FOR a long while Finn thought Rachel wouldn’t answer. She stayed staring at him in the dim light, as if she was trying to figure him out. Whatever conclusion she came to, it obviously wasn’t cut and run. Finally she sighed and lay down again. He put his arms around her and tugged her close.
She lay stiff for a while, but finally he felt her relax.
‘You’re not being honest with me,’ she said. ‘Why should I be honest with you?’
‘You don’t need to tell me,’ he said softly into the night. ‘I’m just trying to distract us from lack of barley sugar.’
‘Tomorrow morning’s breakfast is roast lizard,’ she said, and he felt her body relax even more. Good. They both needed contact, the feeling that they weren’t alone. They also needed food. A breakfast of lizard was something they could laugh about, even if the laughter was kind of hollow. He really was hungry.
‘Do we know how to cook roast lizard?’ he asked.
‘We could check it out on the Internet,’ she suggested. ‘If you have an Internet connection on your Boy Scout’s knife. Or we could use the method my grandma taught me.’
‘Your grandma taught you how to cook lizard?’
He heard her smile, and their bodies moved infinitesimally closer.
‘In theory. We never got to practise. There was a dearth of lizards in the apartments where we lived. Come to think of it, there was a dearth of campfires, too.’
He lay and held her and let the thought drift. A grandmother teaching a child how to cook lizard...
She’d told him her grandma was Koori. Rachel wasn’t all Koori but the best parts of her must surely be. The lovely dusky skin. The gorgeous dark eyes...
‘Your grandma was a lizard cooker?’
‘Extraordinaire,’ Rachel said and chuckled. ‘And fire maker. If she were here she wouldn’t have needed a sissy knife.’
‘Hey!’
‘Sorry,’ she said, and she chuckled again and nestled closer. The laughter died. The silence grew deeper. ‘You really want to hear about my baby?’ she asked into the stillness, and his breath caught in his throat.
He was being offered something, he thought. Why did it feel like...a gift without price?
He should say now. He didn’t get that kind of close. He’d only asked to divert her, but now...
He did want to know. He badly wanted to know. ‘If you want to tell me,’ he said, and waited.
‘I sort of do,’ she confessed. ‘I don’t talk about her very often but... If I talk about her, somehow she’s real. She is real. I don’t want her to be gone for everyone except me.’
‘So tell me about her,’ he said softly, and she heard the sincerity in his voice.
So he held her close and listened, while she talked about falling for the principal dancer in the company her sister belonged to, about emerging from the academic world she lived in to become a lovesick kid who couldn’t see past the fact that this gorgeous male dancer wanted her. She talked about a marriage—brief, fiery—and a guy’s temper that made her afraid.
He held her while she talked about the times when the company was in recess and Ramón wasn’t dancing—and the drinking and the escalating violence.
He held her while she talked about a night, a car, a crash—and waking to find her daughter being born. Named Elizabeth after Rachel’s grandmother. Twenty-eight weeks’ gestation, and battered, too small to survive.
‘I was awake enough to hold her,’ she whispered. ‘I remember her breathing. I remember her tiny finger curled around mine. For that short time I had her and I held her, and she’s in my heart for ever. I’d been injured but I can’t remember hurting. I can’t remember anything but my baby, and I’ll always be thankful to the doctors for holding off treating my injuries until my baby girl no longer needed me.’
She fell silent. She lay cocooned against him, and he didn’t know what she was thinking.
Or maybe he did. One tiny girl who might have lived.
And what this Ramón had done—it made him seethe.
He knew he wanted to do violence to something, someone, for letting this woman suffer.
He knew he wanted to hold her until...until...
He couldn’t go past that thought.
He held her. After a while she slept and still he held her.
The fires needed stoking. He didn’t know how to let her go.
He didn’t know how to want to.
‘I’m glad you’re here,’ she murmured as she drifted to sleep, and he thought, So am I.
Why was he keeping his defences against her?
He couldn’t, not for much longer.
* * *
He needed to keep the fires burning. Intermittently during the night he had to disengage himself and leave her. She murmured a protest in her sleep. She tried to hold and he kissed her—because it seemed natural and right and it seemed to give her reassurance—and then he made his way around their tiny island to stoke up their beacons.
Rachel had heaped huge loads of fuel beside each fire site. While he’d struggled with making the fire itself, she’d clambered down and up, down and up the shale cliff, collecting generations of driftwood caught among the rocks on the shoreline.
He’d hated her doing it. Okay, the risk of crocodile attack was tiny. Crocs were creatures of habit, and habit wouldn’t have them hunting here. But they’d use these low-lying rocks to rest or to devour their prey. There’d been a risk.
It had taken him hours to get the fire alight—as the raw skin on his hands still told. He’d had to do it. Rachel had needed to gather firewood—there’d been no choice about that either—but she’d done it with no complaint and she’d collected more than he could possibly have expected.
She had an injured hip. She’d climbed up and down most of the day. No wonder she was sleeping now.
How much must she be hurting?
He thought of her as he stoked the fires, and he kept on thinking. His body was still achingly aware of her, even though he was on the far side of the island.
Something was twisting inside him, something deep and primeval, and he didn’t understand it. He didn’t know what to do about it.
When he’d first seen this woman he’d reacted with distrust. Little, cute, vulnerable. Like his mother and grandmother. Like all his father’s ‘victims’.
But there was nothing victim-like about Rachel. She was a geologist with an injured hip and a grief that was heart-deep. She was a woman who made him smile. She was a woman who made his body burn.
He should have told her all the truth, he thought. She didn’t believe he had children. She knew he’d said it to make Maud lose interest.
He’d explain the kids.
But the rest? That he owned this cruise line?
Maybe not yet.
And maybe that was because he wasn’t sure of the way he was feeling. He didn’t understand it—all he knew was that he didn’t want anything to mess with it.
And money did mess with relationships. He’d seen that over and over, since he’d inherited his father’s fortune.
When his father died he’d been dating a girl who lived next door to his grandfather—dating in a light-hearted way. They’d been friends more than lovers.
But the moment she’d heard about his inheritance she was deathly serious, hysterically excited, clinging. She’d always assumed they’d marry, she told him. Of course she had.
And when he’d backed away, saying, ‘Slow down, I’m not sure,’ she’d threatened to sue.
The way she’d reacted to his money appalled him. It made him wary of telling anyone he was more than a boat-builder—he didn’t now, unless he had no choice. He didn’t much like his new persona as wealthy shipping magnate, and he didn’t like the way women reacted to it.
This wasn’t the first time he’d used his half-brother and sister as a shield. ‘I’m already caring for kids. I’m not in the market for a relationship.’
He’d carefully reinforced his armour. He’d decided he was destined for bachelorhood.
So now...Was he prepared to shed the armour he’d so carefully constructed? After knowing Rachel for less than a week?
The logical part of him said it didn’t make sense—but the logic wasn’t operating right now.
It must be trauma that was making him feel like this, he decided, as he stacked logs onto the fires. It was adrenalin rather than hormones. Nothing else explained it.
It wasn’t sensible—but something inside him was saying sense didn’t come into it. What was front and foremost was that Rachel was unlike any woman he’d ever met.
She made him feel different. She made him want to believe.
In what? In happy ever after? In rainbows and nightingales and confetti?
He straightened from loading the largest of Rachel’s logs onto the fire—how had she dragged this up the cliff?—and managed a wry smile.
Was the way he was feeling caused by adrenalin?
Or not.
He wanted it to be not.
‘Is that why you’re not telling her you own the cruise line? Are you afraid of how she’ll react? Are you afraid the illusion will shatter and she’ll be just like the others?’ He asked the questions out loud.
No one answered. Of course they didn’t. Two nights on a deserted island and he was already losing his mind.
‘Get a grip,’ he told himself. ‘You need to keep a plan in place. Be logical.
‘And lie to the lady?
‘It’s not lying, simply not telling her I own the cruise line. I don’t want to see her face change.
‘It won’t change.’
It might. He knew by now that wealth scared as well as attracted.
‘There’s too much emotion here already,’ he told the leaping flames. ‘Too many complications. Get off this island before you make any decisions.’
That was sensible and a man had to be sensible.
He also had to go back to Rachel.
* * *
They woke in the pre-dawn light and headed for their waterhole. The level was starting to fall, despite Rachel’s jacket.
There was nothing more they could do to protect it.
They moved to another ledge, in the shade. By mutual consent, they ate two more pieces of barley sugar. They had eight pieces left.
There was nothing left to do. They went back to lying side by side, just touching, looking out over the ocean.
It was the most comfortable position, Finn thought. It was sensible—conserving energy, taking and giving comfort.
Waiting.
And talking?
‘Tell me about the kids,’ she asked into the stillness and he realised they hadn’t talked for half an hour. This woman was...restful.
Special.
‘What do you want to know?’
‘Are they yours?’
And there was something in her voice that said Don’t lie.
So he didn’t. ‘They’re my father’s,’ he told her. ‘They’re younger than me, but they’re my half siblings.’
She considered for a while, thoughtful rather than reactive.
‘Maud will be pleased,’ she said at last.
‘That’s what I’m afraid of,’ he said, and he felt her smile. And then go back to thinking.
‘Their mother can’t take care of them?’
He thought of Richard and Connie as he’d last seen them. Then he thought of how he’d first met them.
‘They have different mothers,’ he said.
‘And you’re supporting them?’
‘They live with me, but my father left enough to pay for their keep,’ he said curtly. There was no reason to take that further, either, to tell her how the money had been left, or how much money they were talking about.
But she was figuring things out for herself. She was figuring him out. She wriggled and turned so she was facing him.
‘Where are they now?’
‘At home. We have a housekeeper. A good one.’
‘Then you’re not just a boat-builder,’ she said, and it wasn’t a question. ‘There are lots of things you’re not telling me, Mr Mysterious. This drug thing... It’s not accidental that you were up there watching.’
‘No.’ He didn’t have a choice—she already knew.
‘And you’d rather not tell me why?’
‘I...yes.’
She gazed at him for a long time and then gave a decisive nod.
‘I can live with that,’ she said. ‘I’ve decided you’re an undercover cop, travelling the world rooting out evil. Under that bronzed chest you’re wearing skin-tight Lycra emblazoned with a huge S for Superhero. If a croc appears you’ll disappear into your phone booth, shed your skin, emerge in your leotard and carry me skywards.’
He chuckled but shook his head. ‘I’ve seen the wood you lugged up the cliff. If there’s any S, it’s under your nightdress.’
‘You’d know,’ she said and grinned and he smiled at her and she smiled back—and suddenly the need to kiss her was overwhelming. Totally, absolutely overwhelming.
And he looked at her and he knew she was thinking exactly the same thing.
‘Tell me about the boats you’ve built,’ she said hastily—too hastily. Suddenly sounding panicky.
‘My boats equate to your rocks,’ he told her. ‘I’m passionate. You don’t want to get me started.’
‘Don’t I?’
‘No.’
‘Hmm.’ She leaned forward and took his hands in hers, studying them as if reading life lines.
‘You are a boat-builder,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘Or you were. These hands have been battered, but not for a while. You’re getting soft.’
‘Hey!’
‘No offence,’ she said and smiled. ‘The blisters you got yesterday make up for it.’
‘Rachel...’
‘And the blisters you’ll get today,’ she decreed. ‘You’re on wood-fetching duty this morning. I’ll look after the fires.’
‘Yes, ma’am,’ he said, and thought there were things he wanted to do more than cart wood.
Much more.
But they were trapped on this island. This situation was fraught.
And... He didn’t have a condom.
She’d described him as honourable.
The way she was looking at him, it was a very hard descriptor to live up to.
* * *
The morning passed slowly. Too slowly, considering the amount of barley sugar they had left. And water.
They made their fires smoulder rather than flame, using damp wood rather than dry stuff, and then turned their attention to hunting.
‘We need a waddy,’ Rachel decreed.
‘What’s a waddy?’
‘Grandma had one. She called it her amirre, a mix of spear and club. She kept it in the wardrobe in case of burglars. I’m not sure where it’s gone—when we went into foster care we couldn’t take it with us.’ She chuckled. ‘Can you imagine— “Will you take care of these two cute little girls? And, by the way, they have a waddy and they know how to use it.”’
‘I can’t imagine,’ he said faintly. ‘So, without a waddy...’
‘We’re in trouble.’ Her smile faded and she stared out at the horizon.
‘They’ll come,’ she said. Humour aside, this place was inaccessible, uncharted, a thousand miles from anywhere. ‘And your family... Won’t they be looking?’
His family. Connie and Richard? They’d be distressed to know he’d gone missing but it wouldn’t change things. When they’d first come to live with him they’d seemed distant, almost scared of him, but gradually they’d started letting him act like the big brother he was. He worried about them. He’d spent time with them, getting them the help they needed to start on careers they enjoyed. He even put up with their appalling tastes in music. He knew he’d grown fond of the two of them, but they’d been on their own for so long that they’d learned not to need. His loss surely wouldn’t leave a hole in their lives.
And, as if she sensed the thought, Rachel moved imperceptibly closer and hugged him.
‘Don’t worry,’ she said softly. ‘You can share Maud. You can have the matchmaking part.’
‘Wow, thanks.’
She chuckled. The wobble had gone again.
How could she keep smiling? Her nightdress was ripped, her hair was matted and her nose was sunburned and blistered. She must be as hungry as he was and, no matter how much she trusted Maud, she must know how precarious their position was.
But her smile was pinned firmly back in place.
‘You could do with a matchmaker,’ she said. ‘When we get back I’ll tell Maud to do her worst. One honourable scoundrel, in need of a good woman to take care of him and his siblings. I don’t know what you are, Finn Kinnard, but I do know you mean well.’
‘Um... Thank you.’
‘Mind, I’m a hopeless judge of character. I shouldn’t trust you at all.’
‘You can trust me,’ he said.
‘I think I can,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘You don’t lie. Not directly. I’m figuring that out. But I wish you could be honest.’
Tell her. Now.
Why not?
A lizard darted from under the rocks, right at their feet, and Rachel grabbed—and missed.
‘I need my waddy,’ she said.
‘I don’t think this island runs to a waddy shop.’
‘That’s where you come in, my superhero with Boy Scout penknife,’ she decreed. ‘I’ll draw a construction diagram in the sand, and you do the rest. That’s what superheroes do.’
‘Really?’
‘Really,’ she said and smiled in a way that twisted his heart like it had never been twisted.
It was the place, the isolation, the shared fear, he told himself. It must be.
But as he watched her clamber over the rocks in search of suitable wood for her waddy—he should help and in a moment he would but for now, for this instant, he just watched—he knew it was far more than that.
Far more.
Something was breaking inside him. Some armour he’d never thought could be pierced.
This woman...
If she asked more, he’d tell her.
‘Oi,’ she yelled back at him. ‘Sharpen your knife while you’re waiting, Superhero.’
‘Yes, ma’am,’ he called back faintly. ‘Anything you say.’
* * *
They built an awesome waddy. It took them two hours, which was two hours where they could concentrate on something other than how hungry they were—and then a helicopter came in from the south.
It was a dot at first, weaving between distant islands—and then someone on board must have seen the smoke because it changed direction and came in low and fast, not deviating, heading straight for them.
Rescue? Or...
‘Do you suppose...?’ He glanced at Rachel and saw the colour had drained from her face.
‘Do you think...?’ she whispered.
He put his arm around her and held. Tight. ‘That this is the good guys?’ he asked. ‘Yes, I do.’ He said it firmly, definitely, and he held her hard and he tried to believe it.
He did believe it. It made sense.
‘It’s red,’ Rachel said, shading her face and staring as if she was willing field glasses into her hand. ‘Amy says Hugo flies a red chopper.’
‘Hugo?’
‘My soon-to-be brother-in-law.’
What were the chances of her sister’s fiancé finding them? It’d be Search and Rescue, or even the army if Maud had that sort of pull, Finn thought—but the chopper was definitely red and it was zeroing in.
‘Should...should we wave?’ Rachel’s voice was tremulous and he pulled her closer still.
‘We don’t have a choice,’ he said firmly. ‘If we hide we don’t get rescued, and even roast lizard might get boring. Plus I left my razor behind. So if you don’t want to be castaway with The Old Man of The Sea...’
‘H...heaven forbid.’
‘Then we wave.’
They did, stepping out into the sunshine and waving like lunatics.
And then the chopper was right over them, swooping so low they could see a figure frantically waving back from the passenger seat. Beside them was the pilot, intent on his controls, but as they made their first sweep he raised his hand as well.
‘It’s Amy.’ Rachel was waving and sobbing, waving and sobbing, hardly coherent through her sobs. ‘It’s my Amy and her Hugo. It’s my family. I knew they’d come.’
And as Finn watched the wild waving from above he thought...
Her family.
She had people who loved her and were claiming her.
Here was rescue. He should be jubilant—and part of him was. But why was he feeling as if he was losing something?
It was something he never had, he told himself fiercely.
He could have it.
Don’t go there, he told himself harshly. Or not yet. This was too precious, too amazing to rush.
One step at a time.
But still he was faced with the sense that he was losing her.
‘It seems a shame to waste the waddy,’ he managed. ‘You want to tell them to come back tomorrow?’
‘The waddy gets rescued as well,’ Rachel said, smiling and smiling. ‘And the lizard population will be grateful to see it go. I intend to use my waddy on beef steak instead. Mmm, beef steak. And chips. And maybe a dollop of ice cream on the side. You want to join me? I think our ride’s waiting.’