Island Nights

by P. J. Mellor

  “Yeah, he mentioned it earlier. I appreciate it, you know. I just don’t think it’s going to be enough, if what we made last time is anything to go by, even without a storm.” He uncapped his beer and tilted the bottle to his lips.

  “We tried to get the Mills brothers to charter your boat for their fishing, but they said they’d rented a boat already.” Rick handed his empty bottle to his wife and stroked her hip beneath the edge of her apron.

  “Thanks. I know you tried.”

  They watched the surf for a few minutes.

  “For what it’s worth,” Rick began, breaking the silence, “I figured you’d take our newest guest out to the island. Who better to show her around, right?”

  “Damn straight,” Ben said, still watching the water. “Plus, I could use the money. Thanks, Rick.”

  “Ben, not to tell you what to do, but do you think it’s a good idea to take to the open water with a storm brewing?”

  Ben’s bark of laughter startled some nearby seagulls. “Damn it, Rick, you’re getting old. You know that storm will probably miss us altogether, just like always. And besides, I plan to be back before it gets here. Assuming it gets here, which I sincerely doubt.”

  7

  After a long night, Reese made her way downstairs to the restaurant for breakfast. Maybe she’d feel more chirpy after she had some food and coffee.

  “Oh! Excuse me, I didn’t see you.” Bumped up against the entrance of the restaurant, she watched the exiting tackle box–carrying men, all dressed in bright yellow rain slickers with some kind of logo on the back, then glanced out at the sunny morning sky. “Weird.”

  “Morning, Reese,” Rita called from a nearby table, where she was pouring coffee for a couple. She hurried over. “Just take a seat wherever you want. The menu is printed on the place mat. Breakfast is included with your room rate. And coffee.” She raised the carafe. “Juice is extra.”

  “Coffee is fine. Decaf, if you have it.” After the night she’d had, she decided to cut back on her caffeine consumption. “With lots of cream.”

  Through the window, she watched the slicker-clad men make their way down the beach.

  “I see you met the personality brothers,” Rita quipped when she returned with the coffee. “They’re so strange.” Shaking her head, her braid swinging across her shoulders, she pulled a face. “Don’t say more than hello every morning, then head out, and I don’t see them again until they come back, after dark, to hole up in their rooms. They’re here, bright and early, the next morning—then it starts all over again.”

  “Maybe they just really like to fish.” Personally, she didn’t see the attraction, but a lot of people loved fishing.

  “Maybe, but that’s another thing that doesn’t add up. At this time of year, fish practically commit suicide by jumping into the boat. Yet those men never have any fish. At least, none that we’ve seen.”

  While she waited for her breakfast, Reese contemplated the strange activities of the men. There was a possibility they were also here to bid on the island. But why the fishing disguise? Unless, of course, they were combining business with pleasure.

  The logo on their slickers reminded her of something, but it danced out of her memory before she could make any connections.

  “Why the frown so early in the morning?” Ben slid into the opposite side of the little booth and grinned at her. “How could you not sleep great, so close to the ocean?”

  “I didn’t say I hadn’t slept well. Where do you come up with this stuff?” She glared at him, trying not to notice how cute he was with the morning sun glinting off his damp, freshly combed hair. It even looked as though he may have shaved. “And for that matter, I don’t remember asking you to join me.”

  “Well, not in the biblical sense, no.” His grin was unrepentant as he nodded his thanks for the cup of coffee Rita placed in front of him. He winked and reached for the pitcher of cream. “But I can wait.”

  She snatched the creamer from his hand. “Take your paws off my cream.”

  “There’s enough for us to share.” But he held up the pitcher to signal Rita to bring more, just in case, she noticed.

  “Fine. And, for the record, you can wait until hell freezes over.”

  Thoughtfully stirring his coffee, he regarded her with a vague smile. “What are you trying to say?”

  Was he that dense? “It means,” she said, her voice escalating until she was shouting, “I’m not going to have sex with you!”

  A collective gasp filled the little restaurant, then utter silence.

  Heat crept up her neck as mortification washed over her.

  Unabashed, Ben looked around at their fellow patrons and shrugged, holding his hands out, palms up. “I don’t know where she gets this kind of stuff.” To her horror, he did an eye roll and made a face. “She’s just sexually obsessed with me.”

  “Sexually obsessed! I’ll show him sexually obsessed.” Reese threw a bottle of sunscreen in her tote bag, then dumped the rest of her granola bars. “Wait. What am I saying? That’s exactly what he’d want me to do.” She growled and stomped to her carry-on bag. A clean pair of panties and a change of clothes might be a good idea. No telling how dirty the old hotel would be. Plus, she might very well get wet. The old dock had no doubt seen better days.

  A glance around the room confirmed she had everything she needed for her day’s excursion. Her watch confirmed it was time to go down to meet her driver.

  The sight of Ben draped over the desk, talking to Rick, caused Reese’s steps to falter. Why was he still here? Unless … please, no.

  “There she is now,” Rick said with a smile. “I was just telling Ben, here, how you needed to get going if you hope to make it back ahead of the storm.”

  “Storm?”

  “Don’t worry about it.” Ben draped his arm over her shoulder. “Damn thing will probably miss us. The weather service always makes a big deal, and then nothing happens.”

  A dip of her shoulder allowed her to escape his grasp. “What, exactly, is the weather service saying? If it’s dangerous, I can always tell the charter to reschedule me.”

  “I told you, it’s not dangerous.” He attempted to steer her toward the door.

  Planting her sneaker-clad feet on the hardwood floor, she locked her knees. “Please tell me he’s not driving me to the marina.”

  Rick chuckled. “No need to drive. The marina’s just out yonder. You can walk to it.”

  “Oh. Good.” She shot Ben what she hoped was a dismissive look. “Do you know if the charter boat is ready?” “Yes, I reckon it is, don’t you, Ben?”

  “Why are you asking Ben?” Please don’t tell me he’s coming too. “I’m perfectly capable of taking a charter to the island alone. I’ll be fine.” She backed toward the door. The men exchanged looks. Looks she didn’t trust.

  Come to think of it, she didn’t trust Ben’s grin either. “Well,” he began in a lazy tone as he sauntered toward her. “You may be fine, but I doubt you know diddly about navigating a cabin cruiser. I can see by your face, I’m right.” Raking back his hair, he plopped a baseball cap on top of his head and gave Rick a brisk salute before turning back to Reese. “A cabin cruiser? But—I mean—does that mean … ?”

  “Yep! I’m your captain!”

  Just shoot me now.

  8

  “Ben,” Rick called from the porch as Reese’s captain pushed her along across the sand. “I still think it’s a piss-poor idea! That tropical storm’s heading straight for us!”

  “Bullshit,” Ben growled under his breath. Louder, he yelled back, “No worries! Plenty of time! We’ll probably be back before it even rains.”

  Reese attempted to hang back, but Ben was not taking the hint. “Wait! If there really is a tropical storm coming, maybe we should hold off on going to the island. I’m going to be here all week. I can wait.”

  “Yeah, well, I can’t. Maybe I have more important things to do than haul your skinny ass around.”

  Je
rking her arm out of his bruising grip, she whirled on him, fists planted on her hips. “Well, I wouldn’t want to disturb your social calendar.” She took a step back toward the hotel. “If you have so many important things to do, go on! I’m sure I can find another charter to take me out to the island after the storm.”

  “Wait.” He grabbed her arm again and spun her around to face him. “I thought Rick would have told you. I’m it.”

  “It?” Talk about ego. Sure he was cute, but he wasn’t really all that.

  “Yeah. Most of the charters close down toward fall. I’m the only one left in operation. So, yeah, I’m it.” Narrowing his eyes, he bent until they were nose to nose. “Take it or leave it, girlie.”

  “Don’t call me girlie.“ It was difficult to stand tall, with him looming over her, but she did her best.

  “How about pain in the ass? Hmm?” Without waiting for an answer, he began propelling her toward a clubhouse-looking sort of place.

  Good. Surely, there were other boats available, despite her escort’s dubious assurance. She would ask someone at the club.

  Only, she didn’t get the chance, because Ben took a sharp left and continued propelling her down the boardwalk. Another left took her along a floating dock, past several boats with old tires secured around them as they bumped gently against the dock.

  A lone boat bobbed in the water toward the end of the dock. A boat that could only belong to one person, given its disreputable state. It looked like … it needed a bath.

  It probably smelled.

  “Here we are! Watch your step.”

  “What’s that stench?” She wrinkled her nose and tried not to gag.

  “Oh! Sorry.” He grabbed a cooler and dumped its contents overboard. “Old bait. Forgot to dump it.” He took a bracing breath and flashed a smile. “Let’s get going.”

  She glanced around the deck, which, to her surprise, was fairly clean and didn’t appear to be in disrepair.

  Thump.

  Something hit her in the back, knocking her to her knees.

  “Shit-fire-spit! I said I was throwing you the life jacket.”

  “You did not!” Knees throbbing, she pulled up to her feet and began unbuckling the straps. Lord knew, she’d probably need the dumb thing.

  “I did so! I said heads-up!”

  “Heads-up? Really.” She jerked the jacket on and began trying to secure the straps. “What is that, sea talk for here is your life preserver? Hmm. Who knew?”

  “Any fool would know—”

  “Speak for yourself.” A glance skyward didn’t bode well. “Are you sure it’s okay? Aren’t those storm clouds?” The wind had kicked up too, she noticed as she held on to the rail.

  Ben waved a negligent hand. “Nah, that’s nothing. It’s just a little overcast.” He looked up and frowned. “But we should probably get going if we want to make it back ahead of the rain.”

  “Rain?” She had to yell above the roar of the engine. Ben refused to make eye contact, she noticed. “I thought Rick said there was a tropical storm headed our way!”

  Shaking his head, he banked the boat in a hard left and headed out into open water. “No,” he yelled back, “at the most, it’s just rain.”

  The sky grew darker by the moment. Waves, made worse by the now fiercely blowing wind, tossed the boat in the air, then slapped it down.

  Reese took a deep, hopefully calming, breath in an effort to fend off the impending nausea. It helped marginally, so she tried again. She was immediately rewarded by a face full of salt water as a wave jumped the edge of the rail.

  Sputtering, she held on to the rail and proceeded to lose her breakfast.

  “Some kind of fun, huh, Blondie? Hey, are you okay?” Ben yelled to be heard over the roar of the wind and waves. “Will you cut it out! You’re disturbing the ecosystem!”

  With one hand maintaining her death grip on the rail, she glared at him for the few seconds between her waves of nausea.

  Finally—after what seemed like hours of tossing her cookies, then dry heaving—she slid to sit on the deck, still gripping the rail.

  “Are we almost there?” she yelled.

  “Shit!” Ben hunched his shoulders as though bracing for a blow. “Look out!”

  Reese turned just in time to see a gray haze bearing down on the boat.

  It wasn’t a haze. It was a wall of water.

  One second, it was in front of them; the next second, it engulfed the deck, drenching them.

  Her fingers continued slipping, no matter how she tried to hold on. The force of the wind, combined with the torrential rain buffeting them, lifted her from the deck. Rain swirled around her soaked torso, slapping her ears, stinging her face, going up her nose.

  The rail slipped from her clutching fingers.

  Amid the cacophony of the storm, Ben’s voice bellowed, but she couldn’t make out the words.

  Water—cold at first, then warmer—enveloped her, pulling her down.

  Shouting every profanity he’d ever heard, Ben went full throttle, then banked starboard, the plume of water folding and falling back on him.

  Where the hell was she?

  As he anxiously scanned the angry water of the Gulf of Mexico, a little head broke the surface, then bobbed in the choppy waves.

  Weak with relief, he backed off on the throttle, making tighter and tighter circles until he stopped.

  Skidding sideways, he leaned out, practically prodding her with the pole. “Grab hold and I’ll pull you back in!”

  Just as he thought he was going to have to knock her out and drag her back, she reached for the pole.

  When she was close enough, he leaned down and grabbed her forearm. Feet braced, he pulled. And pulled. Damn, who knew such a skinny broad would weigh so much?

  9

  She really, really didn’t want to climb back up into that stupid boat. Death trap. Unfortunately, Ben seemed determined to drag her back aboard. Or rip her arm from the socket. It seemed to be a toss-up.

  “Will you stop yanking on my arm?” Teeth clenched to keep them from chattering, she squinted through the torrential rain at him.

  “Oh, pardon the hell out of me! I didn’t realize you’d planned to levitate aboard.” He hoisted her up and immediately let go of her arm, forcing her to scramble to grab hold of the rail to prevent being washed overboard again.

  Something warm and heavy dropped over her shoulders. An involuntary yelp escaped before she realized it was a reasonably dry blanket. Her head jerked around in wonder at his sudden act of kindness.

  He shrugged and actually looked somewhat embarrassed. “No point in both of us being soaked and miserable,” he yelled over the roar of the wind and rain. He pointed to a door on the deck. “If you’re through fooling around, I’d like to get on with our trip before the really bad stuff hits. Go down below and try to dry off a little. There are clean towels and blankets.” He nudged her toward the door.

  Really bad stuff? Could it get much worse?

  Chilled to the bone, she didn’t argue about the fooling-around part.

  The first step, though, was a doozy.

  Regardless of what the athletic store in Houston claimed, her deck shoes were obviously not nonskid. When the wet rubber hit the smooth surface of the steps, her feet flew out from under her, causing her to bump painfully down the next few stairs, landing with a bone-jarring plop in the rapidly growing puddle on the floor.

  Stunned, she sat while the rain continued to pelt the top of her head.

  “Geez, woman, were you raised by a pack of demented wolves? Shut the damned door!” Ben’s bellow was immediately followed by the slamming of the door in question.

  Aching, Reese pulled up on the banquette, holding on until she could stand without fear of falling.

  Compared to the deck, it was really quite cozy.

  Dim lights glowed overhead, bathing the little cabin in warmth. Honey-colored wood paneled the walls and ceiling. To her right was the banquette, easily able to seat at le
ast six adults.

  To her left was a little galley kitchen, complete with a cute little fridge.

  Since her stomach chose that moment to announce its emptiness, she grasped the handle and pulled. The suction was strong, but after a couple of tugs, the door popped open, the interior light inviting her to take a look.

  Beer. Wine. Orange juice—half empty and expired. A small carton of milk.

  Even though the milk was not organic or skim or even low fat, she licked her lips in anticipation. A tentative shake told her the carton contained at least a glass of milk.

  Suddenly dying of thirst, she searched the cupboard for a glass, finally settling on a coffee mug.

  The smell hit her a millisecond before a glob of spoiled milk hit the bottom of the mug.

  “Shit!” A guilty glance told her no one had heard her cuss. Defeated, she dumped the spoiled milk down the drain and then sank to sit on the edge of the table.

  The door above her smashed open, bringing in the roar of the storm and pelting droplets of rain.

  “Hey, Blondie!” Ben-the-Politically-Incorrect yelled from above deck. “What the hell are you doing down there? Hey! You’re getting my cabin all wet! Use a damn towel!”

  The slam was immediately followed by a whapping sound as the boat hit a particularly large wave, and the door popped open and closed again.

  The unexpected motion threw Reese up in the air, then deposited her on the floor. Pain raced up her arm from where her elbow had hit the edge of the table on her way downward.

  “Yeah, Ben, I’m having some kind of fun now,” she grumbled as she crawled toward the back of the cabin. Maybe if she kept low to the surprisingly clean and shining floor, her motion sickness wouldn’t rear its ugly head again.

  The boat chose that moment to lurch again, pitching her forward to whack her head on the frame of what she now saw was the bathroom door.

  Blinking away the stars, she felt her way into the tiny bathroom, bumping her knee on the edge of the toilet.

  A look in the hazy mirror above a child-size sink made her gasp. She honestly could not remember ever looking as bad as she looked at that moment.