Theodore took off running down the beach toward the others.
Christmas presents, he thought. Hell. There was something he hadn’t thought about in years. Long minutes passed while he pretended to be fishing. He wasn’t fishing. He was thinking.
Smitty had the children on the beach gathering shells for something. Probably gifts, he thought, the kid’s words eating at him.
He heard their laughter. It was clear and shining, as bright as their faces, like dawn coming through the night. The children’s cheeks were fresh and rosy. Lydia held out her skirt filled with seashells and other treasures while Theodore made them stop and look at everything he found. Annabelle toddled next to Smitty, who sat in the sand like a child rather than an attorney. She dug and talked about their treasures with as much excitement as the kids.
And he sat there, not caring much about anything but watching them. A moment when time held no importance. When nothing else mattered.
After a while he turned and looked at the Pacific. It was the same. The same rolling dunes and flat, wet shoreline spread in a crescent before him. The same coconut palms waved in the constant breeze. The same waves washed up on the shoreline. The same birds flew in the sky.
But somehow he knew things had changed. He didn’t feel the same. And he wasn’t certain if he liked that or not.
He knew the moment when Smitty looked at him. He could feel her look, as warm and fresh as the trade wind that brushed his face. He turned just as she got up. She said something to Lydia who nodded and took the baby. Smitty walked toward him with that long-legged, hip-swaying walk of a woman, the walk that made him want to be behind her, watching.
When she was a few feet away, she smiled. “We’re gathering shells.”
“I can see that.”
She pushed a strand of wind-whipped hair out of her eyes. “I guess you can.” She looked down, then asked, “You want to help?”
He shook his head and smiled with a touch of irony. “I have fish to catch.” He pulled on the line for a moment. “You need something to cremate for dinner.”
“Yes, well, at least I’m consistent.” There was laughter in her voice. She glanced at the fish lying beside him. “How would you like them—charred, incinerated, or just plain scorched?”
He laughed with her.
“I intend to master that skill, you know.” Her voice was filled with both humor and determination but no offense.
He had realized over the past few days that their goading and teasing had changed. From the first moments in the lifeboat and on the island, their conversations had been meant to irritate. Now the teasing was mutual and had become something to ease the tension between them. Something they could laugh at together. He wasn’t certain there could be another woman like her—one he could talk to the way he could tease Smitty. She could laugh at herself.
She had her hands behind her as she stood next to him. The wind pressed her thin clothing against her figure. The ragged hem of her skirt showed her tanned legs and feet. He watched her dig her toes into the sand, a habit of hers he’d begun to notice.
He looked out at the water because he was struck by his reaction to her, a reaction that seemed to grow in intensity.
He wanted her. But he wanted her with more than just his body. He wanted her with his mind as well. And looking at her only made him more uncomfortably aware of it.
She cleared her throat, then cocked her head and gave him one of her direct looks. “We have a problem.”
He waited, then said, “Yeah, sweetheart, I think we do.”
“Good. I’m glad you realize it. We have to do something about Santa Claus.”
That hadn’t been exactly what he was thinking about. He looked up at her. “Like?”
“We need to make some kinds of gifts, toys, something to put in their stockings.” She paused. “I think after all they’ve been through we should try to make this special. For the children.”
He looked at her face, the perfection of it, the smooth honey color of her skin, her golden eyes, a mouth a man could die in and be happy. “I’ll see what I can come up with.”
“Me, too.” She smiled. When she turned and walked back toward the children, he watched her walk the way he had wanted to watch her before. But what he saw wasn’t her hips slowly swaying. What he saw was the image of her smile.
* * *
That evening,no onewas more surprised than Margaret when Hank walked into the hut carrying a fresh island pine tree that was taller than he was. It was straight and lush and green, with a tinge of blue on the needles like the noble fir her father always had delivered to the house the day after Thanksgiving.
Margaret watch him maneuver the sturdy pine tree through the doorway and around Theodore. The boy was so excited he all but danced a jig around the tree and Hank.
The tree had that Christmas smell, the sharp, clean scent of pine. So despite the heat, despite the tropical humidity and the intensity of the sun, it only took a few minutes for the subtle scent of Christmas to fill the hut.
