by Janet Dailey
Since Slater dominated the subject of her thoughts, her curiosity naturally ran to what he was doing. She could hear him whistling, but there wasn’t any sound of him moving about on deck. But there were odd thumps and clunks, and a soft scraping sound that puzzled her.
Between the wondering and the desire to be with him, she tossed back the light cover and swung out of the wide bunk. His white terry-cloth robe hung on a hook. Dawn hesitated, then slipped it on and tied the swaddling bulk around her. She glanced at her reflection in the oval mirror. The provocative gleam that entered her blue eyes indicated a satisfaction with the resulting look.
As she passed through the small galley, she noticed the pot of coffee on the stove and an empty cup sitting on the counter beside it. She stopped and poured a cup for Slater and one for herself before proceeding up the hatchway to the deck. Trying to keep an eye on the cups, she glanced around to locate Slater.
“Good morning?” She didn’t see him. “How about some coffee?” She wrinkled her nose as she caught the acrid smell of marine enamel.
“Good morning,” Slater answered.
When she glanced in the direction of his voice, Dawn saw him hanging over the side of the boat, secured by some sort of rope swing. She frowned curiously and started across the deck to see what he was doing. At the moment, all she could see was his head and the top part of his bare chest.
“What are you doing?” The paint smell grew stronger as she approached. “Is this any way to spend your honeymoon? Painting a boat?”
“You get away from here.” He motioned her backward with a wave of his paintbrush. “This is supposed to be a surprise, so you can’t look yet. I’ll be through in a minute.”
“A surprise?” Dawn halted, then took a couple of steps sideways to sit in a deck chair. “What are you doing?”
“What does it look like I’m doing?” Slater countered with a smug little smile.
She was aware of his concentration, and the almost painstaking strokes he seemed to be making. “It looks like you’re writing something.” Her eyes widened at the conclusion that followed that. “Are you changing the name of the boat?”
“Clever girl,” he smiled.
A little thrill went through her, guessing that he must be naming it after her if it was supposed to be a surprise. “What if Homesick doesn’t like it?” she said, giving the boat an identity.
“She’ll have to like it,” Slater replied, “She doesn’t have any choice.”
“Your coffee is going to get cold if you don’t hurry,” she warned, nearly eaten up with curiosity herself.
He didn’t answer immediately as he concentrated on the last bit of lettering. Then a smile was breaking across his face. “All done.” He looked at her for an instant, then shifted his position to haul himself on board.
An invitation wasn’t required as Dawn set the coffee cups on the deck and hurried to the side. Slater was clad only in a pair of cutoff jeans, the legs frayed to form a rough fringe. His outstretched arm checked her haste.
“Careful,” he advised. “You don’t want to get any wet paint on you.”
His word of caution prompted her to look where she was putting her hands before she leaned forward to peer over the side. It took her a minute to read the lettering upside-down. There was a sudden rush of tears as she straightened and turned to Slater.
“The Second Time.” Her voice choked on a bubble of emotion. “Oh, Slater.” Her chin quivered and she tried to laugh at her overly sentimental response.
“It is the second time—for us—and being together on a boat,” He quietly reinforced his choice with an explanation, and reached for her left hand, rolling his thumb across her wedding rings. “Only this time, it’s my ring you’re wearing in the morning.”
She wrapped her arms around his bare middle and hugged him close, resting her cheek against his flatly muscled chest and closing her eyes. “Thank you for The Second Time. It’s a wonderful wedding present for both of us.”
He tucked a hand under her chin and lifted it to kiss her mouth, with long, drugging warmth. When he finally raised his head, it was to lazily study her upturned face.
“I suppose you know how sexy you look in my robe,” he murmured and let his gaze trail downward to the gaping front and the exposed swell of her breasts.
Dawn started to deny any foreknowledge, then grinned saucily. “Yes.”
“Brazen hussy,” he accused mockingly and kissed her hard, then let her go. “I’ll have that cup of coffee now.”
“Tease,” she accused, but let him take her by the hand and lead her back to the deck chair, where he pulled one alongside of hers.
After they were seated with their respective cups in hand, their fingers stayed linked in loving companionship. All around them was stillness, the quiet lapping of water against the boat’s hull interrupted only by the distant cry of a bird.
The boat was anchored inside the entrance to a small sheltered cove of an uninhabited key away from the more frequently traveled water routes. Slater had sailed to it last night, so Dawn had seen little of it in the dark.
With a midmorning sun shining on its sandy shore, she was taking her first good look at it. It seemed a tropical paradise with its blue waters and swaying palms. Although it appeared uninhabited at first glance, Dawn revised that opinion as she began noticing the variety of birds—long-legged herons, squatty white pelicans, and a roseate spoonbill, as well as a circling osprey.
“No wonder Audubon spent so much time in the Keys,” she murmured. “It’s teeming with exotic birdlife.” Turning her head, she glanced at Slater. “Why don’t we spend our honeymoon here instead of hopping around to other places? It’s so beautiful and peaceful.”
“We can.” He drained his coffee cup and set it on the deck. “Want to go for a swim before breakfast?”
“Sure.” She started to stand up. “Just give me a minute to change into my swimsuit.”
His fingers tightened their link with hers. “Why bother?” he challenged. “We’ve got the place all to ourselves so why not swim in the nude?”
“Why not? I will if you will,” she said with a little shrug and stood up. “Deal?”
“It’s a deal,” he agreed, but he was suspicious of the little gleam in her eyes.
“I’ll race you to the beach,” Dawn challenged. “Last one there has to cook breakfast.”
With a quick tug of the sash, the robe fell open and Dawn slipped out of it. Slater was still unzipping his cutoffs when she dove over the side and struck out for shore. The time it took him to strip was the handicap she needed. Even though she was a strong swimmer, she was no match for Slater.
Even with the headstart, he nearly caught up with her. She waded onto the sand only two steps ahead of him. Breathless from the exertion, she collapsed onto the smooth sand and lay back on her elbows. Her blue eyes were sparkling with triumphant laughter that she didn’t have the wind to voice.
“You have to cook. . . breakfast,” she informed him between gulps for air.
“You cheated.” He dropped onto the sand beside her, breathing hard, water dripping from him.
“Now why should you complain because I can undress faster than you?” Dawn blinked her eyes at him with mock innocence. “I should think a man would be overjoyed about that.”
“You think so, eh?” Slater shifted to lean over her in a threatening posture.
But the leap of awareness in her senses was not caused by alarm. She lifted her chin to gladly take the kiss he pressed onto her mouth. The weight of his chest collapsed the support of her elbows, sinking her slowly backward on the sand, the wet, warmth length of his body stretching out alongside hers.
Her arms curved around him, a hand exploring the sinewed ridges of his backbone. When he dragged his mouth away, his gaze burned a look over her face and chest. She ran the tip of her tongue across her lips.
“You taste like salt,” she identified the briny substance that had moistened his kiss.
“So do you,” he murmured. “But I always did like the taste of salt on my food.” As if to prove it, he began to show her how much he enjoyed her salty flavor.
It was an idyllic time, hours lazily drifting into one another. They swam, fished, tramped the island, snorkeled, sun-bathed, and made love. If it weren’t for the nightly ship-to-shore calls they made to talk to Randy and for Slater to check with his office, it was as if they were isolated from the rest of the world.
In a bulky gray sweatshirt and a headband keeping the copper-red hair off her neck, Dawn gazed at the tranquil cove. A late afternoon sun had created a new pattern of shadows, which she studied, intent on memorizing the way it looked.
A pair of arms stole around her waist, but she knew their feel. Her hands gripped them and helped them to tighten their circle while she tipped her head to the side and give Slater free access to the curve of her neck.
“Mmm, delicious,” he murmured, nibbling on it. “Unfortunately—” he sighed, “—it doesn’t take the place of food. Let’s have an early dinner.”
Dawn carried his suggestion one step further. “Let’s build a fire on the beach and have a cookout.”
There was a short silence while he considered her suggestion. “Why not,” he agreed. “Get the stuff together so we can load it into the rubber dinghy.”
After they got the food and utensils ashore, Slater gathered driftwood and built a fire while Dawn wrapped the potatoes, vegetables, and yellowtail fish in individual foil packets for roasting on the coals. The meal was ready in time for them to eat by the light of a lingering sun. Then they settled back with a cup of campfire coffee to watch the orange ball of flame sink into the ocean. The sunset splashed the sky with corals and pinks and lavenders.
A breeze stirred to life with the setting of the sun, cool as it came off the waters. The warmth from the flickering fire was just enough to ward off any chill. Dawn leaned back in Slater’s arms and used his chest for a pillow while she waited for the moonrise to silver the cove.
“That sunset was specially ordered,” Slater said, his breath stirring her hair as he tipped his head slightly down. “Did you like it?”
“It was beautiful,” she assured him, although by now her mind had begun wandering down another path, one far from the island. “How much do you think it would cost to lease one of those shops in Old Town?”
“I don’t know.” He sounded amused by her question from left field. “I imagine it would depend on a lot of things—the square footage of floor space, location, the condition of the building. Why?”
“I’ve been thinking about leasing some space, and opening a shop. My father makes some beautiful things and I know they would sell if they were marketed right. Heaven knows, he has enough inventory in his garage to stock the place,” she added wryly.
Slater shifted to the side in order to better see her face. “I’m surprised. I always thought your father was too proud and stubborn to let someone else—even his daughter—provide the financing to set him up in business.”
“I wasn’t thinking of setting him up in business. I thought I’d operate the shop. Maybe my mother could work part-time in it.” She considered that possibility. “That way both of them would be earning some extra money to supplement their pension.”
“Why would you want to operate the shop?” There was a frown in his voice.
“Don’t tell me you’re one of those husbands who believes a wife’s place is at home?” Dawn teased.
“The idea isn’t totally unpleasant,” he admitted dryly. “But that doesn’t answer my question.”
“It’s very simple. I want to earn some money. No woman wants to ask her husband for every penny of her spending money,” she defended her stand.
He chuckled in vague confusion, his chest moving under her head. “You’re worried about asking me for spending money?” He was amused by the thought. “What about the Lord family fortunes? There must be a moldy dollar or two lying around, doing nothing.”
She laughed, suddenly understanding why he was puzzled. “I forgot to tell you. Simpson didn’t leave me anything when he died. Oh, he did arrange for me to receive a yearly living allowance, but that stopped when I married you.”
“What?” It was a low, surprised question.
“It’s true,” she assured him. “I was told I could contest the will since I was legally his wife and I hadn’t signed any marriage contract that negated my claim to his estate. But it just didn’t seem to matter anymore.”
“Where did you get the money for the house?” he asked in that same slightly disbelieving voice.
“I sold all the jewelry Simpson had given me. He also set up a trust fund for Randy’s college education,” Dawn added. “So, at least, we won’t have to worry about that expense.”
“No.”
A pale, fatly shaped crescent moon rested above the horizon. “Look, there’s the moon.” She called Slater’s attention to it. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
She snuggled into his arms and pulled them more tightly around her waist. “It’s too bad we can’t stay here forever,” she sighed.
“You can’t have everything, Dawn.” He unwrapped his arms from around her and gripped her shoulders to sit her up. “It’s time we were getting the dinghy loaded and headed back for the boat.”
“So soon?” she protested and stayed curled on the sand while Slater rolled to his feet and kicked out the fire.
“Yes, so soon.”
“Spoilsport,” she accused and held out her hand so he could pull her up.
There was a split-second hesitation before he grasped it and hauled her to her feet. But it didn’t flow into an embrace as she thought it might. Instead Slater walked over and picked up the basket loaded with dirty dishes and gear.
“It is early.” Dawn shook out the blanket and began to fold it.
“It will be early in the morning when we leave, too,” he replied.
“Leave?” She stared at him. “To go where?”
“Back to Key West.” His features were in shadow, the pale moon not providing sufficient light to let her see his expression.
“But I thought we didn’t have to go back for another two days,” she frowned and trailed after him when he headed for the dinghy, grounded on the beach a few yards away.
“Something’s come up and I’m needed back at the office.” It was a very uncommunicative answer.
“But—when you talked to Mrs. Greenstone this afternoon—afterward you said everything was running smoothly.” Dawn was positive he hadn’t mentioned there were any problems.
“Dawn—” he stopped and turned to look at her, the utmost of patience in his tone, “—things can be running smoothly, but there still can be an item that requires my personal attention. There wasn’t any reason to mention it earlier, because I didn’t want to spoil your last evening.”
“Well, it’s spoiled,” she declared, but mainly by his attitude.
“You knew we had to go back sometime,” he stated.
“Of course, I did. I’m not a child,” she retorted, a little snappishly. “And you didn’t have to keep it from me as if I were a child.”
“Have it your way,” Slater muttered and turned away to stow the basket in the dinghy.
It was a short, and very silent, ride back to the boat. Dawn glanced at the name gleaming on the white hull—The Second Time. It had a bitter ring to it somehow.
In the same tense silence, they unpacked the dishes and utensils from the cookout. When Slater went up on deck, Dawn went into the head and used the shower. The cleansing spray seemed to drive out her moody resentment. By the time she had toweled dry, she was regretting her participation in this silent war. She didn’t want their last evening to come to a close on such a sour note.
Hoping it would spark a more pleasant memory, she grabbed his terrycloth robe and tied it around her. As she started down the narrow companionway, she noticed Slater sitting at the table in the galley. A bri
efcase sat on the bench beside him. A folder of papers was opened on the table while he worked a pocket calculator and made notes on a yellow tablet.
“Aren’t you coming to bed?” She paused in the opening to the galley, a bare foot resting on the raised threshold.
He didn’t even look up at her question. “No. I have to go over these papers before tomorrow.”
“In that case, I’ll put on some coffee and sit up with you.” Dawn started to enter the galley.
“No. Go on to bed.” He refused her offer with disinterest. “You know I can concentrate better when you’re not around.”
She should have felt complimented by that, but he hadn’t even looked at her once. He was trying to claim she was a distraction, yet his concentration hadn’t faltered once. His fingers continued to tap out numbers on the calculator.
But there didn’t seem to be any point on which she could argue. “Good night,” she said.
“Good night.” His attention remained on his work, his response absently given.
Alone, she climbed into bed and stared at the ceiling, waiting for him to join her. Her mind went back over the evening, trying to pinpoint just when it had gone wrong. It was just shortly after she had told Slater that she was not the rich widow he thought her to be. She had called his attention to the rising moon; then he had said it was time to leave. It had all gone downhill after that.
Had he sounded upset that she wasn’t rich? The minute her mind asked the question, Dawn shook it away. Knowing Slater’s pride, he was probably relieved that she didn’t have another man’s money. Besides, he had just been joking when he’d said he was marrying her for her money. It was absurd to think such a thing—and worse to take it seriously, even for a minute.
It was possible he’d been upset because she’d kept it from him. He could have felt she should have confided in him before. But it vas no more than that. Dawn rolled onto her side and glanced at the reflected light from the galley. Her eyelids drifted down as she wondered how late he would work.
When she wakened the next morning, it was to the throb of the engines. She sat up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes and holding on to the edge of the bunk to combat the boat’s motion. Although she couldn’t remember hearing Slater come to bed, the covers were all rumpled on his side.
