Lady Sun: Marni MacRae

by Marni MacRae

  Lucas was so very not exuberant.

  “Too bad for you,” I mumbled. “I'm way more fun in happy-land than you are in grumpy-land, where tall sexy cowboys live. No wonder I never meet your kind. I don’t visit grumpy-land.” I knew that crazy-petulant had resurfaced, but I didn’t care.

  Rounding the corner, Lucas had poured two glasses of champagne and was holding one out to me, “Grumpy-land?” he asked.

  Chapter 5

  “Sooo... Lost on a deserted island. Best vacation ever, yes?”

  I raised my glass to Lucas, who sat a few feet from me along the back of the ship. The view had turned to open ocean and sunshine, occasionally spotting the atolls of the Maldives as we cruised passed them.

  “Not technically lost and yet to be seen.” He didn’t raise his glass, but he did drink, which I took as a positive sign, if not encouragement toward the conversation.

  “OK, let’s play a game.” I proposed.

  Lucas looked at me. I wouldn’t describe his expression as bland. He was too darn good looking for that, but I could tell he was on the verge of either jumping overboard at the suggestion of playing anything or simply ignoring me. Which had worked for him so far.

  I am nothing if not tenacious. Throw in exuberant and I would win this battle of wills. “I will ask you a question. You can either answer or if you think the question is too personal, none of my business or you don’t want to answer, you can reply with ‘pumpkin.’”

  “Why can’t I just not answer, or say it’s none of your business? For that matter why do I have to play at all?” Lucas took another sip of the bubbly champagne and leaned back.

  He appeared to be relaxing a bit. Whether it was due to the alcohol, the warm sun in our faces and the lulling boat ride or to my exuberance, I didn’t care. I had high hopes for cowboy and I wouldn’t let his grumpy disposition stand in my way of me, forcing him, to have fun.

  “Because it would be rude, boring and because I asked pretty please.”

  “You didn’t ask pretty or please.”

  I sighed. “Pretty please?”

  “Why does it have to be ‘pumpkin’? Why can’t I say ‘porcupine’?”

  “Because, sweet Lucas, I want to hear you call me ‘pumpkin’ and because your choice of ‘porcupine’ revealed more about you than you probably wanted me to know.” I winked, smiled and took a long sip of my champagne. I was feeling relaxed too.

  Lucas laughed. It was a beautiful sound. His dimples creased his face, which had a few days growth of beard and his eyes crinkled at the edges.

  My heart stopped, then quickly caught up its beat and I took another sip of champagne. Need to slow down on the imbibing Sophia, I‘ll soon be in his lap chanting “call me pumpkin, call me pumpkin.”

  I set down my glass and turned on the bench to face him. “OK, where are you from?” He appeared to be struggling with the answer and I was betting 'pumpkin' was his hometown but lost the bet when he finally spoke.

  “Montana.”

  “No!” I exclaimed. “Really? We're neighbors!”

  I was amazed. Thousands of miles away, on a boat heading to an island few could pronounce the name of and even fewer people knew existed, and I meet cowboy-Lucas from Montana.

  We in the Northwest call Oregon, Idaho and Montana, ‘neighbor’, as if they live right next door and we can stop by for a cup of sugar. But even though Montana is separated from Washington by Idaho it's really just a jaunt away. You're likely to find a good percentage of license plates in any given parking lot in Washington from Montana, Idaho or Oregon. The odds were spooky.

  I poked my finger toward my chest in excitement. “I’m from Washington!”

  “You’re kidding.” Lucas studied me for a minute and then shook his head. “I had you pegged as a New York girl, Chicago, or Boston perhaps.” He got up to fetch the champagne bottle from the buffet cart and returned with it, filling my glass without asking. “So. Washington. Pretty long odds huh?”

  “Oh, yeah! I mean, you and I might have met at a supermarket or a football game, or you could have hit my truck on an icy road. Those odds are way better than a world away on a deserted island.” I shook my head in amazement and took a sip from my glass before I remembered my intention to slow my roll on the drink front.

  “Not really.” He studied me with a strange expression. Confusion? Consternation?

  “You think it’s more likely for us to run into each other on this yacht, today, rather than any other moment we may have crossed paths?” I wondered if he was being contrary just to be stubborn, or if it's a built-in mechanism in all men to disagree with anything women said or thought right out of the gate.

  “No, I meant it's more likely that we cross paths here, on this boat, on this day, than it is that you drive a truck, or that I would hit you on an icy road.” Lucas leaned back and propped an ankle on his knee. “I don’t hit anyone, ice or no, everyone else drives like idiots. I’m from Montana, my biggest fear on the road is all you yahoos playing at having a license.” He gave me a smile so pretty I couldn’t take offense.

  Throwing caution to the wind, I downed the rest of my champagne and set the glass aside. “OK, smug cowboy. I do, in fact, drive a truck. A Dodge Ram to be precise. I’ll exclude you from my judgment of all the idiot drivers because I happen to agree with you. But I’ve been chaining up since puberty and so am very protective of my right to carry a license, as well as my life-schooling in earning it.” I took a breath and settled down before I did any damage and came off as a Harpy Shrew. “Given your Montana heritage you get a free pass this once, as I don't expect you to know the legend of my driving skills.”

  I crossed my arms defensively and sat back to stare at him. “But you have to admit the odds are crazy. Don’t you think?”

  Lucas looked me up and down with a hint of a smile. At least he seemed amused and less grumpy than he had been. He finished his perusal and looked me dead in the eye with his pretty blue gaze. “Pumpkin,” he said softly, then rose and went below deck.

  * * *

  I sat there for a minute, wondering why this man had me so determined to bring him out of his shell. He was pretty, yes, OK, beyond pretty. He was rugged and tall and beneath his loose shirt I clearly detected a broad back, and strong arms and what woman isn’t drawn to tall, strong, mysterious men? But his resistance to my friendliness had become a personal challenge. The few smiles he had let escape had hinted at a chance that he might be a nice cowboy. Not as grumpy as he was determined to prove.

  So I sat, waiting for him to come back, hoping we could continue the game. I had been teasing (kind of) about wanting to hear him call me ‘pumpkin’. Until he did. Now, my promise to stay on my side of the island would be a struggle to keep.

  Twenty minutes went by and I finally had to admit I had lost the war. Lucas proved much stronger in resisting my will than I had given him credit for. Not one to be pushy (OK, not too pushy), or a stalker, I let him have his escape and went back to enjoying the boat ride alone.

  I guessed we were about an hour out from our destination and decided I had time for a quick shower and a change of clothes, after all. If nothing else I could take my braids out and find the postcards I had gotten in London. If I asked Jok pretty please, he might mail them for me when he returned to Malé. I didn’t figure there would be any other way to get them sent out if I wanted them to arrive before I got home.

  I had called Anna when I landed that morning. She had sounded sleepy and doing the math in my head of the time difference, I realized I must have awakened her. But she sounded happy to hear from me too, and I assured her the first leg of the journey had spared me from any resemblance of flotsam or jetsam. She had signed off with the assurance that my horses were fine. My mother was babysitting the farm and Anna checked in regularly to ease my worries.

  Now I wondered as I made my way below deck, how I might sneak a picture of Lucas before I had to return home. I couldn’t go back without proof, and no exaggeration would do the
cowboy justice. I had to get at least one picture just to put in my album. Perhaps I would title him ‘the sneaky cowboy who got away.' Chuckling to myself, I wondered if maybe I was a little stalker-ish, after all.

  “So you amuse yourself as well.”

  I let out a startled squeak as I reached the bottom of the stairs. Miscalculating the last step, I tripped over my own feet and headed quickly into a nosedive. Reflexively I reached out to catch myself, but only caught handfuls of shirt, just as strong hands caught a handful of me.

  Lucas steadied me back to an upright position and shook his head. “Too much sun, or too much champagne?”

  “I am not drunk.” I straightened my tank and glared at him. In the small hallway, we were practically on top of each other. I never realized how difficult it is to glare at someone when they’re a foot above your head. I craned my neck to try and deliver the full force of my glare.

  “Excuse me.” I stepped to the side to move around him. He may be gorgeous but he was beginning to border on rude, and I was in much too good of a mood to let even a handsome Montanan ruin it for me.

  “Sophia,” Lucas reached out and took my arm lightly as I passed him. I stopped and looked at him, my goal of cheering him up completely gone, but I wasn’t mad, just refocusing. I smiled politely, waiting for him to speak.

  He tipped his head at me and released my arm. “It is a crazy coincidence, you and I meeting here, being neighbors. And I like your… exuberance. I'm just, well,” He seemed at a loss for words for a minute as we stood there packed in the tiny hall. I felt the heat coming off of him, it competed with the muggy heat of the air off the ocean, but he smelled better than salt water and sunshine. It was distracting, trying to place his scent in my mind… leather, chocolate? No, it's particular and elusive ... it's … “not OK, but getting there.”

  I came back to the line of conversation. And realized what he was saying. He wasn’t grumpy, he was hurting … and here I was being flippant and forcing him to drink and play games. I’m a jerk.

  I nodded and reached out and took his hand. It was warm and dry, but the strength in it was clear as I squeezed it lightly.

  “I’m sorry. Please, just ignore me.” I gave him a wry smile and rolled my eyes a bit, “My exuberance can get me in trouble and I tend to drag other people into my circle of reality. I'll give you your space.” Releasing his hand, I stepped back, smiling. “We paid a handsome price for the privacy of this island. I won’t ruin your trip with my crazy.”

  He didn’t say anything. I turned and went to my cabin, stepped inside, and closed the door softly behind me. I stood there a moment, listening to his steps as he went above to the deck. I suppose my lessons are learned a bit slower than most. No more stalker or floozy. No more games. I would rely on my own description of the haunted cowboy and not try to get him on film.

  * * *

  I decided to forgo the shower. Instead, I lay back on my bed and relaxed for a while. I knew that jet-lag was going to catch up with me. Although I had caught some good naps on both flights, my regular sleeping pattern was completely thrown off. Mixed with the excitement and the hot, muggy air, I was betting that tonight I was going to crash hard. But I didn’t want to fall asleep now. Only a little longer and I would disembark, get to my hut, unpack, assess my paradise and have a drink on the beach with the sunset. Then I would sleep and wake to start my vacation in a bikini on the sand.

  Heaving a big sigh, I dragged myself back upright. I grabbed my purse, fetched my suitcase from the corner and decided to wait the remaining fifteen or twenty minutes up in the open air. I vowed to myself I would leave Lucas alone, as I was sure he would have no problem in leaving me alone as well.

  I estimated it was between three and four p.m. local time as I poked my head above deck, dragging my suitcase and pregnant purse up onto the aft deck. Lucas was nowhere in sight, so I parked my load at the end of the bench and went to the buffet to pilfer from the leftover fare. The cheese had begun to harden around the edges, and the croissants were growing slightly stale, but I grabbed one anyway. I found a bottled water and strolled over to the railing to nibble the buttery, flaky bread as I watched the last atoll of the chain come into sight.

  I hadn’t seen even a glimpse of Jok since he had wheeled out the buffet, and I wondered if he was paid to leave the guests alone. It seemed pretty unprofessional, considering we were out at sea and one of us may fall overboard. A fleeting question of whether sharks lived at the equator entered my mind, and then was replaced with a bigger question: where was everyone?

  The string of islands that constituted the edge of the Maldives nation had begun slipping past, and the captain had not changed course to enter the protective barrier, inside which our castaway island resided.

  I began walking along the starboard side of the ship, thinking I would most likely find the Captain or Jok up front in the wheelhouse. I intended to ask them why we weren’t turning or veering or whatever ships do when they aim sideways. Just as I was about to open the little door I assumed led to steering, Lucas jumped down onto the deck beside me from the low roof above.

  I would have shrieked in surprise, or maybe toppled backward over the railing into the water, (which again brought to mind the question of sharks), but Lucas grabbed me, full body, and wrapped his arms around me. I was so stunned at the contact and the overwhelming delicious scent of him, that I swallowed the shriek and stood stiffly in his arms, wondering what the hell was wrong with the man.

  Talk about running hot and cold. Lucas’s entire body was tense. He had me pressed along the length of him, the muscles in his arms tight against my shoulders. His long legs ran up the front of mine and his hands pressed in the middle of my back. Then, cowboy dropped his head to align his mouth to my ear and spoke very calmly. His intense tone immediately terrified me and had me panicking even before I made sense of what he was saying.

  “Sophia. A boat is approaching,”

  I was registering the sound of an engine even as he said it, far out and to the port side of the ship.

  “It’s clear they're pirates. They will board us. Don't do anything to give them a reason to hurt you. If you can manage it, stay close to me, I'll do everything I can to protect you.” Lucas paused, and his grip on me loosened. “I don’t know if they only want the ship, which is the custom of pirates, or if this ship is smuggling something they want.” He spoke fast now, trying to cram as much information into the short time we had before the Lady Sun was boarded. “If we're separated, I'll try to get to you if I can.”

  “But … ” I started to argue, pulling away from him, what the hell? Pirates? This couldn’t be happening and what was he talking about; get to me? This cowboy wasn’t going to stand up against gunned men for the sake of a crazy exuberant tourist that annoyed him.

  Lucas pulled me closer and his grip moved to my arms. It hurt, I was sure he was bruising me, but I felt myself growing numb, serious panic threatening below the surface, I talked myself down in my head, soothing the panic away through denial. No pirates, just another boat. Cowboy is crazy, a nice smelling tall crazy Montana man.

  “Please, just don’t do anything stupid.” He hissed in my ear. He released me suddenly and my knees began to buckle.

  I caught myself against the railing and just stared at him, slack-jawed and speechless. I could come up with no witty retort, no sarcastic or fun comment. I simply stood there until he took my arm and guided me toward the back of the boat where my purse and suitcase sat happily waiting for me to take them to an island and unpack them, wear my bikini, and drink a Mai tai.

  Lucas deposited me on the bench just as I heard the droning engine cut out and a bump against the side of the ship.

  Holy crap.

  We were being boarded.

  Chapter 6

  I took a deep breath and looked into Lucas’s eyes. He stared at me. Waiting, for my meltdown or crazy to surface. He looked wary, concerned and very, very tense.

  “Did you see them?” I asked, h
oping I could reason away his claim.

  He reached behind him and pulled a small pair of binoculars off of his belt. “I wondered why we were passing the atoll. I climbed up top.” He jerked his head toward where he had jumped down, almost sending me over the side. “The boat was coming fast. I made out three men; all have guns. Pirates are not uncommon out here, but Jok or the Captain must have known to expect them, because we never changed course.” Lucas shrugged his shoulders in a tense acceptance of what he could not change. “I'm pretty sure they didn't radio in for help either.”

  Lucas sat beside me abruptly and clasped my hand. The Lady Sun came to a full stop. Willingly. I heard boots on the deck. This was real. Stupid, crazy, awful real. Lucas’s grip hurt, but I didn’t want him to let go. I sat saying nothing and waited for our fate.

  * * *

  The sun prepared to set in about an hour.

  I refused to believe my first sunset in the Maldives would be spent locked in a cabin on a yacht while pirates planned my death. I punched a pillow and then threw it across the small cabin where it hit the wall with little force and slid soundlessly to the floor. It didn’t make me feel any better. The panic I had been systematically forcing down into my inner denial-land threatened to surface and explode out of me in tears, shrieking a chant of 'Why me? Why me?'

  The pirates had boarded about an hour ago. They were small men, with skin so dark they looked like shiny shadows with guns.

  There had immediately been some kind of argument between Jok and two of the pirates that I struggled to make out. I soon gave up, gleaning only that it was loud and in a language that may have been a mix of Klingon and Russian. It wasn’t a pretty sound at all. I figured though, if they had been arguing in French I would have found it romantic, or funny. That would not have served the pirates well for their purposes of instilling fear and taking your stuff – your yacht, your wallet, your passport, your freedom.