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  Brooke cast a quick glance out the back wheelhouse door down to the deck below where the men worked. She didn’t want to picture a wave breaking over the side of the boat or think about losing any of the crew. “Wow. You weren’t kidding when you said there were hundreds of ways to die out here. If the job is that dangerous, why do you do it?”

  “Money for one thing. You can make almost a year’s salary in a few weeks if you have a good season. Some men are also in it for the adrenalin rush, but I actually prefer to try and not stare death in the face too often.”

  She let out a nervous laugh. “That’s good to know. While I’m not necessarily afraid to die, I’d rather not check out any time soon either.” Brooke bit down on her lip and worried it between her teeth. While it probably wasn’t the most opportune time, she did have a million questions running through her head, begging to be asked. Nathan had told her to ask whatever she wanted. “Tell me again, why you and Danny fish together.”

  Nathan glanced over his shoulder at her. “So we can look out for one another. If we’re just a couple of miles or so from each other and an emergency happens, somebody is there right away to help.”

  She nodded. “So you’re not only part-owners in both the boats, but you’re each other’s life support, too.”

  “Exactly. If, God forbid, they have to abandon ship, there’s a decent chance we’ll be able to get them on board before they freeze to death. And it’s the same for us.”

  She stared over his shoulder out the front windows. “It’s hard to believe something that beautiful and calm could wreak such havoc.”

  “It’s calm now, but when we start getting different storms converging, the seas can get wild. It’s rough and nerve-wracking.”

  Since she knew nothing about fishing, she’d have to take his word for it. “Would it be all right if I stepped outside to get a better look before the storm hits?”

  He pursed his lips together as if in deep thought. “I suppose it’s all right if you stay near the tackle room door and out of their way. Make sure you put your gear on before you go outside, though. The seas are calm right now so we shouldn’t take any waves that could get you wet, but why take the chance?”

  Tickled by the idea Nathan was actually going to let her on deck during the action, Brooke raced downstairs and quickly donned her wet gear. Then she headed through the tackle room onto deck.

  Adam looked up from where he stood and frowned. “I thought Nate said you weren’t allowed out here.”

  “He’s given me a reprieve for a few minutes so I could watch you guys work and see how things are done.”

  Adam nodded. “Gotcha. Okay. What do you want to know?”

  She spotted the overhead crane move into position. “Everything. I want to understand the process.”

  Standing atop one stack of crab pots, a deckhand clipped a chain to the end of the crane and the overly large wire rectangle lifted from the stack beside him and was moved into position. It banged against the railing, landing on the launcher with a clang that echoed over the expanse of the boat, revealing just how heavy and dangerous the traps were.

  “They kinda look like giant cages,” she said.

  “They’re called pots and they are like cages. You could think of them as a large crab trap if you want. The idea is for the crab to climb into the open slots on the sides in search of food. Once inside, they can’t get back out. Then we haul them to the surface, open the gate on the end and dump them out onto the sorting table.”

  As Adam spoke, two crewmembers flipped open one of the pots already in the launcher and Kyle Miller, one of the lower ranking deckhands, slid inside to hang the bait. He climbed out, secured the gate and in only a few seconds, the pot slid off the side of the boat into the water. Within seconds, another pot sat on the launcher, waiting to join the first one deep below the water’s surface.

  For Brooke, the entire process was utterly fascinating. Over the years, she’d prepared plenty of crab entrées and never once had considered where it actually came from. “If the pot sinks to the bottom, how do you get it back?”

  Adam motioned for her to follow him. He moved to the launcher and picked up what looked to be a large balloon with numbers and letters painted on the orange plastic. “This is a buoy bag. It’s attached to a line of rope we call a shot. When the pot gets launched—” He paused and waited for the pot to slide off the launcher. It hit the water with a giant splash and quickly the coil of rope began to unfurl. “The pot sinks and takes the rope with it. There is enough line so it doesn’t pull the buoy bag below the water.” He threw the bag over the side, then threw a second smaller bag with it. “The second buoy is the trailer. It keeps a length of rope on the surface so when we’re ready to pull up the pot, we have something to snare with the picking hook.”

  Completely engrossed in the action, she stepped up to the rail to see where the buoys went. “So the pot is sitting on the bottom and you’ll leave it there for a while so the crabs will hopefully crawl inside.”

  Adam nodded. “That’s the idea. If all goes well, in a couple of days, when we come back for these pots, they’ll be full of Alaskan king crab.”

  “Adam, I want Brooke away from the rail, now!” Nathan’s voice carried over the loudspeaker on deck. They both turned to look up toward the wheelhouse, only to find Nathan standing in the doorway looking mad as hell. She grimaced at Adam and scurried back toward the tackle room door. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to get you in trouble.”

  Adam only shrugged in response. “Don’t worry about it. If he weren’t growling about you, it’d just be something else. He doesn’t want you getting hurt. None of us do.”

  “I appreciate that, but he looked really mad.” She angled her thumb toward the open door. “I think it might be best if I head back inside before he yells again.”

  Brooke barely had her rain gear off when Nathan emerged from the wheelhouse steps. “What in the hell do you think you were doing out there?”

  His angry tone had her head rocketing up to meet his stare. “I…I’m sorry. Adam was showing me how the process worked and I wanted to see where the buoy bags went.”

  He set his coffee cup down on the counter separating the galley from the eating space, placed both hands on the counter and drew in a long breath. For several seconds, a tense silence filled the air while she waited for him to speak. She wasn’t accustomed to dealing with angry men, at least not since she’d left Florida, and to do so, she discovered, wasn’t something she wanted to repeat.

  When he finally turned his gaze back to her, the look in his eyes had softened. “Did Adam also explain to you how if you’re in the wrong place at the wrong time, you could get hit with one of those pots or have your leg caught in the shot and get dragged over the side?”

  Tiny prickles of fear danced across her skin as she absorbed his words. “I don’t think he’d gotten that far.”

  He left his cup and walked toward her. She had to force herself not to take several steps back.

  “I wasn’t just trying to scare you before, when I said that the deck is the most dangerous place on this boat. Each one of those pots weighs about eight hundred pounds empty. It could easily crush you if you’re in the wrong place.”

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered, feeling like a child being scolded for having her hands in the cookie jar.

  Nathan drew in another long measured breath, and she realized he was working to keep his temper in check. So it was possible for some men to have control over their anger? That certainly was something for her to consider…later.

  “I told you to stay away from the rail. If you were any of my deckhands, I’d be ripping you apart right now for not listening. Instead, I’m going to give you a warning. While we’re fishing, I’m in charge and I expect you to obey my orders to the letter. Maybe I didn’t make that clear before, but I want to make it clear now.”

  “I won’t disobey your orders again.”

  He hooked her chin with his finger and thumb, forcing
her to look at him. “I’m sorry I yelled at you, but I’d never forgive myself if I let something happen to you. If you have any more questions, please come ask me. Now I have to get back upstairs. With the storm brewing, I only trust the autopilot for so long.”

  She stood in place and watched him climb the steps. A process she guessed he would probably repeat a hundred times over the next few weeks. She could only hope she stayed on his good side during that time. While the encounter hadn’t been as bad as ones she faced in the past, being on the receiving end of his wrath wasn’t something she wanted to feel again.

  CHAPTER 7

  Rain pelted the wheelhouse roof and wind howled outside the windows while Brooke clung to her seat. The vessel rode up a large oncoming wave, reminding her of the climb a rollercoaster made before that first big drop, only this wasn’t a two-minute thrill ride. No, this was terrifyingly real. The wave peaked and the bottom dropped out, sending the boat plowing through air for a few seconds. Pointed nose down, it landed with a bang against the water just as another wave crested the bow. Lost in the wall of water, Brooke remained glued to the bench in the wheelhouse, praying they wouldn’t end up swallowed by the angry seas.

  “I can’t believe the men are still on deck,” she marveled aloud, hoping her voice didn’t sound as fearful as she felt. She wasn’t scared for her own safety as much as the men working below. If Willow only knew what Adam went through, she thought, there’s no way she’d ever let him fish.

  Brow tight with concentration, Nathan shot her a sideways glance. “They won’t be for long. They just have to get the remaining pots launched and then they can come inside. It’s safer for us with the gear off.”

  “It almost seems suicidal for them to still be out there. What if they’re washed over the side by a wave?”

  Nathan shook his head, but his eyes never left the window. “That’s the one good thing about having a boat with the wheelhouse forward. When the waves wash over the bow like they are now, the vessel takes the brunt it instead of the men. It’s still dangerous, but less so than if we were set up like some of the other boats out here with their wheelhouses on the stern.”

  She frowned as she studied the wall of windows in front of her and considered the danger Nathan faced. It was less than the men on deck danced with on a daily basis. She couldn’t help but think, though, how one good wave through the thick glass could kill or injure him just as easily as a pot on deck could take out one of the crew. That image didn’t sit well with her on many levels. “Not so safe for you, though. Have you ever had a wave take out a window?”

  “Once or twice,” he replied, glancing back at the television monitor mounted high on the wall attached to a closed circuit camera monitoring the deck.

  Once or twice? She found little comfort in his statement. What if the windows blew out in a surge? Would Nathan be able to survive a blast like that? Her heart leaped in her chest and she pushed the ominous thought aside as she allowed her gaze to follow his. She didn’t want to admit it, but his caring nature with her had started to break down the emotional walls she’d so carefully erected. He seemed to understand her in a way others didn’t, making her both happy and uncomfortable at the same time.

  She wasn’t used to the idea of sharing her past with others, especially men, but Nathan made it easy for her. He treated her in a way she hadn’t felt since her father had died. Because of that, her feelings for him were growing stronger by the day.

  Craning her neck, Brooke turned her attention toward the screen, too. “How in the world are they managing to stay on their feet, let alone work?”

  “It’s not easy, and I guarantee they’ll be feeling it tomorrow, but it’s something they’ll work through and move on. There’s no time for licking wounds out here.”

  The radio above Nathan’s head crackled drawing both their attentions toward the other wall.

  Nathan reached above him and turned up the sound. “…one-six-eight-two-point-eight west. The beacon is registered to the fishing vessel Arctic Storm, which is red and white in color and one-hundred-twenty feet in length. All stations having seen or know the whereabouts of this vessel should contact the coast guard immediately. All vessels in the vicinity should keep a sharp look out for signs of distress and assist if possible…” Nathan turned the volume down.

  “Shit,” he muttered under his breath as he raked a hand through his hair, mussing his already loose ponytail.

  “What’s going on?”

  “The Arctic Storm’s EPIRB has gone off and they’re not answering the coast guard.”

  She wasn’t sure what that actually meant, but from the increased concern now etched into his features, she could guess whatever had happened was probably bad. “What’s an EPIRB?”

  “It’s an acronym for emergency position indicating radio beacon, which is a device all boats are required to carry. If something bad happens and the beacon is submerged it sends off an emergency signal letting the coast guard know the vessel is in trouble and its position.” He nodded toward the radio. “Their beacon is signaling and the boat isn’t answering the coast guard’s call.”

  “If they’re in trouble can’t we help?”

  He closed his eyes for a moment and drew in a long breath. “No, hon, we can’t. It’s too far from here and right now, with this sea kicking up, I doubt we could perform a successful rescue anyway. Any boat that tries would run the risk of becoming a casualty as well. Hopefully, the beacon simply dislodged and fell over the side.”

  She didn’t understand how he could be so calm when people could be dying even as they spoke. Why it should matter to her so much when she didn’t even know the men, she couldn’t fathom, but it did. “And if it didn’t and nobody goes to help, they’ll die,” she pleaded.

  “I’m sure somebody is fishing near them and will go to try and assist. The problem is, they never radioed a mayday, which means whatever occurred probably came on them quick. If something did happen—and I’d rather assume it didn’t—but if it did, then more than likely they’re already dead. Either way we’ll find out soon enough.”

  Hours passed as the storm raged. Nathan continued to jog the boat into waves while they listened to the chatter on the radio. With the dawn came the news of debris spotted by search boats, removing any doubt about the fate of the ship and turning the mission into a frantic search for survivors.

  Brooke sat transfixed, staring up at the radio, hoping for the best. Then the news came of two men wearing survival suits pulled from a life raft. The men’s account of the accident confirmed everyone’s worst fears. The rest of the Arctic Storm’s crew would remain forever lost to the Bering Sea. The details of the boat’s demise soon filtered through the fleet and sadness drifted over the wheelhouse.

  Nathan glanced at her. “Brooke?”

  The claustrophobic feeling she got every time her emotions kicked up had returned and she couldn’t contain the urge to flee from the pain. She stood and steadied herself against the lurching boat. “Excuse me.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “My bunk. I’d like to be alone for a bit.” Without looking back, she disappeared down the steps and headed directly to Nathan’s stateroom. She closed the door behind her, creating what she knew to be a flimsy barrier between her and the world. Varying emotions battled inside her, all demanding attention, and she dropped down onto the bunk. With the storm continuing to rage, she should have been afraid, but her only thoughts were with the men on the doomed vessel. Were their last moments filled with terror? Did they know they were about to die?

  She curled up on Nathan’s bunk and closed her eyes, trying to force away the pain she shouldn’t be feeling on such an intense level. The men on that vessel were complete strangers, so she shouldn’t have emotional ties to them, yet the need to cry for their loss overwhelmed her.

  Tears brimmed and she turned over to face the wall before she swallowed hard and let out a quiet sob.

  * * *

  For what seemed to be t
he hundredth, maybe the thousandth time Nathan nervously glanced over at the empty wheelhouse steps. It had been over an hour since she’d disappeared below deck to hide in her bunk, and the need to go to her, to comfort her, overwhelmed him. Yet duty called, forcing him to stay seated and in control. Leaving the helm in a storm would be the equivalent of signing their death warrants. No matter how upset she was, she’d have to work it out on her own until the storm calmed.

  Nathan closed his eyes for only a few seconds; long enough to picture the stricken look on her face when the announcement came about the men. Hell, he wasn’t ashamed to admit that he’d felt like shedding a tear or two in the moments immediately after the announcement. Any man with a heart would feel the loss, even if he didn’t know the men personally. Death was death and the finality of it still hurt.

  Despite her strong façade, he knew Brooke’s emotional state already stood on shaky ground, and his desperation to know what was going through that head of hers drove him crazy.

  Adam appeared over the staircase railing. “Hey.”

  Nathan nodded to him. “You guys done?”

  “For now.” Adam’s gaze turned out the windows. “I see the storm is finally starting to ease.”

  “It ain’t over yet, bro. We’re in the eye right now. There’s still the backside to contend with. I wish it were over. It’s all ready taken a boat and four men.”

  Adam’s brow rose in surprise. “Who?”

  “The crew of the Arctic Storm.”

  Adam’s face screwed into a frown. “Wasn’t that Shea Long’s boat?”

  “I think so.”