Santa and the Pirate Queen by M. L. Buchman

Author:M. L. Buchman
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Buchman Bookworks, Inc.

8

Howie didn’t want Janine to think he was snooping; the woman came across as seriously serious. He’d intended to toss his bag on a bunk and return to the deck immediately, but the interior required a good long look.

She was no simple daysailer—neither the woman nor the boat.

There were obvious signs that not only did Janine live aboard, but that her boat was capable of far more serious adventures than a parade of Christmas lights. The instruments at the chart were top quality gear. Not merely an ICOM two-way, but also a handheld and a satellite radio. The GPS and navigation equipment was sufficiently impressive that he’d want a good long spell with the instruction manual before approaching it.

And the interior. Janine was a very practical woman. There were only hints here and there as to the owner’s gender. But she had a fantastic physical library of the great mariners from Bligh to Chichester. There were also travel guides that appeared to include most major countries with a coastline. A slim set of volumes about Arctic and Antarctic exploration were particularly intriguing.

Too long below, though the thoroughly efficient and comfortable interior tempted him to linger, he turned to ascend the ladder to the deck.

Except his way was blocked. Sitting there at the base of the ladder, a large black-and-white cat regarded him suspiciously.

“What’s his or her name?” he called up to Janine loudly enough to be heard over the engine rumble as he knelt to let the cat sniff his hand.

“He. Ship’s Captain Master Howl. Be sure to salute.”

He glanced up the ladder at her. What little of her face he could see between the hoodie and the darkness showed no sign she was joking. So, he knelt as straight as he could, then saluted sharply before reaching out to pet him. The cat had a ready purr.

Howie scooped him up and carried Master Howl up to join his mistress above decks.

“Now you’re spoiling him rotten.” She showed the first hint of humor since his arrival.

“And you don’t? You made him ship’s captain.”

“Oh no, he did that on his own. I merely bowed to the inevitable. Here, take the wheel.” And she simply walked away from him.

In all his sailing, it was the one thing he did the very least—as in never. It was part of how he’d fit into every crew, by never going for the wheel or tiller.

She disappeared below.

The steel wheel radiated cold against his palms, cold enough it almost burned. But he didn’t dare let go to fish out his gloves. Instead, he held on for dear life and did his best to stay on track for the opening at the south end of Shilshole and the turn into Salmon Bay and the locks.

Foolishly trusting him, Janine stayed below forever—at least a minute, perhaps two. Other boats were coming out of darkened docks. Picking their running lights out of their extravagant Christmas finery was tricky.

Then she must have thrown a breaker and the Tārā’s lights blinked on.

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