by Mary Lyons
'Don't be so stupid—of course I care what happens to you,' she retorted sharply. 'In fact, I. . . well, I. . .' She hesitated for a moment.
Luke laughed. 'There's no need to worry. After surviving that flight and the emergency landing, I am quite convinced that you and I are totally invincible!' he drawled, lifting his hand and running a finger gently down her pale cheek. 'So, checking around the buildings for that kid has to be a piece of cake, hmm?'
With her heart in her mouth, Samantha watched Luke's crablike progress around the remains of the outbuildings. Making sure that he hugged the ground or a firm piece of masonry, he systematically searched through each nook and cranny that could conceivably shelter a small child.
'Any luck?' she called out as she caught a glimpse of him through a large crack in the wall of what had once been a garage, and was dejected when the negative shake of his head said it all. Samantha shivered as she was forced to realise that the little boy really was missing. Quite convinced that he had been either playing a game, or just sheltering within easy reach of the main house, she was now going to have to face the fact that they might not be able to locate him. She watched blindly as Luke made a final foray into the ruined remains of the sugar mill. What on earth were they going to do if Zachary couldn't be found?
Just as she was beginning to despair, and trying to brace herself for the task of relating the sad news to the Dillmans, she heard Luke give a shout. A moment later she saw Zachary crawling through the collapsed doorway of her old home. Buffeted by the wind and rain, he clung to a wooden beam, staring at her in white-faced fright.
'Lie down on the ground,' she shouted. 'Lie down and crawl around the edge of the buildings.'
For a few moments Zachary stared at her, frozen with fear, and then he slowly began to do as she said. His progress was painfully slow, but he eventually reached the entrance to the cellar, and it was a very grubby and subdued little boy who scampered down the steps, and into his mother's sobbing arms.
Following him down into the kitchen, she was pleased to see that Zachary's arrival had resulted in an immediate lifting of everyone's spirits. Penny and Betty had already got a primus stove going, and, with the prospect of some hot coffee, the occupation of the crowded cellar began to take on something of a party atmosphere. Samantha's announcement that the worst of the storm was over was received with tears and laughter, and she was relieved when everyone seemed happy to accept her report of Luke's cautionary warning about conditions outside; no one seeming anxious to leave the warmth and comfort of their temporary shelter.
'Everyone appears to be very cheerful,' she said as Betty passed a hot mug of coffee into her hands.
'Why not—since we're all going to live to see another day!' the older woman laughed happily. 'Where's that wonderful husband of yours?'
'I think he must be still outside, checking the safety of the buildings.'
'Well, I guess he's going to be cold and damp by the time he gets back, so why don't you take him up some coffee?' Betty suggested. 'And there's no need to hurry back down here. If you ask me, I reckon your Luke is a great guy, and you'd be out of your mind not to grab a permanent hold of him while the going's good!' she added with a wink, grinning at the flush spreading over the younger girl's cheeks.
Standing outside at the entrance to the cellar and waiting for Luke to reappear, it slowly began to dawn upon Samantha that something must have happened to him. Feeling sick with apprehension, she waited for a few more minutes, and then, taking a deep breath, she sank down on to her hands and knees, and began crawling slowly as she retraced the path Zachary had just taken.
No wonder the poor child had been terrified, she thought, gritting her teeth and forcing herself to ignore the frightening gusts of strong wind, and the driving rain. It seemed a lifetime before she managed to reach the shelter of the sugar mill, drenched to the skin, with her hands and knees cut by the sharp stones on the ground.
'Luke. . .?' she yelled, flattening herself down and wriggling in through the open doorway.
'In here,' he called out. 'I seem to have got my foot caught,' he added as she followed the sound of his voice to where he lay on the floor, with a heavy wooden beam lying across his ankle.
'Oh, lord! What happened. . .?'
'I guess the boy was just frightened,' he explained as she bent down to try and lift the obstruction. 'When I tried to pick him up and carry him out of here, the little monster ran away. I ran after him, but I must have dislodged that beam—and I also seem to have somehow managed to get my foot stuck in this hole.' He pointed down to where his shoe appeared to be buried in the floor.
Samantha strained, breathing heavily as she tried to lift the old oak beam. 'I don't think I'm going to be able to manage it on my own,' she panted, looking about her for something to use as a lever. 'I'd never recognise this place—not in a million years,' she muttered, staring up at the empty space where her bedroom had once been. 'Except that. . . heavens—how weird!' she exclaimed, staring round-eyed at the extraordinary sight of her bed, still covered with its mattress, pillows and coverlet, standing alone in the middle of the floor. 'It must have fallen down—but how come it didn't blow away with everything else?'
'It may be an interesting phenomenon,' Luke drawled. 'But if it isn't too much trouble, I'd like to remind you that I'm still stuck hard and fast over here.'
'Oops—sorry!' she giggled, continuing her hunt for something to act as a crow bar. A moment later she found a short length of hard wood, which she managed to lug over to where Luke was lying.
'Be careful!' he cautioned as she begin trying to jam it under the beam over his foot. 'I don't want to spend the rest of my days hobbling around with a stick.'
'Look—I'm doing the best I can, OK?' she demanded, glaring at him as she wiped the beads of sweat from her brow. 'I had to listen to you doing your "macho" impersonation all over the hotel, yesterday. So, now it's your turn to shut up, and let me try and think this through,' she added with a frown as she squatted down on her heels. 'I know that there must be a good, scientific answer to the problem—it's just a matter of working it out, that's all.'
'Oh, great! I'm going to have to lie here, drenched to the skin, while little-Miss-Fixit tries to discover the theory of relativity,' he grated. 'Let me tell you: if it's a choice between your impersonation of the Red Baron or Einstein—I'll take the Red Baron any day!'
'Too right!' she retorted grimly. 'Especially as I'm still waiting for your fulsome vote of thanks for saving your miserable life yesterday.'
He gave a harsh laugh. 'That's rich! Who shanghied me into that crazy flight in the first place? If I had any sense, I'd be happily tucked up in St Barts right now. . .'
'With dear Corrine, I suppose. . .?' she shouted angrily, furiously jamming the log she had found into the ground beside his foot.
The result of her impetuous action was spectacularly dramatic. With a loud crashing rumble of falling masonry, the floor of the sugar mill gave way, and the bed, Samantha and Luke—in that order—made a sudden and rapid descent into a deep, cavernous space below.
There was a long, shocked silence, and then Luke cleared his throat. 'OK, sweetheart. I'm willing to admit that, as far as I'm concerned, you can make the earth move more than somewhat. . .' He gave a husky laugh. 'But don't you think that maybe this is taking matters just a little too far?'
'Hmm. . .?' Samantha was still feeling dazed and winded, but the weight of Luke's body on hers, and the touch of his hands as they began slowly roaming over her soft curves, was having a disastrous effect on her ability to think constructively. 'What. . . what's happened?'
'Oh, God—who cares?' he breathed, fiercely moulding her to his strong, lean length with an urgency that made the blood race in her veins. His musky, masculine scent filled her nostrils as his lips sought and found hers, his kiss deepening with possessive force as her soft moans and the warm, yielding response of her body provoked his increasing ardour. There was a desperate hunger in
his fingers as he slipped his hands beneath her T-shirt to caress and fondle her full breasts, his strong body shaking with the force of an urgent, passionate intensity barely under control.
'You belong to me!' he growled savagely as he began to strip the clothes from her body. 'You're mine—and I'm never going to let you go. Never. . . ever again!' he added fiercely, swiftly divesting himself of his own clothing.
A deep shiver of excitement rippled through her as his thick, husky voice echoed in the darkness about them. With a wordless murmur of entreaty, she wound her arms about his neck, convulsively burying her fingers in his hair as she pulled him closer to her own trembling body. Overcome by the driving force of her love and need for him, and panting for release from the tension which seemed to fill her whole existence, her body writhed and trembled beneath his strong frame, unashamedly inciting his hungry passion beyond the limits of endurance. Engrossed and absorbed by her own emotional needs, she barely heard the low, deep groans provoked from his throat by the wanton abandonment of her response. In the instant of his thrusting possession their bodies became one, igniting a mutual flame of white-hot passion which burned with scorching intensity as they instinctively acknowledged the wild, untamed hunger of their consuming need for one another.
Later, as she lay curled within the shelter of his arms, she was sleepily trying to work out exactly where they were. 'I still don't understand what happened to us,' she murmured, idly running her fingers over his long, lean legs. 'We met and fell in love again—not that I ever really stopped loving you,' he said quietly. 'No—I don't mean that. . .'
'Don't you love me?'
'Well, yes, as it happens, I do, but. . .'
'No more "buts",' he said firmly. 'I've decided that I must have been out of my mind in that aeroplane. There's no way I'm going to give you a nice, quiet divorce! You're going to stay married to me—and that's it!'
'Well. . .' Samantha grinned in the darkness as she felt him hold his breath, and the rigid tensing of his muscles as he waited for her response. 'Well. . . I guess I don't have much choice, do I?'
He gave a rumble of laughter. 'Oh, sure—you've got a choice. Unfortunately, it just so happens that I've definitely made up my mind on this matter. And you, of all people, must know just how determined and inflexible I am when I've decided I want something'.'
'You're so right—I do!' she grumbled happily. 'The only thing is. . .' She hesitated for a moment, and then realised that nothing mattered any more, that she had no pride left as far as he was concerned. 'Yes, I do love you, Luke. I love you with all my heart, and I guess I always have. But loving is one thing, and living happily together is quite another. Do you really think we can make it work this time?'
'We'll give it a damn good try, and I promise you that it won't be my fault if it doesn't work out,' he fervently assured her, his arms tightening about her slim body. 'You were so young when we first got married, and as for me. . .' He sighed. 'I can now see that I was totally unreasonable in expecting you to make all the adjustments, and refusing to alter my own life in any way. When it all blew up in my face. . . well, I guess I was just too proud and stubborn to admit that it was mostly my fault. And I could weep for all the time we've lost— the years we've been apart. Barbara says your aunt meant well, but. . .'
Samantha shook her head. 'I—I still can't believe it. I mean, I really love Aunt Em, and I don't understand how she could do this to me.'
'Well, sweetheart—don't bite my head off, but I guess it's fair to say that you can be pretty convincing when you're angry. And I imagine that she must have listened to you fulminating about your rotten husband, hmrn. . .?'
'You. . . you could be right,' she muttered with a shamefaced grimace.
'And I suppose that she really believed she was doing the right thing in keeping us apart. Do you know what I think?' He paused for a moment. 'I reckon that your aunt really does love and care for you—so much, in fact, that she'd have done anything to prevent you from getting hurt, ever again.' He sighed. 'But we can't live other people's lives for them, can we? And maybe too much love can be just as bad as too little? However, now that I've got you back again, I'm not going to hold it against the old bat,' he laughed. 'I'll either buy or build her a nice house here, on St Pauls, and we'll have her out to stay with us in the States, OK?'
'That's very kind and generous of you,' she whispered, raising her head to give him a warm kiss. 'There's only one other important thing. . .'
'Hmm. . .'
What about your business—and my shops?'
'As far as those shops of yours are concerned—well, it's up to you, sweetheart. I want you permanently back in the States with me, but there's nothing that says you can't come out here for flying visits, to see your aunt as well as to check on how your shops are doing. While as for my business life. . .' He pulled her tightly back into his arms. 'I'm not going to make any promises I can't keep,' he said slowly. 'But I am going to try and see if I can't delegate a larger part of the business to my associates, while I concentrate on my wife and—hopefully!—my children. How does that sound to you?'
Samantha sighed happily. 'That sounds just fine.'
'Mind you,' he drawled, his voice heavy with amusement, 'I can see that I'm going to be living a real dog's life with that red-haired, termagant wife of mine. It's going to be nag-nag and yak-yak all day long!'
'It's no good, Luke!' she laughed, remembering her quarrel with him back on St Barts. 'I'm feeling far too happy and contented to have any more arguments with you today.'
'Oh, dear,' he said, rolling over to trap her soft body beneath him. 'As you know, I have a low threshold of boredom, so if we aren't going to have a row, then I'll have to think of something else to do, won't I?'
'Luke!' she gasped as he began trailing his fingers over the swell of her breasts. 'We can't. . ..' What about all those people in the cellar, for heaven's sake?'
'They're fine,' he said dismissively. 'I'm far more interested in my wife. Now I've got you to myself, I don't aim to let you go in a hurry. Unless, of course, you feel that you'd like to have an argument about whether or not I should make love to you, hmm?'
'No. . .' she murmured happily, as the touch of his hands became more sensual and erotic. 'No—I don't think that we're ever going to have a fight about that particular subject!'
