Saving Miss Everly

by Britton, Sally

  Instead, she scooped up one of the baskets Alejandro had left inside the door of the shelter, then she brushed past Irene.

  “Really, you should not go alone, and I have no intention of straying where more of those dreadful spiders lurk.”

  “Then do not come,” Hope said, her mouth snapping sharply over each consonant. Basket on her hip, she kept walking without a backward glance. If the men could wander about unsupervised, and Albert himself could disappear without a word to anyone, she could leave to do something useful.

  Her head buzzed as though filled with angry bees, and the only way to quiet them seemed to involve walking briskly. She barely paid attention to where she went. Her eyes stayed on the ground to avoid roots and thorns, but her mind turned completely inward.

  Irene and Mrs. Morgan were wrong. Hope’s reputation was safe. She would be an object of curiosity, people would ask for her story, but before long no one would remember she had been the woman trapped on an island with ten other people. Only spiteful old cats, gossips who no longer held power or sway, would speculate over whether Hope might have behaved in a less than ladylike manner while waiting for someone to save her.

  The sun climbed overhead before Hope slowed, her body weary and sweat breaking out across her forehead. She stopped and looked up through the canopy of leaves, glaring at the sun marking yet another day without rescue.

  She dropped her basket on the ground and took two steps back, until her hands found a tree, then she slid to the ground and covered her eyes with her hands.

  Hope had never feared weeping. Crying could not show weakness if one remained strong after one’s emotions were spent. She went about spending them, letting the tears fall down her cheeks and her lungs heave great sobs of fear, frustration, and desperation.

  Help would come. It must. But she had never had patience. And if help came too late, marrying Albert was out of the question. No matter what. She detested him. All she wanted to do was go home and tell her family she loved them. Tell Grace how glad she was it had been she and not her sister trapped on the island. Promise her father and mother to mind her emotions better.

  But would she give up on seeing the world?

  Never.

  Hope’s tears slowed to a trickle and she sniffled, missing her handkerchief for the first time since waking on that beach to find Alejandro kneeling at her side. How did one clean up after tears without a handkerchief?

  Alejandro. If only he presented himself as an option to her. Not that she wished to force any gentleman to wed her for the sake of her reputation. She had seen the pain such a thing caused her friend Esther, even though she and Silas were perfectly suited to one another. No. She would never want that from him.

  What she wanted from Alejandro was deeper. She wanted a chance at love. Instinctively, she knew he would be a match for her in every way, if only he felt as she did.

  She wiped at her cheeks and eyes with her hands, sniffled more, then took in her surroundings. With the sun directly overhead, her sense of direction was a bit off. If she waited a little while, it would sink, and then she could easily find her way back to the clearing. In the meantime, perhaps she could put her basket to use.

  Hope inspected the tree she sat beneath and saw nothing edible growing within its branches. But another tree, full of small green fruits that looked like crab apples, captured her attention. So what if the fruit was a little bitter? It would be better than returning empty-handed. She walked toward the tree, eyeing the fruit and branches swaying in the breeze. It seemed as though none of the fruit had been bothered by birds or lizards, or insects.

  When Hope extended her hand, wrapping her fingers around one of the green apple-like fruits, she did not expect to hear a sudden rush of footsteps. She turned, ready to scream if some unseen predator came toward her—but it was Alejandro. Coming through the trees. He did not shout, or stop, and ran directly into her, wrapped an arm about her waist and twisted with her, pulling her back against the same tree she had leaned against moments before.

  He held her to him, tight against his chest, the basket crushed between them.

  “¿Qué estás haciendo?” he gasped out. “¿Comiste la manzana?” He pushed her away abruptly, though he kept a firm hold on her shoulders. He searched her face, his wide eyes full of fear. He gave her a single shake. “Did you eat the apple?”

  Fresh from a loss of temper and shedding of tears, Hope’s befuddled mind did not know whether to give way to tears a second time or start shouting at him for frightening her.

  “I didn’t,” she whispered, still stunned.

  Though he had held her close, it had not felt like an embrace. But now, his eyes closed in relief and the hands on her shoulders gentled. He leaned down, resting his forehead against hers. “Gracias a Dios.”

  Was it his heart she heard pounding or her own? She could not be sure. Then he withdrew, but pressed a kiss against the top of her forehead as he did. A flood of warmth, this time of the pleasant variety, started at the top of her head and filled her to the tips of her bare toes.

  “Señor?” she squeaked.

  He did not release her, instead wrapping one arm firmly around her shoulders. She dropped the basket in favor of leaning into him, her aching heart drinking in his presence and the surprising affection he offered. Had anyone embraced her since she left England and her family? Irene was not an overly demonstrative friend, and all her touches lately had been demanding comfort from Hope rather than offering it in equal parts.

  Alejandro’s breathing finally slowed, after perhaps a minute of just standing there, his arm forming a half-circle around her. “That fruit. We call it manzanita de la muerte. Little apple of death.”

  His words sank into her mind, and his actions at last made sense. He had been afraid she’d eaten a poisoned apple. She closed her eyes and exhaled. “I am sorry. I did not know.”

  He shook his head, which she felt more than saw, and at last released her. “Are you hurt at all? If it drips sap on your skin, it burns and blisters. Sometimes, even water dripping from its leaves carries poison.” He held her hands and inspected her bare arms, then turned them over to check the insides of her wrists.

  The concern, honest and open, brought the tears back to her eyes at last. “I am not harmed. I promise.” She swallowed back as much of her emotion as she could. He would not welcome her affection. “Thank you for stopping me.”

  Alejandro lifted his head, his gaze meeting hers, his deep brown eyes pulling her in. She leaned toward him, biting her lip before asking, “How did you come to be here?”

  His eyes narrowed abruptly and his body stiffened. He leaned back against the tree, dropping his hands from where they had held her wrists.

  Oh dear. Hope braced for something unpleasant.

  * * *

  “How did you come to be here?”

  Nothing about his former life had prepared Alejandro for the situation in which he found himself. When he returned to the others with Thorne, ready to make his report that their food resources had diminished but not dangerously, the women had been upset.

  “Grace ran into the trees,” Miss Carlbury said, hurrying to him and Thorne. “She left upset. I am not certain how long she has been gone—”

  “A quarter of an hour,” Mrs. Morgan had interjected with a wince. “She was distressed when she left. I am concerned she might come to harm if she isn’t careful.”

  “And the professor wouldn’t go after her.” Miss Carlbury pointed accusingly at where the older man sat with his back against a tree.

  The professor folded his arms and shouted across the small clearing. “A futile exercise, since I do not know this island well nor how to track someone through a forest.”

  Thorne and Alejandro had exchanged a glance. “Go ahead,” Thorne said, nodding to the trees. “You will find her faster than I could.”

  Alejandro picked up her trail quickly enough. Broken twigs, light indents in the still damp, soft ground, led him directly to the woma
n crouched by a tree and sobbing. Perhaps he ought to have gone to her. Held her while she cried. But it was easier, safer, to wait until she had spent her emotions. Each sob had broken his heart, but he forced himself to remain still. They barely knew each other. She was not his responsibility. Not really. She was not his to comfort.

  He had lowered his head to pray for her, mouthing the words silently in his native tongue, his hand holding tightly to his mother’s ring dangling from the chain around his neck. What would his mother think of him, sitting so near a woman in pain and doing nothing about it?

  When he’d looked up at last, realizing he hadn’t heard her crying for several moments, it was to see Miss Everly reaching for a manchineel fruit. His fear choked him, and he moved rather than cry out.

  What a fool he was. Refusing to comfort her while she cried, but holding her tightly the moment he feared she had come to real harm.

  “Miss Everly,” he said at last, seeing she still stared at him. “You cannot keep disappearing like this.”

  Her blue eyes flashed, like lightning upon the sea. "People are fond of telling me what I can and cannot do of late.”

  Though not certain what she meant, he took in a deep breath and tried to order his thoughts. He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Your friends worried for you.”

  “Yet they sent you, even after all their warnings,” she muttered, crossing her arms and directing her glare to the dirt between them.

  “Warnings?” Did he even wish to know what she meant?

  The woman released a deep sigh and dug the toes of one small foot into the ground. “It is of no matter, Señor Córdoba.” She bent and lifted her basket, tucking it against her hip. She avoided looking at him, her jaw tight with determination. “Is there someplace nearby I might gather food?”

  Alejandro stared at the top of her head for a beat of silence, then pointed. “There are vines this way. They grow something that reminds me of almendras.”

  She followed the line of his finger and her shoulders fell. “I do not know that word.”

  “A nut.” He considered her profile as he spoke. “I think it is close to the English word.”

  “Almendras,” she muttered, then her eyebrows lifted. “Almonds.”

  “Sí. Almonds.” Alejandro started walking and she fell into step beside him.

  Miss Everly said nothing for several steps, paying more attention to where her steps fell than to him. Her expression remained thoughtful, less hostile than before. “I am sorry you were sent to find me. Again.”

  Why did that make him smile? Why did her voice, soft and gentle in the quiet surrounding them, remind him of music? Perhaps because her words stirred his heart as the beautiful ballads of the vaqueros had, long ago. There was a depth to her, something he did not yet understand, secrets hidden just behind her eyes. Though she spoke of her home, her family, her friends, there always seemed to be words unsaid, thoughts unfinished. He had thought it safest to leave her alone, but—but she had been in pain. And sitting still while her heart ached had wounded him.

  “I will always come looking for you, señorita,” he said quietly.

  “Miss Everly,” she corrected, the corner of her mouth twitching upward.

  “You may call me Alejandro,” he replied without thinking.

  The woman cast him a glance and her steps slowed to a stop. “You would not let me call you that before. Why be so familiar now? The others would think it inappropriate. Especially since I do not even allow Irene’s brother the use of my Christian name.”

  Alejandro felt heat creep up the back of his neck. His beard would hide any evidence of a blush, thankfully. “Yet I have heard him use it.” He still did not understand that relationship. The way Carlbury watched over her, as though she belonged to him. There was no understanding, perhaps, but the Englishman expected one.

  Her eyes narrowed. “It is presumptuous of him and means nothing.”

  “Would using my Christian name mean something?” Alejandro asked, then bit his tongue. A year on an island and he had lost his ability to converse with a beautiful woman without appearing a fool. He knew what it would mean. The skeptical raise of her eyebrows prompted him to try to dismiss his own words. “There is no one here to disapprove of you, Miss Everly. No ladies or lords. No king or queen. This island is outside of civilization. It is foolish to cling to all the conventions of a world you may never see again.”

  Her lips parted and her cheeks paled. “What would you have me do? Forget all my manners? Forget that when we are saved from this place there will be consequences to my behavior?”

  “I would have you use my name,” he said, stepping closer. Even before the tragedy of his ship sinking, who had ever called him by name? He had made friends in the former English colonies, but people called him Córdoba. The few times his name had fallen from her lips had soothed his aching loneliness. “I am not asking for you to break with all traditions, Miss Everly.”

  Her chin tipped up, she did not flinch away from him but her eyes dared him, challenged him, as her next words challenged him. “Which do you recommend I discard, Alejandro?”

  All that would keep you from my arms. The words came from his heart and nearly rose to his wayward tongue. Alejandro pulled them back, fought another moment against the pull he felt every time he stood near her. They did not know each other. Not well enough. Not for what he considered doing with her standing this close.

  But why did he fight his attraction to her? Had she not said she felt the same force drawing them together? But he had rebuffed her. Perhaps things had changed, and he had crushed a bud of something beautiful before allowing it to bloom.

  Instead of speaking from his heart, he drew from a different place, a different emotion. “You discard the conventions of staying near your chaperones and protectors, Miss Everly. You apologize for disappearing, yet I have the feeling this will not be the last time you do so.”

  “You said you would always come looking,” she retorted with a toss of her head, the lightning in her eyes flashing again. Had he angered her? “Where are the nuts, Alejandro?”

  “You mock me with my name?” he asked. “Perhaps I should leave you to your own devices if you take what I have given and throw it back in such a manner.” No anger or temper colored his words, yet he saw her nostrils flare and her cheeks flush. He gentled his next words. “Your friends worried after you. They said you were upset.”

  “I had good reason.” She bit her bottom lip, staring at him as though debating what to say next. Finally, her eyes lowering in a vulnerable manner, she said, “Perhaps I have been too emotional of late.”

  “One excuses such behavior in times such as this,” Alejandro said, his arms folded tight across his chest. “You have been through a great deal.” The silence stretched between them, the only sound the birds calling to one another in the trees, the occasional chirp of a tiny frog hidden somewhere nearby.

  At last she sucked in a deep breath and raised her head, her shoulders going back as though she prepared to face battle. With him? “It would be easier if you would tell me the truth. Alejandro.” This time his name was soft, a caress. “Please answer me. Did I imagine—am I still imagining—something between us that is not there?” She clutched the basket to her, her expression turning sad before he even had the chance to speak.

  What could he say? He could not tell her that he dreamed of her each night, thought of her all day long, wished they had met long ago in a place he could do something about his feelings rather than keep them in check.

  “What is the point of speaking of it?” he asked, lowering his arms and reaching for the basket, taking it from her gently. “I will not have this conversation. I cannot. You must understand.”

  Her bottom lip trembled, but she nodded tightly before she started walking again. He kept pace with her.

  “You cannot keep disappearing. It is selfish, Grace.” He spoke her name without permission, and she whirled on him with such fury in her eyes he drew back a ste
p.

  “Miss Everly,” she snapped at him. “I have not given you permission to call me otherwise. As to my selfishness, I think I have earned it. At least a few moments of worrying over myself. I have done everything I could to be helpful. I have stayed put when I had rather be out walking the beaches and exploring our beautiful prison. I have even forced myself to remain patient and understanding with Irene though I wished to shake sense into her.” She snatched the basket from his hands, and it crackled when she tightened her grip around it. “I have put up with Mr. Carlbury, too, even though I find him to be the worst sort of bore. He is an arrogant lout, and I cannot abide his company.” She gestured with one hand to their surroundings, her voice’s pitch raising. “Selfish? Perhaps I am. That’s what my father said before I—”

  She broke her words off abruptly. Turned pale. “Before I left.”

  At last he saw the woman he glimpsed beneath the exterior of peace, the mask of calm, that she had worn nearly every moment since they met. The hints of fire had built into a flame. This was who she was, he sensed. A woman of energy, passion, and the ability to speak her mind.

  “Do you feel better now?” he asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

  A rather cross frown turned her lips downward. “No.” Then her glare fixed on him. “And stop smiling that way. It is not amusing in the slightest.”

  Was he smiling? Alejandro shrugged. “Do you know what is interesting about your complaints, Miss Everly?” She did not answer him, but turned away. “Not a word you have said is against the island. But the people forcing their expectations upon you.”

  She squeezed her eyes shut. “My sister would not have said even that much.”

  “I have heard about your sister. That she is bold where you are quiet. That she acts without thinking while you consider matters carefully, always.” He studied the line of her nose, the sweep of her hair piled up and twisted tightly. He preferred it down, dancing in an ocean breeze. Never mind how impractical such might be.