He finished his breakfast, and after he had cleared the table and put the dishes in the sink, he went up on deck. And when he had hoisted the sails and they caught the wind, he eased the Straight On out of the cove and headed toward the open sea.
Late that afternoon the clouds rolled in. The sky grew dark and the water turned a sullen flat gray, dead calm at first so that the sails hung limp, unmoving. The Straight On lay becalmed, suspended somewhere between sky and sea in an eerie silence.
Luis climbed the mast and with binoculars scanned the sea in every direction. He’d figured to reach Samana Cay in another couple of hours and he needed the wind. He could use the motor, of course, but if they ran into trouble they might need the motor more than they did now. There wouldn’t be a place where he could gas up until the cay.
The air was hot, steamy. Thunder rumbled in the distance, lightning snaked through the sky. Annabel paced the deck, her face pinched, eyes worried.
The storm hit with the suddenness of a tornado, with a wind that churned the waves and brought the rain in slashing torrents. The sails billowed, the boat lurched.
“Go below!” he shouted at Annabel.
“Can I help? Tell me what to do.”
“All right.” He motioned her forward. “Take the wheel. I’ve got to lower the sea anchors.”
She hurried toward him. He covered her hands with his on the wheel. “Keep her steady,” he said. And when he was sure she had a firm grip he ran forward, clinging to stanchions as he made his way across the deck.
The thunder was closer now, right above them, booming with great clashes of sound while lightning flashed and the rain came in blinding sheets that made it almost impossible to see.
When the waves started breaking over the deck, he made Annabel go below and closed the hatch after her to keep the cabin from flooding.
He’d been in storms before, but never in a gale like this. Before they’d left this morning he’d checked weather conditions with the weather bureau. “Some rain and wind coming in across Cuba,” it had said. “Doesn’t look now as if it would bother the Bahamas, not unless it changes course, but stand by for other advisories.”
He’d checked every thirty minutes after that. An hour ago the report had said, “The storm is picking up and changing course, coming right across the Great Bahama Bank and heading toward the Caicos.”
He’d known then that they were in trouble, but he hadn’t expected it to be this bad. He tightened his hands on the wheel, his face grim, worried. The Straight On was a sturdy boat, but was she a match for a storm like this?
The sails billowed and snapped. The boat cut through the water, the wind at her back, fighting on, wallowing through waves that threatened her. He held her fast, eyes narrowed, trying to see through the slanting rain. Hold her steady, he told himself. Hold her steady and we’ll be all right.
A blast of wind hit. The boat surged up on an eight-foot wave and hung suspended. He was surrounded by walls of churning water. He clung hard to the wheel and held his breath. “Come on,” he urged. “Ride it out. You can do this. You can...” The boat crashed down the lee side, wavered there and righted.
The wind hit hard. Something snapped. He looked up in time to see the mainmast go. It swung straight toward him, the sail flapping wildly in the wind. He put up a hand to shield himself and tried to duck. The mast grazed his head, staggering him, and fell with a crash to the deck.
He swiped a hand across his face. When it came away bloody, he cursed aloud. And called himself a damn fool because he’d wanted to go by boat instead of chartering a plane to take Annabel to San Sebastián. He’d done it because he’d wanted to stir her memory, to try to force her to remember what had happened on that other boat, Never mind that stepping onto a boat again would be difficult for her, he’d thought only of his own selfish reasons for wanting her aboard. But, Dios, he hadn’t counted on anything like this.
How frightened she must be, huddling below in the cabin, afraid the same thing would happen to her that had happened before. What had he done to her? What if the boat capsized? What if they... ?
She came toward him, fighting her way through the wind and the rain. “No!” he cried. “Go back! Go back!”
“You’re hurt.” She reached out to him. “You’re bleeding.”
“It’s nothing,” he yelled over the cry of the wind. “You’ve got to go below.”
She didn’t even bother answering him. Instead she pulled her blouse off and, linking one arm around a stanchion, tore it with her teeth. When it ripped, she took a strip and wrapped it around his head, struggling to keep her balance.
“Get out of here! Damn it, do as you’re told.”
A wave washed over the deck and the boat lurched. Annabel grabbed him around the waist and hung on. The boat staggered, then righted and struggled on.
“Go back. I don’t want you up here.”
“Too bad,” she shouted. “I’m staying.”
If there had been any way he could have secured the wheel, he’d have picked her up and carried her below. But all he could do was yell at her, and obviously that wasn’t doing a damn bit of good.
An hour went by, two. His shoulders ached, his head hurt. She stood next to him, hanging on to the stanchion, wind and rain whipping her hair back from her face.
Almost three hours went by before the wind began to die. The waves diminished and the rain, though it didn’t stop, slowed.
“Go below and make some coffee,” Luis said. “I’m going to check for damage. I’ll be down as soon as I can.”
This time she didn’t argue.
He checked the broken mast and swore a steady stream in Spanish. It had snapped in two. He hoped they’d be able to make it into Samana Cay and wondered how far they’d been blown off course.
When he dropped the anchors fore and aft he went below. Annabel had changed from shorts and bikini top to a pair of jeans and a navy blue T-shirt. She’d pulled her hair back into a ponytail.
“Take a shower,” she ordered in a no-nonsense voice.
He started to tell her he didn’t need a nursemaid, but thought better of it. He took the shower, pulled on a pair of khaki shorts and went back to the galley.
“Sit down,” she said, and he sat.
She made funny little muttering sounds as she washed the head wound, rubbed an antiseptic cream on it, then she fastened a patch over it.
“Thanks,” he said, and stood. But when he felt a sudden wave of dizziness, he slid back down into the booth. “There’s...there’s brandy in the cupboard over the stove,” he told her.
She got the brandy and quickly poured some into a glass and handed it to him. He downed it and felt better. “For you?” he asked.
“I don’t think I like it.”
“You need it.” He poured a splash into his glass and passed it to her.
She took a sip and made a face. “Drink!” he said, and she did.
She’d made coffee and ham sandwiches. He ate a sandwich, felt better, and ate another one. “You were pretty good out there,” he said.
“Thank you.”
“Do you ever do what you’re told?”
“I don’t know.” A smile tugged at her lips. “I don’t remember.”
He laughed and felt some of the tiredness ease. “I’m sorry.”
She looked puzzled. “About what?”
“I shouldn’t have made you come by boat. I should have chartered a plane the way you wanted me to.”
She shrugged. “What do we do now? Can we still make it to Samana Cay tonight?”
“I don’t think so. We’ve probably been blown off course by the storm. I’m going to check our position as soon as we finish eating.”
“If we can’t, will we be all right here?”
“Sure.” If they didn’t get another blow. If they weren’t too far off course. If he could repair the sails.
“What about the mast?” she asked. “Can you get that fixed in Samana Cay?”
“I d
oubt it. But we can make minor repairs there, enough to get us to Grand Turk and on to San Sebastián.”
San Sebastián. His island. Again she felt that niggle of fear of the unknown. And of him.
When they finished eating, she cleared the dishes while he checked their position.
The rain didn’t let up. He put a cassette on; Ella Fitzgerald was wonderful singing the blues. Annabel poked through his books and settled into one of the easy chairs with The Old Man and the Sea while he went over his charts.
He liked being here with her like this, feeling the gentle roll of the boat, the slap of waves against the hull and the slow and steady beat of the rain. The quiet calm after the storm.
She looked up and saw him watching her. “Does your head hurt?” she asked. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine.”
“Maybe you should take a couple of aspirin and get some rest.”
“I will as soon as I finish the charts.”
She got up and went to stand beside him. “How far off course are we?”
“Not too far. We’ll make Samana Cay sometime tomorrow.” He looked at her. “You were very brave today.”
She shrugged. “Everything happened so fast. I heard the crash. I thought you were hurt.”
“And you came to help me.”
“Well...”
He put his hands on her shoulders. Maybe it was a delayed reaction to the storm, the fear he’d felt when the boat had climbed that eight-foot wave and he’d thought they weren’t going to make it. Maybe it was the sound of the rain, the warmth of the cabin, the comfort of being here with her. He murmured her name, “Annabel,” and even though he had promised himself he wouldn’t do this, he drew her into his arms and kissed her.
She stiffened. “No,” she said against his lips. “No, please.”
He couldn’t let her go, couldn’t stop kissing her, because the feel of her mouth under his, the softness of her in his arms were good. Oh yes, so good.
She put her hands against his chest and tried to push him away. “Stop,” she whispered. “Let me go.”
“You’re my wife,” he murmured against her lips. “You belong to me. I have the right—”
“No!” She backed away from him, and bringing her hands up to cover her face, she began to weep. “I don’t remember. I don’t remember.”
He let her go. He was ashamed, more ashamed than he’d ever been before. She didn’t deserve this. He shouldn’t have tried to kiss her.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean...”
Still weeping, she turned away.
“Go to bed.” His voice sounded harsh. “Just...just go to bed, Annabel.”
And this time she did as she was told.
Chapter 4
They made Samana Cay at a little after noon the following day. Luis put in at a sheltered cove, and when he dropped anchor, he and Annabel set to work mending the ripped sails.
It was a perfect summer’s day with just the hint of an offshore breeze. Annabel, barefoot, clad in white shorts and T-shirt, wearing the straw hat Luis had bought for her in Nassau, sat cross-legged on the deck and worked diligently, trying not to look at Luis.
For a while last night she had let her guard down. In the coziness of the cabin, with the sound of the rain and the gentle rocking of the boat, she had felt a sense of ease and a relaxing of tensions she hadn’t felt since the first moment she’d opened her eyes in the hospital in Nassau. She and Luis had weathered the storm together and come through unscathed. Somehow that had brought her closer to him.
It had given her a nice feeling last night to look up from her book and see him there bending over his navigation charts. She had studied his face to try to find something...some little thing about him that would jog her memory.
And, yes, she had felt a softening toward him, the beginning of a willingness to accept the fact that perhaps, after all, he had been a part of her life. But then he kissed her.
Had she felt a familiarity in his kiss? A sense of having been in his arms before? She didn’t know. She didn’t think so.
“You’re my wife,” he’d said. “You belong to me.”
But did she?
He’d stopped when she asked him to, but would he the next time? If there was a next time.
When she got up this morning there had been coffee on the stove, a mango and banana on the countertop. And though she could hear him moving around on the deck, she stayed below until he brought the boat into the cove.
When at last she’d gone topside he’d said a brief “Good morning” and put her to work mending sails.
There was little conversation. After he gave her instructions on how to mend a sail, he left her to check out the boat, to make sure nothing had come loose during the buffeting they had taken.
“Everything seems to be all right,” he said when he came back up on deck. “We’ll be able to make it to Grand Turk by tomorrow. They’ll repair the mast there.”
“How long will it take?”
“With luck, a couple of days. We should be home by the end of the week.”
Home. Would she recognize it? Once she saw it, would she remember?
“How about if we go ashore? It would be cooler there under the trees.”
The island looked inviting, and yes, maybe it would be cooler than here on the boat, but she wasn’t sure she wanted to be alone there with him.
“Look,” he said, as though reading her thoughts, “about last night ... If I offended you—”
“You did.”
“I’m sorry. Maybe it was the storm, Annabel, the danger we’d been in. Maybe it was the way you looked curled up in the chair with the light on your face.” He shot her a glance, then quickly looked away. “I’m sorry,” he repeated. “It won’t happen again.”
When she didn’t say anything, he said, “Look, we’re going to be cooped up here on the boat for a few more days. We can’t avoid each other so we might as well make the best of it. I think we ought to take the dinghy over to the island, maybe have lunch and a swim and try to relax. There’s ham and cheese for sandwiches and we could take some cold beer.”
“I don’t like beer.”
“Then we’ll make lemonade. Whatever you want.”
She put aside the part of the sail she’d been working on. She was hot and tired because she’d had very little sleep last night. She didn’t particularly want to spend the afternoon working in the sun, but she wasn’t sure she wanted to spend it on the island with him, either. But at last she nodded and said, “All right. I’ll make the sandwiches.”
Twenty minutes later Luis lowered the dinghy over the side. He handed Annabel an oar and together they rowed over to the island.
It was more lush than the other islands they’d seen, filled with all sorts of flowering vegetation, with red hibiscus and wild orchids, angel trumpet trees and amaryllis. The water here was a clean, clear aquamarine, the sand pure white.
When Luis spread a blanket on the sand, Annabel arranged the plates and set out the food. After they’d eaten, Luis said he was going to explore. He asked her if she wanted to come along. She said no.
It wasn’t just that she didn’t want to be alone with Luis any more than she had to. The fact was that she still hadn’t gotten her strength back. Though her wounds had healed, the emotional trauma of not being able to remember her past had drained her. And yes, the storm had taken its toll. Now as she sat looking out at the water, her eyes started to close. She lay down, telling herself she would only rest for a little while, and went almost immediately to sleep.
She dreamed, not the frightening dream of fire and death, but rather of Luis. “You’re my wife,” he said in her dream. “You belong to me. I have the right...” He kissed her, warm, wet kisses all over her face. Her ears. Kisses that tickled her ears.
“Stop it!” She tried to push him away and awoke to find not Luis but a dog standing over her, licking her face. He was a scrawny black Labrador. Well, part Labrador. Heaven o
nly knew what the other part was.
He looked down at her with big, sorrowful eyes, raised what looked like a brown patch of eyebrow and barked. She came fully awake and saw Luis grinning down at her.
“I—I thought you...” She blushed, afraid he could read her mind. “Where did he come from?”
“I have no idea. He just suddenly appeared out of the bushes, came bounding at me, barking his head off, stopped a few feet from me and wagged his tail.”
“But how did he get here? On the island, I mean.”
“He probably belonged to somebody who stopped to picnic and swim. Maybe he ran off to explore and they left without him. Maybe they deliberately dumped him. Looks like he’s been here for a while, getting along on what fish he could catch and whatever else he could find to eat.”
“Poor dog.” Annabel patted the blanket. “Come on, fella. I’m sorry I scared you away.” The dog came to her and she scratched its ears. “What’s your name, boy?” She reached for its collar. “There’s nothing on it,” she told Luis. “No name or address. We’ll take him with us, won’t we?”
Luis nodded. “We can’t leave him here.”
“Poor guy, all by himself on a deserted island. Just like Robinson Crusoe.” She looked up at Luis. “That’s what we’ll call him, okay?”
We. For the first time she’d said “we.” As though they were a couple. That brought an unexpected lump to his throat. “Sure,” he said, “that’s fine.” Then he announced, “I’m going for a swim. Want to come?”
Annabel hesitated. She felt a little groggy after her nap and the water looked inviting. Maybe it would clear away the cobwebs. “Okay,” she said, and turning away from him, she stripped out of her shorts and shirt.
The top of the red-and-white polka-dot bikini, made of maybe an ounce of material, hugged her neat little breasts. He said—he tried to say—“Bueno, let’s go,” but the words came out with the pubescent squeak of a twelve-year-old.
Madre de Dios, this was some kind of a bathing suit, not what he’d expected when he gave one of the nurses in Nassau money and asked her to shop for. him.
Long-Lost Wife? Page 4
