Romance on the Edge 01 - Hooked

said.
    Garrett assessed her pale skin. She was dead on her feet. “Why don’t you have a seat?”
    She shook her head. “Need to sweep up this glass.” She looked around as though she had no idea where to start. She gazed under the bunk, pulling out the bench. It grated as she dragged it over the broken glass. She peered under the captain’s chair, then to cabinet next to the small fridge. A hiccupping sob escaped her. She bit her lip as if to keep it in and yanked open the door to the fridge.
    “Sonya.” Garrett grabbed her shoulders.
    “Where the hell is a broom?” She lost the battle of tears. He pulled her into his arms, and she sobbed into the cartoon scrubs he wore. A hysterical laugh joined her tears. “I don’t think I own one. Why don’t I have a damn broom?”
    “Probably because this is a boat, and you didn’t see the need.” Garrett held her and rubbed his hands up and down her back in soothing motions. This wasn’t about a broom. Until she could deal with all that happened, if she needed to lose it over a broom then she could.
    “How am I going to clean up this mess?”
    “We’ll radio your camp. I’m sure your grandmother has a broom.” He was more concerned with pulling the nails out of the aluminum sides and decking of the boat before her family visualized what could have happened to her. The anger that caused his head to pound each time he imagined her flesh pierced with nails made his concussion seem like a paper cut in comparison.
    Her sobs subsided, followed by the occasional sniffle and hiccup. He continued to stroke her back, murmuring soothing words into her ear. She snuggled farther into him, and his heart swelled.
    Damn, he loved this woman.
    He’d known it but had tried to discount his feelings of love for lust. Lust was easier to deal with. Love…
    Well, hell, love was so much more.
    When he’d thought they were going to die, he’d come face to face with what he felt for her. It was real. It was scary. It was forever.
    What did she feel for him? He didn’t like this one bit. He liked knowing what he wanted and how to get it. He couldn’t make Sonya love him. She either did or didn’t. With how she’d chosen Aidan over him, all the evidence pointed to her still in love with Harte. But Garrett knew she cared something for him too.
    Where did her heart lie?
    Now wasn’t the time to hash it out. Not when her world had been blown apart, and the pieces didn’t fit neatly back together yet. The best thing he could do was to be there for her. No pressure.
    Sonya took a deep breath and blew it out. She straightened in his arms, and he tightened them. “Not yet. Let me hold you a bit longer.” She needed some more moments before she faced the clean up ahead, and he needed to feel the comfort of her in his arms. He feared that soon she’d leave them for good, and his arms would be empty.
    “Got any ideas how we’re going to de-spine my boat?” she asked.
    He laughed. She’d had her crying jag, and instead of it sending her to bed, she’d regrouped and was ready to face the practical business at hand. Another thing he loved about her. “Do you have any vice grips in that tool box of yours?”
    “Now, that I have. In fact, I believe I have two.” She choked out a laugh. “No broom, but vice grips, I’ve got.”
    “Hey, you know what’s important. A broom would only be in the way.”
    Suddenly she pulled out of his arms, her face flushed, eyes red-rimmed, and vulnerably beautiful. His heart did that swelling thing again.
    “I do have a broom.” She slapped her forehead. “How could I forget?”
    She rushed from the pilot house. He followed to find her lying between the stairs, reaching through the metal slats. He heard a shout of triumph as she pulled out a sad, ratty broom.
    “We fly a broom when we catch a hundred thousand pounds of fish. I threw this under here for when we reach our goal.”
    “You fly a broom?”
    “Yeah. It’s kind of a symbol of cleaning up. Get it?”
    He laughed. “Yeah, I get it.” He reached out his hand to her, and she took it. “Come on. Let’s get this mess cleaned up so you can catch enough fish this afternoon to put that broom to good use.”

    The Double Dippin’ didn’t sparkle, but she was clean of bomb debris.
    Sonya’s crew had boarded for the drift opening, and they’d laid their first set, staying mid-river rather than fighting the line. In a sense, keeping a low profile. Sonya hadn’t wanted to provoke