Sailing In Style. Dana Mentink

deck space with Cy Franco.

      No looking back, Piper. The shadow passed by and Piper let out a sigh, a very quiet one, before she slipped into the hallway and sped back to her cabin.

      * * *

      TWENTY MINUTES LATER, winded, and more convinced than ever that he needed some sort of mental health intervention, Cy settled back into his role as brotherly host, greeting the reception guests in the captain’s room. He steadfastly suppressed the image of the lady in white, the mirage he’d chased all around the boat deck without finding the barest trace of her. Wiping his brow, he plastered on a smile and did his best to mingle. The long rectangular space was dotted with round tables sporting bronze linens and flowery sprays composed of blooms he wouldn’t even begin to guess at. Flooring he knew. Flowers, not so much.

      This flooring was all wrong, of course, as was most of the decor. The room was decorated in such a modern style, it had lost all the charm intrinsic to a historic wooden steam paddleboat. As co-owner of Dollars and Sense Design with his sister, it was his job and calling to notice such things. This boat had history—quaint, elusive, the charming memories of yesteryear when paddleboats churned along California waterways. This room might have been the reception room of any motel in America.

      Aunt Bitsy took his arm, distracting him from his thoughts. Her white-blond hair was piled neatly atop her head. “I was worried about you, Cy, honey. Are you all right? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

      “I’m all right.” He bent to press a kiss to her cheek, which forestalled the brewing questions. Her warm gaze fixed on him in that amazing way that made everyone feel like she was their own flesh and blood, which was why virtually every townsperson from the mail carrier to the dentist called her Aunt Bitsy. “Are you and Pops enjoying the soiree?”

      “Definitely.” She beamed.

      “Marriage suits you. You’ve been hitched three months now and you’re still smiling. Where is your rascally other half?”

      “He trotted off to fetch me a wrap. It’s freezing in here.” She blushed. “He takes good care of me.”

      “Well, you are newlyweds.”

      “Yes, we are, aren’t we? I have to pinch myself sometimes to remember that it’s true.” Bitsy’s smile wavered. “He’s been really clear lately.”

      It was Cy’s turn to beam. “You see? Marriage is better than any drug the doctor can prescribe.” The doctors seemed to think there was nothing to be done but throw pills at the problem. Fine, he thought. Pops is going to be okay in spite of them. He and Bitsy would see to it.

      Bitsy’s eyes widened. “Uh-oh. Dragon Lady, three o’clock,” she whispered. “Your turn. I’m going to get some sparkling water.”

      Irene Hershey, the owner and general manager for the River King, the historic paddle wheel steamboat they were on, was bearing down on them like a falcon after a hapless fish. Bitsy had already wrestled with the woman over everything from the height of the flower thingies to the necessity of patching an unsightly crack in the wall behind the buffet table. Bitsy could charm the socks off any male on the planet, but her confrontations with women disintegrated quickly. Her last conversation with Irene had nearly come to blows.

      He squared his shoulders. His turn to take a bullet.

      “Mr. Franco,” Irene said, giving her unnaturally dark hair a flip. “You’ve enjoyed the arrangements here on the River King, I trust?” Though the sixtyish woman spoke in Cy’s general direction, her flint-gray eyes were riveted on another man sipping from a crystal goblet, a well-dressed guy who looked to be within spitting distance of Cy’s twenty-nine years. Too tanned. Too ironed.

      “Everyone is practically gobbling up the salmon, and doesn’t the sparkling of the ocean add a dramatic flare out that bank of windows?” she practically bellowed.

      Cy wasn’t sure how to respond. He settled for a nod. She squeezed his forearm. “The man, over there,” she hissed. “Do you see him?”

      Cy checked him out again. “Who is he? I know he’s not with the bride’s family. A friend of Pike’s, maybe?”

      “No, no. He’s not a wedding guest.”

      Cy took in the stranger again. “If he’s crashing, I’ll show him to the door.” He didn’t think it would be much trouble. Cy had five inches on him, easy.

      She dug her nails into his wrist. “You most certainly will not. Don’t you know who that is? It’s Carson Spooley. He’s tried to keep his presence here on the qt, but there are no secrets on my boat.”

      Her eyes were wide with awe.

      “You’re gonna have to help me out a little more than that. Is he a TV star or something? I don’t own a TV so...”

      She was about to fire off a retort, an unfriendly one by the looks of it, when a waiter scuttled over and whispered in her ear. Her mouth went slack. “What? Which one?”

      The waiter whispered again.

      “I’ll be back in a minute.” She hustled away with impressive speed for a person with such short legs.

      Cy approached his beaming sister, resplendent in a simply cut white silk gown with rosettes at the waist. She threw her arms around him and kissed him on both cheeks. “Amazing wedding, Cy. Thank you for all you did. I know we all wanted it to be at the Pelican, but married is married no matter where you do it.”

      He lifted her up and returned the squeeze before putting her down and shaking Pike’s hand. “You’re getting a real gem, you know, and I’m not just saying that because she’s my twin.”

      “I do know that,” he said solemnly. “And I’m getting a reasonably tolerable brother-in-law in the bargain.”

      Cy grinned. “Considering we were trying to pummel each other senseless not too long ago, I’d say that’s progress. Still, we’d better establish a neutral zone at the inn if we’re going to be running our businesses under the same roof.”

      Pike raised an eyebrow in mock offense. “Sir, you underestimate me. I’m a lawyer, you know.”

      “Exactly.” Cy jerked his head to the side. “You know that guy? His name’s Carson Spooley, but he’s undercover or something.”

      Rosa looked closer. “That’s Carson Spooley? He’s shorter than I thought.”

      Cy groaned. “Okay, I give. Who is Carson Spooley? Astronaut? Rock star? Pro golfer?”

      Rosa laughed, her brown eyes twinkling. “You really don’t get out enough, Cy.”

      “I guess I’m too busy on redecorating jobs with you.”

      The reception room door was pushed open so hard it slammed into the wall. Irene beelined in, mouth in a tight smile that came nowhere near adding cheer to her face. Once again, she took hold of Cy’s arm. This time she hauled him out the door. “Right this way, Mr. Franco. There’s something we need to discuss.”

      “Can’t it wait?” he asked. “We’re almost ready to cut the cake. It’s strawberry with a cream cheese filling.” And it had been a real pain to convince Irene to allow them to bring in the outside caterer they’d already spent a chunk of change on in the first place. He was going to enjoy every last morsel right down to the dessert.

      “You don’t deserve cake. Now that I think about it, a dungeon with no refreshment at all might suit better, and I’m pretty sure we have a brig around here someplace.”

      As Cy was dragged along, his father appeared in the corridor, clutching a pink shawl. “Hey, son. Party’s that way.”

      “He’s got something to take care of,” Irene said grimly.

      Cy should have been unhappy being escorted away from the wedding, but he couldn’t summon up too much angst about it. His father was clear-eyed