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God this was comfortable. She exhaled a breath that she had been holding for months. Years, even. Her whole body sagged. She could almost feel the sway of the boat. Her eyelids grew heavy, and she told herself she would only lie here a minute, then she would get up and help Trystan…
Chapter Five
Trystan returned toan empty saloon. When he went looking for Cloe, he found her fast asleep on her bunk.
Shewastired. The kind of tired that came from sustained survival mode. Maybe she hadn’t been trekking a rugged mountain range or trapping her own food in a desert, but any environment could be hostile enough to take a toll. After her shower, her eyes had been red and bruised, her movements sluggish, suggesting sleep deprivation. Trystan recognized her alertness, too. She wasn’t actively being hunted, but she was on guard that she could be.
He needed to dig a little deeper into that but wasn’t sure how. His priority was Storm, but he could see that Cloe had pushed herself to her limit to get here—which he couldn’t help admire. It had left her weakened, though. He didn’t want to take advantage of that. He also didn’t want to see her as fragile and vulnerable. That would cause his guard to drop, and he knew what happened when it did.
He quietly drew her door closed, contemplating his promise to Reid that he would “figure it out.” It sounded like Cloe wanted to live and work here until her visa ran out, but where?
And was her being here really the best thing for Storm? For his baby sister’s sake, Trystan felt obliged to give Cloe the benefit of the doubt and believe she was only here because she wanted to be part of her niece’s life, but what exactly had happened in California? Was trouble liable to follow her here? Because that would definitely impact whether he would enable her to stay here.
Trystan hated to think like that. He believed in the value of family, probably more than either of his brothers. He might enjoy testing his own self-reliance—and make a living from diarizing how he did it—but he couldn’t have done it without the dedicated teachings of his mother’s relatives or the robust support he’d received through the years, especially from his production team. He was authentically on his own for weeks at a time, but his support staff were only a distress signal away. Humans survived by leaning on each other. He knew that.
He swore under his breath, thinking of those people he relied on who, in turn, relied on him. He couldn’t keep jerking them around. Twice now, he’d had to tell his production team to find work elsewhere, first after abruptly shutting down his trek into the arctic this spring, then again in June, when he’d promised Reid and Emma he would stick around until the resort went up for sale.
Today’s agreement for sale ought to mean he could start planning a return to work. If he didn’t go back, no one made any money, including him. He needed to get out there.
Which made Cloe an even bigger thorn in his boot. He wasn’t about to dump her on Reid or Logan—or Emma—and say, “She’s your problem,” but he didn’t want to stick around and let her be his own problem, either.
The sharp talons of interest that had been digging into him all day gave a determined flex, urging him to see her as something else, but he brushed those aggravating thoughts away.
No, he would focus on scaring up a room for her for a week or so. It sounded like she was strapped for cash, jobless, and without a permanent address so he’d check with his film connections, too. Anything they offered would likely be location work that would take her out of Raven’s Cove. The hours could be hellish, but it paid well and might cover accommodation. He was happy to help someone help themselves. Teach a woman to fish and all that.
He considered who to reach out to while he continued with his chores. He always did a thorough clean as soon as the guests disembarked, but there was a lot more to do between cruises. Along with carrying in supplies and putting them away, he had beds to make, maintenance duties in the engine room, and weather reports to study. He always looked over the passenger list and made note of any special requests so he could personally follow up. His days “off,” when he was here in Raven’s Cove, were also his only time to make important calls or send emails because service was spotty once he was out on the water.
Huh. The bed-making fairy had visited while he’d been out. All he had to do was set out the Welcome Aboard cards with the fresh toiletries.
His father would approve of her, he thought ironically. Not just because she was cute as hell, either.You boys are crew, not cargo. Get to work, Wilf had said more times than Trystan could count.
They had learned to dive in and never complain about whatever unpleasant task was handed to them—and had developed a certain contempt for anyone who lacked their same unquestioning work ethic.
Cloe hadn’t assumed her stay on board was a vacation. She hadn’t waited to be asked to pitch in. She had seen something that needed doing and had done it. Trystan had to respect her for it.
When he picked up the grocery order, he stole the company vehicle to save a few meters of walking. It was still a lot of trips up and down the ramp to bring all the boxes aboard, then more time getting it all stowed away and the empty boxes returned.
By the time he was done, two hours had passed. Cloe was still asleep, so he went to knock on her door.
“What? Hello? Come in” was her muffled response.
He opened her door to see her sitting up on the edge of the lower bunk, blinking in confusion.
“Okay?” He had an impulse to put his hand on her flushed cheek to be sure she wasn’t sick. He shoved his fist into his pocket.
“I haven’t slept in a proper bed for a week,” she said sheepishly. “Did I miss dinner?” She flicked a worried frown to the afternoon light beyond the curtained window.
“No. But that’s why I woke you.” That was a small prevarication. He wanted to talk to her before they went up to the house. “Would you rather skip dinner and go back to sleep?”
“No. I want to see Storm. I’ll just brush my teeth and wash my face. Can I go like this?” She looked down at the wrinkled shirt and shorts she had changed into after her shower.
“We don’t exactly dress for dinner here,” he said, amused. “I should have asked when we were at the house. Would you like to put anything through the wash?”
“Do I need it?” she asked with a cringe of horror.
“No,” he chuckled. “You’re fine. And I spend half my life in the bush. My standards are very low. But if you’ve been traveling, you probably haven’t had time for laundry.”
“Emma wouldn’t mind?”
