Distracted √

Distracted: Chapter Eleven

"I am not!" She tried to shove him out of the settee, using her hands and then her feet for advantage. Spence grabbed her ankles and tickled her toes.

"So how much do you make on a book like this?"

"None of your business, smarty pants."

"Seriously," he drawled.

"Well, not a half million, that's for sure. How much do you make on a single painting?"

Spence smiled and rubbed his hands gleefully. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

"Actually, I already know."

"Well why'd ya ask?"

"To see if you'd tell me the truth."

"I see. You're testing me. I wondered when you'd start."

She glared at him as she shut her laptop. "Oh, get real. I couldn't care less about testing you. Get out of my way."

She waited for him to move and when he didn't she scooted to the opposite edge of the settee.

* * *

By late afternoon, she could see the Tortuga beach and the red brick structure of Fort Jefferson shimmering on the horizon.

"Are there many people on the island?"

"No. The only people who live here are park rangers and their families. It's nice to visit, but it's not hospitable. There's no fresh water -- just coral and sand. That's why Spanish sailors called it the 'Dry Tortugas.' Even pirates avoided this place, except when they needed to maroon a kidnapped damsel."

Erin shaded her eyes and watched as the islands drew closer. She read the tattered brochure Spence dug out of the starboard locker. She learned that 'Tortuga' is Spanish for turtle and the old brick fort had been built in the 1800s but never saw any real military action. Its biggest claim to fame came after the Civil War, when it served as a prison. Decades of neglect and the occasional hurricane left parts of the fort crumbling, but the National Park Service was doing its best to stay ahead of the elements. Now, the main island and six lesser keys nearby serve as a remote outpost for small groups of tourists who make the seventy-mile, open-water trip from Key West. Other visitors included the occasional bird-watcher, scientists studying the turtle population, and sailors like Spence.

"Are we going to be here long?"

"Nah. We'll do a little snorkeling and stay tonight. Then tomorrow morning we'll head on to Key West, do a little Duval crawlin', get some Cuban grub."

"What's 'Duval crawling'?"

"You'll see," he said, smirking. "Meanwhile, let's drop anchor at that small mangrove island north of Tortuga. We can take the dinghy to the fort."

"Why don't we head for the piers?" Erin asked, nodding towards a series of dark wooden poles near the shore.

"We're going to stay the night and I don't want company. Sometimes other cruisers come here and they like to party too much or too loud."

"Oh," she said, noticing a small sailboat and a sport fishing boat tied to the piers. In the distance, a commercial ferry was leaving Tortuga and Erin could see the stern was crowded with tourists.

Within minutes they secured the anchor and lowered the inflatable dinghy. Spence helped Erin into the little boat and tossed her a bag of gear and a picnic basket.

"What's this?"

"We'll do a little snorkeling before we go to Fort Jefferson. See some wildlife that the tourists won't see."