Once a Pirate by Susan Grant

she’d planned to retire it, anyway. “You’ll look beautiful at the party, Savannah, girl.”
    Carly slid down to the deck. “It’s over,” she said, flinging her arm over Theo’s shoulder. “Come on, kiddo, open your eyes.”
    Warily, he asked, “What’s next?”
    “More decorating, I’m afraid. Captain Spencer said we’ll cross the equator before dawn, which means we have a lot of fixin’ to do to this ol’ sloop before tomorrow. I say we start with the railing and the masts. What do you think?” Carly lifted her arm from Theo’s shoulder to ruffle his thick, sun-bleached red hair. His grin returned. Unlike the teenage boys she’d known—the sons of friends, mostly—Theo seemed to enjoy her public physical displays of affection. “Look, here comes Mr. Gibbons with the ribbons now.”
    Gibbons strode toward her, a bulky basket in his arms. Squinting from the glare of the sun on his whitehair, she tugged her collar away from her neck. It was going to be another scorcher. The men had hung tarps to keep as much of the midday sun off the open deck as possible. Away from the protective shade, the hot, humid air was almost unbearable. “Are the ribbons dry yet, Mr. Gibbons?”
    “Aye, dry and hot, like everything and everyone on this ship, milady.” Gibbons lowered the basket so she could peer inside.
    She’d spent hours dying the strips of sailcloth. Sweating over a cauldron of boiling water and saffron, she’d made one batch after another until her stained hands were blistered, sore, and as orange as a pair of Halloween pumpkins. The color on her fingertips was only now beginning to fade.
    Carly plucked out a length of yellow sailcloth and yanked it taut. It had dried stiff, but she could soften the material by rubbing it between her fingers.
    “I trust the festoons meet your approval?”
    She mimicked his imitation of an aristocrat’s pompous airs. “I daresay, Mr. Gibbons, we’ve done a fine job.” Lifting a finger imperiously toward the stern, she suggested, “Shall we start at the rear, gentlemen?”
    “What in God’s name have you done to my fine vessel?”
    On her knees, yards of sailcloth ribbons draped across her shoulders, Carly shaded her eyes from the brutal midday sun.” ‘Done’?”
    “Aye.” Wet from a swim, Andrew stood above her, his arms folded over his chest. His damp hair curled around his shirt collar, and he’d rolled up his sleeves. The sodden material of his white linen shirt was almost transparent in several places, revealing ashadow of dark hair across his broad chest. The darkness descended in a narrow line that dipped tantalizingly into the waistband of his pants.
    “Captain,” she said as she stood. “The rest of the crew thinks it looks pretty nice.” She propped her hands on her hips. “I get the impression you don’t.”
    He resumed his slow and deliberate study of his festively outfitted ship. “My
Phoenix
looks like a warrior dressed in petticoats.”
    Gibbons and Theo let out delighted laughs.
    Carly pursed her lips to hide her smile. “Thanks a lot.”
    “My pleasure,” Andrew said, his eyes glinting.
    He was flirting with her, she realized with a jolt. Every nerve ending in her body tingled, making her feel suddenly and vividly alive. She tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear and said, “Those who haven’t helped don’t get to criticize.”
    “I see.” Holding her gaze, he slid a strip of cloth from her shoulders. “I shall begin where you left off.” Crouching, he secured the ribbon around the base of the railing with a perfect square knot. Pausing every few seconds to inspect his work, he wound the strip of cloth around the railing in that peculiar, extremely cautious way she’d seen men use when performing a task they considered “women’s work.”
    Carly felt a rush of tenderness toward the battle-hardened warrior on his knees, several yards of bright yellow ribbon in his hands.
    “Oh, Lord have mercy,” Gibbons wheezed at