by Susan Cliff
While he headed toward the tide pools to check the traps, he considered different strategies. He’d had steady girlfriends before he’d become a SEAL. He tried to remember what he’d done to make them happy. They liked gifts, flowers, nice gestures. He could give Cady a fish, but that wasn’t much of a peace offering.
What else? He’d never had any trouble communicating with women. They liked men who could carry on a conversation. They liked men who listened.
He hadn’t listened to Cady’s concerns just now. Instead of hearing her out, he’d asked if she’d heard him clearly. He hadn’t stopped to think about her feelings. He’d told her to stay put, so he’d expected her to stay put. It occurred to him that her grandfather had barked the same order just before he’d died.
Logan massaged the nape of his neck, wincing.
Yeah. Maybe he’d been a little insensitive.
Although he didn’t regret his decision to save the engine, he could’ve listened and communicated better. He also should have anticipated her reaction. He’d been in the water with an aggressive tiger shark for twenty minutes. Of course she’d been horrified.
Two weeks ago, she’d watched a group of the same species tear apart a dead body. Most people were traumatized by stuff like that.
He didn’t have much success at the tide pools. He returned to camp with one of those orange fish that looked like Nemo. It wasn’t his finest moment. Her eyes were swollen from crying. She accepted the fish and cooked it in silence.
He cleaned up for dinner by washing his hands and face, and putting on his clothes. They had fried Nemo with mashed taro and seaweed. She could turn almost anything into a delicious meal, but not this. The fish was flabby and tasted strange.
He wouldn’t be catching any more Nemos.
“I’m sorry I called you a jackass,” she said, staring at the fire.
“I deserved it.”
She seemed surprised by this admission. “I thought you were going to die out there.”
“I know.”
“How could you do that to me?”
He raked a hand through his hair, which was gritty with sand. “I didn’t think the shark would attack.”
“And sea kraits rarely bite?”
It was difficult to compare a shy, nearly harmless sea krait to an aggressive tiger shark. The second animal was far more dangerous. He’d made a risky decision, and he had to own it. “I’m sorry I scared you.”
She rose from the driftwood bench, pacing in front of him. “I can’t stand watching you be so careless with your own life. Or mine.”
Two weeks ago she’d seemed a bit cavalier about death herself. She’d told him that she’d rather die than leave the island in the raft. It still bothered him, remembering that. “I didn’t mean to put you in harm’s way.”
“Just yourself?”
“Yes.”
“Why don’t you get scared?”
“I do get scared, but I set the fear aside. I move past it.”
She stopped pacing and crossed her arms over her chest. “You move past it.”
He nodded.
She sat down again, facing the fire. “You know how I said my dad got shot in the line of duty? It took him a couple of months to recover from the injury. Then he went back to work on the same beat. He risked his life every day. I was afraid he’d die, like my grandpa. He moved past the fear, I guess. But I never did.”
“That’s why you play it safe?”
“That’s why I play it safe. I’m not an adrenaline junkie, like you. And I don’t enjoy worrying about people I love.”
His heart did a flip inside his chest, even though she was talking about her dad, not him. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Say you won’t scare me again.”
He rubbed a hand over his mouth, reluctant to make promises he couldn’t keep. “I’ll try not to.”
“You don’t give an inch, do you?”
He’d like to give her every inch he had. Clearing his throat, he changed the subject. “I should teach you how to build a fire.”
“No,” she said, jumping to her feet.
“I want you to learn.”
“Why don’t you just keep yourself alive?”
“I could get sick. There could be a storm.”
It smelled like rain right now, actually. Although it wasn’t monsoon season, they’d grown accustomed to light showers in the afternoons and evenings. Heavier rains could strike. She started rinsing out the coconut shell cups and scrubbing her turtle shell, ending the conversation. They’d had more than enough conflict for one day, so he stayed quiet.
Clouds gathered low in the night sky, shrouding the beach in mist. He wouldn’t be sleeping outside tonight. He covered the fire as well as possible and climbed inside the shelter. They lay side by side, silent. A light drizzle began, pelting the roof. The drizzle turned into rain, and the rain became a downpour.
The storm had arrived.
Chapter 14
It rained for the next five days—and they both got sick.
Cady wasn’t sure if it was the clown fish or something else, but she woke up that night with severe stomach cramps. Logan suffered alongside her. They took turns leaving the shelter to throw up in the rain. The nausea persisted throughout the next day. He slept it off while she stared at the ceiling, shivering. She was miserably ill. She couldn’t decide which was worse, succumbing to food poisoning or dying of thirst.
He recovered from the bout before she did, probably because she got hit with a double-whammy: her period. She noticed the blood in her bikini bottoms on the second day of rain. She wasn’t prepared for this inconvenience, of course. She returned to the shelter with a palm pressed to her belly.
“What’s wrong?” he asked. “Still sick?”
She curled up on her side, grimacing. “I got my period.”
Logan didn’t seem phased by this declaration. He tore the end of his towel into strips and gave them to her.
“That’s your blanket,” she protested.
“You need it more than I do.”
She folded one of the strips of terrycloth into a rectangle shape and tucked it into her bikini bottoms. She’d have to wash the rags and reuse them, but she didn’t mind. “Thank you,” she mumbled.
Although the rain interrupted Logan’s big plans to repair the raft, he didn’t sit idle. He transferred some hot coals from the fire into one of the giant clam shells, covered it and brought it inside. This strategy gave them a backup fire source and kept them warm. She was glad they had plenty of dry wood and food in the storage bin. Despite these reserves, he ventured out in the rain every few hours to hunt and forage. He wandered around with his spear, checking the tide pools for fish, impervious to cold and discomfort. She stayed indoors and wove a mat out of palm fronds.
For the bulk of the time, they were sandwiched together in a tiny hut, unable to escape. His long legs ate up all the space. His lungs sucked up most of the oxygen. She was suffering from stomach cramps and cabin fever.
“There’s no air in here,” she said. “And no room.”
“I’d make a skylight, but then the rain would pour in.”
She nudged his ankle with her bare foot. “Are you familiar with the term ‘manspreading’?”
“Is it like manscaping?”
“It’s when men on the subway spread their legs to take up as much space as possible, regardless of other passengers.”
“People do that?”
“You probably do it.”
“I never ride the subway.”
She rolled onto her side, feeling irritable. Her back ached, and her emotions were on edge. When she started rubbing the sore muscles with her fingertips, he took over. Tears sprang into her eyes at his strong, soothing touch.
“Here?” he asked gruffly. His thumbs made circles on either side of her spine.
She murmured a series of contradictory-sounding instructions. “Lower. Higher. In. Out.”
He did his best to find the right spot. “If this is how you direct men in the bedroom, no wonder they have trouble.”
She laughed weakly. “Lower.”
He spent another few minutes on her lower back and moved on, massaging the nape of her neck. She almost purred in response. It occurred to her that Andrew had never done this. He’d treated her period like an infectious disease. He also hadn’t taken direction well, in or out of the bedroom. She couldn’t remember why she’d fallen in love with him. His confidence had appealed to her. He was a brilliant chef, handsome and financially stable. He’d seemed controlled, reserved...safe.
“Thank you,” she said, when Logan’s hands stilled.
“Better?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll try not to take up so much space.”
Her lips twitched into a smile. “Why don’t you have a girlfriend?”
“I don’t know. It’s so hard to meet women on this island.”
“Before this, I mean.” She turned to face him, curious. “You said you pick up women at bars.”
“Yeah. Sometimes.”
“You don’t date any nice girls?”
He arched a brow. “They’re all nice.”
“You’re avoiding the question.”
He stretched out on his back, tucking his hands behind his head. “I had a steady girlfriend during BUD/S training. Liliana.”
Cady tried not to bristle at the name. Liliana. She pictured a sultry, straight-haired beauty. “What happened to her?”
“We drifted apart, I guess. She wanted me to take her out every weekend and give her lots of attention. I was more focused on making the cut. Then I got deployed, and that was it. I think she liked the idea of being a SEAL’s girlfriend more than the reality.”
“That’s too bad.”
He shrugged, as if he’d dodged a bullet.
“Don’t some of your teammates have wives or girlfriends?”
“Sure, most of them do. Hud had a wife, at one point.”
“What happened to her?”
“He came home from his second tour in Iraq and found out she was three months pregnant. He’d been gone six.”
“Ouch.”
“Yeah. The job is hard on relationships, and on families. It takes a certain kind of person to sign up for that.”
“What kind of person?”
He studied the palm frond ceiling. “Someone independent and self-sufficient, who can handle long separations with little or no contact. It’s not easy to wait for a call from overseas, and stay in the dark about every detail.”
“You haven’t met anyone who would wait?”
His gaze connected with hers. “I haven’t met anyone I wanted to ask to wait.”
She tried to imagine what would have happened between them if she hadn’t been kidnapped. Would they have shared anything beyond a hot vacation fling? She doubted it. They had great chemistry, but she wasn’t the type of woman he’d described. She couldn’t stand the thought of waiting up at night, worrying about him. Because she already knew what kind of man he was. Logan Starke was a risk taker who considered himself indestructible and killed without blinking an eye. He’d die for his country, its citizens and his comrades. Waiting for his call would be like watching him swim with sharks every day.
“It’s a big ask,” she said.
“Yes.”
The conversation reminded her that they were fundamentally incompatible—in the real world, at least. Here, none of that seemed to matter. She couldn’t deny that she felt safer in his arms than she ever had with Andrew.
For the duration of the storm, she wavered between being grateful for Logan’s company and desperate to escape the close confines of the shelter. She felt like a prisoner of war. At least she wasn’t dying of sexual tension.
On the fifth day, she woke up alone. The sun was shining. Birds were chirping. It was a beautiful morning.
She climbed out of the shelter to greet the day. Logan was already up. He tossed some wood on the fire and went to gather more. She stretched her arms overhead, smiling. Shelter Bay made a pretty picture after the rain. Soft pink clouds edged the horizon. The sand was strewn with palm fronds, fresh coconuts and who knew what else. She couldn’t wait to go exploring.
Chuckling at her eagerness, she took stock of the storage bin. They were out of chestnuts, taro and breadfruit, but they still had bananas. Her stomach rumbled with hunger as she put some water to boil for tea.
Logan returned with two eggs, to her delight. They shared a hot breakfast, basking in the sunlight.
“How are you feeling?” he asked.
“Good.”
“No more cramps?”
She shook her head, wondering if he’d go back to sleeping outdoors. Her period had been an effective buffer between them, but now that was over, and she felt more connected to him than ever. She anticipated some serious moments of weakness in the future. Keeping her distance would be difficult.
The storm had destroyed one of Logan’s fish traps and damaged the roof of the shelter, so they had work to do. On the plus side, plenty of loose building material had blown down from the palm trees, and some new treasures had washed ashore. There was a multicolored parasail floating in the surf. She helped Logan untangle it from the reef.
“This could be our ticket home,” he said.
“Really?”
“If I can repair the raft, and add a modified sail...it could travel a far greater distance. Well beyond the limits of the gas tank.”
Her chest tightened with unease. “On the open ocean, you mean?”
“Yes.”
She dropped the sail in the water. “You’re still thinking about leaving the island?”
“Of course. Why do you think I was so desperate to save the engine?”
“You said the raft would help us get rescued.”
“I’m still counting on it to do that, and to help us with daily life. Leaving is a last resort. But it’s something to consider if we run out of other options. With a sail, we can control our direction of travel, and not just float on the current.”
“I won’t go with you.”
Scowling, he dragged the sail to shore on his own. “It’s just an idea. A backup plan.”
“It’s a crazy idea.”
He rested his hands on his hips in an impatient gesture she’d grown familiar with. “Look, I’ll do whatever it takes to survive. I’ll risk the open ocean if I have to. What’s crazy is spending the rest of our lives here.”
“You’d have to go alone.”
He strode forward and grasped her upper arms, startling her. His eyes were dark and his tone vehement. “If I go, you’re coming with me. I’ll drag you along, kicking and screaming. I won’t leave you behind to die. I can’t do that again.”
She stared up at him in surprise. “What do you mean, again?”
He let her go. “Never mind.”
“Did you leave Hud?”
He sucked in a sharp breath, telling her she’d hit a sore spot. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I know what you yell in your sleep.”
A muscle in his jaw flexed. “What’s that?”
“His name, mostly.”
“You cry out random stuff in your sleep, too. It’s a lot of moaning and begging and ‘Logan, please.’”
Her cheeks warmed at his mocking tone. Had she really done that? “You’re changing the subject because it’s painful.”
“I didn’t leave him,” he said curtly. “Not the way you’re sugg
esting. I got injured en route, so he went ahead without me.”
“Then what?”
“Then the building he was in blew up.” He spread the parasail out on the sand and knelt to inspect the fabric for tears. “Another unit searched the rubble in the aftermath, but there was nothing to recover, due to the force of the blast. There were no bodies in the impact zone, just dust. So yes, we left him.”
She sank to her knees beside him. “I’m sorry.”
He seemed lost in the memory. His eyes were far away, his brow furrowed. When she slipped her arms around him, he allowed it. She stroked his broad shoulders, trying to give him a small amount of comfort, the same way he’d comforted her in the shelter the other day. She didn’t know if her touch soothed him, but it felt right. His muscles bunched beneath her fingertips, and his heartbeat thudded in his chest.
She was afraid he’d misinterpret her gesture if she lingered too long, so she patted his back and let him go. His face revealed nothing of the emotions within. She focused on rearranging the multicolored nylon. It made a pretty kaleidoscope on the sand.
They left the sail to dry and continued to the tide pools. Logan caught a small octopus, battered by strong waves. He ended its misery with the tip of his spear and brought her the prize. She’d make tentacle soup for dinner.
He spent the rest of the day working on repairs while she collected driftwood and other necessities. Instead of building a separate shelter, he improved the existing structure. He extended the roof and added a sitting area next to the sleeping pallet. When he was finished, they had more space to move around inside. Room to breathe.
She returned from her final beach expedition with a collection of shells to cook with and two exciting new finds. The first was a vintage glass bottle that she’d dug out of the sand. She planned to store coconut oil inside. The second object she couldn’t identify. It was a tool of some kind, pale and marble-smooth, with a grooved handle. It reminded her of the stone mortar and pestle she used to grind herbs.