Mac was nowhere in sight. I should let her know I intended to find which of my belongings survived the storm. I was still feeling a little shaky from my ordeal.
I walked to the corner of the cabin and called out to her. I waited but heard no reply. I observed the rope tied to the cabin, one end leading towards the lighthouse, the other sitting on the ground.
I noted mentally; this must have been how Mac got us both back from the shore. She was not only beautiful, she was resourceful and intelligent. The kind of woman whose company Richard would enjoy.
I could use the same principle to get myself down the beach in search of my belongings. I picked up the rope and gave it a tug, making sure it was securely tied to the cabin.
“Where do you think you’re going?” came a screeching voice from within the fog.
“Mac, there you are, I was looking for you.”
“It looks to me like you were going to do something stupid like head down the beach to look at what’s left of your boat. What were you thinking? You could fall and break something!” She was still shrieking at me.
“Wow, Mac, a little overprotective, are we?” I yipped back. “I was just thinking about it. I came looking for you hoping you could help me navigate the shoreline. I was hoping to find a few more clothes and maybe my shaving kit,” I told her as I stroked my face, indicating my desire to remove the facial hair.
“I’m sorry, but I didn’t save your ass so you can go get yourself killed meandering in the fog looking for your things.”
“Not even my underwear?” I teased. “I figured you would be pleased if I had something to wear besides those pyjamas.”
“I’m going to make breakfast, then you and I will make an attempt to hit the beach and see if we can salvage anything of use.”
My jeans suddenly became a little tighter than comfortable at her commanding tone.
She turns towards the door of the cabin. I took this opportunity to readjust the bulge against my zipper and responded, “Sounds great. What can I do to help?”
“Getting yourself in the cabin without breaking anything would be nice,” she sassed.
As we sat eating, I decided now was a good a time as any to approach the elephant in the room. “I heard about your father’s accident last year. I’m sorry.”
“Thank you,” was all she replied.
“My father told me your husband was lost as well?”
Mackenzie sat there drinking her coffee and nodded politely. “Your father has always been a kind man. He attended the funeral and made a generous donation to the widows fund.”
“Do you return to the island often?” I asked, curious.
Her jaw tensed slightly, her body language silently screaming for me to shut it down. I needed to appease her, quick.
“I’m sorry if I brought up sad memories. If I am going to be here a couple of days,” I hesitated, “I am going to mention your father from time to time, Mac. I have a lot of good memories of being here. I don’t want it to be weird,” I said.
Mackenzie took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. “Yesterday was the first time I’ve been back since the accident,” she whispered. “It was too hard. I was afraid I would fall apart.”
Guilt ate at me for pushing the subject. This conversation was for my benefit, not hers. Her beautiful face looked fragile, fatigued. “You don’t have to talk about it if you’re uncomfortable,” I added, then blurted, “why yesterday?”
She shot me a look that would have knocked over any prize fighter.
“No, no, don’t take this wrong,” I explained. “You haven’t stepped foot on this island in a year. Last night, when I was floundering in that,” I waved towards the ocean, “here you were. I thought seeing you was a dream, an angel calling to me. I wasn’t sure to where, but I knew I had to follow.
So why yesterday of all days?”
After a long pause, she began. “Yesterday was the anniversary of the accident. The town was holding a vigil. My choices was face that or face this,” she confessed. Mackenzie kept her head down, then revealed something that broke my heart.
“Yesterday also was my wedding anniversary.”
I reached across the table and put my hand over hers to comfort her. She pulled back. “I shouldn’t pry,” was all that I could muster.
“A little late for that,” she retorted curtly, continuing to sip her coffee.
Her voice became softer. “You’re right, if we are going to be stranded, we will have to talk to each other. Better get the hard ones out now.
Will your wife be worried you’re shacking up with another woman?”
“Playing twenty questions, are we?” I tormented in return. “No wife, no kids, no personal commitments. The only people who are going to be worried are my family and business partner.
My turn, what was your husband's name?”
“Michael,” she smiled. “He was a marine biologist,” she volunteered.
“Am I wearing his shoes?” I piped up almost in a panic.
“No,” she laughed, “you are wearing mine.”
“You always did have big feet,” I casually added as I finished my breakfast. I was pleased she pulled her hand away; what I felt when I touched it was surprising. It sent a sensation through me that left me wanting.
I wanted to explore why, well aware of the danger of going there.
“I don’t want to sound like a broken record, but why yesterday, Mac? If you were not here to pull me out, I would not have made it.”
“Like I said, the town decided to hold a vigil on the first anniversary of the accident to remember the four men lost that night. I didn’t think I could be there, so I ran here.
I wasn’t sure how that was going to play out, either.
Something pulled me out here yesterday. I woke up dreading attending that vigil, but it was more… I can’t explain it. You were right, you were extremely lucky that this was where I decided to run to.”
“I don’t care what brought you here, all I know is that I am very grateful.”
We sat silently. I had hit a raw nerve. I did not want to come off as disrespectful.
“Why did you stop coming?” She shocked me with the question.
“I got too old to be hanging out with the old man anymore,” that was all the explanation I was willing to give.
“I thought maybe you were too afraid to face my father after the incident in the storm shelter.”
“Fuck, I remember that day. Is that thing operational?”
“I don’t know, I haven’t had the chance to try to pry it open. My priorities were to check the generator and bring some dry wood inside.
I was out back this morning; the storm dropped a few logs over top the entrance. I cleared them off but then I heard you calling my name and became distracted.”
“Wow, the last time I was down there…” I paused.
“My father caught us playing strip poker,” she finished. “The look on your face when he came down in stealth mode.”
I smirked at the memory. “I was so scared, my father right behind him. I had no idea what to say. What could I say? I was sure he was going to shoot me with that speargun that hung on the wall.
All your father did was look at mine and ask him, this is how you raise your son? To lose at poker, to a girl? Richard, you need to make a man out of him.”
“I hadn’t lost one stitch of clothing and there you were ready to lose your socks and boxers,” Mackenzie laughed.
“Did you stop to think that maybe I was letting you win?” I tempted.
She blushed. Was she remembering what I looked like naked?
“Besides myself, you were the most competitive person I have ever met. You didn’t let me win, I won fair and square.” She took our empty plates and placed them in the metal dish pan for washing.
“I think the fog should be clearing lower onto the island. Maybe we should try a trek to the beach, if you feel up to it.”
I could feel her pulling away. Something in
the air had changed. Had I been too forward with her? Was I behaving like Rick when I needed to be Richard?
I needed that trip to the beach to retrieve my own things, to retrieve Richard's things.
“I think if I take my time and go slow, I won’t give you any reason to have to carry me back again.” I tried to return the conversation to one less suggestive.
She laughed as she opened the door, stuck her head outside and announced, “Better grab that hunting jacket, it’s still a little chilly out there.”
I enjoyed the bantering. How long had it been since I spent time with a woman having a conversation that was not going to end with me drunk, naked and in bed? Not necessarily in that order.
I would not mind finding myself in that predicament with Mac. Her husband had been deceased a year. She must have moved on by now, taken other lovers.
I could not remember a time when I had gone without sex.
How long I could go without sex?
Was I about to find out?
Chapter 6
Mackenzie
I handed him the rope and instructed him to hold onto it and follow me.
“What’s with the rope?”
“There are certain times during the year the fog get so thick you can’t see in front of your face. The ring attached to the house serves as an anchor. There another one on the side of the lighthouse and the woodshed.
The three basics you need access to on the island. I brought a lot more rope than I needed.
At least, I thought I did until last night. It was the only way we would have made it back through the storm.”
As we approached the dock I explained to him how I managed to pull him out of the frigid water and up the shore.
“I’m amazed at the stamina it took for you to complete the rescue. Thank you,” was all he stammered in wonderment of my feat.
I knew I was right about the fog; it lifted enough for us to barely see the beach.
The look on his worn face worried me. He released a deep sigh when he saw what was left of his sailboat. “I really loved that boat,” he moaned.
“It’s a good thing you weren't traveling with anyone, considering how bad things got. What are we looking for specifically?” I asked, hoping to take his mind off the splintering wood that was once a sailboat.
“A black duffel bag, it will have spare clothes and a shaving kit.”
We combed the beach for several hours to no avail.
“Anything that was in that boat is long gone. My father kept a shaving kit in the cabin. It's a straight razor, but it should do the trick.”
Richard raised his hands. They were shaky and unsteady from his ordeal. “A straight razor, really? You were worried about me falling and breaking something and you want me to use a straight razor?” he mocked.
“I’m a veterinarian assistant, great hands,” I boosted. “I’ll give you a shave. If you like, I could shave your head while I’m at it.”
“I wouldn't mind a haircut, just a trim. Look at this golden halo,” he taunted while running his fingers through his long luscious hair. Every minute I was spending with him had my senses more and more aware of the fact that he was every bit a male and I a female.
I stared out at the ocean. If only I had been here that night last year. If I could have given Michael and my father the light in the storm like I did Richard, would things have turned out differently?
“Hey, where did you drift off to? What's that look, Mac?”
“I was wondering about if I was here that night for Michael and my father.” I paused. “They were too far out, but still, it haunts me,” I confessed.
Richard took my hand and announced we had done enough searching to know all was gone.
“Let's head back to the cabin.”Maybe we can take a look at the storm shelter together, see if it will open. Maybe we can find your father’s whisky stash. I could use a drink about now.”
I let him lead me up the beach. The heat from his hand penetrating mine had me questioning the logic of adding alcohol to the sensations brewing inside me.
I shook my head. Except for a few off color remarks, he had not given me any indication that he was the least bit attracted to me. It was my overactive, under used hormones. I was overreacting to a situation that did not exist.
Once we returned to the cabin I made a light lunch with the few supplies I brought.
“Let’s check if there’s anything of my father’s you can use, besides his shaving kit.”
Rummaging through my father’s things was easier with someone there. Richard took stock of anything that would be of use to him. “I’m okay with wearing my jeans a couple of days. They had been thoroughly washed by the storm. I think I can make use of those oversized sweatshirts, though.”
“Why are you smiling?” she asked.
“Still smells like Old Spice. I prefer that than the musty smell of the hunting jacket,” he joked. “It reminds me of your father and good memories.”
I took one of the shirts, held it to my face and took a whiff. “This one was Michael’s. It will fit you better.” The look on his face told me he was not interested in wearing my deceased husband’s clothes.
“I will put this one away for tomorrow,” he took the shirt and put it aside. “How about that shave” he reminded me. “Where did you say that kit was?”
“Under the sink in the bathroom. If you used all the hot water with your shower, you’re going to have to wait for the water to heat up in the water tank. It will take about another hour.” I proceeded to put on my jacket.
“Why don't we check out the storm shelter? It will kill some time,” he suggested.
When we reached the storm shelter, I held onto one end and he the other. The lid lifted with the sound that indicated it had been left alone for some time. The hinges creaked but were not rusted.
“Your dad sure knew how to build shit,” he mused.
“I said the same thing about the furniture in the lighthouse,” I chuckled.
“Have you ever had to use this?” Richard inquired.
“Once, I remember coming down here with both my parents. It must have been a really bad storm if Mom came in here.”
“I was sorry to hear of her passing,” he said solemnly.
“She rarely came out to the island, and after having to spend the night down here, she never came back.” I was thumbing through the relics of long ago that had lasted. “I believe my father lied about the storm to get her down here. This island was his version of the man cave and knew she would never come back after that ordeal. I think he regretted that decision after she was gone.”
Richard began rummaging through the bunker. I raised a questioning eyebrow.
He pushed back a few boxes and reached into a cubby. In his grasp was the familiar bottle of my father’s favorite whisky. He only drank it on special occasions. He cherished the amber liquid that his friend would bring with him on his yearly trek to the island.
“Did you know your father kept coming every year with a bottle of whisky and box of cigars for my father even after he stopped fishing?”
“I heard your father retired. What was he doing on that boat?”
Another loaded question. When was he going to learn to keep his mouth shut? Was I going to be able to explain without breaking down?
“He came out of retirement when Michael was hired to do some research.” I sighed. “It made him feel useful. He helped with navigation, amongst other things. Michael was great at what he did, but he was a book guy. My father knew these oceans like no one Michael could ever hire.”
The more I talked about them, the less pain I felt. Richard emitted a calm within me that enabled me to talk about Michael and my father.
It was the fire raging within that I was having a problem with.
He lifted the mattress off the small bunk to reveal a box of cigars. “What do you think?” he said as he handed me the box.
I opened it and each cigar was individually wrapped. “I’m game
if you are,” I giggled.
“Wow, this brings back memories, like me letting you win at poker,” he mused.
“You did not let me win, I kicked your ass fair and square.”
“I want a rematch,” he challenged as he pulled a deck of cards off one of the shelves.
“You're on.”
We took a seat at the rickety table. He placed the bottle of whisky in the middle. I put the cigars beside them. “I don’t think it’s safe to light these up down here,” I said. “We will take these back with us. Five card draw, twenty-one, go fish?” I nudged.
“Strip poker,” he baited and slammed the cards on the table.
“I would accept,” I bantered, “but I already know what's under there.” I gestured, eyeing him up and down. “As you so casually reminded me this morning, what's in it for me when I win?”
“If you win, you sleep on the bed, I sleep on the floor.”
“What makes you think you weren’t already going to sleep on the floor?” I asked.
“I’m the patient, still recuperating,” he said while holding his side as if he was still in pain.
“Not working,” I told him. “Let me see,” I regarded, “when I win...you tell me the real reason why you stopped coming here with your father.”
The look in his eyes let me know I hit a nerve. His jaw clenched, the muscle on the side of his temple twitching. I believed it took everything he had not to fist his hand and pound the table.
This demeanor did not last long, just long enough for him to accept the challenge. He was not going to throw the game this time, that I knew for certain. I was going to have to bring my A game or this man was going to see me in all Mother Nature’s glory.
I pushed the whisky in his path. “Feel free to help yourself,” I cajoled.
“You think you can get me drunk and take advantage of me? At cards,” he quickly added.
“I don’t need you drunk to beat you at cards,” I handed him the deck. “Cut, highest card deals.”
Manwhore Heir (The Heirs Book 2) Page 3
