Read Online Anchors Aweigh - 6 by Kathleen Bacus - Free Book Online Page A

probably had bwack, bwack flashing on my forehead.
    “You know me. I’m a woman of my word,” I said, as he let me out of the booth.
    “Yeah. And your word is ‘unpredictable,’ ” Ranger Rick responded.
    Nice.
    “Enjoy the rest of your soy whopper there,” I said. “Feel free to finish mine if you like.” Then I hurried away.
    What the devil had I committed to now?
    I made my way back to my cabin, keeping a pair of dark glasses on as I traversed the decks and corridors, half expecting Aunt Mo to suddenly appear around each corner. I felt like I was in one of those scary video games where you maneuver your player cautiously through a series of passages, ever on the lookout for zombies ready to jump out at you and suck out your brains. (No comments about how blondes like me have nothing to fear from the undead, then. ‘Kay? Let’s play nice.)
    It occurred to me to wonder why I hadn’t noticed before how many of the passengers on the ship were…of a certain body type and weight. So much for this ace cub reporter’s powers of observation. Of course, there was the glare from Joe Townsend’s legs to consider. It had been blinding.
    I made it to my cabin, gray matter intact. Taylor’s life-jacket was on a chair, but Taylor was nowhere to be found. I wondered if she’d yet discovered the getaway glitch that placed us bunch of meat eaters from Iowa trapped on this smart-choice ship. Still, knowing Taylor, she was probably in healthy-balance heaven—and preparing to enjoy the entertainment factor of watching the rest of us junk-food connoisseurs drafted to fight in the battle of the bulge.
    I jumped in the shower and loofahed, buffed and polished, dried off and slipped on a set of hot pink matching undies. I pulled on a pair of low-cut denim Capri pants with a wide, white belt and wriggled into a pink T-shirt with a big heart on the front that featured silhouettes of a cowgirl resting her forehead against her horse’s head. The slogan read: Treat you like I treat my horse? You wish. Vintage cowgirl attire.
    I took more time with my makeup than usual, adding extra mascara and eyeliner to make me more alluring. Okay, and slightly slutty.
    Hair was next. My hair is always a challenge. A cross between a lion’s mane and an SOS scouring pad, I’d learned long ago that taming this particular beast required the skills of Siegfried and Roy. Or Merlin the magician. I decided to be bold and daring and wear it down for a change. Most days I stick it back in a ponytail or braid it. With generous amounts of gel, I manage to keep the frizz factor under control. Wearing it down is always risky. On a good hair day I can just about pull off a blonde Lindsay-Lohan-on-a-bad-hair-day look. On a bad hair day? Well, let’s just say if Bozo the Clown was interviewing for a missus, on a bad hair day I’d be shoo-in.
    Giving my head a final spritz of tresses tamer, I checked my reflection one last time, grabbed a white denim jacket and Harry Javelina and headed out the door.
    “Tressa Jayne! Yoo-hoo!”
    I turned to discover my grandma and her new groom, arm in arm, heading in my direction. My gammy was garbed in a mauve dress with a lightweight, lacy sweater jacket; Joe looked spiffy in dress slacks and a dress shirt.
    “Well, shiver me timbers, if it isn’t the infamous Captain Hook, Line and Stinker, and his lady love, Hellion Hannah!” I observed, remembering both Joe’s distaste for my pirate prose and his foul deed concerning a couple stowaways. “To what do we owe yer finery? Ye be suppin’ with Captain Steubing?”
    Joe flashed me an irritated look. I raised an eyebrow. After all, he’d thrown down the gauntlet—in a six-foot-three form that was impossible to ignore—so as far as I was concerned, the game was on.
    “We’re invited to a honeymooner mixer!” Gram announced. “It’s for people taking first or second or third honeymoons. I’m thinkin’ that’s a good thing. Right?” she said, seeking