Mackenzie

I handed him the rope and instructed him to hold onto it and follow me.

“What’s with the rope?”

“There are certain times during the year the fog get so thick you can’t see in front of your face. The ring attached to the house serves as an anchor. There another one on the side of the lighthouse and the woodshed.

The three basics you need access to on the island. I brought a lot more rope than I needed.

At least, I thought I did until last night. It was the only way we would have made it back through the storm.”

As we approached the dock I explained to him how I managed to pull him out of the frigid water and up the shore.

“I’m amazed at the stamina it took for you to complete the rescue. Thank you,” was all he stammered in wonderment of my feat.

I knew I was right about the fog; it lifted enough for us to barely see the beach.

The look on his worn face worried me. He released a deep sigh when he saw what was left of his sailboat. “I really loved that boat,” he moaned.

“It’s a good thing you weren't traveling with anyone, considering how bad things got. What are we looking for specifically?” I asked, hoping to take his mind off the splintering wood that was once a sailboat.

“A black duffel bag, it will have spare clothes and a shaving kit.”

We combed the beach for several hours to no avail.

“Anything that was in that boat is long gone. My father kept a shaving kit in the cabin. It's a straight razor, but it should do the trick.”

Richard raised his hands. They were shaky and unsteady from his ordeal. “A straight razor, really? You were worried about me falling and breaking something and you want me to use a straight razor?” he mocked.

“I’m a veterinarian assistant, great hands,” I boosted. “I’ll give you a shave. If you like, I could shave your head while I’m at it.”

“I wouldn't mind a haircut, just a trim. Look at this golden halo,” he taunted while running his fingers through his long luscious hair. Every minute I was spending with him had my senses more and more aware of the fact that he was every bit a male and I a female.

I stared out at the ocean. If only I had been here that night last year. If I could have given Michael and my father the light in the storm like I did Richard, would things have turned out differently?

“Hey, where did you drift off to? What's that look, Mac?”

“I was wondering about if I was here that night for Michael and my father.” I paused. “They were too far out, but still, it haunts me,” I confessed.

Richard took my hand and announced we had done enough searching to know all was gone.

“Let's head back to the cabin.”Maybe we can take a look at the storm shelter together, see if it will open. Maybe we can find your father’s whisky stash. I could use a drink about now.”

I let him lead me up the beach. The heat from his hand penetrating mine had me questioning the logic of adding alcohol to the sensations brewing inside me.

I shook my head. Except for a few off color remarks, he had not given me any indication that he was the least bit attracted to me. It was my overactive, under used hormones. I was overreacting to a situation that did not exist.

Once we returned to the cabin I made a light lunch with the few supplies I brought.

“Let’s check if there’s anything of my father’s you can use, besides his shaving kit.”

Rummaging through my father’s things was easier with someone there. Richard took stock of anything that would be of use to him. “I’m okay with wearing my jeans a couple of days. They had been thoroughly washed by the storm. I think I can make use of those oversized sweatshirts, though.”

“Why are you smiling?” she asked.

“Still smells like Old Spice. I prefer that than the musty smell of the hunting jacket,” he joked. “It reminds me of your father and good memories.”

I took one of the shirts, held it to my face and took a whiff. “This one was Michael’s. It will fit you better.” The look on his face told me he was not interested in wearing my deceased husband’s clothes.

“I will put this one away for tomorrow,” he took the shirt and put it aside. “How about that shave” he reminded me. “Where did you say that kit was?”

“Under the sink in the bathroom. If you used all the hot water with your shower, you’re going to have to wait for the water to heat up in the water tank. It will take about another hour.” I proceeded to put on my jacket.

“Why don't we check out the storm shelter? It will kill some time,” he suggested.

When we reached the storm shelter, I held onto one end and he the other. The lid lifted with the sound that indicated it had been left alone for some time. The hinges creaked but were not rusted.

“Your dad sure knew how to build shit,” he mused.

“I said the same thing about the furniture in the lighthouse,” I chuckled.

“Have you ever had to use this?” Richard inquired.

“Once, I remember coming down here with both my parents. It must have been a really bad storm if Mom came in here.”

“I was sorry to hear of her passing,” he said solemnly.

“She rarely came out to the island, and after having to spend the night down here, she never came back.” I was thumbing through the relics of long ago that had lasted. “I believe my father lied about the storm to get her down here. This island was his version of the man cave and knew she would never come back after that ordeal. I think he regretted that decision after she was gone.”

Richard began rummaging through the bunker. I raised a questioning eyebrow.

He pushed back a few boxes and reached into a cubby. In his grasp was the familiar bottle of my father’s favorite whisky. He only drank it on special occasions. He cherished the amber liquid that his friend would bring with him on his yearly trek to the island.

“Did you know your father kept coming every year with a bottle of whisky and box of cigars for my father even after he stopped fishing?”

“I heard your father retired. What was he doing on that boat?”

Another loaded question. When was he going to learn to keep his mouth shut? Was I going to be able to explain without breaking down?

“He came out of retirement when Michael was hired to do some research.” I sighed. “It made him feel useful. He helped with navigation, amongst other things. Michael was great at what he did, but he was a book guy. My father knew these oceans like no one Michael could ever hire.”

The more I talked about them, the less pain I felt. Richard emitted a calm within me that enabled me to talk about Michael and my father.

It was the fire raging within that I was having a problem with.

He lifted the mattress off the small bunk to reveal a box of cigars. “What do you think?” he said as he handed me the box.

I opened it and each cigar was individually wrapped. “I’m game if you are,” I giggled.

“Wow, this brings back memories, like me letting you win at poker,” he mused.

“You did not let me win, I kicked your ass fair and square.”

“I want a rematch,” he challenged as he pulled a deck of cards off one of the shelves.

“You're on.”

We took a seat at the rickety table. He placed the bottle of whisky in the middle. I put the cigars beside them. “I don’t think it’s safe to light these up down here,” I said. “We will take these back with us. Five card draw, twenty-one, go fish?” I nudged.

“Strip poker,” he baited and slammed the cards on the table.

“I would accept,” I bantered, “but I already know what's under there.” I gestured, eyeing him up and down. “As you so casually reminded me this morning, what's in it for me when I win?”

“If you win, you sleep on the bed, I sleep on the floor.”

“What makes you think you weren’t already going to sleep on the floor?” I asked.

“I’m the patient, still recuperating,” he said while holding his side as if he was still in pain.

“Not working,” I told him. “Let me see,” I regarded, “when I win...you tell me the real reason why you stopped coming here with your father.”

The look in his eyes let me know I hit a nerve. His jaw clenched, the muscle on the side of his temple twitching. I believed it took everything he had not to fist his hand and pound the table.

This demeanor did not last long, just long enough for him to accept the challenge. He was not going to throw the game this time, that I knew for certain. I was going to have to bring my A game or this man was going to see me in all Mother Nature’s glory.

I pushed the whisky in his path. “Feel free to help yourself,” I cajoled.

“You think you can get me drunk and take advantage of me? At cards,” he quickly added.

“I don’t need you drunk to beat you at cards,” I handed him the deck. “Cut, highest card deals.”

“This is deja vu,” I declared some time later as Richard sat across from me in his underwear.

“Should I finish you off, or do you want to concede?” I gloated.

I wanted him to concede. My heart was racing, having him sitting across from me, nearly naked. His bronzed chest, muscular arms and biceps were taunting me. I was grateful the table hid him below the waist. I was sure I was blushing remembering what he looked like naked.

It had been a long time since I felt any desire for anyone. Richard had me hungrily feasting on the sight of this beautifully built man.

“I’m quite comfortable with my physique, and you haven’t won yet. I can still make a comeback,” He needled, grinning ear to ear. “

You’re blushing, Mac. Are you concerned you might become aroused if you see me naked?”

That wasn’t exactly what concerned me. I was already aroused. What I might do about it was what had me reeling.

He was resistant, I needed to clear the way, he needed to concede. “It’s okay, Richard, you aren’t going to hurt my feelings by telling me you prefer to spend the time with your rich friends and your rich toys.”

Richards face dropped. “Is that you thought all these years?

Mac, I didn’t come that summer because I was in the hospital. My father never explained it?”

“I didn’t ask, he got out of his car, talked to my father, and I was waved off. You didn’t get out of the car and I was never told why.”

Something was off, it looked like he wanted to confess, but to what.

What happened that summer that put him in the hospital?

What happened that made him never want to come back?