one

To Kristen, the ominous black cloud hovering over the narrow, unfamiliar highway seemed appropriate.

“I’ve had a black cloud following me for the past week!” she muttered cynically.

More precisely, it had been six days and fifteen hours since Mr. Robert Weston Bradley III had completely shattered her euphoria like a fine crystal goblet dropped from great heights, and left her not just heartbroken, but humiliated as well. And now she was driving furiously toward his island summer home to try to recapture her dignity and salvage what was left of her pride.

That day last January when she first met him, if she had known what she now knew, she would have walked—no, run—toward the nearest exit. Instead, she had sat in the plush reception area of his law firm, wondering how she ever imagined she could qualify for the opening they had advertised.

As a recent graduate of Paula Powell Business College, she had about as much experience as a newly hatched bird pushed out of its warm, familiar shell. A smaller firm would have been a more likely target, instead of the most prestigious law firm in Atlanta. Sitting there, waiting for her name to be called, she had sneezed three times, a nervous habit she had carried over from her childhood.

“Gesundheit!” Her eyes had been drawn to the hall doorway, seeking the source of the deep bass voice. She had tried to look away, but his gaze had held her eyes like a magnet, and refused to turn loose. His tall, muscular frame had filled the doorway with a stance that appeared at once relaxed and yet in complete control of all his surroundings. Indeed, everything about him had seemed contradictory. Dark, curly hair and heavy brows had created a distinct contrast to the sparkling springwater blue of his eyes, and deeply bronzed skin had revealed that not all of his time was spent inside the office.

He had walked toward the receptionist (“Miss Neal,” according to her nameplate) and placed a thick sheaf of papers on her desk. Kristen had been annoyed to feel her heart hammering and her blood pulsing through her veins like a silly schoolgirl. She had come here to seek employment, she reminded herself; not to swoon over the first handsome man she encountered. First the sneeze and now this silliness. It was time for her to start remembering that she was a mature woman now, and to begin acting like one.

With renewed composure, she had watched him speak a few words to Miss Neal, turn and disappear into the dark hallway from which he had come.

Miss Neal had risen and called her name: “Miss Kelly, would you follow me, please?”

When Kristen stood, her recently revived composure had dissolved, and her knees felt as weak as two used tea bags. She’d hoped she wouldn’t need to offer a handshake; her palms had been as cold and as clammy as Jell-O. Was she headed for a meeting with the man she had just seen in the outer office? Oh, no! Another sneeze?

“Excuse me,” she had apologized, and groped in her handbag for a tissue.

She had to step lively to keep pace with Miss Neal, whose heels fell silently against the plush carpet. Passing several closed office doors, she had been ushered into a small, austerely furnished room and offered a chair beside a large walnut desk.

Behind the desk sat not the man she had expected to see, but a tall, thin woman who had appeared to be in her fifties, and whose dark brown eyes had seemed to bore right into the center of her very soul!

Kristen’s warm smile had not been returned, and the woman’s abrupt voice had done nothing to alleviate her nervousness. “You’re Kristen Kelly, and I understand that you have no experience at all. Is that correct?”

“Yes, ma’am, but I—”

“My name is Jane Blakely. I’m the office manager. I do all the hiring and firing of the secretarial pool in this office. If you are selected for this position, you will be expected to be here promptly at eight each morning. We close the office at five o’clock, but whenever the need arises, we work late until all the work is finished. Some weeks we must come back in on Saturday. Would this pose a problem for you?”

“Oh, no ma’am.”

“Good. Then we can proceed with the interview.”

Forty minutes later, Kristen had walked down Peachtree Avenue toward the bus stop, her mind still whirling from the effects of Jane Blakely’s rapidly fired questions. Some of them had seemed strange for a secretarial interview, but Kristen had answered everything directly and honestly, and although her hands had been tightly clenched in her lap, she had felt she had presented a reasonably controlled appearance.

Miss Blakely had told her that a selection would be made within a week and that she would be notified by mail if they needed to see her again. Suddenly Kristen had realized that she wanted this job more than she had ever wanted anything in her life, and she was sure that the week ahead would seem like forever.

All week long she had watched her mailbox and prayed that she would be chosen for the position, but the only letters she had received were two from Jack and one from her mother, and nothing from the law firm of Bradley, Bradley and Kline.

❧

Kristen’s parents had expected that when she finished high school she would live at home and attend classes at the University of Florida in Gainesville, where her father taught. After all, Jack DeHaven was pursuing his degree there, and she and Jack had been “steadies” for the past three years. Their friends just seemed to assume that after Jack’s graduation, when he stepped into his father’s furniture business, he and Kristen would marry and build their future there.

Kristen was never able to make her parents fully understand her need to go out on her own, to “become my own person,” as she had expressed it. Kristen wasn’t even sure she completely understood it herself. But, admitting that Kristen had always exhibited a maturity beyond her years, Dr. and Mrs. Kelly had given her their blessing as she launched into the three-year executive secretarial course at Paula Powell’s in Atlanta.

Jack, too, found it difficult to understand.

“But Atlanta’s not that far,” Kristen reasoned. “I’ll be home for holidays, and you can come to Atlanta, too. The temporary separation will probably be good for us.”

Though Jack was not convinced, he reluctantly urged Kristen to do what she felt was right. He didn’t want to create any roadblocks she might grow to resent in later years.

He’d never loved any girl but Kristen. He wanted her to be his wife and the mother of his children, and as soon as he graduated, he hoped he could get her to set the date.

And Kristen knew she loved Jack, really. He was like a wonderful big brother to her.

That was the whole trouble! She didn’t feel she needed another brother; she had two already. Instead, she wanted to hear bells chime when he kissed her, like they did in the romantic novels she read. But she knew that was just foolishness. Good marriages weren’t built on ringing bells. Jack was a fine Christian man who shared her deep faith in God, and supported her goals, and she really did love him. This time apart would help her appreciate her good fortune in having the love of a man like Jack. Already her love had grown stronger through their separation, and she couldn’t imagine a life without Jack.

Just a little more time, she thought. To her, marriage meant “forever.” She needed this breathing room first.

Was she being irresponsible? Selfish? Suppose Jack grew tired of her procrastination and found another girl. He was certainly an attractive, eligible bachelor about town, never lacking for social invitations.

The problem will solve itself, she mused. I’ll never be offered that job with Bradley, Bradley and Kline. I should never have applied here in Atlanta, anyway. I’ll contact the employment agency in Gainesville and see who might be interested in receiving my resume.

She had almost put the law firm out of her mind when, on the sixth day, the letter arrived. She was to come in right away for an orientation meeting, and complete her final paperwork so that she would be ready to begin work on the first day of February.

Could it really have been only four months ago when she began? So much had happened since then. She had discovered that beneath Jane Blakely’s stern exterior rested a heart of gold, and, although she ran a very “tight ship,” she had helped Kristen in countless ways.

“Miss Neal” had become “Sara,” a good friend with whom Kristen found many things in common, not the least of which was her strong commitment to Christ and His teachings. In fact, Kristen liked all the girls in the office. Though their busy schedules precluded frequent personal exchanges, the staff was friendly and helpful, and Kristen soon felt an integral part of the congenial group.

The attractive man who had captured her attention that first day was the younger Mr. Bradley, whose father was the founder of the law firm. In later years, the elder Mr. Bradley had brought in Mr. Kline, an old friend from law school days. Together, the three of them handled only those cases which interested them most, keeping their business small and select.

Over lunch one day, Kristen confided to Sara that Wes Bradley was the most intriguing man she had ever seen. “He’s a walking enigma!”

“How so?”

“Oh, I don’t know. He smiles at everyone, and seems friendly enough, but at the same time, he’s cool and aloof, detached, like a spectator at a sports event. They love all the players, but don’t really know any of them.”

“Don’t fool yourself. He knows all of his players. But ‘detached’ is probably an accurate description, and that isn’t hard to understand, given his background.”

“I don’t know anything about that, Sara, but I can’t help but notice that several of the women in our office turn their charm in his direction at every opportunity.”

“They’re wasting their efforts. Wes’s wife died in an automobile accident two years ago, leaving him with a six-year- old daughter to raise. She’s plenty spoiled, believe me. But Wes devotes all his spare time and energy to her, and doesn’t seem to be interested in women at all. He was totally devoted to his wife. It was so tragic.”

“But, Sara, that was two years ago. Surely his faith has helped him put his life back together and find some peace by now. He is a Christian, isn’t he?”

“Yes, of course. He and his wife used to attend the same church where I’m still a member. In fact, they were our youth leaders, very active and effective. But we haven’t seen much of Wes since Louise died. You’d think the church would be the first place he would turn for comfort.”

“I take it for granted that you have all tried.”

“Oh, yes. And of course, he is always polite when the pastor calls on him, or when any of the congregation try to offer their help. Unfortunately, he keeps all his problems inside himself, and doesn’t give anyone a chance to support him.”

Kristen thought about that conversation many times. She wondered if there was any way she could encourage Wes to rekindle his faith and find help from the source she knew to be unfailing. She would add Wes Bradley to her prayer list, and look for a way to help him.

In spite of Sara’s comments to the contrary, it seemed obvious to Kristen that Mr. Wes Bradley had begun to show more than a passing interest in her. He now asked her to receive all of his dictation, and more than once she had felt his eyes on her as she hustled about the office performing her secretarial duties.

On a busy Monday morning in April, she was filing letters and documents in the file cabinet when she realized that he was standing behind her, looking over her shoulder. She continued to file until the silence was broken by her loud “atchoo!”

“Miss Kelly, are you catching a cold?” he queried in that familiar warm voice.

“Oh, no sir. It’s just that, well, er, I sometimes sneeze when I’m nervous.”

“And are you nervous now?” She detected a slight smile breaking at the corners of his mouth.

“Yes—no—uh, perhaps just a little.” She could feel her face begin to flush, as she looked up at him in time to catch one of his rare boyish grins.

“Well, you shouldn’t be. You’re doing a fine job for us here. Just keep up the good work.”

As he turned and walked toward his office, she thought for a moment she heard bells ringing.

How foolish, she thought, as she realized she was only hearing the bell from Sara’s word processor.

But the little attentions continued, and even Sara began to notice. “It’s definitely out of character for him,” she admitted, as she bit into her grilled-cheese sandwich. The two girls enjoyed lunching together at the downstairs deli several times a week. “But don’t read too much into it. I’ve watched too many girls become frustrated trying to get his attention. I’d hate to see a young, innocent girl like you get hurt.”

“You forget that I’m practically engaged,” Kristen countered defensively, and used her napkin to dab at the spot of coffee she had just dripped on her white silk blouse.

But as the weeks rolled by, Kristen found herself increasingly attracted to this unusual man, and began to realize that the racing of her heart each time he was near was more than a mere coincidence. Could it mean that she was really falling in love for the first time in her life? Initially she resisted the idea, telling herself that it was an impossible situation, and trying to concentrate on Jack and the wonderful life they would have together. But it was useless. Every time Wes Bradley came into the room, her heart just seemed to melt like butter on a warm summer day.

Seated beside his desk one afternoon, rapidly recording his dictation in her shorthand book, she was startled when he interrupted himself and asked abruptly, “Miss Kelly, do you get along well with children?”

“Why, yes, I always have. I love children, and they seem to like me, too.” She felt her pulse quicken.

But after a brief pause, he resumed his dictation and dismissed her. Just those few words played through her thoughts like a broken record, and she seemed to float through the rest of the day.

The following morning, as she waited for him to begin his first letter, she timidly pointed to the oval silver frame on his desk and asked, “Is that beautiful child your daughter?”

“Yes,” he replied softly. “That’s Janelle. She is pretty, isn’t she? She’s looking forward to the end of the school year so that she can go to our vacation home for the summer.”

“It sounds like fun,” she said. “Where is your vacation home?”

“On Gaspar Island, just off the west coast of Florida. It’s one of a long string of barrier islands, some completely developed, but some, like Gaspar, have remained unspoiled and only minimally changed since the days of Ponce de Leon.” His features became relaxed and tranquil as he described the beauty of the island. “It’s only accessible by boat, with no commercial enterprises at all. Not even a convenience store. Just miles and miles of sugar-white sand.”

Suddenly, as though waking from a dream, he sat erect in his chair and snapped back to the business at hand. “The first letter is to. . .”

They worked on the correspondence for nearly an hour, and as she rose from her chair to leave his office, he surprised her with another of his spontaneous questions. “Do you know how to handle a boat?”

“Well, my only experience has been with small boats. But I was a counselor at Lettuce Lake Camp for Girls three summers in a row when I was in high school. We had to learn to handle canoes as well as small motorboats.” His question puzzled her. Whatever was he getting at? She mustn’t jump to conclusions, and yet—

“And you’re a good swimmer?”

“Yes,” she smiled confidently. “I’m a certified Red Cross Senior Lifesaver.”

“You’re certainly a woman of many talents. By the way, I’ll need to have those letters finished before you leave so that they can get in tonight’s mail. Think you can get them finished?”

Kristen recognized her cue to leave and get to work. “Of course. I’ll do them right away.”

She shared these conversations with Sara over after-lunch coffee the next day, unable to conceal her excitement.

Sara was still unconvinced and apprehensive. She could see that her friend was becoming much too vulnerable, and she thought Kristen too sweet and naive to experience the let-down she felt was inevitable.

And then Sara gave Kristen something else to worry about. “Business always gets much slower in the summer. It’s beginning to do that already. Some years we’ve had to cut our office staff until fall.”

Kristen knew, although Sara was too tactful to remind her, that she was the last person hired, and thus at the bottom of the secretarial pool. If there was any layoff, she would likely be the first to go.

That worry hung like a dark cloud in her mind as she began her afternoon work. Deep in thought, she was not immediately aware of his presence, but looking up from her desk she realized that Wes Bradley was standing in the doorway observing her.

“Could you come into my office for a few minutes? I have something I wish to discuss with you.”

Behind his closed office door, she settled her shorthand pad on the desk and poised her pencil in readiness.

“No, don’t bother with that. I just want to talk to you.”

Kristen’s heart skipped a beat, and she prayed she wouldn’t sneeze!

“I have given a lot of thought to this,” he began. “I want to discuss a proposal with you, and I think it can best be done in a less formal atmosphere. Could you join me for dinner Saturday evening?”

Kristen’s hopes soared as her brain seemed to disengage and let her heart take over. In her mind’s eye she could already picture them seated at an intimate table for two, sharing thoughts and dreams in the flickering candlelight, whispering soft words that could be a prelude to their future together. In spite of Sara’s dire warnings and her own misgivings, here was proof positive that Wes saw more than just a legal secretary when he focused his attention on her.

“Yes, I’d be happy to have dinner with you, Mr. Bradley.” She found it difficult to keep her voice calm and impersonal while her mind was racing toward the days and weeks ahead. When she left his office to return to her desk, her head was still reeling, despite her efforts to concentrate on the pile of work before her.

His invitation certainly held a promise of more than a casual dinner date. What kind of “proposal” did he have in mind? Would this be the beginning of a beautiful relationship for the two of them? Of course, it would take time for them to get to know each other on a personal basis. Perhaps this was God’s way of answering her prayers, by giving her a chance to help Wes regain and strengthen his faith in Christ. And by summer’s end, who could predict what exciting things might happen?

It seemed an eternity until Saturday. She shared her news with no one, not even Sara. If she came to work one day soon, wearing a new diamond ring on her finger, wouldn’t they all be surprised? She held up her bare left hand, looked at it, and smiled.

❧

The French restaurant he had chosen was small but elegant. Dressed in her best blue silk dress and her graduation pearls, she sat across from him and tried to participate in casual conversation while her heart seemed to spiral out of control.

At last, stirring his after-dinner coffee, he leaned toward her and spoke with slow deliberation. “Kristen, I think that first of all, we should move to a first-name basis outside the office, because what I have to say is a rather personal matter.”

“Oh, yes, Wes, I agree,” she answered, scarcely able to control the tremor in her voice.

“Kristen, you know that my life centers around my little girl, Janelle.”

Of course she knew that. Wasn’t that why he had asked her if she liked children? She could think of no happier future than to become a wife to Weston Bradley, and a mother to his children, including the daughter of his deceased wife. Silently she vowed that she would never show a difference.

“I give Janelle all the time and attention that I can, but she is eight years old now, and really needs a mother.”

Kristen didn’t trust her voice, but nodded and smiled through misty eyes, encouraging him to continue.

“Kristen, I think I have found someone who can fill that void. This summer, as Janelle and I take up our summer residence on the island, I need time to pursue this interest, and that means having less time for Janelle. Of course, I have a couple who live in the house all year. Mrs. Baxter runs the house, and her husband maintains the yard and keeps everything in working order. They both love Janelle, but they’re not as young as they used to be, and Janelle gets to be a handful sometimes. She needs to have someone she can relate to.”

Kristen’s thoughts raced ahead of his words. Naturally, as their relationship developed, Wes would want her to become acquainted with his daughter. If this was to be a test, Kristen was sure to pass with flying colors, because she already felt a love for this innocent, motherless child.

Kristen’s eyes never left his, and he continued: “I’ve watched you these last few months. I know you and Janelle would grow to love each other.” He sipped his coffee and paused pensively.

“Things at the law firm are easing up, as they usually do in the summer, so the staff could spare you for three months. You would have a nice vacation, with Janelle being your only responsibility, and you would continue to receive your monthly salary.

“I’d be free to come and go, to get to know Marla Morgan better, and I’d plan to bring her to the island to begin getting acquainted with Janelle. Of course, I’d expect you to help Janelle develop a relationship with Marla that would eventually be a strong mother-daughter bond.”

The room was spinning in circles, faster and faster. Kristen felt herself sinking into a bottomless pit. None of this was real. It was a bad dream, and she would soon awaken. Hot tears surfaced and burned her eyes, just ready to erupt, when the waiter opportunely interrupted.

“Excuse me, Mr. Bradley, but there is a telephone call for you.”

Wes’s hasty departure from the table, along with his casual apology for the interruption, gave Kristen the opportunity she desperately needed. Stumbling blindly through her tears, she wove a path between the dining tables and into the ladies’ room.

Once inside the shelter of the lounge, she let the tears flow freely, oblivious of passing curious stares. How could she have been so stupid, allowing herself to fantasize a romantic relationship when there was never any such indication? Why hadn’t she listened to Sara and the others? They were certainly right about one thing: Wes Bradley had no personal interest in her whatsoever. Even more humiliating, he didn’t even need her as a secretary. All he wanted was a nursemaid. Oh, to think that she actually considered marrying such an inconsiderate man! She should label herself lucky that she realized it in time!

Immune to the ambience of the luxurious red and gold powder room, she decided with proud and fierce determination that Wes would never know of her disappointment. Restoring her face to order by putting cold, wet towels over her reddened eyes, she began to plan.

She had already indicated her enthusiasm in going to the island. To refuse now would reveal that she had expected something more. Besides, she couldn’t afford to give up her job with the law firm just yet. She’d have to play his game for now, and it wouldn’t be easy.

He had finished his telephone call and was back at their table when she returned. She apologized for her delay, and with great difficulty, mustered a smile, listening as he unfolded the details of his plan.

❧

Now, here she was one week later, driving to the marina where she would leave her car in the parking garage and catch the water taxi to Gaspar Island, to meet her young charge for the very first time.

It must be around that next curve, she thought, as she passed the fire station marked on the little map Wes had drawn for her.

Yes, there it was. A big sign proclaimed “Gaspar Marina, Boat Sales, Rentals and Repair, Drydock Storage, Guides—” There was more, but she was beyond the sign as she turned her small red car into the asphalt parking lot.

Since her clothes had been sent ahead, she had only a small bag to carry as she stepped out of the car and filled her lungs with the fresh salt air.

Where was the water taxi? She looked for a sign, or someone who could help her.

A scruffy old man was hunched over the tangled lines of a large fishing net. “Excuse me.” She walked over to where he worked. “I was told I could hire a water taxi here, to take me to the Bradley dock on Gaspar Island.”

He continued to work without looking up. “Yes, ma’am, we can get you over there pretty soon. Right now, though, the two boats be out on runs, so why don’t you just grab a can of soda pop and set yourself down on the bench there on the dock, and watch the boats come and go.”

According to the imprint on his T-shirt, his name was Ben. He looked up then, and studied the pretty young thing standing before him. She didn’t look like the casual island folks who frequented the waterfront. It prompted him to pull the little cap off his head and gently tip it toward her.

“Thank you,” replied Kristen impatiently, “But I am in a bit of a hurry to get to the island. It isn’t far, is it?”

“Oh, no, ma’am. That’s it right over yonder. Barely half a mile as the crow flies. But—”

“I understand you have rental boats. Can’t I just rent a small boat that will get me over there?”

“Yes, ma’am, but do you know how to run ’em?”

“I’ve handled boats before.” Her voice was edged with impatience, and just a touch of uncharacteristic arrogance. “Where do I go to make the arrangements?”

Old Ben pointed to the office, and shook his head as she took off at a fast pace. “City girls!” she heard him mutter.

Fifteen minutes later, she was perched in the little dinghy with the motor idling smoothly. Here came Ben, who obviously wanted to talk, and she had no time for that today. He was pointing and shouting something about keeping in the channel, but the direction in which he pointed was not toward the island. Perhaps he had misunderstood where she wanted to go. It was easy to see that she had but to steer her boat right across the small bay, and she would be there. Quickly, she began to accelerate before she got tied up with Ben again.

This is actually fun, she thought, as she guided the little boat toward the island.

Looking back at the dock, she could see that Ben was still shouting and gesturing wildly, waving his little cap in the air, but she purposely ignored him.

He probably thinks I am some city girl who knows nothing about boats, she thought. Well, she’d show them all. Those years at Lettuce Lake Camp for Girls would really pay off now.

Halfway across the bay, she was suddenly aware of a loud, grinding noise, as the boat slowed and then stopped. The engine had shut off. Now what? She checked the gas gauge and felt reassured. She’d just crank it again.

Turning to pull the rope that would start the motor again, she looked down into the water, and was startled to see that long tendrils of sea grass completely surrounded her. Directly behind the boat, the water was muddy where the engine had evidently plowed into the bottom of the bay. Carefully lifting an oar from the bottom of the boat, she lowered it over the edge and found that she was floating in less than a foot of water. Was that what Ben meant about staying in the channel? Oh, what was she to do now?

Then she felt the first drops of rain. Within minutes the drizzle changed into a downpour, and lightening zigzagged noisily across the suddenly dark sky. Kristen was frightened, frustrated, and soaking wet. She tried to push the boat forward, leaning all her weight against the oar, but it refused to budge. In desperation, she removed her new sneakers and gingerly slid her legs over the side of the boat. Standing in the shallow water, she felt the mud squish between her toes, and the seaweed lap at her legs like the tentacles of a hungry octopus. A small fish brushed against her ankle, startling them both, as Kristen screamed and jumped back inside the boat. Tears mixed with rainwater on her cheeks.

“This is all his fault,” she cried. “I wish I had never laid eyes on Wes Bradley!”

In the distance, she heard a faint hum which grew louder and louder, until she could see a small flat-bottomed boat being driven by a figure completely covered in a yellow rain slicker and hood.

“Looked like you could use a little help,” Ben said, pulling alongside her. He handed her an extra rain slicker. “I tried to stop you, but you left right hastylike. Wanted to warn you about these here grass beds. They’s tricky if you don’t know where they be.”

Ben pulled up a coil of thick rope which was attached to the stern of his boat and deftly tied it to the stern of the mud-mired little skiff. What a strange sight they must have been as they made their way toward shore, with Ben confidently in the lead, and Kristen sitting forlornly chagrined in the bow of her boat, helplessly consigning her fate to this kind old man!

In a matter of minutes, he was pulling up to the dock on Gaspar Island. Skillfully, he secured her boat to the piling and offered her his leathery hand. Children playing on the catwalk, oblivious to the rain that was now reduced to a light mist, eyed her curiously.

“Is some’un comin’ to meet you?” Ben was reluctant to leave her alone.

Only now did she remember that Wes had told her how to call Mr. Baxter, his caretaker, before she left the mainland, so that he could meet her at the landing. In all the confusion, she had forgotten to do so.

“I’ll be fine,” she assured him, “If you’ll just tell me how to get to the Bradley house.”

Ben pointed toward the west. “That’s the Spinnaker over yonder. You can just see the top of it over the trees.”

It looked like an easy walk across the dunes. After all, Wes had told her that the whole island was less than a mile wide.

Swallowing her pride, she thanked Ben profusely, and began to make her way across the sand toward the Spinnaker. Her wet shoes made a squishy sound as they sucked at the wet sand and shell, seeming to pull her back with each step, as she plowed wearily forward. Like a mirage, her destination seemed to get farther instead of closer. Her whole body ached.

Thoughts of home crowded into her mind. She could be sitting in her parents’ cozy home in Gainesville with Jack beside her, warm and dry. Instead, here she was stranded on a strange island without roads, dripping wet, and freezing cold.

Her hair clung to the back of her neck, as rivulets of water trickled down her arms. She hoped she would not have to meet little Janelle Bradley in this condition.

Well, at least Wes was not due in until next week. She took some comfort in that thought, as she began her ascent up the steep wooden stairs that led over the last row of sand dunes and toward the Spinnaker.

At the top, she paused to survey her surroundings. Toward the west she saw giant waves, far out in the Gulf of Mexico, hurling toward the shore. Their white crests looked like heaped mounds of whipping cream churning themselves into light and luscious cake toppings, only to disappear as the waves gently lapped the sandy beach.

The pristine shoreline stretched for miles, disturbed only by hungry gulls scavenging among the seashells and the leisurely strolling sun worshippers who left clean footprints along the sand. The late afternoon sun left only small traces of the summer storm that had ended as suddenly as it began.

She turned her attention to the house. Stretching high above the dunes, its rustic clapboard exterior gave the impression that it had risen from the sea, like some ancient, friendly sea monster from the deep. A wide veranda completely encircled the entire structure. A second story extended skyward, surrounded by a sun deck formed by the roof of the veranda below. From this deck, a wide outdoor staircase led still higher, to a multiwindowed room perched like an eagle’s nest at the very top. What a view it must offer!

Approaching the back door at last, her first impulse was to turn back and run. But where? She knocked gently, still hoping to attract as little attention as possible.

An elderly man with a kind face opened the door, but his expression quickly changed as he surveyed this strange-looking creature. “Who might you be, and what do you want?” he inquired sternly.

“I might be—I mean I am—atchoo!”

Before the startled man could respond, a sound came from within the house. First a laugh, and then a familiar voice boomed, “Never mind, Bax, I think I recognize that sneeze. Bring the young lady in!”

Oh, no, Kristen thought, as she entered the room and looked up into the amazing blue eyes of Robert Weston Bradley III!