West Wind
missy, you got yourself some project
there."
     
     
     

Chapter Four
     
    Jay was in the machine shop, the radio
blasting loud rock music when Brett returned with the loaded truck.
He didn't hear the engine or the air brakes over the music and the
grinding wheel that he operated, shaping a new engine mount. A rag
tossed at his head alerted him to Brett's presence.
    "Where have you been?" he growled.
    "Working; which is more than I can say for
you," Brett countered. "Wish I could drag my lazy ass to work
whenever I wanted."
    "Yeah, well I misplaced something this
morning."
    "Wouldn't be a sexy brunette, would it?"
    Jay tossed the rag at Brett. "Mind your own
business. What's that?" he gestured to the laden truck.
    "That, my friend, is our next project. I've
got a cashier's check for $20,000 and I need a survey and estimate
quick."
    Jay stepped out of the attached shed and into
the boatyard. He recognized the boat immediately, swiveling to
glare at Brett.
    "What the hell is this?"
    "It's a Zephyrus, buddy."
    "I can see that. What the hell is it doing
here?"
    "Picked it up this morning down on Route 136.
Customer wants it restored to Bristol. Says she will pay whatever
it takes. This here twenty grand deposit," he said, patting his
shirt pocket, "is a down payment."
    "Well, I don't want it. Get rid of it."
    "Come on, Jay. Get real; we can use the work
and you know it. Besides, this is a project boat. We restore this
classic and we'll get some great publicity. Think what Shawna can
do with the web site. We'll put photos of before and after. It'll
be great."
    "I don't want it here. I'm not going to touch
this boat," Jay snarled. "Get it out of here."
    "Well, Jay, here's the thing. This boat just
happens to be Hull Number One of a design by Don Windham and his
partner, Derek West. You are West's grandson and, here is the
clincher, the new owner is the granddaughter of Don Windham."
    Jay swore viciously and picked up a piece of
two-by-four. In a rage, he swung at the boat. The dull gel coat
cracked.
    "Jay, calm down. Man, this is Karma. Don't
you see?"
    "No, I don't see."
    "You will. It gets better. The granddaughter
is a sexy brunette named Sabrina Windham."
    This took the wind from Jay's sail and he
stepped back, tripping over the dropped board and sitting hard on a
box of old canvas sails.
    "Knocked you on your ass, didn't I?"
    Jay swore viciously, then stood up, wiped the
sawdust from his jeans and walked to the back lot where seals
littered the rocks. He dropped into the cockpit of his old wooden
skiff and pulled the outboard cord. The well-maintained engine
roared and within moments Jay careened down the Warren River,
headed for Narragansett Bay.
    Brett calmly released the cinched webbing
around the Zephyrus and picked up the forklift's remote control. He
had a survey to complete before three o'clock.
     
    * * *
     
    Sabrina arrived at the boatyard a little
early, anxious and excited to get started.
    "Hi Brett," she called out. The chubby man
was bent under the hull, thumping it with a rubber mallet.
    "Hey, Miss Windham. I'm almost finished with
the survey."
    "What exactly is a survey?"
    "Well, I examine the boat, the way a
physician would a patient, looking for problems. I make a list and,
based upon the survey, you know how much the boat is worth."
    "I already know how much she's worth,"
Sabrina said. Her confidence had given her an aura of serenity.
"Every penny."
    "Must be nice to have money to burn, because
that's what you're going to do with this clunker. Now, it breaks my
heart as a businessman, but I have to recommend that you forget
restoring this boat. It's going to take at least six months of
steady work and probably fifty thousand to make this boat new
again. Well, new and improved."
    "You don't want the job?" Sabrina cocked her
head and smiled gently.
    "Oh, believe me, I want the job. My boss,
now, he's a different story." Brett sighed. He didn't want to do
it, but Jay was too stubborn for his own good. "Can I

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