Probably because he didn’t want to. Because if he found a loophole, where would that leave him with Willa?

He snorted. “Exactly where you are right now, you idiot—sleeping alone.”

But breaking the will would solve one major problem: without the Tidewater shares hanging over their heads, Willa couldn’t accuse him of wanting to marry her only to get them.

“Then find the loophole,” he muttered. “Secure Tidewater, then go after the woman with everything you’ve got, Mr. Badass Businessman.”

Acquiring a wife couldn’t be any different from acquiring a company. He just had to concentrate on finding a loophole, while spending every available minute showing Willa he really did love her.

Chapter Thirteen

Sam stood at thebow as Willa guided the engine-powered RoseWind through a maze of moored boats. He was supposed to be securing the sails, but after getting his thumb eaten by a winch for the third time in three days, he’d had enough. What could she do to him, anyway? Fire him? Throw him overboard?

Starve him to death?

He’d already taken an unexpected swim yesterday when a rogue wave had washed him over the rail, getting dragged by his safety harness for nearly two miles before Willa had gotten the boat stopped. As for starving—he’d awakened this morning to find it hadn’t been a thick, juicy steak he’d been gnawing on in his dreams but his pillow.

He wished she would fire him.

“Why does the sign on the harbor master’s office say Prime Point and not Keelstone Cove?” he asked.

“Because this is Prime Point. That storm is right on our tail, and I want the RoseWind on a mooring and battened down before it hits. We’d be cutting it too close to continue on to Keelstone. Check the front latches after you fix those ropes,” she said, apparently hoping to hang on to her authority a while longer. Not a chance. Sam’s only focus right now was to set foot on a nonmoving surface, stuff himself until he couldn’t breathe, then lay his head on a pillow that wasn’t swaying. She owned the RoseWind ; she could damn well batten down her own hatches. His conscription had ended the moment they’d gotten within swimming distance of land.

“So, how are we getting to Keelstone Cove from here?”

“We’re not getting anywhere. I radioed a friend who lives in town, and he’s giving me a ride home,” she said, scowling when he didn’t move. “A bus heading south goes through here every morning. Maybe you could stow away on it .”

Sam turned to hide his smile. When he’d come up on deck that morning, Willa was in a bad mood, and it had gone downhill from there. He wished he’d known that telling a woman he loved her was such a turn-off; it would have saved him countless Dear Jane dinners. He could see the main pier was crowded with trucks, along with a small army of people hurrying to off-load their day’s catch. The harbor was busier thanTimes Square at rush hour, and fishing boats zoomed within inches of each other. Willa blithely guided the RoseWind through the turmoil, and Sam scrambled to brace himself when a boat laden with lobster traps suddenly veered straight toward them.

“Willa Kent!” the man at the helm called out as he approached, causing Willa to idle to a halt. The fisherman reversed his own engine, gently inching his boat alongside the RoseWind with amazing precision. “I went to your factory to buy a box for Gramps yesterday, but they told me you were inNew York City . You gonna be back at work this afternoon? Funeral’s day after tomorrow.”

Sam’s jaw dropped. This guy had stopped them in the middle of the harbor to buy a casket? He was pushing sixty; how the hell old was his grandfather?

“I’m sorry to hear Gramps died, Cyrus,” Willa said, walking to the rail. “I’m going to miss his outrageous stories.”

“Now, don’t you go feeling sorry for him, girlie. Gramps went to bed every night since Grandma died praying he wouldn’t wake up in the morning. He was smiling when we found him.”

Willa glanced out to sea, then back at the fisherman. “Give me a couple of hours, and I’ll meet you at my factory. We’ll find him a really nice casket.”

The fisherman crossed his heavily muscled arms over his barrel chest. “At a forty-percent discount, I reckon. Better yet, you got any seconds? Gramps wouldn’t mind a few dings and scratches, if’n the deal was sweet enough.”

Sam sat down on the forward doghouse. Now he was haggling over the price?

“I give a thirty-percent discount to locals,” Willa said, breaking into her first smile of the day. She leaned over the rail and dropped her voice. “But I have a beautiful rock maple casket I can sell you at half-price. It was a special order, but the client’s family decided to cremate him, so they never took it. I think Gramps would be right proud to be resting inMaine maple.”

“Sixty percent off. If’n it was a special order, you’re stuck with it. I’d be doing you a favor to get it off your factory floor.”

Willa stepped back to the wheel of the RoseWind . “Half-price, Cyrus, and it’s cash and carry.”

He scowled, obviously not liking being outtraded. “I’ll be there at six sharp. You ferrying this Sengatti to Emmett for repairs?” he asked, suddenly as congenial as before the negotiations. “I seen him waiting over at the public pier.”

“No, the RoseWind belongs to me,” she said, pushing on the throttle as she waved good-bye to the gaping fisherman. “See you at six, Cyrus. And bring your brothers. Rock maple is heavy,” she finished, darting the RoseWind between two lobster boats leaving the main pier. “That mainsail is not going to tuck itself into that boot,” she told Sam.

“It’s going to have to,” he said, staying put. “You’re not paying me enough to move.”

“You ate your weight in food, Sinclair.”

“And I’ve still lost twenty pounds.” He stood up when he spotted a lobster shack next to the pier. He tossed over the bumper, then grabbed the front line, which he handed to the waiting man as Willa inched the RoseWind against the dock. Before she had even shut off the engine, Sam scrambled over the rail, stepped onto the pier, and fell flat on his face.

“Whoa there,” the man said with a laugh, helping him to his feet. “It’ll take you a while to get back your land legs. How’d she run, Willa?” he asked, dismissing Sam by handing him back the rope and walking toward the stern. “Could you feel the difference in that hull design?”

“She practically sailed herself.”

Sam didn’t hear the rest of Willa’s response, because he was already—very carefully, so he wouldn’t fall again—making his way toward the lobster shack.

“Wait up, Sam.” The man, who had to be in his late seventies, was loping toward him. “Where are you going?”

“As far away from Captain Bligh as I can get.”

The man chuckled, then held out his hand. “Emmett Sengatti. I’m sorry for your loss. Bram was a hell of a man.”

Sam shook his hand, surprised by the powerful grip—until he remembered that Emmett Sengatti used to hand-build boats for a living. “Yes, he was. Thank you.”

“You’re not going to help Willa secure the RoseWind before the storm hits?”

Sam glanced down the pier to see her tucking the mainsail into its storm boot. “Trust me, she has everything under control.”

Emmett shook his head, though Sam noticed a distinct glint come into the older man’s eyes. “If I was trying to persuade a girl to marry me, I sure as hell wouldn’t be abandoning her when there’s work to be done.”

Sam stiffened. “What makes you think I’m trying to get her to marry me? For that matter, how the hell do you even know who I am?”

“Bram spent many evenings at my place these last six weeks,” Emmett said without taking offense. “Our little chats usually centered on you three boys, and you look exactly like your picture. As for the marrying part, Spencer is holding money from both Bram and me—and your showing up with Willa just made me a thousand bucks poorer.”