Sea Star Legacy Read online

  Sea Star Legacy

  Carolyn Forrest

  Copyright@2018 by F. Steele-Treat

  All rights are reserved. This includes the right to copy any part of this book in any form.

  First edition published May 2018

  First printing in May 2018

  Books Romance

  Books Suspense

  ISBN: 9781982981600

  Disclaimer: All characters and scenes in this book are fictional in nature. Any resemblance of characters and businesses are purely coincidental.

  Contents

  1. Life Saver

  2. Breakfast in Bed

  3. Shark Bait

  4. Storm Clouds

  5. Lightening Erupts

  6. Regetta Plans

  7. Portal Peeping

  8. Advertising

  9. An Insatiable Appetite

  10. Introducing Mother

  11. A Matter of Suspicion

  12. A Matter of Jealousy

  13. Callings

  14. Ulterior Motives

  15. Wild Ride

  16. The Sea Star

  17. Space to Grow

  Author's Note

  About the Author

  CHAPTER ONE

  “Damn you, Ben Harris, you’ve never been around when I needed you.” Sandra Harris cursed under her breath as she dragged herself out of the icy surf and onto her sailboard. She knew blaming her father for her present predicament wouldn’t get her back to shore. However, if it hadn’t been for his funeral, she wouldn’t be in Fort Walton Beach. And, she wouldn’t be on a sailboard caught in a current headed out to sea.

  Why had she gone out into the bay? She wondered, flipping a wisp of stray wet hair behind her ear. At the time, a relaxing sail in the calm waters had seemed like a wonderful idea. Her small expedition, though, had somehow turned into a nightmare. Even if the wind did manage to pick up a whole lot, Sandra doubted if she could make it back to shore. All of her muscles were aching with fatigue.

  It hadn’t been one of the best days of her life in the first place, Sandra thought as she slumped down upon her board and stared toward the now deserted beach. Seeing her father all laid out in a coffin at the chapel had been bad enough. Funerals had never appealed to Sandra. Seemed like a lot of pomp and circumstance just to say goodbye. And in her case, Sandra had said her final goodbyes so many years earlier. She’d been only six years old. Yet, the day her father walked out of her life and the pain which followed in his wake would remain etched in her mind forever.

  At the funeral, she’d managed to view his coffin with little emotion. What had gotten under her skin were all the expectant faces of Ben Harris’ friends and acquaintances. She’d felt as much on display as her father’s cold body. They all whispered their condolences as they glared at her, searching for an unspoken clue as to how she was holding up to the loss. What did they expect, sobs and gut wrenching tears? After putting her father to rest so long ago, she wasn’t about to mourn for him now.

  With a feeling of detached resignation, Sandra watched the crimson rays of the descending sun plummet down upon the choppy surf. Her father had managed to abandon her again, she realized. Only this time, she had no doubt that she’d never see him again.

  Ben Harris always had shown a talent for disappearing at the worst times, she reminded herself, biting down on her lower lip. When he left her and her mother, it had been the day after her birthday. Sandra had ridden her new bicycle to school, feeling like a princess on top of her red metallic couch, invincible, beautiful and loved. All those feelings fled her, however, after her mother told her that her father had left them for the Emerald Coast. The Emerald Coast, she had thought sounded like a magical place. She had believed he would come back for her and take her there. Sandra laid her forehead upon the board and closed her eyes.

  How ironic, after all these years, he had given her yet another shiny new gift, his entire estate and in turn abandoned her for the last time. Unlike the bicycle, Sandra had every intention of taking advantage of his generosity. She didn’t know why he willed everything to her. Perhaps Ben Harris felt guilty for having not been there. She couldn’t explain the mystery of her father’s sudden revelation that he had a daughter. But then, what did it matter? The fact remained, he had left everything to her. His personal belongings didn’t interest Sandra in the least. But the boating supply company he operated for nearly sixteen years did interest her. The small company held the promise of being Sandra’s ticket away from her home and her worthless job at Clareyman’s Clothing.

  An invisible breeze sent a shiver running up her spine. A series of goose bumps quickly followed, reminding her that the fleeting glimmer of twilight would soon be gone. The stars even seemed to be hiding their brilliance behind large black clouds. Should she try and get the sailboard up again? One last time, she told herself, one last time.

  Straddling the board, Sandra reached for the sail which lay lifeless in the water. As she grabbed the boom and hoisted the sail toward her, her arm muscles twitched with exhaustion. She took a deep breath and sent up a brief prayer for strength. Conscious of making every movement count, she moved into a crouched position. Then straightening her back, she stood up and extended the boom. The sail tugged on her hands as it found the breeze; her heart began to pound.

  “Come on now. We’ve got to get back to shore,” she commanded the sailboard with quiet authority.

  Bend your knees, adjust your weight, she mentally coached herself. The board crested a swell.

  Okay, we’re going on the down side. Lean back, you’ve got to make this count. Suddenly the sail went limp. No, not again, her mind whaled. Sandra felt herself falling backwards into the water, the cold embracing her like a cloak.

  Staying with her sailboard was her only hope. No one would ever see her bobbing among the waves in her life jacket, she realized, willing every ounce of her unspent energy to swim through the chop. As she reached her board and stretched her arm across its middle, chills claimed her. Her teeth began to chatter uncontrollably. She had to get herself out of the water. If she didn’t, Sandra knew she would become victim to hypothermia soon. She wasn’t sure she could even get back on the sailboard again. Taking in a deep breath, she tried to summon all her strength. One, two, three, she counted to herself and forced the unwilling board underneath her.

  Exhaling a deep breath of relief, she bent over tucked her numb fingers under her chin for warmth. Had coming to Florida been a mistake? She wondered. One thing she was sure of, if she were at home on a good old boring Oklahoma lake, she wouldn’t be stranded. Even if the ever present wind totally died on her, she could have at least looked forward to being washed ashore before she reached a different state. The way things were going, her next stop could well be South America, Miami if she were lucky.

  A sense of desolation as black as the night crept over Sandra. Closing her eyes tightly, she breathed in the moist night air and tried to relax. The scent of salty humidity combined with a hint of dead fish and something else filled her senses. Indeed, she was an outsider, she thought with an uncontrollable shudder.

  Finding a reserve of courage and bullheaded determination, Sandra opened her eyes and strained to see the distant shore. It would be unlikely someone would come to her rescue, but she realized it was her only hope. All she could make out against the vague strip of white sand were the glowing lights of her father’s shop. Her shop now, she reminded herself. Assuming she got back to shore and didn’t land in a foreign country or . . . get herself eaten by sharks. Good Lord, she hadn’t thought about sharks. Did northern Florida have sharks? They kept to warm water so surely no self-respecting shark would find himself swimming in this bay, she tried to assure herself.

  Pushing the thought of what
might be swimming in the ebony waters from her mind, Sandra narrowed her gaze and tried to estimate the distance between her and safety. Unless her eyes were playing tricks on her, she had continued to drift further away from the coastline and closer to the mouth of the bay. She bit down hard on her lower lip as she felt the corners of her eyes begin to sting. This wasn’t the time to cry like a stereotypical female, she scolded herself. She had to keep her wits about her. The wind wouldn’t be her ally tonight. She would have to use her own devices, namely, her hands to paddle.

  Dipping her arms into the black chop, she began to paddle towards the hotel’s faint lights. A frantic fit of desperation fueled her every movement. Then she heard it. A vague hum over the splashing waves. Ceasing her paddling, she rose up to a sitting position and sat perfectly still. The hum sounded like a small engine. It had to be a boat. It just had to be.

  As she scanned the horizon for the craft, an unwelcome rush heated Sandra’s face and her ears started to ring. Closing her eyes, she kneeled into a ball and rested her forehead on her knees. The roar in her ears melted into the restless slosh of the waves. Good heavens, she couldn’t faint. Not out here. Not now. Remaining as still as she could, she prayed her senses would return to her. Then she heard it, again. It sounded like an engine and it was getting closer. It hadn’t been her imagination after all.

  Craning her neck around, she searched the night. A motorboat peeked up from behind a wave in the distance between her and the shore. Sandra stared at the approaching spot in the night and waited. Each labored breath seemed to keep time to the seconds in a minute. God, I will be a better person if you’ll just get me out of here, she thought.

  Even if they could see her, were they coming to help her? Think positive thoughts, she told herself as she began waving her arms over her head. They’re coming to rescue me. They’re coming to rescue me, she chanted to herself silently, unable to let herself think otherwise.

  A slice of mood slipped through the clouds and Sandra caught a glimpse of the craft. It was evident now, the boat was headed straight for her. It didn’t look like the Coast Guard, however. There weren’t any visible flags. The motorboat had to be privately owned, she thought, dropping her arms to her side as she continued to watch its approach. She could vaguely make out the dark outline of a man behind the windshield. As the engine slowed to a murmur, the boat coasted to within a few feet of her. She heart raced in anticipation.

  “Are you all right?” a man called. His voice sounded rough and harsh.

  “Yes, I’m fine. Just tired and lonesome for land,” she replied, trying to sound nonchalant about her predicament. She suspected, however that the quiver in her voice gave her away.

  “No wonder,” the man shot back at her in a tone that held no sympathy. “You’ve been out her all day. I thought I’d better keep an eye on you. I was right. Paddle to the back of the boat and I’ll help you aboard.”

  Sandra maneuvered her board into position and grasped the boat’s silver rail in one hand. Holding onto the rope from her sailboard with the other hand, she gradually ascended the ladder. Her head swam with the slosh of the waves. She knew this man was her only reasonable hope. Even the Coast Guard wouldn’t be patrolling after dark. She couldn’t help wondering, though, how the man had known she was in the bay. What type of person would be out boating in the dead of the night during the off season? Was she trading one bad situation for another?

  Reaching the lip of the vessel, she noticed the name of the craft proudly displayed in bold Old English letters, Nemesis. Great, Sandra thought, I’m riding with a man who thinks of his boat as his enemy rather than a friend. Weren’t all men supposed to think of their boats as their lover or something?

  “Lift the fore portion of the board up to me. I’ll bring her aboard,” the stranger commanded reaching out to grasp the rope and breaking into her thoughts. His hand brushed against hers. Sandra jerked the line back as small currents of warmth ran up her arm in alarm. Though her instincts forbid her to look into the stranger’s face, she could feel his probing stare bearing down on her. There was definitely something dangerous about this man.

  Unable to endure the silence further, she reluctantly lifted her gaze. The sharp angles of the man’s face looked menacing in the shadowed moon light. Tight jaw muscles flexed with an unspoken rage. His eyes shone as black coal. Sandra felt her stomach know with a nauseating fear. Why was this man so upset with her? She wondered as her back foot searched for the lower rung in the ladder to back away. Without warning, he moved towards her. Stay calm, Sandra, she told herself. He wouldn’t have fished you out of the bay if his intentions weren’t . . . . Who was she fooling? She was at this man’s mercy. He could slip her throat right now and no one would know. No one would even miss her unless her mother decided to fly in. Which Carolyn Daniel’s last words on the subject had been something like, “When hell freezes over.”

  “Let me have those,” he commanded roughly, motioning to the line and her board.

  Sandra glanced around for a means of escape. Inky colored churning water surrounded by the night sky and a few far off lights were all that greeted her with hope. What did she expect? A knight in shining armor? The way things had been going for her today, he’d probably sink to the bottom in his metal plating anyway. Handsome princes only rescued lovely maidens in the movies, not real flesh and blood people like her.

  Breaking into her thoughts, the stranger extended his hand towards her. What did he want? Move, do something, she told herself. To her disgust, her body remained glued in place. Before she realized what was happening, he grabbed the line, pulled the sailboard from her and laid it on the deck. Suspecting she might be next to be hoisted onboard, she clenched the ladder’s railing tightly and stared at her hands, willing them not to move. Her knuckles went white from the strain while all feeling left her fingers.

  Sandra heard the stranger’s footsteps moving towards her. The boat slanted to the side confirming her fears. He meant to pull her on board. Without warning, his hands were under her arms, dragging her upward, breaking her grasp on the rail.

  “Let go of me,” she tried to yell, but her voice came out as a coarse whimper. Suddenly, he released her and fell onto the boat’s padded bench seat. Her wet suit sounded a loud squish of disapproval. Now she knew how a swordfish must feel after being reeled in and thrown on the deck of a ship for slaughter. Slaughter? Would that be her fate? Travel all the way to Fort Walton Beach, Florida in search of a new life away from her prying mother and stepfather and go nowhere job only to be killed the same day. Not to mention allowing her mother the joy of saying, “I told you so,” over her grave.

  She felt the stranger’s smoldering gaze hovering about her and boldly glared up into his face with an unknown source of courage that she didn’t realize she had. His cold eyes cut through her like honed Walton. Good Lord, what was he going to do with her?

  Raising a crooked eyebrow, his mouth twisted into a cynical smirk. “Well? What the hell were you doing out there?” he demanded. The fierce controlling quality in his voice pushed her back into a coil against the boat and she dropped her gaze. She immediately hated herself for cowardice. He might have managed to scare her witless, but she didn’t have to give him the satisfaction of knowing it. She stared at his large hands which were rolled into fist and propped upon his hips. Swallowing down a lump in her throat, her gaze fought its way upward, following the contours of the stranger’s sleek build. Through the pale colored polo-shirt, she could see the muscles in his chest flex with each heavy breath. His pulse beat in a visible rhythm in his neck. His eyes shown with a roguish glint that held no remorse. A rugged man definitely accustom to getting his way, she thought with a shudder.

  “Look, I’ve had one of the worst days of my life,” Sandra informed him in a low growl as she forced herself to stand to her full height. If this man intended on killing her, fine. She wasn’t going to let him bully her regardless. “Just give me a ride back to shore and cut the sermon,” she to
ld him, accenting her last two words.

  The man cocked his head to one side and sneered. “I must look like a chauffeur service to you.”

  “No, you don’t. If you were, you wouldn’t have been sitting on your backside on the beach watching me drown.” Sandra huffed out an exaggerated breath and ran her hand through her matted hair. Of all the people in the world who could have rescued her, she had to get him. So much for knights in shining armor, she thought. Where did he get off telling her what to do? So he wasn’t going to kill her. Who did he think he was, her father?

  Without muttering a single word, the stranger turned and addressed the drenched sailboard. She watched silently as his sure, long hands dismantled the mast and rolled the unyielding sail onto the pole with effortless movements.

  “That should keep her secure,” he grumbled in a deep voice, his back still turned away from her.

  Digging her hands into the edge of the seat, Sandra tried to control the urge to jump overboard. If she weren’t so tired, she might seriously entertain the possibilities. What were a few measly sharks and ice cold water compared to enduring this man’s pompous attitude?

  As though reading her thoughts, he sullenly peered out over the front windshield and turned the ignition key of the small craft. As the engine responded with efficiency, Sandra wasn’t sure if she felt relief to be returning to shore or despair that she would have to endure at least a thirty minute ride with the man.

  “You better sit down, Ms. Sandra Harris. The Nemesis is rather temperamental in chop,” he called back over his shoulder, a devilish grin forming on his lips as he reached to put the boat into gear.

  The craft bucked forward into a wave. Perhaps it wasn’t too late to jump overboard, she thought wryly as she fell across the bench seat. Righting herself and locking her elbow against the side of the boat, Sandra glared at the back of the stranger’s head waiting for him to turn towards her to gloat. She thought she saw the trace of a smile on the side of his face. So, this was how he got his kicks. This man wouldn’t win an award for gallantry.