Found at Sea - By Anne Marie Duquette Page 0,14
family history; he wanted them to own a piece of it. For the existing Castillo children who now had no fathers, he considered this a sacred charge.
Jordan wanted tangible evidence that his family had left their mark on the world. While fishing was an honest way of life, it had become unprofitable. The polluted, overfished seas annually yielded less and less, and had, in revenge, taken back everything three generations of Castillos had owned, including the lives of their men.
Jordan hoped the recovery of the San Rafael might change the family in ways not dependent on bars of silver or gold ropes studded with precious jewels. He hoped to give them back pride—pride in loving the ocean, enough pride that perhaps the younger children, male and female alike, might follow in his footsteps, as he and his brothers had followed in their father’s, and his father’s before him. Right now, the ocean had left the children only a legacy of bitterness and loss.
The sea owed those Castillo children. The sea owed him.
Missing were his grandfather’s mementos from the very first Castillo fishing trawler. The pictures of his mother and father’s wedding. Seashells that had been Jordan’s and his brothers’ trophies as children. His grandfather’s favorite fishing pole that had been passed down to him. Of his departed family, he had only two mementos left—the new Bible the chaplain had given him at the funeral with the names of the dead carefully inked in front, and the granite tombstones back in Boston.
Not much of a legacy to pass on. He needed more. A rusted cannonball or a barnacled piece of wood from the San Rafael would do for a start. Maybe a simple gold medallion with the Castillo family crest.
If only he could find the San Rafael. He’d searched many times, but without success. It was an impossible quest, unless the beautiful woman who had his medallion had told the truth.
He reached for the paper torn from the hotel notepad, with the phone number he’d scribbled on it. “A.C. back from Mexico tomorrow. Call to set up meeting.”
I need to find the woman who claims to own my ship. And me.
CHAPTER FOUR
Oceanside Harbor,
Oceanside, California
July 30, 11:30 a.m.
ABOARD HER DOCKED SHIP, Neptune’s Bride, Aurora mopped the sweat from her forehead and descended the ladder belowdecks for a drink. She lifted the hinged door of the lazaret, the space between decks used for storage, and pulled out a bottled water.
Despite the sun’s heat, she’d finished her chores aboard the sixty-foot salvage vessel, which was both her home and her place of business. She had no regular crew, preferring to hire on favorites from the freelance pool of deckhands who worked the harbor. Since freeing Dorian and her family were a priority, Aurora remained docked and the only one on board. She would take no other jobs, hire no other crew...
Until she signed with Jordan Castillo. This would be their first meeting since his assault. I’m glad Donna offered to arrange this second meeting. No sense letting Jordan’s attackers, whoever they are, find him. Or me.
Aurora stowed the last of her cleaning supplies. Taking her water bottle, she headed for the captain’s cabin to wash up. To the casual observer, her surroundings seemed basic, almost spartan. On closer inspection, one noticed the rich brown teak of the charting table picked up in the West Indies, the darker black-brown polished cherry wood of the captain’s desk from Newport News, the mahogany frame of the bunk from the Bahamas and the beautifully streaked cocobolo chest from Hawaii. To Aurora, Nature provided its own grace and style.
After taking a quick but thorough sponge bath, she reached for a calf-length sundress, which, for her, represented more formal attire. Vivid in color yet utilitarian in its design for boaters, the sundress was appropriate for business in laid-back Southern California. Her kind of business anyway.
Aurora perched on the edge of the teak table to unbraid her hair and brush it out, then put on a touch of pink lip gloss with sunscreen and rubbed sunblock on her face and shoulders. Sailors these days protected themselves against the sun, unlike the old sea dogs, navigators, seafarers and mariners who allowed themselves to burn.
He’s an attractive man, she thought suddenly. I’m going to have to be careful to stay on a business footing with him.
There had been very few special men in her life. One she’d almost married, but in the end she couldn’t bring herself to follow through. He’d wanted her