“I know you better than that. You’re more a burger-and-beer kind of date,” Townsend observed.
“Yes, but I’m celebrating, remember? Once we get back to Grandville, I will have my home and hearth all to myself—and nary a ‘Is that a hornbill in your pants or are you just excited to see me’ statue anywhere to be found. Freedom,” I said, raising my hands in the air in jubilation. “Sweet freedom!” I felt a bit like Mel Gibson as William Wallace—minus the oozing entrails and head on a pike, of course.
“Does this mean you can have friends stay over now?” Townsend asked, giving me an intent look. “If so, I say bring on the Dom.”
“You are so bad,” I said.
My stomach rumbled again.
“I think we’d better see about getting you fed,” he said.
“We don’t have to dress for dinner or anything, do we?” I asked. “Because I don’t think I can wait that long.”
“I’m sure there are bound to be a number of places we can pop in at for a quick bite to eat,” Townsend said. “So, what’s your pleasure?”
“Beef,” I said without hesitation. I’d been without Iowa pork, beef or lamb for well over a week, and I was suffering from corn-fed-meat withdrawal. Although I didn’t hold out hope the steak I’d get shipboard would be as good as the fare from back home, I was hungry enough to start gnawing a limb. “A thick, juicy steak. Baked potato with sour cream and butter, and a side of baked beans. Oh, and Texas toast.”
“And where, pray tell, do you think you’re going to find such menu items?” the Brit who had ripped into me like my hounds on table scraps inquired. “Or were you just being perverse?”
I frowned. “They don’t have steak on this boat?” I asked.
“What kind of cruise is this anyway?”
“A heart-healthy cruise, of course,” the Brit replied.
“What are you talking about?” I asked Jeeves. (What can I say? The Brit looked like a giant-sized Ask Jeeves—minus the butler suit.) I turned to Townsend. “What is he talking about?”
Townsend just shrugged.
“It’s a calorie-counting weight-watching cruise,” Jeeves told me.
“I’m not following,” I said. “When you say calorie counting…”
“It’s the theme of the cruise. ‘Lifestyle Facelift: Sculpt your Body, Mind, and Soul.’ ”
I felt my right eye begin to twitch. “Lifestyle Facelift?”
Jeeves nodded. “It’s a week-long, intensive immersion into diet, exercise, and attitude with the goal of providing a jumpstart into health and happiness that we can continue after the cruise.”
My mind focused on one very intimidating four-letter word: “Diet?”
Jeeves nodded. “Low-carb, low-fat, strictly monitored diet,” he replied. “There will even be competitions and prizes given to winners in various categories,” he said. “But mostly it’s about finding balance in all areas of your life.”
“Low-fat?”
“It’s really an incredible opportunity. We’ll be getting instruction from professional trainers. Trainers to the stars,” he continued.
“Low-fat,” I said.
“And there will be yoga and nutrition classes and cooking demonstrations.”
“Low-fat!”
“What’s the matter? You look ill. Is it the ship?” Jeeves asked. “Does she need to lie down?”
“She’ll be okay. Eventually,” I heard Townsend say, attempting to stifle the laughter in his voice.
Almost catatonic, I leaned slowly over the railing and stretched out a beseeching hand toward the rapidly disappearing pier.
I could see it now, bouncing on the ocean current, my very own message in a bottle:
SOS! Chocolate Addicted Cowgirl Trapped on Fat Farm Cruise! Send Help! Send Coast Guard! Send Big Macs and Fries!
I stuck my chin in my hands and sighed.
Now I knew how Jack Sparrow felt when the rum was gone.
Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of V-8.
Townsend gently disentangled me from the ship’s rail and led me safely away from the edge. “Your breaststroke might be strong, but I doubt you’d make it, Tressa,” he said. “And it’s only a week,” he reminded me.
One week. One week of surviving on cottage cheese and carrot sticks. One week of green salads with no-cal dressing and bean sprout garnishes. One week without chocolate, doughnuts and cinnamon rolls, and where the only available cake was of the rice variety. I felt my steps falter. Townsend held me upright.
“I’ll starve,” I said. “I’ll go mad. Like those characters in the cartoons that start seeing things and begin to eye other people with cannibalistic undertones.”
“Big difference, Calamity,” Townsend said. “We’re not shipwrecked.”
“But I am trapped aboard the S.S. Salad Barge,” I grumbled.
Townsend laughed.
“You’re finding this situation hilarious, aren’t you?” I asked. My eyes narrowed. “You didn’t know about this ahead of time, did you?”
“What? How could I?”
“Didn’t your granddad book the cruise? I know he was in the know enough to make a couple of last-minute substitutions for your brother, Mike, and his family,” I announced, then wanted to stuff anything—even a bran muffin—in my super-sized mouth.
“What do you mean, substitutions?” Townsend asked.
“See? I’m already talking gibberish due to hunger!” I said, grabbing hold of him and pulling him along with me. “Come on. There has to be something good to eat on board this floating fruit cup.”
Townsend in tow, we located one of the various food venues.
“Uh, what is this?” I asked.
“Sushi bar!” someone squealed.
I grabbed Townsend and we moved to the next one.
“Oh! A breakfast bar! This looks promising!” I said—until I discovered the pancakes were whole wheat and the omelets made from egg substitute.
Next came the salad bar, fruit bar, and finally, thank God, the burger bar!
I tonged a thick burger on a whole grain bun and started building the perfect burger. Lettuce, tomato, onion, light mayo (bleah), cheese. I slapped the top of the bun on my sandwich. By this time my mouth was watering so badly I needed a baby drool bib to catch the moisture.
I caught Townsend’s amused look as he filled a plate for himself. I headed for a nearby booth, biting into my burger before my butt hit the seat.
I chewed…and chewed…and chewed.
It had a familiar flavor and texture. One I didn’t quite associate with red meat, but that was reminiscent of my gammy’s rather memorable soy meatloaf
“Something wrong?” Townsend asked, taking a big bite of his burger and wiping his mouth with a napkin.
I managed to swallow the heaping helping I’d crammed into my mouth.
“It’s a soy burger, isn’t it?” I asked, suddenly depressed.
Townsend nodded.
“And the hot dogs?”
“Turkey franks, I suspect,” he said. “But cheer up, T,” he added. “There’s still the dessert bar.”
“They have one?” I asked, hope in my heart.
He nodded. “And you’re gonna love it. Fifty-seven different flavors!”
I stared at him. “Really?” I asked, my voice pathetic in its optimism.
He nodded. “Fifty-seven wonderful flavors of yogurt,” he said. “With granola sprinkles!”
I shook my head. “Funny man.”
Townsend grinned and took another bite of his soy burger. He suddenly stopped chewing. His expression changed.
“Ah, so the second bite isn’t quite as good as the first one, huh?” I jeered.
Townsend continued to stare at a point beyond my head, his soy-stuffed mouth hanging open.
“Townsend? Are you okay?” I asked. “You’re not allergic to soy are you?”
He shook his head and slowly started to chew again. “No, I just thought I saw someone. Nevermind,” he said. “I’m mistaken. Forget it.”
I frowned. “Who did you think you saw?” I asked, getting a so-don’t-want-to-go-there feeling.
“Couldn’t be her, so let’s drop it.”
“Couldn’t be who?” I pressed. Darn my interrogatory nature.
“Marguerite Dishman,” Townsend finally said.
I gulped. Crap.
“Aunt Mo?” I asked, my voice unnaturally high. I snorted. “What would she be doing here?” I kept my head down, picked his cup up and sniffed it. “You sure you haven’t had too much grog, mate?”
Townsend grinned. “Maybe I haven’t had enough,” he suggested.
“Well, unless ye’ve smuggled yer ale aboard, there’s little chance of gettin’ a buzz aboard this vessel,” I said in my best pirate voice.
Townsend leaned across the table and gave me a leer. “Aye, wench, but ye and me could get high on a feelin’, I wager,” he pirated back. “If ye be willin’.”
I stared into twinkling brown eyes that warmed me as a good stiff shot of the hard stuff couldn’t. “And what would ye be havin’ in mind, sailor boy?” I asked.
He took my hand. “A walk around the ship, stargazing…and gazing into each other’s eyes,” he suggested, surprising me by his romantic overture—and scaring the soy clean out of me.
“And what then?” I asked, my spit drying up faster than the farm pond in a drought year.
“I’d try some of my best pirate pickup lines, of course. Until I hit on one that worked.”
I snorted. “Pirate pickup lines? Give me a break, Townsend. Since when do you know any pirate pickup lines?”
He smiled, putting Orlando Bloom’s smile to shame. “Since I boned up,” he responded, raising an eyebrow. “Especially for the occasion.”
“Yeah, right. So? Pick me up, sailor,” I challenged.
Townsend shut one eye, Popeye-like. “Aye, the fair wench is interested in paying a visit to me cabin to see me urchins then?” he said, with a ridiculous accent that sounded more silly than seafaring. “Or maybe ye wants to scrape the barnacles off me rudder?”
My mouth flew open. The scallywag
had
done his homework!
“What be the matter, wench? Parrot got yer tongue?”
I started to giggle. Tears streamed down my face. In addition to being outrageous, outspoken and out-and-out sexy, Ranger Rick Townsend had always, always been able to make me laugh.
“I hope that mirth doesn’t mean ye not be taking me seriously …” Townsend stopped. “Because I be serious. Dead serious.”
His grip on my hand tightened. I swallowed—a noisy one due to lack of throat lubrication.
“Come on,” Townsend cajoled. “Take a chance, T,” he said. “Another famous sailor named Columbus did and look how that turned out.”
I chewed my lip.
Was I ready?
Were
we
ready?
Could we make it to Townsend’s cabin without being caught by Aunt Mo?
Would I ever want to come out if we did?
“Rick? Rick Townsend? Is that really you?”
A female voice reached our table and I noticed Townsend’s eyes had grown as big as pieces of eight again.
“Brianna?”
Brianna?
“Ohmigawd, I can’t believe it! Rick Townsend! Ohmigosh! It’s been like forever since I’ve seen you! What are you doing here? Oh my gawd, this is incredible!”
Townsend popped to his feet. In other circumstances I might have alerted him to the fact that he had a napkin sticking to the front of his pants, but in this case I decided to let it add to his overall charm.
“Brianna Larkin. It’s been a long time,” Townsend said, moving to approach the woman at my back. I turned in my seat to get a look at Townsend’s mystery lady from the past. Now
my
eyes were big as silver dollars.
Of medium height, Brianna Larkin had long, straight, shiny blonde hair with perky highlights, big blue eyes (heavy on the mascara) and straight white teeth. Dressed in a navy sundress trimmed in white that showcased a tanned, toned bod, Townsend’s “old” friend was definitely not in need of an Overeaters Odyssey at Sea.
“You look fantastic,” Townsend continued, flashing his own pearly whites.
“Thanks! And look at you! You’re more handsome than ever!” She gave him another hug, and when she pulled back I was gratified to find Townsend’s napkin had attached itself to her dress front now. “What on earth are you doing here? Seriously, Rick. What are you doing on the ‘blimp boat’?”
I frowned. “Blimp boat?” I said. “That’s a little insensitive, isn’t it?”
I finally got the blonde’s attention. I tried not to fixate on the fact that her hair actually permitted a comb through it without getting hung up in the tangles.
“Oh, Rick, I didn’t realize I was interrupting,” she said, her mouth forming a tiny little O.
I smirked. I believed that about as much as I believed Townsend really enjoyed his soy burger.
“Hey, how ya doin’?” I smiled up at Brianna.
Townsend cleared his throat.
“Brianna, this is Tressa Turner,” he said, pointing to me. “Tressa’s grandmother and my grandfather recently got married. We’re all here on a celebration cruise of sorts—well, or so we thought. Apparently, someone got confused when they booked the cruise and, as a result, it looks like we’re doing the Custom Cruise Lite.” He grinned at me and winked.
Fiend.
“Oh, I see. So you’re related,” Brianna said, giving me a speculative look.
“Only by marriage,” I pointed out.
“You said you’re all here,” Brianna went on. “Does that mean your folks, too? And Mike?”
I raised an eyebrow. Apparently Brianna and Townsend knew each other very well indeed.
“My folks are on board, but Mike and his family bailed at the last minute to do Disney instead,” Townsend said.
“Oh, I can’t wait to see Don and Charlotte again,” Brianna said. “It will be just like old times!”
“How do you two know each other again?” I asked, reminding the couple I was out of their mutual admiration society loop.
“Oh, Rick and I were college sweethearts,” Brianna said. “Weren’t we, Rick? We were inseparable.”
Rick’s smile faltered. “It’s been a while,” he said.
“So? What happened?” I asked.
“Oh, I wanted to see the world and Rick here wanted to settle down in Podunk, Iowa,” Brianna explained, her hands on Townsend’s arm. “I couldn’t stand the thought of being tied down back then.”
“What do you do, Brianna?” I asked, already anticipating the answer. “For a living, that is.”
“I’m a fitness coach,” she said. “I majored in health with a minor in nutrition. Played collegiate tennis until my hamstring gave out. How about you, Tressa?”
“I’m a print journalist,” I told her.
“Oh, really? Where did you go to school? U of I? I know they have an awesome writers’ workshop program there.”
“Carson College,” I responded.
“Oh.” She nodded, judgment evident in the look she bestowed on me. “I see.”
“Tressa is the star reporter for
The Grandville Gazette,”
Townsend supplied. “But she’s become as famous for making the news as reporting it,” he said, smiling down at me.
“I see,” Brianna said again.
Right.
“Listen, Rick, I’ve got a meeting to get to, but I’d love to get together later this evening and catch up,” Brianna said. She took a business card from her tiny purse along with a pen and scribbled something on the card and handed it to Rick. “That’s my cabin number. I should be done with the meeting by nine. Nine-thirty at the latest. Ring me up—or better yet, drop by if you’re free. I can’t wait to hear what you’ve been up to!”
I had a sudden desire to go for her throat but settled for making a sudden grab at Townsend’s napkin still clinging to Brianna’s front. “Aaaah!” She gave a short scream and jumped back.
“Sorry,” I said, holding up the napkin. “It didn’t go with the outfit,” I added.
She gave me an uncertain look and Townsend another fierce hug, and then bounced off.
I shook my head. Who did she think she was? Tigger?
Townsend took his seat again.
“And to think you were worried you might be lonely on this cruise,” I said, patting his cheek. (Facial variety.) “I’m thinking you’d better hit the casino, Townsend, because it looks like Lady Luck is smiling on you.”
“I thought we were going to take a stroll around the deck and see where that takes us,” Townsend said.
I pushed my plate away. “Sorry, me hearty. Your pickup lines were good, but not quite good enough,” I said. “Besides, you have a date with Brianna later. Remember?”
“But I don’t want to spend the evening with Brianna,” Townsend said, getting up and sliding into the booth beside me and pasting his body to my side. “I want to spend it with Tressa Jayne Turner, ace cub reporter.”
Oh, God. He sounded serious.
“You do?” I asked.
He nodded.
Oh, holy shinola. He
was
serious! And what about me?
I was skank city, that’s what I was. I was still wearing the clothes I’d had on that morning on the plane and on the shuttle. I’d worn them while I sweated up a storm waiting to get on the ship. Thanks to the hat I’d stuck on to hide my hair from hell, I’d bet pirate gold once I took it off I’d have a flattened ridge running the circumference of my head that on someone with silky, tame tresses like my little sister might be overlooked and forgiven, but on my crowning glory? Just the idea of Rick Townsend running his fingers through my minefield of a mane gave me intimacy nightmares.
“I’ll need to, uh, freshen up,” I said, my voice unnaturally high.
“Okay,” he agreed, his eyes focused on my lips. I prayed to God I didn’t have lettuce stuck between my teeth. “How long will it take?”
I quickly calculated the time required for a shower, shave, lotion, makeup, and polish change. Then I added an hour to that for hair care.
“I can be ready by eight,” I said, adding an additional extra ten minutes to talk myself out of it. “Yeah, eight’s good.”
“Twenty-hundred it is,” Townsend said. “How about we meet for a drink in the Pirate’s Cove?”
“Works for me,” I responded, finding myself staring at Townsend’s mouth.
“And you won’t chicken out. Right?”
I frowned. The guy was a mind reader. Or maybe not. I probably had
bwack, bwack
flashing on my forehead.
“You know me. I’m a woman of my word,” I said, as he let me out of the booth.