My eyes grew heavy. Maybe sailing and the island were all a dream. Maybe I could open my eyes, and I’d be back in time when my parents were alive—definitely before I married Phill—and I was in my happy bubble. I would urge my mother to go to the doctors and get an MRI—perhaps saving her life and Dad’s. Bambi would still be alive because I wouldn’t have gone on this sailing trip.
A rustle in the bushes jerked me out of my drowse and sent my heart racing.
My eyes locked on the low fan-leaved bushes a few feet away. The noise stopped. I had no idea if this island had dangerous animals. If a predator was out there, was it watching me, getting ready to pounce on and devour me? I should have asked Hunter to wait. My condition wouldn’t allow me to outrun whatever was hiding. Barely breathing and not daring to blink, I listened.
Another sudden rustle plunged me into a frantic panic, and then a black-feathered chicken strolled out from under the bush, its feathers ruffled up as if it had taken a dirt bath. It pecked at something on the ground and continued on its merry way as if I weren’t even there.
“Stupid chicken.” I closed my eyes again.
If there were threatening animals around, Hunter would’ve warned me. He’d pulled me out of the water after all. Or had he said I’d washed up on the beach? In any case, he hadn’t let me die and had taken care of me.
“Hey.” A voice spoke as if in a dream. “Sydney, wake up.” The touch on my arm felt more real than any dream could fabricate. I opened my eyes to Hunter crouched next to me. His hand slid under my knees and around my back.
“I’ll take you back to bed.” He swung me into his arms.
Oh, good.So much for being less of a pain in his ass.I mocked every movie and romance novel when a handsome stranger carried a passed-out woman, and there I was, living the cliché. My arms looped around Hunter’s neck, and I rested my head on his shoulder, the touch of his old shirt soft against my skin.
“Ohhhh,Naked and Afraid,” I mumbled.
Hunter paused his walk. “What?”
“Just thinking out loud,” I said, inhaling the ghost of citrus on his clothes. “You smell like oranges,” I murmured. “Is that your detergent?”
“No.” He chuckled.
At his hut, Hunter carefully set me down on his bed and pressed his hand to my forehead. “You need to eat. I’ll be right back.”
A few minutes later, he returned with a tin plate and a Mason jar filled with a yellow liquid. He set it all next to the journal on the desk and took a seat on the chair.
I sat against the headboard and Hunter helped to adjust the pillow higher behind my back for more comfort. “A common drink on this island—fresh orange juice.” He passed me the jar. That explained his citrusy smell.
I drained the entire cup, instantly craving more of its sweet taste. “That was so good.”
“I wouldn’t offer anything bad to a guest at my house.”
I arched an eyebrow. “You gave me a leaf to wipe with.”
“The best tree I could offer.” The corners of his mouth inched up and his eyes crackled with humor. “I do have toilet paper. I’ll replace the empty roll today. But we have to agree that since we are here for an unknown amount of time, toilet paper is only for more serious business.” The tips of his ears turned a shade of red. “Is that okay?”
Even in my current unwell state, next to this man, my grin annoyingly refused to be contained, and I responded with a broad smile of my own. “I understand.”
“Good.” Hunter broke our eye contact and reached for the plate. “Ready to try the finest food in the South Pacific?”
Aside from my parents, nobody had ever taken care of me. Certainly not my ex-husband. Hell would freeze over before he would cook me food when I was sick. Once, when I caught the flu and could barely get out of bed, I’d had to drive myself to a doctor because Phill didn’t want to be in the same car with me, even though we’d shared a bed the night before. Yet here was a good-looking man—even with a rowdy beard—a total stranger who saved my life and didn’t mind taking care of me. My lips urged to smile.
“What? Why are you staring at me like that?” he asked, amusement in his expression.
“No reason.” My cheeks grew hot. I hadn’t realized I was gaping at him.
“Hungry?”
“You could offer me roasted squirrel, and I would eat it,” I joked, accepting the plate, but prayed it wasn’t a fuzzy-tailed animal. The plate held a fish fillet, a small boiled potato and avocado, with a side of cut-up mango.
“There are no squirrels on this island,” he said. “Mostly lizards, iguanas, snakes, cats, and lots of birds, including chickens.”
A brown gecko climbed up the screen on the window above the desk. “You have a lot of lizards inside the house.”
“Don’t hurt them. They eat bugs and mosquitos.”
