The Reef Roamer (The Roamer Series Book 1) (18 page)

Mark was soon at her side again, guiding her across the slick docks where his boat waited.

***

Jayme stood behind the windshield, protecting her dress from the salt spray. The cooler night air helped to clear her thoughts. What was she doing? Acting like a teenager in heat, that’s what! It felt wrong, yet so right. How could that be? This was the first romantic involvement she’d had at all since Donald died. Why was she doing this? She didn’t know why, but she knew she couldn’t, didn’t want to stop. They hadn’t done anything more than kiss. She knew she wanted more, much more, however, not yet, not now, not tonight. Jayme felt trapped. She wanted to pace, to work off the nervous energy building inside, but the deck of the boat was slippery and pitching in the waves. Jayme shifted from foot to foot until Mark pulled alongside the slip at the Holm Cay marina.

She jumped out of the boat and began pacing the dock, her stride long and graceful, and looked strangely out of place. Mark wouldn’t try to force her, would he? No, he wasn’t the type. However, he was highly aroused, of that she was sure, and she had led, not followed him through a maze of erotic sensations. She was so preoccupied with her thoughts she didn’t see him climb onto the dock.

Mark had noticed a change in Jayme on the boat ride over. She seemed distant, edgy, and afraid. Perhaps she’d changed her mind or just wasn’t ready. As much as he wanted her, ached to make love to her, he knew he’d leave if she wanted him to go. He reached out to take her hand, to stop her pacing.

The moment Mark’s fingers encircled her wrist, Jayme’s training took over her reactions. An outside flick of the wrist broke his hold. The momentum of the movement brought her hand up to now grip his; a step backward put her in position to deal a disabling kick to his ribs. Her foot had barely left the boards when Jayme’s mind kicked in and she realized what she’d nearly done. Stunned, she looked at Mark, and sorrow took over. She let go of his wrist.

“Oh, Mark. I didn’t mean…I’m so sorry…I…I…” Jayme stammered, tears threatening behind her lids.

Mark didn’t move, didn’t say a word. After what felt like an eternity to Jayme, he reached for her hand again. This time she didn’t resist. He opened the clenched fist, one finger at a time, kissing each finger as he went. He then kissed the sensitive palm and closed her hand again.

“I would never hurt you, Jayme. Never. And I would never try to take what you don’t want to give.” Mark stared at her, long and hard. It was a look full of frustration, hurt…and love. With a profound change, he smiled and jumped down into the boat.

“I’ll see you about noon for our trip to Hope Town. You’ll love the lighthouse!”

Leaving her with no opportunity to protest, he sped away over the waves into the night.

***

Jayme lay staring at the ceiling well into the night, tears flowing freely down the sides of her smooth face, soaking the pillow.

“Oh, Donald,” she sobbed, “let me go. I will always love you, but you’re gone, and I’m still here! I want to live again. Love again! Please, please let me go.”

She turned into the wet pillow to muffle the sobs that now racked her whole body.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Jayme awoke late, her head fuzzy from the restless few hours of sleep, her eyes red and puffy from hours of crying.

I should feel awful,
she thought as she stood under the shower and let the water sluice over her body and thought it odd that she didn’t. Using generous amounts of soap, Jayme lathered herself, working up soothing mounds of foam. As the warm water rinsed the suds away, Jayme felt her tension rinse away as well. She applied perfumed shampoo to her hair, working it all the way to the long ends. Each time the water took away the froth she’d created, Jayme felt lighter. Now sensing the washing as an interesting method of therapy, she applied a thick conditioner to her auburn waves and piled it atop her head to let it work, securing it with a plastic clip, and lathered herself all over again. By the time she was ready to rinse the conditioner out of her hair, Jayme’s attitude had changed tremendously.

Toweling off, she looked at herself in the foggy mirror. Leaning forward, she wiped the steam away with a dry washcloth, taking in her own reflection. She stepped back and looked at her naked body. Her breasts were full but not overly large; her legs were long and firm, athletic; she had a narrow waist, accented by the slim lines that formed the contours of a figure unmarked by a difficult birthing. And that figure was striking, exceptionally so for her age. Jayme knew men found her attractive, and now only one man’s thoughts mattered to her. Would he still want her after what she did last night? She felt a sorrow-filled embarrassment over her defensive reaction.

Jayme studied her face.
Only a few wrinkles, not bad for forty-three years old,
she thought as she dotted her face with a thick aloe moisturizer and blended it smooth.

Dressed in a loose top and a pair of comfortable shorts, Jayme sat outside to brush her hair dry. While it was still slightly damp, she swept it up into a loose knot and pinned it securely to the top of her head. The style was becoming, yet practical. It was cooling to have the thick hair off her neck.

It was almost eleven o’clock. Mark would be arriving in an hour. Jayme found she was not at all nervous as she had been yesterday. Her calmness was comforting. Although she did feel in control of herself once again, she felt strangely light and…free. She sighed, then headed for the hotel lobby to see if the message she was expecting had come yet.

***

“Hi, John. I’m expecting a fax from the States. Has it come yet?” Jayme leaned her elbows on the counter in the same manner she’d seen the employees do.

“As a matter of fact, Ms. Haller, you do have a message.” John, a tall blond from Australia, reached toward a pigeon-holed styled backboard. “‘Ere ya go.” When he handed it over, Jayme noticed it was on hotel stationery. “Thanks.”

The envelope Jayme held was not the one she’d been waiting for, the one from her son Alan saying whether or not he’d been able to pull a few days leave and would join her. Jayme flipped the letter over in her hands. The envelope was securely sealed as though the sender wanted to be sure it wouldn’t accidentally come open. Opening it, Jayme saw it was a note from Marge Thomas.

Jayme,

Thank you so much for the video! We borrowed a DVD player from the management and viewed it last night. I’ll treasure it always. I always felt you were special; now I know you are. When I saw myself underwater, a line from my favorite musical kept coming to mind: “If they could see me now, that old gang of mine.”

Thanks to you, they will!

I noticed the other night that there is something special between you and the young doctor, so you’re going to get a piece of advice from an old and dying woman whether you want it or not: Don’t waste today on yesterday, or there will never be enough tomorrows. Even though they are few now for me, I have enough tomorrows. Make all of yours count.

See you in Aruba!

Affectionately, Marge

At first Jayme was stunned, realizing the Thomas’ knew her identity before they left the island, but she was also sure they hadn’t said a word to anyone. Marge didn’t even mention The Reef Roamer in the note, surely as protection that it might be read by someone else. A warm glow blossomed in Jayme as she thought about Marge’s advice.
Don’t waste today on yesterday
. It was good advice. It made her think of her sister reminding her Donald was dead and that she wasn’t. Pieces began to fall into place. Jayme had felt free earlier; now she felt positively released, buoyant. She went back to her room to ready her equipment for the afternoon tour with Mark, feeling this would be a special day. Very special indeed. Was she about to look her destiny in the face, that destiny Miguel spoke of?

***

Dr. Steele finished with his last patient, wondering what the rest of the day would bring. Surely if Jayme didn’t want to see him again, she would have sent word, making up some lame excuse to cancel their afternoon. No such message had arrived. Locking the doors behind Naomi, Mark recalled the look in Jayme’s eyes last night. Sorrow. Shame. She hadn’t meant to…to what? Defend herself against a gesture she was trained to perceive as a threat? He couldn’t hold that against her. Conditioned reflex, that’s all it was. She’d been preoccupied and nervous. Hell,
he
had been preoccupied and nervous. Closing his eyes, Mark could still feel her in his arms, smell her perfume, and taste her lips. He wanted her and knew she wanted him too, yet she was afraid of something. He’d always been a patient man, and he knew he could wait, forever if need be, to have the one he loved. Mark would wait until Jayme came to him, because she was the kind of person who didn’t do things halfway, and she wouldn’t come to him until she loved him as he loved her. All he had to do was convince her of his love. Was it that simple?

***

Jayme was still wearing the cocoa-colored shorts and the oversized tangerine top she’d put on earlier, but she’d belted the top with her fanny-pack purse and attached the camera strap. The sandals securely strapped to her feet were cool and comfortable, ideal for a day of walking. She found an empty table with a full view of the docks so she could see Mark approach.

Sitting in the shade of the table umbrella, her arm resting across her lap, Jayme saw Daniel approach.

“Hi, Jayme. How’s your arm feeling?” Daniel seemed concerned yet cheerful.

“It’s still pretty sore, though I try not to think about it. I wish I could say ‘all in a day’s work;’ however, I have to admit I’ve never had anything like this happen before,” Jayme said lightly, trying to ease any guilt he might have. “By the way, did you ever find out who snagged me?”

“As a matter of fact, I did. I was on my way to your room when I saw you out here. You’re not going to believe this, but it was Marstead.”

“Bruce?” Jayme leaned back in her chair, amazed at the irony of it all.

“Oh, hi, Doc,” Daniel acknowledged Mark, who was approaching. Jayme looked up at Mark and seeing the doubt as his eyes met hers smiled to ease him. “I was just telling Jayme we found out who hooked her the other day,” Daniel continued. “Well, anyway, John, our fishing guide, was taking Marstead out for the day, and—”

“Bruce Marstead?” Mark cut in angrily.

“Yeah, you know him too? So this Marstead thought he’d get some casting practice in while they were looking for a spot to fish. As soon as John saw the line in the water, he came down hard on him. Read him the proverbial riot act. They didn’t know what had happened until I started asking around later. I found Bruce and told him Jayme would be within her rights to press charges. I think he checked out early. He said something about a bum wrist.”

Daniel stared when Jayme and Mark looked at each other and burst out laughing.

After Daniel left, Mark grinned down at Jayme. “Are you ready?” She nodded. “Listen, Jayme, about last night at the dock…”

“I hope you can forgive my reaction, Mark, and let it go. I have. A wise person once said, ‘Don’t waste today on yesterday.’” She beamed warmly, touching his hand. “Let’s go!”

***

The boat ride over to Hope Town took forty minutes at the leisurely pace Mark set. Their conversation was leisurely, easy, and friendly, the strain they both worried about nonexistent. Mark tried to explain to Jayme what to expect at Hope Town.

“It’s really not much to see, Jayme. I hope you won’t be too disappointed. The lighthouse is the main attraction, and there is quite a history to it. Once you’ve seen it, you’ll never forget it, and that’s about it. There’s a restaurant on the other side of the island I’d like to stop at first. The Club Soleil, a great seafood and fried chicken place. I didn’t even have time to have breakfast this morning. How about you? Have you had lunch yet?”

“Now that you mention it, I had a light breakfast. I feel like I could eat a whole grouper!”

“A whole grouper?”

“Well, being hungry enough to ‘eat a horse’ doesn’t sound quite apropos in the islands, and groupers can get quite large,” she explained with a laugh.

“I’ll see if they have grouper on the menu,” Mark teased her.

***

After an exquisite lunch of conch chowder and shrimp cakes, they moved the boat to a slip on the lighthouse side of the island. Jayme sat on the deck, cross legged, unpacking her camera and checking the memory cards.

“That truly is an interesting case, Jayme. It looks custom-made,” Mark said hesitantly, fearing it would sound like he was prying.

Jayme beamed at his interest. “It is. I do a lot of traveling, and my equipment can take a real beating. I designed this case three years ago after losing some expensive lenses to the airline. This compartment holds full memory cards, while this one has blanks, and these two are for the thumb drives that usually stay with my computer. The cut outs in the foam hold each of my cameras securely, and these cut outs hold different lenses, and one for the underwater strobe. The closure was the tricky part. It’s now waterproof. So even if the case accidentally ends up overboard, it floats.” Jayme explained each elaborate aspect of the compact case to Mark without hesitation. It felt wonderful to be so honest and open with someone, and her pleasure showed in her eyes.

***

Climbing the steep stairs to the top of the 153-year-old lighthouse, Jayme was amazed as Mark related the recent work done to the old structure.

“A few years ago, six painters and carpenters on the Port Authority team set to work at sprucing up and repairing this old gal. It took them more than four weeks to apply two hundred gallons of red and white paint. They even accidentally dumped a can of red paint down one side of the tower, and at 120 feet high, that’s a long way down. Hope Town’s lighthouse is one of the last kerosene powered and manned lighthouses left in the world and is probably the most photographed with its red and white barbershop-type stripes. Most lighthouses are now automated and without keepers, running on batteries and propane gas cylinders. You’re visiting one of the last truly great landmarks in the world.” Mark was obviously proud of the structure and the service it provided.

“Well, I’m certainly impressed. This is a long walk up, and the steps are so narrow. Aren’t there many accidents? People falling on the steps, I mean.”

“Not that many want to make the trek up. You will be well rewarded for your tenacity, though, milady. The view from up here is like none other in the world.” Mark couldn’t resist using one of Jayme’s phrases and was surprised when she didn’t respond.

Jayme had heard, however, with a slight shiver up her spine, though said nothing.

Once through the tiny hatch-like door at the top, Jayme gasped. “Oh, Mark…what a view! I’ve got to capture this,” Jayme said, checking lighting and adjusting the meters on her digital video camera.

Mark leaned against the railing, content to watch her move. She was graceful and intent. Every move had a purpose. Mark was overwhelmed with unfamiliar yet wonderful feelings. Jayme leaned over the edge, looking down, then out. She brought her camera up to face level and began a slow panoramic scan of the area. When she got to the area Mark was leaning, her heart skipped a beat when he smiled at the camera. Suddenly she stopped, and her face paled.

“What’s wrong, Jayme?”

“Is that coming this way?” Jayme pointed over Mark’s left shoulder, out to the sea, her voice barely a squeak.

Mark turned to the direction she pointed. His heart sank, and his throat went dry. He lifted his face to the quickening breeze, feeling the direction and smelling the ozone. Blue-black thunderheads stretched to the south; lightning lashed within the clouds as the rumbling spilled out in muffled growls.

“If it isn’t, it’s going to come mighty close. It looks to be about thirty miles away and moving fast. We better get out of here.” He tried not to sound too worried, but Jayme could tell he was concerned.