Mary-Kate took one of the roads from the village that she'd not traveled before. She'd walk along for a short distance then double back. Perhaps it would connect with the main road that would lead her back to Dane's house. The island seemed to have many dirt roads crisscrossing it. They'd been built to carry the trucks into the pineapple fields for easy access to the fruit.
Just as she'd suspected, the road joined up with another dirt road. She turned right, toward the house. The road veered right, then turned left. Still she trudged along; it would probably veer again. Another road. Should she take this road to the right or keep on the one she was on already?
Endless rows of pineapple stretched out in all directions. The rows in the field to the left were parallel to the road, in the field to the right were perpendicular. Was there a reason for the alternating planting? She'd have to ask Dane.
Ahead in the distance was sugarcane. Mary-Kate knew she was going in the right direction. Hadn't she walked through the cane before first seeing his house?
The wind was rising. The dust from the dirt roads swirled around her feet, now and then rising in a whirlwind, blinding her for a few seconds, until the funnel danced away. Her skirt whipped around her legs, sometimes plastered against them, other times billowing out in the air.
There were no wildflowers along this way. She wouldn't find anywhere the crops were planted. Time to get back home. The wind was growing stronger.
Mary-Kate looked at the sugarcane. There was no way through. The tall, leafy green cane formed an impenetrable wall. She turned and followed the road that ran alongside. Surely she'd recognize something soon.
The sound of the wind rustling in the cane was loud. For a moment a frisson of uncertainty touched her. Was she going to have to retrace her steps all the way back to the village?
She turned around, confused. Rows upon rows of pineapple stretched out on the right of her, the wall of sugar cane on the left. How many turnings had she made? How many roads had she crossed, how many had she turned on? Where was she? Nothing looked familiar. Nothing gave her a clue as to where she was or how to find Dane's house. Walking eventually would lead her to the sea, but near where they were surfing or near the cove? With the sun obliterated, she had no way of knowing in which direction she was heading.
She hadn't seen another soul during her walk. Was that odd? Weren't the men harvesting the pineapple? Shouldn't there be men in some of the fields? Or was the island so large that they were all working out of sight from where she stood?
Though, with the high wind, maybe they'd all taken off to go surfing. Where was that beach?
Mary-Kate turned back and started walking again, the tall sugarcane on her right, and the open pineapple fields to her left. She walked briskly, now facing the wind.
Sand and grit flew up and stung her face. She kept her eyes narrowed against the debris, searching around to find another person, to see something she recognized that would show her the way back to Dane's house. She walked for what felt like miles, growing tired fighting against the constant wind; now it was at her back, now at one side.
The rustle in the sugarcane was monotonous, loud and hypnotic. Mary-Kate knew she was lost, and hadn't a clue how to find her way out. Sooner or later, she'd reach the sea and could follow the coast around until she found either the cove beneath the house or the inlet where the ships docked.
At least she wouldn't starve; there was fruit aplenty for the taking. She wouldn't freeze. Even though the air temperature was the coolest she'd felt since arriving, it was scarcely cold. If she was stuck out all night, it looked as if she'd get wet if the storm hit. The storm the other afternoon had been brief, quickly passing. This one could be a lot worse.
How stupid to go exploring alone, without telling anyone. She should have asked Nora or Joyce or even Dane where to look for flowers, how to find her way around. She only knew one route from the house to the village. But, according to the children, there were several, so she'd thought she'd be all right.
She stepped into the edge of the pineapple plot, and broke one of the fruits from its plant. The outside was hard, the skin rough, but she didn't care. She was getting thirsty. Surely Dane wouldn't begrudge her one pineapple?
But how would she peel it?
Damn, if it wasn't one thing it was another. She started up again, carrying her fruit, looking for a rock or sharp stick that she could use to skin the pineapple. Ahead of her in the distance beyond the sugarcane she saw a roof. She paused. Had she come full circle? Was that the processing plant? The roof was large, high. She frowned; she didn't remember any sugarcane near the processing plant. Slowly she proceeded.
Stepping into a wide-open space, Mary-Kate was almost knocked over as the wind whipped past her with a fury. She caught her breath, bent over to combat the strong surge of air. Then her eyes narrowed as she took in what was before her.
A tarmac runway. The windsock blowing straight out, swinging wildly as the wind veered from one direction to the other. The high-corrugated metal building was a hangar, she guessed. Hurrying along, she found a door in the side. It was unlocked.
The serenity of the interior was startling after the fury of the wind. It was calm, peaceful and quiet inside the cavernous building, though the wailing of the wind set an eerie background. Before her in the gloom stood the blue and white plane she'd seen the other morning, the other two mornings.
Mary-Kate closed the door behind her, blinking in the near darkness. Her hand found a light switch, and she flicked it on. Nothing. She opened the door, and searched the interior with the twilight streaming in. There was a workbench against the wall, and on it a lantern.
She left the door open, and walked over to the workbench. A two-minute search located matches and, crossing her fingers that the lantern was filled, she lifted the glass and struck the match. The mantle caught, and bright light filled the dim interior. She settled the glass in place, and took the lantern, turning to survey the hangar.
It was a big building, but not huge. The plane took up most of the floor space, but there were workbenches, lockers and boxes around three walls. The fourth one was the main hangar door. It looked as if it rolled up, following tracks that crossed the ceiling.
Mary-Kate closed the side door, shutting out the wind and the fury of the impending storm, and turned to examine the plane. It had to be the same one she'd seen. What was it doing here? She sat down on the dirt floor. She knew what it was doing here. It was parked here. This was its hangar. It belonged here, belonged to the island owner. Dane Carmichael had had the means to take her off the island from day one. Someone had even flown off a couple of days ago.
She frowned. It was the day he'd not come in for supper, the day she'd been so excited to explain her plan. He'd flown it. He'd lied to her. But why?
Her heart lurched, then settled in a slow beat. The ache was slight, but persistent. She felt hurt and disappointed that he'd lied to her. There had been no need.
Mary-Kate sat for a long time, staring at the plane, as if it could give her answers. Why hadn't Dane told her about the plane? Why had he insisted there was no way off the island except by the supply boat? She rubbed her forehead, confusion rampant. She felt like Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz—the mean had been here all along.
She sighed; no answers were forthcoming, only more questions. She got up from the hard packed floor, and walked around the building, examining it in detail. She found a set of utensils, a metal plate and two cups. At least she could eat her pineapple. There was running water in a small bathroom, so she could drink. Most of the items in the building were there to service the airplane, but a couple of lockers held clothes. She finished her tour winding up at the door she'd used to enter. Opening it a crack, she saw it had grown darker outside. The wind was still blowing hard, and the sky was a boiling mass of dark clouds. Even as she watched, the storm came. Torrents of lashing, driving rain pounded across the landscape, across the tarmac, in a line as sharply defined as a drawing. It headed for th
e hangar.
Mary-Kate slammed the door shut seconds before she heard the pounding on the roof, on the corrugated sides, the small windows set high on the wall sheeted with water in seconds. She shivered, glad after all that she was not out in the rain. It would have been a miserable night.
She ate the pineapple, washing the sticky juice from her face and hands, using the nearby sink. Moving the lantern to the center of the cleared space, she set it carefully on the floor and then studied the plane.
She stepped up on the wing and tried the door. It opened easily to her touch, and she stepped inside. It smelt of leather and fuel. She moved to one of the seats and sat down. It felt good. She found the release lever, and reclined the back. For a makeshift shelter, this couldn't be beat.
She closed her eyes, listening to the drum of the rain on the metal roof of the hangar. It was steady, furious, pounding muffled by being inside the plane. Thankful she was not out in it, she hoped no one else was.
Mary-Kate shivered a little. She didn't think it got cold on the island, but the storm was cooling the air. She lay back in the seat, dreaming of sunny days, of wide white beaches, and of what she and the children could do for the next couple of weeks.
And if leaving on the supply boat?
If that was still the plan. What would Dane say when she confronted him about the plane? What explanation could he offer about why he had lied? He'd had the means to fly her off the island that first day. Why hadn't he?
She'd hate to leave—now that she'd been here for a while. She had grown to love the island, the few people she'd met, and the slow pace of life.
And Dane Carmichael.
She hugged her secret to herself. She didn't know when it had happened, or why, but she loved him—everything about him, from his bad temper, to his determination to think badly of her, to his sexy body. She had never loved anyone with quite the passion and longing she did this man.
And for nothing. He didn't even want her to stay. He didn't love her. Real life wasn't like fairy tales. Dane loved Melissa, who didn't love him. And she, Mary-Kate, loved him. He'd lied to her, but it didn't matter. If he hadn't, she would never have known him.
She sighed, tears threatening. She would miss him so much when she left. But she would never forget him. She would remember him all her life. When she was old, she'd tell her children about the man who owned an island and who, for a few short days, had captured her attention.
Obviously she'd have to find someone else in order to have those children. Sighing again, she let her mind drift as the rain pounded the roof.
Suddenly she sat up, cocking her head, listening. Was that a dog's bark? Suddenly the door at the side of the hangar flew open, and banged against the inside wall. She sat up, startled. Had the wind caught it? Hadn't she latched it properly? She stepped to the door of the plane, and peered out. Marco barked gleefully, running to the plane, tail wagging.
Dane filled the doorway, water streaming from him, while behind him the lashing fury of the storm raged. His eyes darted frantically everywhere, then followed the dog.
"Mary-Kate?" he roared.
"What?" she replied, delight swelling in her breasts to see him. She was safe now. He'd come looking for her.
His eyes narrowed as he took in the scene. He moved inside and slammed the door shut. The storm's ferocity was muted. In silence Mary-Kate watched the man who had lied to her. Who looked mad enough to chew nails! Despite it all, she desperately wanted him to explain away the lies. Make her think he was someone special. She moved down the plane's wing to the hard packed floor. Marco bumped into her and she patted his wet head.
"What the hell are you doing here?" Dane asked, deadly quiet, dripping water where he stood. His face was black with anger, his eyes steely shafts piercing the gloom. The lantern at her feet gave the only illumination in the hangar.
"Seeking shelter from the storm. How did you find me?"
"I've been searching the whole damn island for you! When I saw the light in the hangar, I thought I'd check it out. Marco raised a fuss when we drew nearer. There are four others out searching for you, too."
"Oh." She leaned against the plane. She hadn't thought anyone would miss her. "I'm safe," she said lamely.
"Not if I get my hands on you!" he muttered, and turned to go back out.
"Dane, wait! Don't leave me!"
"I'm not going anywhere; I'm going to try to reach the others on the jeep radio. No sense in risking lives further now that I know you're safe. This storm is a killer."
Mary-Kate leaned guiltily against the side of the plane, watching the outside door for his return. She hadn't wanted anyone put in danger. She was safe—she hadn't thought they would mount a search. For all Dane knew she could have stayed at Joyce's or Lisa's for the night.
Dane returned, slamming the door behind him. He was dripping water, and shook his head to clear his sight. Mary-Kate watched silently as he headed to one of the lockers and snatched it open.
"Dane, why didn't you tell me about the plane?" Mary-Kate asked, determined to bring the matter out into the open.
"I had my reasons."
"I've been stuck on this island for days, when all along I could have got back to the yacht. Or at least some island that had flights to the states. Someone even flew this thing somewhere the other day. I could have had a ride out to the other islands."
"Not now, Mary-Kate." His voice sounded tired.
"Yes, right now. I want to know why you lied."
"I'm tired, wet, hungry, and not in the mood to explain anything. I'll discuss it with you later," he bit out between clenched teeth. "I also want to know why you took off to go sightseeing when a huge storm was brewing. Without telling anyone. I had people looking all over for you—risking their necks to try to save yours."
"First, I didn't know it was going to storm so bad, or so early. I was looking for the wildflowers. If I'd been allowed to leave when I first wanted to, I wouldn't have been here to get lost and have all your people risking their necks!" Mary-Kate yelled back, guilt making her defensive.
Dane sighed, and unbuttoned his shirt; shrugging out of it, he balled it up and threw it angrily toward the wall. She watched him frustrated and furious that he hadn't answered her—and not a little guilty because of getting lost. She should have gone straight home.
His eyes fixed on hers as he unfastened the wet shorts. She held his gaze, conscious of his wide shoulders, the damp muscles of his chest. When the pants parted, she gave a small gasp and turned her back on him, holding on to her sanity with every ounce in her.
She wanted to throw herself against him, to dry his skin, and feel it beneath her fingers, beneath her lips. She longed for his hard, steely eyes to soften into silver smoke so that she knew he wanted her. As she wanted him—to feel his hands on her body, bringing her to ecstasy. She longed for one night in his arms.
Her mind a careful blank, she refused to let her desire build any more. She wanted him to explain why he had never told her about the plane, why he hadn't offered at least to contact someone for her when he had flown the plane out the other day. Maybe there would be a good explanation. Maybe.
She shivered again; it was decidedly cooler. She wrapped her arms around her, wishing she had a sweater or light jacket.
"Cold?" His hand grasped her upper arm, pulling her slowly around to face him. He was dressed in dry shorts and a brightly colored tropical shirt. She glanced at it. The colorful flowers and parrots on the material didn't look like him, somehow.
"These belong to Roy. Are you cold?" he answered her inquiring look, and repeated his question.
Mary-Kate jerked her arm free and stepped back, into the side of the plane. "No, I'm fine. I still want an answer. Why didn't you tell me about the plane? If it has a radio, I could I have contacted the outside world. You should have told me, you should have told me before--"
She looked away, appalled at what she'd almost said: You should have told me before I fell in love with you. Before it
was too late.
"Before what?" His voice was hard as his hands caught her shoulders and swung her around before him. "Before what!"
"N-n-nothing," she murmured, refusing to meet his gaze, her eyes on the strong column of his neck. His hands were hard on her shoulders, holding her in front of him.
"You forced your way on to my island, refusing to leave with your friends. I was furious when you came to the door. I'd had it with pretty women trying to snare me into marriage just so they could help me spend my money. I decided I'd do nothing to help you. Let you see what it would be like if you didn’t get your way. I didn't want you on my island!"
Her face moved up at that, frustration building even more.
"I did not force my way on to your damn island! I was left, abandoned, deserted! As much as you hate it, I had no choice in the matter. What was I supposed to do, camp out on the beach until you and your dogs came to chase me away? I didn't have a boat to escape with. I thought you finally believed me. I'm not the one who's been lying—it's you. You told me there was no way off the island, nor any way to contact anyone. You lied to me, Dane Carmichael, and there was no need!"
Mary-Kate felt perilously close to tears; she dragged her eyes away from his, looking down at her feet, at the dog sitting patiently beside his master, eyes following the two of them. She was conscious of Dane's hands on her shoulders.
He watched her for several long moments, then, when she refused to meet his gaze, his hands moved down her arms. "You're cold; get in the plane. There are some blankets there. Marco, stay!"
The left side of the plane dipped as he stepped on the wing, pulling her along behind him. He seemed to fill the small body of the little plane when he stepped inside. He went to the back while she resumed the seat she'd been in. Returning with two blankets, he sank heavily into the seat across the narrow aisle. Tossing her one of the blankets, he leaned back, head resting on the seat back.
Destination Romance Page 27