Course of the Heart (14 page)

With the slightest of hope that she might not fall, she could make out her route to safety through the fading daylight.

“Don’t look down.” She was barely aware that she had spoken the words, if only in a whisper, as she inched her way along the ledge toward the cascading rocks that would lead her to the trail. Her legs began to shake with the realization that she was so close to safety, yet only one misstep from death. As she continued along the narrow ledge she saw that it ended, approximately three feet from the row of rocks that led to the trail back to the summit. When she came to the end of the ledge, her eyes involuntarily glanced downward. The vision caused her to feel faint, as dizziness overcame her. She cried out to Drew once again, and the sound of his name echoed in the quiet stillness of the mountain’s face.

She took a few deep breaths and lunged across the void, reaching for a thick tree limb that protruded from the face of the cliff. Her hand found the limb and clamped down hard, as her feet scuffled to find the stability of a crevice. Both of her feet failed to find purchase and for a moment she was once again at the mercy of a tree limb. With the last of her strength she pulled herself upward until her boots connected with a crevice. Without stopping to catch her breath she climbed up the face of the wall of rock until she was safely on the trail. She turned and leaned against the safety of the inside wall of the trail. For a long moment she leaned her head back and gazed into the last light of the darkening sky.

She was safe.

The tears came hard and fast as she thought of the man who had saved her. Although Drew hadn’t been there with her, it had been thoughts and longings for him that had spurred her on, when otherwise she might have given up.

She longed to be with him–to feel his body against hers.

She had been such a fool to leave him. She knew now that she belonged with him, if that time were only a short while. Anytime with him would be worth the risk. She wiped the tears from her eyes and stood, hugging herself against the chill from the loss of the warmth of the sun, as the last of the daylight was gone, throwing the mountainside into darkness. She took the flashlight from the inside pocket of her jacket and flipped the switch.

Although she was an hour from the end of her journey, she didn’t mind.

The path would be clear.

Chapter 12

Two weeks later, British Virgin Islands

The mountains of Tortola loomed under azure skies in the distance. The other islands of the BVI, as well as the US Virgin Islands surrounded
Sail Out
like oil on canvass.

It had been quite a cruise. Most days were tolerable, but the nights had been unbearable. Sleep had been hard to come by. Eating had become only something he had to do to survive. Even the drinking did little to squelch the pain of losing Sam. There had been several times he had wanted to turn back. No, not to turn back specifically, but just to give up. And then it became only a quest, because he had no idea what else to do. His big payoff was in sight, and he couldn’t get excited about it. He wondered how she was. Where she was. He silently prayed she was okay, ignoring the ominous feeling that something wasn’t right.

The day before, he’d strapped the urn to the mast. He didn’t know why he had done it, it just seemed appropriate. Might as well let the deceased lady enjoy her last days, before she became part of the Caribbean.

With an hour left before dusk, Drew tied up to his prescribed slip at the marina in Roadtown, and after clearing customs, thought about going into town for a bite to eat. After a round of internal argument, he instead opened his next to last can of tuna. As he absently forked the flakes of fish from the can, he felt the renewed pain of wanting her back. His only link with her now seemed to be the tuna. They had laughed about never wanting to eat it again. Most of the contents of the can went overboard. Drew took the urn below and locked it up.

He took a bottle of scotch to bed.

The priest was painting the exterior of his church when Drew arrived with the urn. That morning he’d made the prescribed call to the attorney in Fairhope. As stipulated in the Will, the attorneys then contacted the Bank of Nova Scotia in Roadtown, Tortola and wired the funds for release to Drew, subject to confirmation from the priest that the urn had been delivered. Fortunately, no lien had been placed on any of his assets. Nevertheless, Drew knew he would do the right thing and pay the Note off, as well as take care of his other debt. A tidy sum would remain, enough for him to live for quite a while. At least it would give him enough time to figure out where to go and what to do from here.

“I think I have something you’ve been waiting for?” Drew shouted from the base of the ladder.

“Mr. Richey, I presume?”

“One and the same, Father. At your service.”

The priest studied his face for a moment. “If you don’t mind my saying so, you look like hell.”

Drew smiled as the priest carefully stepped down the ladder, and placed the brush and can of paint on the ground. Drew handed over the urn.

“Walk with me, Mr. Richey. I’ll give the bank a call, then you can pick up your money.”

Drew followed close behind as the priest walked down the center aisle of the church, off to the side of the sanctuary and through a door into his office. Within minutes, he’d called the bank and spoken to the banker. Although the conversation was in English, Drew hadn’t a clue what he had said.

“You’re all set, Mr. Richey. You need only ask for Mr. Clawson at the Bank of Nova Scotia on the waterfront and claim your money. He offered to set up an account or wire it to any bank in the world for you.”

Drew shook the hand of the priest and was tempted to ask him to pray for him. Instead he followed the priest back outside. “The bank is about three blocks that way.” The priest pointed eastward with a white paint-stained black hand.

Drew turned to leave and paused. “If you don’t mind my asking, when is the service?”

“I don’t mind your asking at all, young man. The Will stipulates that a boat be engaged to take the late Ms. Williams’s ashes to an inlet at Iguana Island. There, narrative from the deceased’s Will will be read and then her ashes will be committed to the Caribbean Sea.”

“Who will be in attendance?”

“You’re looking at the entire internment party, as I stand before you.” The priest bowed comically.

“Have you secured a boat?”

“No, sir. In all honesty, the attorneys believed it was a long shot that you would actually make it here with the urn. I’m basically acting from a short conversation I had with Ms. Williams, shortly before she passed. She apparently was a regular visitor to our beautiful islands.”

Drew thought about this for a moment and scratched his head. “I would be happy to transport you and the ashes to . . .”

“Iguana Island?”

“Yes, to Iguana Island.” Drew scoffed. “Quite honestly, I’ve got nothing better to do.”

“The Will allows for compensation for your services.”

“That won’t be necessary. Ms. Williams has compensated me quite enough.”

“Very well then, I just need to receive the narrative for the service from the attorneys, and have time to read it over.”

“How about tomorrow?”

“I believe I can have it by then. Iguana Island is only an hour or so from Tortola, maybe two in a sailboat. Shall we say ten-ish?”

“Ten o’clock it is. I’m docked at the wharf in Roadtown.”

“I will meet you there.”

On the way to the bank, Drew noticed a brokerage firm sign. He ventured inside and within a few minutes had set up an account and was given a temporary cash card. The broker even called the bank and had the half million dollars deposited into his new investment account. Drew was now a half millionaire with over three thousand ATM’s worldwide at which to claim his fortune. He asked for five hundred dollars, which was gleefully given to him, and walked out.

Drew stood on the sidewalk in front of the broker’s office and contemplated his next course. He was free to roam about the world at his leisure. Tomorrow, before the service, he would wire money to pay off the Note and all his bills, but today he would let the money sit in the newly opened account–minus the five hundred, of course.

His decision made, he turned and began the short walk to the marina. On his way he comically replayed the events that transpired at Emerald Bay, and the feeling he had when he returned and found his boat gone. He chuckled to himself, and realized he had not locked his boat once again. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. Of course there would be no card from a Mr. Walters this time. Besides, he had read where crime was virtually non-existent in the BVI, so he needn’t worry about his boat.

Sail Out
was indeed there, right where he had left it and as he stepped onboard, a wonderful aroma drifted to his nostrils. Thinking the delicious scent was coming from another boat, he looked both ways, only to find no other boat within two or three slips from him.

Shaking it off, he moved to the top of the steps to the galley. He stopped dead in his tracks and shook his head, trying to shake away the image of the woman standing at his galley stove with frying pan in hand. Small and clad in dark shorts and top was a woman who greatly favored the love of his life. When she turned to face him, a large lump formed in his throat and the tears streamed down his face.

“I hope you like tuna,” Sam said, holding out a spoon. He moved slowly down the ladder, took the sample into his mouth, but could not swallow it.

“I love tuna.” Drew managed to get the words out and the food down without crying. Tears streamed down Sam’s face as she jumped into his arms.

“How?”

“I don’t want to talk. I don’t want to think. Make love to me, Drew.”

Drew had enough therewithal to turn off the burner before ripping her top off.

“That cost twenty-five dollars.” Samantha nervously fumbled with the zipper on Drew’s shorts.

“I’ll buy you another,” he muttered, pushing her shorts over her hips and down to the floor of the cabin.

“Are you wealthy?” She reached inside his shorts and pulled his erection upright.

“No.” Drew picked her up by her buttocks and guided her sweet spot to the tip of his erection.

“You’re not?” Air gushed from her lungs as he plunged his hardness deep inside her waiting wetness.

“
I’m
not.
We
are.” He turned and sat her buttocks on the galley table, pulling her to him, ramming himself further inside of her.

“Music to my ears, Mr. Richey.” She let go of his neck and fell back onto the table, spilling tuna everywhere.

“So you’re only after my money?” Her eyes grew big and he frowned, pushing himself into her even harder.

“Not entirely.” She whimpered as her face told of building ecstasy. As she reached an orgasm, she cried out, “There’s a few other things I love about you.”

“Good, because there a few things I want to spend our money on.” He emptied inside her as he came long and hard. Breathing heavy, he managed to ask, “Wait a minute, a few things you
love
about me?”

“Yes, I love you. And what few things do you want to spend our money on?” She laughed as she struggled to catch her breath.

“For our honeymoon, of course.”

Sam sat up quickly, her breath catching. She could barely talk through crying. “You want to take me on a honeymoon?”

“Well, not right away,” he said, laughing when she frowned. “I want to marry you first.”

Her frown turned to a smile, yet her lips quivered. Neither bothered to put clothes back on. “Then that would mean you love me?”

“With all my heart.”

“When?”

“When did I know I loved you? Or when are we going to get married?”

“Both.”

“I knew I loved you when you emerged from the locker, looking like a corpse.”

“And the marrying part?”

“Well, as soon as possible.”

“Really?”

“Well, maybe after tomorrow.”

“Why not tomorrow?”

“We have a full day scheduled tomorrow.”

She laughed and threw her arms around his neck. “What do we have to do tomorrow that’s so important it can’t wait for our wedding?”

He turned serious and pulled her close. “Well, in the morning I have debts to pay off while you go shopping.”

“What am I shopping for?”

“Something simple, not too informal. Buy it as if you would wear it to church.”

She kissed him, smiling broadly. “You’re too much, Mr. Richey. But there’s something I want to ask you.”

“Anything.”

“Can we be there when Janet’s ashes are strewn?”

“Yes, that’s what we’re doing tomorrow. I volunteered
Sail Out
to take us to the ceremony. Ten in the morning the priest will be here with the urn and we will take a little trip to Iguana Island for the short service.”

“Thank you, you’re a sweet man.”

“Now, will you stop talking so I can kiss you?”

“With pleasure.”