If I Wait For You by Jane Goodger

him that she be wary of him, that she not
want his company. But it bothered him—more than he was willing to
admit—that she stopped smiling whenever he walked by. The only time
she was herself in his company was at the dining table, and she
always held herself slightly turned away, clearly directing her
stories to the officers and not to him. He frowned at the thought,
not knowing Sara was looking at him.
    She handed him the sextant,
practically shoving it into his hands. “I was simply curious,” she
said.
    And then, sounding like a dull
schoolroom professor, West explained how sightings were made in the
morning and at noon, and by that calculations were made to
determine longitude and latitude. By the time he was finished, West
had nearly put himself asleep with his dry explanation. He wished
more than anything that he’d let things be. Sara had been having
fun with Oliver, but she was silent standing next to him. Bored,
more than likely.
    When he turned to her, she surprised
him with a smile that took his breath away. Literally, he could not
breathe for at least five heartbeats.
    “ Thank you, Mr.
Mitchell.”
    West felt as if he’d just handed her
the moon.
     
    The doldrums came, and
after nearly two weeks of bobbing gently in calm seas, the Julia’s sails filled
once more, the air blessedly cool. And that night, seasickness
struck, cruelly for its unexpectedness. Sara didn’t even have time
to seek out her well-used bucket, soiling the teak floor and a bit
of the rug that covered most of the area. Sara moaned, knowing what
was ahead of her, as she carefully pushed down the railing of her
bunk and got out of bed. With shaking fingers, she lit an oil lamp,
grimacing when she saw the mess. The ship rolled sickeningly and
her stomach rolled right along with it as she gathered up a cloth
and bucket to clean. This time when she lost her battle with her
stomach, she at least had the bucket at her feet.
    The door opened but she was too sick
to care who stood there.
    “ I thought this might
happen,” West said rather too lightly for Sara’s mood. “Some of the
men are sick as well, if that makes you feel any
better.”
    “ Why would someone else’s
misery make me feel better?” Sara asked grumpily.
    “ At least you know you are
not alone. Misery loves company, so they say.” He knelt beside her
and grabbed the rag, which Sara gratefully gave up without even a
token resistance. “Here. Back in bed.” He grasped her upper arms
and helped her into her bunk, then pulled the covers over her as if
she were a child.
    “ Thank you.” Then, “Oh,
God.” He got the bucket to her just in time.
    “ It shouldn’t last as long
this time,” he said with a smile. “Two days at the
most.”
    Sara let out a moan. Two days sounded
like an eternity when she knew how those two days would be spent.
“I thought I was over this.”
    “ You’ll get sick each time
you go to sea after being on land. The doldrums tricked your
stomach into thinking it was ashore.”
    Sara scowled. “Stupid
stomach.”
    West chuckled and Sara felt just good
enough to appreciate the sound, as well as admire the way it made
him look even more handsome. Her heart picked up a beat, and she
suddenly felt overly warm lying there with him so close.
    “ I didn’t know you knew how
to do that,” she said. West Mitchell, she’d realized weeks ago, was
not a man who smiled easily. Or angered or frightened
easily.
    “ Do what, clean?” He
continued to smile at her and Sara thought she could lie in bed
forever staring at him.
    “ Laugh.”
    The smile immediately disappeared,
replaced by that odd look he got sometimes. Sara wished she knew
what he was thinking, for it seemed he was bothered by what she
said. Not irritated, as he seemed too often to be with her, but
moved or hurt that she’d noted he rarely laughed. West finished
cleaning, then stood.
    “ Is it all right if I turn
off the lamp?” He avoided looking at her, and Sara saw that his