by Jane Toombs
But he wasn’t any man, he was Russ. They’d just made love together, the most wonderful experience of her entire life.
Suddenly he jerked her to her feet and wrapped his arms about her. “Don’t look so woebegone,” he ordered.
Without warning, she burst into tears.
He patted her back, murmuring soothing words she didn’t try to interpret. More than words, she needed the comfort of his arms. Wrapped in them, she felt safe. Whatever happened, she could count on Russ. He must care about her or he wouldn’t be so concerned about her feelings.
Later, when she’d stopped crying and mopped her wet face, she tried to explain. “I was so sure that, if I could find a picture of Isabel, I’d know one way or the other if I could be her daughter. But I still don’t.”
“The DNA and blood tests should be conclusive.”
She sighed. “I guess so.” She took a long look at the portrait. “Poor Isabel, to wind up alone and sick in a strange city. How could that have happened? Where was my father?” Her voice rose. “I don’t want a Danny Boy for a father.”
Russ touched her shoulder. “You’re not making much sense.”
“None of it makes any sense.” Aware that tears threatened again, she took a deep breath, struggling to calm herself.
After Russ rewrapped the portrait and replaced it behind the panel, he gently urged her toward the staircase, saying, “Let’s go down and see what Diana’s up to. You could use a cup of coffee, and I thought I smelled her famous strawberry-rhubarb pie when we first entered the house.”
Composing herself, Mari said, “So it’s true—the way to a man’s heart really is through his stomach.”
“I’m out of luck. She’s already married.”
“Too bad.” Mari smiled at him. What a great guy he was. And more. Much more than she was ready to deal with right now.
“Speaking of food, how about lunch tomorrow?” he said. “I’ll come by about noon.”
Should she say no? She’d been so overwhelmed by what had happened in the cupola that maybe she should draw back and take some time to think things over. Hadn’t Willa warned her she needed to wait awhile before jumping into another relationship? On the other hand, what Mari really wanted was to be with Russ. After thinking things over, she might well come up with the same conclusion—that she wanted to be with Russ, no matter what.
“Sounds good to me,” she told him.
Chapter Seven
The next morning Mari woke up with the feeling that the day ahead of her would be wonderful. Her lunch date with Russ wasn’t until twelve, so the morning was hers. She needed to think of something to do other than spending it looking forward to seeing him. She’d been to the fort and Russ had shown her other island sites of interest. Maybe she’d ask Pauline for a suggestion of where to go.
“Let’s see,” Pauline said, when the question had been posed. “How about the Crack in the Island? Have you been there?”
Mari shook her head. “It sounds interesting. Tell me about the crack.”
“I can tell you how to get there.” Pauline proceeded to do so. “If you like legends, go find Diana and ask her what the ancient Indians used to believe about the crack. She knows all those old tales.”
Diana was happy to oblige over coffee and a cinnamon roll. “The Land of the Turtle—that’s Mackinac Island—once had giants living here. When the Great Spirit of the Chippewa ordered them off the earth, he changed some into rocks, calling them waiting spirits. The bad ones, though, became men with no hearts, cruel and evil, and he called them wandering demons. One of the giants refused to become either a rock or a bad man, so he tried to escape to the Land Below, where the dead dwell. Long ago the Great Spirit had stamped his foot and made this deep bottomless crack that the giant tried to climb down, but the weather was cold and his fingers froze to the mouth of the opening. The Great Spirit decreed he must hang within the crack forever as punishment.
“If you go there you have to be careful not to step on the giant’s fingers or misfortune will follow,” Diana added.
“Thanks for the warning.”
“I heard tell some geologists think the crack came during an ages-ago earthquake,” Diana added. “You know how those scientists are, though—others think underground waters eroded the soft rock away, forming a fissure. There really was an underground lake there, way back when everyone says.”
“So I have a choice of the Great Spirit, an earthquake or erosion,” Mari joked. “Whichever I choose, though, I’ll be careful not to step on the giant’s frozen fingers.”
She set off, finding with little difficulty the woodland path that Pauline had told her of, and enjoying the walk, with the trees on either side thrusting out their new green leaves of spring. Since she’d seen cracks in California left by earthquakes, Mari didn’t expect to be impressed, but when she came to the deep, jagged fissure running through the stone, she gazed in awe. Peering cautiously down into the darkness, she could see no bottom. Awesome. No wonder the Native Americans had their own version of its creation.
As she stepped back, her foot struck a rock fragment, making her stumble sideways until she regained her balance. She glanced around to see what she’d stumbled over, then chided herself. There was no such thing as a giant’s frozen fingers. How could she possibly think of misfortune when Russ would be calling for her at noon?
Walking back along the path, with birds chirping around her, she relived their moments in the cupola, becoming so lost in reverie that she was startled when she rounded a bend and encountered several women walking toward her. She returned their greetings and went on, glancing at her watch.
Before she reached the end of the path, she saw someone else coming her way. A man. Russ! Her breath caught and her heart jolted in her chest. It was all she could do not to run to him.
When he reached her, he held out his arms and she all but fell into them, hungry for his kiss. When they finally came up for air, she asked, “How did you know where I was?”
“Got to the house early and Diana told me you were out here braving the frozen giant.”
“I just hope I didn’t step on one of his fingers.”
“Don’t even think it. Misfortune has no place on this island.”
He let her go, capturing her hand in his as they started back the way he’d come, his own words ringing in his ears. What a stupid thing to say, considering the circumstances that had brought her here, and his own entanglement in the situation.
With an effort of will he brushed it all aside. He was with Mari. They’d be together for hours. Nothing else was important.
“Since I last talked to you,” he said, “we’ve been invited to lunch on a friend’s yacht. How about it?”
“Surely I wasn’t invited.”
“Surely you were. He told me to bring a friend. Aren’t we friends?”
“A jeans and T-shirt lunch?”
“That’s what I’m wearing—why not you?” He peered down at her. “Especially considering what you do for jeans and a T-shirt.” His fingertips brushed lightly over her breast, making heat pool in his loins.
“Shouldn’t have done that,” he said ruefully, “since there’s no place around here to take it any further.”
She gave him a saucy smile. “What makes you think I’d be interested?”
“Oh, just a hunch.” He couldn’t resist rubbing a thumb over her erect nipple to prove his point, even though it aroused him even more.
Mari was going to be hard to forget if the state he was in from barely touching her was any indication. He’d have to give up a twosome at lunch to take her aboard the yacht, but maybe it was just as well. He could use some cooling down time.
“So it’s a go?” he asked.
She shrugged. “Lunch is lunch.”
“He’s an old law school buddy. He’s not staying on the island, just stopped by for a few days, living on the yacht.”
She smiled at Russ, but said nothing more. He swung their joined hands as they
walked, enjoying the contact. Finally they came out on the road.
“You up to walking to the marina?” he asked.
“No problem.”
“If a carriage comes by with space for us we can always hitch a ride.”
“Is your friend married?” she asked after a while.
“Roger?” He hesitated. “He introduced the woman with him as Adrienne. To tell the truth I can’t remember if that was his wife’s name or not, so he could be divorced. Or even married again, who knows?”
“She’s his girlfriend,” Mari said.
“Why?”
“I think Roger would have said something like, ‘You remember my wife, Adrienne,’ if she was his first wife. If she was his second wife, he would have said, ‘This is my wife, Adrienne.’ But he just gave her name, so the odds are I’m right. Not that it makes any difference.”
Russ grinned at her. “So when I introduce you simply as Mari, I’ll have given myself away as having a gorgeous girlfriend.”
“Roger must have known you were married at one time.”
“He did. But he may not have heard about the divorce.” He shot her a mischievous look. “Maybe I can confuse him by saying, ‘You remember my wife, Mari.”
She tried not to show her reaction. Though she knew he was teasing, she found herself upset.
Apparently she didn’t hide her reaction well enough, because he said, “You don’t care for that idea?”
Answering honestly, Mari said, “No, not really.” She couldn’t be sure why. Joking wasn’t lying; it wasn’t that. Maybe it had to do with her not wanting to be confused, even for a moment, with Denise. Which was silly.
When they reached the marina and Russ pointed out Roger’s boat to Mari, she said, “Whoa. That really is a yacht.”
“Forty-footer.”
“I’ve never been aboard a yacht,” she confessed, telling herself she wasn’t intimidated. If she actually was a Haskell, she supposed she’d have to grow accustomed to evidences of wealth like this luxurious craft. For some reason, the thought disturbed her.
Russ hailed Roger. “Permission to board,” he called.
A red-haired man rose up from a lounge chair. “Russ. Didn’t see you coming. Climb aboard, by all means.”
The blonde reclining in the chair next to him stayed where she was as they came on deck. Even when Roger said, “Adrienne, our guests are here,” all she did was wave a languid hand.
When Russ introduced Mari simply by her first name, Adrienne sat up and looked her over. Apparently being identified as a girlfriend rather than a wife made Mari more worthy of notice.
“So glad you could make it,” Adrienne drawled.
“What would you like to drink?” Roger asked.
Russ had a beer and Mari settled for orange soda, while the other two chose white wine.
Soon Roger took Russ off to show him around the boat, leaving the two women alone. “Do you come to Mackinac Island often?” Mari asked.
“My first time,” Adrienne admitted, sipping at her wine. “Quaint places aren’t really my thing.” Again she looked searchingly at Mari. “Did Roger say Russ’s last name was Simon?”
Mari nodded.
“Bull’s-eye,” Adrienne said with a satisfied smile. “I thought I recognized the name. A friend of mine was married to him for a while.”
Before she could curb her tongue, Mari blurted, “Denise?”
“Do you know her?”
“No, not at all.”
“I didn’t meet Denise till after the divorce. She and I see eye to eye about priorities.”
Mari bit back the questions she longed to ask. What did Denise look like and what was her version of the breakup? Also, just what were those priorities?
Deciding she could ask the last, Mari murmured, “Priorities?”
Adrienne finished her wine and set the glass on a table near her chair. “You know, like what’s important in life and what’s not really. Take money. Without enough of it, life sucks.”
Ever since Mari had been old enough to understand, she’d known the Crowleys had to watch their spending very carefully. Things had improved after Uncle Stan had quit gambling, but there’d never been money to spare. Yet she’d had a happy childhood, and Blanche and Stan had always seemed content.
Aware that Adrienne was waiting for a reply, Mari said the only thing that came to mind. “Like living in poverty.”
Adrienne frowned. “Well, that, too. But what I meant was, where can you go, what’s there to do, if there’s not enough money? You can’t even buy decent clothes.”
Eyeing her hostess’s designer outfit, Mari managed a polite smile, since she could think of nothing tactful to say. Were these Denise’s priorities, too, as Adrienne had implied?
“Wait until I tell Denise that Russ has acquired a girlfriend with hair to die for,” Adrienne said. “Do tell me what your hairdresser mixes together to get that amazing color.”
It wasn’t the first time Mari had fielded that question. “I was born with it.” Nor was it the first time her answer earned a disbelieving look.
“Marriage is for the birds, as far as I’m concerned,” Adrienne continued. “If you’re unattached, you can just move on without any messy legalities when you get bored.”
Mari wasn’t sure she subscribed to this philosophy. On the other hand she hadn’t yet met a man she cared to marry. Russ? She shook her head, telling herself firmly it was too early in their relationship to be sure one way or the other.
The men returned and lunch was served. The meal passed pleasantly enough, even though Mari had realized early on that she and Adrienne had little in common.
Later, after they’d thanked their host and left his boat—The Tort-Us, Mari noted—Russ led the way up the hill toward the fort.
“There’s a good spot to overlook the harbor up there,” he told her. “It was great to see Roger again. You were right about Adrienne—they’re not married.”
“She knows Denise,” Mari said.
Russ slanted her a look, raising his eyebrow.
Mari shrugged. “She just mentioned the fact.”
After that he was silent until they reached the lookout, where they leaned on the stone barrier and gazed down at the village and the harbor. Beyond was the lake with the ferries coming and going between Upper and Lower Michigan.
“I don’t think about Denise much anymore,” Russ said at last. “We should never have married. I admit the experience has soured me on that particular institution.”
“Adrienne said she didn’t believe in it.”
“How about you?”
“I’m not sure. If I meet anyone who makes me think I’d like to try it, I’ll let you know.”
“You do that,” he said, smiling at her as he took her hand and turned them away from the view.
“Mind if we take a look at my horses?” he asked. “I like to check on the ones at rest every day when I’m on the island.”
“Then you don’t spend the entire summer on the island?”
“I shuttle between here and my horse farm downstate. Lucky I happened to be on the island when you arrived.”
Lucky, yes. A coincidence? But coincidences did happen. Mari pushed the thought from her mind and said, “You know me and horses. Let’s go.”
On the way to the stables he explained how horses were rotated for carriage duty, so there were always fresh ones available. “They get more rest than the drivers,” he finished.
Once satisfied his Blues were in good shape, Russ tried to think of a place to take Mari where they’d be alone. They couldn’t chance the cupola again—Pauline was no fool, and he didn’t want to place Mari in an awkward position. For some reason he balked at bringing her to his dad’s cottage, maybe because he knew damn well he shouldn’t be feeling this way about Mari. Making love to her sure as hell wasn’t what his father had asked him to do.
It’s what he wanted to do, though. Urgently.
“Up for a buggy ride?” he asked.
“Why not?”
He took the road through the woods, an arm around her as he let the horse amble along.
“The island is so different from anywhere else. Right now we might be the only two on it,” she commented.
“Until the next batch of tourists comes along. But I know the feeling. And speaking of feelings…” He let his words trail off as he guided the horse onto an overgrown trail and halted him at a right angle to the road, so the buggy back and sides would offer some concealment.
Easing closer to Mari, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her. He felt her immediate, eager response down to his toenails. Forgetting everything else, he savored her taste and her softness pressing against him. Nothing else mattered.
Mari realized she’d been waiting for this moment ever since she’d opened her eyes that morning—to be alone with Russ in a secluded place so they could kiss and hold each other without interruption. How she’d gotten herself in such a state she didn’t quite understand, but at the moment she didn’t care. He tasted of the mint frappé they’d been served for dessert at lunch, and of himself. He tasted like Russ, the most addictive flavor she could imagine.
He slid his hand under her shirt, pushing up her bra until he cupped a breast. Need gripped her, heating her, making her cling to him. She moaned in pleasure as he dipped his head to replace his hand with his mouth.
When he finally lifted his head and looked at her, she couldn’t speak.
“You’re driving me wild,” he said hoarsely, “and this is no place for what I have in mind.”
“No, it’s not,” she agreed, a pinch of sense returning to her.
He let her go and she rearranged her clothes, her body tingling with need.
After a few moments, he urged the horse back onto the road again. “I hope you realize I don’t want to take you home,” he said. “But since I can’t have what I want, I’m going to do just that.”
Neither did she want him to take her home and leave her.