The Beach House (24 page)

“So where are we going?”

“A secret place.”

“It won’t be a secret anymore once I get there.”

“Oh, you’d have a hard time finding your way back,” he replied with a smug smile.

“I imagine I’m not the first one you’ve taken there.”

He laughed. “No.” He checked the fuel and oil on the motor. “I’ve got friends still trying to find it again. I have to come in and fetch them after they get themselves lost.”

Cara cast an uneasy look out at the landscape of thick grassy marshes that seemed to go on forever. “Can we get lost in there?”

“Some folks can.” He put heavy black sunglasses on, leaned back and grabbed hold of the engine. “Hold on now. We’re ready to go.”

As the engine sprang to life, she gripped the sides of the boat. Brett easily guided the boat into the waterway, as comfortable on the water as he was on land. “Hang on to your hat,” he called out over the engine’s din and they took off at full throttle. The tide was going out so the current moved strong in the opposite direction. The little boat bobbed against the choppy water and the wind tore at her cap. She reached for it, but it flew off her head. Brett caught it and tucked it in the back of the boat under the rubber boots. His own hair was streaming from his face and his squared chin cut the wind like a masthead. Traveling so close to the water in the small boat was akin to riding a motorcycle on an open road. Everything was closer, more immediate. The spray of the water sprinkled her face, cool and salty.

She’d only ridden on a motorcycle once and it was actually more a glorified moped. Yet the wind against her face and her arms tight around a man she was currently infatuated with had been thrilling and made her yearn for a ride on a powerful bike someday. This was as close as she’d ever come. She felt alive and exhilarated.

Two larger craft passed them, creating wakes that had Cara reaching again for the sides of the boat. Brett only waved nonchalantly and kept his eyes straight ahead. They couldn’t talk over the roar of the engine as they bounced along. So, relaxed at not having to maintain conversation, she admired the view. She saw several long-necked egrets wading in the shallows of the marsh. Overhead, a pelican banked and flew off. A ways farther, Brett tapped her shoulder then pointed. Cara followed the trajectory and gasped out loud. A dolphin was streaking through the water only a few feet away, keeping up. It seemed to be playing with them, surfacing with a loud whoosh through its blowhole. A minute later she saw another one, even closer. She wanted to reach out and touch the sleek gray skin as it skimmed the surface only an arm’s length away. She laughed out loud. Looking over at Brett, she saw his smile stretch across his face at her reaction.

He turned off the main waterway onto a narrow channel of water. She watched the pair of dolphins swim off until they disappeared. She and Brett were winding their way through the thick of the marsh where several other channels interconnected to form an enormous maze. She looked to the left and right, a little afraid. The grasses rose up high over her head, blocking out any horizon markers. In only a few minutes, she was totally lost. She only hoped Brett wasn’t bluffing when he’d claimed he could find his way back.

The farther they traveled in, the more the tide moved out and the water levels lowered. In some areas it drained away completely, exposing steaming mudflats where wading birds hunted for dinner in the soggy soil. Brett slowed their pace and the engine lowered to a bubbly growl as he expertly motored through the jungle of grass, his eyes on the bank, one hand on the rudder. It was like being Katharine Hepburn and Humphrey Bogart on the
African Queen,
she thought to herself.

“Are we almost there, Mr. Allnut?”

He broke into a grin and pointed to a small hammock. “Just ahead, Rosie,” he called back.

She smiled. He just bumped up a few notches for catching the old movie reference. She always found well-rounded men to be infinitely more fun.

At last he pulled up to the bank of a small, treed island. He brought the boat as far up shore as he could, then shut off the engine. Instantly, the quiet enveloped them. As quickly, Cara felt very far away from the rest of humanity.

“We’re pretty far from dry land,” she said doubtfully, looking off beyond a long stretch of mud.

“This is as close as we can get by boat. It’s just a short walk away.”

“Walk?” Cara’s voice rose in disbelief. Surely she couldn’t have heard right. “Brett, you can’t expect me to walk through that mud! There are acres of it. And who knows what’s in there?”

“That’s the interesting thing about marsh mud,” he replied as he kicked off his sandals. He reached for the pair of rubber boots from the bottom of the boat. “That slimy mud out there is rich in organic matter. All sorts of life forms—oysters, snails, fiddler crabs—live, breed and die in that mud. Not to mention all manner of insects and larvae.”

Cara watched in horror as he pushed his legs into the waders that reached up to his knees, then gathered his gloves, a hammer and the net and threw them into a mud-stained canvas bag.

“I don’t care what those critters do in that gook. I’m not joining them.”

He stood up and took a step toward her. She crouched back with a short yelp.

Brett laughed and stepped out of the boat into the soft, slimy mud. He sank down to his ankles. Moving to her side, he turned his back to her. “Okay, hop on.”

“You’ve got to be kidding.”

“Nope. I’ll carry you.”

“You can’t do that!”

“Unless you’d rather walk.”

“No! Wait. What should I do?”

He looked over his shoulder, eyes twinkling. “You don’t remember how to piggyback?”

“Sure. But we’re not kids anymore. I might hurt you.”

His eyes traveled up and down her thin frame and he snorted. “Hop on. I think I can handle it.”

“Well, okay. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.” She rose and carefully stepped across the boat, afraid it would tip, which was highly unlikely in all that mud. He stooped low and, after a tentative pause, she grabbed onto his shoulders.

“No, I can’t,” she said backing off. “It’s okay. I’ll walk.”

“Honey, a Lowcountry man never lets his lady walk in the mud.”

“Is that on some list of a Southern man’s rules of behavior?”

“Right up there with opening doors and giving up my seat. Learned at my daddy’s knee. So hop on.”

“Oh, okay then. Ready?”

“Any more ready and my legs will atrophy.”

She grabbed hold of his broad shoulders, held her breath and jumped from the boat on to his back, squealing when he slipped his arms under her legs and hoisted her up. His back muscles were as hard as iron and she wriggled to get a grip. She wrapped her arms around his neck, laughing as he bounced her up, gaining purchase.

“Giddy up,” she called out against his neck.

“Look who’s suddenly feeling spry,” he said with mock indignation. He turned and reached for the canvas bag and net. “Mind holding on to this net? Thought we might catch some dinner.”

What a novel idea, she thought as she reached to take the gear. “Got it. Can I carry anything else?”

“Can you handle this, too?” He gave her the canvas bag, which she looped over her arm. Next she saw him reach for the cooler.

“Good God, Brett, you’re not going to carry that, too?”

“Do you have any other suggestions?”

“But it’s so heavy! With me and all. Brett, isn’t it too much? Can you manage?”

“Only one way to find out,” he said, then, with a guttural grunt, he hoisted the cooler into his arms. Cara held her breath and tightened her grip on her parcels and him. He bounced her up once more, tightening his own hold on her legs, then began making his way through the ankle-deep mud like a bull in the harness. She held on to his broad back and tightened her thighs around his sides. She wasn’t blind to the muscle power such a feat demanded but he pushed on through the steaming mud with relative ease. And she had to admit, it was fun.

“How you doing down there, Mr. Allnut?”

“Okay, Rosie,” he said, half turning his head. His neck was right in front of her lips as she lay wrapped around his back and she had to fight the urge to tickle the small auburn curls with her tongue or blow in his ear. She was afraid if she tried either one the great bull would miss a beat and they’d end up in the pluff mud.

“How deep does this mud go?”

“Oh, it can get pretty deep. A couple of times I sank down to my knees.”

“That’s like quicksand,” she replied, not liking the sound of that at all. “What did you do?”

“Only thing you can do. Just rolled onto my back and wiggled till I got my legs out.

“But I’m on your back.”

“Yep.”

She squeezed him with her thighs and he chuckled. It was a deep, sonorous sound that rumbled in his chest.

“Seriously now,” she said, trying not to sound as nervous as she felt. “What happens if you do fall down? What should I do?”

“Stand up, I guess. And wipe the mud off your cute li’l bottom.” He walked a few paces, then added, “But don’t worry about the leeches. I brought some salt.”

Cara stiffened, her mind reeling with visions of Humphrey Bogart covered with bloodsucking leeches as he pulled the
African Queen
through the marshes.

“You sure are a skittish thing,” Brett said. “Feel your muscles, all tense. I could snap your legs like twigs. You’ve got to learn to loosen up.”

“Please don’t drop me,” she pleaded. “I’m terrified of leeches.”

He laughed again, obviously enjoying himself. “I was only joking about the leeches. There aren’t any in here. I wasn’t joking about sinking low in this mud, though. But never at this particular hammock. It’s one of the reasons I like it here so much. There now. Feel better?”

Her muscles loosened and she leaned against his back with a sigh. “That’s mean, to tease a city girl like that.”

“Nah, I’m just having a little fun. For being so book smart, Miss Rutledge, you sure are gullible. You ought to know better, growing up here.”

She’d never in all her life been called gullible. She found it oddly beguiling. “Maybe I am,” she replied. “Honestly? I’m a bit scared.”

He was silent for a moment. “Don’t be,” he said, and she didn’t detect any further teasing in the tone. “I’ll take care of you.”

I’ll take care of you.
Cara warmed to the words, believing them. Had any man ever said that to her? She couldn’t remember one that had. She was proudly self-reliant, not the type that men felt the need to take care of. Instinctively she knew Brett was the kind of man who took care of women. Respected them. He felt at ease in his own skin and didn’t appear the least threatened by a strong woman. Which, in turn, made her feel all the more womanly. She rested her chin against his shoulder, breathing close to his ear. The silence was powerfully erotic, and she was loath to see dry land just ahead. My, my, my, she thought to herself, her mind imitating Emmi’s lusty wail. She could see why Brett Beauchamps stole the hearts of pubescent girls up and down the Carolina coast.

He set her down upon terra firma and stretched his muscles, rolling his shoulders.

“For someone so skinny, you sure pack a punch,” he said.

“Thank you very much,” she replied, setting down the bag. “But just in case you think I’m walking back to the boat, think again. I’ve taken a liking to this kind of transport.”

“You’d best be on your best behavior then, Miss Rutledge.”

She frowned at the implication.

“I’m teasing,” he chided. “Follow me. I’ll show you around.”

They set off again, their feet treading uphill on a path of matted cord grass toward a forest of trees. The sun was just beginning to set, bathing the hammock in a lavender twilight that was as mysterious as it was exotic. They walked through a green border of scrubby shrubs. Farther in, there were places where the trees were so dense it was like an impenetrable wall and as dark as night. Brett led the way single file, following a zigzag path through the thick, shadowy forest.

Inside the canopy of the hammock it was a Garden of Eden, filled with live oaks, hollies, pines, cedars and palmettos. Here and there brilliant red and yellow flowers blossomed in pockets of dappled light. Then, quite unexpectedly, they stepped into a wide circle of space that opened to the sky like an amphitheater. Cara stepped into it cautiously at first, like a deer at a meadow, craning her neck to look up.

“This place is magical,” she exclaimed. “It’s no wonder you keep it a secret.”

He smiled, pleased at her reaction. “Indians used to come here to camp. I’ve found bits of broken pottery and shell mounds. They used to call this a
hammocka,
that’s where the name
hammock
came from. Animals like it, too. Deer, raccoons, birds.”

“Deer? How do they get here?”

“They swim.”

“I don’t believe it. From the mainland?”

“Back and forth. I’ve seen them do it many times. Everything they need is here—shelter, dense nesting spots and plenty of food. Fresh water gathers between dunes after a rain and on the leaves. Just being so far away from the mainland provides protection.”

“I can see why the Indians liked it here. It’s idyllic. And so private, like a temple. It was probably some sort of ancient ritual grounds.” She glanced at him and her lips twitched. “I imagine you’ve developed a few rituals of your own over the years, right on these hallowed grounds.”

“A few. One of which is eating miraculous-tasting food. Let’s set up camp. I seem to remember I invited you to a picnic.”

As she unpacked the cooler, he gathered pieces of wood, making a small campfire in the center of the amphitheater. Then he picked up the gloves and hammer, walked to a shrub, and from there pulled out of hiding an old wooden bushel basket. He held out his hand. “Here are some matches. See if you can’t start a small fire. I’ll be right back.”

“Where are you going? You’re not going to leave me here all alone?”

“You’re perfectly safe. Leeches don’t climb on shore.”

“What about alligators?”

He laughed and shook his head. “Relax, Cara. No gators either, though you might keep your eyes open for snakes. Most likely they’re harmless glass lizards, but stay away from anything with color. I’ll only be a while. I’m going to get some oysters for dinner.”