Stef Ann Holm, Lucy Back [paper ebook reader .TXT] 📗

spent socializing. At times, a boat would cast off, take a water-skier out, but circle back and dock for more beer and chips, more talk about boat motors and life in town.

“Honey, do you want a beer?” Dave asked as he lifted the lid on the cooler.

“Sure.”

“Lucy?” he asked.

“That would be great. Thanks.” She rarely drank beer, but it sounded good today.

The heat felt delicious on her mostly bare arms. She’d put her tropical-print bikini on, with a pair of shorts and a T-shirt overtop. The bottoms didn’t reach far below her navel, but the French cut flattered her curvy figure. For a woman her age, she supposed she had a decent body. After all, she’d been pregnant with two kids, but thankfully didn’t have stretch marks.

A man came toward them and talked to Dave.

Sue said, “That’s Lloyd Zaragoza. He’s the mayor of the dock. He knows everyone’s business.”

“Oh.” Lucy turned her head to glance at Lloyd. He appeared as if he’d swallowed a small watermelon, his full belly taut and round, his flesh already tanned even though it was the beginning of the season. He wore body hair like a sweater. She felt under the gun as soon as he slanted an obvious gaze on her.

Lloyd came right up to her. “You’re new in town.”

“Uh, yes,” she replied.

“You need anything, look me up. I’m listed in the book under Z. Zaragoza.”

“Uh, okay.” She knew she never would, and she wasn’t even sure how to take the gesture. He had to be near sixty-five, the hair on his head thinning to silver strands.

“Tell me your story,” he said, but went right on talking. “I’ll be sure and keep it straight. Maybe. Depends on what you tell me, and sometimes why ruin a good story by sticking to the truth?” Then he guffawed at his own joke.

“My story?” she queried, not quite following him.

“What do you do in Red Duck?” he asked, staring intently at her. There was genuine interest and actually a warmth in his blue eyes. “What’s your line of work, sis?”

“Personal chef,” she replied, having a moment’s optimism. If this man was a busybody, he could put out a good word for her. It was apparent he liked to talk. To anyone who’d listen. “If you know of someone who needs a great cook, my card is on the bulletin board at Sutter’s.”

“Raul Nunez has done a few Christmas parties for me,” Lloyd said, and Lucy staved off a groan.

Raul. Raul! Raul!!!

“Of course you like Raul’s cooking, but mine’s just as good.” Lucy had come to a point where she was going to pull out all stops. “I’d be happy to set up an appointment with you and give you a sampling of my menu.”

“I might just do that.”

No firm commitment, but it wasn’t an outright “no” either.

Lloyd’s grandson, who was about four years old, ran past, water spraying off the wet ends of his hair. Lucy’s body clenched, the cold droplets on her bare arms causing her to shiver. The boy waved a plastic flyswatter and slapped at the deck, then the rails to the steps that led into the swimming area in the middle of the dock.

Outdoor insect control.

The distraction was all it took for the mayor to refocus his gaze on a group of men who’d gathered to check out a new boat that had just come in. The back motor case was lifted and they all stared at the inner workings.

Sue laughed when the mayor made an abrupt departure to see the new arrival’s beefy outboard engine. “He’s been widowed for ten years. I wouldn’t worry about him, but he is influential.”

Lucy merely twisted the top of her beer open and took a long and thoughtful sip.

“So what do you think of docking so far?” Sue asked, reaching into the bag of chips.

Lucy had no opportunity to answer. A large jet boat bore down on them, with music blaring so loudly she could make out the rapper’s bass line before she could even make out the passengers.

It seemed as if everyone on the dock paused in what they were doing, staring at the glittering horizon with hands shading their gazes, as the high-gloss black boat came into view.

Lucy recognized the musical artist as Usher—someone Jason listened to sometimes.

A chrome boom rose from the back of the sleek formula supersport boat. The diesel motor rumbled, a deep, throaty sound that ricocheted off the dam’s gravel banks. Lucy was able to see there were bikini-clad women on deck. Five of them. Long hair flowed like dyed rivers in the wind. Boxed blondes and brunettes.

As the boat approached, she could make out the tall driver, who stood at the cockpit rather than sat. He wore a short-sleeved white shirt, unbuttoned, the open sides rippling behind him and exposing a muscular chest. Beige swim trunks slid low at his flat waist, resting on trim hips. A fat cigar was clamped between his lips.

Drew Tolman. Of course.

Wind blew the brown hair from his forehead as he slowed his speed to keep the wake low. Rap music blared, so loud the floating dock vibrated and seemed to bounce against the water’s surface.

Dave Lawrence was already at the mooring area to help Drew dock the forty-one-foot boat. Every man on the dock perked right up.

Rejoining Sue and Lucy, the mayor held back, his glassy blue eyes fixated on that boat. “Damn, but the Tolman-ater knows how to live life. I get a hard-on every time I look at that cruiser.” Then, remembering himself, he mumbled an apology beneath his breath. “Sorry, ladies.”

It struck Lucy that nobody was really interested in the women onboard—they wanted a look at that boat. And Drew pleased them by powering up the covering over the entire mechanical workings, exposing the huge motor.

Drew didn’t lack for assistance getting the nylon ropes tied to the dock cleats, everyone careful not to scratch the boat’s expensive paint. In fact, he didn’t have to do a thing to exert himself.