by Ginna Gray
A wry smile tugged at her mouth. Actually, her feelings for Travis went back much further than her teenage years. Rebecca had adored him even as a child.
She had been five to his seven when they had met, the first day that Erin and Elise had brought her home with them from preschool to play. For the next eight or nine years, she had endured his little boy nastiness and malicious pranks and taunts. With that ancient, instinctive wisdom that all females, even those of her tender age, possessed, she had known that his boorishness wouldn't last forever.
When Travis had finally emerged from his obnoxious pubescence, however, it hadn't been Rebecca who had captured his interest. It had been Emma Lou Perkins. And after her had come Mary Beth Johnson. Then Caroline Abbot and Ida Jo Delacourt.
Almost every passably pretty girl in school had caught his eye at one time or another, Rebecca recalled, her mouth twisting wryly. They'd flocked to him, like flies to honey, drawn by his blatant masculinity, the newly emerged deep drawling voice, that hip-rolling sexy saunter, and the wicked promise in his eyes. He had responded to all of the love-struck teenage girls with an easy, off-hand charm that had set their hearts to fluttering. To all of them, that was, except her.
At the memory, Rebecca shook her head and chuckled weakly. Travis had been so popular and so good-looking she had known that she hadn't a chance with him. She had been too painfully shy to flirt with him or to reveal her attraction to him in even the most subtle way. Besides, Travis had made his feelings toward her more than clear. Her only defense had been to pretend indifference.
Rebecca was profoundly grateful that she had. How much more humiliating and painful that scene this morning would have been if he had known that she had once been head-over-heels in love with him.'
She had gotten over him, of course. Travis had gone off to college, and two years later so had she. Then he'd joined the FBI and left Crockett for good... and she had met Evan.
Despite the warmth of the sun a shiver rippled through her. Rubbing her arms briskly, Rebecca forced her thoughts back to Travis and those painful teenage years when she'd suffered in silence. She would be forever grateful that she had not confided her feelings to a living soul—not even to Erin and Elise.
The very idea produced a chuckle. Elise might have been a safe confidante, but never in a million years would Erin have been able to keep her mouth shut. She would probably have lit into Travis and demanded to know if he was deaf and blind as well as stupid.
At least, she had been spared that humiliation. To this day, thank God, neither of the twins even suspected that for most of her life she'd secretly nursed an unrequited love for their cousin.
* * *
In Santa Fe, New Mexico, in the high mountain aerie that Max and Erin Delany called home, Elise Lawford perched herself on a bar stool in the kitchen and eyed her twin's smug expression with suspicion. "Don't just stand there smirking like a Cheshire cat. Out with it. Was Travis terribly angry when he called?"
"He was livid," Erin replied with a gleeful grin. She hitched herself up on the next stool and sipped her coffee, her eyes twinkling over the rim of the mug. "For such an easygoing devil, he can sure blow a gasket when he does get his temper up. For a minute I thought he was going to reach right through the phone line and strangle me."
"Oh, dear." Ease did not return her twin's contagious grin. She worried at her lower lip with her teeth, the look in her eyes apprehensive. "Maybe we've made a mistake, Erin, sending Rebecca down there. I mean. ..we've always known how Travis felt about her."
"Nonsense. This will be good for him. For both of them. Haven't we always said that if Travis would just take the time to really get to know Rebecca, he would like her?"
"Yes, but-"
"Well here's his chance. Anyway, what other choice was there? Between relatives and tourists, the family's cabin in Vail is booked for the summer. Besides, Evan knows about it."
"Oh, dear. Do you think he's looking for her?"
Erin sobered. Her mouth tightened, and her brown eyes snapped with anger. "After what Rebecca told us? You bet. To tell you the truth, I'm darned glad that Travis is there with her. He may grumble and grouse and he may be a bit of a devil with the ladies, but he's a white knight at heart."
Her irrepressible grin flashed again. "And who knows, something may develop between those two during the next few months. I've always thought they were perfect for one another."
Elise rolled her eyes. She looked at her sister and shook her head, her gentle smile tinged with exasperation and amusement. "You can't be serious. Rebecca and Travis? Why she pays him no more mind than if he were a pesky gnat. And as for him, he reacts like a cat whose fur has been stroked the^ wrong way whenever he's around her."
Erin smiled smugly, a wicked light dancing in her eyes. "I know. Interesting, isn't it?"
* * *
Travis was gone when Rebecca returned from the village.
After lunch she changed into a swimsuit and headed for the beach.
The waters of the Gulf of Mexico were warm and docile. The sun-spangled blue expanse undulated with only the gentlest swells that crested and broke in a thin line of frothy white lace. The water was so clear Rebecca could see the bottom even when she swam out many yards from shore. The salty liquid flowed against her skin, caressing her body like warm silk.
Rebecca gloried in the sensual pleasure of it and in the wonderful sense of freedom. Of peace. For hours she swam and dove and frolicked like a child. When she grew tired, she floated on her back until she caught her breath, then started in again.
Finally, exhausted, she waded ashore, spread a towel under a palm tree and flopped facedown onto it in the shade. Within seconds she was asleep.
Hours later, the faint chill of the air woke her. She raised up on her elbows and saw that the sun was rapidly slipping behind the inland mountains. Vibrant pink and mauve clouds streaked the sky, and the surf bad turned a molten red.
Rebecca fumbled in her beach bag for her watch. Peering at it, she saw that it was after seven o'clock; she had slept the afternoon away.
The interior of the house was dim and shadowy when she entered, lit only by the warm glow of the sunset seeping in through the skylights that dotted the living room ceiling. The empty, slightly forlorn atmosphere told Rebecca that Travis still had not returned.
After she had showered and eaten and cleaned the kitchen, Rebecca curled up on the sofa and thumbed through a magazine, but her gaze continued to stray every few minutes to the empty pier. Finally, after reading the same article three times without absorbing a word of it, she tossed the magazine aside and stared out at the moonlit water.
Rebecca drew up her legs, looped her arms around them and propped her chin on her knees. She wondered if Travis had decided to give up his claim to the beach house and leave. If so, she ought to feel relieved. She should, in fact, be delighted. She wasn't though.
Sighing, Rebecca realized that, for all of Travis's grumpiness and animosity, she didn't want him to leave.
She was perfectly safe, she assured herself. Sleepy, remote and sparsely populated, Rincon was the smallest in a chain of small islands off Mexico's eastern shore. Few people even knew of its existence. There was only the fishing village and four other vacation homes scattered around the island, and the closest one to her was over seven miles away on the other side. She had privacy, and, outside of Erin and Elise and a few simple fishermen, no one knew she was there. Still, it was comforting to know that Travis was with her.
Around ten o'clock the drone of an inboard engine sounded across the water. Rebecca looked up to see a boat's running lights bobbing toward the pier, the beams stabbing through the darkness and reflecting on the calm surface like a silvery spill.
Her heart gave a little jerk. Common sense told her it was Travis, but all the same a frisson ran over her skin.
She went to the French doors. Standing to one side, she peeked around the edge of the jamb. The boat reduced speed as it approached the pier, the
roar of the engine dropping to a throaty rumble. Suddenly the door to the boathouse began to rise, and a growing rectangle of yellow light shot out onto the shiny surface of the water. The boat entered the spill of light at a slow idle. Rebecca released the breath she'd been holding, the tautness draining out of her at the sight of Travis's blond hair blowing in the breeze,
She watched him guide the sleek craft into the boat-house. The rumble of the engine ceased, and the big overhead door rolled back down into place, leaving the dock area once more lit by only the dim light over the small side door. A few moments later it opened, and Travis stepped out onto the pier, carrying an ice chest, and headed toward the house. With a start, Rebecca jumped back from the window and scampered for her room.
She heard him come in, heard him thump and bang around in the kitchen and smiled at the image of Travis, who had been petted and pampered and catered to by women all of his life, ineptly preparing a meal for himself.
It was early yet, but Rebecca put on a nightgown and propped herself up in the bed with a lurid mystery novel someone had left on the bedside table. Feeling strangely content and secure, she settled back for a good read.
* * *
The next morning, as usual, Rebecca awoke before the sun. In the kitchen she found a note taped to the refrigerator.
Fresh fish in the freezer. Caught more than I can eat. Help yourself.
Terse and to the point, without a single pleasantry. How typical—at least, where she was concerned. With every other female between the age of nine months and ninety years, Travis was a charming flirt. Rebecca made a wry face and tossed the crumpled note into the trash.
So, Travis had spent the day fishing, had he. Funny. She would never have thought of that. Lulling on a secluded beach with a willing woman or sauntering through the posh watering holes on Alhaja Verde, yes, but never something so tame as fishing.
An hour later Rebecca was strolling along the beach a short way from the house, when Travis emerged. Barefoot, dressed in cutoffs and an unbuttoned shirt that flapped behind him like a flag in the breeze, he loped down the steps, carrying a cooler balanced on one shoulder and a boom box in his other hand.
If he saw her he gave no indication, but simply headed down the pier for the boathouse. Five minutes later, the sleek boat eased out of its berth and roared away toward the open waters of the Gulf.
As time slipped by, their days followed the same pattern. Travis disappeared in the boat every morning and returned late. Rebecca spent her time either roaming the island or swimming, or simply walking on the beach, never coming within speaking distance of Travis, but drawing comfort from his presence.
They had been sharing the house for almost a week when Travis returned about a half hour before sunset one evening. Rebecca was on the beach as usual, at some distance from the house. She sat motionless on the sand with her arms around her updrawn knees, gazing at the undulating waters. Remotely, she noted Travis's arrival but she remained as she was, content to let the peace of the island work its spell.
For so long she had lived on raw nerves, always apprehensive, tense. Now, in the calm and lulling solitude, the knot that had been in the pit of her stomach for so many years was beginning to ease.
Pensive and still, Rebecca watched the water change from blue to gold, and let the pervasive peace of the island seep into her soul.
Since arriving on Rincon Island she'd had time to do a lot of thinking and soul-searching. It was an excruciating process, something she had shied away from in the past, but the counselors and the support group at the crisis center had made her see that it was essential. She had to come to terms with all that had happened and shed the paralyzing mantle of self-blame before she could truly get on with her life.
So, in the quiet and solitude of the island, she examined it all—the early loneliness and disappointments of her childhood, the hopes and dreams and constant striving that had been doomed from the start, then later, the pain and terror. And worst of all... the humiliation, the feeling of utter worthlessness.
They were feelings that she still had to battle; the conditioning of a lifetime could not be undone overnight, she was discovering. But she was getting better every day, stronger. She was there, wasn't she? Somehow she had found the courage to take charge of her life.
In rehashing the past, Rebecca was consumed with sadness, but she felt anger, too—anger directed at herself, at Evan, at her father.
Her father. Picking up a handful of sand, Rebecca let it trickle through her fingers and pondered the awesome power a parent had over a child, its long-reaching effects. She had spent her childhood and most of her adult life yearning for her father's approval and love. Rebecca's mouth quirked. What a waste. She realized now that Richard Quinn would go to his grave bitterly resenting her for being female instead of the son and heir he had wanted. The only time she had truly pleased him was when she had married Evan.
Her father enjoyed having a wealthy and powerful man like Evan for a son-in-law. He was exactly the kind of son that Richard had always wanted. One thing was certain; her father would not be pleased when he returned from Europe and learned what she'd done.
The thought brought a rush of the old panicky feeling, but Rebecca managed to quell it. A reckoning would come. It was inevitable. But not now. Not yet. Not until she was stronger. Please, God.
Resting her cheek on her knees, Rebecca hugged her legs tighter and pushed the troubling' thought away. She wouldn't think of that now.
With her eyes half-closed, she gazed at the brilliant display of fiery sky and sun-drenched waters. She sat so still she might have been made of stone, her only movement the steady rise and fall of her chest and shoulders. With each breath she absorbed the utter peace and tranquility, drew it deep into her as though it were a sweet scent hanging hi the air, and let the whisper of waves breaking on the sand and the endless, mesmerizing movement work its healing magic on her troubled spirit.
* * *
What the devil was she doing down there?
Perched on the railing with one foot on the top plank, the other braced on the deck, Travis scowled at the huddled figure far down the beach. He took a swig of beer, then draped his arm over his updrawn knee, holding the long-necked brown bottle loosely in the circle of his thumb and forefinger, and regarded her steadily.
Every evening for the past week she'd been out there when he'd come home, either strolling along the water's edge or sitting on the sand watching the sunset. The sight of her, so remote and solitary, bothered him, and he found himself wondering about her. What did she do with herself all day while he was gone? What had her life been like these past years? What kind of marriage did she have? And what the devil was she thinking about so hard?
She hadn't moved since he arrived, and that had been twenty minutes ago. What problems could Rebecca possibly have that required that kind of deep thought?
A cynical smile tugged at Travis's mouth. Something trivial, no doubt. She'd always led a privileged life. She'd lived in the biggest house in town, worn the best clothes, had a fancy car at age sixteen, all the comforts and perks that money could buy.
Travis took another pull on the beer and scowled. He'd been so angry when she'd first arrived that he hadn't given a thought to why she had come to the island, especially alone, but now he wondered.
Erin had mentioned a bad experience. Had Rebecca had a spat with her husband? It was difficult to imagine her becoming aroused enough to quarrel with anyone, but he supposed it was possible. Maybe she'd come to Rincon without her husband's knowledge to worry him and teach him a lesson. That sounded like something Miss Butter-wouldn't-melt-in-her-mouth would do, he thought sourly.
The next instant, another, more worrisome thought struck Travis, and his eyes widened. His spine stiffened and he sat up straight, his indolent slouch abandoned. What would Evan Hall think if he knew his wife was sharing a house with another man?
If Rebecca were his woman, Travis knew he'd damned well be furious.
> A sudden vision of an irate husband swooping down on him with murderous intentions brought him bounding off the rail with a burst of profanity.
In a blink he was across the deck and loping down the steps. Propelled by righteous ire, Travis stormed down the beach, his bare heels digging into the sand with each long stride. Dammit! He should have followed his instincts and sent her packing that first night.
He glared toward where Rebecca sat. In the gloaming all he could see was a shadowy form huddled on the sand, sitting utterly motionless. She seemed unaware of his approach until he drew to an abrupt halt directly in front of her.
She started and looked up, her eyes wide and blinking. "Travis," she whispered with obvious surprise.
She looked small and lonely and defenseless. Travis felt a pang of concern, but steeled himself against it.
"I want to know two things," he barked. "First, does your husband know that you're here? And if so, how is he going to react when he finds out you're staying in the same house with me?"
He stood over her like an avenging angel with his feet braced wide and his balled fists planted on his hips, but Rebecca met his glower with a steady look.
"Is that why you're so agitated? There's really no need for you to worry," she replied calmly.
She rose gracefully to her feet and brushed the sand off her seat then shook out the skirt of her lavender sundress.
She looked at him and smiled—that polite, distant smile he remembered so well—and he gritted his teeth.