Windswept Shores Read online

  “Any kids?” she asked, pushing his hand down.

  “A son named Nick. He just turned six.”

  “Okay, now you have to tell me how old you are.”

  “I’m an old prawn. I just had my thirtieth birthday.”

  “That’s not old, especially not for a man.”

  “I’m starting to feel it when I surf,” he admitted, smoothing a wrinkle on her shirt.

  “Oh, you’re a surfer?”

  “Back in Uni I got caught up chasing the good breakers on Spring Break. I headed out from Cali to Baja, then from there to Florida. I became a Surfie. That’s what you’d call someone who surfs more then they work. Then I met this old bloke, Bill, in a pub. He’s from Oz too, or so I thought, but it turns out he’s an apple.”

  “An apple?” she asked.

  “He hails from Tasmania. I was broke doing odd jobs. Bill hired me to help on his fishing boat.”

  “Wait a minute, Oz?”

  “Oz, short for Australia,” he explained, moving his mouth toward where he thought her ear was, saying softly, “It’s in the sound Au`z-tralia—Oz.”

  “Oh, I get it.” She paused. “You two were out fishing, but ended up way out here? Isn’t this area far from Florida?”

  “Not really. We were running from a big blow up. Damn near made it too, then we hit a reef,” he said, keeping it short. She didn’t need all the details.

  “Afterwards you went overboard and lost sight of the boat?”

  “It was dark. I couldn’t see a blooming thing.” He swallowed hard. His heart beat faster when he remembered how frightened he had been. “I treaded water until it got light, then I lit out for shore. Next thing I remembered was you waking me up.”

  “That’s hard being in the water that long with no life-vest. When I was out there on the raft the swells were big, I couldn’t see anything. As I floated around it was like being in an elevator, up then down. I’m lucky I don’t get sea-sick but even that tested my limits.”

  “How long were ya out there?”

  “Three days,” she said with a sigh. “Long, long days and nights.”

  “Lucky for me the sun came up, so I wasn’t in the drink for long. Just an hour or two. Did you have water with ya?”

  “No, but it rained. I managed to capture the water in a mouthwash bottle, from the bottom of the boat. It had a salty tang to it, though.”

  “Smart girl,” he said.

  “Thanks.” She rolled onto her side, releasing a deep breath.

  Seth hand slid up her ribcage with the breath, but bumped up against her underwire. “Megz.”

  “Yes.” She shoved his hand down again, but not before his fingers brushed against the band of her bra.

  “Why are you sleeping in your bra?”

  She gave a quick jerk. “Are you trying to—?”

  “No, I just can feel the underwire. You shouldn’t sleep in one, you know. It’s not healthy for your knockers.”

  “So, you’re an expert?”

  “I reckoned you’re modest, but I’m not going to shag you. Honest.”

  “Your point is?”

  “Take the bloody thing off,” he whispered in her ear.

  “Fine.” She moved forward.

  Seth slid his hands under the back of her shirt. Megan froze.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Helping.” He undid the fasteners. “Now do that thing that all you girls seem to know by instinct.”

  Megan sat up so she could do the mysterious maneuver to remove her bra without taking off her top.

  Seth wished he could watch, but it was too dark. Maybe when we’re on friendlier terms, she’ll let me.

  “Done.”

  “Good.” He spooned her again, her full breasts resting against his arm. “Ready to catch some sleep, Megz?”

  “I’m ready to try.”

  “Me, too.” It feels good to have me arms around a pretty bird. Sleep claimed him again.

  A few hours later, Seth awakened to a zipper being drawn up. He lifted his head and saw Megan silhouetted against the predawn light. “Call of nature?”

  “Something like that,” she whispered. “Go back to sleep.”

  “S’kay.” He laid his head down.

  ~* * *~

  Sweat rolled off Seth’s forehead and beaded on his upper lip. He rolled to face the tent opening. Even with the flaps tied back, only an occasional fretful breeze brought any relief. Gawd, it’s hot. No help for it, I got to get up.

  He stepped outside, looking around at the small campsite. “Megz?” A cup set by the fire, covered with a scallop shell, which he recognized by the chipped edge as the one he’d used the night before. She made me a cuppa. Next to it, three figs rested on a clam shell. He ignored the fruit. Uncovering the cup, he sipped and grimaced. Gaw, it’s unsweetened.

  A motion alerted him to someone on the beach. Seth ambled over to look down the shoreline. Megan stepped forward, her arms moving slowly. He watched her for a while, deciding it looked like martial arts rather than a dance. She wore a coffee colored sleeveless shirt with matching capris. A bit of bright green lace peeked through the v-neck. A fancy bra, maybe? He found himself hoping it was. “G’day, Megz, what cha’ doing?”

  “Good morning. It’s called Tai Chi.”

  Megan reached out one hand, while the other went shoulder high then hooked. She slowly pivoted on the balls of one foot, stepping out with the other leg. Then she reached forward with a motion like she held a ball. She moved her hand in a circle toward her chest, then away.

  “Good exercise?”

  “It’s good for endurance and strength. Plus it moves the energy in my chakras.”

  “Do this every mornin’?”

  “Yes, I don’t feel right if I don’t,” she admitted with a slow pivot on the ball of her feet, then started the same movement on the other side.

  “Sounds addictive.” He smirked.

  “But in a good way. How are you doing? Feel any better from yesterday?”

  “Still feel a bit wobbly. What’s for brekky?”

  “Uh, you mean breakfast? You didn’t find the figs I left for you?”

  “Sorry, luv, a man needs protein, especially after the day I had yesterday.”

  “How about some mussels?”

  “You got any?”

  “On the rocks over there.” She gestured toward where the surf slipped around an outcrop. “Let me finish. If you feel up to helping me, we’ll gather some.”

  “Orright.” He walked back to camp to finish his cuppa. He looked around to see what she'd use for gathering mussels, like a bucket, or a knife, or something. But found instead a sturdy well-used basket, which sat with her other cooking supplies, including several sharpened clam shells. It made him wonder. She doesn’t have a proper knife? How does she manage?

  Windswept Shores

  Chapter 4: Mussels or Muscles?

  “Will this do ya?”

  Megan glanced at what he had in his hands. “Oh, you found my gathering basket and scrapers. Sure, that’s fine for gathering mussels.” She unbuttoned her cotton shirt and hung it on a nearby bush. The lace-edged camisole she wore underneath was a bright green but didn’t really go with her outfit. She stuck in her thumbs into the elastic band of her capri pants, stopping with a startled look at Seth.

  “Don’t let me stop you.” He grinned, showing a flash of white teeth in his tanned face.

  “Uh, I’ll just leave these on.” Yanking her hands out, her face heated as she ducked her head.

  “If I weren’t ‘ere, you’d do it in the nuddy,” he accused.

  “If that means naked, not quite,” she corrected, hanging the basket on her arm.

  “Then in you’re underdaks?”

  “Uh—underwear?” She frowned, wondering why he wouldn’t drop it. “Um, yeah, it saves on the washing, especially since I have to do it by hand and also drying the clothes is iffy business at best.”

  “I hear ya, but still don’t let me st
op you from doing something you do naturally.” Heat filled her body with the look he gave her.

  Oh, God, he’s a man all right. “Thanks, but I’m more comfortable with my clothes on with company around.”

  Seth arched an eyebrow. “I’m company?”

  “You’re my guest.”

  He gave her a lopsided grin. “How about a mate? I reckoned you could use one.”

  “If that means friend, sure why not?” She smiled.

  “Abso-bloody-lutely,” he agreed.

  They waded out and began scraping off the black, shiny mussels that clung to the rock. The surf pulled and dragged at her legs, getting both of them thoroughly soaked.

  “Isn’t that a beaut?” Seth showed Megan a fine clutch of mussels. “I got ‘em in one go.”

  “Oh, that’s great! And they’re nice big ones, too.” She held out the basket, but slipped on a stone, stumbling against his side.

  He dropped the shellfish into the basket she held. “Easy there, mate.”

  “I mean the mussels,” she snapped.

  “I meant the muscles, too.” He scraped at another batch. “Course, a man’s muscle is his most important body part.”

  “O-oh, you’re just like every guy I know. Why is it always sex with men?”

  “Do you know which muscle I was even talking about?” He smirked. “Most blokes are scum.” He glanced sidelong at her. “Most blokes just want to tell their mates how many birds they've shagged that week.” He dropped more mussels in her basket. “But I could be different, if you ever want to find out.”

  “You do realize I’m a married woman?”

  Seth yanked his gaze up to hers. “Megz, I realize you’re a spunky widow.”

  “I’m not a widow. He’s alive,” she snapped, blinking back tears.

  “You have a nightmare every night about his death.”

  “I-I don’t know for sure.” Megan scraped vigorously at a new spot. “Jonathan might have made it. The plane could have . . . popped out—” Half the shiny black shells fell into the water, as she snatched at the rest. “From the other side of the wave,” she finished.

  “Orright.” He shrugged.

  Megan dropped her mussels into the basket. “I think we have enough. Let’s go in.”

  “Ready when you are, mate.”

  Roaring filled her ears as a large wave hit, for a moment all Megan could see was teal tinged water.

  A hand grabbed her arm, keeping her rooted to the spot. “Megz?”

  Megan coughed rubbing the saltwater sting from her eyes. “I’m fine,” she gasped.

  “Let me have the mussels. The waves are picking up.” He dropped his scraper into her basket, then took it from her.

  Another wave hit, but this time it lifted Megan off the rocks. Seth grabbed her around the waist. She clung to him.

  “The sea means to take you back.”

  “It can’t have me.” She looked around. “I think I lost my scraper.”

  “Let it go, mate. You can make another.”

  In the lull, when the wave washed back out to sea, Seth handed Megan back the basket. “Hang on a tick.” She clutched it to her chest. He abruptly picked her up and waded ashore.

  Surprise made her eyes big as her cheeks heated. She glanced shyly up at him, then over his shoulders to the rocks the waves crested over. “The tide has come in. I usually keep watch for things like that.”

  “I must be a distraction for ya.” Seth grinned, while he set her down on the sand.

  “When are you not a distraction to anyone?” she asked with one hand against his muscular chest.

  “My mum said I’m always one to hog all the attention to myself.”

  “I think she’s right.” She took a step back so she could pat his arm. “Thank you for keeping me from being swept off to sea.”

  “That’s what mates are for.” He took the basket, with a look inside it, he added, “Besides, you were carrying me brekky.” Seth smirked down at her. “I really like yer top. You should wear it more often.”

  “Oh!” Megan gave a mortified glance at her clingy camisole, which looked like it was spray painted on. Her erect nipples were making credible attempts to poke holes in the thin material. She snatched her brown shirt off the bush, hurrying to slip it on. Dammit, I’m never wearing this again.

  Seth chuckled while he hauled the mussels up to their camp.

  ~* * *~

  Sitting down, Seth watched Megan add more wood to her small fire, then moved the logs that had burned down earlier further inside the circle of stones. She must do that because the logs were too long. “You don’t cut up the fuel for your fire?”

  “Cut it with what?” She took the basket from him, rinsed the mussels with water poured from the drinking-water bucket. The wicker acted as a sieve. Megan set a well used grate over the fire, which she carefully balanced across the rocks. She placed a few mussels on it to cook.

  “No axe, eh?”

  “I do have this.” She hunted around till she found a wire with two rings on either end, which she showed him. “I used it to cut the hole in the outhouse it also helped me shape my wooden spoon, but it takes forever to cut through firewood.”

  “Yeah, it would,” he said, looking it over. “Did ya find it in the backpacks?”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “This got in through inspection at the airport?”

  “Hmm.” She frowned, taking it back. “I guess it must have.”

  “If we could find me mate, you’d have a proper hatchet.”

  “If we found your mate, we’d be out of here.”

  “We would at that,” he agreed. “Old Bill has a radio on his boat. With that he could call for help.”

  “So, how about we go find him?”

  “Wazzat?” He looked at her.

  “I’ve got two backpacks. I suggest we pack them and head out. What do you say?”

  “Go on a walkabout?”

  “Sure why not?”

  “Abso-bloody-lutely.” He grinned. His gaze went to the mussels drying over the fire, going from glossy to matte black, Seth nodded toward them. “Megz, how do ya know when they’re done?”

  “They make a noise like popcorn. When they pop, they’re ready to eat.” They watched them slowly open, one after another, but one popped open so quick it splattered them with sea water. “They’re done.” She wiped her face with her hand. Gathering the cooked mussels with a folded towel, she set them on one of her improvised plates. When she added more to cook on the grate, she quipped, “Shall we add another shrimp to the barbie?”

  “Megz,” Seth said with a lopsided grin, “no self respecting Aussie says that.”

  “Oh,” Megan looked over her shoulder at him, “you don’t?”

  “Naw, mate, its prawns, not shrimp. But I reckon you don’t know we barbie chops, steaks, sausages also called slabs, and yabbies.”

  “What’s a yabbie?”

  “A crawler,” he told her, but when she still gave him a blank expression, he tried to explain, “A fresh water lobster.”

  “Oh, crayfish.” She shook her head. “Not much meat on them.” Megan handed him his plate.

  “When they’re from Oz they're big enough to eat.” He looked down at the half opened shell-fish. “Any sauce?”

  “Sorry, fresh out. The only thing I can offer is lemon, but I don’t have a knife to cut it with.” She pulled one from a basket.

  “No worries, mate.” He pulled out a pocket knife. Opening it, he took the lemon, cut it, and then handed her half.

  Her eyes lingered on his knife while he closed it up. “I wish I’d known you had that earlier.”

  “Naw, it would have broken on ‘em rocks.” He squeezed lemon on the mussels. “Yer scrappers did the job better.”

  “No, I mean I could have opened the mussels and cooked them a different way.”

  “Oh.” He looked down at his plate.

  “Don’t worry about it. I’ve nearly got them all done now.”

&nbs
p; ~* * *~

  After “brekky,” Megan dumped the empty shells back on the beach where the sea could reclaim them. Because her clothes had dried on her, she was able to fold them, and set them on her bed. Staying in the cramped tent, she changed into shorts and t-shirt. Going outside, she laced up her sneakers.

  Megan lifted the deflated raft so she could search among the suitcases, pulling out two backpacks. “Here you go. One for you.” She handed Seth a dark-blue one, but kept the lighter-green pack.

  “Thanks, Megz, I’ll get me clothes.” He disappeared up the path to the pool. When he got back, he dumped in all the things from his basket.

  “I have something else for you.” Megan walked over to Seth with a pair of sunglasses, a hat and a tube of sunblock. “You’re already sunburned, so you don’t want it to get worse.”

  “Oh, a bit of the slip, slop, slap, eh?”

  Megan blinked up at him. “Huh?” Was that some kind of kinky Aussie pastime?

  “In Oz there’s a lot of skin cancer so there is this program to reduce the sun exposure. Slip on a long sleeved shirt. Slop sunscreen on ya. Slap a hat on yer head. Wrap on a pair of sunnies,” he said slipping on the sunglasses, grinning down at her.

  “That makes sense.” Megan let out a breath. After last night, she wasn’t too sure what to make of her new friend. He sure has a flirtatious side. Then she slipped on her sunglasses and hat.

  While Seth rubbed sunblock on his arms and legs, Megan located paper and a pen. She wrote a note for the rescue party. It read: We walked to the other side of the cay. Look for us there. Then she pinned it to the tent, before zipping it closed.

  Seth looked at the note over her shoulder. “Clever girl. If they show up, they’ll find us.”

  “That’s the idea.” She looked up at him, feeling a little disappointed that the glasses covered his nice gray eyes. “Are you ready to go?”

  “Yeah.” Seth slipped on his backpack, and so did she.

  They started off down the beach, but Seth soon left Megan behind.

  “Hey,” she puffed, stretching her legs, but couldn’t keep up with Seth’s longer stride. “Where’s the fire?”

  “Wazzat?” He glanced back at her.

  “You’re walking too fast. Can you slow up a bit?”