Wickedly Wonderful (Baba Yaga, #2)(5)
Marcus Senior shook it off. “I know what you’re doing, Mark-boy. No need to coddle me.” But he headed off toward the small cabin nonetheless, Chico on his heels, both of them moving slower than the slight heave of the ship required.
Marcus clapped the still gape-mouthed Kenny on the shoulder, shoving him gently toward the damaged netting. “Why don’t you collect whatever fish we did manage to get and put them on ice in the hold? We’ll be heading back in now; no chance of any more fishing today, thanks to her.” The boy went back to work reluctantly, looking back over his shoulder as he walked away and almost tripping over a coil of rope.
Forcing himself to unclench his fists, Marcus turned back to study his mystery woman. Her hair was long, almost to the middle of her back, and he thought that when it finished drying it would probably be a natural blond; she had the coloring of a true California girl. Slim and tall, she wore her wet suit like a second skin that clung to curves in all the right places. He swallowed hard, hit by a sudden burst of desire that welled up out of nowhere. He hadn’t had any interest in women since he’d gotten back from the war—figures he’d finally rediscover it in the presence of some nutcase they’d fished out of the sea.
A thought struck him. “Hey, how the hell did you get all the way out here?” He gazed around, but the ocean was empty; no boats but the Wily Serpent anywhere in sight. Not even a dinghy.
She strolled over to the rail as if she owned the place and pointed over the side. A scarlet surfboard with a black dragon painted on it bobbed tranquilly in the calm sea, occasionally rubbing up against the side of the boat like an affectionate cat.
Marcus shook his head. “Are you kidding? You got all the way out here on a surfboard? No way.” He shaded his eyes with one hand, looking for a lurking vessel full of delusional do-gooders. “You must have had friends who brought you out here. Did they just abandon you?”
A smile tugged at the corner of full lips. “No friends,” she said. “It must have been a rogue wave. I was surfing closer to land, and before I knew it, I was out here.”
Oh, for the love of Pete. She wasn’t even trying to come up with a good lie. What a flake.
“Fine,” he said. “That’s your story and you can stick to it. But don’t think that I’m going to let you get away with destroying my father’s property and ruining our fishing just because you’ve got some cockamamy idea in that pretty head of yours about saving endangered turtles or poor, defenseless sharks from the mean fishermen.”
God, he hated flakes. That type could get you killed, whether you were on the battlefield or on a boat. And the most dangerous ones were the flakes who didn’t know they were flakes. He’d be doing her a favor by teaching her that there were consequences for your actions.
“You’re going back to the shore with us,” he said. It’s not like he could leave her out here in the middle of nowhere on a surfboard anyway. Rogue wave, my ass. “And then I am going to escort you home, where you can write me out a check to cover the cost of the damage to the net and the lost fish.”
He scowled at her to make sure she got his point. “My father may be a rude, grumpy pain in the ass, but he works hard to make a living. Being a fisherman isn’t an easy life, especially when . . .” He caught himself. It was none of her business anyway. “. . . when crazy blond nutcases decide to cut holes in our net. I hope you’ve got money to pay for this, or you’re going to find yourself in jail.”
He glared at her, hands on his hips, waiting for tears to well up in those big blue eyes. Instead, she merely shrugged one neoprene-clad shoulder and said, “That’s fair. Do you mind if we pick up my surfboard first?”
Off the starboard bow, he could swear he heard a dolphin laugh.
*
BEKA FOUGHT BACK the mental image of Mr. Stick-up-his-butt hopping wetly around on deck and saying ribbit. The Baba Yaga who’d raised her had stressed the importance of never misusing her magic. But man, was it tempting. That deep voice of his would sound quite nice on a frog. Although it would be a shame to waste those broad shoulders and craggy good looks. Too bad he didn’t have a personality to go with them.
You’d think she’d purposely set out to ruin his day. Of course, she couldn’t exactly explain what she had been doing, so she’d just have to give him some money and hope that he’d let it go at that. At least the Mermaid and her son seemed to be long gone, so Beka had done something right. Too bad she’d screwed everything else up in the process. As usual. Maybe her mentor had been right, and she simply wasn’t ready to be out on her own. The old Baba probably would have figured out a way to save the little one without ever alerting the fishermen to her presence.
Still, she thought, brightening a little as her naturally cheerful disposition reasserted itself, she had actually gotten the job done. Now she had a lovely boat ride back to the shore, with the glorious ocean all around her. Sunlight glinted off the green-blue water with its dancing waves. The salt-laden breeze ran soft fingers through her hair as she sat on the prow. Warm sun caressed her skin where she’d peeled back the top of the wet suit, and her companion was quite nice to look at as long as he didn’t actually speak.
“Do you have a name?” he asked.
So much for that.
“A number of them, in fact,” she said with perfect honesty. She always tried to speak the truth if possible; there was power in words, and it didn’t do to misuse them. “You can call me Beka. Beka Yancy.”