by JoAnn Ross
“My bad.”
Annie stroked him, feeling how rapidly he grew in her hand. She loved the effect her touch had on him. “Don’t get me wrong. I can work with aroused.”
“Yes, you certainly can.” Nat turned on his side, facing her. He cradled her head in the crook of his left elbow and slid his right hand along her ribs, into the valley of her waist and up along the rise of her hip and back again. All the while he gazed into her eyes and smiled softly.
“You are so beautiful, Annie.”
She’d heard this dozens of times that night, but she didn’t mind him repeating himself. “Thank you.”
“Do you know what I find to be the most beautiful thing about you?”
Nat’s voice had become rough with emotion. The sudden change put her on alert. “You have a favorite thing in particular?”
“I do.” He continued to look at her, a gentleness in his expression that she hadn’t seen before.
Her hands stilled. Somehow, Annie knew the conversation was about to veer away from playful sex talk and move into a deeper place. It surprised her a little. It scared her even more. As it was, she was barely containing her anxiety.
Don’t go. Don’t leave. Stay with me, Nat. Stay with me always.
“Do you want to know what it is?”
She nodded.
Nat brought his finger to her throat and slid it down the front of her chest. “The most beautiful thing about you is”—he brushed across the top of both her breasts, then pressed his index finger into the center of her sternum—“right here. It’s your heart, Annie Parker. You are impossibly beautiful in your heart, the most beautiful woman I’ve ever known.”
For a second, she forgot how to breathe. The tears built and there was nothing she could do to stop them.
“But there’s something that comes a close second.” Nat dragged his fingertip up from her chest, over her chin and lips, and along the bridge of her nose. He tapped her forehead. “Your mind.”
Annie smiled through her tears. She wished she could come up with a clever response, but her emotions were so strong she couldn’t speak. All she could do was nod softly.
“It’s okay, sweetheart,” he said. “I feel what you feel. All I’ve been thinking about is how I could make it work here.”
“What?” Annie’s pulse just spiked. What was he saying?
“I’ve been trying to figure out how I could spend a lot of my time here on Bayberry Island, with you.”
Nat kissed her then. It was sweet and earnest and it seemed to reach deeper inside her being than any kiss that had come before it. It knocked the breath from her.
He eventually removed his lips and leaned his forehead against hers. “There’s something I need to ask you to do for me, Annie.”
She pulled back and looked at him. The last time a man started a request that way, he was gunning for two thousand dollars to bail his brother out of jail on the mainland, plus thirty bucks for the round-trip ferry ride. Instead, he’d gotten a one-way trip out of her life. But, as if Annie needed further proof that she’d completely lost all grasp of reality, she simply said, “Anything, Nat.”
He smiled. “I need you to tell me a story.”
Annie narrowed one eye at him and tipped her chin down. “Say what?”
“A story.”
“Are we talking a mermaid-and-sea-captain kind of story?”
He was embarrassed! His cheeks had just flushed and he looked away. “Yes,” Nat said.
Annie had no idea where he was going with this, but she trusted him. For some reason, she trusted Nathaniel Ravelle completely. “Should I get one of my books?”
“Actually, I’d like hear the original story. The legend. The whole thing.” He glanced up at her again. “Like I said, I didn’t read up on it, and I think it would be much better coming from you.”
Annie brushed away any remaining tears. She touched his chin and studied him. “Is this to prepare for your show?”
Nat shook his head. “I want to hear the story for me.”
She blinked in surprise. “Is there any particular reason why you—”
“I think it might be an important tale for me to hear. I have a lot to learn about love. This could be a good place to start. Besides, I happen to be naked and in bed with the island’s storyteller-in-residence at the moment.”
“I see.” Annie felt her mouth twitch. So the California-cool customer wanted to hear the over-the-top romantic tale of her little island? “I’d be happy to tell you, Nat. Unlike one of my own novels, I really do have this story memorized. I’ve been hearing it since first grade.”
She cleared her throat before she began. “Once upon a time . . . well, on March 14, 1881, to be exact, an Irish immigrant named Rutherford Flynn was out on his fishing boat when an epic nor’easter hit.”
“Is that your friend’s relative?”
“Oh yes. He was Rowan’s great-great-great grandfather, to be exact. In a way, the Flynns are like the island’s first family. Rutherford started Flynn Fisheries when he settled here, and it became the island’s largest employer, the basis of the entire economy for more than a hundred years.”
“Interesting.”
Annie kissed Nat softly, which distracted her. “So, where was I?”
“The nor’easter.”
“Right. So Rutherford was at the helm of the Safe Haven, the lead fishing boat in his company’s fleet, when the storm hit. As the story goes, he fought valiantly to guide the boats to shore, but all seemed lost as the gale-force winds and sea swells tossed them off course.”
“Sounds dramatic.”
“Well, all good stories are. Then, suddenly—as Rutherford would later explain in great detail to anyone who would sit still long enough to listen—he spotted a mermaid at the boat’s side, strangely illuminated in the dark, swirling water. Her raven hair fanned out around her. Her beautiful, dark eyes locked on his as she smiled reassuringly.”
Nat frowned.
“Is something wrong?”
“No, please go on. This is great. I clearly picked the right person to tell me this story.”
She smiled. “Anyway, Rutherford watched in awe as the mermaid pulled his boat to the cove, and the other boats followed, saving most of the male population of the island and its future generations in the process. Now, this is where things get good.”
“I can’t wait.”
“According to the legend, poor Rutherford was so overcome with emotion that the instant his ship was secured, he dove into the frigid Atlantic in search of the divine creature who had saved them, attempting to pledge his undying love and devotion to her. The fool nearly drowned, of course, but his men managed to pull him from the crashing ice-cold sea. They dragged him to the inn, where he slipped into a fevered illness for days.”
“I’ll be damned.”
“When he awoke, his eyes landed on the beautiful innkeeper’s daughter, who had been nursing him back to health. And what did he see? The same shiny raven black hair and dark, beautiful eyes that he’d seen in the mermaid! Despite the girl’s protests, Rutherford swore the women were one and the same, and he rolled off his sickbed to one knee and pledged to cherish her and love her until the end of time.”
Nat’s eyes went wide.
“According to the legend, they ended up insanely happy together, and Rutherford’s business boomed and his family grew. He built a luxurious mansion for his wife, which is now the Safe Haven B and B.”
“Ah, okay. Makes perfect sense.”
“Now, ol’ Rutherford, who some believed had lost his entire pack of marbles by that time, commissioned a bronze mermaid statue and fountain for the center of town to be made in his wife’s likeness. You have to remember that this was during the Victorian era and this was New England, right? So when the huge, nearly naked mermaid was unveiled, the locals freaked. But what could they do? By that time, Rutherford was not just the biggest employer on the island, he was the mayor.”
“Sounds like Chicago.�
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Annie laughed. “So, soon after the statue was unveiled, stories began to circulate about her special powers. Overemotional girls swore the mermaid could reveal to them their true loves. But only if they asked with a pure heart.”
“You mean they had to be virgins?”
“No. I mean they had to have good intentions. I’ll get to more of the rules in a minute.”
“This story sure has a lot of damn rules.”
Annie grinned. “Baby, we’re just getting started.”
Ezra chose that moment to thud onto the bed again. He tried to shove his fat cat body between them, but Annie and Nat guided him toward their feet, smiling at each other the whole time.
“I lost my train of thought.”
“The mermaid rules.”
“Oh, right. So young women swore the mermaid could deliver their true loves. The men who kissed the mermaid’s hand claimed to fall under a magical spell. They said they suddenly were consumed with a passion beyond reason for one particular girl they envisioned in their mind’s eye—often one they’d never met and had no name for! As the years went by, this basic legend evolved into its expanded, modern-day form.”
Nat looked slightly upset.
Annie thought maybe the story was too long. “I can stop here if you want me to.”
“Hell no. Don’t you dare!”
She laughed. “Okay, so here’s the legend as it stands today: True love is like the sea—beautiful, deep, and life-giving but unpredictable, powerful, and even dangerous. To succeed at love, you must set out on your journey with a true heart and be prepared to be tossed by waves of passion, be willing to drown in love’s undertow. The legend claims that anyone who comes to the mermaid, kisses her hand, and pledges to go wherever love leads will find happiness. But beware.” Annie wiggled her eyebrows for effect. “Anyone who comes to the Great Mermaid with preconceived notions about the ‘who-what-wheres’ of true love will find heartache instead.”
Nat’s face blanched white. He looked almost seasick.
“Are you all right?”
He blinked at Annie. “Yeah. But I need some clarification on something you just said.”
“Sure.”
“All this stuff that’s supposed to happen—you know, the passion beyond reason thing and the magical spell and undertow shit—that can happen only if you go to the mermaid personally, right? I mean, someone else can’t go to the mermaid and plead your case without your knowledge, right? The mermaid just can’t throw something like that on an unsuspecting passerby, right?”
“No. You have to go to her yourself and make your request—if you believe in any of this crap, that is.”
Nat nodded and thanked her for telling the story, but she could tell something still troubled him.
And then she remembered . . .
“Hold up,” she said. “I take back that last part. There’s supposed to be another way the mermaid juju can get you, but it’s just as goofy as everything else about the legend.”
Nat’s eyes got big again. “What’s the other way?”
“Well, back when we were teenagers, Rowan told me that Mona and her minions have a bunch of secret rituals that no one’s supposed to know about—pledges and chanting and handshakes and stupid stuff like that. But one night, Rowan eavesdropped on them.
“She overheard them talking about performing a ritual—I think they even called it an ‘intervention.’ It was for a woman who refused to believe in the power of the Great Mermaid. Apparently, they were waiting for a solstice or special moon phase or some ridiculous thing, and when it came, they planned to put on their wigs and scales—”
Annie stopped. They jolted up at the same time, startling Ezra so much that he hissed before he thumped off the bed. Annie and Nat stared at each other in silence for a very long moment.
Then Nat said, “I think yesterday was the winter solstice.”
6
“What a charming house you have, Miss Parker.” The doctor stomped her boots on the rug by the front door. “Sorry I’m a little late.”
“Oh, it’s no problem. I’m very glad you got here safe. Please, come in.” Annie took her coat and gestured toward the bedroom. “Is the weather letting up at all?”
The doctor shook her head. “It’s still a mess out there, but the temperature’s rising. How’s the patient?” She walked alongside Annie toward the bedroom.
“He’s wonderful. Very alert. His appetite has been good. He says his pain is much better, too.”
The doctor gave her a sideways glance, then smiled a little. “This is all great news. Were you able to wake him every couple hours, as I suggested?”
“Yes. As a matter of fact, we were up most of the night.”
“You don’t say?”
Annie realized her choice of words might be giving the doctor the wrong impression. Or the right impression. Which would be the wrong thing to give her. “Talking,” she said. “We were up talking. Nat is an interesting man. After you.” She gestured for the doctor to enter the bedroom.
“Thank you.”
“I’ll be in the kitchen if you need anything,” Annie said, walking away. The instant the kitchen door shut behind her, Annie was on the phone with Rowan. It was the sixth time that morning.
“Well? What did you find out?”
• • •
The doctor was an older woman with a kind face and a quiet touch. She’d checked his pulse, his blood pressure, the dilation of his pupils, and his reflexes. Then she began to gently nudge and tug on his limbs, asking if anything hurt.
“My concern is that you lost consciousness for a rather long period of time,” she said, patting his arm. “You seem fine, and I’m not overly worried, but concussions can be tricky to diagnose without a CT scan, so you should have one after the holidays. I will write you a prescription.” She returned her stethoscope to her doctor bag and sat down in Annie’s writing chair.
“Any headaches, Mr. Ravelle?”
“Just at first. Nothing now.”
“Nausea or vomiting?”
“No.”
“Are you seeing flashing lights?”
“Aside from the ones on Annie’s Christmas tree?”
The doctor grinned. “Those don’t count.”
“Then no.”
“Persistent confusion?”
“No.”
“A noticeable change in your usual thought process, emotions, or behavior?”
Nat scrunched up his mouth.
“Mr. Ravelle?”
“Uh . . .”
• • •
“Absolutely nothing,” was Rowan’s answer. “My mom denies they did any kind of ritual.”
“Of course she does.”
“I was on the phone with her for a half hour, trying to get her to crack, and then I went over there to see her in person. But she just keeps telling me the same thing—she has no idea what I’m talking about, and there is no such thing as a love intervention anyway.”
“Whatever.”
“She thinks maybe you’ve been spending too much time alone, writing about captains and mermaids gettin’ it on in the sea of love.”
Annie nodded. “Right.”
“So after I was done with my mom, I marched over to Abby’s, Izzy’s, and even Polly’s, and they all said the same thing—they have no idea what I’m talking about. I will say this, though—Abby seemed real nervous and even shut the door in my face.”
Annie sighed. “Well, I really appreciate you going out and doing the Sherlock Holmes thing for me. You’re the best friend I could ever hope for.”
Rowan laughed. “Oh, come on now, Annie. You and I both know there’s nothing to the mermaid crap.”
“Of course.” Annie leaned against the counter, hearing the doctor’s soft murmur from the bedroom and the sound of Nat’s laughter. They seemed to be getting along great.
“Look, I did tell my mom that they needed to mind their own damn business. But even if they did have one of their p
agan parties in your honor, they did it because they love you and just want you to be happy.”
Annie smiled. “I know.”
“Annie?”
“Yeah?”
“Is there something you’re not telling me?”
“What do you mean?” Annie began rinsing out cups in the sink, thinking that keeping her hands busy would somehow magically stop this conversation.
“Well, you called me last night completely freaked out because you were a nervous wreck around this guy. Then this morning you call me completely freaked out because you’re suddenly convinced the mermaids are messing with your love life. And, since I’m Sherlock Holmes and all, what it looks like to me is you suddenly have a love life.”
Annie froze. “You know, I should probably go. The doctor’s here and—”
“Oh my God! You’re in love with him!”
“Oh please, Rowan.” Annie stepped out onto the small back porch to finish the conversation. “I don’t even know him. How could I be in love with him? Don’t go getting all crazy on me, all right?”
“You’re lying to me, Annabeth Parker. Liar, liar, liar.”
“I really need to go.”
“You love him and you’ve never let yourself love someone before, so you’re worried that the Great Mermaid had something to do with this, that she used her tractor beam of love to deliver him to your door. Am I right?”
“The mermaid story is ridiculous. I don’t believe in the mermaid.”
Rowan giggled. “That’s great, sweetie. But what if she believes in you?”
• • •
The doctor waited patiently for Nat to answer. This was a dilemma. He knew it was important to share everything with a doctor. Your life could depend on it. He also knew that if he told her the truth—that his thinking process and consciousness had been radically altered, that his emotions were on kamikaze autopilot, and that he’d even entertained the possibility that a bronze mermaid fountain might have directed him to his one true love—she’d order a psychiatrist to go with that CT scan.
Nat stared at her. All he could manage was a laugh.
“You know, Mr. Ravelle,” she said, “I live in the world of science, but science isn’t the be-all and end-all. Working as a physician, I’ve seen things I have no explanation for, and I’ve reached the conclusion that there’s more to life than we can prove with empirical data.”