Island Summer Love

by Amy Belding Brown

  She pulled away and gave him an icy smile. “I’m sure you don’t want to keep Martha waiting. And please feel free to spend as long as you like. I’ll wait for you in the lobby.”

  She swept past him and headed down the long white hall to the lobby. She certainly wasn’t going to stand outside the door and hear the little innuendos between Brent and Martha. No doubt he used the very same lines on Martha that he used on her—and on every other woman he had his eye on—which would certainly explain why Martha believed he cared for her.

  She stalked into the lobby and flung herself into one of the chrome and vinyl chairs that faced the street. Outside, fog was rolling in across the water. A tall sailboat slid out of the mist and eased through the thicket of moored ships, furling her sails as she went. The scene was idyllic and peaceful; Allison felt a million miles away from Boston and Cabot and all the craziness of her recent life.

  In only three days Cabot would arrive on Harper’s Island. The thought didn’t bring the sense of relief she expected. Instead she felt a strange, gnawing despair, as if his presence would cast a shadow of gloom over her life. She tried to shake the feeling away, but it persisted.

  She closed her eyes and tried to imagine herself in Cabot’s arms. What would it be like if he were to become sensuous and bold? She pictured his dark hair, the thin line of his lips, but some quirk of her imagination kept turning Cabot into Brent, and all she could see was blond hair, penetrating blue eyes, and an arrogant smile.

  Maybe it was good that Cabot was coming so soon. The sooner the better. Isabel was right; it was just a temporary feeling, a problem that would easily and quickly be resolved in Cabot’s presence.

  Someone touched her shoulder. She jumped and turned, to find Brent looking down at her with a troubled expression.

  “We have a problem.”

  “What is it?” Her heart in her throat, she stumbled to her feet.

  For answer he pointed to the window. Allison turned and gaped. The world had disappeared.

  Only moments ago she had been able to see boats rocking on their moorings. Now the harbor was completely gone and the cars parked across the street from the hospital were wrapped in a soft, white haze. The fog had rolled in with incredible speed, obliterating visibility and making the return crossing to Harper’s Island impossible.

  Chapter Ten

  "What are we going to do?” Allison stared up at Brent in horror. She’d always thought of fog as insubstantial and artistic, but the phenomenon was clearly all too real and potentially dangerous.

  Brent shook his head. “There’s nothing we can do but wait it out.”

  “How long will that be?” She had visions of sitting in the hospital lobby for hours, staring out at nothing.

  He shrugged. “Could be an hour. Could be days. I’ve seen it roll in and sit for a week at a time. But most likely it’ll be gone by morning.”

  “Morning!” Allison groaned. “Are you sure there’s no way to get back to the island this afternoon?”

  “Nobody in his right mind would take you out in this pea-soup fog. And I wouldn’t let you go if they offered.”

  She ignored the possessiveness of his words. “Then we’ll wait here at the hospital.”

  “Afraid not. Visitor’s hours end at nine. Of course, we can stay until then and hope that it rolls out. But to tell you the truth, Allison, I’m not too optimistic. This looks like it plans on staying awhile.” He sat down in a nearby chair. “If it were me, I’d just roll up in a blanket and sleep aboard the Blue Lady, but I don’t think that’ll do under the circumstances.” He grinned. “You’re used to more elegant accommodations.”

  She lifted her chin. “If you’re implying that I’m the delicate type, you’re wrong. I’ve been camping before.” She thought of the dry, roomy tent and comfortable sleeping bag she’d slept in with her friends on her one camping trip to the White Mountains. “I can do it, if you can.”

  His grin broadened as he shook his head. “Uh-uh. I’m tempted to let you try, just so I could have the satisfaction of hearing you admit you were wrong. But I have no desire to spend the night listening to your moans and groans. We’ll go to a motel.”

  “A motel?” Allison gasped. “Not on your life!”

  “Hey, take it easy.” He held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. “I never said we’d share the same room. You sure do have a talent for jumping to the wrong conclusions about me.” He stood up and came toward her.

  “I absolutely refuse to go to a motel,” Allison said staunchly. “I’ll take my chances on the boat.”

  His mouth quirked into a slow smile. “If you want a good night’s sleep, then the Blue Lady’s the wrong choice. There’s very little sleeping space on board, believe me.”

  She felt confused and uncertain, sensing that Brent had somehow maneuvered her into making the most compromising choice. And the way he was smiling at her told her that he was clearly amused at her predicament. If she insisted in staying on the boat, she would probably be cramped and uncomfortable. Yet if she changed her mind and agreed that they should go to a motel, it would send exactly the wrong kind of message to him, as well as characterizing her as weak-willed and fickle.

  She stood up. “We’ll stay on the boat,” she said firmly.

  He raised one eyebrow. “That’s fine by me. If you’re sure.”

  “I’m sure.”

  They walked along the fog-shrouded streets, enveloped in the blanketing silence. Something about the fog and the growing darkness made Allison reluctant to speak.

  Brent turned down a side street, and Allison saw that they were heading toward a small restaurant. The Blue Lobster was written in large turquoise letters over the door.

  “Well, isn’t this a surprise,” Allison said, her voice tight with irritation. “I thought I made it clear yesterday that I wasn’t going to eat out with you.”

  Brent shrugged. “Just thought I’d give you a second chance. I promise you, it’ll be much more enjoyable than eating soggy sandwiches on the Blue Lady.”

  Allison glanced through the window and caught a glimpse of a warmly lit room full of well-dressed, smiling people. For a moment she considered giving in. She was hungry, and the delicious odors emanating from the restaurant were extremely enticing. She pushed her desire away quickly. Once again she was playing right into Brent’s hands.

  “No.” She shook her head. “Isabel packed us a supper, and I intend to eat it.”

  He shrugged. “Have it your way. But I don’t understand why you’re so determined to make everything hard on yourself.”

  Allison turned to face him. “You’d like me to eat dinner with you, wouldn’t you? You have it all planned out—a delicious meal, a bottle of wine, then off to your little motel, where you’ll discover that only one room is available and we’ll have to share a double bed. Well, you can just forget your neat little plan. I want you to take me back to the boat right now. And we’ll leave for Harper’s Island the minute the fog lifts!” Her cheeks were burning, but she felt good. At last she had put him in his place.

  But there was no surprise in his keen gaze, only a subtle amusement. “We’ll do it your way,” he said quietly. He held up a warning finger. “But no complaints in the morning.”

  Allison clamped her mouth shut, unable to think of an adequately stinging reply. This night was something that would simply have to be gotten through. But she was determined that nothing Brent said from now on would upset her.

  Moments after they climbed aboard the Blue Lady, Brent produced Isabel’s supper, and Allison sat on a crate in the stern of the boat, eating her tuna sandwich in silence and drinking the mug of hot coffee that Brent handed to her. She didn’t look at him; she was careful to keep her gaze focused on what she could see of the water. The air was darkening around them; the fog had turned a murky, opaque blue. Staring around her, she had the dizzy sensation that the entire world had vanished and there was nothing left but the Blue Lady, Brent, and herself.

  Bre
nt finished his meal and disappeared into the pilothouse. She could hear him rattling around and banging on something, and when she stole a quick glance at the shelter, she saw that he’d disappeared through a little door to the left of the wheel. There must be a room there, perhaps a cabin, she thought, where she was going to sleep. She shivered, suddenly chilled in the damp, dark air; she pulled her jacket tighter around her. She wondered what time it was, but it was too dark to read her watch. Her eyes strained to discern some indication of light shining through the fog, but there was nothing. They were alone, at the end of the world.

  “Your bed is ready when you are.” Brent’s deep voice came as a shock in the silence. Allison jumped to her feet.

  “Isn’t it kind of early?” It struck her suddenly that she should have gone to a motel after all. Even sharing a room with Brent would have been less disturbing than the prospect of sleeping hidden in the depths of his boat.

  “It’s after nine. But if you want to stay up, I’m willing.” He came to her and casually slid his arm around her shoulder. Her mind warned her to shrug him away, but his touch was so comforting and warm in the cold, thick darkness that she didn’t move.

  The plaintive moan of a foghorn sounded in the distance.

  “Lonely, isn’t it?” His voice was soft. “Makes you feel like you’re all alone in the world. There’s not a sadder sound on God’s earth.” He touched the back of her neck, massaging it gently with his fingertips.

  Every nerve in her body responded to his touch, and Allison had no desire at all now to move away from him. Instead she felt a powerful, physical yearning to lean against him, to fit her body against his, feel his arms surrounding her. With a shudder, she lurched away from his hand and walked quickly across the deck to the pilothouse. It seemed infinitely safer to go to sleep than to stand beside Brent in the fog-haunted darkness.

  “I’m more tired than I realized.” She tried to keep her voice even. “If you’ll show me my bed, I think I’ll turn in, after all.”

  He nodded as he came toward her. “Watch your head when you go down.” He entered the cabin, brushing her arm as he moved past her. Again the molten flow of her own desire welled through her body. He glanced over his shoulder. “Just remember, this was your choice.”

  She ignored his grin and followed him through the door, stepping down two rickety steps into a small room lit by a battery-operated fluorescent lamp that swung from the low ceiling. In front of her, extending into the pointed bow of the boat, was an oil-stained wooden floor. Along one short wall under the light was a large toolbox and a battered steamer trunk. On the opposite wall hung pieces of fishing equipment: long poles with strangely shaped hooks on the ends, nets, bright round orange floats, lobster buoys, life jackets. Between the two walls a large, faded quilt was spread out on the floor, with a blanket folded neatly at the far end.

  “Pillow,” Brent said when he saw her frown. He turned and rummaged in the steamer trunk briefly, then produced a second blanket. He tossed it onto the quilt and looked at her expectantly. “Well?”

  “Thanks.” Allison wondered if he was expecting her to lie down and go to sleep while he stood watching. “I’ll just turn out the light when I’m done.”

  He tilted his head, a slow smile lifting the corners of his mouth. “You expecting me to sleep somewhere else?”

  “I thought . . . I assumed that you’d be sleeping on deck. . . .” Her voice trailed away.

  “Not unless I want to wake up wetter than a pollywog.” He gave her a broad grin. “No, ma’am, that fog will soak me to the skin long before morning. I plan to bed down right here.”

  “You mean we’re both going to sleep here—together?” She gaped at the small, quilt-covered space on the floor.

  “You were the one who didn’t want to go to a motel.”

  “But I can’t . . . I can’t sleep here with you!”

  “Have you changed your mind, then, about the motel?”

  She hesitated. Sleeping on the hard floor of the tiny cabin, she’d be wedged up against Brent as if they were a couple on their honeymoon. It was clearly an impossible situation. She turned to him and saw his wide smile of satisfaction. She stiffened.

  “No.” She shook her head firmly. “I haven’t changed my mind.”

  “Good.” He yawned and kicked off his shoes. “I guess I’ll go ahead and turn in, then.” He plopped down onto the quilt, pulled the second blanket over him, laced his hands behind his head and lay grinning up at her. “You want to kill that light, please?”

  Hastily she reached up and flicked the switch on the hanging lamp; the tiny room was immediately plunged into darkness. She could hear Brent’s breathing, but she could see nothing. Carefully, she removed her shoes and knelt down, gingerly feeling her way along the edge of the quilt to the empty space beside Brent. He didn’t speak as she lay down. She turned on her side so that her back was to him and there was as much space as possible between them. But she knew, by the warmth behind her, that there wasn’t much.

  “Good night,” he said softly.

  “Good night.”

  The quilt provided very little comfort; Allison felt as if she were sleeping on rocks. She moved gingerly, to find a more comfortable position, and her leg brushed Brent’s. Instantly she jerked away. How in the world would she ever be able to sleep tonight, with Brent Connors lying beside her like a lover? No, she couldn’t think such thoughts. They were wrong, and disloyal to Cabot. What she felt for Brent was merely physical attraction. And that was all.

  She tried to sleep. She listened to Brent’s long, slow breathing, the gentle slap of the waves against the hull, the distant wail of the foghorn.

  She rolled onto her back, fidgeting for space; her arm touched Brent’s, but she didn’t pull away. She was certain that he was asleep, and the contact was soothing and strangely relaxing. She closed her eyes and finally started to drift into a deep, blissful sleep.

  Allison woke slowly, wondering what was causing the vague, rocking sensation she felt. Was she in a waterbed? A boat? She remembered, and blinked awake, her eyes probing the dim interior of the Blue Lady’s cabin. Brent was not beside her; the door to the deck was closed.

  For a long time she didn’t move, listening for clues as to Brent’s location. But there was no sound except the lapping waves, and at last she got to her feet and folded the quilt and blankets carefully before placing them on the steamer trunk.

  “Brent?” She opened the door and stepped out into brilliant sunshine. The air was crystal clear. Light glinted off the surrounding water, making it look as though thousands of tiny diamonds rode the sea. The fog had disappeared overnight. In the far distance she could even see the tiny bump on the horizon that was Harper’s Island.

  But there was no sign of Brent.

  She walked the length of the boat and sat on a crate in the stern. She glanced casually at her watch and her eyes widened. It was ten o’clock! Where in the world was Brent? He surely hadn’t forgotten that she wanted to get back to Harper’s Island as soon as possible. The fog must have been gone for hours. Had he walked back to the hospital to see Martha?

  She sighed. There was nothing she could do but wait. When she heard a low whistle a moment later, and Brent’s blond head appeared over the top of the pilothouse roof, she felt a distinct wave of relief.

  “Good morning, Sleeping Beauty!” He flashed her a broad grin, stepped onto the gunwale and easily walked along it to where Allison stood, gaping up at him. “I trust you slept well last night?” His voice was gently mocking, as if he were treating her like royalty. She remembered, with chagrin, her high-handed dismissal of his suggestions the evening before.

  “I slept very well, thanks.”

  “The bathroom’s in the second building on your right. Around back.” He nodded at a small green shed.

  She ignored his outstretched hand and climbed over the Blue Lady’s gunwale on her own, then hurried quickly along the wharf to the building he’d indicated.

 
When she returned to the Blue Lady, he was still grinning.

  “It was a wonderful night, if I do say so myself.” His blue eyes twinkled.

  Allison looked pointedly at the horizon. “I’m ready to go back to Harper’s Island now.”

  “Are you?” He chuckled. “I’m beginning to think you’ve forgotten who’s the captain on this ship.”

  She looked at him. What was he trying to pull now? Had he planned some new ploy to keep her from returning to the island? “I thought we had an agreement,” she said tightly. “You’d take me back as soon as the fog lifted. Well, it looks like it lifted hours ago, and we haven’t moved. What exactly is going on?”

  “Your good night’s sleep certainly didn’t improve your disposition. I thought maybe you’d like a bite to eat before we shoved off.”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  “Okay. I’ll eat by myself.” He disappeared into the pilothouse and emerged with a small plastic box and cup. Allison’s mouth watered as she smelled the egg sandwich and the hot coffee, but she wasn’t about to reveal her ravenous appetite. She stalked to the far side of the deck and sat on the gunwale in the corner, her arms crossed in front of her, her foot tapping the deck impatiently.

  “Change your mind?” Brent grinned at her. “There’s more where this came from.”

  “No thank you.”

  He took his time eating, apparently savoring every bite, and when he was finished, he retrieved a second sandwich, offered it to her again. When she icily refused, he ate that as well. Slouched comfortably against a lobster trap, he watched her with amusement and a trace of curiosity.

  “I guess I’ll never understand summer people,” he said, shaking his head thoughtfully. “They don’t seem to be able to take life as it comes. Always want to control everything. The weather, other people. Even their own feelings.”

  Allison felt her back muscles tighten. “If you’re trying to goad me into an argument, you can forget it. I’m not interested in anything but getting back to Harper’s Island.”