Natural Attraction

by Marisa Carroll

  “I think I have a good idea.” He grinned as though he didn’t have a care in the world, swiveling on the balls of his feet to watch the twins carry in a load of driftwood for the fire. “We’ll get along just fine,” he reiterated with such complacency Jessie longed to shake him. Rising, he smiled down at her from what seemed a great height as she crouched squawlike over the box of kitchen supplies. Without another word he turned and headed for the driftwood crew with an effortless, fluid grace.

  Jessie was still considering the witty, scathing remarks she should have made when Nell’s voice broke into her thoughts. “Mark, it says here in my book that you shouldn’t use stones that have been in the water to make a bonfire. They could explode.” Nell’s tone dropped a reverential note. “Could we experiment to see if it’s true?”

  Jessie hid a smile at the child’s enthusiasm but not at her suggestion. Mark’s answer was lost as the breeze died as suddenly as it had sprung up. Jessie was sure his pronouncement would be as informative, as diplomatic, as it was firmly negative.

  She would probably have said, “No!” flatly and emphatically. “You can afford to be so patient with them, Mark Elliot,” Jessie muttered under her breath, opening the lid on the propane cooking stove to survey its unfamiliar controls. “You don’t have to see them turn into competent, happy, successful adults. I do. It’s a big job, mister. But, of course, the perfect ‘uncle’ type can afford to humor them, to be so damned obliging, so much fun to be with.”

  Mark appeared to be able to handle her daughters every bit as well as their father would have. Jessie nearly stabbed herself in the foot with a fork at the thought. He did handle them well—and seemed to enjoy it. There weren’t many of those old-fashioned, family-oriented guys around anymore. She knew that all too well. And he was fun to be with. They’d never had time in their brief working sessions at Meanderings to have learned much about each other’s personalities, but now Jessie decided she’d like to know much more about Mark Elliot.

  Before her musings could gain complete control of her, Jessie called to Nell across the small clearing. “Honey, come here. Do you suppose there are critters already in residence on this island? Can raccoons swim? Ask Mark if we should put any of these things up off the ground?” That should do it. Tending to business was the best antidote for daydreaming that Jessie’d ever found

  The awful reality of latrine facilities—or lack of them—set the tone for the rest of the evening as far as the twins were concerned. The second depressing piece of information—that fresh water, brought along in two large plastic drums, could only be used for drinking and cooking, not bathing—pushed even the horrifying specter of a shovel and those rolls of odd-looking toilet paper out of their heads. The strictures on water use brought immediate and vocal protests from all the Meyer women.

  “We can’t wash our hair in salt water,” Lyn said gently, trying out the dynamite smile that had stopped more than one senior boy dead in his tracks. Mark returned the smile but looked in no danger of expiring from joy.

  “And I’m not bathing in a tidal pool,” Ann added for emphasis, in case he’d misunderstood her sibling.

  “I wouldn’t want you to,” Mark said with utter conviction. “Those tidal pools are ecologically delicate. Not to mention the fact that they’ll be providing much of our food supply over the next six or seven days. We’re here to coexist with nature, not to alter it with protein-enhanced shampoos, herbal body scrubs and artifically perfumed soaps.”

  Jessie brushed at a curling wisp of shoulder-length, nut-brown hair and wondered fleetingly where he’d learned about herbal body scrubs. From the absent nieces?

  “I don’t care,” Ann went on with adolescent omnipotence. “I won’t get in the ocean. It’s too cold.” Jessie cringed inwardly at Ann’s condescending tone, but it was a telling argument. It was far cooler out on the water than it had been when they left Manchester sweltering in the August afternoon. Jessie didn’t intend to get in the chilly gray Atlantic, either, if she could possibly avoid it.

  Experience told her to side with Mark. Two adults divided over the first test of authority weren’t even fair game for three teens bent on opposition. She’d learned that lesson the hard way after several painful bouts with the twins. But her own dismay at the primitive conditions was stronger yet. She moved closer to the twins, subliminally closing ranks against the intruding male in their midst. Jessie avoided looking directly into his eyes, wondering why all of a sudden she was reluctant to do so.

  “I agree with you about the tidal pools, naturally, Mark. But, on the other hand, I’m not much of a swimmer. Surely there’s some way we can work around this problem?”

  Jessie looked inordinately proud of her logic and her tact, Mark concluded. And it wasn’t hard to see how difficult it was for her to take a secondary role in ordering her life. He found himself admiring her spunk.

  “That does pose a problem.” He lifted a hand to his chin, seeming to consider the problem as he tapped his cheek with an index finger. “I could probably rig up one of those plastic groundsheets we brought along to catch the dew and any rainfall.”

  “God forbid,” Jessie interrupted from her heart.

  “Yes, God forbid it should rain.” Mark didn’t try to hide his smile this time. She was being a trooper about the whole thing. “That is unless the groundsheets went over in the duffel.”

  Nell looked down at the scruffy toes of her pink tennies peeking from beneath the cuff on her jeans. Jessie gave her youngest a timely nudge. “I’m sorry that happened, Mark, truly I am,” came the muffled reply. “I’d like to help you to make up for it.”

  “You don’t have to make up for anything. It was an accident.” The quick, bright glance from Jessie told him he’d said the right thing. “I’d appreciate your assistance on the project, though.”

  “Really?” Nell’s eyes shone brightly.

  “Really. Let’s get going.” Mark glanced out over the sullen gray Atlantic where the sun shone red below a cloud bank. “There’s only an hour until nightfall. Shall we get to it, ladies? Ann and Lyn, down to the clam beds I showed you. We’ll need about three dozen for dinner. You can pick up some Mytilus edulis at the waterline before the tide starts to come back in.”

  “Mytilus…what?” The twins exchanged a private, wary glance.

  “Mytilus edulis are ordinary blue mussels. They’re delicious. You’ll have to learn some Latin if you’re going to really get into this nature business.”

  “I don’t think I want to get any further into this ‘nature business,”’ Ann said, skirting the edge of insolence.

  “Then you’ll go hungry,” Mark answered reasonably, but there was an edge to his words as a quarter century of wielding authority underscored the statement. “If we don’t cooperate we’ll all go hungry, and that’s hardly fair to your mother or Nell.” Had he handled that correctly? He waited for their answer.

  “It isn’t fair to spoil it for Mom and Nell.” Lyn had hesitated a moment before making the observation.

  “No, I suppose you’re right. Mytilus edulis, huh? Down there?” Ann pointed down the boulder-strewn slope to the waterline. “Can we wear gloves? Mom brought a pair of those rubber ones.”

  “Good idea.” Mark nodded, relieved the first test of his leadership had resulted in an equitable settlement. Handling teenage girls wasn’t all that different from dealing with a unit of new recruits if you made considerations for gender and the situation at hand. The duo marched off, a little dazed, down the rocky slope to the shore where the outgoing tide had nearly doubled the size of the island, exposing acres of tidal flats alive with seabirds feeding off unlucky crustaceans unable to scurry to safety.

  “You handled that very well,” Jessie said when the twins were out of earshot. She wanted to make herself as scarce as her daughters but didn’t know how. What was the matter with her? Was she so out of practice that she couldn’t carry on a conversation with a man if one of her children wasn’t present? In her heart she
felt she owed Mark a warning. He looked so pleased at his performance, yet he was a novice at this game.

  “You keep winning skirmishes and pretty soon you’ve won the war,” he explained with a shrug of his shoulder.

  “Applying military tactics to getting along with my daughters won’t work,” Jessie said bluntly. “You’ll probably have a real battle with them in the morning. They won’t wash their hair in salt water.” Why in heaven’s name did she have to sound so defensive? She didn’t want to wash her hair in salt water, either. The whole situation was ridiculous. Jessie planted her feet firmly on the granite and stuck her hands in the pockets of her fisherman’s knit sweater.

  Mark laughed. “Is that what has you so stirred up, Jess? You sound as if it’s the end of the world. Lighten up. I’m prepared to negotiate. You never throw all your artillery behind the first assault. I think if I allow fresh water for rinsing their hair and whatever—” he gestured up and down the length of Jessie’s curves “—we’ll get along just fine.”

  “Don’t be too sure of that. I’ve heard that old chestnut dozens of times. Usually from unsuspecting new baby-sitters or inexperienced camp counselors.”

  “Doesn’t it sound like a workable solution to you?” Mark ignored the unflattering comparison. One black brow raised inquisitively. “After all, you are their mother. What’s your expert opinion?”

  Jessie thought it over. “It does sound satisfactory,” she replied grudgingly. He’d touched on a sore spot. Jessie often didn’t know what was the right path to take with her girls. Some days she felt this mothering situation getting totally out of hand. She worked hard at it, but it never seemed to get easier for her. Mark’s solution was so simple. Why hadn’t she thought of it herself? The man was a natural.

  “Did you expect me to order you all into the sea?” Mark continued in the same lazy, teasing tone that appealed to Jessie more than she liked to admit.

  “The thought had crossed my mind, Colonel Elliot.” She couldn’t control a tiny twisting smile, but it disappeared as quickly as it came. The awful realization that she’d surrendered, to some extent, her authority over her daughters to this man bounced unbidden into Jessie’s head. She couldn’t turn her responsibilities over to him, to anyone, even for a short time. They’d been on their own for seven years. The girls were her responsibility—no one else’s.

  “And risk a full-scale mutiny my first night out?” Mark came back, diffusing her anger before it could boil over. He laughed, and Jessie was suddenly hard-pressed not to laugh with him. “To tell the truth, I’m not all that keen on salt water myself. This was a perfect excuse to try jerry-building a passive collector.” He continued to watch her, aware of the fluctuations in her color, entranced by the clear smoothness of her skin, the curve of her cheekbone. “Satisfactory?”

  “Satisfactory.” Jessie’s smile was brilliant.

  “Good. Now, I’m putting you in charge of foraging for the salad course, I think sea-salted glasswort.” He pointed informatively to a spiky, yellow-green plant nearby. “The stem tips are best, by the way, and orache will compliment the clams nicely.”

  “Ugh,” Jessie echoed her offspring, making a face as Mark propelled her toward the natural garden among the rocks. His hand was warm and strong on her back. Jessie moved forward with a jerky little hop. It was the first time he’d ever touched her. She hurried into speech to gloss over her momentary confusion. “Whatever you say, boss,” she quipped, chagrined at the tiny quiver in her tone. “But don’t forget my warning. Teenagers can be lethal to your sanity. Especially if you aren’t exposed to them daily.”

  “I’ll remember,” Mark said seriously. He was suddenly all business. “Orache’s that low, crisp-leaved plant near the waterline. Do you see it?”

  “It looks a little like spinach,” she admitted after a dubious inspection of the stubby plant he’d pointed out. Jessie was grateful for Mark’s casual return to the subject of dinner.

  “Actually, it’s a relative of both spinach and chard,” Mark lectured. “Doesn’t even need salt. A bucketful will do nicely.” He’d embarrassed her again. He’d have to watch it, go slowly. It had been a long time since he’d tried to establish a relationship with a woman. He wasn’t sure he even remembered how. Don’t push it, he warned himself. He wanted Jessie to consider him her friend. Take it slow, keep to the script. “Jess.”

  “Yes, Mark?” Jessie looked up from where she’d kneeled to inspect the plants.

  “I’ll keep your advice in mind. I’m not trying to undermine your authority with your daughters, you know that, don’t you?”

  “Yes.” Did he really understand her unease? Could any man who had no children of his own?

  “This expedition will turn out fine if we work together as a team.”

  “I understand.” Jessie frowned again. Teams. Partners. Two by two. Parenting was something that should be done in teams, but it wasn’t always possible. She couldn’t explain to Mark how hard it would be for her to go back. Learning to share all your responsibilities with a man, then having his support taken away, hurt far too much to try again—even on a temporary basis.

  MARK WASN’T LUCKY ENOUGH TO have everything continue to go his way. He looked totally frustrated, a little angry but endearingly human when they gathered around the campfire in the cool evening darkness. The crisp, cool air smelled of wood smoke and seawater and countless unfamiliar exotic odors that went straight to Jessie’s head like a rush of adrenaline.

  If only the twins hadn’t refused, adamantly, to eat “seaweed and fish eggs,” as they termed the salad Jessie had dressed with oil from their stores and the pale orange sea-urchin roe served along with clams and mussels steamed on a bed of rockweed, she might have enjoyed the natural banquet more herself.

  “Try them at least,” Jessie urged as the juice from a steamer dribbled inelegantly down her chin.

  “We did,” Ann retorted, sniffing. She turned up her snub nose at her mother’s lack of finesse in handling the tasty shellfish. She grabbed one of the two rather soggy ham sandwiches left from lunch and confiscated an apple from the cool rock shelf that served as the larder. “Can we finish these in our tent?”

  “May we finish these,” Jessie corrected automatically. “Yes, you might as well.” It was the path of least resistance when they were in this kind of mood. Mark remained silent, not questioning her reasoning of her authority, and she was grateful to him for that.

  In a matter of seconds taped rock music, so soothing to jangled teenage nerves, poured from the tent at a volume that would have split Jessie’s skull in similar crowded surroundings.

  “Do you think they’ll stay there as long as they did when you said they couldn’t get their ears pierced again?” Nell asked with a hopeful gleam in her eye.

  “No, they will not,” Jessie said forcefully. She wasn’t about to repeat that sustained battle of wills.

  “Do you mean they wanted their ears pierced more than once?” Mark asked in an interested tone. He was peeling an apple in one long strand. Nell watched the procedure with great interest until he handed her the skinless fruit. “I had braces once, too. They’re a hell of an inconvenience when you’re eating apples.”

  “They sure are. Thanks.”

  Mark looked at Jessie again, waiting patiently for an answer to his question. “It’s the latest thing in their school,” she said finally. “Some of the girls have their ears pierced three or four times. I don’t think it’s necessary.” Jessie shrugged, obviously wanting to change the subject.

  “You have your ears pierced,” Mark observed, reaching out a long arm across the small space that separated them. He brushed back Jessie’s fine silky hair to reveal a small golden stud. Her skin was cool and soft beneath his fingers. He let his touch linger a fraction of a second longer than necessary before moving his hand away.

  “It’s a fad. Someday they’ll be sorry they did it.” Was Jessie’s melodious soprano just the slightest bit breathless? “One artificial hole in
each ear is mutilation enough for any man or woman.” Her hand rubbed the spot where his fingers had rested. This was the second time he’d touched her in as many hours. What had gotten into him?

  “Mom’s just sore because she has to wear real expensive earrings and the rest of us don’t,” Nell supplied. “She can’t even wear a watch. They die on her.”

  “Her watch died?” Curiosity got the better of Mark. He slipped almost without thinking into the exaggerated Viennese accent that had always sent his younger sister, Ellen, into gales of laughter at Nell’s age. He continued to scrape metal plates into a plastic garbage sack as he talked. “How iss dis, Frau Meyer, that you keeled a vatch?” He rolled his eyes at Nell, twirling the end of an imaginary mustache. Nell giggled merrily, just as Ellen always had.

  “I’m allergic to base metals,” Jessie answered tightly. “These earrings are all gold. That’s why I only have one pair.”

  “She loses them all the time,” Nell interrupted to clarify the matter with devastating candor. “We aren’t that poor.”

  “And the doctor says you could all become sensitive to metal in the same way at any time. The matter was settled weeks ago, Nell.” It didn’t take a great deal of intelligence to see she was embarrassed by Nell’s forthright speech. Jessie wiggled her finger at her daughter’s grinning face. “Nell Elizabeth, change the subject.”

  “I hope they starve to death.” Nell obeyed her mother’s wish to change the subject as Mark cleared his throat to hide a wayward chuckle. The child was a treasure. He picked up one of the twins’ barely touched plates of food. Nell watched its disposal with ghoulish relish. Mark handed her the sack, pointing in the direction of the trash container. He couldn’t help but enjoy her enthusiasm for life and living. It was addictive. It made him feel like a kid again, too.

  “Your sisters will eat when they’re hungry,” Mark assured her. Nell began to pitch empty clam and mussel shells back into the sea.