Nothing better. She’d never said that about her work. Another few years and she’d be like Ellen Thompson, with no life beyond school.
No. She was more than just a teacher, or a woman dependent first on her family and name, or dependent on a job, as much as she might love it. But what if she’d yes to Michael?
She’d be in mourning.
She refused to let that word sink in, so she focused on her classroom. Amid the scattered papers, she found a painting one of her students had done. The bright red catamaran the child had painted floated on too blue water. It was now marred by four drops of rain. The curve of white sand against impossibly green grass reminded her of the catamaran she’d seen earlier.
And of the cat she’d sailed with Michael six years earlier. His powerful body guiding the craft across the bay to a cove on Saint’s Island.
Michael, who swam strong and sure, sleek as a dolphin.
A vague idea nudged her mind, then took hold.
Could an injured, strong swimmer go that distance if he held on to debris?
Struggling to stop herself from rushing out, she looked around the room that represented everything to which she’d devoted herself. Things were in disarray, but the really important elements weren’t here anyway: the small sticky hands, the lopsided smiles, the quick laughter. She would have those back when school started again in a few weeks. Everything would be in order by then, she’d make sure of that.
But right now, the pull of what could be, pushed her out the door and to her car.
***
Within the light of pre-dawn, Blair heard the soft lapping of waves along the bay shore. Thank heaven it was a calm morning, because it would be a long one.
Blair had borrowed a canoe from her neighbor, an older man who’d evacuated but had left it trailered to the small pickup he owned. She’d called him and asked if she could use it for trip down Cold Water Creek, an area further north, unaffected by Nell. She’d thanked him, probably too profusely, and taken the paddles and life vest he’d offered.
Getting the canoe into the water by herself had not been fun, and hiding even such a small truck with its attached trailer in the trees had proven challenging, especially in the dark. Finally, she grabbed her shoes and backpack, and placed them on the back seat of the canoe before climbing in.
She should be asleep now, resting so she could reclaim her room from the storm damage. Instead, she’d lost her mind. Over Michael again. Over a wild, unrealistic hope that Drew knew something.
Pushing off, she paddled steadily, the sun casting its first light across the bay. Luckily, the tide was with her, carrying her toward Saint’s Island. Luckier still, no barges or Marine Patrol boats were on the water. Even so, it took longer than she’d expected to get across.
The golden ball of early morning sun cleared the horizon as she eased in to a tiny cove where vines tumbled right down to the water. She hurried to pull the canoe up on shore into a thicket of scrub oak. Her legs shook, her arms felt like rubber. Heaven knew how long it would take to walk to Grandma’s. She’d had no sleep to speak of in forever. Looking toward the rough terrain of the island, she made up her mind. She had to rest. She stepped back into the canoe and curled up, using the backpack as a pillow.
***
Men’s voices intruded on Blair’s consciousness, as did bright light and droning bugs.
Startled, she roused herself from light sleep, remembering where she was and why.
She listened intently, not daring to move a muscle.
The voices faded in and out, caught on the morning breeze. It had to be Drew and his search crew. No one was allowed on Saint’s Island. They’d either spent the night searching or had come back this morning. Hoping she couldn’t be seen because of the scrub oaks, she grabbed her backpack, climbed out of the canoe, and covered it with vines, grass and any debris she could find.
Crouched low, she hid behind a large clump of gnarled scrub oaks and flattened herself on the sand. She listened as the men drew nearer.
“He’s not here, Drew.”
“He has to be,” her brother replied.
“He’s probably dead. He took a bullet.”
“If anybody could survive, it’s Michael.”
“I know he’s a friend, Drew, but you’re giving him too much credit. He wasn’t at your grandmother’s house. We spent all of yesterday afternoon and this morning looking for him. If he is here, we’re not going to find him unless we go door-to-door. There aren’t enough of us.”
Drew didn’t reply for a long time, then finally said, “Damn it.”
“What do we do?”
“We head back and arrange for more men.”
***
Blair’s shirt stuck to her back. Perspiration trickled down her temple. She’d never walked from the bay side of the island all the way to Grandma’s. Walking it now, with the tangle of hurricane debris, was hard. The backpack she carried, full of first aid supplies, clean clothes and water, weighed more with each step she took. The sight of Alpert’s Lake, its dark waters rippling in the breeze, made her pause.
Island lore said there was an alligator.
She was so alone. Drew and his men had left—she’d watched their boat speed across the bay. She had no way to communicate with anyone. Her cell phone had been useless, so she’d left it at home.
She didn’t really believe there was an alligator. After all, Grandma Alice had shown her an article in the paper that said wildlife officials had not found one. But as late morning gave way to noon and shortening shadows created bright, shimmering shapes on the waters of the lake, Blair found she wasn’t as brave as she had thought she was. She stopped to rest twice on her way around the lake, splashing the tannin-stained water on her face and neck to fight off the sticky heat.
When she jumped at the sound of a frog hitting the water, she laughed at herself. She’d taken leave of her senses, broken official orders by disregarding warnings to stay away from the island, gambling on the remote possibility that Michael was alive, yet a frog had made her jump out of her skin.
As she rounded what she hoped was the last curve in the lake before she could strike out for the house, she prayed that she was right, that Michael had come back here.
If he hadn’t, this would be it. She wouldn’t—couldn’t—invest any more of her tangled emotions in Michael.
If he was alive.
Alpert’s Lake sometimes broke out into the Gulf and the closer she got to the Gulf, the more debris floated on the lake. Not only vegetation but pieces of housing insulation and plastic of one kind or another. A shampoo bottle bobbed on the tiny breaking waves.
Movement caught her eye. The dark waters moved in the bright light, ripples traveling to each shore.
Blair’s breath caught.
The alligator.
She shaded her eyes and squinted. As the alligator rose from the water, she grabbed the shampoo bottle, prepared to throw it and run.
“What the hell are you doing here, Blair?”
It wasn’t an alligator.
Michael stood waist deep in Alpert’s Lake, his wet hair dripping into his eyes, and cursed his lack of attention. If he’d been as careless when Drew had been here, he’d be dead now. He spoke into the heat of midday. “Are you going to shoot me with a shampoo bottle?”
“Are you out of your mind? Half the country is looking for you and you’re standing there naked?”
The crack in her voice told him how badly he’d frightened her. “I don’t have spare clothes I can afford to bathe in.”
The arm that held the shampoo bottle dropped to her side. “Drew is looking for you.”
“So what the hell are you doing here?”
“I think I was under some misguided notion that you might be hurt. Or dead.”
“You should have stayed away, Blair.”
“And wonder for the rest of my life if you’re on the bottom of the bay?”
“It takes more than a bad shot to finish me off.”
<
br /> “Maybe a shot like the one you took in your side?”
She had a point, of course. Blair could dish it out. He hadn’t seen that before. “You didn’t think breaking the law by coming on the island would attract attention?” Michael stepped as close to her as he dared, careful to keep his lower body under water.
“No one saw me,” she said defensively, her back straight, her eyes angry. “How are you going to get off?”
“Unless I can find a boat, the only possible way.” He wiped a hand down his face. “Swim.”
“You can’t swim back.” The flashing anger in her eyes gave way to something deeper, more meaningful. “You’re not strong enough.”
He bit back his instant response that he’d gotten here just fine by swimming because it wasn’t fair. She’d come to help. Having her care touched emotions he didn’t want to deal with. “Turn around or close your eyes.” He hoped she’d interpret the hoarseness of his voice as reaction to exhaustion.
For a single moment, he thought she’d do neither, then he saw her straighten and turn away, her concentration on the horizon.
He got out of the water as quickly as possible, dried off with his shirt and struggled, still damp, into his dirty, clammy clothes.
“Drew was on the island.”
“I know.” He reached out to touch her shoulder. “Have you talked to him?”
She turned, her eyes searching his. “Yesterday. He believes you’re alive.”
“Did you tell him I was with you?”
“No.” She shook her head. “But he didn’t believe me.”
She wasn’t a good liar. He was. He couldn’t let her see his suspicions of Drew. And, he admitted, he couldn’t face the knowledge that she would believe Drew. “Did he explain why he’s after me?”
“It’s not just him, Michael, it’s other people, too, but you know that. Why don’t you explain it to me?”
“It’s too complicated.”
“I’m pretty smart. I even have a college degree now.”
Sarcasm wasn’t something she’d ever used before, another surprise. “You’re Drew’s sister.”
She blinked, her green eyes clouded with confusion. Then she took a short breath. “You don’t trust him.”
“Stay out of it, Blair.”
“I’m in it already. He’s my brother. I deserve to know.”
“He told you about me when you asked?” He saw the flush of anger color her cheeks. “I didn’t think so.”
“He’s doing his job.”
“Did you tell him you deserve to know about me?”
She met his gaze squarely. “If the question is whether or not he knows about us from before, he does.”
“Hell.”
“Did you expect me to show no emotion when I thought you were dead?”
“That I might die didn’t make any difference to you six years ago.” He wanted to call the words back the moment he said them.
Blair’s breath left her body. Of course it mattered. She fought to keep tears from forming.
“Blair, I’m—” Michael took a step closer to her, so close she could see the tiny scar on his upper lip. She felt the brush of his hand along her cheek.
“I shouldn’t have said that. I’m sorry, Blair. You have nothing to feel bad about.”
But she did. She’d missed all those years. She’d slammed the door on a future. And she’d done it out of fear. She was still afraid, but now it was different. The fear was a real menace, not a girl’s fear of losing a simple dream of happily ever after. Not as simple as being afraid of wanting what she knew she couldn’t handle, couldn’t keep.
“Please, let’s not talk about what happened.” Her voice sounded ragged, even to herself.
“Can we put the past behind us?”
She couldn’t. Just the sound of the question, asked so softly, did funny things to her. Made her remember the feel of him, so gentle, so wild. She felt her cheeks burn, felt the crush of all she’d said no to.
“We can’t, can we?” He cupped her chin and tilted her face up toward his. “But remembering doesn’t change how it was. Nothing can change that.”
How it was? She wanted to yell at him. She hadn’t been strong enough or brave enough to give up her dreams to be with him, but he didn’t give them a chance by refusing to really talk to her.
Sanity and honesty prevailed. “No, nothing can change what happened. Not even your death.”
“I don’t plan on dying any time soon.” He released her chin.
“That’s why I’m here.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“I have a boat. I came to get you off the island.”
***
Blair Davenport still had the ability to surprise him. The first time Michael had seen her, he’d been attracted to her through what had to be a twenty-eight-year-old’s biological response to a beautiful young woman. At least that’s what he’d told himself as he managed to avoid her for over a year of accidental meetings. Then he’d seen the real Blair. The one she kept hidden. The one who’d surfaced the night he’d accompanied Drew to a party. A week before he was to be given the chance to avenge his brother’s death.
To this day, he could remember the way she looked in the dress she’d worn, the thin straps across her incredible shoulders. He’d been caught staring. That was the last time he’d blushed, embarrassed at his thoughts of a friend’s sister. They’d walked away from the party and gone to her grandmother’s. The moon had been bright that night and they’d gone outside. He’d felt like a teenager, eager to sit with his arm around his girl.
They’d sat on the porch, talking for hours, and she’d revealed who she was beneath the outer trappings.
“Have you ever thought about traveling in space?” She’d looked up, her head tilted back, the line of her throat clean. “I’ve always wanted to,” she said in a wistful tone.
Her words were so unexpected that his hand dropped to her bare shoulder. Then the feel of her skin stopped his thoughts. Struggling, he sat a little straighter. “You have?” Somehow, Blair Davenport, so blessed with beauty, charm and wealth, wanting to break free, surprised him.
“I wanted to fly jets,” she’d laughed lightly. “Drew said I was crazy.”
“What did your parents say?”
“Oh, I didn’t tell them.”
“Why not?”
She’d looked at him, the moon reflected in her eyes. “It’s not something they would expect from me.”
He wanted to ask what they did expect, but he knew. A good marriage to a successful member of their social set. She wouldn’t get that from him.
But he knew what he could give her. “Want to come fly with me?”
***
Reality wasn’t as wistful, or as easy, Michael acknowledged. They wouldn’t fly to Alice’s. They’d have to walk through palmetto and scrub oak, and wend their way through storm debris.
Blair looked at the narrow path. “Where did you hide while Drew was here?”
“In a garage on the bay side of the island.” He reached for the backpack Blair had brought.
“I can carry it.”
“Let me be a gentleman about something, Blair.”
“You were always a gentleman.”
That surprised him. He didn’t think he’d been a gentleman at all. He’d been crazy with the need for her, with the need to feel after the loss of David. Blind to all the problems, the consequences of his actions. They’d both paid for his blindness.
He took the backpack. “Do you know what Drew intends to do?”
“I heard him this morning before he left. He’s gone back to get more men to go door to door.”
“He’s convinced I’m here.” Drew Davenport wouldn’t give up. Michael should have seen that trait in his sister.
“We have to leave.”
“How did you get here?”
“I borrowed a canoe.”
Michael shook his head. She could have drowned.
“It’s really
sturdy. Both of us will fit nicely.”
“When did you cross?”
She stopped and looked up at him. “Don’t worry. Drew didn’t see me. I came across just before light.”
“Damn, it Blair!”
“He didn’t see me! No one did!”
“That’s not the point.” He reached out with his free hand and grabbed her shoulder. “No one knew you were out there. Don’t you know how dangerous that was?”
“I had a life vest and it was really calm.”
He looked up at the sky, trying to control the fear that the vision of her on the lonely bay had brought to mind. He released his hold on her, turned, and began walking. Up above, a jet’s trail arced across the blue sky.
It ripped six years of time from his grasp. Six years during which he’d tried to forget Blair. What he remembered told him what he should have known about her, about why she’d crossed the bay in a canoe.
The memory rushed at him as clearly as the green of her eyes had stayed with him.
***
Six years earlier
“Are you sure about this?” Blair shouted over the sound of the wind rushing past them as they drove Michael’s Jeep, top off, down the highway.
“You’ll love it.”
He could already see the excitement in her eyes. She was cautious, though, not ready to give in to the thrill of it. But she would. He knew she would.
“Your friend will have time to take us up?”
“Doesn’t matter,” he said, “I’m taking us up.”
He glanced at her, anxious to see her expression, afraid she might balk at the thought. But Blair laughed too, and with a quick glance at his hands on the steering wheel, she grabbed a handful of her hair to keep it from flying around her head.
Michael’s second moment of doubt came when they pulled up at John’s airfield. John didn’t have grand ambitions and his airfield showed it. Michael was sure it was nothing like the private airfield the Davenports frequented. And John was nothing like any Davenport mechanic. A Columbian by birth, John was really named Juan, but claimed to be more American than any American. And probably was.
Dressed in greasy blue overalls, he came running when he spotted Michael. “Hola, Miguel!”
Against the Wind Page 6
