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  Windswept Shores

  BeyondAPlannedFantasy

  Pink Petal Books

  Pink Petal Books, an imprint of Jupiter Gardens Press, publishes romance novels where the relationship is primary. It doesn’t matter if you want to read super erotic or sweet inspirational books. Pink Petal Books believes that love is a beautiful thing, no matter what form it takes . For more information about Pink Petal Books visit http://www.pinkpetalbooks.com/.

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  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, places, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  WINDSWEPT SHORES

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  Copyright © Janice Seagraves, 2010

  Cover Art ® 2010 by Pink Petal Books and Winterheart Design

  Edited by Mary K. Wilson

  Electronic Publication Date: June 2010

  This book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, Jupiter Gardens Press, Jupiter Gardens , LLC., PO Box 191 , Grimes, IA 50111

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  Windswept Shores

  Janice Seagraves

  PPB

  Windswept Shores

  Chapter One: Back of Burk

  If she had to spend one more day on this godforsaken island, she'd go stark raving mad. The thought spurred Megan into rolling a large log with one foot then the other, until it was near the bonfire. “God, this thing is heavy.” With a grunt, she lifted one end until it teetered upright then gave it a shove. It landed in the fire, embers swirling in the air.

  Breathing hard, she flicked a glance at the teal-colored sea. She'd thought a vacation to the Bahamas would be the perfect getaway, would be a solution to the problems she and Jonathan had faced. She'd been wrong—dead wrong. Tears of grief filled her eyes. The never-ending crash of the waves on the beach and the cries of the seagulls seemed to mock her with the reminder she was utterly alone.

  She'd felt like a tiny speck of sand last night when a violent storm had swept across the island. It had made a mess of her meager campsite, which had taken all morning to fix, and had demolished her seaweed SOS sign. She'll have to recreate her SOS. Sighing, Megan trudged toward a pile of kelp. As she got closer, she saw a figure wearing blue jeans and a t-shirt. Her stomach lurched.

  Oh, God, it’s another body washed up from the plane wreck. That would be number twelve. As always, she couldn't help but wonder if the next one would be Jonathan. He hadn’t been wearing jeans on the plane, so she knew she’d been spared seeing his corpse this time. Thank God. She approached the body with dread. Tightening her resolve, she knelt. Suddenly the “dead body” coughed and rolled over. With a scream, Megan jumped back. She clutched her chest and pressed a shaking hand to her mouth.

  He’s alive!

  Biting her lip, she stared down at the still-breathing man. His drenched t-shirt molded against his broad shoulders and well developed upper body. Short, golden brown hair stuck out in all directions.

  Megan, get control of yourself. Don’t wet your pants the first time you finally see a living person. She got on her knees, plucked the seaweed from him and wiped the sand from his face. His day-old whiskers scratched her palm. Reddened skin stretched across both cheekbones and over the bridge of his nose. Her thumb caressed his parched full bottom lip.

  She patted the side of his face. “Hey, are you okay?” That’s a dumb question. He isn’t okay.

  “Hmm?” Gray eyes fluttered open. He stared at her a long moment, frowning slightly. “G’day.”

  “Hello there.” She hated the sound of her voice. It sounded rusty, unused.

  Abruptly he rolled away from her to heave onto the sand, making a loud, ugly retching noise.

  He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then looked at her. “Sorry, mate, I swallowed too much sea.” His gaze went over her shoulder in the direction of the bonfire which crackled and popped not far from them. “Mite big for a barbie.”

  Sitting back on her heels with her hands folded in her lap, Megan followed his gaze, then back to him. “My signal fire.”

  “Signal for what?”

  “Help.”

  His accent intrigued her. Was he English or Australian?

  “G’darn,” he looked around, “where the bloody hell am I?”

  “Don’t know. There’s no one here to ask.” Megan shrugged helplessly, but couldn’t contain her curiosity. “Are you from England?”

  “Naw,” he rubbed his eyes, “I hail from Sydney, but my port of call these days is Fort Lauderdale.” He blinked up at her. “You?”

  Ah, he’s an Aussie. “I’m Megan Lorry, from Anaheim, California,” she said, barely loud enough to be heard above the sounds of the surf and the roar from the fire. “Are you a survivor of Air Bahamas flight 227, too?”

  “G’day, Megz,” he answered, struggling to sit-up. “Sorry, I’m not from your plane.”

  Megan slipped an arm around him lifting his back off the sand. Turning his head to her hair, he took in a couple of short breaths. Megan pulled back staring at him. “What the—did you just sniff me?”

  “Ya smell too good not to.” He grinned, causing his cheeks to dimple. “Name’s Seth Dawson.” Leaning back on one arm, he stretched out his hand to her. She clasped it as if it was just a friendly greeting between strangers back home.

  “Me mate’s fishing boat hit a reef during the big squall last night. That’s when I took a tumble ‘T’ over ‘A’ overboard.” He took a deep breath, let it out slow, then glanced up and down the beach. “Somehow I made it here ‘out the back of Burke.’”

  “Oh dear, that’s terrible,” she sympathized. Does he mean the middle of nowhere?

  “Blimey, I’m weak as a babe.” Seth managed to get to his knees, before stopping to pant. He licked cracked lips. “Megz, do you have any water on ya?”

  “Yes, back at my camp. Don’t move. I’ll be right back.” Meg hurried off down the beach.

  He called after her, “Where the bloody hell would I be going, eh?”

  ~* * *~

  Seth was still on his knees when he saw the woman coming back. Her dark red curls blew around her face in the rough wind. He caught himself admiring her figure; her full breasts strained the blue fabric of her tank top with the right bounce from a bra. The low hip jean shorts gave a glimpse of her flat tummy, small waist and denim-covered, nicely rounded hips. There’s a lot of nice curves to her. When she smiled at him, friendly wrinkles creased the corners of her eyes.

  “Here you go. It’s okay. I boiled it.”

  Eagerly he reached a hand out for the water bottle she gave him. “Ta,” he said as he uncapped the water and downed half. “Ah, mighty good wet stuff.” He looked down with a grimace. “Eh, I don’t reckon I can stand on me own.”

  “Let me help you.” Megan placed his arm over her shoulders, helping him to stand. She was shorter than he thought, maybe 5’4”, but a strong little thing. His legs shook taking his weight, but he managed to stay up.

  “I need to find me mate, Bill. Haven’t seen a bloke about so high have you?” He
raised his hand to about five feet, “Bald as a bandicoot?”

  “No, I haven’t seen anyone. Not a living soul.” She looked down, blinking rapidly, before she glanced at something inland. “You’re the only one that I’ve seen in two weeks.”

  “Alive you mean?” He tensed dreading the answer, but he had to know.

  “Bodies have washed ashore from the plane wreck. I try to give them a decent burial, but I don’t think I have buried them deep enough.” She pointed to several rows of rock covered mounds.

  “Deep enough for what?” He wondered what the problem was. What’s here to be afraid of? He glanced around, a nervous flutter in his stomach.

  “To keep out the crabs and the pigs,” she said with a shudder. “I had to cover the graves with rocks. That seems to be working now.”

  He asked, “Pigs?”

  “This island or cay has feral pigs—nasty things closer to wild boars. They’re meat-eaters. They’d eat a human same as . . . a-a dead fish.” She gave another shudder. “Awful. Can you walk? My campsite is this way.” She gestured down the beach. “I need to check my clam chowder anyway. It should be done by now.”

  “Did you say chowder?” His stomach growled loud enough to be heard over wind, surf and the crackle of the fire.

  “A big guy like you, I bet you’re hungry.” her amusement was evident in her voice.

  “Yes ma’am.” He set a hand over his stomach, saying very sincerely, “I could eat a horse and chase the jockey.” They started off toward her camp, with him leaning on Meg more than he wanted.

  “Well, you’re welcome to join me for dinner, but I’m not sure it’ll taste much like clam chowder. I haven’t all the ingredients. I used yams for potatoes, coconut-juice for the cream. It’s only claim to fame is that it does have real clams in it.”

  “Sounds okay to me.” Seth’s stomach gave another loud growl.

  “I just hope it’s edible.”

  “No worries! I’d eat just about anything! If you cooked a boot then called it steak—I’d eat it!”

  “Oh-okay, let’s hope it’s not that bad! Shall we?” Megan stopped. “Um, can you stand by yourself a moment?”

  “Orright.”

  “Good, steady now.” Megan let go long enough to pick up a long stick, trading his water bottle for it. “Try walking with this.”

  “Okay, mate.” With one arm draped around Megan, he walked with the improvised cane. When they got to a log set across a sand-choked stream, she turned to him. “Do you think you can get over that?”

  “I reckon I can manage.”

  “Okay.” She released him, watching him a moment to make sure he was steady before she crossed the log. Megan turned to wait for him.

  Seth stepped up on the log with exaggerated care, but stumbled over the end to land on one knee. He waved her off when she reached for him. “I can do it.” He got his feet under him again.

  “Great. Follow me.” She pushed aside a bush as she continued up a rise.

  Seth followed, leaning heavily on the stick while he watched the sway of her behind. Her meager campsite was neatly laid out; the paths lined with large shells and stones. To one side a tiny fire blazed, a pot with a fitted lid peeked out from a nest of coals giving a delicious aroma that teased his nose.

  “A camp-oven? I haven’t seen one of those in years. What’s ever ya got in there has to be tasty.” He salivated. His gaze settled on a small A-frame made from lashed palm logs. Then he noticed a zippered closure. “That’s not a tent is it?”

  She glanced at the shelter. “We had a few scientists on the plane with us. They had intended to transverse the cays, camping on the beaches while they studied the flora and fauna. Lucky for me their supplies washed ashore. That’s what has helped me survive these past two weeks.”

  “Megz, you’re amazing.”

  She shrugged, handing him back the water bottle. “I could only sit and feel sorry for myself for so long.”

  He downed the rest of his water while Megan knelt by the fire. She used a stick to carefully remove the coals from the camp-oven and blew the ash off the lid making the fire flare-up briefly. With a folded towel, she lifted the lid to peek inside. “Well, it smells okay.” She stirred the chowder with a crudely carved wooden spoon. “It looks okay, too.”

  Seth’s unhappy tummy cramped around the too-quick sips of water. He sat down abruptly in a camp-chair. Uh, I feel like I’m gonna chunder.

  Megan looked up at him. He gave her a weak smile. She started to return, but then furrowed her brow.

  “Oh, you poor man, you look like you might faint or throw up.” She quickly pulled out what he at first thought was a plate. But on closer inspection he realized it was a large clam shell. Meg scooped up the chowder filling the improvised plate with the wooden spoon. Taking a small plastic spoon from the same basket, she handed it to him. “Careful, it’s hot,” she warned. “Just take small bites at first. You haven’t had real food in a while, so your stomach might rebel.”

  “You sound like me mum,” he complained, although he did what she suggested. He quickly gulped down the small bites, hardly tasting the food, nor did he mind the burnt tongue. He only stopped once when his stomach cramped again.

  “Slow down, you’re going to get sick.” Meg attempted to take his plate away, but he growled.

  “Okay, okay,” she said with her palms up in a defensive motion. She sat down in a chair next to him with her plate on her lap, not doing much more than sampling her meal.

  “Are you going to eat that?”

  “Um, no.” She wrinkled her nose. “It didn’t turn out like I had hoped. How’s yours?”

  Seth took the last bite, smacked his lips, then ran his finger on the plate’s edge and licked it off. “Good!” He nodded. “Please, sir, can I have some more?” he said in his best Oliver Twist voice.

  “Okay,” she said, laughing as she exchanged their plates. “Oh, I almost forgot about these.” Then she brought out a small basket with several containers, some with lids and some without.

  “What have you there?” He looked curiously at them.

  “Seasonings.” She held one over where he could see it. “Sea salt I gathered myself, toasted coconut I prepared, also a small black pepper package. Would you like any?”

  “Can I have the salt and the coconut?”

  “Sure.” She handed him both the containers, then her mouth dropped open when he dumped both into his plate.

  He mixed it all together then took a big bite. “I made it too salty.”

  “Men,” she mumbled with a shake of her head, taking back the containers.

  “Is there anymore chowder left?”

  “Yes, a little.” She took his plate, refilled it and handed it back to him.

  He stirred the salty chowder into the fresh, before scooping up a spoonful. “Ah, that’s the ticket.” Then he greedily devoured the meal.

  Megan gave him a cup of weak, unsweetened tea. Into another beat-up cup, she poured hot water from a blackened pot, setting in the same used tea bag. With a nod of satisfaction, she went to an old battered bucket and washed the dish.

  Seth finished his tea. The warmth of the liquid and the chowder seeped through his body. His breath caught when he felt his strength return. He stood and carried the dishes to her. After handing over his cup and plate, he smiled down at her, hoping to show his appreciation in his eyes.

  “You're feeling stronger,” she said, her matter-of-fact tone hiding her thoughts.

  He grunted, thinking she ought to have thanked him for saving her the work of getting the plates. His jaw set, he turned to walk away.

  “Where are you going?” she asked.

  “Off to the bog to leave an offering.” When Megan gave him a blank look, he added, “Call of nature.”

  “Oh, it’s that way.” She pointed with her chin. “Just follow the rope.”

  Seth ambled over where she indicated. He soon spotted a line made from torn cloth strips. He followed it till he came to an
old crate with a crudely cut hole in the top. He studied it for a moment then decided it was a dunny. Tacked to the side was another basket containing several water-damaged magazines. Reading material, while I have a squat? Some pages were torn out. Improvised TP, clever girl. Tied to a nearby tree was a child’s beach bucket filled with water, a small towel, and a crudely made “soap-on-a-rope”—all the conveniences of home.

  For some reason that made him feel better. For the first time since he had washed-up on this windswept shore, he relaxed.

  When Seth got back to camp, he spotted Megan brushing her teeth. Feeling self-conscious, he ran his tongue around his mouth. I must have bad breath. “I don’t reckon you have another one?” he asked. “I’ve got a coating on me ivories a house would envy.”

  She held up a finger while she finished brushing. She turned and spat the water over the side of a cliff. “Yeah, I’ve got a few.” Megan wiped her mouth. “What kind do you use?”

  “How many do ya have?”

  “Lots.” She grinned at him.

  He raised his brow. “Heaps?”

  “I’ve collected them from the suitcases that have washed up on shore.” She kicked off her sandals before climbing into the tent. He could hear her rummaging around. “Large head okay?” she called out.

  “Yeah,” he answered with an amused grin, “medium bristle.” Just like the general store.

  “What brand of toothpaste?”

  “Colgate. I got used to your yank toothpaste.”

  She climbed out of the tent, handed him the wrapped toothbrush and toothpaste. “There you go, brand new with just a little salt water damage to the package.”

  He nodded. “Thanks, mate.” He unwrapped them, tossing the containers in the campfire.

  She pointed to the two water buckets. “You can use your cup from earlier, but make sure you use the water from the bucket on the right. The left one is for washing only.”

  “Do you use it for a bit of a tub?”