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Indiana wiped the back of her hand across her mouth, then stood. She nudged her toe to Old Smithy’s side. “Come on, Dad, we have work to do.”
He groaned. “Just give me five.”
“I can help.” I opened my arms. “You might as well use me.”
“Come on then.” She marched away.
I fell in behind her, getting an even better view of her butt than I had yesterday. Her bikini bottoms molded to butt cheeks that were shaped to perfection.
“Did you have any trouble with the sharks?” I asked.
She squinted at me over her shoulder. “Just one.”
“Oh no. What happened?”
She stopped at the crane. “A shark attacked one of our airbags.”
“Shit. I wondered what that explosion of bubbles was. What does that mean to the salvage?”
Her frown deepened, and I wished she would tell me what was going through her mind. Maybe it was men she hated. Nikki had been like that, and for good reason. Every man in her life had either let her down or abused her. Or, like me, relentlessly lied to her.
It tore me up to think Indiana had suffered like that. Then again, her love for her father was obvious.
“Indiana,” I said, “I can’t help if you don’t tell me what’s going on.”
“Can you get my sunnies? They’re on the counter on the bridge.”
As I marched away, I scanned the ocean around us again. Still devoid of other vessels. Still giving me a feeling someone was watching.
I grabbed Indiana’s sunglasses, and when I returned to her, she had both hands around a metal lever that she was straining to pull toward her.
“Please, can I do that?” I asked as I handed her sunglasses over.
Scowling at me, she put her glasses on and stepped back. Her expression suggested that she didn’t expect me to be able to move the lever either.
Hoping to prove her wrong, I gripped the lever, braced one leg on a metal bracket, and pulled. The lever released a metal-on-metal screech that made my teeth clench. It clicked into the open position, and I stepped back.
A tiny smirk twinged at her lips.
“Thanks.” She stepped over to a crank handle. “Hopefully, this will move, too.”
Her biceps bulged as she strained to move the handle to the right. The cog groaned, and above us, the arm of the crane moved a fraction and wobbled.
Indiana stepped back. “If you turn that crank, I can adjust the cable at the same time.”
“Got it.” I shifted into position. “Tell me when.”
She shifted to another handle, and as she braced on the lever, the muscles in her legs contoured, and the jagged scars across her leg bulged.
“You need to move it just one inch at a time. You turn the crane while I stabilize the winch cable. If we go too fast, we risk losing the wreck. Got it?”
“Yep.”
Finally, she was giving me information I could work with.
“Here we go.” She nodded at me, and I applied pressure to the handle. Moving it slowly was harder than it looked. It was like doing the slowest push-up ever, and the constant strain on my muscles burned. I had no idea how she did this on her own.
Inch by agonizing inch, we worked together. Sweat oozed from every pore, and the muscles in my arms went from burning to pure agony. Indiana’s strength and stamina was incredible.
