“There’s a diner about three miles from here, but I don’t think they let dogs in. At this time of day, however, we can probably park the truck right out front where we can keep an eye on them through the big picture windows.”
“Sounds good to me,” Jett answered happily. “Now let’s get your stuff out of my plane, then I’ll chock my wheels, tie down, and we can be off.”
Why was it that Trask didn’t think it would be that simple?
Damn.He was always right.
Fifteen minutes later, if Trask hadn’t been so excited about the scope of equipment he was receiving, he probably would have been pulling his hair out.
The gear, of which there was a lot, had been piled in the Cessna’s fuselage…haphazardly. Trask searched for a word thatwas even more disorganized than “haphazard”, but his brain couldn’t come up with one. Messy was far too understated.
The haul, however, had him practically salivating.
There weren’t just the impressive dive helmets, historically significant suits, or the hard-to-find boots in the load that Randal DeLuca had described.
Nope.That was just scratching the surface.
Trask uncovered vintage regulators from several different countries. There were 1950’s era swim fins, and at least two Sea-View masks. He spotted a pile of 1970’s decompression meters, an old US Diver’s watch, and a couple of Mega-Sport, wrist depth gauges that he knew were made in Italy.
There was a tangle of well-worn tank pressure gauges, several ancient looking horse-collar buoyancy devices, and don’t even get him started on the more recent model, yet vintage dive suits. The volume of them was staggering. Trask even unearthed two, very early canvas belts with round, cast iron weights from amongst the plethora of treasures which included harnesses and the like.
“The newer gear in the hold up front is mine,” Jett told him. “Everything else is yours.”
“Where did you say your father had these things stored?” Trask asked Jett as they loaded up and carried the first pile to his truck. He, of course, wanted to stack everything as neatly as possible once they got there, but Jett’s idea of repacking was to toss, and hope for the best.
That wasn’t going to cut it.
Trask easily hoisted himself up into the bed, and perused what they had so far while she answered.
“Oh, Dad’s a bit of a pack rat. Especially since he has that big barn. A lot of stuff he collected wasn’t in great shape, but he had allthisequipment in old trunks, and luckily the mice couldn’t get to it.”
The lot smelled musty, certainly, but everything, even the suits seemed to be in excellent condition.
“Uh, if you don’t mind,” Trask suggested as mildly as possible, “I’ll get everything organized if you’ll keep carrying.” Normally, he’d be the first one to do the heavy lifting for a lady because he was old school and his mother had raised him right. But his skin was almost itchy with the chaotic way Jett threw things over the bed rails, and the only way he could satisfy his need for order was by placing everything neatly into the large plastic containers that he’d had the foresight to put in the back.
“Sure. I can do that,” she readily agreed, not reading anything into it. She pranced off with the dogs at her heels to get more gear.
Trask’s eyes followed her as he shook his head.
Why did she have to be so sweet and accommodating? It was almost as if those attributes were aimed directly at Trask, looking for a way to disarm his aversion to the chaos she instigated.
Dichotomies.
Yeah.He fucking hated dichotomies. He’s spent his life attempting to bridge gulfs in reasoning, make sense of contradictions, and heal dualities.
Was the universe laughing its ass off; throwing this woman at him? Making him lust after every lift of her chest, every twitch of her fine behind, and every toss of her curls?
Well, hah, hah.That joke wasnotgoing to be on him. As soon as Trask got both himself and Jett fed, he’d have her back to her plane and in the air before she could bewitch him any further.
“I think this is the last of it,” she said, carrying over a final two suits while juggling a small, but very old cardboard container that had to hold something valuable. She juggled it recklessly.
Trask saw disaster about to happen, and leaped from the truck, barely catching the box before it hit the ground.
“Wow. Nice save,” Jett giggled, not bothered at all. She threw the pair of dive suits she held, into the bed. “What do you think is in it?”
Trask tamped down the urge to scold her over her nonchalance, but turned his attention instead to the box and opened it slowly. His eyes grew wide.
He whistled. “Sweet. If I’m not mistaken, this is a soviet era camera housing.”
