A Woman's Heart

by Gael Morrison

  He slowly reached for the photo in the middle, the one of Claire, her face glistening with perspiration and joy as she held out her arms for Alex the very first time.

  "Who took this?" Peter demanded softly. He took hold of the frame with knuckle-whitened fingers and lifted the photo from its hook.

  "I did," Jann said, the sheer unfairness of Claire's death, as always, overwhelming her.

  "All of them?" His sharp gaze swept the walls.

  "Yes."

  "Who taught you to take pictures like these?" He looked at her then in a clear, glittering glance, before shifting his attention to a photo of an aged Hawaiian woman gazing off into the distance, her face creased into a multitude of wrinkles. Her husband stood behind her, one hand resting on her shoulder in a timeless gesture of solidarity and love.

  "Nobody, exactly," Jann said, but she remembered her father at his easel, his brush strokes capturing the precise curve of her mother's smile. She had inherited her father's eye, a gift that had come as swiftly and as unexpectedly as her parents had gone.

  She turned back to the refrigerator and reached again for the lemonade. Her hand trembled and she spilled a few drops on her tiny countertop.

  "It's just something I do," she explained quietly. Something she couldn't stop doing if she tried. "It’s my job." But it was more than a job. It was her sanity.

  "They're good."

  With reluctance, she met his eyes, trying again not to care that he liked them. If she worried what people thought, her gift would disappear, and with it, she believed, the stark honesty of her photos.

  Peter turned his attention back to the picture in his hand.

  "Keep it," Jann offered, the words escaping her lips before she realized they were there.

  "I'll buy it," he said in return.

  "It's not for sale."

  His jaw clenched. With deliberate care he placed the photo back on its nail then slowly turned to face her.

  "Where's my nephew?" he demanded.

  "Why? So you can buy him, too?"

  "I want to see him."

  "Once you've seen him, I want you to leave."

  She pushed past Peter, past his solid, statue-like immovability, and moved swiftly down the passage toward Alex's cabin. Before she opened his door, she pulled in a deep, cleansing breath, not wanting even a hint of the tension swirling through her boat to enter her baby's room. Since Clare had died, she'd done everything she could to wrap Alex in love, and she was not about to let Peter Strickland's possessiveness seep in and destroy that love.

  Her baby slept peacefully, his face rosy in the glow of the sun sparkling through the glass hatch. His black hair, flattened by sleep, clung softly to the edges of his face.

  Fear slivered through Jann. If Claire's brother gained custody of Alex, how would she survive?

  "He looks like Claire."

  She hadn't heard Peter approaching. Incredibly, she hadn't sensed him, but now she knew he was near, her nerve-endings jangled loudly enough to wake the dead.

  He leaned over her shoulder, his breath tickling the hairs on the back of her neck. She could smell him again, a clean scent overlaid with the subtle bouquet of his aftershave. Turning, she faced him, placing her body solidly between his and that of her child.

  Desire raged through her, sharp and unexpected, loosening her limbs and softening her lips.

  Peter seemed to feel it also, for his eyes widened with shock, and gazed into hers so intently her breathing stopped. His eyes changed color from sea-green to emerald and for one agonizing instant, she was sure he meant to kiss her, was sure, also, that the idea appalled him as much as it did her.

  With a swift intake of breath, she scooped up her sleeping son and thrust him towards his uncle. Alex woke, his face wrinkling with outrage, and his mouth opened wide in a high-pitched baby cry.

  For a single second only, Jann felt safe, an obstacle now between her and this man who could destroy her life. Then her lips parted in a soundless protest, for Alex, beloved Alex, was now in the hands of the man who could take him from her.

  With a gentle motion, Peter turned the small bundle to face him, his gaze softening as he stared down at his sister's child. A man like him, so large and strong, should appear awkward holding a baby, but this man didn't. He held Alexander as though he had been doing it forever.

  A lump formed in Jann's throat, making it impossible to swallow.

  Peter stroked Alex's cheek and the baby's howls died to nothing. Solemnly reaching into his jacket pocket, Peter pulled out a tattered, one-ear-chewed-off teddy bear.

  "This is for you, Alexander Strickland," he said, speaking to his nephew so softly Jann had to strain to hear. "It was your mother's."

  Chapter 4

  Jann tugged her hair back from her face and looped it into a knot on the top of her head before stepping over the railing on the stern of her boat. Standing on the lip of the deck, she reached back and up as far as she could. No good. She was tall, but not tall enough.

  Cautiously, she lifted first one leg then the other back over the railing until she was sitting on it, the pole of the wind generator between her legs. By stretching hard, the ends of her fingers brushed the release button of the telescoping pole. But she couldn't push it in. The sea air and ocean spray had corroded and stiffened the metal.

  With a sigh, she slumped forward against the pole. Alex grinned toothlessly up at her from the high chair she had jammed against the back corner of the cockpit, and clapped his hands together, as though cheering her efforts. She smiled back at him, then, the smile turning to a frown, returned her gaze to the wind generator high above her head.

  She needed it in working order for her trip to Maui next week, but couldn't seem to fix it, was too tired to make the extra effort. And that was Peter Strickland's fault. She'd lain awake half the night, unable to forget how out of control she'd felt when they'd almost kissed.

  "Damn." Capt'n's growl carried easily from his boat to Jann's.

  "What are you doing out there?" Ruby demanded irritably, her voice still filled with sleep. "John, you're not working on that rudder again! You promised to hire someone to help you."

  Jann chuckled. The Capt'n might be a mechanical genius but even working a lifetime as ship's engineer on a large freighter in the South Pacific hadn't prepared him for the idiosyncrasies of the run-down old sloop he and Ruby had bought when they retired last year.

  An indistinct murmur grabbed Jann's attention. Peering toward the Windward through a forest of intervening masts, she saw no one. But she didn't need to see Peter Strickland to recognize his voice.

  "Need some help?"

  Capt'n wouldn't want any help from Peter.

  "Much obliged," Capt'n answered gruffly.

  Frowning, Jann clutched the pole more tightly and leaned sideways until she could make out the Windward's bow. It rocked up as Peter stepped onto the stern.

  "Can't seem to make the darn thing work right," Capt'n complained querulously.

  "Maybe, if you...."

  The rest was lost in a series of thumps and bangs.

  "By God, that did the trick!" Capt'n exclaimed, when the noise suddenly died. "How about a cup of coffee?"

  Now he was serving Peter coffee!

  The boat rocked again as the two men moved forward.

  "What an unusual carving," Peter said, his voice now sharp and clear. "Not from around here, is it?"

  She could imagine Claire's brother staring with narrowed green eyes at the painted wooden mask Capt'n kept nailed to the front of the cabin. Her frown deepened.

  "Picked it up in New Guinea on my last voyage there," Capt'n explained.

  "I have one just like it," Peter said thoughtfully. "Got it from a fellow in Port Moresby—Jeff Andrews, his name was."

  "Jeff! You know Jeff? Ruby, did you hear that? He knows Jeff."

  Now they had mutual friends. Jann's stomach lurched. She rested her cheek against the pole and clung there, staring at the mast on the boat opposite,
hoping a focal point would rid her body of the dizziness overtaking her.

  "...no, I won't have more coffee, thanks. I need to talk to Jann."

  Short of casting off and putting out to sea there was no avenue of escape, Jann decided. Damn the man. She had work to do. Pressing her lips together, she stretched again toward the stubborn button, concentrating on that and ignoring the sound of Peter's feet padding closer along the pier.

  "Good morning," he said.

  "What do you want?" she muttered, uncomfortably aware of her too-short cut-offs and skimpy, clinging tee shirt.

  "You know why I'm here."

  Reluctantly, she lowered her arms. Today Peter was dressed for the heat. Two strongly-muscled, tanned legs stretched up then disappeared beneath a pair of khaki shorts. A rust-colored tee shirt lay snug across his broad chest and his green eyes were focused on her. She dragged the back of her hand across her brow, wiping away the moisture forming there.

  "I told you before you left last night that you couldn't see Alex until this evening. I'll be on a shoot all day." She'd been looking forward all week to the shoot at Sunset Beach. Now she was probably too exhausted to do her work properly.

  "I'm here to baby-sit," he said evenly, waggling his fingers at Alex.

  Her baby chortled back at him and the finger of toast he was attempting to maneuver into his mouth slipped from between chubby fingers and landed on the deck. Alex's smile crumpled into an O-shaped wail.

  "Ruby and Capt'n are baby-sitting," Jann said firmly.

  "I'll help," Peter said then, stepping on board, he retrieved Alex's toast and handed it back to the baby.

  "No! Your visits have to be supervised."

  "John and Ruby will supervise."

  "I have to supervise." Her fingers tightened around the pole.

  "Then you don't leave me much choice."

  "What do you mean?"

  "Alexander and I will go with you."

  "You can't!" From the hardening line of his jaw, Jann saw he not only could, but would. "It'll be too hard on Alex—that long bus ride, no place to nap—"

  "I have a car," he reminded her implacably, "with a baby seat."

  "I might not even go," she muttered.

  "Why not?"

  "I've got to fix this first." She gestured with a grimace toward the metal pole.

  "What is it?"

  "A wind generator."

  "How do you expect to work on it from there?"

  "The pole telescopes down. I just have to release this darned button."

  "Let me have a look." He edged around Alex's high chair and stepped closer.

  "I can do it."

  "You're going to fall overboard the way you're sitting."

  "I never have yet!"

  "Are you going to move?" he demanded, suddenly closer than she wanted him, almost as close as they'd been last night.

  "No," she snapped. He was the one who needed to move. She couldn't work with him this close. Tearing her gaze away from his ocean-colored eyes, she stretched upward toward the button.

  "You'll never reach it," he insisted, and without waiting for her assent, grabbed hold of the pole to which she clung and swung his legs over the railing.

  Placing his feet on the lip of the deck, he moved around behind her, his body now snug against her back and bottom, with one arm looped around her body as his hand grasped the pole. Then he stretched in the same direction as she, and his hand met hers.

  She gasped at the current coursing between their fingers, the connection as electric as the heat flaming across her back. His breath was on her neck, sweet breath, and warm, making her long to kiss him and to be kissed in return.

  "Get off me," she cried.

  He, too, must have felt the heat, for when she twisted around to face him, desire blazed in his eyes.

  He pulled his gaze away. "I've almost got it," he muttered, stretching higher, his body rubbing against hers with the movement, inflaming her even further.

  "I said get off." Her panic rose. To sink into his heat was as impossible as it was desirable. She pushed against him, fearing to lose herself in his touch.

  With a garbled shout, and a sudden wrenching of heat from heat, he was gone, the splash his body made as it entered the water drenching her.

  Stunned by his sudden fall, she swung her legs off the railing and stood where he had stood, one hand clutching the pole, the other shading her eyes. She struggled to pick out his shape hidden in the shadows on the water's surface.

  "Peter!" she shouted, her heart pounding so hard it reverberated against her eardrums.

  "John! Ruby! Help!" she screamed.

  Only a ripple showed where the surface had been disturbed. Save for that ripple and the heat still coursing through her, there was no evidence Peter had ever been there. She counted to ten then with a swift glance to see that Alex was safely strapped in his high-chair, she dove into the salty water.

  Her open eyes stung from the shock of it, but she couldn't see Peter, could see nothing but shadows.

  She dove deeper, her hands stretched out before her, glad now for little clothing and no shoes to slow her down. Then a darker shadow floated near from the buoy on her left and she could see it was Peter.

  She reached for him, thinking to catch hold of his arm and pull him to the surface, but his hand shot out and grasped her wrist instead. Despite the cold water, his fingers burned. With a sharp tug, he very quickly had her skimming upwards.

  "What the hell did you think you were doing?" he demanded, the moment their heads broke the surface. He glared at her, his eyes dark and fierce.

  "Are you hurt?" she asked.

  "No," he yelled. "No thanks to you!"

  "You were crowding me!" Even here, in the middle of the ocean, he was crowding her. He shook his head to clear wet black hair from his eyes and water sprayed over her. His legs tangled with hers as they paddled to keep afloat.

  "I was helping you," he growled.

  "I didn't need any help."

  "So you thought you'd dump me overboard?"

  "Next time maybe you'll listen."

  "Is that what you intend to do to Alexander if he doesn't do what you tell him? Push him overboard?"

  "No, I..." She bit her lip.

  "And what do you mean jumping in after me and leaving Alexander alone?"

  She shot a swift glance toward her boat. She couldn't see Alex from where she floated but she could hear his happy babbling.

  "Alex is fine," she said firmly.

  "Funny place for a swim," John called from above, peering over the side of Jann's boat and grinning down at them.

  "Just cooling off," Peter said grimly.

  "It was hot," Jann said evasively, then looked toward Peter and saw his eyes weren't as angry as they'd been before. In fact, if she didn't know better, she could have sworn there was laughter lurking in their depths.

  "Let's get out," Peter said, giving her arm a gentle tug. His lips stretched into a full-fledged grin. "I've had enough swimming for one day."

  * * *

  "Isn't summer off-season for the big surf?" Peter asked, pulling back his arm then casting a pebble far out into the oncoming breakers.

  "Yes," she answered, struggling to keep her voice matter-of-fact while screwing the telephoto lens onto her camera. "There's been some bad weather around the islands lately." She stared past Peter to the ocean. "Which is unusual for this time of year."

  "Hand me that film, would you?" She glanced back at him and held out her hand. He touched her palm as he gave it to her, his fingers scoring her skin with warmth.

  "Thanks," she said swiftly, snatching her hand away.

  "It's been interesting," he said.

  "What has?" Jann asked. She fit the film into its slot before looking at him again.

  "Watching you work," he replied, with a lazy smile.

  "I'm supposed to be supervising you," she said, uncomfortably aware at how easily his smile warmed her, "not the other way around."


  "I thought we agreed to keep an eye on each other."

  "I didn't agree to anything." Heat spread up her neck, and she was irritated anew at her inability to forget how his skin felt on hers.

  Claire had said her brother was clever and controlling. He was also trying to take Alex away. She'd be a fool to forget that.

  Jann glanced down the broad sweep of beach glistening in the sunlight. The surf, as usual, pulled her gaze.

  "The Bonsai Pipeline," she said slowly, determined to put Peter into a different place, to make him into something he wasn't, a tourist, nothing more. "It lures surfers from all over the world. It's a God to some. To others..." She stared at the enormous breakers and couldn't stop the shiver skittering across her shoulders. "...a killer."

  Then she raised her camera to her eye and scanned the water, finding, at long last, the surfer she'd been watching most of the afternoon.

  The young man's face was contorted with the effort of concentration as he lay on his board paddling furiously before a gigantic wave. At just the right moment he scrambled to his feet, then, his body bending like a sapling in the wind, he balanced on the wave's crest and clung to the crashing water.

  Again and again, Jann pressed the camera's shutter, excitement buoying her up as she caught the very moment the surfer knew he was there, that with skill and good luck the wave would be his. She caught, too, his exultation.

  "Did you get it?" Peter asked, his voice carrying the same excitement Jann felt inside and coming from somewhere close to her ear.

  "Yes," she cried happily, forgetting to be wary. "I got exactly what I wanted."

  He grinned down at her, his hair blowing in the wind. Jann's heart began pounding like an out-of-control drum before lurching suddenly to a halt. Impulsively, inexplicably, she raised her camera to her eye and pressed down on the shutter.

  A soundproof wall seemed to descend around her, the noise of the surf disappearing, as did the laughter of the people walking by on the sand. All that remained was the slow thumping of her heart, suddenly and erratically, resuming its beat. She stood motionless, her cheeks on fire, unwilling to lower the camera and face him.

  With an inward moan, slowly and reluctantly she did just that. Peter's full lips had curved into a smile and one brow was questioningly raised.