would somehow be handled by her clients. If all else failed, maybe they’d open their software manuals and figure things out for themselves. She frowned. If too many customers did that, would they need her when she got home? Finally she laughed and relaxed her grip on the steering wheel. Sometimes she worried about the silliest things.
She’d been free-lancing now for three years and had more referrals than she could handle. In fact, one of the changes she’d have to make before any baby arrived was to cut down on the sixty-hour workweeks. She exited the freeway at Merriman Road and headed for the terminal. The income was nice. It enabled her to take this cruise and pay for all the tests and trips to the clinic. But she didn’t have to put in so much time anymore. Years of hard work and no frills, plus her parents’ life insurance proceeds, had netted her a healthy nest egg.
“Humph!” She pulled up to the curb and flagged a skycap. Nest egg. Even her analogies were hormonal lately. Tick, tick, tick. It was so annoying. Thirty-six wasn’t the end.
The skycap tagged her luggage and stapled receipts to her ticket. A couple of laps around the long-term parking lot and she found a spot. She grabbed her purse off the passenger seat and locked the car, annoyed with herself for growing harried. If she let the possibility of motherhood monopolize her thoughts for the next month, she’d go crazy. And if she wanted those little swimmers to live until tomorrow and have a chance at reaching their destination, she’d better forget about them and relax. With a new resolve, she exhaled loudly and strolled toward the terminal.
Shortly after two o’clock, Michelle followed the porter and her bags up the gangplank, a humid head wind slowing their pace. At seventy-six degrees, it was already twenty degrees warmer than home and the ship hadn’t even left dock.
Michelle smiled. This had been the right decision. She had a good feeling about this trip. With any luck, a new life was already beginning inside her. And with the throngs of passengers leaning over railings and still boarding, certainly there had to be at least one handsome fantasy man among them.
They made their way up to the Viking Deck and aft to her stateroom, where the porter deposited her bags and promptly departed. A pair of portholes drew her to the far wall. She peered out and saw another ship making its way out of the harbor, waving arms visible from her many decks. On a satisfied sigh, Michelle turned and scanned the space around her. The room was small, but tastefully decorated. Actually, all she needed was clean and private. She didn’t plan on spending much time in here, anyway. She placed her hands on her hips and wondered what to do next. What she usually did first when she traveled was unpack. What she probably should do was lie down and rest.
Neither seemed appealing.
Her stomach growled and she looked at her watch. She’d chosen late meal settings, which meant dinner wasn’t until eight-thirty, more than six hours away. Sandwiches were supposed to be available near the pool, wherever that was.
She found a diagram of the ship and studied it a moment, getting her bearings. The pool was one level up, on the forward end of the Pool Deck. That seemed logical.
A moment later she pocketed her key and headed down the narrow hallway. It was all she could do to keep from laughing. The idea of cruising each deck in search of her fantasy man had already brought her hours of entertainment.
Now the game could actually begin.
She’d decided on blue eyes, dark hair, six-two or so, a rugged, tanned complexion and the body of an athlete. It might take her all week to find such a specimen, but hey, the looking would be half the fun.
Animated passengers swarmed around Le Bistro, plastic tumblers in one hand and paper plates in the other. Michelle pressed her way through the crowd, helped herself to a couple of tuna points, celery sticks and iced tea, then looked around for an empty seat. Finding none, she strolled back along the railing to the stairway and walked up a level. A quiet place where the sounds of the seas replaced the drum of the city was just what the doctor ordered. It was either that or go to her room and stand on her head in the corner. She’d heard some women actually did that to increase their chances…
Damn. She had to get her mind off this morning.
She turned to starboard and found a comfortable chaise longue. There she settled, placing her plate and tea on the table beside her.
With a celery stick between her lips, she took in the endless blue-green horizon, suddenly feeling very small, and that life’s little foibles were insignificant. She finished her snack, her eyes never leaving the gently rolling waters. It was so hypnotic she felt her lids grow heavier and heavier, until finally she leaned back and closed her eyes.
A cool breeze stirred the salty air. Waves slapped steadily against the hull far below, each one by measure stripping away layers of tension, leaving her limbs languid, her mind afloat. Her last waking thought was that she might never leave this spot.
* * *
HOOOHHHNNN…HOOOHHHNNN…
The nasal blast reverberated through the ship and Michelle sat up with a start. Looking left and right, she didn’t see a soul. Disoriented, she blinked rapidly, then remembered where she was.
She pulled herself awake and followed the hoopla coming from the other side, half expecting the ship to list—like in that coffee commercial she’d seen. She smiled at her own private joke as she rounded the comer. The elbow-to-elbow crowd was covered with confetti and streamers tossed from above. At first glance, the scene seemed too contrived for her tastes. It reminded her of plastic leis at backyard luaus. But apparently her attitude wasn’t shared.
She scanned the noisy crowd until she spotted the only other uninvolved figure. He was leaning on his forearms, looking like a poised cat amid a field of scurrying mice. In contrast to the riotous tourist garb that surrounded him, he wore a light blue button-down shirt and darker blue Dockers pants. His thick chestnut hair was cropped short, a breeze lifting a few strands from his pale forehead. While he was lean, he didn’t have the look of an athlete, and he certainly wasn’t someone who spent much time outdoors.
Below, the mighty engines toiled and vibrated as the ship pulled slowly from the dock.
Still, the man didn’t move.
And neither did Michelle.
She noticed the older couple to his right were still waving toward shore, smiling and chatting among themselves. The young couple on his left wrapped their arms around each other and hugged. The man in the middle looked like an island unto himself, staring, straight ahead, his posture not encouraging conversation. He didn’t fit the profile of her fantasy man, but nonetheless, something held her attention.
He straightened and turned his back to the railing and Michelle continued her assessment. About six feet tall, around forty, square jaw, dark eyes—though at this distance she couldn’t be sure of their color. She squinted and tried harder to see. Suddenly there was a dimple between his brows and he folded his arms across his chest.
Oh, God. He was looking right at her. She’d been caught—ogling him like a woman on the prowl. Heat crept up her neck and she spun on her heel. As quickly as she could, she walked back the way she’d come and out of sight before exhaling the breath she’d been holding.
Whew! She’d have to be more discreet in the future, she lectured herself, heading for the stairway. But for now, she’d give up the game and unpack. Then she’d take a shower and change for dinner. Later, she’d take
