“This cup? From one of the trunks.”
She spun around on the seat so her back was to him, and the baby giggled and clapped her hands. “Fun! Fun!”
Yes, Annabelle, Margaret thought, this is going to be fun. She glanced over her shoulder and saw that Hank was looking off in the distance, whistling. She tapped the water can with her foot to rattle it and quickly dipped the cup in the ocean, then covertly dried the outside with her skirt.
She turned back, gave him another honeyed smile, and handed him the tin cup. “Your water.”
He grunted something, then raised the cup to his mouth and swilled down a nice big Neanderthal-sized gulp.
Water sprayed everywhere, and he roared one of those foul words. He swiped the back of his hand over his mouth. “That’s seawater!”
“I know.”
“What the hell did you do that for?”
“The peasants are revolting.”
He stood up, rocking the boat, and stepped around the mast, then crawled past her. He grabbed the can, grumbling a string of foul words before he moved back to his end of the boat.
Annabelle looked up at him and said, “Hi!” He frowned.
She grinned and waved her hands. “Sit, sit, sit, sit!”
“No, Annabelle.” Margaret shook her finger. “No. No. That’s a bad word.”
He raised the can and gulped down some water, then screwed the cap back on the can and set it down between his feet.
“Shouldn’t we be rationing that water?”
“Worried, Smitty?”
She scanned the horizon on all sides, then gave him a pointed look. “Do you know where we are?”
“I don’t have to know where we are.”
It was like talking to a brick.
“Men have instincts. Think of it as a sixth sense.”
“What? Ignoring women?”
“That, too.” He waved her off with one rough hand, then added, “I know exactly where I’m going.”
“Without the map or a compass.”
He tapped a finger against his temple and gave her a cocky I-know-everything look. “It’s all in here. A natural gift, sweetheart. Like knowing the exact moment to pick a pocket.”
She shook her head. “You have no scruples.”
He grinned as if she had just complimented him. He propped his arms on the boat rim and nodded at the trunks behind her. “Any cigars in those trunks?”
The look she gave him was meant to tell him exactly what he could do with his cigars.
“Beer?”
“No. No cigars, no beer, and no hoochy-koochy dancers either.”
He grinned and stared at her legs. She looked down. Her humidity-drenched skirt clung to her like a second skin.
