Running From the Storm

by Lee Wilkinson

  ‘What about boats; being on the water—enjoy that?’

  ‘It’s not something I’ve had the chance to try.’

  ‘Then you’ve never been sailing?’

  She shook her head.

  ‘Pity. It can be great fun.’

  ‘I can believe that.’

  ‘When the wind’s right I quite often go sailing on Square Lake, which is the highest body of water in this area.’

  ‘Square Lake?’ she repeated.

  ‘That’s right. I can’t imagine how it got its name, because it’s anything but square. It has lots of pretty little bays and inlets and it’s ringed by mountains.’

  ‘How far away is it?’

  ‘About an hour and a half’s drive.’

  ‘Is there a sailing club there?’

  ‘No, but I have my own sailing boat, as well as a motor boat.’

  ‘That must be wonderful.’

  Hearing the genuine enthusiasm in her voice, he looked a little surprised. ‘You approve of so many outdoor pursuits?’

  ‘Certainly.’

  ‘Most of the women I’ve known, while they may pay lip-service to the idea, can barely repress a shudder. But then I guessed from the start that you were different.’

  Not knowing quite what to say to that, she stayed silent while they finished their coffee.

  When their mugs were empty, he asked, ‘Now, where would you like to go? Anywhere in particular?’

  ‘I don’t mind at all,’ she told him. ‘Wherever you’d like to take me.’

  ‘Then I propose we have a leisurely run though the mountains in the direction of Square Lake. It’s a nice scenic drive, and if we don’t get sidetracked you can take a look at The Loon.’

  ‘Your sailing boat?’

  ‘That’s right. Interested?’

  ‘I certainly am.’

  ‘Good.’ Smiling at her, he added, ‘Oh, in case it cools off later, which it often does in the mountains, it might be a good idea to take a coat of some kind.’

  ‘I’ll go up and fetch one.’

  Zander shook his head. ‘Tell me exactly what you want and I’ll get it when I get mine.’

  ‘The jacket I left on top of my case will do fine … Oh, and the handbag that’s with it …’

  He returned in a short time with their jackets and her bag. ‘About ready?’

  She nodded.

  He cupped her bare elbow. ‘Then we’ll get off.’

  Her heart still beating fast from the touch of his hand, Caris sat down in one of the comfortable wicker chairs in the shady front porch while Zander went to fetch the car.

  His house was a beautiful, white clapboard building with gables, steeply pitched roofs and Virginia creeper climbing its walls and rioting over the veranda rails.

  To the left of the parking area was a garage block with spacious living quarters above it, and beyond the garages sloping green lawns ended in a colourful shrubbery and a handsome stand of mature trees.

  On the right, a short, flower-bordered drive ran down to a white picket fence with a five-barred gate which gave onto a secluded country road.

  Though extremely attractive, the whole set-up was simple and unpretentious. Her host, while undoubtedly wealthy, appeared to be a man who was satisfied with a fairly modest lifestyle.

  She was inclined to adjust that judgement somewhat when he reappeared and she saw he had swapped the sports car he had been driving the previous evening for a sleek, open-topped vehicle, the colour of pearly early-morning mist.

  Smiling a little at her own naivety, she rose to her feet as it purred to a halt by the veranda steps and Zander jumped out to offer her a hand.

  Less than a minute later they were through the open gates and heading west, leaving the scattering of widely spaced neighbouring houses behind them.

  She took pleasure in the fresh, sparkling air, the warmth of the sun on their faces and a balmy breeze carrying the scent of wild honeysuckle and myrtle. They climbed higher and deeper into the mountains.

  As they purred effortlessly along, he pointed out things he thought might interest her, but for most of the time they just drove in silence.

  The route they took was a lovely, scenic one and Caris sat back and enjoyed Zander’s company and the beautiful views.

  Glancing at his handsome profile, she saw he appeared relaxed and contented, a slight smile hanging on his lips, his blond, wind-ruffled hair giving him a boyish look.

  As though aware of her scrutiny, he turned his head to really smile at her. ‘All right?’

  ‘Yes, thank you.’ She couldn’t remember ever feeling happier, she thought as she smiled back.

  For some time they had been climbing steadily, following a high ridge with spectacular views to the valley below. Now they were heading into a forested area, the sun-dappled road winding between rocky outcrops topped by pine and spruce.

  ‘In a few minutes we’ll get to the small town of Woodville,’ Zander told her. ‘Over the past few years it’s become something of a Mecca for tourists.’

  Woodville turned out to be a pretty little place with shopping facilities for the locals, a range of gift shops for the visitors, and countless tea-rooms spilling their tables onto the sidewalks.

  When they reached the centre he pulled into a parking space that had just become vacant, asking, ‘Think you can manage a short stroll?’

  ‘Yes, of course.’

  ‘Then we’ll have a cup of tea, or if you prefer some fresh fruit.’

  He came round to help her out; watching her put her weight on her injured ankle, he queried, ‘How does it feel?’

  ‘Almost as good as new,’ she told him cheerfully.

  ‘Well take care; the last thing we want is any more damage to it.’

  With Caris perforce stepping cautiously, they made their way along the main street until they reached Rip van Winkle’s, and there they stopped and sat at a table shaded by a red umbrella.

  ‘How far are we from Square Lake?’ she asked her companion as she ate a peach and sucked the sticky juice from her thumb and forefinger.

  Watching her, thinking how innocently sexy she looked, he answered abstractedly, ‘It’s just a few miles further on.’

  She was wondering why Zander had chosen to stop for tea at Woodville, as they were so close to their destination, when he added, ‘But it’s off the beaten track, and not at all commercialized, so it doesn’t get many visitors. Apart from a general-store-cum-chandler, which boasts a couple of gasoline pumps and caters for the needs of the people who live on the lake, there are no shops or cafés.’

  ‘Do many people live there?’

  ‘There are log cabins scattered all around the shores, but more than half of them are only occupied in the summer months.’

  ‘It sounds wonderfully quiet and remote.’

  ‘That was what first attracted me to the place, and when one of the log cabins came up for sale I decided to buy it.

  ‘I make sure there’s always some food in the freezer so that if I want to spend a weekend there, or I feel like enjoying a few days of solitude, I can just take off. It makes a refreshing change to airports and hotels and all the pressures of modern living.

  ‘When I’m at the cabin, I can sit on the front porch and watch the moon rise over the mountains and the moonbeams play across the surface of the lake. I can walk in the woods in the scented twilight, or get up early to see a dew-drenched sunrise and trails of diaphanous mist lying on the water …’

  While Caris listened, entranced, Zander talked about the lake and its environs until, the bill paid, they made their way back to the car.

  Once they were out of town and heading away from the well-trodden tourist path, the terrain became wilder, lonelier and even more beautiful.

  Eventually they turned off the quiet road and followed a rough track that wound into the woods. On either side vegetation brushed against the car and the trees, a mixture of conifer and deciduous, seemed to press closer and become even more den
se, shutting out the sunlight.

  Slanting her a glance, Zander remarked, ‘This area is still known as Bear Woods, though its namesakes are long gone. It’s where the going gets a bit more difficult. I use a four-by-four in winter, but I’ve driven this car along here often enough, so you don’t need to be worried.’

  ‘I wasn’t,’ she assured him serenely, and earned herself an approving look. Her voice dry, she added, ‘Though I’m beginning to understand why not too many visitors come here.’

  He laughed. ‘Yes, you’re quite right. It’s this relatively short stretch that helps to keep the crowds away.’

  The trees had started to thin, and through them she caught a glimpse of sparkling blue water.

  ‘Almost there,’ he said.

  Round the next bend the track ended abruptly, leaving them in an open sweep of bay where he brought the car to a halt to give Caris a chance to look at the lovely scene.

  It took her breath away.

  Over to their left, a clear, shallow creek with a stony bottom emptied itself into the sunlit waters of the lake which was surrounded by trees, its curving bays interspersed with rocky promontories.

  Around the shoreline she could just make out an attractive scattering of log cabins, wooden landing stages and moored boats, while the encircling mountains made a stunning backdrop.

  There was no wind, and the surface of the lake was so mirror-calm that the reflections in the water weren’t disturbed by so much as a ripple.

  ‘Like it?’ Zander asked.

  She nodded mutely, but her shining eyes said it all; he was well satisfied.

  He restarted the car and swung left to ford the creek. After a hundred yards or so through a screen of trees she spotted a log cabin by the lake-shore. It was square and squat, with a single chimney and a railed veranda festooned with climbing roses.

  As they drew closer, she could see that steps led up to a covered front porch with a chain-hung swing seat, from where there must be glorious views over the lake.

  It was an idyllic spot.

  ‘This is Owl Lodge,’ Zander told her as they stopped by the porch steps and he helped her out of the car. ‘And there at the end of the jetty are my boats, The Loon and The Swift.’

  Two sleek white boats with graceful black lines skimming down their sides were moored at a long wooden pier that ran out into the lake. One was an elegant sailing boat, its white sails furled, the other a small motor boat.

  ‘I’m afraid there’s not enough wind to go sailing,’ he went on. ‘But if you’d care to go for a trip on the lake we can take The Swift.

  ‘I’d love to!’ she said, her voice made husky by pleasure and excitement.

  ‘Great. But first, if you like, I’ll show you what little there is of Owl Lodge.’

  ‘Please.’

  ‘Okay with the steps?’

  ‘Oh yes, so long as I go carefully.’

  Opening the porch door, he showed her into an attractive, open-plan living area. Brightly woven rugs lay on the polished floorboards and matching folkweave curtains hung at the windows.

  To the left, two curving shallow steps led to a kind of dais with built-in storage space and a comfortable-looking double bed.

  On the far wall there was a wood-burning stove with a huge stack of logs on either side, and grouped in front of the hearth a couch in soft, natural leather, two cushioned armchairs and a low table.

  Caris noticed that a fire had been laid ready in the stove, and there were a couple of oil lamps strategically placed.

  On the right were two doors. Throwing open the nearest one, Zander showed her a small but luxurious bathroom which had an electric water-heater and a walk-in shower.

  ‘And through here is the kitchen. As you can see, it boasts a table and chairs, but I usually eat either al fresco or in front of the living-room stove, depending on the weather.’

  At first sight the kitchen appeared to be completely rustic. It had a deep porcelain sink with a wooden draining board, and above an old black stove, once again laid ready for lighting, was an old-fashioned clothes airer on a pulley.

  Then, in complete contrast, arranged on the opposite wall was an electric cooker, a large fridge-freezer, a microwave, and a washer-dryer.

  As she gazed at them, speechless, Zander’s white teeth flashed in a grin. ‘Though I didn’t want to spoil the place, I decided a few mod cons were definitely called for.’

  ‘But how do you run them?’

  ‘There’s a small generator housed in one of the storerooms. Ben Burgess, who lives about half a mile up the lake and is here all year round, takes care of it for me.

  ‘At the moment things are a bit dicey. One of the parts needs replacing, so he’s having to nurse it along until the new one arrives.’

  As they returned to the living room, he asked, ‘Would you care for a coffee or anything before we go?’

  ‘I don’t think so, thank you.’

  ‘Then, if you’re agreeable, when we get back we’ll have a drink and something to eat before we start the journey home.’

  ‘That suits me fine.’

  Leaving her bag on one of the chairs, she picked up her jacket and followed him out.

  He took her arm as they negotiated the steps and crossed the shingle to the landing stage. Very conscious of his touch, she walked the length of the jetty like someone in a dream, feeling the warmth of the sun on her back and glimpsing the clear sparkling water and pebbly bottom through the gaps in the wooden boards.

  After he had shown her The Loon, Zander jumped lightly into the motor boat and turned to offer her a steadying hand.

  When she had been helped in and settled in the stern he cast off, started the motor and, with a low, throaty roar, they were on their way.

  The next couple of hours whilst they leisurely explored the lake—which had several small islands and numerous inlets—were amongst the most delightful she had ever spent.

  She loved being on the water, loved the sights, sounds and smells—the black-headed loons, the movement of the boat, the scent of pine and the slap of the little wavelets—the whole new experience.

  Zander proved to be the perfect companion, interesting, knowledgeable and fun to be with. Yet he knew the value of silence, of leaving time for just looking, time for thought and contemplation.

  Caris said very little but, watching her expressive face and those shining pansy-blue eyes, Zander was well aware of what she was thinking and feeling, and her sheer enjoyment helped to increase his own.

  By the time they headed back to the landing stage the sun was starting to sink behind a gathering mass of purple cloud, and a sudden breeze was making the tops of the reeds at the water’s edge dance.

  While she listened to the loons making their strange, wild cries, Caris slipped on her jacket; she was starting to get a little cool.

  She noticed that Zander, who was no doubt used to the evening drop in temperature, seemed quite happy with bare arms.

  As she glanced at him, he remarked, ‘We’re somewhat later than I’d expected, and if I’m any judge there’ll be a storm before too long. That being the case, when we get back I’ll close the roof of the car, then I suggest that instead of stopping to eat we have a quick drink and start on our way.’

  Caris sighed. Of course Zander was right. All the same, she couldn’t help feeling a bit disappointed that they would be leaving quite so soon.

  Letting her imagination run riot, she thought how lovely it would be to sit on the porch swing with Zander in the gathering dusk, his arm around her, her head on his shoulder, listening to the night sounds and watching the moon rise over the lake and the storm clouds gather on the horizon.

  But the voice of common sense warned her that merely being here with him was foolish enough, without wishing herself into romantic and highly dangerous situations.

  Still, her recalcitrant thoughts pictured them going indoors hand in hand to sit snugly in front of the stove and stare into the leaping flames before he carried her
to bed …

  Shivering a little, she imagined how it would be—the warmth and intimacy of his touch as his hands moved over her; the sweetness of his kisses, then the passionate bliss of his love-making before they slept in each other’s arms.

  She imagined how they would wake at sunrise to watch the feathery reeds sparkling with dew and the delicate veils of white mist trailing over the water. How, swearing she was cold, he would take her back to bed to warm her …

  The boat bumping lightly against the landing stage brought her back to the present with a start.

  Tying up deftly, Zander stepped out and turned to offer Caris his hand. ‘Careful, now …’

  But his caution came too late. Flustered by her own erotic imaginings, she jumped to her feet too quickly, lost her balance when the boat rocked and went over the side.

  She surfaced, coughing and choking, and was floundering, trying to find a footing in waist-deep water when Zander jumped in beside her.

  His hands beneath her arms, he steadied her until she found her feet on the pebbly bottom.

  ‘Thank you!’ she spluttered.

  Brushing aside her thanks, he asked tersely, ‘Are you all right?’

  Clearing her throat, she assured him, ‘Somewhat wet, but apart from that I’m fine.’

  ‘I should have had more sense than take you out in a boat until your ankle was fully mended.’

  Pushing back the long, dark hair that hung in dripping rats’ tails, she told him, ‘It had nothing to do with my ankle. I got up too quickly and lost my balance when the boat rocked. My ankle’s fine.’

  Her last words were negated by an exclamation of, ‘Ouch!’ when she tried to take a step and her ankle turned painfully.

  Without another word, Zander stooped and lifted her high in his arms. Holding her against his chest, clear of the water, he waded to the shore.

  Her clothes had become an icy-cold shroud; starting to shiver, she clenched her teeth to stop them chattering.

  Having carried her to the cabin and up the steps, he unfastened the door and shouldered it open. As he headed for the bathroom, leaving a wet trail in their wake, he remarked, ‘I think a hot shower is the order of the day. Because of its altitude, the lake’s always a lot colder than one might imagine.’