Island Promises (23 page)

She slid down the wall next to him. “I really am a better reporter than that,” she said quietly. “That’s why they never let immediate family treat each other medically or do stories on each other. You’re too close, too blinded to see the whole thing objectively.”

The sounds of Chicago at night, horns honking, trains running, loud music from boom boxes, penetrated the apartment, even up on this level. Outside her door, there were footsteps in the hallway and the light yap of a dog. Without furniture or drapes, the sound was magnified.

“I am so stupid,” she said. “You wouldn’t want to be involved with someone that dumb.”

“That’s refreshing. That’s the first time I’ve ever heard you say you screwed up. Makes me think you’re almost human, just like the rest of us who don’t always get it right.”

“This is not easy for me. Do you think . . . is there a chance . . . can you imagine?”

“Not here.” He looked around her apartment, at the boxes, the clothes piled in the corner, the take-out containers overflowing the trashcan. Joe helped her to her feet and scanned her up and down, the stained sweatshirt that reeked of beer, the fuzzy slippers, the baggy sweatpants, and her hair pulled back in a ponytail. “Nice outfit.”

“Well, I do try.” She tucked a hair behind her ear and batted her eyelashes.

“Get your stuff. We’re getting out of here.”

Two hours later, Riley was up to her chin in scented bubbles, sipping champagne, and looking out the window at a spectacular view of downtown Chicago and the lake beyond. Even though it was night, she could see the marina lights falling on the solid black mass that was Lake Michigan. The moon was almost full and pale reflections bounced off the lumbering ice patches.

This was one of the most spectacular and most expensive hotels in Chicago. Riley had been here many times, in the lobby or the meeting rooms to cover stories. She had even been in the guest rooms, interviewing visiting rock stars and politicians. But she had never stayed a night here. There had been no reason, since she had an apartment less than 15 minutes away.

The fact that Joe had rented this room made her smile in a simpering way she thought she had left behind in junior high school. When they emerged from her apartment and rode the elevator down, he hadn’t said where they were going. He had stood in stony silence, ignoring her questions. At the door, Andy had hailed a cab for them only after he’d physically pulled her away from Joe, leaned in close and asked her if everything was truly okay.

Uncharacteristically, she’d hugged him quickly and told him things could not be better. The seasoned doorman had looked flustered and for the first time Riley could remember didn’t have any comments.

Music drifted in from the bedroom. Sea songs about sailors looking for distant lands and lovers waiting for their men to return from the storied oceans. Joe appeared in the doorway, wrapped in one of the thick white bathrobes a place like this provided like a cheap motel would provide hand towels.

Sitting on the wide edge of the sunken tub, he took Riley’s glass and refilled it with champagne. Setting the bottle down, he took off the robe and turned to hang it on the hook by the door.

Riley let out a low wolf whistle.

He wiggled his rear end and curled his biceps into a strong man pose. Riley laughed and splashed bubbles at him, which he sidestepped easily. As he filled his own glass, Riley watched him. His body was so beautiful, taut and toned. There were a few bumps and bruises, a scar just below his breastbone but they only gave him character. Deep in her being she craved him, wanted nothing more than the feel of that glorious skin against hers. She could barely stand it another moment without those hard muscles holding her so tight she thought she might not be able to breathe.

Hours later, just as the sun was coming up and fluffy white snowflakes were falling, they sat up in bed and pulled the downy quilt around them.

“Time to make plans,” Riley announced.

Joe groaned. “Do we have to?”

“I don’t intend to stop writing. Granted, the pirate story was a once-in-a-lifetime shot. There won’t be many more like that. But I want to freelance. I could do travel pieces. And every once in a while I may want to come back to cover something that really interests me.”

“Okay. But I’m going to keep working with the research teams and the Island’s Coast Guard.”

“Deal.” She considered for a moment. “Next point is where do we live?”

Joe rolled over and propped his head on his bent elbow. “
Reprieve
has been my home for several years. She’s not brand new. She could use some work. We could spruce her up, make the cabin a little bigger, knock out one of the guest cabins.”

“I don’t want to share my home with customers.” She said it quietly, looking out the window at the night and the snow.

“No more charters on
Reprieve.
We’ll turn the chartering end of it over to Mitchell and Anthony. They can run the other boats. My consulting business is doing just fine. The charters on
Reprieve
were a diversion anyway. They weren’t really making much money.” When Riley didn’t respond, he touched her shoulder lightly. “Riley, this is important.
Reprieve
is important.” He reached out and touched her bare shoulder. “I’ll live anywhere you want.” His teeth were gritted and his face somber.

She rolled over and looked into his eyes, a serious expression passing between them. “You mean it? You’d really move to New York with me and live in the middle of the city? Or how about Kansas? There’s no ocean there. In fact, I’m not sure they have any lakes big enough for a sailboat.”

To his credit, his eyes only flickered a little and his cheek muscles worked for only a few moments before he answered. “If that’s what will make you happy.”

Slowly, a smile spread across her face. “Of course we’ll live on
Reprieve
. Where else could we live? That’s our home.”

“So you’ve been jiving me this whole time?” Joe sat up straighter, the sheet falling away from his chest, revealing the toned muscles. His hair was mussed just the way Riley liked it, not totally out of control but giving him a wild, untamed look.

“I wouldn’t call it jiving. Maybe testing.”

Quickly, he rolled on top of her, his legs spread over her, his arms pinning her wrists at either side of her head. “Time to get even.” His voice was husky.

“Get as even as you want.” She freed her hands and wrapped her arms around his neck, bringing him down on top of her, feeling his weight and his lips as they met hers.

Chapter 12

Only in the tropics could it be a cool night one moment and a blazing day the next. This promised to be another gorgeous day, warm and sunny with a little bit of an ocean breeze to moderate the heat.

Riley sat in the cockpit of
Reprieve
sipping hot tea and watching the sun come up. The night was giving way to the day but the air still held a twinge of chill. Her toes were kept warm by the ancient fuzzy slippers she’d brought from Chicago and the rest of her she’d wrapped in a quilt. The past few weeks she’d gotten into the habit of waking before the sun, putting on coffee for Joe and tea for herself and then huddling into a corner of
Reprieve
’s cockpit listening to the fish splash in the water around them, the rigging make bell-like noises against the mast and the last calls of the night birds. There was such peace, such solace in these moments before dawn that she treasured them. In another few months, she might be yearning for this alone time in a world that was suspended between night and day.

While she finished her tea and the sun lit up the harbor as though a spotlight cutting the night for a Hollywood premiere, she heard Joe rummaging around below, getting himself a cup of coffee. His head popped out into the cockpit and with his sailor’s eye, he automatically surveyed the condition of the sky, the sea, and the proximity of the other boats in the harbor. He also took in
Reprieve
from bow to stern, checking that her dock lines were holding, she wasn’t listing to either side, and her gear was still secured to the deck.

“What?” He noticed Riley’s smile as he sat beside her and shifted some of the quilt onto himself. He was wearing his usual bedtime attire of pajama bottoms and not much else. Riley never thought he looked sexier or more desirable than when he first hit the deck in the morning, his beard a faint shadow on his face, his hair caught between a spike and a flattened hat look, and his skin flushed from sleep.

“You look marvelous, darling.” She reached over and kissed him.

“Don’t start something you can’t finish.” He propped his coffee cup into one of the drink holders so that both his hands were free to explore her spine, inch-by-inch as he nuzzled her neck and licked her ear.

“You’re too much of an animal.” She laughed as she said it and pushed him away. “Geez, a wife can’t even kiss her husband good morning without him taking liberties.” She batted her eyelashes in her best southern belle impression, which was really quite bad.

He reached for his coffee with one hand and let the other drape around the shelf that was her belly now. “Did he wake you up again?” He stroked her stomach, which to her had become an enormous ball.

“I’m not worried,” she said. “Because in two months, you’ll be the one walking her on deck in the wee hours of the morning.” They had decided not to find out the sex of their baby.

Joe cupped his hands into a makeshift megaphone and bent close to her belly button. “I’m officially looking forward to it,” he said softly but directly. “You and me, pal, we’ll talk fishing and trimming the jib and how impossible women are, all while your mom is fast asleep in the main bunk.”

“Speaking of that, I think I’ll feed both of us and then take a little rest before we have to go, today.”

“What time is the ceremony?”

“Noon. At Rosalee’s. We may have to pull a chair up for me and my godchild may have to be christened while her godmother is sitting down. I don’t know if I can stand that long. Junior here has shifted my center of gravity.”

“I don’t think our godchild will mind one bit.” He kissed her and then turned away to get ready.

She was not the only one sitting. The staff from Rosalee’s had hauled about a dozen wicker chairs in a semi-circle on the patio. Riley was in one, Joe standing behind her, his hand protectively on her shoulder. Others were taken up by Rosa and Stanley and Millie’s mother who had been on the island for three weeks and was considering staying. Aggie was a surprise. Riley had expected button-down, mid-west, tight-lipped. But she was a slight woman with a short mop of stark white hair and a constant wonder, almost giddiness about life. She didn’t seem to sweat much over the little stuff or the details. That’s why she turned out the way she did, Millie insisted, because her mother was always too busy contemplating the bigger picture in life to be worried about whether the bills were paid or there was bread to pack school lunches. Millie’s sister, Janice, a younger version of the old Millie, the Millie who ate, slept, and breathed work, was here. Janice’s hair was a shade lighter than Millie’s but brushed back from her face in a functional style. Although she seemed to be paying attention to the ceremony, Riley couldn’t help but feel that Janice was calculating the minutes until she could get back to her electronic calendar and catch up on e-mails and voice mail.

Of course Anthony and Mitchell were here. Since they had taken over the day-to-day running of the charter business and moved to the other side of the island, Riley rarely saw them. The business seemed to agree with them. Anthony was as tan and fit as ever but he had added a sense of command and confidence since being put in charge. Mitchell looked like he’d stepped off the pages of a fashion magazine, with a white, oversized shirt flopping in the wind, khaki pants, boat shoes with just the right amount of scruff, and designer sunglasses.

The minister who had married them took little Rosie from Millie and cradled her in oversized arms that dwarfed the baby. She moved to the center of the circled guests, her gray braid moving in the gentle ocean breeze. In an ancient ceremony that brought tears to Riley’s eyes, she baptized the baby with ocean water and presented her to God. She lectured the family on the responsibilities of raising a child and reminded them that they must all be involved in the life of this precious human being. When she handed her back to her mother, Riley could see tears on many other cheeks, including Rosa’s and Mitchell’s. Even Joe tightened his grip on her shoulder, as much emotion as he was willing to show in this public setting. But Riley knew what he was thinking. Funny how they’d learned to read each other’s thoughts. He was thinking that in a few months, this would be their baby they were baptizing. It would be their child they would ask God and the assembled guests to help them raise.

Afterward, there was a luncheon with every food Rosalee’s could muster from fresh fruits to slow-roasted meats and luscious desserts. Riley sat down at one of the tables, her plate piled high, to do some serious eating.

“I miss you.” Mitchell pecked her cheek and pulled out the chair next to her.

“I know. I miss you, too.” Riley managed the words around bites of foods.

“You sure you don’t have triplets in there?”

“Shut up. I’m pregnant. I can’t see my feet anymore. Sunbathing is dangerous. Someone might harpoon me. Eating is about the only pleasure I have left.”

“It will all be worth it in a few months.” Their eyes strayed to Millie and Henri who were, as usual, gazing at little Rosie, who was being held by Millie’s mom. For two intelligent adults, they had turned into mushy baby lovers. Every time a conversation came up that didn’t involve babies, their eyes glazed and you could just tell they had lost interest.

“Will I be that obnoxious about this baby?” Riley rubbed her stomach where the baby was kicking and rippling the skin.

“Worse.”

“Thanks a lot.”

“I intend to be just as bad. My sister’s kids are too far away, I only see them once or twice a year. I can’t wait to be an honorary uncle to this kid.”

“Uncles have to babysit, change diapers, clean up spit up.”

“Hello. Where is that in the job description?”

They both laughed.

“We wound up in a good place, Mitchell.”

“We sure did.”

They both looked at the patio, filled with people they loved, and who cared deeply about them. The sun was bright and hot but they were in the shade and the ocean breeze kept them comfortable. Down the hill,
Reprieve
bobbed at her anchor.

Across the patio, Riley watched as Henri handed the baby to Joe. The man who was tough enough to stand on deck in a near-hurricane and steer them to safety, to fight off pirates without a moment’s hesitation, and stand up to her, which was no small feat, visibly melted as little Rosie batted her eyelashes at him. The scene ushered Riley’s spirit forward but her body didn’t respond as quickly. She wanted to be there next to Joe, touching the baby’s soft head, listening to her gurgles. Her own baby lay on top of her like an anchor and leaping out of chairs was no longer an option.

“Mitchell, help me up,” she finally capitulated. She loved being pregnant except for the times when she had to ask for help. She’d never been good at that, had always prided herself on being able to take care of herself. In a little less than a year, though, she had made great progress. She had admitted to herself that living without Joe would not be living at all. She had also come to see that she needed these people around her and that she needed this place. This island, like no other place on earth, brought her a sense of peace and inner calm that she hadn’t known since she was a child. There were still moments when the adrenaline started pumping and she felt a physical need to rev things up, rush forward, put everything she had into gear and meet some imaginary deadline.

The rush of being a reporter, of scooping the competition or uncovering a compelling story, was hard to let go. But there were rewards that were worth the effort. She didn’t miss the constant tension in her shoulders and neck, the overwhelming feeling that she was always running behind no matter how hard she worked, or the suspicion that there was always a better story out there she was missing. The Riley who had chosen to live on this island was embracing her new life and the new life growing within her. That was much more important than any story could ever be. She had come to realize that all the awards and honors in the world would look pretty lined up on her mantel but she’d rather have Joe’s sandals shoved under her bunk and the baby’s foot jammed into her rib. Mitchell made exaggerated grunting noises and pantomimed a back injury as he helped her up.

“I don’t even care,” Riley told him. “This is worth it.” She rubbed her stomach for effect. “I’ll worry about the weight once this little bugger is born safe and sound.”

“There seems to be a baby explosion on this island right now,” Mitchell said.

“Why don’t you and Anthony join in?”

“We just might do that. We’ve been talking about it, made some preliminary inquiries at an adoption agency.”

“Oh my gosh.” Riley grabbed him and hugged him. “I couldn’t be happier for you. And I can’t think of two better parents.”

“There are some hurdles,” he said. “We’re not exactly Ozzie and Harriet.”

“A child who needs a home won’t care about that. All that child cares about is being loved and protected.”

“I so hope you’re right.”

“I’m always right. When are you going to learn that?”

For a moment they were quiet, gazing out at the sea, which was the deep shade of blue-green that they used on the postcards. Out on the horizon, a large freight ship was passing by, kicking up a wake they could see even from here. The sands of the beach sparkled like jewels and the umbrellas the tourists used echoed the bright colors of the forest.

“Johnny and Grace are coming next week. They’re chartering with one of our newer captains. Seems like a competent guy.”

“I know,” Riley answered. “I talked to Grace last week.” Ever since the charter that had gone so terribly wrong, Riley had stayed in touch with the couple. They would be the honorary grandparents for this baby.

“If little doo-wop there doesn’t make an appearance while they’re here, Grace will be beside herself.”

“Little doo-wop, as you so affectionately call the baby, isn’t scheduled for next week. That would be a bit early. But Grace and Johnny will be back. Next week is all about some R and R before we plunge into parenthood.”

“Speaking of plunging, there’s a rum punch calling to me. Too bad little doo-wop makes you stick to the punch part only.” Mitchell moved toward the bar, which once again was set up in the corner of the patio.

Riley went to stand next to her husband, who was cradling the baby in both hands. She rested her head on his shoulder and peered down into the tiny face. Rosie was so beautiful; that was the only word for her. Her golden skin tones were a combination of Millie’s paleness and Henri’s sun-burnished shade. She had her mother’s dark hair and her father’s balanced features.

“When this kid grows up, the boys are going to be standing in line,” Riley said, holding out her hand to the baby and feeling a slight thrill when a small fist closed around her index finger.

“Uncle Joe will be there to make sure none of those nasty boys get anywhere near his goddaughter,” Joe cooed and rocked her.

Around them were the sounds of celebration—glasses clinking, laughter, chattering voices. Below them, the sea kept up its gentle background noise. In the jungle, birds called to each other and trees rustled in the slight wind. On the patio there was just enough breeze to keep it comfortable.

“I’m so lucky.” Riley sighed against Joe’s shoulder. “Everything and everyone I love is here. I came so close to throwing it all away.”

“See that, Rosie,” Joe told the baby. “Uncle Joe will take care of Aunt Riley and make sure she doesn’t make any more dumb, dumb decisions.”

“I can make my own decisions, thank you very much, and I’ll teach Rosie to do the same.” Riley slapped her husband playfully on the back of the head.

“Stop hogging my child.” Henri reached for his daughter and Joe shifted the infant to her father. A dribble of spit-up trickled down the front of Joe’s shirt and they laughed as he dabbed at the mess.

“Get used to it,” Henri said. “I don’t wear anything anymore that can’t be washed and dried inside of an hour.” In the middle of the patio, a circle parted and Henri and Rosie passed into the center of it. Millie and Rosa each reached out to smooth the heirloom dress the baby wore for her big day. Mitchell made faces at her, trying to coax a smile and even stolid Anthony smiled at Rosie.