Ready.”
He returned to the engine room and showed her the fuel valves and the generator, pointing and nodding at various pieces of machinery and tubes. Not talking down to her, but explaining with few words.
When done, they went to the breaker and he showed her what needed to be flipped on before leading her to the pilot house.
She glanced at the romantic, solid wood wheel but then glanced at the controls. “I’ve only run sailboats on the lake…” she eyed the knob that said thruster.
“No worries. This is a single screw, so you have a bow thruster to help push the bow. It’s electric, so you can’t hold it for long. Two to three second burst. Shade never upgraded to hydraulic and didn’t add a stern thruster, so you’ll only be able to take her out of here on slack tide, and her draft is over five feet, so high tide is the only time you won’t run aground.
She blinked at him, appreciating him.
“What?”
“I’m just surprised you’re taking the time to explain this when all you want is for me to leave the boat, not learn to operate it.”
He took in a breath. Echo let out a short bark.
“You love this stuff, don’t you? Boats?”
He returned to showing her the controls, but part of her didn’t want to admit she enjoyed this. A moment of patient instruction and guidance. “You remind me of him.”
He froze, his hand on the helm, and quirked a brow.
“I don’t know this Shade you talk about, but my father in childhood—the one who I thought loved me—you remind me of him. A man of few words, but soft and kind with his teaching.”
Rone adjusted his stance and pointed to a button. “Let’s test her out.”
Echo shook his head as if telling her not to push, so she didn’t.
Rone turned the key.
The starter clanked. Coughed. Silence.
He didn’t curse. He took her hand and pushed her finger to a button. “Hold this.”
He cranked again. He didn’t look at her to see if she’d flinch. “Again,” he said. “She’s been sleeping a long time.”
They waited. On the fourth attempt, something caught—ragged, reluctant, then alive. The engine shook the room into motion. Vibration became rhythm.
Isobel laughed outright, surprised at the sound. Rone didn’t smile big, but he did then—just a flash—like a man who’d gotten paid in something besides cash.
Upstairs, the A/C finally found its legs and shoved a breath of honest cool through the vents. The rabbit tin was a weight in her pocket. Echo’s tail thumped a slow, relieved beat.
Always home, the cheap brass whispered against her thigh.
She looked at Rone and felt the smallest click of something she didn’t want to name. Not romance or affection, she had no room for that despite the ruggedly handsome, soft touch of a man in her loneliness. Just… recognition. Perhaps he wasn’t the monster she’d thought him to be, but he was still a man who could do wrong.
“Thank you,” she said.
“For the engine?” he asked.
“For not… pushing,” she said, touching the tin. “For helping despite your desire for me to leave.
