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Chapter One   Chapter Two   Chapter Three

Being a minister was proving harder than he'd figured.

David Stone aimed the beam from his sterling silver flashlight toward a sign nailed to the wooden gate of dock A and reread the ominous message.

Under the letters, someone had spray painted gaudy red graffiti.

A few weeks earlier, David would've have found the locked gate a mildly annoying distraction, but now it loomed as a major dilemma. Trespassing was no longer a simple infraction of the law; it was a sin!

David mentally consulted the Ten Commandments. A quick review said nothing about breaking and entering. Hmmm, he'd have to add that one to his personal list of Thou Shalt No Longers.

The list, which he'd begun the same day he'd accepted the invitation to practice preach at the Church in Gulfpass, Florida was growing fast: Thou shalt no longer live in a luxury penthouse complete with custom-built, temperature-controlled wine cellar. Thou shalt no longer devour Beluga Caviar for breakfast three times a week. Thou shalt no longer own a Lamborghini Diablo. Thou shalt no longer entertain beautiful women who... David smiled to himself. On second thought he figured that one had been pretty much covered in the original ten.

The chime on his watch reminded him that he had little time, and irritation settled heavily in his chest. Six o'clock was still two hours away, and his appointment in Key West was in less than eight hours. A mild expletive escaped his lips before he caught himself. Thou shalt no longer utter obscenities in casual conversation. Groaning, he reached into his trousers' pocket and transferred two quarters to a small leather pouch that was filling up faster than a courtroom on the day of a long-awaited verdict. Old habits were difficult to break.

Okay, Stone, it's time for a little brainstorming. What are your options? Well, you could just walk away and let Walter suffer the consequences. No, that wasn't an option.

Under the circumstances, David couldn't let his ex-partner down. Somehow, he had to get inside the marina. He could scale the six-foot wood fence. If he were caught, he could feign ignorance and say he didn't see the sign in the semi-darkness. Now, I'm beginning to lie, too. Well, that's what happens when one sets off on a life of crime, he reasoned.

His predicament would no doubt amuse his distinguished colleagues back at the firm of Osborne, Graham, Gardner and Stone. David Stone -- Philadelphia's own legal whiz kid, attorney extraordinaire, known to interpret the law to his own advantage. But David didn't find his predicament amusing. He needed to get to the boat, and he'd have to break the law to do it. He had no choice.

Breaking the law! What a way to begin his new life as a messenger of God. He could imagine the headlines in the Inquirer if he were caught: PROMINENT PHILADELPHIA ATTORNEY ARRESTED IN FLORIDA FOR BURGLARY. Or worse -- in the Gulfpass Gazette: NEW GULFPASS PASTOR ARRESTED IN WILD MARINA CAPER.

There was no choice, he reminded himself. After all, he'd made every attempt to go through the proper channels. He'd driven the unfamiliar streets of Gulfpass for an hour looking for signs of human life. Not only had he found no human life, even the two dogs sleeping in front of the post office hadn't bothered to look up when he'd driven by. He'd discovered the local police station closed up for the night as cozily as Grandma Nana's Nitey-nite Bed and Breakfast which stood next door to it. If the inhabitants of Gulfpass chose to roll up their proverbial sidewalks at sunset and crawl into a hole somewhere, it wasn't his fault.

David bowed his head, buried his face in his hands and asked for God's forgiveness in advance. Seemed like he'd been doing a lot of that these last few weeks -- making the wrong decisions, then asking God's forgiveness. Yep, being a minister was proving to be a lot more difficult than he'd expected.

David gave the rusty, metal latch on the wooden gate a slight jiggle. It was unlocked! His luck was changing. He casually removed the lock and sat it on a fence post. Certainly anyone would understand his dilemma, he rationalized. It wasn't as if he were going to destroy property or steal anything. He fingered a neatly folded note in his coat pocket. All he was going to do was...

Thou shalt no longer break the law, the aggravating voice reminded.

"This is ridiculous," he informed the voice. His fervent contention that he was about to break the law -- or sin -- suddenly paled. He straightened his tie, released the latch and gave the gate a hefty push. The door groaned, then flew wide open.

David stepped confidently onto the wood dock, then he stopped short. He whirled toward blinding headlights and the sound of screeching brakes as a pickup truck came to a stop under a streetlight in the marina parking lot.

"Hey you! You down there on the dock!"

The accusing, soul-piercing voice seemed to have broken loose from the heavens. A gigantic figure hurled the truck door open.

"Whatcha doin' there, boy?" the man shouted over the sound of the truck's coughing engine.

David had heard warning stories about those old Florida Crackers who shot first and asked questions later. "I need to get a message to the captain of a boat called The Outrageous Lady," he shouted back.

"What kinda message, boy?" The man who belonged to the gruff voice dislodged himself from the cab of the truck with considerable effort. He towered over David's six- foot-three frame, and he outweighed him by at least a hundred-and-fifty pounds. "What kinda business does a city dude like you have with The Outrageous Lady?"

As he came closer, the odor of rotting fish permeated the air, and David swallowed hard to keep from gagging. He glanced at the lettering on the man's black-and-white striped shirt, patterned to look like a convict's uniform. WANTED: VIRGIL'S BAIT, DEAD OR ALIVE. Above his left pocket was printed the name, RAY.

"I'm David Stone." David didn't offer to shake the man's hand.

"I'm Raison Fortier, so what?"

"I need to cancel a deep-sea fishing trip for my business partner, Walter Osborne. He was to meet Captain Higgins here at the marina at seven o'clock this morning."

The man crossed his massive arms and eyed David suspiciously. "So?"

"So, my partner can't make it," David shot back, annoyed with the man's condescending attitude. But he quickly realized the truck driver was probably a local and could cause him no end of trouble. "Look, I wrote a note for Captain Higgins that will explain everything." He pulled a sheet of yellow notepaper and a roll of transparent tape from his pocket. "I need to leave this somewhere on his boat where he'll find it."

The fish hawker scratched his bulging belly with one hand and pulled at a single gold circle that dangled from one ear with the other. He took the note from David and held it up to the streetlight. "Okay, boy. Tell you what I'm gonna do." He wiped the note on his dirty jeans and handed it back to David. Grunting loudly, he pulled himself onto the truck bed.

David placed two knuckles over his nostrils when the man opened the lid on a fiberglass tank and scooped some of its putrid contents into a five-gallon bucket.

"This here's a delivery for The Outrageous Lady," the man said, pointing toward a darkened area of the marina where the larger boats were docked. "She's over there on B dock. Third boat down on the right-hand side." He hefted the bucket over the truck bed toward David. "You carry this bucket down there for me and leave it on the catwalk next to the boat. Then you can stick your message on the door. Anybody say anything, tell 'em you're working for me." He laughed boisterously and offered David a smelly paw. "Deal?"

"Deal," David reluctantly agreed. He winced slightly under the man's powerful grasp and held his breath against the stench from the truck.

With forceful effort, the man pulled himself into the cab of his pickup. "Not that anybody would believe you in that fancy city get-up. You on your way to a funeral or something?" He laughed uproariously at his own joke and floor-boarded the gas pedal. As he roared away, David was certain the clanging and sputtering from the aging pickup could've awoken the dead. Hopefully, it had awoken Captain Higgins.

David pulled a monogrammed silk handkerchief from the breast pocket of his suit and carefully wiped his fingers. He wrapped the handkerchief around the sticky handle of the bait bucket. Then, holding the bucket as far from his body as possible, he marched confidently toward dock B.

Someone had come aboard the boat!

Captain Rebecca Higgins opened her eyes, shot straight up in bed and groped the darkness for her clothes. As the vessel settled into a gentle roll, she slid from her bunk and into a pair of jeans. She rubbed sleep from her eyes and fought to make out the lighted dial on her watch. 4:30 a.m.!

"Miss Agnes," she moaned. That obnoxious, pesky, freeloading pelican is into my bait again.

She struggled to pull a sweatshirt over her head and made her way though the boat's darkened companionway mumbling to herself. "The first paying charter I've had in more than two months, and that bird-brained pelican and her mooching friends are partying in my cockpit."

"Hey, guys, enough already," she yelled. "It's four o'clock in the morning and..."

She froze. Pelicans didn't carry flashlights.

Rebecca moved silently toward the sliding-glass door that separated her from whoever, or whatever, was on her boat. She positioned herself so she could peer through the edge of the vertical blinds. In the dim glow from the dock lights, she watched a large hulk in the cockpit reach for the door handle. She quickly released the blinds, her hand rushing to cover the nausea in the pit of her stomach. Oh, no! That derelict from the park! What's his name? Roy? Ray? That's it, Ray!

She hadn't thought to be afraid of the strange man who'd shown up in the marina park the month before. He'd certainly appeared harmless enough. Drifters often came through Gulfpass and hung around the marina park for a few days. They bathed in the public restrooms, slept on park benches, pilfered through the garbage cans, then they usually moved on in a day or so.

But, this one had stayed, and although his attention had made her a bit uncomfortable, she hadn't taken it seriously. She'd carried food to him a few times, and had even helped him get a part-time job delivering bait for Virgil's Bait Shop. He'd left bait for her once before, but he knew to leave it on the catwalk, not in her cockpit.

Now, she was taking him seriously. He'd obviously misunderstood her compassion. A new wave of nausea ran through her. It wouldn't have taken much for him to figure out that she lived on the boat alone.

Trembling with fear, Rebecca reached for the telephone. No dial tone! Oh, dear God, he's disconnected my telephone. Think. Think. The VHF! She reached for her portable radiotelephone. Oh, no, I left it on the bridge last night.

Her heart beat furiously in her chest. Don't panic, she ordered herself. Calm down. Think. Think. She gathered her bright, golden-red strands of hair into a coil and hid them under a navy watch cap. Think! Compose yourself. She took several deep, calming breaths.

She prided herself on her cool composure in emergencies. The fishermen on the docks still talked about the day one of her charters, a man from South Dakota, was reeling in a large tuna. In his excitement, he'd climbed over the transom onto the dive- platform and abruptly fell headfirst into the Gulf of Mexico. Without hesitation, Rebecca had positioned the boat, calmed her five passengers, fished the man out of the Gulf and still boated the forty-pound fish. She hadn't had time to think. She just instinctively did what she had to do.

But this is different. I can't let him find me in here alone. He could easily break the door lock with one hefty push. I've got to get out of here. I've got to get down to Uncle Jack's boat.

Rebecca meticulously planned her escape as she returned to the master stateroom and retrieved a dock line from a dry storage area in the cabin floor. She unlocked the forward hatch and whispered, "Please, God, please held me. I know I haven't talked to you much lately, but please be with me now. Don't let him find me."

The hatch cover fell with a noticeable thud onto the bow. She waited briefly for any sound from the cockpit. "The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want," she prayed for good measure, and silently pulled herself onto the bow and uncoiled the line.

She wondered how she was going to explain the break-in to Aunt Sarah and Uncle Jack. Rebecca knew that Aunt Sarah would never let her hear the last of this. Living alone on the boat was bad enough, her aunt reminded her every chance she got, but befriending all those homeless people in the marina park, Aunt Sarah had insisted, was downright dangerous. Even Uncle Jack, who usually took Rebecca's side, had agreed with his wife. They were both going to freak when she told them she was leaving in September to cruise the Bahamas for a year -- solo.

"He leads me beside the still waters."

With the rope securely cleated to the Samson post, Rebecca eased the line over the port bow. Hand-over-hand, she moved inches at a time, quietly lowering herself into the turbid water. Her teeth chattered when the cold penetrated her clothes and invaded her body, still warm from sleep. She released the line and treaded the moonlit water while she reevaluated her strategy.

Uncle Jack's boat sat halfway down the dock on the opposite side from The Outrageous Lady. She would have a long, difficult swim against a strong current. At little more than a hundred pounds soaking wet, she was no match for a strong tide. If she took the shortcut between the pilings under the dock, she would risk cutting herself on the jagged barnacles. She didn't want to take a chance of bleeding in the water. She shuddered as she thought of the feeding frenzy of sharks each afternoon when the fishing-boat captains cleaned their catches. Rebecca Higgins had no intention of exiting the world as shark breakfast.

A disconcerting noise from the cockpit of her boat confirmed her escape plan. She pushed hard against the side of the craft and floated with the tide until she cleared three boat slips, then executed long, deliberate overhand strokes toward the end of the dock.

"He restoreth my soul."

Near the marina exit where the water converged and rushed toward the open Gulf of Mexico, Rebecca took a deep breath and dove. Once past the pull of the current and safely on the other side of the dock, she surfaced. Gasping for air, she reached for a rope ladder that dangled invitingly from the stern of a sailboat. She rested, her head pressed against the smooth fiberglass while she caught her breath.

She sensed rather than saw the dark shape that glided quietly past her, circled, swam away, then returned.

"Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death."

Rebecca pressed her back against the boat and held her breath as the fish scouted her again. The moment it moved away for the second time, she scrambled to board the sailboat. She stepped on the bottom rung of the ladder and climbed frantically. The flimsy rope supported her weight briefly, then freed itself from the vessel and fell in a tangle over her head as she dropped back into the water.

Terrified, Rebecca remained motionless as she watched the huge fish swim within inches of her body. "I will fear no evil, for You are with me."

A peculiar sort of peace came over her, and a moment later the gentle creature surfaced, emitting a series of familiar chirps and was quickly joined by another Bottle- nosed Dolphin.

"Thank you, Lord." With an audible moan of relief that the creature wasn't a shark, Rebecca swam, with renewed energy, toward the safety of her uncle's trawler.

She kept a low profile as she climbed onto the dive platform of the Summer's Dream and stepped over the transom into the cockpit. Feeling much braver, she pounded on the port side salon door. No answer. She knocked again.

"Uncle Jack?"

Nothing.

"Uncle Jack, Aunt Sarah, wake up! It's me -- Becca."

When there was still no answer, she climbed back onto the dive platform and banged on the aft-cabin window.

Silence.They weren't aboard! That was impossible. They would never leave the boat during the night without telling her. She realized the only key she had to The Summer's Dream. was back on her boat.

The VHF radio! She scrambled onto the flybridge and grabbed for the microphone. She'd get the marine operator to call the police. Mystified to discover the receiver missing, she frantically searched the bridge, yanking drawers open and reaching into cubbyholes. Uncle Jack, you never remember to put your radio away. Why did you have to choose this time to do it?

With mixed fear and confusion, Rebecca sank onto the helmsman's seat and tried to make sense of the living nightmare she was experiencing. Something terrible had obviously happened to Uncle Jack or Aunt Sarah, or both of them during the night. They could be lying dead in their bunks. Hot tears mingled with saltwater on her cheeks. The only family she'd ever known was in trouble and here she was, soaking wet, shivering cold and cowering in the night from some two-bit maniac.

Rebecca's fear turned to implacable anger. Furiously, she grabbed the loud hailer and aimed it toward the monster on her boat. She lowered her voice an octave and bellowed, "This is the Gulfpass Police Department. You! You there on The Outrageous Lady!"

The man in her cockpit sprang onto the gunwale without looking in her direction.

Rebecca frantically looked around the bridge for a makeshift weapon. "Get off that boat," she screamed.

He spun toward her voice. Groping handfuls of air, he fought to keep his balance. His screams were deadened by a resounding crash as he fell backward into the cockpit.

"You pervert!" Rebecca clambered off the Summer's Dream, her anger building into furious rage. She sloshed down the wooden dock wielding a four- foot fishing gaff and confronted her trespasser. She positioned the menacing, sharp hook inches from his throat. "What are you doing on this boat?"

The man yanked his head back with an expression of pure terror. He raised his arms, palms outstretched. He didn't answer.

"What did you do with Uncle Jack and Aunt Sarah?" Rebecca demanded through clenched teeth. Her heart pounded wildly with each word.

"Who? Uncle who? Aunt what?" he sputtered.

Rebecca blinked several times to clear her vision. She slowly withdrew the gaff. This man was definitely not the derelict from the park. This man was wearing a conservative, and undoubtedly expensive, business suit. A coil of dark hair dangled attractively over one eye of his unusually handsome face. A deep cleft divided a strong, square jaw, and whoever he was, he wasn't in a position to hurt anyone -- he was wedged snugly in a bucket of fish bait.

"What are you doing on my boat?" Rebecca didn't mince words as she told him what she thought of strangers in the marina.

"That's some language coming from a young person," the man admonished. He made a forceful attempt to free himself.

"And that's some judgment coming from a nut who's sitting in a bucket of squid."

The man shuddered violently.

"I asked you what you're doing on this boat." Rebecca repeated, threatening him again with the gaff.

"If you'll stop screeching and get me out of this rotten mess, I'll explain. And get that whale harpoon out of my face." He looked around nervously. "Where are the police?"

"I'm the law around here," she said, sounding much braver than she actually felt.

"Why doesn't that surprise me?" He leaned forward and attempted to wriggle free of the bucket, his feet refusing to hold against the slippery wood deck. "Are you going to help me or not?"

She raised the ominous steel barb. "You explain to me what you're doing on this boat, then I'll decide if I'm going to help you. And for heaven's sake, stop scratching my teak with those hard-soled shoes."

With an exasperated sigh, the man gave up and sank deeper into the bucket. When he answered, his voice was deliberate and controlled. "I was attempting to leave a note for Captain Higgins. I didn't want to disturb him at this hour."

"Oh?" Rebecca said, contorting her face into a false smile. "How considerate of you. I just adore a man with good manners."

The man seemed to grasp the absurdity of his statement. When he spoke again, it was in short, factual clips. "My name is David Stone. I'm Walter Osborne's partner. Walter had an emergency during the night. He needs to reschedule his fishing trip. I was attempting to leave a note to explain that"

Relieved, Rebecca placed the gaff into a rod holder and sat down on the wooden catwalk, dangling her legs over the water. "Most people would just use a telephone," she suggested, and pulled off her soggy watch cap.

"I could hardly telephone Captain Higgins at three o'clock in the morning," David said with an air of indignation that grated on Rebecca's nerves. "Since I had to drive though Gulfpass this morning on my way to Key West," he continued, "I decided that leaving a note was the only sensible solution."

"A note?" She tilted her head to one side, gathered a generous handful of her wet hair and squeezed. "Your delivery was more like one of those obnoxious, party telegrams. But you know, I think I would've preferred a real clown."

Before the dock lights flickered and went out, she thought she saw a faint smile cross his handsome face.

"You're soaking wet." His voice held a hint of concern that played with an unfamiliar awareness deep within her.

"I went for an early morning swim."

Her sarcasm was lost in a warm breeze that moved through the marina, bringing with it the first light of morning and the fragrance of night-blooming jasmine. A stronger gust of wind rattled the halyards of a nearby sailboat. The incessant call of cormorants and anxious sea gulls in enthusiastic preparation for their daily trip to the fishing grounds filled the air. Neither Rebecca nor her intruder spoke for several moments.

"This is my favorite time of day," she finally said, impervious to the banter between them. "I always get up before sunrise and come out here, have a cup of coffee and watch the start of the new day. It's the perfect time and place for meditating."

"I thought that church was the perfect place for meditating."

"Church? Not for me," Rebecca quickly assured him. "I don't believe in organized religion, well, at least not for me. It's okay for people who need that sort of thing, but I don't. I can be just as good a Christian out here alone with God, the birds and the little fishes. Besides, all that money that's spent on fancy church buildings could be used to help the homeless, feed the hungry, clothe the poor."

For a moment, Rebecca thought he was going to argue with her, but when he spoke, he changed the subject. "When I placed this bait bucket in the boat, I kicked that wire over there loose. I tried to fix it, but I couldn't tell where I was supposed to plug it in." He placed his hands together under his chin in a mock prayer. "Now that I've confessed all my sins, will you please help me out of this mess?"

"Oh, no! The phone! You disconnected my phone!" Rebecca no sooner plugged the cord into the jack on the dock, than the telephone rang from inside the boat. "Oh, no, Uncle Jack!" she yelled. She jumped onto the gunwale, embarrassed and furious at herself for having momentarily forgotten her aunt and uncle who might very well have been lying dead in their bunks.

"Hey, don't leave me out here!"

His words were lost to Rebecca as she dropped headfirst through the bow hatch onto her bunk and grabbed the receiver.

"Becca, this is Sarah. Sorry if I woke you, honey, but I knew you'd have to get up early for your charter. Now, I don't want to worry you, but I brought Jack to the hospital during the night."

In spite of the sick feeling growing in her stomach, partly from guilt, Rebecca remained calm. "What's wrong with Uncle Jack?"

"The doctor said it was probably all that grouper he ate last night."

"My Cajun grouper? I poisoned Uncle Jack?" Her guilt grew stronger. This was worse than she'd thought.

Aunt Sarah laughed. "The culprit wasn't your Cajun grouper, honey, it was Jack's old worn-out gall bladder. Don't worry about him, he's fine, but the doctors want to keep him for a couple of days while they've got him pinned down and run a few tests."

"I thought the doctors removed worn-out gall bladders."

"They do, unless the gall bladders belong to stubborn old coots like Jack Crockett. They're going to try to talk him into having surgery while they've got him here. Now, don't you worry about him, honey. He's in good hands. You go catch some fish, and I'll see you later today."

Her fear abated, Rebecca unlocked the salon door and returned to her unexpected boat guest. He glared at her, his eyes flashing undeniable displeasure and his mouth set in an unpleasant twist. However, Rebecca decided he could cross his eyes, poke out his tongue and crow like a rooster and still be the best drop-dead, gorgeous man she'd ever come across. Besides, it wasn't every morning she had an extremely attractive, full-grown man trapped in her bait bucket. She figured she might as well enjoy her catch of the day.

She forced herself to sound annoyed. "Do you realize you scared the very devil out of me?"

"Well, that's a positive thought," he said out of the corner of his mouth.

Aha! The man had a semblance of humor. This was going to be fun. "I could've shot you dead. I have a forty-four Magnum," she fibbed. She had no idea what a forty-four Magnum looked like, but it sounded good.

"Compared to being eaten alive by these disgusting fish, that might have been a blessing." David made another unsuccessful attempt to get out of the bucket.

"Don't you know you never board a boat without the owner's permission?" she continued. "It's not only dangerous, it's rude, especially without boat shoes. Look what your hard soles are doing to my teak. It'll take me hours to clean off those scuff marks."

"You have me at a distinct disadvantage," he informed her, and his voice held more than a hint of annoyance.

Rebecca guessed David Stone wasn't used to being at a disadvantage.

"Look, I apologize for not knowing the proper nautical etiquette, and I'm sorry I frightened you." His clear and precise baritone voice took control of the conversation. "But I assure you, this is not the way I scheduled my day."

Rebecca opened her mouth to respond, but David interrupted, each sentence increasing in volume. "I am going to be late for a court hearing. I have ruined a perfectly good suit and..." He shifted his weight in the bucket and winced. "I might very well have broken something."

"Poor baby."

David grimaced at the remark and changed the subject again. "Please tell Captain Higgins I'll pay for any damage I've caused to his boat. Now, if you will help me out of this ridiculous predicament, I'll get out of your way."

"Okay, see if you can stand up." Rebecca offered her hands to David. She braced herself against the transom, and pulled him to a half-standing position. The bucket adhered tightly to his posterior.

She couldn't hold back the laughter. "Turn around. You hold onto the bridge ladder and I'll pull."

"I can't believe..."

The rest of his words were inaudible to Rebecca. He turned and grabbed the ladder. The bucket snapped loose with a loud pop, spilling its malodorous contents. David winced and carefully straightened his body. Obviously in pain, he exhaled in short gasps and stretched his large frame.

The thought of a lawsuit crossed Rebecca's mind for the first time. "Are you hurt, David?" She purposely used his name, hoping that would make his plight seem less menacing.

"Nothing that won't heal in due time," he said, carefully shaking each limb. "I think I'm still in one piece." He jerked his head toward a sheet of yellow paper wedged beneath the doorknob. "Would you please see that Captain Higgins gets my note?"

His voice was softer now, but still unusually strong, deep, commanding -- a lawyer's voice. She loved his voice. She realized she didn't want him to leave and hated herself for the thought. The last thing Rebecca needed was someone like David Stone in her life, someone who gave orders for heaven's sake.

"That sounds very much like an order to me. I don't take orders," she said.

David shook his head. "It's not an order, it's a request. Will you see that Captain Higgins gets my note?"

"You don't get it, do you, landlubber? I'm Captain Higgins, Captain Rebecca Higgins."

"You are Captain Higgins? But you're just a girl."

A sarcastic retort quickly jumped into Rebecca's mind, but the man towered above her by more than a foot, and his cologne which reminded her of freshly-cut cedar, and had somehow managed to blend pleasantly with the odor of fish bait, made her slightly lightheaded. A chill traveled throughout her damp body.

Before she could answer, he asked, "Have you talked to Walter personally? Does he know his captain is a girl?"

Rebecca bristled. "What's wrong with that? Doesn't Mr. Osborne like women?"

"Nothing's wrong with that. He smiled at some private joke that Rebecca knew he wasn't going to share.

CHAPTER TWO

In the false dawn of morning, Rebecca could make out more of David's features, intense blue eyes, a generous mouth, a strong clean-cut jaw. She watched a coil of dark hair flop onto his forehead. For an instant, she had an uncontrollable urge to tame the wayward lock, but she was brought back to reality by a peculiar gurgling sound as he took his first cautious steps. She held her hand awkwardly frozen in mid air.

"Good-bye, Captain Higgins. I'm sorry I caused you so much trouble. Good luck with Osborne." He took a step, then watched purple liquid ooze from his undoubtedly expensive shoes.

"What in the..." He shifted his gaze toward Rebecca and looked at her, really looked at her, for the first time.

She tried to think of something to say without sounding stupid. Boy, that's one for the books, she thought. Motor mouth Higgins at a complete loss for words.

"Squid ink," she finally blurted.

"What?"

"Squid ink. That's squid ink in your shoes."

David shuddered. He opened his mouth to speak, but then as though thinking better of it, he sighed and closed it. Looking like a lost child, he grasped a stainless steel handhold and gingerly stepped onto the gunwale.

"Miss Agnes! David! Watch out!" Rebecca yelled as a noisy brown pelican sailed past David. The bird swiped the cockpit, expertly seized a chunk of bait and flapping its six-foot wingspan, exited off the stern of The Outrageous Lady. David emitted a blood-chilling scream. With arms flailing wildly, he tumbled back into the cockpit.

As soon as Rebecca realized David wasn't injured, she collapsed in a fit of hysterical laughter. The feisty pelican wobbled back and forth on the dock, watching the commotion in the cockpit and waited patiently for any sign of a handout.

"David Stone, say hello to my best friend, Miss Agnes," Rebecca said, choking on laughter. "Miss Agnes stops by for breakfast every morning." Fighting to regain her composure, she tossed a handful of bait into the air. Miss Agnes caught it on the fly and settled onto a nearby piling to enjoy her treasure.

"Oh, dear Lord, why?" the man asked, raising his arms skyward. He wasn't laughing.

Rebecca decided she'd better try to be helpful. "You can't get in your car like that. That ink is all over your clothes."

"You're right, it's a rental car." David looked at his soiled trousers, then at his watch. "Is there anywhere around here I can clean up and change my clothes?" he asked in determined resignation.

"There's a men's shower up in the marina park, but it's locked and I don't have a key. Looks like you have to make a choice, it's either the ladies' shower or the one in my boat."

The last time Rebecca has seen an expression like the one on David's face was when she'd rescued a raccoon that had become trapped in a tangle of discarded fishing line.

David tore a piece of paper from his yellow notepad, crumbled it and attempted to clean his shoes. "I'm not sure that would be proper -- "

"Oh, for heaven's sake. You practically broke into my boat at four o'clock in the morning, and you're concerned with proper?"

David caught the corner of his bottom lip in his teeth as though deep in contemplation. Then he said, "I definitely wouldn't want to be discovered in the ladies' rest room. You're right. I have no choice. I'll get my clothes from the car."

When David returned to the boat carrying a suit bag and an overnight case, Rebecca was waiting on the dock adjusting the nozzle on a water hose. She smiled and reached for his clothes. "Hose yourself down while I'll put your bags inside the boat."

"Why?" he protested, his flashing blue eyes full of mistrust. "Why do I need to do that?"

"Because you can't walk through my boat dripping fish juice all over my carpet," she told him as though any simpleton should understand that. She aimed the nozzle at his chest and grinned mischievously. "Or would you prefer I do it for you?"

He groaned and reached for the hose.

"Okay, take off everything from the waist up and put this on," Rebecca said, handing him a towel and a silky, persimmon-colored robe. "It's all I have that might even half- way fit you."

David obediently took off his suit jacket, folded it, and carefully laid it on the fish box. He hung his silk tie on the bridge ladder and unbuttoned his shirt, revealing a well- developed chest covered with a profusion of dark hair. He took the robe from Rebecca and stuffed broad, hairy arms into the sleeves.

"Now leave your clothes in the cockpit and come on inside."

David's eyebrows shot up in startled amazement, and Rebecca had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep a straight face. His jaw tightened as he rolled his clothes into a neat bundle and laid them on the fish box. With his back toward her, he kicked off his shoes and peeled his wet, sticky socks from his feet with his toes.

He wrapped the towel around his waist before he turned toward Rebecca. "I would like to get this over with as quickly as possible," he assured her, holding the robe tightly around his impressive physique.

"Oh, great," Rebecca said under her breath, as she glanced toward the retirement condos overlooking the marina. "Would you look at that? Every telescope in every window is pointed directly toward my boat." She curtseyed toward her uninvited audience. "I should send them all a bill the first of each month for being their main source of entertainment."

David's face was bathed in worry and skepticism as he looked toward the telescopes. "On second thought, I really don't think this is a good idea."

"Oh, okay," Rebecca said, casually, "enjoy your walk in the park. Dressed like that, you're certain to be a big hit with the locals." She went inside the boat, closed the door and counted fish, "One Bonito, two Bonito, three Bonito -- "

He knocked on four.

Looking somewhat like an extraterrestrial, plucked from one galaxy and dropped haphazardly into another, David moved toward the salon door.

"Come on in, I promise I won't peek," Rebecca joked, spreading wide-opened fingers over her eyes. David frowned, then with a resigned sigh, he ducked to keep from hitting his head and entered the boat.

His demeanor changed the moment he was inside. He nodded approval as he appraised his surroundings. "This is much larger on the inside than it looks on the outside. It's like a small apartment. It's cute."

Rebecca decided David was obviously more impressed with the interior of the boat than he'd been with her. But cute?

"It's just like a small home," she corrected. She flipped a switch, and bright light flooded the salon. "Two staterooms, two heads, that's bathrooms to landlubbers, a salon, galley, dinette and three -- count'em -- three hanging lockers." She made a flourish with her arms. "Boat sweet boat."

"Do you actually live on this boat?" He readjusted the robe.

"Yep. I own a house, but I rent it out. I've lived on the boat for so long, I wouldn't know how to live in a house."

David's manly presence in her salon was more than a little disconcerting. Even in the silly feminine getup, he exuded masculinity. Something weird was going on in the pit of her stomach.

"Well?" he asked.

"What?" She felt her face warm when she realized she'd been staring at him. "Oh, the shower," she said, irritated that she'd momentarily lost control of her senses. She opened a door on the starboard side of the companionway.

"This is the guest head," she said, flipping on the overhead light. "Instructions for everything are posted. Use anything you need. Extra towels are in the locker under the sink. There's hot and cold running water, but it's limited. The tank only holds a hundred gallons or so. I usually wet myself down, turn off the water while I soap up, then rinse off."

"I understand," he assured her, looking like the legendary fish out of water.

"Wait a minute. One more thing." Rebecca took a Key lime from the refrigerator, sliced it into halves and tossed it across the room. "You'll need this."

He caught the fruit in midair and stared at Rebecca as though she had some strange pagan ritual in mind.

"It's for the fishy odor," she explained, enjoying his reaction. "Take your time in there. I'm going up to go shower in the head up in the park. Oh, by the way, you never know who may show up here. I'm going to lock you in."

"Figures."

She smiled when she heard him lock the door to the head. And to think I was afraid of him.

David carefully hung his suit on an anchor-shaped brass hook, nailed above the bathroom door. Then, with difficulty, he turned around in the small room, knocking over a wicker basket filled with numerous seashells in the process. "Good grief," he said as the shells scattered across the tiled floor. He shook his head, and yanked off the girl's frilly bathrobe when he caught a glimpse of the ridiculous reflection mocking him from the mirror.

Unsuccessful at his attempt to bend over to retrieve the shells, he reached for a small one with the toes on his left foot and gingerly worked it up his right leg until he could reach it with his fingertips. After five minutes, when he counted only three shells in the basket, he decided he'd have to change his strategy. Besides, that demented girl would be back at any moment.

Okay, Stone, It's time for a little brainstorming. He drew a mental picture of the situation. Satisfied at last, he dropped to his knees and carefully backed into the shower-stall. How did I ever get into this mess? He asked himself. He dropped a tiny, dried sea horse into the basket. The phrase, Twilight Zone, jumped into his head. He shook the thought from his mind, and reached for a broken sand dollar. He sensed that somehow he'd pay for breaking that sand dollar. He carefully picked up another shell.

Three hours earlier, he'd been on his way to Key West with the radio dial in his rented Lincoln Town Car tuned to a country music station so he could absorb some of the flavor of the South. He'd looked forward to a pleasant, uneventful drive through picturesque Florida. His carefully planned life was under his complete control. He was following his calling and his dream. But first, one last favor for Walter, one last client. He placed a smooth, brown shell into the basket and stood up.

"Ouch!" David grabbed the top of his head and ran his fingers carefully through his hair, checking for blood. Why would anyone actually choose to live like this? He had a fleeting image of his condo in Philadelphia with its enormous marble bathroom complete with an oversized spa overlooking the city.

Frustrated that the hot and cold-water spigots weren't marked, David selected the lever on the left and jumped at the first burst of ice-cold water. He pulled the other lever, and a spurt of scalding water hit him in the chest. "Blazes!" If I ever get out of here...His teeth clinched as he turned both levers simultaneously.

Unable to adjust the temperature, he set his jaw and submitted to a cold shower. He poured more liquid soap than he'd intended and fiercely scrubbed until he could no longer detect the odor of fish. Before he could rinse away the soap, the water slowed to a trickle. He grabbed a fluffy towel, noting it was embroidered with various fish and the name of the boat, The Outrageous Lady. She should've named the boat, the Crazy Lady! He scrupulously sniffed his forearms, groaned and reached for a slice of the citrus fruit.

Dressing in the tiny cubical wasn't easy. There wasn't even room to step into his trousers. If he stood in the shower and...

He stepped back into the wet shower stall. Where is my shirt? How could a shirt disappear in a bathroom obviously built with a Barbie Doll in mind? He checked the door to make certain it was still locked. That weird girl was capable of stealing a man's clothes.

He found his shirt hanging under his jacket, along with his tie. He hoped the other tie, which Walter's daughter had given him for his birthday, wasn't ruined. How could he explain that? He'd hate to try and explain showering on a strange girl's boat at daybreak to Linda Sue. She'd never understand.

Linda Sue would never fully understand why he'd chosen to give up a life-style most men could only envy. A career with unlimited possibilities. A six-figure salary. Membership in the best clubs. Travel. Influential friends. And the women! So many women. All that to live on a minister's salary in Florida with the bugs and the alligators and only heaven knew what else. If Rebecca and the guy from the bait shop were any indication of the local populace, he had his work cut out for him.

Explaining his career change to Walter had been difficult, but Walter would eventually come around. After all, convincing people to see things his way was what David did best. He was certain God had taken that into consideration when he'd called him to preach. God must have known he'd be perfect at convincing people to come to the Lord. Suddenly, he felt ashamed of his attitude toward Rebecca. She was obviously his first opportunity to save a lost soul. He'd have to try to be more pleasant to her.

Before he unlocked the door of the tiny bathroom, he mentally counted three curse words, two milder obscenities and one name of the Lord in vain. He took three dollars from the stash in his right-side trousers' pocket and placed them into a leather pouch in the left side. Old habits are sure hard to break, but at this rate I'll never make it on a minister's salary, he thought

Old habits. Suddenly, a wave of guilt swept over him. "Heavenly Father," he quickly prayed, "I haven't forgotten my promise."

The same night he'd dropped to his knees and gave his all to Christ, he'd ceremoniously tossed his coveted little black book into a roaring fireplace. He'd watched all those beautiful women mentally disintegrate right before his eyes. He'd asked God's forgiveness for his womanizing and made Him a promise.

That promise, that he'd not become romantically involved with another woman for one full year, that he'd avoid even the occasion of sin, loomed uppermost in his mind. Alone on a boat with a woman? No problem, he told himself confidently. God was simply showing him the task that lay before him. Rebecca was someone he would later lead to Christ. What was done was done. Now, he just had to make his escape as quickly as possible before...before...

David plastered a wayward cowlick to his head with hot tap water, and nodded a final approval toward his reflection. He would keep his promise to God. Then, at the end of the first year of his ministry he would ask the Lord for a helpmate, a simple, God- fearing, church-going woman who would bear his children and work with him side-by- side, happy as he to do the Lord's will. David felt good about himself. In ten minutes, he'd be back on his way to Key West, and he could put this crazy morning behind him. What else could possibly happen?

"I'm baaaack." Rebecca hung the door key on a tiny brass dolphin above the salon door.

Her impromptu guest emerged from the head, wearing exact copies of the clothes he'd left on the dock, except for the tie, which he'd replaced for one in a deep maroon color, a power tie.

"Look, I really am sorry, I..." His gaze scanned Rebecca as though he were examining a rare piece of art. "Captain Higgins?"

"Forget it," she said trying to hide her delight over his obvious approval. She was glad for the chance to show him a more pleasing side of herself. Meeting an attractive man for the first time looking like the Creature from the Black Lagoon wasn't something one planned.

"Do you want some breakfast?" She pushed a button on the microwave and set two cups of coffee on the built-in dinette. I buy croissants from a little French market a couple of blocks from here -- "

"No, thank you," he said, sliding into the booth. "I need to get to my C-phone and make some changes in my schedule. I'll just have a quick cup of coffee and be on my way." He eyed the warm croissants she'd retrieved from the oven. "Maybe just one." He placed his napkin on his lap and changed the direction of the conversation. "I suppose my suit is ruined."

Wow, the hot shower had certainly improved his manners, Rebecca thought. "Afraid so. Squid ink is almost impossible to get out of any kind of fabric. Tell you what, though. I'll take it to the cleaners later today and see what they can do with it. Will you be coming back through Gulfpass?" Now was that subtle or what?

"I'll be back in town on Friday."

"Good, then I'll -- "

"No! No, thank you. I'll take care of it," he interrupted, eliminating the chance of another meeting.

Rebecca placed a glass of fruit juice in front of him.

He took a small sip of the frothy liquid and reached for a warm croissant. "What kind of juice is this?"

"Homemade passion fruit." She leaned forward on her elbows, rested her chin on her hands and waited for his reply.

"It's completely daylight out," he finally said, avoiding her eyes.

"I noticed that too. Isn't it amazing? And would you believe it happens every single day here in sunny Florida?"

David smiled. Rebecca drew in her breath and let it out as slowly and as quietly as she could manage. David Stone was one good-looking guy. His eyes were as blue as the sky in the Florida Keys and were encircled with thick, black lashes. Although his hair was styled becomingly, she was pleased to notice twin cowlicks that refused to be tamed. Rebecca prided herself on appreciating imperfections.

David watched Rebecca take a bowl from a small refrigerator. She wore no discernible makeup and her long red hair was nonchalantly caught in a no-nonsense yellow rubber band. Another image of Linda Sue flashed through his mind. Linda Sue never appeared in front of another person without full makeup flawlessly applied.

"Try some of my signature salad." Rebecca placed the bowl on the table and handed David a serving spoon. "This was for the trip today, so we might as well eat it."

He took a generous forkful of the salad and reached for a second croissant. "I thought you southerners ate grits for breakfast." What's in this concoction?"

"Apples, celery, pecans, marshmallows, maraschino cherries, alligator tail."

"Alligator tail?" He speared a piece of the reptile with his fork and examined it critically. "Do you always eat such exotic food?" He chose not to tell her he often ate caviar for breakfast.

"You don't have to eat it if you don't like it." She refilled his coffee cup, and slid her deeply tanned, shapely legs into the booth across from him. "You said you work with Walter Osborne?"

Rebecca smiled and a smattering of sun freckles danced across her cheeks. David studied her beautiful, freshly scrubbed face, and he wondered if her name in someone's little black book. With all their expensive trappings, none of the woman he knew had ever affected him the way this girl was doing at the moment. She'd changed into a pair of faded, cut-off jeans and an orange T-shirt depicting a huge colorful marlin and letters that assured: AN HOUR OF GOOD FISHING IS WORTH A LIFETIME OF ANYTHING ELSE. He suddenly remembered The Promise and diverted his attention. Embarrassed, he realized she'd caught him reading her T-shirt.

"Twenty-five cents," she said.

"What?"

"The T-shirt. I got it at a garage sale for a quarter," Rebecca said. "But you didn't answer my question."

David looked momentarily blank, then said, "Actually, the salad is quite good."

One for me, Rebecca thought. "No, I asked if you work with Walter Osborne," she reminded.

"Yes, at least for now."

So that was why he was going to Key West, probably a job interview. Cool. That meant he would be living in Florida. "What do you do with Osborne other than frightening innocent young maidens as they sleep?"

"I'm one of several partners in Walter's firm. I'm a trial attorney."

"A real live Philadelphia lawyer? What in the name of heaven are you doing slumming in Gulfpass, Florida?"

David responded quickly, but he seemed to choose his words carefully. "I'm on my way to the Keys to see a client. I flew into the Tampa Airport last night and rented a car. I thought I'd like to see some of the Florida landscape. As I explained in the note I left for you, I'm to meet Walter here later on. He wants to fish a couple of weeks from Saturday, if you're available."

"Oh, I'm definitely available." She wondered if he picked up on the double entendre. "Are you going out fishing with us?"

"I don't think I'll be able to do that. My schedule is quite full." He wiped a paper napkin across his mouth and set it alongside his plate.

"More croissants?"

He hesitated briefly, then accepted the roll and changed the direction of the conversation again. "How does a young woman become a boat captain?"

"I grew up with it. My parents died when I was six, and my mother's brother and his wife adopted me. Uncle Jack's been a charter fisherman most of his life. He taught me to fish practically before I could walk. I crewed for him on weekends when I was still in high school. Later on I got my Coast Guard license, then about five years ago when I got out of college, he retired and I took over his charters."

"Is this his boat?"

Rebecca bristled. "No! The Outrageous Lady is my boat. I support myself."

"I didn't mean to -- "

"I have a Masters in marine biology," she informed him. She pointed to a seascape on the salon wall. "I sell a watercolor now and then. With that and my charters, I do just fine, thank you."

She could've kicked herself for the defensive retort, especially since a hefty balloon payment was due on her boat within a few weeks and she had no idea where she was going to get the money. She could very well lose The Outrageous Lady.

He held up his arms, gesturing as if to ward off her blows. "Down, down, girl." He laughed, and teased, "How did you ever come up with the name of your boat -- The Outrageous Lady?"

She knew he was mocking her, but she pretended not to notice. "My philosophy is that the way to get through life successfully is not to take it too seriously, and to do at least one outrageous thing each day. I try to do just that."

"I'll just bet you do." His gaze met Rebecca's. He set his jaw, his teeth pulling at the corner of his bottom lip. "Do you plan to do anything with your degree? Seems that would qualify you for more than just fishing."

For a fleeting moment, Rebecca wished she'd accepted the position at the marine institute in Massachusetts. "In addition to The Outrageous Lady, I own a small sailboat. It's in dry-dock right now, but I 'm going to trade them both in on a yawl and leave in a few months to cruise the Bahamas for a year or so.

"And what do you plan to do in the Bahamas?"

"I just told you, I'm going to cruise. What's so hard to understand about that?"

David smiled. "Then, I assume you're independently wealthy?"

"I'm going to paint marine life and sell my work in book form when I get back to the States."

David grinned. "I once knew a kid who did pretty much the same thing. He called it beach bumming."

Rebecca felt heat travel up the back of her neck, but David didn't give her a chance to argue.

"Well, Captain, I believe that in only two hours you've managed to take care of at least the next two months of outrageous." He reached for his jacket. "Thanks for everything." He smiled. "Well, at least most of it."

"David...?" Rebecca searched for words that wouldn't come.

"Captain?" David smiled. He executed a perfect military salute, and in three strides was out of her boat.

Rebecca watched from the cockpit as he discarded the bundle of soiled clothes in the large garbage bin in the marina park. She was still watching when the Lincoln Town Car pulled out of the parking lot and disappeared around a corner.

Miss Agnes settled onto a piling behind the boat and looked at Rebecca as if to say, "What on earth was he all about?"

Rebecca sighed. "Your guess is as about as good as mind, cutie," she told her feathered friend, "because I don't have a clue."

CHAPTER THREE

"Permission to come aboard?"

At the sound of Aunt Sarah's voice, Rebecca swirled her watercolor brush in a glass of water and decided the painting was finished.

"Permission granted." She hurried onto the aft deck to help with the inevitable packages Aunt Sarah would be carrying. Aunt Sarah only asked permission to board when her arms were full of gifts.

"I brought you something, Aunt Sarah said." She handed a potted plant to Rebecca and swung her slender, shorts-clad legs over the gunwale. "It's a prayer plant, keep it moist."

"I already have a prayer plant."

"Yours is ratty because you don't take proper care of it, and besides, you know I can't pass the hospital gift shop without buying something. I brought you something else." She withheld the package when Rebecca reached for it. "Not yet."

The older woman was behaving strangely, even for Aunt Sarah.

"Aunt Sarah, what are you up to?"

Aunt Sarah smiled knowingly. "In due time. I have things to tell you first." She shut her eyes and pressed her fingers against her temples.

"Rebecca Lynn Higgins, have you had a man in here?"

"Why on earth would you say that?"

"I know these things." Aunt Sarah selected a throw cushion from the couch and sank to the floor assuming a lotus position. She combed her curly, sun-bleached hair with her fingers. "Oh, never mind, you can tell me all about it later."

Rebecca pulled an ice cube tray from the refrigerator and smiled at her aunt. If she didn't know Sarah Crockett was sixty-four, she could easily believe she was thirty-four. "How's Uncle Jack?"

"Just about as stubborn as a snook on a slack tide." She accepted a glass of peppermint tea and drained it in three large gulps. "I can only stay a moment. I have a tap-dancing class at three, and I have to be back at the hospital by six. She patted the floor and wiggled with excitement. "Now, come sit down. Two things."

"First thing?" Rebecca sat cross-legged on the carpet in front of Aunt Sarah and waited.

"Something is very, very strange." Aunt Sarah's voice dropped to a whisper. "When Jack was absolutely certain he was at death's door last night, he mumbled something about telling Rebecca the truth. When I asked him about it later, he insisted he didn't know what I was talking about."

"And he probably didn't. People often say weird things when they're under the influence of painkillers. You know that. I wouldn't give it a second thought."

"No, there's more. Something really peculiar." Aunt Sarah's green eyes widened. "I know these things. You know how I love a good mystery, can never rest until it's solved?"

"Aunt Sarah, what do you know?"

"Well, do you remember last winter when I took that course in genealogy at the senior citizen center?"

"Yes?"

Aunt Sarah enclosed Rebecca's hand in her own. "Honey, I wasn't going to tell you this...but now with what Jack said...well, I feel it's my duty." Her voice took on an eerie quality. "I sent for your mother's birth certificate."

"And?"

"There is no record of a birth certificate for Hannah Crockett."

"No record?" Rebecca's curiosity suddenly piqued. "My mother didn't have a birth certificate? Did you ask Uncle Jack about it?"

"Of course I did. He said the court house burned down and a lot of records were lost."

"Well, there you are. That solves your mystery."

Aunt Sarah seemed disappointed at her niece's lack of interest. "Well, if that explanation satisfies you, I suppose it should satisfy me."

"By the way," Rebecca said, "if Uncle Jack feels up to it, I'd like him to crew for me two weeks from Saturday."

"For goodness sake, don't start patronizing him. He's spoiled rotten as it is."

"I'm not patronizing him. I really do need him. That kid who's been helping me got a full-time job on The Clearwater Mermaid."

"Okay, I'll tell him when I see him later today. That should brighten his spirits. Anyway, he says he'd rather die out there doing what he loves doing than wasting away in a rocking chair."

Rebecca laughed. "Me, too."

Aunt Sarah looked into the distance at whatever Rebecca was certain only people past sixty were able to see, then she abruptly changed the subject. "He wants to come back."

"Who wants to come back?"

"The mysterious man you had on your boat." She pulled David's burnt-orange tie from her pocket and examined it in a ray of sunshine. "I found this in the cockpit," she explained, smiling knowingly. "When people leave a personal item behind, it means they want to come back."

Rebecca hoped Aunt Sarah's homespun psychology was correct this time. "What is the second thing?"

Aunt Sarah retrieved a piece of paper from her fanny pack and grinned at Rebecca. "Guess what." She held back the information as if telling would lessen the excitement of knowing.

"Stop teasing me. What do you know?"

"He's single and he's thirty-four," Aunt Sarah sang out waving the paper in front of Rebecca's face.

"Who's single and thirty-four?"

"Our new ministerial candidate, that's who," she said, dropping the letter into Rebecca's lap. "And, the best part, he's not married." She wiggled with excitement. "Our little old church will never be the same. Oh, by the way, he'll be here for the fish-fry Friday night, which brings me to your next present."

"You're matchmaking again, aren't you?"

"Matchmaking? Me? Of course not," Aunt Sarah insisted, holding up a silky peach- colored fabric. "I saw this beautiful thing in the window at Adrian's. It's definitely your color. They call it pomegranate. I was going to save it for your birthday, honey, but -- "

"You're matchmaking."

"Nonsense. Now, when I stopped by the church this morning to pick up the mail, I ran into Deacon Maynard." She stopped briefly to catch her breath. "He's getting together a little impromptu program for the fish-fry and he'd like for you to be part of the evening's entertainment."

"No, no, no, no, no!"

"Oh, honey, what's one little song? Two at the most?"

"Aunt Sarah, I supply that entire congregation with free fish, and I let the pastors use my house rent-free. That's enough contribution. I shouldn't be expected to attend their services, too. Besides, it's not my voice that Orville Maynard is after."

"Becca, try on the jumpsuit. Please."

"Honestly, you're impossible." Rebecca pulled her T-shirt over her head, kicked off her shorts and stepped into the outfit. "Oh, this is gorgeous," she admitted as the cool, satiny-smooth fabric flowed against her skin. The fitted bodice with its square-cut neckline formed a frame for the dozen or so freckles painted across her chest. Tiny, olive-shell buttons ran the length of the bodice. The garment fitted snugly across her hips, then flared into soft pleats. She fastened the gold-colored belt, looked at the price tag and shuddered.

"I sure hope you can get your money back. This is way too expensive, and besides, I really don't want to go to the fish-fry." She unbuttoned the bodice and let the garment fall to the carpet.

When Aunt Sarah threw Rebecca her famous, how-could-you-hurt-me-like-this look, Rebecca said, "I know what you're up to. But, would you really want me to end up like my mother? Married to a boring, small-town preacher? Old and worn out before I'm thirty? Hating my life?"

"Rebecca Lynn Higgins, you don't know that your mother hated her life. Don't forget I knew your mother. She was always so happy and upbeat. Everybody loved her."

"Would you believe that the only clear memory I have of my mother is one day when I came home from school early and caught her dancing alone in the kitchen. How sad to have had to dance alone in a world that didn't allow dancing." Rebecca carefully folded the jumpsuit and slipped it into the paper bag. Then, on a brighter tone, she said, "What I do know is it could never be my life. If I ever do marry, it will have to be to someone more exciting than a country bumpkin preacher. I'd prefer someone macho like Uncle Jack." She winked at Aunt Sarah. Or maybe a good-looking Philadelphia lawyer, she thought.

Aunt Sarah pointed to the letter in Rebecca's lap. "Well, the new minister is certainly no country bumpkin. If anything, he's over-qualified. And he doesn't sound too boring to me. I worked up his astrological chart. He's an Aries with his moon in Scorpio. He's an intensely passionate man. I compared your charts. You're perfect for each other. You have fifty-four positive traits -- "

"Aunt Sarah, you're supposed to be the church's secretary, not their resident astrologer." She handed the jumpsuit back to Aunt Sarah. "I'm afraid I'll have to meet Reverend Excitement some other time."

"You're one hopeless case. That's because you're Sagittarius." With a grunt, Aunt Sarah pulled herself into a standing position. "In my day, at twenty-six, you'd be a year into old-maidism."

"I would never have survived in your day. Don't forget your letter." Rebecca glanced at the neatly typed resume she held in her hand. "Oh, dear God!"

"What's wrong?"

"What in the name of...?" Rebecca looked away from the paper as though that would erase the mistake. "It can't be." She read the rest of the biography. There was no doubt. It was all there. Six-three, two hundred pounds, blue eyes, brown hair, former employer, Osborne, Graham, Gardner and Stone.

"His name...the new preacher's name is David Stone."

"The man on your boat?" Aunt Sarah guessed.

"Why that lying..."

"The preacher lied?" Aunt Sarah looked completely bewildered.

"The preacher told half-truths, and that's the same as lying. Oh, I'll get even with him for this."

"Becca, I don't like the sound of that. What are you going to do?"

Rebecca reached for the paper bag. "Well, for starters..." She stepped into the jumpsuit and examined her reflection critically in the full-length mirror on the head door. "I'm going to a fish-fry," she announced triumphantly.

"That's downright outrageous." Aunt Sarah put her hand to her mouth and pretended to be shocked.

"No, that's not outrageous." Rebecca removed the outfit's gold-colored belt and wound David's silk tie through the loops. "This is outrageous," she told her wickedly smiling reflection.

Early Friday night, Rebecca pedaled along Gulf Shore Drive balancing her guitar around her neck and a bowl of swamp-cabbage salad on the handlebars of her ten- speed. Three blocks from the church, she stopped along the water's edge to re-roll the legs of her jump suit to keep them from catching in the spokes of her bike, and to quiet the butterflies that flitted in her stomach.

The billowing white sails of a distant boat tacking toward shore caught her attention. The little sloop determinedly pushed forward ahead of threatening storm clouds building offshore. The sailboat tacked to port and suddenly broached. Rebecca held her breath until at the last minute it righted itself. She shivered. An Omen?

"Nonsense." she said aloud, dismissing the ominous thought. Her new boat, a forty-two-foot ocean-going yawl, would be rigged to handle whatever the elements tossed her way. She'd be alone on a vast sea, but she'd be in complete control, both of the boat and of her life.

She concentrated on the sailboat until an image of David's face invaded her thoughts. His piercing blue eyes were fixed on her. He wasn't smiling, and his teeth caught the edge of his bottom lip. The on-shore breeze smelled like fresh-cut cedar. Rebecca shivered again, and the image and the fragrance vanished.

Why had she been so attracted to this man? It wasn't just his good looks. She knew a lot of good-looking men, and even the ones who weren't that great looking were definitely more fun. She tried to identify the quality that was more than fun or good looks. It didn't matter, she decided. After tonight, after she'd had a little fun with him, she'd get on with her life, and David Stone would be just another discarded memory.

A cooling breeze reached the shore ruffling Rebecca's hair. She rubbed the chill bumps on her forearms and shivered at the excitement of seeing David again. She was uncomfortable. She wasn't certain she could go through with her plan to get even with him. How strange. She'd had lots of boyfriends and not once had she been so ambivalent about seeing any of them. Maybe that was because they were available. David definitely wasn't available.

The thought reminded her of a doll that she'd wanted one Christmas when she was about seven. Aunt Sarah and Uncle Jack had said it was much too expensive. When one of her friends received it instead, Rebecca had fooled herself into thinking the doll was ugly and had a funny nose. Was she doing the same with David? She knew her excuse for going to his welcoming party was shallow. Would David know it too? Would he see through her?

Well, it was too late now. She'd promised Orville she'd sing. She plucked a coral- colored hibiscus blossom from a nearby bush and tucked it into her hair. Then, she turned her bike in the direction of the Gulfpass church.

The aroma of fried grouper welcomed her as she neared the pine-needled path that led to the church grounds. She parked her bike against the trunk of a pindo palm, and with a wary eye for David, made her way through the crowd, dodging a group of laughing children who were caught up in a lively game of tag. Trying to ignore the curious stares from the members of the congregation who were used to seeing her in nothing fancier than stone-washed jeans, she set her plastic salad bowl among the abundance of covered dishes.

"Got enough grouper?" she called to the three men who were dressed in white aprons and homemade chef's hats. "Need any help?"

"Got enough and got it covered," one of the older men told her. He lowered a basket of fish fillets into a large vat of bubbling oil and added, "You sure do look glamorous tonight, Captain. Something you haven't told us?" The other men laughed, and Rebecca felt heat rise to her neck.

"Now, Ed, you know I got all gussied up just for you," she joked back. Rebecca prided herself on never blushing.

"Well, hello, hello, hello." Wasting no time, Orville Maynard rushed to her side, a wide grin spread across his face. "Dare I hope this show of delightful, feminine pulchritude is for my benefit?"

Oh great! I'm out of here. "Excuse me, Orville." She pushed past him and walked toward four teen-aged girls who motioned her to join them in the food line.

"Can I sit with you guys?" she asked. She absently filled a paper plate with food, and followed the girls to a shadowed table away from the main area. There was nothing like four giggling thirteen-year-old girls to calm the nerves. She tried to concentrate on the teen's lively discussion of clothes, boys, hairdo's, boys, parents, boys.

"Hey, check it out," one of the girls suddenly whispered through a mouthful of fried grouper. "What a hunk."

"In the words of my grandma," said another, "all that meat and no potatoes."

The other girls giggled and supplied other metaphors, trying to outdo one another.

"Stop that! You girls are incorrigible," Rebecca admonished. The butterflies in her stomach lined up like jet planes on the deck of an aircraft carrier.

"Rebecca, turn around and look," one of the girls insisted. "Who is that guy?"

Before she turned, the butterflies took flight.

David was wearing a suit identical to the one he'd ruined on her boat, but his shirt was open at the collar, and he wasn't wearing a tie. He removed his jacket and carefully draped it over a folding metal chair.

"Please continue doing what you're doing," he told one of the deacons, returning the man's handshake. "I'll grab a plate of food. I haven't eaten all day, just got off the plane in Tampa and came straight -- "

Before David could finish his conversation, one of the women handed him a plate piled high with food. "My daughter, Beth Anne, made the ambrosia. Beth Anne is known all over Pinellas County for her ambrosia."

Within moments, Rebecca was certain every woman over the age of twelve, including her dinner companions had pounced on David. She stayed in the shadows and cleared the tables while she shamelessly eavesdropped.

"...I knew I wanted to be a minister when I was in high school," David was telling someone. He accepted a third helping of fried fish from a member of his newly-formed fan club. "Hmmm, this is delicious," he said, holding up a hand to avoid a fourth helping. He took a small bite, swallowed and answered a question from an elderly woman who piled baked beans on his plate.

"Testing! Testing! One, two, three," Orville Maynard's falsetto voice whistled through a microphone. "And now, while everyone devours these titillating, tantalizing, not to mention flagrantly sinful, desserts..." Like a bad, stand-up comic, he waited for the expected laughter, then continued, "The Gulfpass Community Church's very own little song-bird will honor us with a few selections from her extensive repertoire." He began the applause that urged Rebecca on.

"I'm going to kill Orville one of these days," Rebecca said to anyone within hearing range.

David looked up briefly, applauded with the crowd, and turned his attention to a woman who offered him a tray filled with what she identified as double-chocolate-fudge- walnut-brownies.

As Rebecca climbed upon a stool and tuned the E-string on her guitar, she fought to calm the butterflies, which had stopped simply flying through her stomach in close formation. Now, they were soaring and performing acrobatic loop-de-loops. Well, wasn't that what she wanted -- to face Pastor David head on? To get even? So why was she coming unglued?

She swallowed hard, took a long, deep breath and uttered a short, silent prayer. She forced herself to look directly at David and began to sing.

"You came to me like a phantom ship...

Concealed in a misty dawn."

At the sound of the lovely, clear voice that penetrated the night air, David glanced toward the singer. He abruptly stopped chewing and held his plate in mid-air. "It can't be," he muttered under his breath.

As Rebecca continued her song, David didn't look away. She was beyond beautiful. She was wearing some kind of form-fitting, pink thing and she'd tucked flowers behind her ear. Her red hair cascaded over her shoulders onto her guitar and caught the lights from a trio of hanging, Japanese lanterns. Her long delicate fingers moved across her guitar like a caress, and her angelic voice, which blended perfectly with the sounds of the Florida night, sounded surreal.

She smiled at her audience, and David felt an obscure stirring deep within. What was she doing here? Something didn't fit. That couldn't be Rebecca. The beautiful mature woman he was watching and the crazy girl that he'd encountered on the boat couldn't possibly be one-and-the-same.

Twins! That was it. Rebecca Higgins obviously had a twin sister. The Rebecca he'd met would never attend a function at the church. Then he spied his tie looped around her waist.

"You sailed away like a phantom ship...

Concealed in romantic facade."

The words of the song suddenly hit him; they were meant for him. It was Rebecca. She must have found out who he was and was getting back at him for not telling her. He hadn't meant to deceive her; the situation simply hadn't called for him to explain his entire life to her. Besides, he hadn't expected to see her again so soon. Especially, not at the church. She'd made it clear that she didn't believe in organized religion. But, she'd also made it clear that her motto was to do one outrageous thing each day.

David's concentration was broken by a poke in his ribs.

"That's my girl." Deacon Maynard whispered into David's ear. "I'd marry her in a heartbeat if I could just get her in church long enough." Orville giggled, then put his pudgy hands over his mouth when someone shushed him.

David wondered if Rebecca knew she was Orville's girl. Well, whosever girl you are, you went to a lot of trouble to embarrass me, and I'm not going to let you get away with it.

The song ended and when the applause abated, David unwittingly set his dessert plate into a bowl of potato salad. He strolled to Rebecca's side.

Rebecca felt a prickly itch move across her backside as David joined her. Unable to scratch, she nervously shifted her position on her stool.

"That's an unusual song. I don't think I've ever heard it." His voice was as cool and as casual as though he were talking to one of the teens.

Boy, he's good, she thought. But then, why shouldn't he be? He's a trained trial lawyer. His job is to make people believe whatever he wants them to believe, and to make them squirm.

"I wrote it," she managed to say, but she didn't recognize her own voice.

"You're an extremely talented young woman -- full of surprises." His mouth curled into an innocent smile.

She felt color threaten her cheeks. David was gaining control. In front of the entire congregation, he was gaining control. "It's not quite finished..." Her voice trailed off as she searched for words.

"Have you thought of going to a B-flat minor on the phrase, forever lost, forever found?"

"No, I..."

"May I?" Still smiling, he took the guitar from her. "Let me show you." His voice was a husky whisper. He put one foot on a rung of her stool and ran his fingers over the strings of the guitar. "Nice sound."

As the audience watched intently, David strummed the guitar again and listened with his ear close to the strings. Then, he tuned the E-string a fraction. Rebecca knew he only pretended to change it to demean her musical ability,

Oh, you're good, counselor.

His knee lightly brushed her leg sending little splinters of fire along her spine. It could've been an accident. She could hardly breathe. He was even more handsome than she remembered.

"Like this." He repeated her song, word-for-word, his baritone voice in perfect pitch. "Sing it with me," he ordered in a velvet-edged voice when he'd finished, and Rebecca heard several of the women in the audience swoon.

Accompanied by the background of night sounds and the fresh breeze of the approaching summer storm, the two voices blended. Rebecca could feel the electricity crackling between them. A sheet of heat lightning washed across the sky, and thunder rumbled somewhere offshore. Why doesn't it rain? she thought. It always rains-out these stupid fish-fries. Why doesn't it ever rain when I need it to?

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