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tall, but not tall enough.
    Cautiously, she lifted first one leg then the other back over the railing until she was sitting on it, the pole of the wind generator between her legs. By stretching hard, the ends of her fingers brushed the release button of the telescoping pole. But she couldn't push it in. The sea air and ocean spray had corroded and stiffened the metal.
    With a sigh, she slumped forward against the pole. Alex grinned toothlessly up at her from the high chair she had jammed against the back corner of the cockpit, and clapped his hands together, as though cheering her efforts. She smiled back at him, then, the smile turning to a frown, returned her gaze to the wind generator high above her head.
    She needed it in working order for her trip to Maui next week, but couldn't seem to fix it, was too tired to make the extra effort. And that was Peter Strickland's fault. She'd lain awake half the night, unable to forget how out of control she'd felt when they'd almost kissed.
    "Damn." Capt'n's growl carried easily from his boat to Jann's.
    "What are you doing out there?" Ruby demanded irritably, her voice still filled with sleep. "John, you're not working on that rudder again! You promised to hire someone to help you."
    Jann chuckled. The Capt'n might be a mechanical genius but even working a lifetime as ship's engineer on a large freighter in the South Pacific hadn't prepared him for the idiosyncrasies of the run-down old sloop he and Ruby had bought when they retired last year.
    An indistinct murmur grabbed Jann's attention. Peering toward the Windward through a forest of intervening masts, she saw no one. But she didn't need to see Peter Strickland to recognize his voice.
    "Need some help?"
    Capt'n wouldn't want any help from Peter.
    "Much obliged," Capt'n answered gruffly.
    Frowning, Jann clutched the pole more tightly and leaned sideways until she could make out the Windward's bow. It rocked up as Peter stepped onto the stern.
    "Can't seem to make the darn thing work right," Capt'n complained querulously.
    "Maybe, if you...."
    The rest was lost in a series of thumps and bangs.
    "By God, that did the trick!" Capt'n exclaimed, when the noise suddenly died. "How about a cup of coffee?"
    Now he was serving Peter coffee!
    The boat rocked again as the two men moved forward.
    "What an unusual carving," Peter said, his voice now sharp and clear. "Not from around here, is it?"
    She could imagine Claire's brother staring with narrowed green eyes at the painted wooden mask Capt'n kept nailed to the front of the cabin. Her frown deepened.
    "Picked it up in New Guinea on my last voyage there," Capt'n explained.
    "I have one just like it," Peter said thoughtfully. "Got it from a fellow in Port Moresby—Jeff Andrews, his name was."
    "Jeff! You know Jeff? Ruby, did you hear that? He knows Jeff."
    Now they had mutual friends. Jann's stomach lurched. She rested her cheek against the pole and clung there, staring at the mast on the boat opposite, hoping a focal point would rid her body of the dizziness overtaking her.
    "...no, I won't have more coffee, thanks. I need to talk to Jann."
    Short of casting off and putting out to sea there was no avenue of escape, Jann decided. Damn the man. She had work to do. Pressing her lips together, she stretched again toward the stubborn button, concentrating on that and ignoring the sound of Peter's feet padding closer along the pier.
    "Good morning," he said.
    "What do you want?" she muttered, uncomfortably aware of her too-short cut-offs and skimpy, clinging tee shirt.
    "You know why I'm here."
    Reluctantly, she lowered her arms. Today Peter was dressed for the heat. Two strongly-muscled, tanned legs stretched up then disappeared beneath a pair of khaki shorts. A rust-colored tee shirt lay snug across his broad chest and his green eyes were focused on her. She dragged the back of her hand across her brow, wiping away the moisture forming there.
    "I told you before you left last night that you