Owen

There was a sailing vessel in my cove.

I was reading on the porch, alone save for the Japanese beetles watching me from the other side of the screen. Contentment came in the form of drinking my beer and settling into some Whitman until I noticed a light at the mouth of the cove. I gave it a long, weary stare before setting my book down.

With annoyance growing heavy on my shoulders, I pushed to my feet. This area was remote, far outside the typical routes of the luxury yachters and sport fishermen. The only visitors in these parts were locals, and they didn't come calling at this hour of the night.

That left only two options for this vessel. It was either off course or trespassing.

Now, I didn't own the water, but all the solid ground ringing the shore belonged to me. Regardless of whether this sailor had lost his way or was looking for a quiet spot to drop anchor for the night, he'd be going through me first.

I offered my old rocking chair a baleful stare before marching out of the porch. The beetles scattered as the screen door banged shut behind me. I thundered down the narrow wooden staircase that connected my home and the adjoining lighthouse to the dock. An aging skiff was moored there, opposite an equally old lobster boat.

Before casting off, I squinted over water. The intruder was drifting closer, and making no obvious attempt at turning back or signaling for aid. These waters were protected. Endangered species lived in and around the rocky coast, and vessels with that size and hull structure would leave a wake big enough to disrupt those fragile colonies. Not that I cared about the boat, but it was also in danger. If it came much closer, it was liable to run aground and that was even worse news for the conservation zone.

Time to show this sailor the way back to open water.

"It's too damn late for this shit," I groused as I turned over the skiff's motor. I could count the hours until a new day started and I was hoisting lobster traps and ferrying the day's catch to the fish markets up and down the seacoast. But this was my cove, and mine alone. I'd see to its preservation, as I had for nearly two decades, even if that left me tired and cranky tomorrow.

I was tired and cranky most mornings. I blamed my temperament on the backbreaking work of being a lobsterman who was doing everything in his power to survive, but there was more. Life on the ocean wasn't easy, and as the years passed, I was more and more convinced I was destined for a solitary existence.

And that made sense. I didn't like most people and hated sharing a bed. My philosophy was simple: get in, get your business done, get out. No need to complicate matters. No reason to go hog wild with those online dating schemes. Putting my information out there, on the internet, didn't sit well with me. It seemed like a big black hole of bank accounts and sexual preferences, and I didn't want to get sucked into that garbage.

No, I preferred the order and structure of my life without any of that. People, dating, the so-called digital age—I didn't need it, not when it was easy enough to dedicate one night every now and then to random hookups outside this small town.

In, out, over.

"Oh, for fuck's sake," I grumbled when I noticed the trespassing boat's lights flicker off. That wasn't a good sign for anyone.

I circled the vessel twice, the skiff's motor puttering as I slowed. It was more than enough notice for the crew, and any seaman who knew his shit would've acknowledged my presence by now. None of this felt right.

With a huff, I tossed my buoys overboard and climbed onto the trespasser's deck. I called out to the captain, hoping for a quick chat about shoreline species conservation and directions to the nearest marina.

Instead, I found myself staring down the barrel of a shotgun.

"Welcome to Talbott's Cove," I said. "Now, lower the firearm, Captain."

"I know maritime laws, and I know I did not invite you aboard," a hard voice said. It was hard, but there was a quiver behind it.

In one deft movement, I had the gun in hand and ammunition tumbling to the deck. "No," I said, "you did not. However, you're drifting northwest and minutes away from running aground. If that wasn't enough, you're in an ecological preserve that's only open to small crafts. You're looking at a ten-thousand-dollar fine, and on top of that, you've fucked up my night."

I hadn't gotten a good look at the shotgun-wielding captain. It was too dark in the cloudy moonlight to see more than shapes, and the man was sheltered by the mast's shadows. But now, as he stepped forward, his eyes wide with fear, I realized a few important things.

To start off, he was injured. His forehead was split with an ugly gash, his preppy polo shirt soaked with blood, and his hands were shaking.

Next, he was strong; stronger than I'd expected for a man who let his weapon make introductions. His chest and shoulders were broad, his biceps strained against his sleeves, and his thighs were thick and powerful. His hair was light, somewhere between blond and brown, though his eyes were dark. I'd place him in his early thirties, but no more than ten years younger than my thirty-nine.

Last, I was immediately attracted to him. I couldn't articulate why I found this man pulse-quickeningly sexy, and I didn't want to dwell on that reaction either.

"You need to get out of this cove," I said. He almost recoiled at the vicious snap in my words. That was one of my many problems. I was a mean sonofabitch when I wanted to be.

The captain waved at the boat. "Power's out," he said with a pathetic shrug, "and that controls everything. Motherboard on the navigation system is fried. And…" He turned his face to the night sky. "Not enough wind to catch the sails."

I stared out at the calm sea. "What about the crew? They can't bust out some duct tape and get things back in order?"

He shook his head. "No crew," he replied. "It's just me."

Well, that made no fucking sense. A boat like this, a captain dressed like that, these were the conditions for an unreasonably large crew. The one percent didn't sail solo.

"Fine. I'll radio the Coast Guard. They'll tow you to Portland," I said, my eyes drawn to the tight white polo again. He was fit as fuck, but it was the manicured, thoughtful kind of fit. It wasn't the product of hard labor but of discipline and, most likely, a lot of money. I couldn't decide how I felt about that. Forcing my attention from his chest, I sneered at his shiny new Sperrys. "Or Bar Harbor. That's probably more your speed."

"Is that where I am?" he asked. "Maine?"

He yanked a bandana from his back pocket and pressed it to his forehead. A swell of warmth moved through me, and I itched to snatch the fabric away and care for this man myself. That was another one of my problems: for all my curmudgeonly ways, I gave a shit. I didn't know how to turn off my feelings or shutter my concern. It was always there, waiting for someone to smother. Someone to drive away with my endless desire to dote.

"You're thirty miles north of Bar Harbor," I said. "So, yes. Maine."

"Bar Harbor is the opposite of my speed." The captain chuckled, but his words spoke nothing of humor or levity. "Is there anything closer? Look, I know I'm a pain in your ass right now and I admire your loyalty to the mollusks and plovers. Honestly, I do. But you can't even imagine the ration of shit I'll get if I wander back to civilization like this." He gestured to his injured face, and then the deck. "Not tonight. Just, I…please. There has to be another way."

I couldn't help myself. "I can tow you to the town harbor."

The captain's body sagged in relief. "Thank you. Seriously. I'm a fan of conservation, and if I could've prevented it, I never would have drifted into this cove." He lifted the bandana and palpated his forehead, frowning when his fingers came away bloody. He folded the fabric in on itself before returning it to the contusion. "Any chance I'll find a grocery store open at this hour? Motel?"

I glanced at my watch, the hands glowing in the inky night. Sure, I could wake up the young couple who ran the village's one and only inn, but…No. They had a new baby. They had enough on their hands without me banging on their door. There was no need for that.

"Unlikely," I said. I rasped out an impatient breath. There was no way this would end well. Not for me, not for my cove, not for my cock. "I have…some extra room. It's not much but you're welcome to it," I said. "Though you should know I keep my firearms under lock and key. I'll expect the same of you."

"Yes. Yes, of course," he replied. "I can't believe you'd do that for me. Thank you."

I waved away his comments. "It's nothing," I said. I meant it. I wasn't one for houseguests but I wasn't one for turning away folks in need either. "Just—just don't be irresponsible on the water. You're not the only one you're putting at risk, you know."

He shook his head slowly, his fingers still pressed to the injury. "I know. I'm an idiot. That's probably obvious by now," he said softly, almost to himself. "My systems failed, and I was lost and confused."

"Lost and confused is one way to put it," I said under my breath.

"I've never pulled a gun on anyone before. That's gotta count for something, right?"

"Not as much as you'd think," I replied.

"I thought you were a pirate," he continued, his words dissolving into a groan. "Last month I listened to a podcast about the rise of pirate activity around the world, and that was the first place my mind went. An idiotic place, but the first."

I laughed then. A deep, true laugh, and my houseguest's lips turned up in a rueful smile. "How about you get some gear and then you come with me? Sound good?"

"That sounds amazing," he said, his voice loaded with relief. "Thank you."

"Don't mention it," I said with a quick shake of my head.

I meant that. If he offered even one more drop of vulnerability, I was bound to wrap my arms around him and claim him as my own. And that wouldn't do. Not at all. I couldn't pour all of myself into a man who was certain to up and leave without as much as a backward glance. Just like the rest of them.

I returned to the skiff in search of a winch, and kept my back to the captain. I didn't want him to see the smitten smile tugging at my lips.