He was tempted to throw that cherry lip balm overboard as he’d done with her phone. It might be the more dangerous of the two.
He wanted to kiss her again. Badly. Not just as a way of telling her it would be okay, but also because she was incredible. He couldn’t think of many women he knew who could go through what they’d just had to do and still have a sense of humor.
Instead he held her with his gaze. “Hang in there, Annie. I promise it’s going to be okay.”
That was one promise he would do everything in his power to keep.
He just hoped to hell it would be enough.
•••
It took longer to reach the island than Annie expected, but fortunately they only saw a few boats in the distance and none with the distinctive orange paint.
The near run-in with the coast guard had been too close. And although it was still midmorning by the time they pulled the inflatable up onto the beach, she was exhausted. Sitting on the edge of her seat—literally—for a few hours had sapped what little energy she possessed after only three protein bars in about twenty-four hours.
She also felt a little like a drowned rat. Thanks to the fire Dan had made last night, her clothes had dried out by morning, but the sea spray from their high-speed dash across the Western Isles had her damp all over again.
He’d picked a beautiful natural harbor with a white-sand beach and jagged black volcanic rocks below a gentle hillside of green grass, wildflowers, and a handful of the ubiquitous white cottages that seemed to be scattered across most of the islands.
It was incredibly picturesque and not what she imagined when she thought of Scotland. The Caribbean maybe, but definitely not the Western Isles of Scotland.
Compared to some of the others she’d seen on her unexpected tour around the islands, Tiree seemed relatively flat and grassy. It also seemed a little warmer.
“Where are we?”
“A village called Balephetnish, according to the map.”
Another one of those Scottish towns that she wouldn’t be attempting to spell.
She looked up at the houses overlooking the beach, of which there were precisely six that she could see. “This is a village?”
He grinned. “It is in the Western Isles.”
“Is one of those white houses a hotel by any chance?”
He shook his head at her tone, which was between pleading and begging. “Could be that one lets out rooms as a small B&B, but we aren’t staying here. We’d draw too much notice.”
She didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed. She was exhausted, but the accommodations looked basic to say the least.
“I pulled in here because I saw that.” He pointed toward an old wooden shed.
“What is it?”
“I’m not sure—probably a boat shed or a gear hut at some point. But it looks derelict, and it will be a good place to hide the inflatable. This island doesn’t seem to have any caves.”
“What if someone sees us?”
He shook his head. “That’s why I came in the way that I did. That sea stack should have blocked our approach.”
The inflatable was definitely heavier than it looked, and even though Dan was shouldering most of the weight, Annie was breathing hard by the time they pulled it up the last stretch of beach to the very shabby—not chic—wooden building.
She was surprised it hadn’t blown over; the island was breezy. The shack was a simple square construction with a gable roof. A few of the gray weathered boards were missing or broken, and the door no longer had a lock but was secured instead with a rope.
Dan made an attempt to untie the knot, but time and rain had made the hemp strands about as yielding as steel. After a few minutes, he gave up and took out the multitool he’d used before to cut it.
The rope must have been to deter teenagers from using the place for partying. Once inside, they could see the old beer cans and cigarette butts strewn around the wooden floor. The only boat—an old rowboat—had been turned into a makeshift bed with the addition of a very scary-looking bedroll.
Raging teenage hormones: the mother of invention.
