“Sorry, Sam, I didn’t think anyone would be in so early. I needed to find an old file, so I used my keys. Hope you don’t mind.”
“Of course not, Mark. You’re as entitled to these records as I am. We’ve moved the ones you’re looking for, though. Not much call for them, and they were taking up much-needed space. Follow me.” The ebony-skinned doctor led Mark to the efficiency kitchen in the back of the clinic, where yet another bank of gray file cabinets stood.
“What’s the name?”
“Haller. A tourist. Shark attack five years ago.”
“Haller, Haller.” Dr. Aubrey thought a moment. “I remember that one! We don’t have many shark fatalities around here. We don’t have that many sharks, come to think of it, except sitting behind desks in the banks.” Sam chuckled at his impromptu joke. “What you’re looking for should be in that first file, second drawer. What’s the interest, if I might ask?” Sam poured himself a cup of coffee from the nearby pot.
“I only wanted to review the case. The widow is back, staying on Holm Cay. I ran into her a few days ago, took a deep sea fishing lure out of her arm, forty stitches.” Mark hoped he sounded casual enough as he thumbed through the thin file.
“A lure? Ouch! As I recall, she was very attractive.” Sam arched his eyebrows at Mark’s back.
Mark looked at him. “How could you tell back then? All I remember is that she looked like a half-drowned puppy—with the most gorgeous green eyes.”
Sam laughed. “You hadn’t been in the islands long enough to be able to see past the obvious. As I recall, she had dark hair, those gorgeous green eyes, great skin, and a knockout figure. Quite young too, I’d say in her mid to late twenties, though looks can be deceiving. Sound like her?”
It was Mark’s turn to raise his eyebrows. “You have quite a memory there, doctor.”
“She was a memorable woman. Want some coffee?”
“Ah, no thanks. I’ve got to get back. I delivered twins yesterday. Lana. A boy and a girl, all three were doing fine last night, and I need to check in on them. Thanks anyway.” Mark put the file back in its place, closing the drawer.
“Just remember, Mark, not only can looks be deceiving but you can’t believe everything your senses are telling you. Time has a way of blurring the edges of what has gone by. Especially when what has happened was not pleasant.” Dr. Aubrey paused, looking at Mark knowingly. “She may not remember things happening the same way you do. Be careful.”
***
On the boat ride back to Holm Cay, Mark contemplated what he had read in the file. Donald Haller had bled to death before he had even reached Marsh Harbor. He’d never stood a chance. He had died in Jayme’s arms. What edges could blur? From the side notes he had made at the time, Mark remembered Jayme had been covered in blood, and he had thought she had been injured too. There was also a final notation that she had had an intense reaction to the sedative he’d given her five years ago. So much for record keeping. At least he was satisfied now that Jayme was indeed the same woman whose emerald eyes had plagued him for years and had unknowingly destroyed any personal relationships he had tried to have.
Mark docked his cruiser at his private pier, knowing it would be gassed up and ready to go the next time he needed it, which would be soon. Such were the perks of being the only doctor on the island and one of the only two visiting doctors in the small chain of islands. Someone always took care of his transportation. He rarely saw who came, and often it was someone different each time he did see; it didn’t matter to him though, as long as it was done.
***
Jayme awoke with a fluttery feeling in her stomach. Excitement? Surely going sightseeing wasn’t causing it. No, she admitted to herself; however, the prospect of spending the afternoon with Mark was definitely a possibility. She showered carefully, mindful of her injury, and dressed. After massaging an extra few dabs of cream into her golden skin, she went in search of some fruit to feed the flock of butterflies that had taken up residence in her stomach.
By noon she was settled into the lounge chair outside her patio door. She felt lethargic yet restless. Conflicts raged war inside of her. The hot sun physically quieted her, but the undeniable fact that Mark was two hours late now had her tied up in knots. She didn’t know if she should be angry that he was late, or worried, or just understanding because he was a doctor who had patients that needed him. Certainly a sightseeing tour was not important, not at all. After what seemed like an endless discussion with herself, Jayme surmised that Mark had an emergency and he would be there when he got there. That’s all there was to it. Still, she couldn’t help feel disappointed and maybe a little hurt. After chastising herself for such immature feelings, Jayme closed her eyes to the heat of the sun, preparing for a short nap.
***
“Are you asleep?” Mark gently touched Jayme’s shoulder, hoping not to startle her.
“Oh,” she yawned, “I guess I was! What time is it?” Jayme stood and stretched her back.
“One o’clock. Jayme, I’m really sorry I’m so late. I had an emergency to take care of. One of the hotel guests slipped off the dock and fractured his wrist when he tried to catch himself. I should have called a message to you, but everything happened so fast. I’d rather have been here with you.” Mark looked deep into her eyes, drowning in the pools of ever-changing green. He drew in a quick breath when he found himself leaning closer to her, wanting to kiss her. He caught himself, embarrassed, and shifted his gaze to her arm. “Ah, how does your arm feel today?”
Jayme, the consummate people watcher, took all that happened in, analyzed it, and filed it for later contemplation. She beamed, knowing he wanted to kiss her, yet hadn’t, for it was too soon. Her heart thudded heavily against her rib cage, knowing she wanted that kiss. She wanted it very much.
“Ever the doctor. Well, doctor, my arm is sore, as expected, though not overly so. I don’t feel any heat or unnatural tenderness, so I think I’ve escaped infection so far. Would you like to look?”
“I think that would be a good idea. I’ll redress it and then we can leave. That is, if you still want to go?”
“Of course I want to go. The day is still young!”
Mark removed the gauze from Jayme’s arm, and true to her assessment, there was no sign of infection. Pleased, he wrapped fresh gauze around and around her arm then taped it snug with the new self-adhering elastic bandage, his fingers lingering as he enjoyed the feel of her skin, the connection of touch.
“I think it would be wise for you to wear this while we’re walking,” he advised. “Your arm will be under unnecessary stress with the movement.” Mark produced a sling.
“Only if you insist, Dr. Steele.” Jayme grinned, lighting up her eyes.
***
Their first stop was Man-O-War Cay, renowned for its shipbuilding. From large sailing schooners to dinghies, families had been building boats on Man-O-War for more than 150 years. Jayme was fascinated with the many shops that busied themselves with repair, maintenance, and storage of all types of boats. Nowhere else in Abaco, she was told, was there such a concentration of boats in such a small area. The pride of the island craftsman brought boaters from all over. Some, she discovered, had shifted their talents to carving and creating miniature ships. Jayme learned as she filmed them at their work that they had waiting lists for their products that would keep them busy for years.
“Isn’t this piece amazing in the detail?” Jayme exclaimed, picking up the tiny ‘tall ship’ replica that was still incomplete. She carefully set it down again and zoomed in with her camera. “What are the sails made of? They are so delicate.”
“Dat be silk, ma’ lady,” the shopkeeper replied.
“It’s stunning,” Jayme replied, giving the artisan a sincere smile.
Before they moved to the next shop, Mark said something in the native tongue to the craftsman, and the islander nodded.
Mark and Jayme strolled the narrow streets, stopping to peek into the many gift shops and bo
utiques. They chatted easily, comfortable in each other’s company. At one point, Mark took Jayme’s hand to guide her out of the way of a passing motor scooter. The driver waved and shouted a greeting to the familiar Dr. Steele. Jayme noted that Mark didn’t release her hand once the scooter had passed. It felt good and natural, holding hands like that. Such a simple gesture, yet so intimate. A coy grin crept across her tanned face and remained.
The afternoon passed, and too soon they found themselves back at the docks boarding Mark’s cruiser.
“We’d better hurry. I forgot that tonight is Rotary,” Mark said.
“Rotary! I forgot too! I need to do a make-up.”
Mark was stunned into momentary silence. “You’re a Rotarian?”
Jayme appeared amused. “Yes, I’m a Rotarian. Come out of the dark ages, Dr. Steele. The States have had female Rotarians for quite a while, ever since the Supreme Court ruled it was unconstitutional to bar women from the club just because they were women. In fact, I was the third female sworn into our club, three months after the ruling came down.”
“Will you ever stop surprising me? Don’t get me wrong, I’m impressed, but then everything about you impresses me. It’s just that we don’t see many women Rotarians here, even for make ups, especially not young, beautiful ones.” Mark’s hands lingered much longer than necessary around Jayme’s tiny waist as he helped her into the boat.
There it was again—young. How young did he think she was anyway? Jayme shook the thought away, centering only on how nice his big, gentle hands felt on her.
“I do make ups wherever I travel. Other clubs are interesting, and I’ve got four years now of perfect attendance. I missed a few after Donald died.”
“Four years? That’s some record. What’s been your most interesting meeting?” Mark maneuvered the cruiser out of the marina and into the open sea toward Holm Cay.
Jayme chuckled over the memory. “I’d say in Puerto Vallarta. At first, the Mexican members thought I was the wife of one of the other visiting Rotarians. When I got up, introduced myself, and gave my classification, the entire room went silent. Although they had had many visiting Rotarians from the States and from around the world, they never had a female do a make up there. After a short general meeting, in Spanish, the attention centered on me. Questions came right and left, in Spanish again, about why I wasn’t satisfied in the auxiliary and such. Finally, my interpreter gave up and told the others to ask their own questions. They could all speak perfect English, but none of them wanted to address me directly! I found it highly amusing once I had a chance to think about it.”
Mark smiled over her story and then asked, “What is your classification?” Although he felt he already knew. Each Rotary club limited themselves to one person per classification, to bring the most diversified group possible together.
“Photography,” Jayme stated simply, with a shrug of her slim shoulders. “Can I come with you tonight? I’d really like to do that make up.”
“Of course,” Mark said, trying to hide his pleasure. “It’s a dinner meeting, so we need to be there by 6:00. I’ll drop you off at the docks, if you don’t mind. I’m sure you’ll want to freshen up, and I have to check on a few patients. I’ll be back for you around 5:15. These meetings are always casual, so don’t expect too much, okay?”
***
While Mark maneuvered his boat into the slip on Marsh Harbor later that evening, Jayme felt a wave of dizziness hit her hard when she focused on the vaguely familiar sign attached to the side of the dock. Mark noticed Jayme inhale sharply and turn her back to the docks. Her spine went rigid, her hands clasped her elbows, and her breath was ragged as she labored for control. Mark was confused and concerned. Their crossing had been pleasant, and she showed no signs of anxiety. As he tossed the tie rope to waiting hands, he found the source of her discomfort. The sign, faded with sun and salt, said Medical Only.
Struggling to control the rise of déjà vu swimming before her, Jayme thought, This is exactly, exactly the same place we docked when I held Donald’s unconscious body for the last time.
Mark stepped up behind her. Although he knew that she probably wanted to face this alone, he couldn’t let that happen. He slipped his arms gently around her waist, pressing his body against her back, feeling her warmth, his head lowered.
“Five years ago is a long time gone, Jayme. Let it go.” His words came out as a quiet plea.
A heartbeat passed. Two. Ten. Jayme turned within the circle of Mark’s comforting arms. Her hands now resting on his biceps, she looked up at him, tears clinging to her dark lashes.
“You’re right. It is time. I knew that weeks ago.” She struggled, barely lifting the corners of her mouth. “Someday remind me to tell you about a snowy Michigan night and a dream about…sharks.”
Lost in the longing he found in her deep green eyes, Mark lowered his head. Unable to resist any longer, he lightly brushed her lips with his. Knowing if he lingered, once tasting her sweetness, he wouldn’t want to stop, he reluctantly lifted his head. He held her tenderly for a moment more, her head pressed against his chest, then pulled back. Now was not the time to explore his growing need for her. Mark took a steadying breath and climbed out of the boat. Once firmly on the dry dock, he moved to help Jayme out, trying to calm his now-shaking hands. He had never before felt such electricity in a simple kiss. But then, that kiss was not simple. It was a beginning, a promise of more to come.
This was going to be the longest Rotary meeting of his life.
***
Dinner was served buffet style, a combination of Bahamian custom and practicality. Plates full of fried chicken, conch fritters, steamed fish, and sweet bread kept appearing as quickly as they disappeared. Bowls of local fruit and an urn of chowder sent tantalizing aromas throughout the room.
Jayme settled into the seat Mark selected for her, staring at the huge mound of food before her. “I’m never going to be able to eat all of this. I’ll gain ten pounds, Mark!” she protested.
“I hope so. You’re too thin. You need to eat more to keep your strength up.” Mark smiled warmly at her, a smile that reached his smoky eyes and beyond, the double meaning only thinly veiled.
Jayme lowered her eyes from his intensity, feeling the heat rise from the blush that was overwhelming her. Her thoughts immediately returned to the kiss they shared. How brief it was but how it had affected her. A deep, unfulfilled desire blossomed low in her, and she felt another blush begin.
This has got to stop, she thought and immediately realized that the only way to stop would be to quench the need. Jayme’s pulse rose at the thought of holding Mark, kissing him, making love to him. She chased the thought away—for now.
“Is it too warm in here for you, Jayme? You look uncomfortable,” Mark said with genuine concern.
“Maybe a little.” She cleared her throat. “Do you think anyone would mind if I took a few pictures during the meeting? I’d like to show the club back home what your meetings are like.” Jayme hoped working would keep her mind off Mark’s nearness and what it was doing to her.
“I’m sure it will be fine with the others. I’ll mention it when I introduce you.” His eyes lingered on her mouth, wanting to taste her again. And again.
Throughout the meal, various friends of Mark’s stopped by the table to say hello or to pass along some new island gossip. When Jayme mentioned this, Mark tried to explain that it wasn’t really gossip, only women did that, this was their way of keeping informed on what was going on in their community. Jayme insisted that it was still gossip, no matter what he wanted to call it, and men were getting more efficient at it all the time. They shared an accusing look and then both started laughing. Mark was saved by the call to order bell, signaling the start of the formal meeting.
While the current president went from table to table introducing guests, Jayme noticed there weren’t many women in attendance.
Mark stood. “I’d like to introduce visiting Rotarian Jayme Haller, from Michigan.
Jayme’s classification is photographer, and she wants our permission to take a few pictures of our meeting. I told her it’d be all right. See if any of you can say no to her; I sure can’t.” There was no hidden meaning in Mark’s final statement. It was out in the open for all to see as he looked affectionately at Jayme.
“If she’s got the stone doctor melting, the rest of us don’t stand a chance,” the president of the club said, speaking for the group. “Take all the pictures you like, Ms. Haller, and welcome to Abaco.”
Jayme stood. “Thank you. I’ll try not to be too much of a nuisance.” After she sat, she leaned in Mark’s direction and whispered, “What did he mean, ‘the stone doctor’?”
“It’s a private joke and not a very funny one. I’ll tell you after the meeting.” Mark scowled briefly before his attention was diverted back to the speaker. Curiosity nagged at Jayme for a while, then slipped away long before the group dispersed an hour later. True to her word, Jayme took only a few brief shots, determined not to interrupt or interfere with the club’s proceedings.
***
Sitting at their table finishing their drinks, Jayme and Mark chatted easily, like they were old friends. The relaxed atmosphere and congenial company stripped away Jayme’s barriers. The restaurant/bar had a few lingering club members besides themselves when the steel drum band began playing. Island music had always fascinated Jayme, and now she swayed gently with the rhythm while Mark looked on in amusement.
“Think you can dance to this kind of music?” Mark was clearly issuing a challenge.
“I can dance to any kind of music, doctor. I was born with ballet slippers on; tap shoes were my only rattles; Ginger was my role model,” Jayme teased.
“Ginger? Not Fred?”
“No, not Fred. He had it easy. Ginger did everything he did, only backward and in high heels. Now that’s dancing!” Jayme countered.
The Reef Roamer (The Roamer Series Book 1) Page 13