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me how to cook.”
    Amanda held her breath. Her hastily contrived cover story rivaled anything Neil could fabricate. Best of all, part of it was true. She could cook. It was fairer to say, she loved to cook, especially for people who loved to eat. Despite his lean build, the unholy gleam in the captain’s eyes suggested he fell into that category.
    “Well then,” the captain slapped his fist into the palm of his other hand, “from now on you have a new job.”
    “But Cap’n!” Cookie’s extra chin wobbled in protest.
    Captain Stoakes held up his hand, “Let me finish. Adam, you are to be Cookie’s assistant. It’s his kitchen and you do what he tells you. Understood?”
    “Yes, sir,” Amanda answered.
    He flashed her a smile and liquid warmth seeped all the way to her toes.
    “Splendid! If you want to stay on my good side, you’ll have my breakfast in my quarters in the next twenty minutes!” He turned on his heal and strode out the door.
    Amanda placed the palm of her hand against her chest and blew a shuddering breath between pursed lips. Then, she turned to face her next challenge.
    “Name’s Ama…Adam Blakely.” She held out her hand.
    The pudgy cook returned her gaze with watery eyes but ignored her hand. “Cookie is what they call me,” he muttered, his fleshy bottom lip protruding below his thin top one.
    “Cookie?” she repeated, trying to sound as though his rebuff didn’t sting.
    Amanda dropped her hand. She barely knew the man for heaven’s sake. What difference did it make if he didn’t like her?
    “Real name’s McCoughnehey.” His whiskered chin quivered. “Bull named me Cookie.”
    Amanda felt sorry for the man. He held a position that didn’t suit him. The crew had given him a nickname, obviously in jest. He had been made to look the fool in front of his captain. Even though Amanda knew she was not to blame, she could see how Cookie might not see it the same way.
    To make matters worse, the captain had given the job of cook to her. Even though technically only the cook’s assistant , his parting orders for breakfast suggested he expected her to do the actual cooking. When she told him she had some slight ability, she swore his stomach growled. She studied Cookie’s rounded shoulders, slumped over his empty stove. It just wouldn’t do to start off on the wrong foot by taking over his kitchen.
    Cookie pushed away from the stove and waddled over to a side table shoved into the corner of the room. He gathered up a fresh batch of eggs in his meaty fists.
    “Actually, Cookie, I’m really not that good at cooking.” Amanda hoped he wouldn’t squeeze the delicate brown shells too tightly. “But, if you’ll show me what to do, I’ll try my best.”
    “Suit yourself.” His eyes met hers for the briefest of moments before he turned and scooped a ladleful of lard into the freshly scraped, cast iron pan. “Think you can crack an egg?”
    “It’s been awhile. Maybe you could show me?” She joined him at the stove.
    Cookie nodded and gave her a half-smile. He clutched a small brown egg in his wide palm, gave it a sharp rap on the edge of the stove, and held it over the pan. Bits of shell hung suspended in the thick ooze dripping through his fingers to the lard sizzling below.
    “You’ve gotta be real delicate about this. First you stick your thumbs in the crack, then pull the two halves apart.” He demonstrated the technique.
    Amanda pinched her lips between her teeth to suppress a grin when Cookie’s two thumbs, the size of sausages, crushed the small egg, and half the shell fell to the pan along with a viscous mix of yellow goo.
    Cookie stared down at the pan and uttered another unintelligible oath.
    Amanda helped Cookie fish the pieces of unbroken shell out of the hot grease, her slender fingers doing a much more efficient job.
    “That looks difficult. Mind if I try?” she asked when they had retrieved the last of the fragments.
    “Hmph.” Cookie stepped aside and