Vanessa looked at the bulky diving watch on her left wrist and, from a quick mental calculation, realized she had about thirty minutes of air left. Satisfied, she turned to the checklist on her diving clipboard and inventoried her safety gear.
As the only responsible member of the Atlas Recovery diving team, it was her job to make sure all eight members of the hot dog diving crew made it back up to the surface with oxygen to spare.
Atlas billed itself as an “underwater archeology” firm, but everyone knew that really, they were just doing salvage. Barry Grind, the owner of Atlas, was a fortune hunter and perpetually looking for the next big score. A couple notable finds, including a tidy pile of Spanish doubloons and a collection of ancient stone carvings, had made him famous. The fame had made him relentless. He’d both made a lot of money and spent a lot of money combing the ocean floor for treasures.
Mostly they pulled scrap metal up to the surface, but even that had value. It was enough to fund the dives while the team kept looking for riches. Each diver on the small crew was just as anxious as Barry to discover something good. They’d get a quarter of the take, and on a big find that could add up. If the find happened to be historically significant, they’d get something each of them craved even more: notoriety.
So not only were the divers risk takers by nature, but they also had plenty of incentive to push themselves as hard as possible.
There was one on the team, Dave Blankenship, who was the worst. The boys called him Hoss. Big Hoss drank more than anyone else, ate more than anyone else, and dove deeper and stayed down longer than anyone on the team.
Vanessa, on the other hand, was trained as a search and rescue diver. Barry had hired her after a long series of mishaps that had resulted in the deaths of two of his crew. She wasn’t an archeologist or a scavenger. Her role was both underwater lifeguard and corporate project manager. She kept the boys alive and kept them on schedule.
Both of these jobs made her an invaluable part of the Atlas crew, though no one cared to admit it. Only those who found buried treasure got respect.
Bad boy Hoss was the bane of Vanessa’s existence. He teased her incessantly, which she could handle, but worse than that, he had a propensity to get himself into tight spots. He’d been the one to glimpse the sparkle in the sand and pulled up that now famous pile of doubloons. That had landed him on the front page of The New York Times.
Hoss flouted all convention and pushed the edges of the envelope until they squealed. Vanessa hadn’t had to save him yet, but there had been a series of near misses. Diving with Hoss worked Vanessa’s last nerve. He could make her angrier than she thought possible, then he’d fix her with that lopsided grin, two perfect rows of pearly whites under crystal-blue eyes, and she’d blush and forgive him. Then she’d scold herself for letting him get away with it again.
Hoss somewhat affectionately referred to Vanessa as “the only bunny on a team of playboys,” and if she was more sensitive, she’d have done something about it. Despite the ribbing, everyone knew she was a necessary part of the team. Vanessa kept the dive team safe, and Barry rewarded her hard work.
There were seven boys total. Six of them were like pesky little brothers, but Hoss, he was something different. Something more.
Something special.
Vanessa physically shook her head at these thoughts as she touched the speaker button at the neck of her deep dive suit.
“Thirty minutes, gentlemen. Let’s start to wrap up what you’re working on. Don’t make me come after you.”
“Yeeeees, Mooooom,” came the sarcastic reply from Sam.
“Rightio,” from Jack.
“Got it,” said Lucas.
“Roger that,” said Neal.
“Thanks, V,” said Ben.
“I’m headed up now,” said Caleb.
But that seventh diver, the bane of her world, said, “Catch me if you can, green eyes,” followed by a suggestive laugh.
Vanessa’s heart skipped a beat, and she blushed even though no one but a passing grouper was there to see. As much as Hoss drove her crazy, he also made her giddy like a schoolgirl. She hated that.
Vanessa re-gathered her composure and responded, “Catch you? In those shallows? Pfft! No problem.”
A chorus of six “woooahs” came through Vanessa’s earpiece and she laughed.
“Thirty minutes, pony boy,” she said, riffing on his nickname, and turned off her microphone.
“At the top,” Caleb reported over the speakers, and Vanessa replied, “Got it,” and used a grease pencil to tick his name off of her checklist.
“Jack and I are topside now,” Sam said, and she marked off their names as well.
Over the course of ten minutes, six male voices reported their ascent and successful return to the boat.
Six. That left one. One unchecked box on the list.
“Hey, Hoss, we’re at the end, my friend. You coming in?” Vanessa asked with as much authority as she could muster. This wasn’t unusual; he was always the last one in the boat.
She heard no answer so she tried again, “Hey, sparky, better start ascending now, no one likes the bends, buddy.”
No response. Nothing.
Normally Vanessa would wait him out, and he’d come swimming by at the last possible moment, but something made her gut feel a little tight. Today felt different.
“Hoss? C’mon back, buddy. Just give me a word to let me know where you’re at.”
Silence.
“Hoss?”
Vanessa worked her flippers and propelled herself over to the sector where she’d last seen him. She was over a fairly deep trough, and the water below was dark and cold.
“Olly olly in come free, Hossy boy!” she said with a chirpiness she didn’t feel.
It wasn’t like Hoss to go quiet. Hoss wasn’t quiet, he was verbose. Now Vanessa knew for sure something was wrong.
“Barry, come in. We got a situation down here.”
“Go ahead, V.”
“I can’t find Hoss, he’s not responding.”
She waited for Barry to reply. More silence. Great; at this depth, with only a measured amount of oxygen left, silence was the last thing she needed.
Finally Barry’s voice came back, “Yeah, Jack says he was over by the Tisdale Trench. There was a half-buried boat propeller out that way. You know the place?”
“Roger that, I’m there now. No Hoss.”
Just then a flicker of light no longer than a camera flash caught the corner of her eye. It was the head-mounted flashlight on Hoss’s helmet. She was sure of it.
Going after him meant going down, much further down, and she was already at two hundred meters, which carried plenty of risk.
“Okay, Hoss, you win. I’m too chicken to come after you. Let’s go already!”
More silence.
Vanessa sighed. Damn that frustrating, crazy, aquatic Red Baron of a man. Checking the gauge on her tank and calculating the reserve, she turned her body downward and swam.
The pressure became immense and her body reacted to the compression when she saw the flash again. Turning her own flashlight toward where she’d seen it, she could make out the outline of her fellow diver and he wasn’t moving.
“Lame joke, man. C’mon. You got me. You win.”
She was sure that Hoss would hoot and holler at her for days about how he got her good. He loved a practical joke.
Vanessa swam toward Hoss and as she got closer she realized something was wrong. He seriously wasn’t moving and his head was at a funny angle.
“Hoss? If you are joking, so help me, I’ll…”
She stopped short when she realized he was unconscious. He’d probably been at depth for too long and couldn’t take it. He didn’t appear injured and bubbles from his suit let her know he was breathing.
Vanessa grabbed the man by his arms and yanked. She had to get him, and herself, up to the surface fast. But not that fast.
On land her small frame wouldn’t be nearly enough to hoist his large body, but with the help of buoyancy and adrenaline, she got his limp body moving.
Vanessa swam quickly, ascending a certain amount, then stopped. His oxygen tank was low and so was hers. His size meant he used more oxygen, and between them she hoped there was enough left to share if they had to.
As they made their first decompression stop, she shook and poked at Hoss to get him to come back around.
His eyes opened slowly, as if from a drugged sleep.
“Well hey, darlin’,” he said when he saw the owner of the arms around his waist.
Vanessa hit the microphone and reported, “I found Hoss, he was in the deeps, we’re coming up now, but slow. Stay tuned.”
“Roger that,” Barry responded.
She debated telling Barry that Hoss had passed out underwater, but refrained. There was no sense in bruising his dignity. Assuming they made it back, of course.
“Let’s go, you big lug,” Vanessa said and tugged at the still woozy man.
“Baby, I’d follow you anywhere,” he said, still under the influence of deep water.
“Then kick your legs, you big oaf, I’m doing this on my own.”
They swam a measured amount, stopped again, and Vanessa felt her heart thumping in her chest. Fear. Bends. Underwater pressure. The man in her arms. All were probable cause. It was a wonder her heart didn’t jump out of her chest and ascend to the boat on its own.
“V, am I still alive?” Hoss asked in a groggy voice.
“Uh, yeah, ace. Why do you ask?”
“Uh…” he said and passed out again.
“Oh great,” she said to no one but herself.
Vanessa checked her watch, then kicked her legs hard to rise a bit more. She was pushing the edges on this ascent, not quite waiting long enough at each stop, but she’d rather suffer a little pain than drown.
At the next pause Hoss came back to consciousness. He looked at her with an intensity she’d never seen. It made her feel awkward.
“V, you saved my life.”
“And don’t you forget it, hot shot.”
“No, I’m serious. You saved me.”
“Yeah, I did.”
Hoss reached out a hand and touched her dive helmet as though stroking her hair.
“But why?” he asked.
She could see he might actually be serious. Then again, maybe not. This was Hoss, after all.
She looked at him just as seriously. Gravely. She gazed deeply into his groggy eyes and slowly said, “I have no idea.” Then she grinned.
He laughed so hard big bubbles came shooting out of his helmet.
“Hey, Hoss? Another thing?”
“Yes, pretty girl?”
“Kick your damn feet, you’re killing me here!”
“As you wish, darlin’,” he twanged and slid his arm tightly around her waist. Together their legs kicked as the interlocked pair swam upward to the next stop, like a couple on the dance floor two-stepping their way through the brine.
“Here, pause,” she said and they both stopped kicking.
“If we get out of this alive, I’m going to take you out to dinner,” Hoss drawled, back on his game.
“Yeah? Better be somewhere nice, I saved your bacon.”
“Like the Sand Pail,” he said, referring to the local biker bar.
“Where only the finest watered-down beer will do,” she said sarcastically.
“If I get you drunk enough, maybe you’ll let me kiss you,” he said, then blushed, looking suddenly shy and refusing to meet her eyes.
The bends must be in his brain, she thought.
“Maybe you don’t even have to get me drunk,” Vanessa said, feeling bold, then looked him square on. He blushed even more and she smiled.
“Hey, are we going to make it out of this alive?” he asked, showing a genuine worry for the first time.
“I’m not sure,” she said. “Your tank is almost gone, and I only have a little bit more. We’re going to have to share oxygen for the last thirty meters.”
Hoss nodded, then, showing no signs of kidding around, said, “If we make it, I can promise you, I’m going to kiss you so hard you’ll need oxygen to recover.”
Vanessa’s nerve endings tingled. Now wasn’t the time to go all schoolgirl. “Let’s go,” she said and together they rose again toward the surface. Sunlight was now visible as rays cut through the blue water. A school of bright tropical fish surrounded them for a moment, as if cued by a movie director.
Hoss looked at her intently and leaned forward in his suit, as if thick plastic and seawater weren’t keeping them apart. “God, you’re beautiful.”
“That’s the bends talking, big boy. When you’re breathing surface air, your whole tune will change.”
“Since we’ve got some time on our hands and all, and since I only just recently used up one of my nine lives, I guess it’s time for a little honesty.”
Vanessa looked at him and said nothing.
“So, well, this is awkward to say, but…ever since you joined the Atlas team, I’ve really felt that…”
Vanessa waited.
“That…” He was fumbling. She tried not to grin.
“That…well…you have got a hot little rig on you, sister. Do you work out?”
Vanessa sighed loudly and punched him in the shoulder. The closer they got to the surface, the more the old Hoss returned. The woozy, charming, sweet guy was left behind in the depths.
About the time they broke the water’s surface, he’d turned on the communication line to the ship and was cracking jokes with the dive team. Vanessa let go of Hoss and started up the boat’s ladder.
“Last one in the boat is a rotten egg!” Hoss shouted and yanked Vanessa off the ladder and back into the water, then swam over the top of her to get on the boat first.
She kicked him in the leg when he swam by, then climbed up after him. As he backslapped and laughed with the rest of the crew, not a word was said about the trouble down there. Hoss acted like this was just another normal day at work.
She chided herself for being so silly. For thinking he felt the way she did. For thinking that man could be anything more than a wisecracking diversity awareness disaster.
The only answer was to do the same, to go back to the person she was before she saved his life.
Co-workers, that’s all.
Vanessa avoided the high-fiving Speedo cowboys on deck and went to her small cabin to change into dry clothes.
About twenty minutes later a small knock came at the door. She opened it to find Hoss there, filling the cramped space.
“Can I come in?”
“Sure,” she said and turned away so her eyes wouldn’t betray her.
"Hey,” Hoss said and put a hand on her shoulder, turning her around. “We have some unfinished business.”
Vanessa furrowed her brow, confused, and turned her face upward toward his.
Then he made good on that kiss.
He was right. She did need oxygen to recover.
As the only responsible member of the Atlas Recovery diving team, it was her job to make sure all eight members of the hot dog diving crew made it back up to the surface with oxygen to spare.
Atlas billed itself as an “underwater archeology” firm, but everyone knew that really, they were just doing salvage. Barry Grind, the owner of Atlas, was a fortune hunter and perpetually looking for the next big score. A couple notable finds, including a tidy pile of Spanish doubloons and a collection of ancient stone carvings, had made him famous. The fame had made him relentless. He’d both made a lot of money and spent a lot of money combing the ocean floor for treasures.
Mostly they pulled scrap metal up to the surface, but even that had value. It was enough to fund the dives while the team kept looking for riches. Each diver on the small crew was just as anxious as Barry to discover something good. They’d get a quarter of the take, and on a big find that could add up. If the find happened to be historically significant, they’d get something each of them craved even more: notoriety.
So not only were the divers risk takers by nature, but they also had plenty of incentive to push themselves as hard as possible.
There was one on the team, Dave Blankenship, who was the worst. The boys called him Hoss. Big Hoss drank more than anyone else, ate more than anyone else, and dove deeper and stayed down longer than anyone on the team.
Vanessa, on the other hand, was trained as a search and rescue diver. Barry had hired her after a long series of mishaps that had resulted in the deaths of two of his crew. She wasn’t an archeologist or a scavenger. Her role was both underwater lifeguard and corporate project manager. She kept the boys alive and kept them on schedule.
Both of these jobs made her an invaluable part of the Atlas crew, though no one cared to admit it. Only those who found buried treasure got respect.
Bad boy Hoss was the bane of Vanessa’s existence. He teased her incessantly, which she could handle, but worse than that, he had a propensity to get himself into tight spots. He’d been the one to glimpse the sparkle in the sand and pulled up that now famous pile of doubloons. That had landed him on the front page of The New York Times.
Hoss flouted all convention and pushed the edges of the envelope until they squealed. Vanessa hadn’t had to save him yet, but there had been a series of near misses. Diving with Hoss worked Vanessa’s last nerve. He could make her angrier than she thought possible, then he’d fix her with that lopsided grin, two perfect rows of pearly whites under crystal-blue eyes, and she’d blush and forgive him. Then she’d scold herself for letting him get away with it again.
Hoss somewhat affectionately referred to Vanessa as “the only bunny on a team of playboys,” and if she was more sensitive, she’d have done something about it. Despite the ribbing, everyone knew she was a necessary part of the team. Vanessa kept the dive team safe, and Barry rewarded her hard work.
There were seven boys total. Six of them were like pesky little brothers, but Hoss, he was something different. Something more.
Something special.
Vanessa physically shook her head at these thoughts as she touched the speaker button at the neck of her deep dive suit.
“Thirty minutes, gentlemen. Let’s start to wrap up what you’re working on. Don’t make me come after you.”
“Yeeeees, Mooooom,” came the sarcastic reply from Sam.
“Rightio,” from Jack.
“Got it,” said Lucas.
“Roger that,” said Neal.
“Thanks, V,” said Ben.
“I’m headed up now,” said Caleb.
But that seventh diver, the bane of her world, said, “Catch me if you can, green eyes,” followed by a suggestive laugh.
Vanessa’s heart skipped a beat, and she blushed even though no one but a passing grouper was there to see. As much as Hoss drove her crazy, he also made her giddy like a schoolgirl. She hated that.
Vanessa re-gathered her composure and responded, “Catch you? In those shallows? Pfft! No problem.”
A chorus of six “woooahs” came through Vanessa’s earpiece and she laughed.
“Thirty minutes, pony boy,” she said, riffing on his nickname, and turned off her microphone.
“At the top,” Caleb reported over the speakers, and Vanessa replied, “Got it,” and used a grease pencil to tick his name off of her checklist.
“Jack and I are topside now,” Sam said, and she marked off their names as well.
Over the course of ten minutes, six male voices reported their ascent and successful return to the boat.
Six. That left one. One unchecked box on the list.
“Hey, Hoss, we’re at the end, my friend. You coming in?” Vanessa asked with as much authority as she could muster. This wasn’t unusual; he was always the last one in the boat.
She heard no answer so she tried again, “Hey, sparky, better start ascending now, no one likes the bends, buddy.”
No response. Nothing.
Normally Vanessa would wait him out, and he’d come swimming by at the last possible moment, but something made her gut feel a little tight. Today felt different.
“Hoss? C’mon back, buddy. Just give me a word to let me know where you’re at.”
Silence.
“Hoss?”
Vanessa worked her flippers and propelled herself over to the sector where she’d last seen him. She was over a fairly deep trough, and the water below was dark and cold.
“Olly olly in come free, Hossy boy!” she said with a chirpiness she didn’t feel.
It wasn’t like Hoss to go quiet. Hoss wasn’t quiet, he was verbose. Now Vanessa knew for sure something was wrong.
“Barry, come in. We got a situation down here.”
“Go ahead, V.”
“I can’t find Hoss, he’s not responding.”
She waited for Barry to reply. More silence. Great; at this depth, with only a measured amount of oxygen left, silence was the last thing she needed.
Finally Barry’s voice came back, “Yeah, Jack says he was over by the Tisdale Trench. There was a half-buried boat propeller out that way. You know the place?”
“Roger that, I’m there now. No Hoss.”
Just then a flicker of light no longer than a camera flash caught the corner of her eye. It was the head-mounted flashlight on Hoss’s helmet. She was sure of it.
Going after him meant going down, much further down, and she was already at two hundred meters, which carried plenty of risk.
“Okay, Hoss, you win. I’m too chicken to come after you. Let’s go already!”
More silence.
Vanessa sighed. Damn that frustrating, crazy, aquatic Red Baron of a man. Checking the gauge on her tank and calculating the reserve, she turned her body downward and swam.
The pressure became immense and her body reacted to the compression when she saw the flash again. Turning her own flashlight toward where she’d seen it, she could make out the outline of her fellow diver and he wasn’t moving.
“Lame joke, man. C’mon. You got me. You win.”
She was sure that Hoss would hoot and holler at her for days about how he got her good. He loved a practical joke.
Vanessa swam toward Hoss and as she got closer she realized something was wrong. He seriously wasn’t moving and his head was at a funny angle.
“Hoss? If you are joking, so help me, I’ll…”
She stopped short when she realized he was unconscious. He’d probably been at depth for too long and couldn’t take it. He didn’t appear injured and bubbles from his suit let her know he was breathing.
Vanessa grabbed the man by his arms and yanked. She had to get him, and herself, up to the surface fast. But not that fast.
On land her small frame wouldn’t be nearly enough to hoist his large body, but with the help of buoyancy and adrenaline, she got his limp body moving.
Vanessa swam quickly, ascending a certain amount, then stopped. His oxygen tank was low and so was hers. His size meant he used more oxygen, and between them she hoped there was enough left to share if they had to.
As they made their first decompression stop, she shook and poked at Hoss to get him to come back around.
His eyes opened slowly, as if from a drugged sleep.
“Well hey, darlin’,” he said when he saw the owner of the arms around his waist.
Vanessa hit the microphone and reported, “I found Hoss, he was in the deeps, we’re coming up now, but slow. Stay tuned.”
“Roger that,” Barry responded.
She debated telling Barry that Hoss had passed out underwater, but refrained. There was no sense in bruising his dignity. Assuming they made it back, of course.
“Let’s go, you big lug,” Vanessa said and tugged at the still woozy man.
“Baby, I’d follow you anywhere,” he said, still under the influence of deep water.
“Then kick your legs, you big oaf, I’m doing this on my own.”
They swam a measured amount, stopped again, and Vanessa felt her heart thumping in her chest. Fear. Bends. Underwater pressure. The man in her arms. All were probable cause. It was a wonder her heart didn’t jump out of her chest and ascend to the boat on its own.
“V, am I still alive?” Hoss asked in a groggy voice.
“Uh, yeah, ace. Why do you ask?”
“Uh…” he said and passed out again.
“Oh great,” she said to no one but herself.
Vanessa checked her watch, then kicked her legs hard to rise a bit more. She was pushing the edges on this ascent, not quite waiting long enough at each stop, but she’d rather suffer a little pain than drown.
At the next pause Hoss came back to consciousness. He looked at her with an intensity she’d never seen. It made her feel awkward.
“V, you saved my life.”
“And don’t you forget it, hot shot.”
“No, I’m serious. You saved me.”
“Yeah, I did.”
Hoss reached out a hand and touched her dive helmet as though stroking her hair.
“But why?” he asked.
She could see he might actually be serious. Then again, maybe not. This was Hoss, after all.
She looked at him just as seriously. Gravely. She gazed deeply into his groggy eyes and slowly said, “I have no idea.” Then she grinned.
He laughed so hard big bubbles came shooting out of his helmet.
“Hey, Hoss? Another thing?”
“Yes, pretty girl?”
“Kick your damn feet, you’re killing me here!”
“As you wish, darlin’,” he twanged and slid his arm tightly around her waist. Together their legs kicked as the interlocked pair swam upward to the next stop, like a couple on the dance floor two-stepping their way through the brine.
“Here, pause,” she said and they both stopped kicking.
“If we get out of this alive, I’m going to take you out to dinner,” Hoss drawled, back on his game.
“Yeah? Better be somewhere nice, I saved your bacon.”
“Like the Sand Pail,” he said, referring to the local biker bar.
“Where only the finest watered-down beer will do,” she said sarcastically.
“If I get you drunk enough, maybe you’ll let me kiss you,” he said, then blushed, looking suddenly shy and refusing to meet her eyes.
The bends must be in his brain, she thought.
“Maybe you don’t even have to get me drunk,” Vanessa said, feeling bold, then looked him square on. He blushed even more and she smiled.
“Hey, are we going to make it out of this alive?” he asked, showing a genuine worry for the first time.
“I’m not sure,” she said. “Your tank is almost gone, and I only have a little bit more. We’re going to have to share oxygen for the last thirty meters.”
Hoss nodded, then, showing no signs of kidding around, said, “If we make it, I can promise you, I’m going to kiss you so hard you’ll need oxygen to recover.”
Vanessa’s nerve endings tingled. Now wasn’t the time to go all schoolgirl. “Let’s go,” she said and together they rose again toward the surface. Sunlight was now visible as rays cut through the blue water. A school of bright tropical fish surrounded them for a moment, as if cued by a movie director.
Hoss looked at her intently and leaned forward in his suit, as if thick plastic and seawater weren’t keeping them apart. “God, you’re beautiful.”
“That’s the bends talking, big boy. When you’re breathing surface air, your whole tune will change.”
“Since we’ve got some time on our hands and all, and since I only just recently used up one of my nine lives, I guess it’s time for a little honesty.”
Vanessa looked at him and said nothing.
“So, well, this is awkward to say, but…ever since you joined the Atlas team, I’ve really felt that…”
Vanessa waited.
“That…” He was fumbling. She tried not to grin.
“That…well…you have got a hot little rig on you, sister. Do you work out?”
Vanessa sighed loudly and punched him in the shoulder. The closer they got to the surface, the more the old Hoss returned. The woozy, charming, sweet guy was left behind in the depths.
About the time they broke the water’s surface, he’d turned on the communication line to the ship and was cracking jokes with the dive team. Vanessa let go of Hoss and started up the boat’s ladder.
“Last one in the boat is a rotten egg!” Hoss shouted and yanked Vanessa off the ladder and back into the water, then swam over the top of her to get on the boat first.
She kicked him in the leg when he swam by, then climbed up after him. As he backslapped and laughed with the rest of the crew, not a word was said about the trouble down there. Hoss acted like this was just another normal day at work.
She chided herself for being so silly. For thinking he felt the way she did. For thinking that man could be anything more than a wisecracking diversity awareness disaster.
The only answer was to do the same, to go back to the person she was before she saved his life.
Co-workers, that’s all.
Vanessa avoided the high-fiving Speedo cowboys on deck and went to her small cabin to change into dry clothes.
About twenty minutes later a small knock came at the door. She opened it to find Hoss there, filling the cramped space.
“Can I come in?”
“Sure,” she said and turned away so her eyes wouldn’t betray her.
"Hey,” Hoss said and put a hand on her shoulder, turning her around. “We have some unfinished business.”
Vanessa furrowed her brow, confused, and turned her face upward toward his.
Then he made good on that kiss.
He was right. She did need oxygen to recover.
