by C. B. Clark
The boat plummeted into a cavernous trough, and the wheel jerked from her hands. She yelped as she tumbled to the deck and smashed into a metal storage box. Fighting for breath, she sprawled on the heaving deck until her lungs expanded, and she inhaled fresh sea air. Lurching to her knees and then her feet, she grabbed the wheel and hung on.
The wheel spun wildly, and the boat altered course, running crosswind. Waves struck the hull broadside, threatening to capsize the small vessel.
Her muscles cramped as she yanked and wrenched the wheel, but it wouldn’t budge. Saltwater sprayed her face and dripped from her hair, mixing with her sweat and rain, blinding her. She shoved again, grunting with the effort. The wheel gave an inch and then another. Slowly, but inexorably, the boat swung around until the bow faced the oncoming waves.
Thanking whatever gods were watching over her, she tightened her grip and fought the resisting wheel, straining to keep the vessel on course. The sea and rain drenched her, plastering her hair to her head and soaking her clothes. Goose bumps prickled her skin. Her hands cramped, and pain shot up her arms, but she clung to the wheel, refusing to let go.
Russ materialized out of the storm and seized the wheel.
Gratefully, she released her grip and rubbed her aching hands.
Placing his mouth close to her ear, he shouted, “We can’t make it back to the marina. Not in this storm. Let’s try for a nearby island and wait it out there.”
The brush of his warm breath across her face and neck, and the heat from his body, drew her like a moth to a flame. She inched closer until her shoulder and hip bumped his. Clinging to the side of the cockpit, she leaned into him, reveling in his warmth.
The wind raged, rain poured down in buckets, and waves crashed over the gunnels, threatening to swamp the sturdy boat.
Russ’s knuckles were white, and his face grim, as he braced his body against the wild rocking and steered the boat into the face of the storm.
A dark smudge appeared on the horizon, barely visible through the fog and driving rain. The vessel dropped into a trough and careened up the other side. The smudge grew larger, revealing a rocky shoreline and thick forest of tall coniferous trees.
He guided the Minerva into a small, protected bay. The storm continued to rage, but inside the safety of the cove, the waters were relatively calm. “You okay?” He waited for her nod before he flicked a switch, and the engine rumbled to life. He grasped her hand and led her to the throttle. “You’re doing great. We’re almost there. Follow my directions while we get anchored. Can you do that?”
She was soaked through, and her teeth chattered, but she nodded.
“Good girl.” He patted her hand. “Hold onto the throttle and be ready to reverse the engine when I tell you.” Moving with lithe, athletic grace, he lowered the furl of the mainsail, scampered forward, and let down the jib sail. Moving to the bow, he hefted the anchor and dropped the rope over the side. “Okay, Athena. Reverse her at idle speed.”
She’d done this task a dozen times when she was a child, and the familiar motions returned.
The engine rumbled, spewing blue clouds of diesel into the air.
She pulled the throttle toward her, inch by inexorable inch.
He played out the braided nylon rope and cinched it to a cleat. The boat straightened, tugging on the rope, and he set the anchor. “That’s good, but keep it coming.” He tied the anchor rope around a bow cleat and gave the rope a tug. “Okay. Now we have to snub the anchor. Reverse hard until the rope straightens out. Then kill the engine.”
The second the anchor rope tightened and the anchor dug into the sea bottom, she shifted the throttle into neutral and switched off the engine.
After the loud rumble of the inboard diesel engine, silence descended, broken by the crash of waves rolling onto the distant shore and the raucous cries of seagulls swooping and diving in the low tide. Freezing rain poured down, and the wind drove in gusts out of the northeast. Protected in the little bay, the boat rocked gently at its mooring.
Teeth chattering, she wiped her wet face. “That was some sailing.”
“You’re a great first mate. I couldn’t have done it without your help.”
“Aye, aye, Captain.” She saluted and chuckled.
His warm laughter washed over her like liquid honey.
Their gazes locked, and something intangible sparked.
The slight widening of his eyes indicated he too felt the connection.
Heat rose along her neck and settled on her cheeks. Her heart raced so loud the pounding overpowered the roar of waves crashing on the distant, rocky shore. She tore her gaze from his and peered through the rain at the rugged bay’s shoreline.
Jagged fingers of black volcanic rock jutted into the sea. The small crescent of pebbled beach was littered with graying, washed-up logs and mounds of tangled seaweed. A tree-covered ridge on one end and a headland of large boulders on the other sheltered the beach. The foamy crests of crashing waves surged over the barnacle-covered rocks.
A trill of unease washed over her. “Where are we?”
His gaze bore into hers. “I thought you might recognize the place. We’re just off the shores of Shelter Island.”
“What?” The strength fled her knees, and the world spun. A wave of blackness engulfed her, and she grabbed onto the wheel, but it slipped from her fingers, and she fell.
Shelter Island.
The name howled through her brain, echoing in a haunting refrain.
Shelter Island.
The one place she swore she’d never visit again.
“Athena! What’s wrong?”
His voice grew fainter as she slipped into oblivion.
Chapter 14
Warm. So wonderfully warm. She snuggled under the blankets.
Blankets?
Her eyes shot open. She was lying on a bed. Faint gray light streamed through a small, circular porthole. She was on a boat. The gentle rocking motions and steady patter of rain on the deck above were soothing. She stretched, and her thigh grazed something solid and warm. She sucked in a breath and turned her head.
Russ sprawled on the bed beside her, the blankets draped low over his flat stomach.
She shoved back the bedding and surged to her feet. “What…what are you doing in my bed?”
The bed springs squeaked as he opened his eyes and pushed up on a pillow. The corners of his mouth twitched. “Well, technically this is my bed. And it’s called a berth…you know…because we’re on a boat.”
His warm drawl liquefied her muscles, and her legs wobbled as she struggled to remain standing. “But…but what…”
He leaned over and switched on a small lamp built into the wall. A pool of light illuminated the berth in a soft glow, revealing his tanned, muscular chest with a sprinkling of dark hair. A lock of his hair had fallen across his broad forehead.
Sweet Jesus!
“Wha…what? Why…?” She waved her hand at the berth with the rumpled blankets. “How did we…?” Damn. Her brain wasn’t functioning. How on God’s green earth did she end up in bed with him?
His mouth quirked in a crooked grin, and the devastating dimple in his right cheek danced. “Relax. Nothing happened. At least, not what you’re thinking.” He threaded his long fingers through his tousled hair. “You fainted, and I carried you below. I was worried you were suffering from hypothermia, so I put you in bed and climbed in beside you.” He grinned, his eyes darkening to a rich mahogany. “There’s nothing like another body to warm a person. At least, that’s what all the first aid manuals say.”
She opened her mouth to protest, but the glint of humor in his hazel eyes stopped her. His disheveled appearance only added to his earthy, male attractiveness. She fought to keep her gaze fixed on his face so she wouldn’t drool over the expanse of bronzed muscles gleaming in the cozy light.
A cold gust of wind blew down the ladder through the open hatch, and she shivered. For the first time she realized she was wearing a large white T-shir
t. Nothing else. Just the T-shirt and her panties. Her heart stuttered. “You…you removed my clothes?”
“I had to. They were soaked through, and you were freezing.” His grin widened. “Don’t worry. I didn’t peek.” He held two fingers up to his head and saluted. “Scout’s honor.”
“You were a Boy Scout?”
He chuckled. “I know, right? Hard to believe.” He thrust out his chest. “Eagle Scout.” Once again, he made the iconic salute.
Eagle Scout. Of course, he was. He seemed like the overachiever type. No doubt he was also president of his student council, class valedictorian, and king of the prom.
“Are you feeling better?”
The concern in his husky voice drew her out of her jaded thoughts. She sank onto the mattress and dragged the sheet over her legs. “What happened?”
“You don’t remember?”
She shook her head. Visions of the storm, the pounding rain, the bone-shaking cold, the wildly rocking boat, and fighting to hold onto the wheel rose before her, none of which explained her present circumstances.
“The storm came out of nowhere.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t know what happened. I checked the weather forecast before we sailed, and the weatherman was calling for clear skies and light winds.” He grimaced. “Thanks to your help, we made it to this bay. We’d just lowered the anchor when you passed out.” He blew out a breath. “I was worried about you. Your clothes were soaked, and you were shivering.”
A chill swept her, and she wrapped her arms across her chest. “Where are we?”
“What’s wrong? Are you cold?” His deep voice was filled with concern. “There are more blankets in the cupboard.” He sat up and grasped the sheet as if he were going to toss it off and climb out of the bed.
“No…no…I…I don’t need a blanket. I’m not cold.” Her voice was a thin squeak. Dear Lord. Was he naked under the sheet?
The corners of his eyes crinkled. “Okay. If you’re sure, but I don’t mind getting you one. Just say the word.”
“I’m fine.”
He lay back against the pillows.
“Where are we?” she asked the question again. Her heart hammered. Somehow, she knew she wasn’t going to like the answer.
“We’re anchored in a bay off a small island.”
“What island?” But she knew. Oh, she knew. The room swayed, and she grabbed onto the mattress, holding tight, determined not to black out again. “What. Island. Is. This?” She bit off each word.
“Shelter Island. The island you used to live on. The island I now own, thanks to the terms of my father’s will.”
And just like that, the moment of shared intimacy ended.
She sucked in a ragged breath.
His brow furrowed. “I’m so sorry, but we didn’t have a choice. We had to find a protected bay, and Shelter Island was the closest landing.” He blew out a breath. “I had no idea being here would upset you so much. As soon as the wind dies, we’ll set sail. I promise.”
She fought to swallow over the lump in her throat. What happened on Shelter Island had happened a lifetime ago. Russ wasn’t Angus Crawford. He wasn’t responsible for the tragedy. He’d been a kid when the nightmare occurred. Besides, she wasn’t on the island. They were moored offshore. Clutching the sheet, she tugged, ripping it off the bed and wrapping it around her waist.
“Hey.” He lay on the mattress clad only in his underwear—a very small pair of underwear—that exposed his strong thighs and the full glory of his chest.
She gaped for a heart-stopping moment but then recalled where they were and what was at stake, and she rose and peered out the small porthole. Through the streaks of rain on the thick glass, the all-too-familiar silhouette of rocky shores and heavily treed hills was visible. Her stomach rolled.
****
He slid across the mattress and climbed out of the berth. Gripping her chin with gentle fingers, he tilted her head, so she was forced to meet his gaze. His heart ached at the wounded vulnerability shining in the blue depths of her eyes.
The urge to slay dragons, to fight the bad guy, to stop the racing train…anything to protect her, raged through him like a living force. “Please don’t cry.” He wiped a tear from her soft cheek with the pad of his thumb. “We’ll leave as soon as the storm dies. You don’t have to step foot on the island. You don’t even have to look at the place. Stay below deck, and I’ll tend to everything.”
The tip of her pink tongue darted out, and she licked her lips. “I…I guess I should explain.”
He shook his head. “You don’t have to tell me anything. It’s none of my business.”
“I want to.” She sniffled and used the edge of the sheet to wipe her damp face. “You should know the truth about what happened. It’ll help you understand why I don’t want anything from Angus Crawford—not his money, not his business, nothing.”
An overwhelming urge to kiss her rushed through him, but he tightened his hands into fists and held them at his sides. He wasn’t an animal. He didn’t act on every base impulse. Sure, he wanted to rub his mouth against hers and discover how sweet her lips tasted. But he wouldn’t. Not now. Not when naked anguish blazed from her blue eyes. Not when she was ripped raw from memories of her painful loss. He tore his gaze from her enticing mouth and focused on her words.
“I spent the first twelve years of my life on Shelter Island.” A soft smile lit her face, lending her pale skin a pearly luminescence. She described her childhood explorations of the isolated island’s rugged shores, and her joy at finding treasures like Japanese glass fishing floats and bottles washed up on shore. “It sounds corny, but we had an idyllic life. Mom made crafts from shells and driftwood, and Dad painted seascapes. They sold their artwork at farmers’ markets on the mainland. I took correspondence courses. We lived on fish, oysters, clams, and crabs, with wild berries, and produce from Mom’s garden. We didn’t need much. Just being together was enough.”
“You weren’t lonely?”
“Lonely? Why would I be lonely? I had everything I wanted. I had my parents, and I had the island. That’s all I needed.” A sob hiccupped in her throat. “We were happy.”
“You must have had visitors.” He pictured her as he’d seen her that long-ago day. At her first sight of him, she’d run away like a timid island deer.
“Hardly anyone. A man brought our monthly supplies on his boat, and my parents had a few friends who came to visit every couple of months, but most of the time we were alone. Just the three of us.”
“The island’s pretty, that’s for sure.” He’d visited Shelter Island a few times over the years, and he understood why she had such fond memories. Before their passing, his parents had been good friends with Angus. Angus had invited the family twice for a weekend of fishing, fun, and sailing.
Russ’s third visit to the isolated island was shortly after his parents’ accident. Even with the tragedy looming over him, his time on the island was magical. He and Angus had sailed for hours in Angus’s catamaran. They’d caught halibut, salmon, prawns, and crab for their dinners. In the evenings, Angus taught him how to play chess.
Russ knew about the family who resided on the other side of the island, but other than his fleeting encounter with the skinny, red-haired girl, he’d never bumped into them. “You didn’t see my father?”
Her mouth tightened. “Hardly ever. His cottage was on the far side, and as far as I know, he didn’t visit the island very often, and when he did, he didn’t come to our side.” She slipped a stray curl behind her ear. “Mom and Dad met with him, of course. They had to give him the rent money.” She rubbed her arms. “To be honest, I was afraid of him. If I knew he was coming to visit, I hid in the forest until he left.” Her hands twisted the cotton sheet, tying it in knots.
He narrowed his eyes. She wasn’t telling him everything. So far, she hadn’t said anything that explained why Angus had left her the bulk of his estate. It would have made more sense if he’d left her the island, but he�
��d willed Shelter Island to Russ. And that didn’t make any sense at all. “It sounds like you enjoyed living on the island.”
“I did…until…” The color drained from her face, accentuating the dark circles under her eyes.
He studied her tear-ravaged face, and something shifted deep in his chest. His every instinct urged him to take her in his arms and soothe her anguish. But she looked so brittle, he was afraid if he touched her, she’d break. “What happened? Please, tell me.”
“Angus did something terrible to my parents. I don’t know what, but one morning they were going about the normal everyday chores, and by the afternoon they’d vanished without a trace. I know Angus Crawford was responsible. It had to be him. He was the only other person on the island.”
He blinked at the acid lacing her voice. She’d uttered the same accusation earlier, but he’d ignored her comments as dramatics, a bid to trick him in whatever game she was playing. But now he wasn’t so sure. The anguish shining in the troubled depths of her eyes, her trembling body, all seemed authentic. Either that or she was a damn fine actress. He scrubbed the bristles on his unshaven cheeks. “You still haven’t explained what Angus supposedly did to your parents.”
“He killed them.” Her eyes burned like hollow beacons as she glared, resembling the avenging goddess she’d named herself after. “Isn’t that enough?”
“You really think Angus murdered your parents?” Even as he asked the question, his heart protested. Angus wouldn’t have hurt anyone. No way.
“You don’t believe me.” Her accusation hung in the air.
“I don’t know what to believe. Angus Crawford was a decent man. He was good to me. He wouldn’t have harmed anyone, especially your parents. They were his tenants. Why would he hurt them?”
She shook her head, and her unruly red curls swirled about her face like dancing flames. “You’re just like all the others.” Tears shone in her eyes. “The police, the private detectives…no one believed me. I told them what I suspected, but no one listened. Even Aunt Clara wasn’t convinced.”