by Ginna Gray
Weasels and foxes? Meghan shivered. They didn't sound all that harmless to her. "Uh, do you think there are any snakes here?"
"Could be. I haven't seen any, though."
Unconsciously, Meghan scooted closer to Rhys's back and began to take high steps, her wary gaze constantly scanning the ground. She was so intent on the chore she didn't notice the sound of rushing water growing louder, and cannoned right into Rhys's back when he stopped.
"Wha—" She bounced off him and staggered back, but Rhys's hand shot out and caught her before she fell. Meghan opened her mouth to deliver a blistering comment, but the words flew right out of her head when she spotted the glade just ahead.
"Oh, my."
"Yeah, it's kind of nice, isn't it?"
"Nice? It's lovely."
A plume of sparkling water tumbled over a rocky ledge perhaps fifteen or twenty feet high. Bubbling foam, like frothy champagne, spread out from where the cascade struck the pool at its base and mist rose in a cloud. Where the dappled sunshine struck the gauzy vapor, rainbows shimmered.
Ferns and wildflowers grew among the rocks that lined the pool, which was at most thirty feet across at its widest point. Away from the fall, the surface was smooth as glass and crystal clear. Meghan could see tiny pebbles glinting on the bottom like jewels. The prospect of submerging herself in that cool water made her itch to strip off her grungy clothes.
"It's only about six feet deep, maybe a little less. Deep enough to swim in, but fairly safe," Rhys said. "You should be okay on your own. If you should get a cramp you can walk out. The bottom slopes off gradually on this side, and there's a ledge at the base of the fall where you can stand easily."
"Great."
Rhys bent over and picked several weeds. "We're in hick," he said, handing them to her. "The common name for that is soapwort. It contains saponins, which are natural cleaning agents. It'll make a soapy lather when you rub it on your skin. It's also a good shampoo."
"Really?" Meghan looked with fresh interest at the straight-stemmed weeds. The leaves were long ovals with pointed tips and each plant was topped with a cluster of five-petaled, delicate pink flowers, about an inch in diameter.
"Yeah. There's also aloe vera and several other plants that you might be interested in. If we're here very long, I'll teach you about them."
"Oh, I'm sure that won't be necessary, but thank you for the offer. And for these." Smiling politely, Meghan clutched the soapwort plants and looked at Rhys expectantly. He looked back, with that maddening hint of a smile hovering around his lips.
She had not realized until then that he was standing so close. So close, her eyes were level with the small brown nipples that peeked through the hair on his chest. She tried not to notice, but there was nowhere else to look, except down at the weeds in her hands—which she finally did.
Even that did not help. She could feel his heat, feel his eyes on the top on her head. With every breath, she inhaled his clean male scent. The heady aroma started a quiver in her belly.
Meghan noticed that the pink flowers were trembling in her grasp. Clenching her jaw, she looked up and met his eyes. Her's widened. Why, he was doing it on purpose. Deliberately trying to unnerve her.
She arched her eyebrows. "Well?"
"Well, what?"
"Would you please leave? I'd like some privacy, if you don't mind."
"You sure you don't you want me to stand guard? Remember all those wild animals and snakes and creepy craw-lies."
"Very funny. I was raised on the edge of a small town, practically in the country. I doubt that I'll panic at the sight of a bunny rabbit. And if you think I'm going to bathe with you ogling me, forget it."
The slight smiled twitched again. "I could wait down the trail a ways."
"No, thank you."
Rhys shrugged. "Suit yourself." Tucking his fingertips in his back pockets, he sauntered down the path, whistling.
Whistling yet! Blessed hell. How could the man whistle in that carefree manner at a time like this? They were marooned on a deserted island, for Pete's sake. The way he was acting, you'd think he was enjoying himself. She hadn't seen Rhys this relaxed since she joined his tour.
Thinking of the tour reminded Meghan of Virgil and his sidekicks, and as she stripped off her clothes she wondered how the ransom negotiations were going. By this time, Quincy was probably having a rabid fit.
The thought brought a smile to her lips.
Meghan could not remember ever enjoying anything as much as she did that bath. The soapwort worked as well as Rhys had said it would. She shampooed her hair, then soaped her body and had a long, leisurely soak in the shallows, topped off by a refreshing swim.
The soapwort also made an excellent laundry soap, Meghan discovered. She washed her panties, bra and slip and the delicate silk dress and spread them on bushes to dry.
The tail of Rhys's ruffled tuxedo shirt extended to mid-thigh on Meghan, nevertheless, she still felt terribly exposed without her underwear and delayed returning to camp as long as she could.
With her fair skin, Meghan never went anywhere without a supply of sunblock. After brushing her teeth, she applied the lotion to her exposed skin, added a touch of makeup and a sprite of perfume from her purse atomizer just to boost her morale, and headed reluctantly back to camp.
Rhys was sitting on a fallen log in front of the hut weaving a broad-brimmed hat out of strips of palm leaves when she came out of the woods. Meghan put on a cool expression and sauntered down the slope with as much sangfroid as she could muster, but she could not stop herself from tugging on the tail of the shirt now and then.
Rhys looked up at her approach. His expression did not change, but something flickered in his pale eyes. Slowly, his gaze slid from her bare feet up over her legs and the shirt that swallowed her slender frame, hesitated at her breasts, then moved on to the mane of fiery curls that framed her face and tumbled out of control around her shoulders. When his gaze finally met hers, he arched one eyebrow. "Feel better?"
"Yes, thank you," Meghan said primly, fighting a blush. She dusted off a spot on the opposite end of the log and carefully sat down, tugging the tails of the shirt and tucking them securely under her thighs.
"Good." He handed her the hat. "Here. This will keep you from getting sunstroke. With that creamy skin, it's obvious you don't get out in the sun much.''
"No. I tend to blister. And freckle. I—" The thoughtful gesture caught her off guard. She stared down at the crude hat and felt a fluttery sensation in her chest. Wrapped around the shallow crown was a shoe string from one of his dress shoes, which he had inserted through the brim for ties. Finally she looked up and smiled tentatively. "Thank you, Rhys," she murmured, and settled the hat on her head.
"Sure." He returned her smile and braced his hands on his knees. "Now, if you're ready, we can get started."
"Started? On what?"
"First of all, I want you to empty out your purse and briefcase."
"What? Why should I?"
"So we can take stock. Look, I'll do the same with my garment bag and my pockets. Then we'll lay it all out, so we'll know what we've got to work with. In case we're here for an extended period," Rhys added when she looked blank.
"We won't be. Someone will—"
"I know, I know. Someone will be here soon. You're probably right. I hope you are. But just in case that doesn't happen, I want to be prepared."
Meghan's heart beat like a trip-hammer. She did not want to admit to even the possibility that they would be there for more than a few days, but she knew it was a sensible plan. Besides, the steely look in Rhys's eyes warned that it was not a request but an order; she could dump out her things for his inspection, or he would do it for her. In any case, though she would bite off her tongue before admitting it, the suggestion appealed to that part of her that thrived on organization and efficiency. And it was something to do beside stare out at the ocean.
"Oh, all right." She shot to her feet and stomped for the hut. "T
his is a complete waste of time, but if you're going to be so stubborn about it, fine."' She returned in seconds with the two items, plus her high-heeled Italian pumps. "Here. I thought you might need these, too," she said snidely, dropping the shoes onto the layer of palm leaves Rhys had arranged on the sand for their inventory. "Who knows what fantastic use you could put them to."
She had meant the gesture as ridicule, but it was a wasted effort. Rhys picked up a pump and tapped the spiked heel against his other palm. "Yeah, you could really hurt someone with one of these things. Or use it as a hammer."
Meghan upended her purse and shook out the contents, then did the same with the briefcase. Her cosmetic bag, pens and pencils, wallet, a purse-size package of tissues, a stapler, a tiny electronic address file, a roll of breath mints, fingernail clippers, a pocket calculator, a pair of scissors, a staple remover, a small bottle of aspirin, correction fluid, perfume, postage stamps and various other personal and business items lay in a jumbled pile. Topping it all were the appointment book belonging to Rhys's regular PR man and a clipboard holding a lined yellow pad. The pages of both fluttered in the sea breeze.
To Meghan's pile, Rhys added his pocket knife, wallet, a handful of change and the contents of his garment bag, which consisted of two complete tuxedos—counting the shirt Meghan wore—two pair of brief-style underwear, dress shoes, socks, handkerchiefs, a shaving kit, the small sewing kit that was kept in his bag for emergencies, and his stage makeup.
"We can divide up the clothes," Rhys mused, sorting through the items. "I'll take the pants and you can have the shirts and coats. With the scissors and the sewing kit you might be able to make several pieces of clothing out of them. The stapler should come in handy, too."
"Really? I don't see how."
"I'm sure we can put it to good use building booby traps."
"Booby traps? What are you talking about."
"I'm talking about preparing a surprise for "Virgil and his pals, in case they decide to come back for us themselves. I've already laid a trap over there by that big rock, so stay away from it. I'm going to put a couple more on the trail to the waterfall. Once they're in place I'll show you where they are, so you can avoid them. Today I want to dig a pit in the middle of that other trail," he said, pointing toward a secondary pathway that led through the bamboo grove, then into woods at a more northerly direction than the other. "While I'm doing that, you can—"
"No! Stop it!" Meghan stared at him, appalled. He was serious. More than serious— He looked eager, as though he relished the prospect of pitting himself against their abductors. He practically vibrated with male aggression.
"Are you crazy? I'm not going to help you attack them! Not now. It's too late for that. By then they'll have the money and they'll let us go. It would be stupid to rock the boat at that point. What if we fail? What if all we do is make them angry. What then? Have you thought of that? No. No, I don't want any part of this. Absolutely not."
"Dammit, Meghan! Wake up! Hasn't it occurred to you yet that those three might not ever come back for us? And if they do come back, it will probably be to kill us!"
The words hit Meghan like a spray of bullets. She stared at Rhys and felt the blood drain from her face. "I don't believe you," she whispered. And then, more furiously, "I don't believe you! You're just trying to frighten me."
"That's the last thing I want to do, believe me. But, sweetheart, you've got to start looking at this situation realistically. If worst comes to worst, we've got to be prepared to defend ourselves."
"No. No." Meghan backed away, shaking her head. "They wouldn't do either of those, things. They wouldn't.''
"What's to stop them? Once they have the money, do you honestly think they'll be concerned with us? Except possibly to shut us up? Think about it, Meghan. Kidnapping is a capital crime and you and I are witnesses. We can identify them. Even as dumb as those three arc, I doubt that they're stupid enough to let us live. If they don't have the stomach for murder—the next best thing is simply to leave us here."
A little moan escaped Meghan, and she rammed her balled fist against her mouth. "No. I don't believe you. I won't believe you!" She whirled away and tore down the beach, her only thought escape.
"Meghan! Meghan, wait!" Cursing under his breath, Rhys watched her pelt down the beach as if the hounds of hell were nipping at her heels.
She didn't stop until she reached the point, where she collapsed On her knees in the sand, her shoulders heaving pathetically. Rhys gritted his teeth. Damn.
After a few minutes, though, her head came up at a determined angle and she squared her shoulders. Sitting, she locked her arms around her knees and fixed her gaze on the horizon.
Rhys felt like the lowest form of life. He hadn't intended to tell her unless it became necessary. And certainly not in such a brutal way. But her obstinacy had goaded him over the edge.
He raked his fingers through his hair and studied the huddled figure far down the beach, torn between going to her and giving her space. Finally he walked away in the opposite direction. He'd let her come to grips with what he'd told her. Then they'd talk again.
Rhys worked all day, digging a pit with a conch shell. Periodically he stopped to check on Meghan, but she never budged from her sentinel position. At sunset, sweaty and dirty, his entire body aching, he quit for the day and went to the pool. After a shower and a long soak he returned to the hut, expecting to find Meghan there, but he was disappointed.
Sighing, Rhys propped his hands on his hips, his gaze seeking out the shadowy form on the point In the failing light she looked small and vulnerable, huddled in a ball.
She didn't give in easily, Rhys thought wryly. Her tenacity amazed and frustrated him...and in spite of himself roused in him a twinge of admiration. Rhys shook his head. He'd never known a woman that determined. Or one with that much spunk. When Meghan set her mind to something, she was unmovable.
A reluctant grin tilted one corner of his mouth. If he could ever bring her around to seeing things his way and teaming up with him, those three bumbling rednecks wouldn't stand a chance. As feisty and obstinate—not to mention downright fearless when riled—as she was, she could probably whip the whole Chinese army single-handed.
Determined not to crowd her, Rhys stayed where he was, but as the hours passed, he began to get truly worried. Finally, around midnight, unable to sleep, he rose from his pallet and walked down the beach. He found Meghan curled on her side on the sand, sound asleep.
Standing with his feet braced wide, his hands hooked on his hipbones, Rhys stared down at her and shook his head, anger and tenderness warring inside him. In the moonlight her fiery hair was a dark cloud surrounding the pale oval of her face. Exhaustion etched her delicate features. Not even her long lashes, which lay on her cheeks like dark fans, could completely hide the bluish smudges beneath her eyes.
"Damn, stubborn woman."
Muttering affectionate curses, Rhys scooped her up in his arms and headed back down the beach.
* * *
The next morning Meghan was only slightly less withdrawn. If she had any questions about how she had come to wake up back in the hut, she kept them to herself. Over a breakfast of bananas and mangoes, she barely acknowledged Rhys's presence, speaking only in reply to his direct questions, and then with a monosyllabic yes or no. The moment she finished eating she went to the pool for a bath, then returned to her lookout position on the point.
Day after day, the pattern repeated itself, the only variation' being that Rhys did not have to carry her to bed again. Late each night, when Meghan thought he was asleep, Rhys heard her creep into the hut and curl up on her pallet of pine needles.
Their supply of food ran out on the third day. Undaunted, Rhys dredged up his rusty survival skills and caught fish with his bare hands in the shallow tidal pools and set rabbit snares in the woods.
Each night the aroma of roasting meat floated on the breeze, but Meghan did not return to camp to share the meal. As far as Rhys could te
ll, she was existing solely on a diet of fruit and nuts. After a week on the island she was visibly thinner, and Rhys was growing concerned. Short of dragging her back to camp and force-feeding her or shaking her until her teeth rattled, he hadn't a clue of how to reach her.
He was considering giving the desperate measures a try, when out of the blue Meghan returned to camp one evening at sunset and sat down by the fire without a word.
Rhys held his tongue and continued holding the rabbit over the fire, slowly turning the stick on which it was impaled, watching her out of the corner of his eye.
The meat sizzled and popped. Smoke spiraled upward and drifted away on the night wind. The delicious aroma swirling around them made Rhys's mouth water, but Meghan did not seem to notice. She sat perfectly still, her head lowered, her gaze fixed on the dancing flames.