Serpent in Paradise

by Jayne Ann Krentz

  “That’s obvious from the condition of this kitchen!” she blazed, her own patience fizzling completely. “When was the last time you had a decent meal, Jase Lassiter? A balanced, well-made, home-cooked meal?”

  He stared at her. “Home-cooked?”

  “Yes, damn it! Cooked at home in a kitchen. Made from scratch. A meal that has been cooked by other means than a deep-fat fryer?”

  “Beats the hell out of me.” He eyed her with an unreadable gaze. “Probably ten or fifteen years.”

  “That’s terrible, Jase!” She was truly appalled and it showed.

  He shrugged. “I hate to cook.”

  “Well, I don’t,” she declared forcefully. “And I’m tired of that café food. I’m going shopping for dinner and that’s final.”

  Suddenly, devastatingly, he grinned. “You look like an outraged housewife.”

  “More like an outraged tourist,” she retorted.

  “Who am I to alienate the few tourists we do get here on Saint Clair?” he asked rhetorically. “Okay, if it means so much to you, I’ll let you go grocery shopping this afternoon. You should be safe enough if you stay on the main street in front of the harbor and don’t wander beyond that. Our sole claim to a grocery store on Saint Clair is located about a block and a half from my bar. You can shop while I’m talking to Ray. But you’re not to go any farther.”

  “Jase, you have no right to give me orders!”

  The amusement that had lightened his features for a moment faded into cold determination. “Lady, you’re on my island, staying in my home, and you just spent the night in my bed. That set of facts gives me all the right I need. Now, if I hear one more word of argument out of you on the matter, I will probably do something extremely chauvinistic like paddle your sweet rear until you can’t sit down.” He took a menacing, gliding step forward, his hands on his hips, dark brows in a solid line. “Do I make myself understood?”

  “Quite!” she agreed with fine hauteur as she told herself she wasn’t allowing him to intimidate her. She was merely choosing not to lower herself to his methods. “It’s also quite clear that your manners, if indeed you ever had any, have deteriorated to almost nothing here in the South Pacific!” Amy spun around on her heel and stalked out of the room.

  “I don’t need you to tell me I’m out of touch with civilization,” he grunted as she disappeared down the hall. Jase wasn’t certain if she heard him or not.

  Two hours later he saw her safely through the front door of the small grocery store at the end of the wharf and then, after watching rather wistfully as she moved out of sight down a row of canned goods, Jase swung around and started back toward The Serpent.

  “Rights,” he muttered a little violently to himself as he strode along the dock with his long, economical stride. Didn’t she realize she had given him a whole fistful of rights the night before?

  Halfway down the street he paused in front of Fred Cowper’s office window. Whether Amy liked the idea or not, Cowper should be told about what had happened, Jase decided grimly. Unfortunately there was a very familiar sign hanging on the door: Gone Fishing. As Usual. Jase sighed, wondering if the government man would be back by the following day. He’d check in the morning. Perhaps Cowper would know something about Dirk Haley.

  Striding off once more, he studied the sea’s horizon with an implacable expression, thinking of Amy in his bed. Never had a woman given herself so completely, engulfed him so totally, as she had last night. God! What an experience! From the beginning everything about her had aroused not only his physical hunger but also his long-dormant protective instincts. And after possessing her so thoroughly last night, he had some rights, damn it!

  If only he could make her love him, give her a child. It was one way of tying down a woman like Amy. Jase turned away from the docks and stepped into the comparative shade of The Serpent. Getting Amy pregnant was a physical impossibility, nothing short of a fantasy. And wouldn’t she be furious if he told her how strong that fantasy was in his head? She sure as hell didn’t think much of male fantasies.

  She was safe enough, he thought. In two years of trying, he hadn’t been able to give Sara the child they had both wanted so badly. In the end his ex-wife had almost hated him, had hated the act of physical surrender that they both knew to be futile. The divorce had been a blessing for both. His mouth tightened grimly.

  “Somehow,” Ray drawled mildly from behind the bar, “I’d thought you’d be in a better mood today.”

  “Did you?” Jase retorted in his most repressive voice as he slid onto a stool. “Goes to show, I suppose, that employees shouldn’t try to second-guess the boss. Let me see last night’s receipts.”

  “Ouch! Does this mean you’re no longer open to a little razzing on the subject of the lady tourist?”

  Jase gave the younger man a savage glance. “The subject is closed. It now comes under the heading of personal business.”

  Ray grinned irrepressibly. “Call it anything you want. By now most of the island knows you took her home last night.”

  Jase’s oath was short, violent and resigned. Saint Clair was too small and he was too well known to keep even the smallest personal activity totally private. As far as he was concerned, it didn’t particularly matter. He didn’t give a damn who knew he’d made Amy his. In fact, underneath the mild disgust he felt about the casual gossip, there was a certain satisfaction in knowing that everyone knew she was now off limits. But he could guess that Amy wouldn’t be too pleased if she found out the relationship was public knowledge.

  “Where’d you leave Miss Shannon this morning. Tied up to the bedpost?” Ray went on conversationally, wiping glasses. The bar was virtually empty at this hour, with only one lone drinker sitting across the room, nursing a beer.

  “Any more cracks like that and I’ll throttle you with your seltzer tubing,” Jase growled, and then silently wished there were some way of tying Amy to his bed. “She’s at Maggie’s store.”

  “Maggie’s! What’s she doing there?”

  “Shopping for groceries,” Jase returned with a trace of smugness.

  “What the hell’s she going to do with groceries?” Ray demanded, startled.

  “Cook my dinner tonight. What else?” The trace of smugness became blatant satisfaction as Jase allowed himself to contemplate that thought fully.

  Ray whistled in soft amazement. “You lucky bastard. What the hell did you ever do to deserve that?” He leaned forward, elbows on the bar, dark eyes intent. “Listen, boss, if I put back that five bucks I borrowed from the till last week, do you think you could get her to set an extra place at the table tonight? I haven’t had anything except Hank’s greasy French fries and hamburgers for so long, I’ve forgotten what a home-cooked meal tastes like!”

  “If you were in my place, Ray, would you be that generous?”

  “Nope,” Ray admitted immediately. “I’d keep Amy and the home-cooked meal all to myself.”

  “I’m glad you understand,” Jase murmured smoothly. “Tell you what. I’ll give you first crack at the next lady tourist who walks in here.”

  “Hah! Fat lot of good that’ll do me. You know damn well The Serpent doesn’t attract the domesticated sort. We always get the type who are looking for some variation on Humphrey Bogart in Casablanca. They want excitement and adventure. They don’t want to go home with a man and cook his dinner!” Ray complained.

  Jase got to his feet, picking up the box of receipts Ray had given him. “If it’s a home-and-hearth sort of female you’re looking for, Ray, you know you’re not likely to find her out here. Go back to Kansas City.”

  “I’m desperate, but not that desperate. The light’s better for painting here.”

  Jase smiled crookedly and started to turn away. Then he hesitated. “Anyone unusual come in after I left last night?”

  “You mean anyone who looked like he might b
e waiting for Amy? No. Just the usual assortment of sailors and cargo runners. Everyone got drunk, spent a lot of money and went back to their boats.”

  “Okay. I’ll be in my office if anyone wants me.” Jase seated himself at the large table in the booth at the back of the room that served as The Serpent’s office. From there he could look out over the railing and see most of the quay. When Amy started home with her sack of groceries, he’d be able to spot her. That realization brought a small smile to his lips. He delved into the stack of receipts with more enthusiasm than usual.

  While Jase pondered the bar totals, Amy pondered the assortment of odd-looking vegetables that lay in the small chilling bin at the rear of Saint Clair’s version of a supermarket. They were fresh-looking, but she didn’t recognize most of them. Brow furrowed as she studied the array, she didn’t hear the approach of the proprietress until the comfortably large woman in the flowing, flower-printed dress spoke directly behind her.

  “Need a little help, honey?” the elderly woman inquired cheerfully. She spoke with a curiously pleasant mixture of Texas drawl and island lilt.

  Amy smiled gratefully. “I’m looking for something to go into a salad. But I don’t recognize these greens.”

  The woman, whom Amy assumed must be the Maggie whom Jase had mentioned when he’d left her at the front door, grinned broadly. Amy estimated she was probably in her sixties. The shining black hair, swept back in a tight bun, was liberally streaked with gray. She had flawless golden skin and large, intelligent dark eyes that reflected a limitless sense of humor about life. In her youth, Amy knew, Maggie had been a beauty. She was still a handsome woman

  “A salad, hmm? Well, you’ll need some of this.” She reached into the bin and scooped up a lettucelike vegetable. “And some of these good local radishes. Best radishes in the whole world, my husband always said.”

  “Those are radishes?” Amy asked dubiously, eyeing the plump white objects.

  “Yup. Let’s see. How about some of these peppers?” She stacked something vaguely resembling a green pepper into Amy’s small basket. “Don’t worry, this stuff’s all local-grown by some friends of mine. They have gardens in their backyards, and when they get in more than they can eat, they sell it to me. Good stuff,” she assured Amy cheerfully. “Now, what else you going to need?”

  “Er, perhaps some fresh fish?” Amy suggested hesitantly, grateful for the help.

  “Fresh fish is one thing we’ve always got. Come on over to the counter and take your pick. Got some beauties in this morning from another friend of mine.”

  “They’ve still got their heads on!” Amy exclaimed in dismay as she surveyed the array of whole fish lying on rapidly melting ice.

  “Well, ‘course they do. That’s how you can tell they’re fresh. See those nice shiny eyes? Good, fresh fish. Take your pick. How many you going to be feeding?”

  “Uh, there will be two of us,” Army submitted carefully.

  “I knew it!” Maggie exclaimed in tones of the greatest satisfaction. “You’re Jase’s woman, aren’t you? The one he took home last night. You really going to fix him dinner tonight?”

  Amy stared at her, astounded. “I am definitely not his ‘woman.’ I have no idea where you got that idea. And as for fixing him dinner tonight, I’m beginning to have a few second thoughts!”

  “Hey, don’t go geittin’ upset now, Amy,” Maggie soothed gently. “That’s your name, isn’t it? Amy? Thought so. That’s the way I’d heard it earlier this morning. Look, why don’t you set those vegetables back in the bin for a while and have a beer with me? I could do with a break, and you’re lookin’ a little peaked yourself.” She swept the basket out of Amy’s hands and put it back in the chill bin. Then Maggie opened a nearby locker and triumphantly removed a six-pack of beer.

  “Actually,” Amy said, eyeing the six-pack with increasing interest, “that sounds like a good idea. It’s getting quite warm, isn’t it?”

  “Always warm on Saint Clair,” Maggie confided, popping the tops on two of the cans and handing her guest one. She took a long swallow and sighed in appreciation. “Traded the ship’s cook a hell of a lot of fish for a couple of cases of beer. He wanted some fresh fish for the officers’ mess.”

  “The cook on the Navy ship that’s in the harbor?” Amy asked, sipping tentatively at her beer.

  “Yup. Got a regular supply line going with cooks on various ships that dock in Saint Clair. My husband taught me how to set up supply lines, you know.”

  “No, I didn’t. That’s fascinating. Was he with the military?”

  “Yup. He was here for ‘bout a year during World War Two. After the war he came back to stay and we ran this store. Died two years ago and I sure miss him,” Maggie went on, shaking her head.

  “You met him while he was stationed here?” Amy took another sip of beer. It really tasted quite good in the heat.

  “Love at first sight. My parents said he’d never come back after the war. Said he’d go home to Texas and marry a girl with his own sort of background. But I figured he was worth the risk. I loved him.”

  “I... I can see why your parents must have been a little worried, though,” Amy ventured thoughtfully. “I mean, it certainly was a risk to let yourself fall in love with someone you might never see again.”

  “Women are good at that,” Maggie said simply.

  “Takings risks?”

  “Sure. Sometimes we luck out and sometimes we don’t. But the whole human race benefits when we take a risk and win.”

  “It does?”

  “The way I figure it, a home with a lot of love and laughter is the most civilizing force at work in the world. Leave it to the men and there wouldn’t be any homes. They don’t know much about making a home. Takes a woman to teach ‘em.”

  “What do you do when you get hold of a man who is, uh, uneducable?” Amy asked dryly.

  “Sometimes a woman wins and sometimes she loses.” Maggie downed some more of her beer and reached for another. She gave Amy a wise glance over the rim.

  “And if a woman takes a risk and guesses wrong? If she winds up with a couple of kids and no man to be a proper father?”

  “Most women can handle it. Like I said, we’re the risk-takers. Do you think there’s a single man alive in the whole world who’d take the risk of getting pregnant if the good Lord had made such a thing possible? Hell, no!”

  That idea struck Amy as very insightful. “You may have a point. I never thought of it quite that way.” She took another swallow of the beer.

  “When my man Steve returned after the war, he had a two-year-old son waitin’ for him,” Maggie chuckled.

  “Oh.”

  “I’d had a few doubts during those two years, but no regrets. I figured any way I looked at it, the risk had been worth it. I’d been in love. That’s the only part a woman ought to be sure of, first.”

  “That she’s in love?”

  “Right. Now, just how did you plan to cook that fish?”

  “Any way but fried.” Amy made a face, remembering how everything at the local café seemed to come out fried. “Poaching is a good way to handle most fish,” she added. “What do you think?”

  “I think any way you fix that damn fish will be good for Jase. A little home cookin’ and a little home lovin’ are what that man’s been needin’ since the day he arrived on Saint Clair, And I think you’re just the woman to give him both.”

  Amy felt the flush creep up to her cheeks. “I wish you wouldn’t assume quite so much about my relationship with Jase,” she managed formally.

  Maggie heaved herself to her feet, eyes full of understanding laughter. “Honey, I know a sister soul when I see one! Now, come over here and I’ll get you some good local herbs that will make that fish come alive.”

  “Not an entirely pleasant image,” Amy grumbled, thinking of the bright eyes of the fish she
was going to buy.

  She emerged from Maggie’s shop twenty minutes later with the fish carefully wrapped in butcher paper and a bag full of fresh vegetables and herbs. The sack of groceries was stuffed so full that it took both hands to carry it in front of her. The strange lettuce, along with the leaves of the radishes and the paper-swathed head of the fish, was sticking up in front of her face. She could barely see where she was going.

  And it was for that very reason that she didn’t get a good look at the tall, rangy, blond-haired man who was striding rapidly toward her along the busy quay. He didn’t hesitate as he came abreast of her, and his hand moved quickly, dropping a crumpled wad of paper into her already overstuffed sack.

  “Hey, I’m not a walking garbage bin!” Amy snapped huffily. The man didn’t even turn around to apologize. “Turkey,” she muttered vehemently, and continued on her way to The Serpent. The manners of some of these backwater island inhabitants were appalling. Then she remembered the hazards of crossing a San Francisco street in front of a taxi and decided that rudeness was pretty universal.

  A moment later she carefully climbed the steps to The Serpent. The lazy overhead fans seemed to make some small difference in the temperature, and she was grateful for it. She had barely reached the entrance when the sack of groceries was scooped out of her bands.

  “Thanks,” she told a grinning Ray. “I think that fish Maggie sold me must weigh ten pounds!”

  Ray looked down into the sack. “I’m drooling already. Tell me how you’re going to cook the fish. I want to torture myself, and then tell me what you’re going to serve with it. I can fantasize about that later on this evening.”

  Amy frowned and then broke into light laughter. “I give up. The whole island seems to know about my plans for dinner tonight!”

  “Envy—sheer, unadulterated envy,” Ray told her, setting the sack down on the bar.

  “Listen, there’s more than enough fish for three,” Amy began easily, intending to extend an invitation.

  “No, there’s not,” Jase interjected flatly, emerging from the booth where he had been working. “There’s only enough for two, and even if there were enough for three, Ray has to work this evening.”