by Kim Pritekel
So why had she allowed Denny to hold her? Yes, she had been asleep, and good sleep was hard to get on the hard, cold ground, but their shared body heat seemed to send them both off into a deep sleep. Rachel didn’t think the brunette would have done that, otherwise. Glancing at her now, she didn’t think Denny even knew what she’d done, as when the coffee shop owner was awoken, Rachel was already running out of the shelter.
She realized it all boiled down to being very tired, warm and content for the first time in months, and the easy, trustworthy persona that was Denny. Green eyes closed as Rachel rested her head back against the wall
* * *
Cold. So very cold. Dean tried to pull his legs even tighter against his body, his knees nearly pushing through his ribs as it was. He was wet, covered in mud and tired. Does the blasted rain ever end?! He ducked his head out of the tiny hiding place he and Michael had crawled to, looking up into the sky, which was beginning to lighten, the rain still falling, but now at a much more reasonable rate. It was more like a pleasant afternoon drizzle.
“If I don’t see rain again, be fine by me,” Michael grumbled, eyes closed as his head rested back against the trunk of a tree.
“Amen to that.” The attorney sighed heavily.
Michael’s eyes slid open and he glanced over at the man sitting no more than a foot away. He was amazed to find none of the contempt for the smaller man that he’d felt the same time the day before. Now, looking at the miserable attorney, he felt a sense of pride and camaraderie with the little guy. Feeling eyes on him, Dean met the Texan’s gaze with his own questioning one. He was surprised to see the smile grace Michael’s rugged features.
“We ain’t so different, are we?” Michael asked, his deep voice filled with pleasant surprise. Dean smiled, shaking his head.
“Nope. Guess not.”
“Thanks, man.” Michael held out a large hand, which was quickly taken. With one, firm handshake, an understanding of sorts was forged and all assumptions left behind.
“Anytime.” Dean couldn’t help but fill his chest feel and a sense of a job well done. He released the mechanic’s hand, and tucked it with the other one, under his armpits. “What a mess,” he said absently at length, looking out over the destruction.
“Ain’t that the truth. Reckon that was a hurricane, or at least a pretty damn ugly tropical storm,” Michael said, remembering the storms from his childhood. Hell, Katrina still woke him with nightmares. He knew that everything was gone, and they’d have to start over.
“Wonder what happened to the girls,” Dean sighed, worried they hadn’t fared as well. The thought of being stuck on the island with Michael, with no buffer, made him cringe. No matter what kind of understanding they’d reached, he still didn’t think it was wise. Michael was real good looking guy, with a real cute butt. Dean knew he’d be murdered with the mechanic’s bare hands were he to even think about that. That said, he tossed the thoughts out of his head.
“Don’t know. Did you see them?” Michael saw Dean shake his head. Sighing heavily, the Texan drug himself to his feet, his body screaming at him. He was cold, hungry, tired and beyond sore from battling the elements. “Come on, Dean. Let’s get this over with, and see the damage.”
Dean groaned as he, too stood, surprised by the steadying hand on his arm. Smiling his thanks, he followed the Texan out to the beach. Sure enough, and to the horror of both men, the beach was I ruins. Deep ruts marred the normally flawless sand, which was wet and filled with small oceans of its own. Tree and plant parts littered the sands, where their shelters had once stood was now the new home to a toppled palm.
Michael whistled through his teeth, shaking his head as he tucked his hands into the back pockets of his jeans, which he couldn’t wait to peel off his body. The wet, muddy denim felt like a cast iron vise around his lower half.
Dean wanted to cry. It reminded him of the destruction of Ground Zero in the months after the terrorist attacks, which took place not far from Will’s office. “This is unreal,” he said, his voce soft as he reached up, pushing wet, dirty hair out of his eyes. Michael only nodded.
“Let’s explore, see if we can’t find the girls and anything that can be salvaged.”
Dean followed the large man, but then noticed something out of the corner of his eye. His laughter was so sudden, so completely unexpected, it started Michael. The Texan’s gaze shot to where Dean was trotting off to, his own amusement bubbling up until his laughter met the attorney’s.
* * *
Green eyes slowly slid open, though for the second time in five hours, she wasn’t sure why. Warmth engulfed her on either side, combating the cold behind and beneath her. She was sitting against the back wall of the waterfall nook, legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles. Okay, that explains the coldness under my ass. Glancing to her right, she found herself face to face with very dark hair. An inspection of her left side revealed the same. It seemed Mia and Denny had found her shoulders as comfy pillows. Smiling to herself, the author was loath to disturb either of them, but then what had woken her made itself very clear once more.
“Shit,” she muttered, her bladder once again speaking its mind. All the wonderful fish and water she’d had the night before was finally making its last curtain call. Finally her physical need overran her emotional one, and the author gently extricated herself from the sleeping duo who flanked her. Making sure they stayed asleep, the blonde scurried out of their hiding spot, out into the drizzle, which was beginning to warm with the rising sun.
Despite the devastation the storm had unleashed, Rachel was assaulted by the intense brightness of color around her. The plants seemed to have brightened their neon mode by at least fifty percent over night. It would have been breathtaking if the broken leaves, pummeled flowers and snapped trees hadn’t come into play.
Her bladder announcing its intentions of letting loose any moment brought the blonde back to the reason why she was wandering out in the wild in the first place. She walked precariously around what was usually a deep pond, but was now a veritable lake, trying to find a good bush that was still in one piece. Zeroing in on such a bush, Rachel sighed in relief as she pushed what was left of her jeans down, yelping at a rogue leaf that tickled her in a spot she hadn’t been tickled in quite some time.
As the blonde’s bodily functions took over, she let her mind wander, wondering where they’d build their next shelter, certainly further up from the beach and deeper into the jungle. As her thoughts bounced around, they landed briefly on Michael and Dean, praying they made it, though her heart clenched at the mental picture of the two men, who were night and day of the male species. She smiled slightly, remembering Dean’s easy smile and somewhat tempestuous personality, while Michael was gruff and rugged, yet had a heart of gold. She wondered what Melissa was like; what kind of woman had tamed the beast of Texas, and managed to mine her way to that gold?
Rachel was brought roughly out of her thoughts and screamed out as something smacked her in the shoulder. Stopping mid-stream, she shot to her feet, looking around savagely for a snake. What she found was long and could be slimy, but it wasn’t any snake.
Blue eyes flew open as a shrill scream rent the air. Confused and disoriented, she got to her feet like a shot and was running out of the little alcove, doing her damndest to run on wet, slick rock and dirt, and not fall into the brand new ocean that had developed over night on the island. Briefly she wondered what the eighth ocean would be called. Her amusement was short-lived as she heard another scream.
Rachel held her pants closed as she bent over and picked up the flesh-colored object that had bounced off her shoulder and lodged itself into a tumble of leaves and branches. She screamed again as something pinched her ass. Turning around with wide eyes, Rachel’s heart swelled with her relief.
“Dean!” She threw herself at him, as covered in mud as he was, she didn’t care. In fact, she wondered how the rather prissy man was handling the grime. It didn’t matter as he wrapped his arms
around her, just as relieved to see her as she was him. “You made it,” she breathed, hugging even tighter. She felt a sting behind her eyes that she quickly swallowed down, though it returned when she saw the tears in his own eyes. “What about-“
“I’m here, too, darlin’.”
The blonde let out another small cry when she found herself pulled into an almost painfully tight hug, breathing out her sigh of relief into the large man’s chest. “Oh, thank god.” Pulling away just enough to look up into his face, she gave him a relieved, watery smile. “We were all so worried.”
“Rachel!” Denny yelled, running through the foliage, trying to find the author, who sounded to be in trouble. “Rach-“ She cut herself off mid-yell when she saw the grinning trio. “Son of a…” The brunette ran headlong to the two men, grabbing both in a headlock, relief and anger clashing together. “Do you two have any idea how goddamn worried I was?!”
Dean and Michael were taken aback by the usually laid back woman’s reaction, having only seen her get fired up the one time, over Michael calling Dean a name.
“Don’t you ever do that again, you got it?!”
“Michael! Dean!”
Within moments everyone was crying at the happy reunion, all hugs and smiles.
“Anyone up for breakfast?” Dean finally asked, waving the retrieved dildo in the air for emphasis.
* * *
Tiffany Riley sipped from her clear plastic cup, stained with red drops from the fruit punch being served. Her eyes, nearly coal black, studied the brunette across the room, talking to Jim Lopez, one of the district managers. The new accountant wiped her red punch mustache with a napkin, adorned with a colorful turkey and wishes of a happy Thanksgiving. She couldn’t keep her eyes off the researcher, knowing full well what had happened to Hannah over the summer, her loss. Tiffany was reluctant to approach her, though wanted to get to know her.
It had been a month since the shorter woman started working with the company, but Hannah Donnelly had caught her eye right away. She’d lacked the courage to so much as speak to the woman, but figured today she’d take a risk.
Running a hand through short, auburn hair, Tiffany Riley let out a long breath and set her plastic cup down on the refreshments table and straightened suit jacket, thrusting her shoulders back to show a sense of confidence she did not feel. She walked slowly toward the woman in her sights, smiling slightly in relief as Jim Lopez squeezed the beautiful woman’s arm, then walked away, headed to fill a plate with the turkey dinner provided smorgasbord style. Left alone, Hannah sipped her punch, watching her co-workers interact.
“Nice get together they put together, huh?” Tiffany asked, standing at Hannah’s side. The brunette glanced at her, nodding.
“Nicer than last year. We got cold cuts.” Hannah chuckled with the shorter woman, whom she’d noticed in the office on and off. She thought she was new, but didn’t know her name.
“At my last job, over at Hoff and Curtman, they handed out hard candy.”
Hannah chuckled again, shaking her head. “That’s terrible. A slap to the face.” They stood in silence for a moment when Tiffany introduced herself. “Hannah.” The researcher took the offered hand, then dropped it, noting the softness of the accountant’s hand. She blocks it out of her mind.
“So any plans for the long weekend?” Tiffany asked at length, feeling her palms getting sweaty as she tried to build up her courage.
“Not really.” For a moment, Hannah looked profoundly sad. “Hanging around the house, maybe do some spring cleaning.”
“In the autumn?”
“Yeah. Kind of like Christmas in July, suppose.” They shared a small smile before turning their attention back to the room filled with people, murmurs of conversation and the occasional peal of laughter. Tiffany tried to think of a way to get to know Hannah outside of work, some way to casually invite her out without it seeming she was asking her out.
“I don’t know about you, but I’m kind of thinking this turkey they’re serving is a little gross. I’m not a dark meat gal.”
“Yeah.” Hannah glanced down at the remnants of her mostly uneaten dinner on the table next to her.
“I was thinking about maybe grabbing a sandwich at Rocky’s.”
“Ohhh,” Hannah grinned, “I love Rocky’s. Their meatball sandwiches are to die for.”
“Mm, yeah.” Tiffany’s eyes brightened, as if the idea had just struck her. “Want to go get one?”
Hannah was surprised by the offer, but couldn’t help the small smile that graced her lips, nor the nod she gave. She couldn’t get her four day weekend to start soon enough. It was her first Thanksgiving without Denny, and she just wanted to curl up in her flannel pjs and shut the world out. Maybe a little socializing first would be good for her. “Sure.”
The winter air was truly and fully settling over Buffalo, New York. Both women tugged their jackets tighter around their bodies, raving the fierce wind as they walked the block to the popular deli. Nearly blown inside, they welcomed the warmth and calm of the small place, which was next to empty on the late, Wednesday afternoon.
“Hey, ladies. What can I get for you?” the man behind the counter asked, leaning his hands on the counter on either side of the register. Taking their orders and money, he told them to grab a seat, and he’d bring their orders to them.
“I think this is the emptiest I’ve ever seen this place,” Tiffany commented, dragging her scarf out from around her neck, the action making her shiver slightly. Hannah nodded.
“I know. If only it was always like this.”
She has such a beautiful smile. The accountant cleared her throat, smiling at the man as he brought their drinks. One thing she didn’t like about the place was the no refills policy. She often wished she could take a full cup back to the office with her. Hannah held the cup of coffee she ordered between chilled palms, blowing over the black liquid. Tiffany spared a glance at the woman sitting across from her, trying to study her face in the split second she allowed herself. She made a note to herself to start asking around about the beautiful brunette. More than she already had.
* * *
I won’t get sick. I won’t get sick. I won’t get sick.
“You okay, Will?” Garrison asked, her voice tinny in the headset mic they both wore. The architect nodded vigorously, though his face got more green as they flew out over the water. The pilot tried to not chuckle, just hoping he wouldn’t puke in the Bell 407. The seven-seater was flying low, the waves rushing beneath them. The bubble cockpit made it easy to see a good portion around the chopper. After stopping in Florida to re-fuel, they were on their way: mission two.
Will swallowed his sickness down, not liking this height thing at all, but there was no way he wasn’t going to be there just in case. It was the holiday season, and he had time from work to take before the end of the year, so he was using it wisely. The sandy-haired man had come to respect and like Garrison Davies quite a bit. She was a good person with a big heart. During their last flight, she had told him all about her partner, Keller, and their ward, who Garrison called her daughter, which was actually Keller’s much younger sister. After saving the girls from a savagely abusive father, Garrison and Keller had fallen in love, and started a life together, raising the then five year old Parker.
Will was touched by the story, and grew to respect the pilot even more. Watching the obvious love between the two pilots, as Keller also flew with Davies’ Hangar, the architect became that much more determined in his search for Dean. The memorial back in October had been a success for his goal of getting the famous author’s husband on board with his wild idea. Sure enough, the high-profile backing had indeed garnered financial support for the mission to find any remaining survivors.
Garrison felt guilty for taking the money from the dear man sitting next to her, but she’d promised to help him, though she felt it was a fool’s errand. Knowing the power behind an aircraft, she had been stunned to hear of any survivors at all, let alone
anymore out there somewhere; it was just not feasible, but the pilot didn’t have the heart to tell him this.
The first trip Garrison had covered chartered territory, but now was going off the beaten path, checking in with the closest tower every few minutes, giving her location and direction. The cockpit remained silent for some time, both flyers keeping their eyes peeled to the sea below, praying to see anything that would be indicative of … well … anything.
“I can’t believe how much water there is down there,” Will noted, squinting at what he realized was a fisherman’s vessel below, which they quickly buzzed past. Garrison nodded.
“There sure is. A shit load of ice melting, huh?”
Will chuckled. “Yeah. Isn’t that the truth.”
* * *
“Shit!” Dean muttered a few other choice words as he sputtered salt water out of his nose, his sinuses burning from the unexpected swim. “Son-of-a-bitch, bastard, piece of shit. Shit!” Treading water, he noted the bobbing pieces of wood, almost taunting him, as it floated close by, slowly drifting further and further away from each other, vines floating lamely from around the trunk they’d been secured around.
“Guess that didn’t work,” Michael grinned, chuckling at his companion’s glare of death. The Texan had been pissed off, oh lordy yes! But as soon as he’d seen how upset Dean was, he figured one of them had to keep a flat head. He swam over to one of the logs, grabbing onto it, then swimming back toward Dean, sending it drifting toward the attorney. “Hold onto that,” he instructed, swimming toward the other three logs that were getting further away. He figured one of them would just have to get away, as he only had two hands, and didn’t want to swim too far out.
