***** Writer's note: This is the final chapter of our tale of desire.
Thank you to everyone who has stayed the course with me to finish this tale. Hope it gave you many hours of enjoyment. It is the first work I have ever written, thank you for you patience with my learning curve.
MASTER AND COMMANDER
July 4
th
, 2016 was a glorious day on Oregon's coast; the height of summer, the sun was out and the temperature was a downright balmy 72 degrees Fahrenheit. The bar at the entrance to Yaquina Bay was open; and, throughout the day, small pleasure craft and fishing boats had been entering and exiting the Newport harbor-entrance jetties.
Chief Petty Officer Michelson smiled; just twenty-eight years old, he had his own boat. And not just any boat; she was a beauty--one of only four like it. The fifty-two foot, all stainless-steel Motor Life Boat throbbed under under him as he did a quick last-minute check of his on-deck personnel. All his deck-crew were at their stations; and, everyone was where they were supposed to be. This crew was young, but not inexperienced. They had worked the last four summers and winters together. They were a team; one of the best in the United States Coast Guard.
As he cleared the two jetties, guarding the entrance to the harbor, he shoved the throttles forward; the boat quit purring and began to growl. Coming to life under his knowing hands, it surged into the chop and hit its stride in the swells and rolling 'sheep's heads'. Bringing the boat hard to starboard, he made for the lighthouse on Cape Foulweather, jusi up the Oregon Coast from Newport.
On a parallel course, about half-a-mile out from his Motor Life Boat, was a sailing vessel. Michelson handed the binoculars to a bosun, standing next to him on the open bridge; and, he shouted to her over the boat's twin diesels.
"See who they are!"
The Coastie, who took them, was a twenty-three year old young woman dressed with her hair drawn back in a ponytail that she'd pushed through the Coast Guard ball-cap, so it wouldn't blow off.
She focused. The boat was a ketch-rigged forty-footer--make that thirty-eight footer—old-style sailing rig, two masts with the second mast shorter than the first, and tanbark sails.
Built sometime in the 1980s or maybe 1970s,
she guessed. From the topping lift, it was flying a fairly large US Ensign. She zoomed in with the binoculars.
Her name's 'Daddy's Girl' ... unusual name. Haliport is Newport, Oregon.
" 'Daddy's Girl', local boat." she shouted. He nodded his head,
Yes.
"Do you know the boat, Chief?"
"Yeah!" he yelled back. "The owner's a lawyer; and, the boat was named for his wife, if I remember right. Divorce boat--part of a divorce settlement."
"Do you want to hail them for an inspection?" She leaned in to hear his response.
"No," he yelled, "let's finish the beach-sweep up the coast; we can catch them in the harbor later, if they're still sailing."
Raising his voice a bit, he called out to his second-in-command, "You good with that, Thomas?"
He glanced over at the Petty Officer, standing behind the bosun, who was watching the beach instead of the ocean. Twenty-five-years old, he'd just graduated from the Coast Guard Advanced Rescue Swimmer program in Astoria, Oregon. He was the boat's Surf-Rescue Tech and their Emergency Medical Technician.
Petty Officer Thomas turned from the beach, lowering his binoculars from his eyes. He nodded. "Yeah, surf-line is quiet. Breakers are easy and not very tall. Only a few surfers in the deep water. And just a handful of girls trying to lose their bikini bottoms in the undertow off Agate Beach. Should be a fast run from here to Depoe Bay and back."
Chief Petty Officer Michelson nodded in acknowledgment.
He looked over seaward. In the moderate offshore breeze, the ketch was healed-over nearly to the scuppers; and, looking at her wake, she was probably doing almost seven knots.
Someone's having fun.
That someone was not the boat's owner. Nikki was at the helm. She was wearing her 'Joe Cool' sunglasses and John Deere ball cap with her hair pulled back in a ponytail, which stuck out through the back of the hat.
Running under sails only, the boat was quiet as a whisper. With just the wind in the sails and the waves against the hull, Olivia Nicole Grant was in her element. Mac glanced at Nikki across the small cockpit. Nikki was totally relaxed, but still totally aware. As she steered, her hands barely pulled on the tiller; and, at times, she would play with just steering the boat with her fingertips. She was anticipating what the boat was actually going to do before it did. MacKenzie smiled.
Nikki's dancing. She's using her boat to dance with the sea. It's a beautiful dance to behold.
Nikki saw Jack's head pop up in the hatch. "Want me to take her?"
She smiled broadly, shaking her head,
No.
"You sure?" He looked at her braced feet, her hands gentle on the tiller, and the huge smile on her face.
No, because you're having too much fun. Is there really such a thing as 'too much fun''?
She raised her voice enough to be heard. "You guys having a beer?"
He nodded his head,
Yes.
"Can we have one, too?"
"No!"
"Dad, we're old enough to have beers!" she asserted stubbornly, her mouth threatening a cute little pout.
Wagging a finger, he merely smiled. "You certainly are, but you're driving the boat. Ask again later, when you aren't having so much fun."
Immediately, Mac jumped in. "So, one of you guys wanna steer?"
In answer, Jack just tauntingly held up the cold frosted-bottle and inspected its contents. "Let me think. Hmmmm. Would ya look at that; it's damn-near full!" Taking a long swig of the Corona, he smacked his lips appreciatively and chuckled. "No, you girls just stay up here and enjoy yourselves. Down here, we're all good."
He disappeared below, shouting back over his shoulder, "And, put your life jackets on!"
"But, Daddy ... " Nikki started to whine, but stopped when her dad's head popped back through the hatch. "Yeah, I know; it messes up that 'sexy-young-thing' look you two are striving for."
As he turned back around, Nikki picked up the small self-inflating personal flotation device and sat there thinking; then, she smiled impishly, untied her small bikini-top, slipped it off, and put on the life jacket. Mac giggled and did the same. The PFDs now covered them only marginally more than their tops had; but, on a boat, this particular look might even be considered sexy.
Nicole and MacKenie shared a smile and a thought.
That's right, we're bad!
Spencer laughed. "Everything okay up there?" Jessica and Tammy were sitting next to Spencer; each had a beer, each was wearing shorts and a halter top.
Jack looked at everyone and nodded his head affirmatively. "Nikki grew up with her hands around that tiller handle. She's been steering the boat since she was twelve-years-old. I guarantee you that we're safe." Then he chuckled, adding, "At least, from the ocean anyway."
Nikki stood, slipping the tiller between her butt cheeks, pushing back with her ass to keep the boat from turning, grabbed a winch handle with both hands, and took in the sheet for the main. The boat leaned over a bit more.
Nikki grinned,
