Clashing In Seward

A woman in a yellow rain shell hovered at the boarding gate with a phone in one hand and a camera hanging from the other. “Are we really going out this morning? The forecast says the water’s rough.”

“The bay is active, but we’re staying inside the protected route until conditions settle.” Reilly gave her the smile she had practiced in the mirror, the one people remembered. “I’ll keep you informed the entire way.”

The woman relaxed. “Good. My husband gets seasick.”

“Then I’ll make him my most important passenger.”

That earned a laugh. A small one, but it loosened something beneath Reilly’s ribs.

She turned toward the rest of the group. “Once we leave the harbor, we’ll watch for sea otters along the rocky shoreline. If we’re lucky, we may see porpoise near the entrance. Humpback whales have been reported farther out, though we won’t chase sightings or put anyone at risk to - ”

“ - get there,” Andrew called.

His voice carried across the water with irritating ease.

Several guests turned. So did the deckhand beside Reilly.

Andrew lifted one hand, not quite a wave. “That route won’t give them much.”

Reilly felt every face swing toward her.

She kept her smile in place. “My route is based on today’s conditions.”

“Your route is based on the harbor schedule.” He glanced toward the clock mounted on the fuel shed. “If you want whales, you’ll need to clear the entrance before the tide turns.”

A man in a Mount Marathon Race shirt leaned toward his wife. “Is he with this company?”

“No,” Reilly said.

Andrew’s mouth curved. “Not yet.”

The laugh that followed was scattered, uncertain. Reilly heard the insult underneath it: new captain, new boat, new mistakes waiting to happen.

She stepped closer to the edge of her deck. “And your guests will be pleased to know they’re paying for commentary from the dock.”

Andrew’s eyes settled on her then, gray as the bay and just as difficult to read. “Only trying to save you from disappointing them.”

“I’ll risk it.”

His gaze dropped briefly to her hands, still damp from the line. When he looked back, something warmer flickered beneath the challenge. Not kindness. Not exactly. Interest, perhaps, and that was worse.

A harbor worker shouted for a cart to move. Engines coughed awake. The dock narrowed around them, crowded with tourists in bright jackets and guides carrying coffee.

Andrew stepped down from his vessel and came toward her. He smelled of cold water, cedar, and the bitter coffee everyone drank from the fuel shed. Up close, the roughness of him became specific: a pale scar crossing one knuckle, a weathered line beside his mouth, a fleck of grease near his wrist.

“You’re blocking the boarding lane,” he said.

“So are you.”

“I was here first.”

“Congratulations.”

His eyes glinted. “You always this pleasant before breakfast?”

“Only when strangers interrupt my briefing.”

The corner of his mouth moved again, but he did not smile. “You want advice, Hart?”

“No.”

“You’re going to get it anyway.”

Before she could answer, a dockhand rolled a stack of crates between them. Andrew caught the top one against his thigh, then shoved it aside with a strength that made the gesture look careless.

Reilly hated that she noticed.

Her guests began boarding. She turned away from him and reached for the woman in the yellow shell, steadying her elbow as the boat shifted.

“Watch your step.”

Behind her, Andrew said, “Keep them seated until you clear the channel. The wind is pushing hard off the point.”

“I know how to operate my boat.”

“Knowing isn’t the same as doing.”

Reilly spun around. “You don’t get to undermine me in front of paying guests because you’ve been doing this longer.”

For the first time, his expression lost its amusement.

The harbor noise seemed to draw back, leaving the slap of water against the hull.

“I’m not undermining you,” he said. “I’m telling you what the bay is doing.”

“And I’m telling you I can read it.”

“Then read faster.”

Her face heated. She wanted to shove him into the water. She wanted, absurdly, to know what his mouth would feel like if it ever stopped forming objections.

A gull landed on the railing between them and screamed.

One of her guests laughed nervously. The moment broke, but not the tension.

Reilly turned to the controls. “Lines off.”

Her deckhand released the stern line. The boat eased away from the dock, engine vibrating through the soles of her boots. She gave Andrew one last look as the gap widened.

He stood with his hands on his hips, watching her leave.

Not triumphant.

Worried.

That unsettled her more than the mockery.

The boat cleared the harbor mouth beneath a sky brightening behind the mountains. Seward spread along the shore behind them - bright roofs, stacked boats, streets already filling for the Mount Marathon Race later that day. Runners and spectators would soon crowd the town, turning the steep green mountain above it into a living trail of red shirts and determination.

Reilly kept one hand on the wheel and the other near the throttle. The bay rolled beneath them in long, muscular swells.

Her guests pointed when a raft of sea otters appeared near the rocks. One floated on its back, paws folded over its chest, while another cracked a shell against its belly. Cameras rose all around the deck.

“There,” Reilly called. “Just off the starboard side.”

The woman in yellow smiled at her. “You found them.”

Reilly felt a small, hard-earned satisfaction.

Then a horn sounded behind them.

Andrew’s boat came around the point faster than it should have, its wake lifting white along the hull. He had taken the outside line, exactly as he had warned her. His guests crowded the rail as porpoise flashed through the water beside them, sleek backs appearing and vanishing in quick silver arcs.

A child shouted. Cameras clicked.

Andrew lifted his hand toward Reilly’s boat, two fingers pointing toward the porpoise.

She knew what he meant. Follow me.

She also knew what it would look like if she did.

Her guests were already asking whether they could see the animals closer. The whale reports, the porpoise, the promise of a perfect first tour - all of it pulled at her.

She adjusted course by a few degrees.

The boat struck a crosswake. A woman cried out as her shoulder hit the rail. Reilly cut the throttle instantly.

“Everyone stay seated,” she called. “We’re all right.”

The woman in yellow stared at her. “I thought you said the water would be calm.”

“It isn’t calm,” Reilly said, forcing steadiness into her voice. “But we are safe.”

Across the water, Andrew had slowed. His boat angled back toward them.

Reilly’s stomach tightened.

He came alongside at a careful distance, his expression stripped of every trace of humor. “You took the wake too close.”

“I corrected.”

“After your passenger hit the rail.”

“She’s fine.”

The woman rubbed her shoulder. “I’m not sure I am.”

Reilly flinched.

Andrew heard it. His gaze moved from the woman to Reilly, and something in his face shifted - not softness, but recognition. He knew exactly how much that sentence could cost.

“Bring them back in,” he said.

Reilly’s fingers tightened around the wheel. “We have a full route.”

“You have a frightened passenger.”

“And you have your own guests.”

“My deckhand can handle them.”

The words struck deeper than they should have. He could spare a deckhand. He had a crew, a reputation, years in these waters. She had one season’s worth of borrowed confidence and a company waiting to see whether she would justify the license they had given her.

“I’m not turning around because you told me to,” she said.

Andrew leaned closer across the water. “This isn’t about me.”

“No. It’s about you making sure everyone sees me fail.”

His jaw tightened. “You think I want that?”

“I think you enjoy it.”

For a moment, neither of them moved. The bay lifted both boats, setting them down apart.

Then the woman in yellow spoke, voice trembling. “Captain, I’d like to go back.”

The complaint arrived before they reached the dock.

The woman’s husband stood beside her at the office window, angry and pale beneath his cap. He said the route had been unsafe. He said Reilly had ignored a warning. He said the captain had seemed more interested in arguing with another operator than protecting her passengers.

Each word landed with the clean precision of a dropped anchor.

Reilly stood behind the counter while the manager read the incident form. Her wet jacket had begun to chill against her skin. Through the office window, she could see Andrew at the neighboring dock, talking with his crew. He looked over once.

She looked away.

The manager folded the form. “This goes to the harbor authority if they pursue it.”

Reilly swallowed. “I brought them back safely.”

“That helps.”

“Helps?”

“It doesn’t erase the complaint.”

Her hands curled at her sides. “I followed the channel.”

“You followed Andrew.”

The truth of it pressed hotly beneath her collar.

The manager sighed. “I can ask him to confirm the wake conditions. He was closest.”

Reilly imagined Andrew’s statement. His blunt voice. His careful facts. The way everyone in Seward trusted him because he had been born into the weather and learned its moods before he learned to shave.

“What would that cost me?” she asked.

“A favor,” the manager said. “He doesn’t give those away.”

Outside, Andrew turned from his crew and met her eyes through the glass.

Reilly pushed open the office door.

He came over slowly, leaving the noise of the docks behind him. Up close, he looked less like the smug captain from the morning and more like a man who had spent the day carrying other people’s fear.

“You need me to confirm the wake,” he said.

“I need you to tell the truth.”

“I always do.”

“That’s not what I’ve heard.”

His gaze dropped to her mouth, then returned to her eyes. “You want me to file a statement?”

“I want you to keep your commentary out of it.”

“I can do that.”

“Can you?”

Andrew stepped closer. The space between them smelled of rain and salt and the coffee cooling in his hand.

“You were trying to prove you belonged,” he said quietly.

Reilly’s throat tightened. “You don’t know anything about me.”

“I know you saw those porpoise and took the outside line because you didn’t want your first group going home without a story.”

“That’s not your business.”

“No.” His voice roughened. “But the bay doesn’t care what you’re trying to prove.”

She wanted anger. Anger was easier than the sudden ache behind her ribs.

“I can’t lose this,” she said.

The admission slipped out before she could stop it. “If the complaint goes through, they’ll pull my license review. I came here because this was the one place that gave me a chance. I can’t be the woman everyone remembers as the captain who wasn’t ready.”

Andrew’s expression changed completely.

No triumph. No teasing.

Only a quiet, unwelcome understanding.

“You should’ve told me,” he said.

“I don’t tell rivals where I’m weak.”

“Then stop treating me like one.”

The words hung between them, too intimate for the crowded dock.

Reilly took a step back. “Will you file the statement?”

“Yes.”

The answer came quickly enough to surprise her.

“What do you want?”

His eyes held hers. “A favor.”

Her pulse stumbled. “Name it.”

“Next time I tell you the water is moving, don’t turn it into a contest.”

“That’s all?”

“For today.”

He reached past her for the office door, his sleeve brushing her arm. The contact was brief, accidental, and still it sent heat through the cold fabric of her jacket.

Andrew paused at the threshold.

“Your otter den,” he said. “The one you’ve been asking about?”

Reilly went still. “What about it?”

“I know where it is.”

She stared at him.

He gave her that nearly-smile, the one that made her want to argue just to see it disappear.

“But you’ll have to trust me enough to let me show you.”

Then he walked away toward the bay, leaving Reilly with a complaint on her record, a favor owed, and the dangerous suspicion that Andrew Kincaid had just offered her something far more valuable than help.

End of chapter one. 29 more chapters in the full book.