The truth didn’t sneak up on her; it hit her bluntly, and her first reaction was a startled amazement, and then a harsh self-judgment. What were you expecting?
Just yesterday she had mentioned idly that six weeks had passed. She had glibly talked on. The idea hadn’t even entered her head.
Why are you amazed? she asked herself next. You knew from the beginning, one can’t lead this type of intimate life without…
She pushed away from the tree and sought a handful of last night’s rainwater from a nearby puddle, carefully cupping her hands so as not to include mud in what she splashed over her face. Carefully cupping her hands a second time, she drank a long, cool sip, grateful that her mind had long ago adapted to unfiltered water.
The water stayed down. The puddle, as she knelt before it, gave her a slightly distorted mirror image.
“What do I do now?” she asked her wavering reflection. Do? She laughed in silent reply. Nothing. What was there to do? The Center for Advice to Single Parents was no more around the corner than the drugstore she had once mentioned to Kyle.
It is not, “What do I do?” she thought, but “How do I feel?” And as she sat looking at her reflection, she realized that she didn’t mind. She wasn’t frightened that she would most likely bear her child on an island, without medical attention. She wasn’t frightened that she might return to civilization and face the wife of her child’s father.
She closed her eyes. It was a good feeling. Because whatever was, whatever came, she loved Kyle. And even dizzy, confused, and still a little queasy, she could accept a feeling as elemental as their lives on the island, as primitive. It was warm and thrilling to know she carried a part of him inside of her to nurture and to cherish.
Do I tell him? she wondered blankly. Of course, he had a right to know, and she had to share such a feeling even if he did infuriate her at times.
But not yet, she corrected herself. She wasn’t sure. It could have been the potatoes, she could just be late Trauma caused such things, and surely a plane crash was traumatic.
Just living with Kyle, she thought wryly, was traumatic.
A soft breeze stirred, rippling the puddle. For a moment she saw a blurred image, a picture of a chic, sophisticated woman, smart in a handsome beige business suit, heels, purse, and low-brimmed hat to complement the cool outfit. What would that woman of six weeks ago have thought if she could have had a picture of the naked, disheveled primitive now glaring down at a puddle, her lips curved in a dry, rueful smile? A ridiculous savage, ridiculously pleased with herself against all odds…
“I’m not really that calm,” she whispered aloud. “I think I’m still in basic shock.” The worry, she knew, would come later, when her new knowledge had time to sink in. Already it was occurring to her that her diet was sadly lacking, that she didn’t know a thing, that—
“Skye?”
She turned to see that Kyle had finally followed her, and that the light in his eyes was very gentle. He came to her and hunched down beside her, elbows resting lightly on his knees. “Listen, Skye,” he said quietly, “you’re right, and I apologize. I don’t know why I argued with you. I was thinking the same thing about the danger of the raft since we began to build it. We were lucky to escape the plane wreck with our lives. At least if we stay put we know we can survive. But the raft was still a good idea. It kept us together. It kept our hands and brains busy. And I think—if you agree, partner,” he said with a smile, “that the wisest thing to do is to get the damn gold off the island, rather than us.”
He sighed, looking down at the ground, then continued. “I’ve realized that we could be a thousand miles from the nearest pinprick on a map. Like I said, I really don’t know what made me argue with you, I should have been grateful that you realized. I think… I think that you struck a blow to my ego. I’m not known to be a bundle of cheer first thing in the morning. And I guess it just sounded like you considered me completely incapable. Oh, damn! I’m sorry.”
Skye smiled softly. “It’s okay,” she said. In her present mood she would forgive him anything. And he was apologizing to her; he was, in essence, telling her—that itself was the important thing.
He shrugged, catching her eyes. “It’s not really okay—the things I told you were real fears that I have—a drought, sickness, but so far the island has sheltered us well. What we’re going to do is this: finish the raft, then I’m going to take it out alone. I want to dump the gold and the tracking device out good and far. Perhaps I’ll catch sight of something interesting after a day’s rowing. When I come back we’ll discuss what we do from there. How does that sound?”
She smiled at him slowly, realizing that she was seeing him in a new, benign light. Then a little lump caught in her throat. She wasn’t sure she could stand watching him leave for the sea alone in the raft. She was torn; she wanted to go with him, but she was also filled with a strong desire to survive, if not for herself…
“How… how do you know you’ll find your way back?” she managed to ask with only a little catch.
“Have some faith!” he chastised with a rueful grin. “I’m a pilot, remember? I do know a bit about navigation. I even spend a fair amount of time boating, and I promise I won’t take a single chance.” He was silent for a moment. “Okay?”
Skye nodded, a smile slowly curving her lips along with a feeling of light-headedness. He had cared about her feelings, granted the intelligence of her arguments. She caught the reflection of them both then in the puddle, and her smile became a soft chuckle. What an absurd pair they made—she kneeling naked in the dirt, he with his ragged beard and rat-trap cutoffs balanced beside her. Who would believe they had ever been executives?
She had a sudden vision of him losing that expert balance and careening into the puddle and the muck beneath it, and had to stop herself from allowing her chuckles to turn to crippling laughter. He was constantly telling her she needed to learn to play… to relax.
Coiling to spring herself, she gave him a full, radiant smile. “Okay,” she said softly. What the hell! She placed her hands with lightning speed upon his kneecaps and pushed with all her might, springing to her feet at the same time. She stayed just long enough to appreciate his stunned expression, a rueful grin setting in as he realized he had been had. The puddle had become mud with his landing and he was sprayed from head to toe.
Laughing, Skye took off through the trees, feeling wonderful as she ran. She was quick and agile and she knew it. In actuality, the island had been good for them. They had both grown strong.
Kyle would catch her; she knew that too. But when she thought of all the times she had been at the mercy of his superior size and strength, it was all worth it to have been at least once the victorious aggressor.
She heard his grumbled threats from the distance.
“Damn it, Skye, if you think you’re going to get away with this…”
She had to pause for a moment to catch the breath her laughter was costing her. Then still chuckling, she took flight again. She intended to be demurely setting up for breakfast before he shook himself free of the mud and returned to extract his revenge.
Interlude
July 19
From the bow of the Bonne Bree Michael Jagger searched the shoreline, powerful binoculars in hand.
His eyes began to hurt with the hope and the strain.
And yet he was sure this was the island.
Last week’s search had entailed the use of seaplanes, and he had been sure he had seen something. Here. This had to be it. He had checked his coordinates carefully when he had realized he couldn’t land the seaplane because of the huge outcroppings of coral. Ripping up his plane wouldn’t have helped his brother. It would have only served to strand them both. If Kyle was alive…
He was alive, Michael told himself convincingly. He had seen something. And he was sure that this was the island.
Bronze flesh crinkled around the green eyes that were a unique trait of the Jaggers. He had found it. The someth
ing. Blending into the sand and green of the island. Visible now only as he sought it. Some type of a thatch dwelling. A hut.
Michael had not known his tension; he had not known his fear. But now he began to shake, he went weak with relief. Tears sprang into his eyes as if he were a boy rather than a man long past maturity.
“Ray!” He called the name of the old school chum who was the owner of the Bonne Bree—an enthusiastic sailor who knew the Pacific as the Jaggers knew the skies. The sound was nothing but a croak. Michael tried again. “Ray!”
Ray Thorne sprang from the cabin hatch. “Yeah?”
Michael started to beckon to him, but he suddenly froze, the binoculars still to his eyes. A smile slowly slid across his features, bringing with it his return to strength.
He hadn’t seen his brother, but what he had seen made him blink furiously.
Was it illusion? A dream? Or had he stumbled upon paradise.
A wood nymph lived upon the island, a sprite. She flew across the sand like an Aphrodite through the clouds. She laughed and he swore he could hear the melodious, tinkling sound. She paused by an outcropping of palms and turned, spinning mercurially, her hair trailing the graceful swirl of her body in a fan of lightest gold to fall entrancingly over high, round breasts.
He would have been less than a man not to follow her figure, and then not to wonder once again if he hadn’t sailed out of the known world and into paradise. He was sure he had never seen a living creature of such perfection. Those enticing, firm breasts, heaving with the exertion of her breathing, standing proud above a long, slender midriff, a waist that could be spanned by hands… hips that flared with feminine bewitchment… concave abdomen… long, long, supple legs…
“Michael?” Ray queried. “What is it?”
Michael dropped the binoculars with guilt so quickly that the cord that held them snapped around his neck. He swallowed, shocked that he was flushing. “I think I’ve found them," he murmured quickly, knowing his bearded friend watched him as if he was crazy. “I’ll take the dinghy in.”
Ray nodded, accepting the binoculars as Michael took them from his neck. “Don't radio anything yet. I haven’t seen my brother.”
Ray gave his friend a thumbs-up sign as Michael boarded the dinghy. The small motor roared into action.
Salt sprayed his face, but Michael felt nothing. The wind as he sheered the surf tore at his knit shirt and jeans, bringing the dampness of the water. He still felt nothing; he was too busy keeping a sharp eye on the coral and then on the shore. His nymph had disappeared, but that was natural he supposed. He had had the binoculars pointed far to the west and he was approaching the sand spit by the hut from dead on center. A ways from shore he cut the motor to row through the last spots of treacherous coral.
Then, bare feet plunging thick into wet sand, he was on shore.
Michael took a deep breath. Then a brisk walk took him to the hut. He saw the sheet of fabric scraps. Giddy excitement bubbled within him; he felt the world spinning. Among the scraps was a piece of cloth that could have only belonged to a captain’s jacket— his brother’s jacket.
He moved out of the hut, to the fire that was only an ember in the daylight. But it burned, the coals were hot.
He sensed rather than heard a soft, fleet padding against the sand. It came from the west. He turned, rising from the fire and walking back toward the shore.
And then he saw her, his nymph. She didn’t see him because she was laughing—and this time he could hear the sound and it was a melody—and her head was turned as she watched for something behind her.
She saw him just an instant before she collided with him. His hands reached out to catch her, to steady her.
She wasn’t a dream. She was real. He knew when his hands touched that tanned flesh that was so like silk, when he looked into amber almond-shaped eyes that flew as wide as a startled doe’s. Then rose lips parted in a panicked scream that wouldn’t come.
CHAPTER NINE
Impact with the stranger drove everything from Skye’s mind except sheer panic. He had come for the gold; he had come to make certain there had been no survivors.
A scream struggled to rise from deep within, a scream that would be a cry of terror elicited from every nerve cell in her entire body. And then just as suddenly as the panic had overwhelmed her, it died. Her scream choked in her throat; it became a disbelieving gasp of confusion.
The eyes that stared down at her were just as wide as her own. They were different, and yet they were a unique color she had come to know. The face was different too, younger, perhaps it crinkled to laughter more often. It was clean shaven and still it, too, was familiar.
She had no idea that she had screamed, then choked, then gasped, until the sound of Kyle’s frantic voice calling her name slipped into her consciousness.
She heard the rustle as he broke through the trees, the thunderous padding of his feet against sand as he raced, a bronze blur, to reach her. Still she couldn’t look around, but stared at the stranger in a state of shock.
She vaguely felt him as he neared her and the stranger, felt the astonished end to his fervent race, felt him staring at the stranger.
And then she was abruptly released.
The stranger’s eyes misted; he uttered a joyful, “Thank God!— you’re alive!”
“Michael!”
Skye was ignored as the brothers embraced; she felt a lump catch in her throat even as she watched them, still dazed. Michael, of course. She watched the emotion between them, the depth of the family tie, the frank, unabashed joy of their meeting. Her heart constricted; it was something she so clearly understood. Not so long ago she, too, had had a brother who had been her best friend.
“How the hell did you find us?” Kyle finally inquired, holding his brother still by the shoulders, his grin splitting his face from ear to ear against the thick auburn of his beard.
“Persistence!” Michael Jagger laughed, looking back to Skye.
It wasn’t until then she actually realized she was standing naked on the beach. And then she was horrified. Civilization had returned. What had been natural only moments before was now indecent, mortifying.
Kyle noticed Skye at the same time; Michael, too, seemed to realize what she was feeling. He glanced back to his brother awkwardly, hastily complying when Kyle said quickly, “Mike, give Skye your shirt.”
Michael Jagger wasn’t quite the size of his brother, but his T-shirt was still tremendous. Skye slipped it over her head, miserably wishing it would cover her face. Of course it didn’t, but it did hang midway to her kneecaps.
There was an uneasy silence for a second, broken pleasantly with Michael’s easy laughter. “Damn! Even I can’t believe yet that I’ve found you!”
“Thank God that you did,” Kyle replied, smiling and taking over his brother’s lead to ease Skye’s tension gallantly. “Michael, I’m sure you must know this is Skye Delaney. Skye, my brother, Michael.”
She was accepting Mike Jagger’s hand, mumbling a courteous “how do you do,” and feeling absolutely absurd. But there was kindness in the younger Jagger’s eyes, a sincerity that welcomed her back to the world of the known with no hint of condemnation. The moments of tension were eased over.
“How is Chris?” Kyle asked his brother quickly.
“Chris is fine,” Mike assured him. “He was raring to come with me, but, well, just if I hadn’t been able to find you, or if…” his voice trailed away, but they all knew the implication. If he had found only remains of the plane and broken bodies… “Anyway,” Michael picked up, “he accepted the fact that all three of us shouldn’t be away from the main office at the same time. I’m sure he’s had his time occupied with business, but I do think we should radio in right away. He’s been deathly worried. I’m afraid Lisa hasn’t helped much, wailing around the house—” Again Michael broke off, unable to prevent himself from a stupidly apologetic glance at Skye. She felt her cheeks burn. Poor Michael, she thought vaguely, trying so hard, and
then he inadvertently mentions the name of the wife in front of the mistress.
“You haven’t sent in a message yet?” Kyle inquired.
“No, uh…” Michael Jagger, despite the strength of appearance so similar to his brother’s, was capable of a deep blush. “I, uh, saw Skye from the boat, but not you, and I wanted to be certain.”
Kyle waved a hand in dismissal of Mike's explanation. "I’m glad you haven’t sent a message yet. We have a bit of a problem.” He went on to tell Michael about the gold, leading his brother into the hut to show him the case. “I think we need to get hold of the Australian authorities first and tell them what we have. Ask them how they want this handled before the world knows we’ve been found.” Michael was nodding agreement. He offered Skye a broad smile as he saw her, standing with arms clasped around her chest, in the exact position in which they had left her.
“I guess we’ll get out to the Bonne Bree now, Miss Delaney,” he said. “It won’t be home, but I’ll bet I’ll be able to offer you a number of things you missed! We have a shower with nice hot water, and a freezer full of steaks. And we’ll radio in as soon as possible. There is a host of people going frantic over your disappearance too, you know. Your friend, that producer, must have half a fleet out here in the Pacific searching.”
Skye nodded. She was dimly aware that Kyle’s face had taken on a look of granite. Why not? He was in touching distance of his high-powered world. His mind was already working on priorities, on the business of the gold and the Australians. In a short time he would back with his son, back in his home.
Back to his estranged wife. Would they be so estranged now? Would the joy of seeing him alive send Lisa into his arms? Would his own appreciation of life renew his need of that which had been his before?
“I would certainly love a shower, Mr. Jagger,” she said softly, dignified despite the baggy T-shirt and her disheveled presence. “And a steak would be just lovely.” She walked past both brothers to the hut. “Excuse me, I’ll just be a moment.” She was determined to slip into her shorts beneath the T-shirt.
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