Page 12 of Shiver Me Timbers

But not tonight, Satan. We’re going to live through this nonsense, and then Duncan Matlock is going to ravish me like nature intended.

“Go ahead.” I pat the captain’s shoulder and shoo him off. “Go on and save the day. I’ll follow.”

Though it’s easier said than done with the boat rocking and rolling in the surf, icy cold waves crashing onto the deck. I grew up on boats, and yet I stagger into three different benches and bang up both hips as I trail after Duncan to the wheelhouse.

He pulls me inside as soon as I reach the doorway, wedging me next to the barely used captain’s stool. The wailing sounds different in here, hollow and further away, warped by the window pane.

“Stay there,” Duncan says. “Hold on to something.” Ten seconds later, after much rummaging and cursing, a life jacket is shoved against my chest. “And put that on.”

Okay, danger aside: I love when he’s bossy. And usually I’d have to hide the fluttery feelings it gives me, usually I’d have to pretend my toes weren’t curling in my sneakers, but tonight I can finally blush freely. I bite my lip against a grin and pull on the boxy red vest. “Yessir.”

With a wry glance at me in the moonlight, Duncan prods at his controls. They’re dead, all lights out. And usually there are back ups, and back ups for the back ups, so for them all to give out at once…

“She’s doing it,” I say.

Duncan grunts in agreement, scrubbing a hand down his face.

“Then there’s nothing to do except wait her out. I mean do ghosts have lungs? How long can she wail for, anyway?”

Duncan sighs, digging the heel of one palm into his eye. “Don’t tempt fate, Ellie May.”

* * *

One hour later, I’ve finally discovered the meaning of the term ‘sea sickness’ firsthand.

Growing up, my dad took me out on his fishing boat as soon as I was old enough to doggy paddle in swim lessons. I’m used to rough waters and teetering decks, used to bad weather at sea, and my stomach is made from cast iron. So I knew people got queasy on boats—but in the same way that I knew some people are scared of balloons or have a predilection for feet. I understood it rationally, but I couldn’t relate.

Now I can. And god, if this ghost does not stop tossing us around soon, I’m going to vomit all over Duncan’s shirt. Even he’s looking green around the gills, seasoned sailor and all, with a clammy sheen to his forehead as he grips the wheel and glares out at the storm, trying to steer us away from danger without the help of an engine.

“Urghmff,” I say, stifling a burp with my sleeve. I’m slumped over the dead panel of controls, wedged in place by the captain’s stool, and the window has fogged over from my sickly panting. I have never been less sexy.

This is the worst—and best—night of my life. Will Duncan ever kiss me properly if he sees me vomit? Or will I be forever ruined for him, like a favorite meal that ended in food poisoning?

“Sorry,” Duncan mutters, wrenching at the wheel with a curse. “Shit, Ellie, I’m sorry. But I’ll get us out of this, I swear.”

“We’re never—”burp“—bringing a tour group to see this hag. Can you imagine the reviews?”

Duncan winces. Outside, the Wailing Woman screams loud enough to pop our ears. Jerk.

“ThatHot & Hauntedepisode didn’t say she was such a nightmare. She’s supposed to be chill!” Swabbing my sweaty forehead with my sleeve, I glare out at the milky glow of the moon. “A heartbroken spirit wailing about her forbidden love. Not throwing a category five hissy fit.”

“Fuck,” Duncan says with feeling. He leans back against the wheelhouse wall, eyes heavy-lidded as he keeps watch out the window. The moonlight casts a silver pall over his craggy face, and his beard is thick with shadows. The lines at the corners of his eyes are deep.

And he’s so handsome. Even now, my churning stomach gives a little somersault, because hekissedme out there. Kissed my neck, anyway, and kind of nibbled on my earlobe. You don’t do that to a mere business partner.

“You’d think she’d root for us.” Maybe I’d be smarter to let this lie, but I can’t help it. Duncan ground me against that railing out there, and I’m still reeling. Still flushed and tingling under my clothes. “Didn’t she spend her life tragically pining after an older man she couldn’t have? A priest, or something? Where’s the sisterhood, you know?”

The ghost screams loud enough to rattle the window. Duncan sighs where he’s half slumped against the wall. “Don’t rile her, Ellie May.”

“No, I’m serious.” The cramped space tilts as I lift my head, peering out at the soaked, rocking deck. White foam washes over the tourists’ benches. “Wait here a second. I’m going to have a word.”

“Don’t you dare—”

Duncan reaches for me, but I slip through his fingers like an eel. My steps teeter out onto deck, and I shake out my soaked sweatshirt sleeves and peer up at the heavens.

The stars are piercing; the moon is cratered and wild. Cold wind whips my hair against my cheeks, and the deck lists to one side like it’s trying to slide me overboard.

“Um,” I say, planting my feet and bracing against the rocking. A glance over my shoulder shows Duncan hovering in the wheelhouse doorway, his handsome face taut with worry. His hands are half raised, like he’s ready to lunge for me the second I wobble. “Hi, ghost.”

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