Page 9 of Buck (Diver Downeast #2)

The weekend had seemed extra long.

Not because of the work that the wedding had entailed. Bobbie was used to that, and really, everything couldn’t have gone smoother. The guests, as well as the Sothard matriarch had all been extremely pleased with the food and the service.

What had sucked, was Buck’s presence. He’d clearly made a point not to approach or confront her, but every time Bobbie turned around, there he was, standing casually in his form-fitting tux, throwing his gorgeous head back to laugh at something someone said.

Bobbie had no idea if he knew what he was doing; if he was purposely taunting her, or if he was so unaware of her presence that his actions—highly exasperating to Bobbie—had no bearing on his behavior.

Dammit all. She really hadn’t been able to keep her eyes off him, and that was on her, but it still sucked.

At least he hadn’t danced with anyone but family, so she hadn’t had to witness what his arms would look like around a date.

But that wasn’t for a certain person’s lack of trying.

Spencer’s high school ex, Stacy, had made a supreme effort.

First, the woman had made that scene where she’d wept over Spencer’s marriage, then she’d hung onto Tabitha like she could somehow find herself married to her long-time ex, via absorption.

After that, Bobbie had watched Stacy regroup, only to approach Buck again and again. Bobbie found herself having to turn away and bite her tongue not to intercede.

The drunker Stacy got, the more passes she made at Buck. Bobbie sighed, remembering. Couldn’t the sad-sack have picked one of the other four available Sothard brothers to hit on?

Well, three. Seifer was a bit on the young side. Not that it probably would have stopped Stacy.

Luckily, from what Bobbie had witnessed, Buck had no interest in placating the clinging vine, and he’d eventually called a cab and sent her home. Alone.

That, at least, had mitigated any drama surrounding Buck for the rest of the evening, and Bobbie had carried on until the last guest had departed, without making a fool of herself.

The next hurdle, the “all day” brunch on Sunday had seemingly lasted forever as well.

Bobbie had been running one of the buffet stations because a server had called in sick, and sure enough, Buck hadn’t seemed to be able to get enough bacon, home fries, or eggs that happened to be placed right in front of Bobbie.

Sure, he’d done nothing more than nod and smile at her while she dished things up, but that semi-aloof attitude had left her feeling…discomfited, instead of relieved, as she’d imagined.

Had she…wanted him to engage her in conversation?

On Friday, she’d told him in no uncertain terms, that a discussion between them wouldn’t be happening.

Why then, did it feel like the calm face he’d presented toward her over breakfast-meat, was slowly changing her mind?

Dammit. He had to be doing it on purpose.

He probably remembered how it used to irk her when she was being ignored.

Not that he’d ever done that back in the day.

But a lot of the kids at the Vo Tech they’d attended had snubbed her because she not only lived on the wrong side of the tracks, but her ne’er-do-well parents had split.

And yeah, she still hated being unacknowledged.

It had been really tough to get through the whole day without breaking down and begging Buck to spill what was on his mind, but she’d managed.

And now?

At last.

Monday.

Bobbie felt like she could breathe again as she stood on the deck of her boat and the sun sent its first tentative rays over the horizon.

She walked over to remove her mainsail cover, and saw that her brothers had already dropped off the two large crates of beer they always sent north with her.

She doubted, however, that they’d been up this early.

They’d probably left it sometime in the wee hours of the morning, after drinking at one of the local bars, and before they’d gone to bed.

That was fine with her. She never liked seeing her brothers’ faces, especially on her day off. The pair always managed to sour her mood, and after her stress-filled weekend, Bobbie didn’t need any more angst thrown her way.

Quickly stowing the cases below where she’d already put the food for tomorrow’s menu into the specialized, compressor-based-cooler she’d had installed, she went back above to give her thirty-foot sailboat, the Small Dream , a quick safety check before engaging the motor and puttering her way out of the harbor.

Bliss .

Bobbie took her first, sky-reaching stretch of the day after setting her sails. This was her happy place. This is where she loved to be. The ocean wiped away all her worries. Pitting her skills against the sea always kept her focused, even if this wasn’t the boat of her dreams.

Did she hate her little sloop? Hell, no. She actually loved it. It gave her freedom to sail, and it got the job done, which is all she could ask for at the moment. She supposed she should be grateful to her brothers for helping her finance the Small Dream.

With Drew owning the family house outright—it having been left to him, the oldest, by their absent parents—he’d actually and magnanimously used it as collateral on her behalf. Three years after she’d lost her first boat so egregiously, he’d cosigned the papers for the Small Dream .

All good for now. But what nobody knew, was that she’d been squirrelling away money for the five years since her catering business had opened, saving up for an actual racing boat that would get her, once again, back into competitions; her first love, one that ran far deeper than food-prep.

Bobbie looked forward to the day when she’d finally have enough cash for a healthy down-payment. Then she’d find the right craft, which she’d already determined she’d call the Big Dream .

Luckily for Bobbie—who was fast approaching her thirty-third birthday—a sailor was never too old to compete in many of the races held in and around Maine, and if she could place well in a number of them to prove her worth, her eventual goal was to qualify for and compete in the OSTAR.

It was by far the best, single-handed Trans-Atlantic race there was, at least in Bobbie’s opinion.

And even though it didn’t offer a monetary prize, competing in it held more bragging rights than almost any other race, which was exactly what she wanted.

The OSTAR ran every four years, and the race this year had already been completed in May. Which was fine. Bobbie wasn’t ready. She hoped with every fiber of her being that she’d have everything in place to compete in the next one.

But right now…

With the wind filling her sails and the sun shining down brightly, she set the wheel’s auto-pilot for the trip that had become so very familiar to her, and finally at her ease, she let her mind wander.

A huge sigh escaped as she lay back on the cushions of the cockpit, staring at the blue sky above.

The winds were good today, brisk, and out of the southeast. That meant her sailing time would probably only be about eight hours, getting her to the private dock in New Brunswick around three this afternoon.

Not nearly long enough, as far as Bobbie was concerned, but even after she’d docked and unloaded, having a whole afternoon and evening to herself in the guest house her client kept open for her, wouldn’t be a hardship.

The logistics for such a fine day—without any weather-challenges, unfortunately—refused to take up much of her brain, and her thoughts kept returning to Buck.

Okay . She might as well face her ill-advised reflections. Maybe she could work him out of her system.

Number one. Was Buck serious about wanting to clear the air?

And if he was, was it time to forgive and forget?

Could Bobbie even manage that? Sure, fifteen years had passed, and she was in a much better head-space now.

But what Buck had done had been unconscionable.

She’d had her whole life planned out, and he’d single-handedly, in one night, ruined those dreams.

Bobbie still didn’t understand his motive, so many years later. And that was puzzle-piece number two. Had Buck been jealous of her sailing skills? Had it been a joke gone wrong? Had he been trying to prove something to somebody? Had he accepted a dare?

She definitely deserved answers to those questions, but it wouldn’t exonerate Buck’s role in those heinous acts. Still, maybe hearing things from his perspective, straight from his mouth, would make it so she could move on.

But…

She had moved on. Hadn’t she?

Without him at her side, of course. Also without any other emotional support, and only the smallest bit of financial aid that her brothers had oddly stepped up to give. At least that was something. More than she’d gotten from Buck.

She owned her own boat, albeit with the bank possessing the larger share. She ran her own, successful company—again with loans—that supported her, and paid some sweet dividends to her brothers. She had a cute little apartment she rented, where she no longer had to kowtow to her older siblings.

That raised a snort.

Bobbie wished she’d dared to go out on her own, sooner.

But for the longest time she’d expected a huge fight from her siblings.

Their sketchy past had told her to avoid rocking the boat at all costs.

It had been odd then, that when she’d finally announced, six months ago that she was signing a lease and moving out, they’d grumbled, but hadn’t attempted anything heavy-handed with her, as was normally their way.

Weird . They hadn’t deployed any abuse, verbal or otherwise; verbal being the only thing they dared take out of their evil toolkits these days.

These days.

Had she been smacked around in the past? Yeah. Every now and then, especially when her brothers were in their cups. And of all people, it had been Mason Sothard who’d helped her with that.