Island Hearts (Jenny's Turn and Stray Lady)

by Vanessa Grant

  “Couldn’t you get a float plane in here for me? You could radio. I’d pay, of course.”

  “With what?” He leaned against the hoist as if he were settling in for a long inquisition. “You didn’t arrive here with your wallet in your pocket.”

  She had nothing. Her jeans and shirt. A torn cruiser suit. She pushed down the panic, said, “I— any bank. I just have to get to a bank.”

  “No identification?” He looked away from her, his narrowed eyes searching the water. “Banks are awkward about giving money if you can’t prove who you are.”

  She glanced around helplessly, then back at Lyle. He was doing this deliberately, making it hard for her. Her chest tightened in an unwelcome urge to cry. She sucked in a deep breath, forced anger. “I was shipwrecked! If you explained that, surely you could find a seaplane company that would be willing to fly me in to Prince Rupert and wait a couple of hours for their money! I could go to the bank, or I could call Jenny and get her to arrange some money for me!”

  He shook his head. “You couldn’t get a seaplane out here. Not in that kind of sea.”

  “But—” She swung around to the wild ocean. Surely there was some way to get out of here! She was ready to go. She had to go – quickly!

  “What if there was an emergency? Surely a helicopter, or a boat—”

  “There was an emergency,” he was looking down at her. He seemed suddenly even taller. “The other night, when I fished you out of the sea I’d have given anything to be able to get you to a hospital. It was impossible. There was no way anyone could get near this island, not safely.”

  He touched her arm. She jerked away. She had a wild need to strike out, to hit him and run to some safe retreat where she could pull a net of seclusion around herself. She hugged herself tightly, glaring at him.

  His voice had the same tone he might use on a frightened animal. “Take it easy, George. There’s not really any urgency, is there?”

  “I have to go!”

  “Why? Where?”

  She glanced around wildly. The sea and the buildings. She was terrified, panic-stricken without knowing why or what. “Vancouver,” she said abruptly. “Jenny. I’ll go to Jenny.”

  “Who’s Jenny?” His voice was low and quiet. She began to lose some of her panic, to breathe easier.

  “Jenny’s my cousin.” She closed her eyes, feeling some of the fear draining away. “I think I’m a bit crazy,” she said unsteadily, realizing how she must sound. “I don’t know what got into me.”

  His eyes were tender. “You’ve had a shock, you’ve been shipwrecked, suffered hypothermia and a thorough bashing on the rocks. Your mind and your body are still trying to come to terms with it all.”

  She didn’t resist when he drew her against his side, but found herself leaning against him, drawing his strength.

  “I’ll go to Jenny.”

  “Would she look after you?” He turned her away from the water, started her moving towards his house. “You’re not ready to be wandering around alone, and there’s not really any place that’s home, is there?”

  Jenny wasn’t home. George loved Jenny, but she’d paid a flying visit before she came north and her cousin had been far too busy to take on a convalescent guest.

  Lyle saw her smile and she had to explain, “The last time I saw Jenny, she— she and Jake have this media business, and Jenny was in the studio putting together a new documentary on the Queen Charlottes. She had a pen in one hand, and the baby – they just had a baby – in her arm, nursing. And Jake was bombing in with equipment hanging all over him. They were getting ready to fly north on location – baby and all! No, of course I won’t go to Jenny.” But she really must go somewhere. “I’ll go to my mother, in Campbell River.”

  “Will you?” Before she knew what he was doing, before she could protest, he had leaned down and slipped his arms under her legs and back, picking her up as if she were no weight at all.

  “Lyle, put me down!” She tried to sound outraged, but her body betrayed her and sagged against his chest, welcoming the support of his arms.

  He held her close against his chest. “I’ve watched you shivering long enough. We’ll go inside. Next time you go out, for God’s sake put something on your feet!”

  “Please put me down!”

  “I rescued you from the sea! I’m damned if I’ll let you die of pneumonia! Not while I’m looking after you.”

  “I’m not one of your strays!” She glared at his chin. She tried to ignore her thundering heart, hoped he couldn’t hear it. “I want to get off this island! You can’t keep me here by force!”

  “That’s an idea,” said Lyle speculatively, laughing down at her. “You’re warm and soft and— are you sure you not a stray?” She felt his muscles tense, holding her more securely as he started up the stairs with her in his arms. “Open the door for me, will you? I’ve got my hands full!”

  She glared at that unyielding chin, met eyes that held both laughter and desire.

  He— no, it was insane! He wouldn’t keep her here, as if she were a cat without a home!

  “Why should I open the door?” she demanded aggressively. She was at a definite disadvantage, held in his strong arms, but she’d never hesitated to get into a fight. “I asked you to put me down. You can wait all day if you want me to open the door when I don’t even want to be carried!”

  “All right,” he agreed with deceptive cooperation. He shifted, leaning his hips against the porch rail, drawing one leg up slightly to support some of her weight.

  She was even closer to him now, cradled against his chest, his lips only inches away from hers. She tried to look away, but there wasn’t anywhere to look.

  “Will you let me go! I’m not a—”

  “A stray?” he finished softly. “But you don’t have a home, do you? Shall I take you in?” She froze as his lips brushed against her forehead. “Yes, I think I should,” he whispered against her soft skin.

  “Please let me down, Lyle.” She pushed against his chest, feeling the hard muscles through his jacket. She was afraid that he might win, that she might lose the ability to resist and melt into his arms. What would it feel like to touch his bare chest with her hands?

  “As soon as you open the door,” he agreed pleasantly. “I’m not putting you down out here in bare feet.”

  “And I’m not opening the door!”

  He laughed, revealing very straight, white teeth. “Well, I’ll certainly enjoy holding you in my arms meanwhile. George, you’re not a very compliant guest. Did you argue with your husband all the t

  “We didn’t argue at all,” she said witheringly. “Will you shut up and—”

  “Not at all?” he asked disbelievingly. “Just what kind of a relationship— whoops! Watch out!” He moved swiftly as the door opened towards them, taking her whole weight in his arms again, ducking around the edge of the door.

  George looked away from his laughing blue eyes, down into his daughter’s paler blue ones.

  “Thanks Robyn,” said Lyle as he walked into the house with George still trapped in his arms. “I was wondering how I’d get that door open.”

  “Where are my shoes?” George demanded as he set her down on the carpet in the living room.

  “In the pantry. Behind the kitchen. I’ll get them.”

  When he was gone, George sank weakly onto the big easy chair. Robyn followed her, standing beside the chair. “Did your leg get tired? Did Daddy have to carry you home?”

  “I—” She met Robyn’s curious eyes and didn’t know what to say except, “Your daddy thought my feet were cold. I went out without shoes.”

  “Sometimes Daddy carries me home.”

  Robyn was surely her father’s daughter, determined to look after the strays of the world, and somehow certain that George qualified as one of those that needed looking after.

  She let Robyn settle her on the chesterfield, warm her with a blanket, and found herself admitting that she was exhausted.

  �
��Have a nap,” her young nurse ordered. “You’ve gotta rest your leg.”

  She didn’t open her eyes again until she heard the cat growling.

  Robyn was sitting cross legged on the floor, pulling on a string that snaked across the carpet.

  Dixie lay near the end of the string, tail twitching, eyes following the movement, a low growl coming from her throat.

  Robyn gave a sharp jerk to the string. Dixie pounced, claws bared. The string slipped through her paw. She hissed at it, then flattened herself on the carpet, motionless except for the tail.

  Lyle was seated at a desk, his brow heavily furrowed as he stared down at a pad of paper in front of him.

  “Hi,” said Robyn softly.

  “Hello yourself,” said George.

  Lyle looked up from the troublesome pad in front of him. “Feeling better?” he asked, smiling as his eyes met hers.

  “Yes,” she admitted, her own lips curving. “That cat has an odd stomach.”

  Robyn giggled. Lyle said, “She’s pregnant. When we got the cats, we thought they were both male, but Dixie has recently proven us wrong. Could you eat supper? Robyn and I were thinking about food.”

  “I could eat a horse,” she decided, sitting up and rubbing the sleep from her eyes. “Could I help with something?”

  Robyn made the supper – prepared dinners heated in the microwave – while George set the table. They ate at the kitchen table, the window beside George open to the rocky shore and the ocean. Outside the window was a plastic receptacle filled with colored liquid.

  “Hummingbird feeder,” said Robyn.

  “Do hummingbirds really come to it?” George bent her head out the window to look closer. “What’s the liquid?”

  “Water,” said Lyle, “colored with food coloring and flavored with sugar. The birds hover at the feeder, almost like a helicopter. But you won’t see them today. You’ll have to wait until later in the spring.”

  She would be gone before the birds came.

  Robyn explained lighthouses to her while Lyle listened, amused, putting in a comment here and there.

  Groceries only once monthly, delivered usually by helicopter, sometimes by ship. No telephone. No roads.

  “But we got television,” said Robyn. “If you want to watch TV you can. And radio. And lots of books. And soon the fishermen will come and collect gull eggs.”

  Lyle explained, “Some of the natives like to eat seagull eggs. A colony of seagulls nest in the rocks at the other end of the island. And you needn’t worry about the baby gulls. The females do lay again when the eggs disappear from the nest.”

  “Daddy?” Robyn interrupted. “It’s weather time.”

  “Right.” He stood with a smooth motion. “I’ll be back in a few minutes. I’ve got a weather broadcast to give.”

  Would he really keep her here, preventing her departure by simply refusing to help her go?

  Later they played Trivial Pursuit – the Junior Edition. George was amazed when she won the game. “Mainly because you kept giving me hints,” she accused Robyn.

  The girl said simply, “I wanted you to win.”

  “Well, don’t do it next time. You shouldn’t let other people win if they don’t deserve it. Make me fight for it next time.”

  Lyle was watching them with a quiet smile.

  As if she were his woman.

  She wasn’t anybody’s woman. Never again.

  Chapter 4

  George twisted restlessly in her sleep. The mournful wail of the foghorn blended with the sound of wind and water, reinforcing the strength of her dream…

  The small ship shuddered as it came down from a steep wave. She held tightly onto the wheel, wincing as green water crashed along the deck, sending a hard sheet of spray over the cockpit.

  She had been clinging desperately to the steering wheel for hours. She badly wanted something to eat, even a drink of water. She didn’t dare let go of the wheel in these seas.

  She was traveling north. Alone. Going with the wind.

  Fresh waves had turned to wild, angry monsters, tossing her boat mercilessly, leaving her helplessly clinging to a wheel that couldn’t be handled by her small, sturdy muscles.

  The wind tore at the waves, throwing water across the cockpit, smashing her in the face. Changing sails on deck in the midst of a gale.

  Then disaster. Lady Harriet went wild, heeling over sharply.

  The autopilot was steering her in circles! George stumbled into the navigation room to fight with the override button, trying to get Lady Harriet back off the wind.

  “You can’t sail it alone!” her mother had wailed the year before.

  “Why not?” she’d demanded heatedly. “With an auto pilot, and winches on all the sails, I’ll be fine. An auto pilot is like having another crew member, you know.”

  “Damn you, Otto!” George muttered at the inanimate black box of electronics. “I never counted on your getting sick!”

  What would Scott have done? He’d been the captain, the one who made all the decisions. She was insane, crazy to think she could sail these waters alone!

  Too much sail up for this wind. If only she had someone to handle the wheel while she got sails down.

  Lady Harriet leaned over wildly, throwing her off balance.

  Fighting the wheel, leaning hard against the spokes, taking the sharp edge against her side in an attempt to make her slight frame do the work of a man’s as the ship’s spreaders almost dipped into the water, George hung on desperately, fighting a terrifying urge to let go the wheel and give up.

  Hold… hold… pull the wheel a fraction of an inch as the wind eased for a second. Then, suddenly, Lady Harriet was righted, running downwind in a swaying, surfing ride that was deceptively easy.

  As each big wave swept up her stern, the vessel tried to twist, broaching on the waves. George steered left, then right, trying to correct each wild swing before it occurred.

  Get me out of this!

  No one heard.

  Oh, God! Why? What was she doing here? Where was Scott? Would the wind never stop?

  Where was she? Near Green Island? Shouldn’t she see the light? Green Island… what had it been like on the chart? A tiny island. Rocks. There was shelter farther north, around the top of Dundas Island. There was a bay— damn! She couldn’t remember. The chart was inside.

  Could she lash the wheel in position?

  Her arms were aching, legs burning from too many hours braced against the sides of the cockpit.

  A moment of dizziness.

  Then Scott, standing beside her, tall and strong. Thank God!

  Her hands slackened on the wheel, her lips curving in as smile. She stepped back to let him take over. He was gone, dissolved into waves and pelting rain. Cold. Wet.

  Another harebrained adventure, her mother would say.

  This could be the last one. If she drowned, would she be with Scott again?

  If only she could let go, give up.

  She hung on, squeezing her eyes shut as the water crashed over her again.

  Where in God’s name was she?

  What was that dark shadow? There! It— no, gone again!

  Was she clear of the rocks? She couldn’t see. She’d tried to steer a compass course, but the waves were getting bigger, monsters surging under the stern, lifting her high, shooting Lady Harriet forward in an uncontrolled roller coaster ride.

  If that—

  Lady Harriet went wild, sweeping up on a mountainous monster wave, shooting across the surface like a paper ship.

  The wheel spun in her hands like a toy.

  Water loud and white, all around.

  Rocks!

  The radio! If she called for help— what—

  Raging water, white and black. She lost her grip on the wheel, went flying, arms and legs spread, desperately grasping for a hold on something, anything.

  She was going to die!

  Lyle stumbled out of bed, half-asleep.

  He groped for a bathrobe
, belted it over his naked form as he crossed the hallway.

  She had twisted her blankets into a tangle. The sweep of the light showed her face, briefly, tight with fear, her eyes closed, lips moving.

  …giant waves… wind… steering.

  He’d tried to get her to talk about the shipwreck, but she’d been pushing it down, trying not to remember. Now her mind had taken over, was forcing her to relive the worst moments.

  He sat down beside her, gathered her close. She fought him, trying to twist free. Then, abruptly, she came, soft and trembling, into his arms. He looked down at her closed eyes, felt the beginnings of another bad spot in her dream and held her close. He wasn’t sure he wanted to feel like this. He’d only known her a few days, but he loved her.

  She was restless and wild. Exciting. If he tried to win her, his life was going to change and he’d have little control over the changes.

  He felt her distress, felt the same terrible helplessness that came over him when Robyn was hurt and he couldn’t take away her pain.

  “George…”

  She wouldn’t hear him, but he kept his arms close around her, holding her, stroking her back, trying to bring her back from the memories.

  Cold invading her bones. Then warmth.

  Arms holding her, sheltering her.

  Scott.

  He was touching her, rousing her with gentle stroking.

  His arms dropped away. She reached out, pleading.

  He frowned, stepping back, leaving her cold and alone.

  She cried out as he faded.

  The fog horn wailed across the island, sending a warning to mariners.

  Her hand on the cold, white telephone receiver.

  Scott… heart attack… hospital. No! Please, no!

  Her thundering heart was drowning out the voice. Who? No! She couldn’t lose him! She mustn’t— couldn’t bear it if he left her!

  He’d brought love. He was her life. She needed him, couldn’t lose him. Oh, God! Please don’t take Scott away!

  Her mother, frowning, her voice punishing with its useless pity. I warned you, Georgina! He was too old for you. I warned you.

  Hospital.

  No! Don’t leave me! I’ll do whatever you want, be whoever you want. Please don’t go away and leave me alone again!