Treasure. Helen Brenna

least for the summers when D.W. had lived in Florida with his dad. During the school years when D.W. went back to Texas to live with his mom, she and Sam had always felt as if something was off-kilter. Their three-legged stool had lost a leg. Like now. Only their other leg was never coming back.

      D.W. Oh, Lord.

      It just wasn’t fair! She was barely over thirty, in her sexual prime. She had needs and wants, natural and right. But D.W.? Could life get any crueler?

      Closing her eyes, Claire hugged herself and her stomach grumbled loudly. She’d forgotten breakfast. Again. One flippered foot in front of the other, she repeated in her mind—it had become her mantra. There’d be company in the galley. Annie would be having lunch. If Claire could get her alone, it’d be a good time to dig out her story.

      Jake’s admonishment about her meddling ways niggled at her conscience. “Oh, for crying out loud. Annie needs a friend on this ship. That’s all.”

      CHAPTER FIVE

      IN THE GALLEY, Annie helped D.W. and Ronny pile an assortment of meats, cheeses, fresh fruits, condiments and chips onto the table for lunch. They’d nearly finished with the task when Simon joined them, leaned over the sink and silently scrubbed engine grease from his hands.

      Annie sat down at the table across from D.W. and followed his lead by throwing together a sandwich. After all the fresh air, she was starving. Ronny was about to take his first bite of his own concoction when Claire came in and asked, “Whose turn for a shift at the helm?”

      “That’d be me.” Ronny jumped up and headed to the control room with his full plate of food.

      Claire dropped down next to Annie. She grabbed an empty plate, but stared at the luncheon fare as if making her own meal required too much effort.

      “Claire, honey, you got to eat something,” D.W. said.

      “I know.” She didn’t move a muscle. D.W. took two slices of wheat bread, smoothed on a thin layer of mustard, slapped on several slices of turkey and finished it off with a few leaves of crisp, green lettuce. “Enjoy this fresh stuff while you can, Annie,” he said, breaking the awkward silence. “When it’s gone, it’ll be back to canned tuna, boxed mac-and-cheese and that god-awful powdered milk. I don’t think anybody ever drinks that swill. Don’t know why we stock it.”

      Claire sniffed. “When you buy your own boat, D.W., you can stock the galley any way you please.”

      “Can’t be soon enough,” D.W. mumbled before setting the sandwich he’d made in front of Claire. “Just the way you like it, so eat.” He went to work on his own lunch.

      “D.W.?” she asked. “Do I butt into other people’s business?”

      A chip caught in D.W.’s throat, and he coughed. “God, no, honey. Who told you that?”

      “Never mind.” Claire picked up the sandwich and took a bite.

      Annie hid her smile behind a glass of fresh, cold milk and took a swallow. Simon finally finished cleaning up, sat next to D.W. and hastily put together his own lunch. By the time Claire got around to her second bite, Simon had already wolfed down most of his food. He stood, dropped his garbage in the bin and left.

      “He doesn’t talk much, hmmm?” Annie peeled a banana.

      Claire poured herself some milk. “When I was a kid, Simon was the best uncle any kid could hope for. We played cards together, hide and seek, hangman. I turned thirteen, developed breasts and poof. He’s hardly looked at me since.”

      “And he’s missing one fine sight, if you ask me.” D.W. smiled at Claire.

      “No one did ask you,” Claire said, scowling back at him.

      “As a matter of fact,” D.W. said, barely missing a beat with a wink at Annie, “I believe Simon’s missing two fine sights.”

      Claire’s scowl deepened before she glanced past Annie and nodded toward the stern. “There he goes. Like clockwork.”

      Annie spun around to find Jake, minus a shirt and the ever-present baseball cap, striding across the deck. In one swift and obviously practiced movement, he hopped over the rail and dove off the boat. She gasped and jumped up.

      “It’s okay.” Claire laughed, grabbing her wrist to settle her back down.

      “What’s he doing?”

      “He gets antsy and needs to let off a little steam,” Claire explained. “Whoever’s at the helm reduces speed, and he swims alongside the boat until he burns out. Believe me, we’ll all be a lot happier for it.” She popped another bite of sandwich in her mouth.