Daniel touched down onto the ocean’s surface near the small island with a sense of satisfaction. Perfect landing, every time, even in bad weather. The balloon remained aloft, hovering rather than lifting and using a fraction of the fuel required to fly. Sitting in salt water wasn’t ideal, and it meant utilizing a gangplank, but he had to confess there was something nostalgic about using a ship for its traditional purpose.
“Take us into the bay, Samson. We’ll drop anchor, and our passengers can come and go as they please.” Daniel checked depth gauges and maps, confident he’d taken his passengers to the best possible place for their circumstances. The island was idyllic: deep blue sky arched overhead, lush vegetation spread over the bulk of the land, and white sandy beaches led to water that was clear, then aqua, then a deep, mesmerizing blue that glittered with reflected sunlight as it stretched to the horizon.
“Very good, sir,” Samson said. “You’ll be pleased to know there are three waterfalls and pools within one mile of the shore, and no evidence of large, predatory animal life, although you will, of course, be vigilant for snakes and certain insects. I’ve printed a list for your perusal.”
“Thank you, Samson. You would do well writing travel guides for Cook’s.” Daniel rotated his head on stiff shoulders, tired, but cautiously optimistic that the three days spent on the island would be uneventful.
As Samson maneuvered the craft into the small harbor, Daniel looked down from the wheelhouse at the deck where the passengers had gathered to catch a glimpse of the island. Isla laughed, chatting with Quince as though he were the only person on earth. She had that way about her, and he worried at some point her exceptional skills with people may mean her destruction. Daniel’s gut clenched into a tight knot.
She had so little thought for her own safety when compared to the well-being of others. It wasn’t as though she were a charming little girl with a perpetual smile on her face, looking to make the world happy. He would never have described her as “sweet”—the thought was ridiculous. She was driven, focused, responsible, and aware of her ability to make a difference in a life.
He fought back a shudder. He knew he’d never forget the moment he’d entered Isla’s cabin, ready to settle his cushion on the floor, and had spied the sea of blood that streamed from her nose. He hadn’t dared call for Lewis, of course, so he’d staunched the blood on his own, terrified of smothering her by accident since she breathed only twice a minute anyway.
When the bleeding had finally stopped, he’d moved her onto his makeshift bed and changed all the bedding on hers. Then he’d lifted her to place her back in her bed, but held her a moment, rocking back and forth, trying to banish the gruesome image from his memory. In that moment, he’d felt fury at her sister, a girl he’d never even met, because the vibrant, strong woman in his arms was as cold as death.
He’d covered her with blankets, telling himself she would warm up if he tucked them close about her even while knowing nothing would warm her in that state, and then had awoken intermittently through the night to get up from the floor and make sure she wasn’t bleeding again. He’d called himself a fool every time he settled on her floor for the night over the last few weeks, but now a chill chased down his spine when he considered what might have happened if he hadn’t returned to her cabin last night. Would she have bled to death? It had taken substantial, persistent pressure with a cloth to staunch the flow.
And now that he knew what it felt like to kiss Isla Cooper he would never know a moment’s peace. One moment he had been lecturing her and angry at his vulnerability and fear, and the next he had fastened her to him like a clamp. Rather than take umbrage at his aggression, she’d met him halfway.
He watched as she pointed at something on shore and leaned close to Bonadea in conversation. Bonadea nodded and gestured, most likely going on about Caribbean island fauna, and finding a welcome audience in the good doctor. When Lewis placed a hand on her shoulder, Daniel’s nostrils flared. He wasn’t angry with his friend for his near-disaster last night, but of all the men on board, Lewis was the most likely to be his rival for her affection.
Daniel felt strangely proprietary concerning Isla and wondered if that blasted shifter lung was turning him into an aggressive animal with primitive instincts. He wanted to call her up to the wheelhouse and snarl at everyone who dared get too close.
He shook his head. Ridiculous. He turned his attention to Nigel Crowe, who held himself apart from the rest. He occasionally looked at the small group that conversed without him, and Daniel wished he knew that one’s thoughts. Who did he resent the most—the shifters whom he hated, or the person who fought ardently for their cause?
“Samson, if I ask you to find a way to accidentally leave someone behind when we go, you will know I’m funning you, yes?”
“Now that you’ve told me as much, I’ll be prepared.”
“Very good.”
“Might I hazard a guess as to whom that might be?”
“You might.”
“I believe it may be a draw between Mr. Crowe and Mr. Lewis.”
Daniel looked at his ’ton in surprise. “Why Lewis?”
“Your aggression levels as evidenced in sterone readings rise substantially when Mr. Lewis is near the doctor, while your aggression levels with Mr. Crowe are consistently high regardless of other present company.”
Daniel hoped he wasn’t as transparent to everyone aboard the ship. “I bear Lewis no ill will. He and I are friends, have been for some time.”
“There is no shame in the resentment, sir. History has shown that when two virile males are in proximity to an eligible female, they—”
“Oh, look, Samson, it is time to drop anchor.” Daniel glared at the ’ton and checked the ship’s readings from the control panel.
“I can simultaneously drop anchor and discuss biology, sir,” Samson said.
Daniel gritted his teeth. “And I can simultaneously pull your programming tin and replace it with another.”
“Oh, look. The anchor is down.”
Daniel cast Samson a side-glance. “Good man.”
The afternoon followed pleasantly, and Crowe seemed to believe Daniel when he told him they were headed for another patch of bad weather and would be better served to wait it out. He planned to use another malfunction as an excuse if the need arose.
While the others went ashore to explore the island, Daniel and Samson used the time to examine every inch of the ship and her equipment, performing routine checks and testing components of the Stirling Engine. He studied the engine’s programming codes and ran each ’ton’s programming tin through the reader in the Tesla Room to be certain all was in order. By dinnertime he was satisfied that, as of that moment, nothing on the ship was amiss. The situation around him may be constantly evolving and there were many things outside his control, but everything within it was sound. He forced himself to find comfort in that.
The following day, Samson posed a question to Daniel. “Sir, I wonder if you remember tomorrow is the doctor’s birthday? Perhaps you would like to mention it to the other passengers? I believe a celebration of some sort would be appropriate.”
Daniel stared at Samson, dumbstruck. He’d never planned a birthday celebration for anyone in his life. “We are on an uninhabited island.”
Samson eyed Daniel with what, for a human, would have been patient good-humor. “We have resources aboard the ship, sir.”
“What sort of resources?”
“We have a relatively well-stocked larder; you could make a cake. Also ask what her favorite meal is and duplicate it with the supplies on hand as closely as possible.”
Daniel still looked at his ’ton, unblinking.
“We have a Victrola in the lounge. You could take it ashore and have an impromptu ball on the beach.”
“An impromptu ball,” Daniel repeated. “But there is only one woman present.”
“Well then, perhaps she shall enjoy multiple dance partners for the evening.”
Daniel rubbed his forehead, slogging his way out of the stupor. “I do not know the first thing about . . . any of that.”
Samson shrugged and turned his attention to the instrument panel. “Only suggestions, of course. From what I understand, humans are resilient. The absence of a celebration honoring her entry into this life will not impact her future irreversibly.” He glanced at Daniel. “I am certain she will be fine.”
Daniel gritted his teeth. “Robert’s repertoire is limited. I am relatively certain he is not programmed to make a cake.”
“A pity there isn’t a human aboard who might read a recipe and combine ingredients accordingly.”
“Just because I can read a recipe doesn’t mean a cake would result from it,” Daniel snapped. “I’ve never baked a thing in my life.”
“There are passengers who might combine their talents with yours, isn’t that true?” Samson paused. “Though I suppose a person insecure in his masculinity might find it disconcerting to take on such a task.”
Daniel narrowed his eyes. “I am not insecure in my masculinity!”
Samson looked up from his perusal of the weather report, activity which suspiciously involved little more than shuffling papers around. “I would never suggest it, sir.”
“You just did!”
“I mentioned ‘a person’ in the most general of terms.”
“Why don’t you make a cake?”
“I would readily aid the process, Captain, however my knowledge is academic only. Having never been programmed to perform the task, I would be limited concerning human sensory reactions.”
“Such as?”
“If the ship’s galley caught fire. You would likely smell it before my sensors could detect it.”
Daniel felt mild panic settling on his shoulders. “We shall arrive at Port Lucy the day after tomorrow. We can celebrate then.”
Samson regarded him with his unblinking eyes and then turned his attention back to the papers in his hands. “Of course.”
Daniel’s mouth fell open. “Curse you, Samson, I did not program you to be disappointed in me!”
“I certainly do not understand the emotion of disappointment. Perhaps what you see in my expression reflects your own feelings.”
“For the love . . .” Daniel stalked out of the wheelhouse. A cake? Dancing on the beach? He would have been happier steering into a hurricane. He made quick work of the stairs leading to the main deck and stopped short when Isla came around the corner.
“Oh!” She looked up in surprise and only just stopped herself from plowing headlong into him. “Well, hello, Captain!” She laughed, her eyes bright and her expression carefree. Her face showed evidence of time spent in the sun, which only enhanced her appeal. Her hair was wet and pulled back into a long braid, and she hugged two large, folded blankets to her chest.
“I do hope you will join us ashore today. I washed my entire wardrobe by the waterfall closest to the beach, and then we spent the morning in the nearby pool.” Her eyes twinkled. “I am quite a proficient swimmer, you see, and I’m proud to say I beat Mr. Bonadea in two races. Lewis beat us both, however. I can comfortably admit when I am outmatched.”
Daniel’s traitorous mind’s eye envisioned his strong friend’s prowess on full display. “He is a healthy one, to be certain.”
“Having captained both air and sea, I would imagine you to be comfortable in the water as well. Therefore, I hereby challenge you to a race and will not relent until you leave this ship in Samson’s capable hands for at least an hour or two. If not now, then perhaps later.”
Her smile was infectious, and he wished he dared take her into his arms right there. “I will certainly do so. Where are you headed now?”
“Back to the beach. I’m taking a few blankets to spread beneath the trees near the shoreline. I’m afraid Mr. Quince and I have seen our fair share of the sun and must remain in the shade for a few hours. I thought to stop by Mr. Crowe’s cabin. He’s locked himself in there since our arrival, showing his face only for dinner.” She lifted her shoulder. “I wonder if it would do him some good to spend time outside.”
Daniel eyed her. “I do believe your heart is outpacing your brain.”
She scowled. “He is arrogant and mean”—she leaned closer—“but perhaps he has his reasons. If I can engage him in civilized conversation in a pleasant setting, I may better understand his motivation.”
“I stand corrected. Your heart has obliterated your brain.”
She held up a hand and tilted her head. “I have been remiss in my refusal to attempt even the pleasantest of exchanges with the man. It is inexcusable for an empath; I ought to have known better.”
“He’s not a shifter, Isla, so your professional talents will not make a difference. He is selfish and seeks power. Not only will he refuse a ‘connection’ with you, but I fear he would take advantage of your attempts. Use your own kindness to lull you into a false sense of security.”
“And when I have been properly lulled, he will attack?”
Daniel shifted his stance, frustrated. “When we first embarked on this voyage, I caught the two of you by the engine room ready to come to blows. Are you telling me you truly believe you can convince him to be . . . What are you hoping for? Friendship?”
She narrowed her eyes. “I do not expect we shall become the best of friends, but there is something deeply raw beneath his surface, and I would have him at least enjoy the beauty of an unscheduled stop on a Caribbean island before we all return to civilization and plot each other’s downfall.”
“I forbid it.”
Her mouth dropped open in surprise, and then she laughed.
His lips twitched, and he wished he could maintain the ruse. “I thought it worth a try. I don’t suppose anyone forbids Dr. Isla Cooper anything.”
“Fortunate, isn’t it, that I don’t demand much?”
He rolled his eyes. “That is debatable. I pity the man you marry.”
She stilled, slowly sobering. “You do?”
“No,” he said quietly. “I envy the man you marry.”
She blew out a slow breath. “You do?”
He shoved his hands into his pockets. “Go. I’ll join you momentarily.”
She blushed beneath her sun-kissed skin and ducked her head. It was a gesture so unlike her, so uncertain. He would have given anything to know her thoughts. The only time he ever saw her behave with anything other than complete confidence were occasional moments alone with him when he sensed she felt out of her depth. That she hadn’t received masculine attention in droves astounded him. Perhaps men of her acquaintance were intimidated by her achievements and skill.
She lifted her shoulder, and her smile was halfhearted, at best. “I do not know if I will ever marry.”
“Whyever not? I hear the institution does have its merits.”
Her smile grew. “I do not know how a man would fit into my life, and I know I certainly cannot mold mine into something most husbands would want. My work is part of who I am.”
“You do not have to give up your work.”
She shot him a flat look. “You are not so naïve, Captain. A man seeks a suitable wife and mother for his children, not a shifter empath who frequently participates in midnight hunts and testifies at criminals’ tribunals.”
He wasn’t certain how to answer that, and his pause was telling.
She raised a brow at him and smiled. “At any rate, daylight is wasting, and the island calls. Do change your clothing—
at least shed the jacket and prepare to lose your boots once your feet hit the water. I am going to invite our recalcitrant friend to join in the fun and expect to see you as well.”
She crossed the deck to the stairs leading down one level, and he noted she wore her white blouse without the outer corset and a light-blue skirt that was probably comfortable in the heat of the day. He didn’t see any weapons on her, but couldn’t imagine she wouldn’t have one secreted away somewhere. The thought brought a half-smile to his face until he realized she was about to talk to Crowe, alone, and might not be armed.
He snuck down the stairs after her, maintaining his distance as she walked the narrow corridor between rooms. She knocked on a door and waited, biting her lip with a frown at the protracted delay. She knocked once again, and Daniel prepared to sprint away if she gave up her quest, but the door opened and he heard Crowe’s voice.