Island Hearts (Jenny's Turn and Stray Lady) (31 page)

“He needs a good brushing,” said Lyle, shifting to his feet. “I’ll get the brush.”

George relaxed, relieved that the subject was changed. She wasn’t going to have to fence with Lyle, to try to avoid talking about Jenny and Mom and – inevitably – Scott.

When Lyle handed her the brush, she started brushing the dog firmly. Scruff sagged against her leg with a groan that was either pleasure or pain.

Lyle said gently, “George, you’ll have to talk about it all some day. You can’t shut everything in.”

She found herself breathing shallowly, her eyes challenging his as if there were a threat, as if she mustn’t let him closer.

It was a long moment before he shifted, breaking contact with her eyes. “I have a weather broadcast to do. Robyn’s next door at Russ’s place. You look after Scruff and we’ll both be back in a bit.”

Thank goodness he’d gone!

Some crazy part of her wanted to share everything with him, to go into his arms and feel them close around her, strong and secure. She wanted to tell him all her problems, her hurts, and let him make everything right.

Was she insane? Going through a second childhood?

Or was it Lyle himself? Was it the strength of the man’s personality, making her feel the warmth of his presence even when he left the room?

He was a man who should have a wife and a big family. She could see him calmly managing an unruly pile of children and animals, writing poems in the quiet moments, and somewhere in it all, flying that airplane into the skies.

She had never had an animal, had never realized how much hair could come out of the coat of a dog that was part husky and part many other things. Scruff groaned and stretched, pushing against the brush. George stopped when her arms were aching.

Who had told her about someone spinning the hair of a husky dog and making a sweater of it? She giggled, trying to picture Lyle doing that.

She found the garbage can in the kitchen and threw away Scruff’s hair.

The house was quiet except for the faint noise of wind from outside. She could see the ocean through the windows. What a city dweller wouldn’t give for a view like this! But what city dweller would be willing to pay the price of remote isolation?

In the kitchen an oil stove beckoned to her with promises of warmth. Outside was the wild.

She’d been too long indoors.

She found a warm Mackinaw hanging near the stove. The sleeves were too long, but she rolled them up and prowled through the porch, looking for shoes. A windy March day was no time to be without shoes.

In the end she gave up the search, going barefoot, trying to keep her feet out of the way of Scruff’s paws when the dog suddenly realized he was being left behind and scrabbled to catch up to her as she went through the door.

She couldn’t imagine this dog bearing the respectable name of Harry. Robyn had been right to name him Scruff.

She walked downstairs into the midst of a noisy cluster of buildings. What was the racket? Electricity being generated?

The lighthouse tower stood tall and white between the two houses, a prominent landmark to warn mariners of the rocks around Green Island.

Rocks.
Lady Harriet
, about to hit the rocks.

No! Think about something else. The buildings. Light tower, engine room – that must be the second house, where Lyle’s brother lived. Robyn was there right now, inside that house. Lyle was giving a weather report, but where?

Spooky. Empty. As if there were no one else in the world. Through every crack between the buildings, all around her, was the ocean. She could feel it, smell it.

She was on the edge of the world. Alone.

She would be alone all her life.

Lyle had his family, his animals. Russ had his wife and the baby they were expecting.

George didn’t belong here. She had no one. She should leave, get back to the world, get moving again.

She prowled around the buildings, forcing the restlessness, getting her mind ready for leaving to do whatever it was she was going to do next.

She walked around the outside of the engine room, onto some kind of wooden platform that was built out over the edge of a cliff. She tuned out the roar of the engines, concentrated on the wind howling over the rocks.

She couldn’t hear him, but she knew when Lyle came up behind her.

“I had to get outside.” She twisted to look up into his face, looking for anger but finding none.

“What about the leg?” He was watching her, his eyes narrowed as if they could tell more than he would learn from her words. She shifted her bare feet self-consciously.

“My leg’s okay. The weather’s better, isn’t it?” She turned away from him, waving an arm towards the water, wishing she didn’t feel like an awkward teenager, wishing she wasn’t so aware of him.

His eyes stayed on her face. He could feel her unease, but wasn’t sure what was causing it. He said, “It’s still pretty rough. I don’t think you’d want to be sailing.”

She shuddered. She turned away as if to reject the memory, but couldn’t keep from asking, “Is that where she went down? That rock to the north?”

“Yes,” he answered, remembering how her face had looked just after he’d pulled her out of the water.

“I’m lucky to be alive, aren’t I?” She looked up at him. He didn’t know what she was be looking for, but had an uncomfortable feeling that she was comparing him to her husband. He disliked the idea intensely.

She finally looked away, frowning. He wished he could catch her hand and draw her closer. He’d like to stand here with his arm around her, looking out over the wild Pacific, feeling her against his side.

He moved a little closer, sheltering her from the wind, but he could feel her tension at his nearness.

George glanced up at him. He was waiting for her to step away. She stood carefully still. It seemed important for him to believe she was not bothered by his nearness.

He was standing so close. She felt his height, the strong breadth of his shoulders.

Scott hadn’t been as tall. His masculinity had been more civilized, more— more predictable. George’s eyes swung back to Lyle, tracing the hard curves of his face, the surprising softness of his lips. She almost imagined she could remember Lyle’s arms pulling her from the cold sea. It was this uncertain memory that made her uncomfortable enough to step away.

“I can’t believe you spotted me out there in the water.”

“Luck,” he said harshly. The lines on his face suddenly stood out painfully.

Then he smiled, his eyes lighting with a challenge that struck a chord of memory.

“Lyle, you— you weren’t by any chance at the Holiday Inn last year, were you? In Vancouver? I was booked in a room on the second floor, and you— you had a room on the same floor? We passed in the hall once. Then, when I had dinner with Jenny, my cousin, and you were sitting—”

He’d been wearing a brown suit, and Jenny had said something like, “
You’ve made a conquest there
,” while George had tried to pretend those disturbing eyes weren’t watching her.

“You probably don’t remember,” George said hurriedly, wishing she hadn’t started this. “Maybe it wasn’t—”

“I remember.” His eyes were giving her a disturbing message, as they had that day in the corridor. “I recognized you as soon as I pulled you out of the ocean.”

“In a cruiser suit!” She turned away to cover the flush that she felt surging into her face and neck.

He wanted her. He’d wanted her from the beginning. Was that why she’d been so aware of him?

Incredibly, part of her wanted to respond, to meet his eyes and answer the invitation with her own wordless acceptance.

She mustn’t! She was too weak, too vulnerable. In Mexico, the problem had been that she felt nothing. With Lyle, here on this island, she was in danger of feeling too much. If he took her in his arms, she was so mixed up and confused that she might close her eyes and lose herself in the dream.

She couldn’t use his arms to pretend she had Scott back. She must never do that!

She pushed her hands into her pockets, managed to laugh and throw him a bright, superficial glance. “I’m not sure I’m flattered at your recognizing me. I must have been better dressed at the Holiday Inn!”

He seemed to see right through the brittle brightness, and said, “You looked a bit like you do now. Like a wild thing, afraid of captivity.”

Startled, she jerked back. His hand shot out and grasped her arm, pulling her away from the edge of the platform.

“Watch—”

“It’s okay,” she said breathlessly, pulling away from his touch. “I— I really think it’s time I left. I appreciate all you’ve done, but I should—”

He was watching her, seeing too much.

“Where are you going?” he demanded insistently. “What’s the hurry?”

She looked around desperately. Somewhere, anywhere. Surely it didn’t matter, so long as she got away from here.

“Couldn’t you get a float plane in here for me? You could radio. I’d pay, of course.”

“With what?” He leaned against the hoist as if he were settling in for a long inquisition. “You didn’t arrive here with your wallet in your pocket.”

She had nothing. Her jeans and shirt. A torn cruiser suit. She pushed down the panic, said, “I— any bank. I just have to get to a bank.”

“No identification?” He looked away from her, his narrowed eyes searching the water. “Banks are awkward about giving money if you can’t prove who you are.”

She glanced around helplessly, then back at Lyle. He was doing this deliberately, making it hard for her. Her chest tightened in an unwelcome urge to cry. She sucked in a deep breath, forced anger. “I was shipwrecked! If you explained that, surely you could find a seaplane company that would be willing to fly me in to Prince Rupert and wait a couple of hours for their money! I could go to the bank, or I could call Jenny and get her to arrange some money for me!”

He shook his head. “You couldn’t get a seaplane out here. Not in that kind of sea.”

“But—” She swung around to the wild ocean. Surely there was some way to get out of here! She was ready to go. She had to go – quickly!

“What if there was an emergency? Surely a helicopter, or a boat—”

“There was an emergency,” he was looking down at her. He seemed suddenly even taller. “The other night, when I fished you out of the sea I’d have given anything to be able to get you to a hospital. It was impossible. There was no way anyone could get near this island, not safely.”

He touched her arm. She jerked away. She had a wild need to strike out, to hit him and run to some safe retreat where she could pull a net of seclusion around herself. She hugged herself tightly, glaring at him.

His voice had the same tone he might use on a frightened animal. “Take it easy, George. There’s not really any urgency, is there?”

“I have to go!”

“Why? Where?”

She glanced around wildly. The sea and the buildings. She was terrified, panic-stricken without knowing why or what. “Vancouver,” she said abruptly. “Jenny. I’ll go to Jenny.”

“Who’s Jenny?” His voice was low and quiet. She began to lose some of her panic, to breathe easier.

“Jenny’s my cousin.” She closed her eyes, feeling some of the fear draining away. “I think I’m a bit crazy,” she said unsteadily, realizing how she must sound. “I don’t know what got into me.”

His eyes were tender. “You’ve had a shock, you’ve been shipwrecked, suffered hypothermia and a thorough bashing on the rocks. Your mind and your body are still trying to come to terms with it all.”

She didn’t resist when he drew her against his side, but found herself leaning against him, drawing his strength.

“I’ll go to Jenny.”

“Would she look after you?” He turned her away from the water, started her moving towards his house. “You’re not ready to be wandering around alone, and there’s not really any place that’s home, is there?”

Jenny wasn’t home. George loved Jenny, but she’d paid a flying visit before she came north and her cousin had been far too busy to take on a convalescent guest.

Lyle saw her smile and she had to explain, “The last time I saw Jenny, she— she and Jake have this media business, and Jenny was in the studio putting together a new documentary on the Queen Charlottes. She had a pen in one hand, and the baby – they just had a baby – in her arm, nursing. And Jake was bombing in with equipment hanging all over him. They were getting ready to fly north on location – baby and all! No, of course I won’t go to Jenny.” But she really must go somewhere. “I’ll go to my mother, in Campbell River.”

“Will you?” Before she knew what he was doing, before she could protest, he had leaned down and slipped his arms under her legs and back, picking her up as if she were no weight at all.

“Lyle, put me down!” She tried to sound outraged, but her body betrayed her and sagged against his chest, welcoming the support of his arms.

He held her close against his chest. “I’ve watched you shivering long enough. We’ll go inside. Next time you go out, for God’s sake put something on your feet!”

“Please put me down!”

“I rescued you from the sea! I’m damned if I’ll let you die of pneumonia! Not while I’m looking after you.”

“I’m not one of your strays!” She glared at his chin. She tried to ignore her thundering heart, hoped he couldn’t hear it. “I want to get off this island! You can’t keep me here by force!”

“That’s an idea,” said Lyle speculatively, laughing down at her. “You’re warm and soft and— are you sure you not a stray?” She felt his muscles tense, holding her more securely as he started up the stairs with her in his arms. “Open the door for me, will you? I’ve got my hands full!”

She glared at that unyielding chin, met eyes that held both laughter and desire.

He— no, it was insane! He wouldn’t keep her here, as if she were a cat without a home!

“Why should I open the door?” she demanded aggressively. She was at a definite disadvantage, held in his strong arms, but she’d never hesitated to get into a fight. “I asked you to put me down. You can wait all day if you want me to open the door when I don’t even want to be carried!”

“All right,” he agreed with deceptive cooperation. He shifted, leaning his hips against the porch rail, drawing one leg up slightly to support some of her weight.