Safe Harbour

“Silvio doesn’t trust you,” she said to the stranger lying on top of her comforter—she was probably going to have to get a new one, she realized. Blood didn’t always wash out. “Are you trustworthy?” she asked as she stood studying his face. It was a handsome face, but did it belong to a man who was ultimately trustworthy? A man who told the truth at all times, not just when it was convenient? “Am I being a fool to think I’m safe with you? How did you get on our beach?” she wondered out loud. “And who shot you and why? Or was this just an unfortunate accident?

“Boy, I can’t wait until you regain consciousness. I’ve got so many questions for you. Questions you’re going to have to answer truthfully or I’m going to be so disappointed in you,” she said. “I’m climbing out on this limb and it’s not very comfortable out here to say the least.”

She straightened.

“I’d better get into that shower or I’m never going to leave this room.” With that, she grabbed the clothes she intended to wear that day—a pair of denim shorts and a blue tank top—and hurried into the bathroom. She remembered to lock that door before she stepped into the shower.

* * *

THE WOMAN’S VOICE came to him from a great, long distance. It sounded melodic. It also sounded fast. So fast he could only vaguely make out what she was saying.

Something about trust and not lying, he thought. Or maybe he was wrong. Maybe it was about something else.

It didn’t matter.

He was probably dreaming. He’d been winking in and out for a while now.

Splintered memories began coming to him in fragmented bits and pieces. The last thing he remembered was pain exploding in his chest and someone throwing him overboard—or had he jumped?—while someone else was cursing that he should have been tied up first, just in case.

He remembered trying to swim, trying to find where the shore was. Remembered telling himself not to panic, that if he panicked, then he was lost.

Dead.

Was he dead?

He’d never believed all that much, not like his mother, but now he would have liked to believe that there was something after life was finally over. Some kind of continuation.

Man but he was tired.

So tired.

He needed to rest, needed to get away from this burning in his shoulder.

Rest.

Was that it? Was this eternal rest, forever and peaceful?

He was too tired to think. He’d think about that later, when he wasn’t too tired anymore....

Provided there was a later....

* * *

STEVI HURRIED OUT of the bathroom freshly dressed, her hair still wet. Her footprints marking her passage from the bathroom into her bedroom were slightly damp as well, leaving an impression first on the floor and then on the rug.

She took no notice. Her attention was on the man in bed.

“Still not with us, huh?” she observed. Was there someone searching for him this very moment, or was he a loner, the answer to her prayer for some excitement?

Right, special delivery.

Taking a hairbrush from her bureau, she brushed her hair back, out of the way. When it dried, it would be curlier than usual, but she really didn’t care about that right now. She had a job to do.

“Well, maybe you need all that extra sleep to get over what you’ve been through. We’ll talk about that later, too. Right now, I’m going to get some breakfast. Don’t worry,” she quickly interjected as if he had actually rendered an opinion. “I’ll bring some back for you.” She cocked her head, like someone trying to make out a low voice. “Which would you like, pancakes or eggs?” She nodded, coming to her own conclusion. “Okay, I’ll bring you both, no sense in starving you, right? I won’t be long,” she promised.

With that, Stevi left her room and eased her door closed, then locked it so that no one would enter while she was gone. When she turned to hurry down the hallway, she walked smack into her younger sister.

Andy glanced at the closed door. “Who are you talking to?” she asked without preamble.

Startled, Stevi slipped her arm through Andy’s and headed for the dining room as if this had already been prearranged. “Excuse me?”

“I said who are you talking to?” Andy repeated, just as she found it a wee bit strange that Stevi was almost pulling her toward the dining room. “I could hear you through the door when I walked by just now.”

“Myself, I was talking to myself,” Stevi told her cheerfully.

“Really?” Andy looked at her. “Because you were talking in full sentences and it sounded as if you were asking what you wanted for breakfast.”

“I was,” Stevi replied without hesitation. “I can’t decide between pancakes and scrambled eggs this morning. I always talk to myself,” she added, as if it was the most natural thing.

Andy frowned. “Since when?” She wanted to know.

“Since forever,” Stevi answered in the same cheerful voice. “Nobody else listens to me so I might as well talk to myself, right? You probably do it, too. You just haven’t realized it.”

“No, I don’t and if I did, I would have realized it,” Andy protested. Stevi opened her mouth again, but Andy held up her hand to stop the flow of words. “So what did you decide?”

“About what?” Stevi asked cautiously. Was Andy playing her? Had Andy caught a glimpse of the sleeping mystery man?

“Eggs or pancakes?” Andy prompted. “You know, your big breakfast debate.”

“Oh, that,” she said, sighing with relief. “Both, actually.”

“Both?” Andy echoed as they walked into the dining area. “Stevi, you hardly ever finish a meal. Just how do you think you’re going to manage to put away two?”

“Don’t worry about it—I feel hungry,” she said, avoiding looking at her. “This is the new me, no longer obsessed with getting the best grades, worrying if I’d gained half a pound. You have no idea what a relief it is not to have to study anymore.” That, at least, was true. She’d lived with that pressure for a long time and it was finally over. It could also explain why she felt somewhat at loose ends. Happy, but restless. “I feel like a new woman. A free woman.”

“So what’s the free woman going to be doing with all her free time? Besides jogging on the beach at ungodly hours, I mean,” Alex said, coming up behind the two of them.

“I’m still trying to figure that out,” Stevi answered.

“Well, here’s something for you to think about while you’re doing that figuring. You really are a good event planner.” Alex picked a table for the three of them and sat down. Andy slid in on her right, but Stevi remained standing. “The inn could use that talent of yours, you know.”

She never had any doubts that the inn would always be her fallback plan, somewhere she could turn to if things fell apart. But she didn’t want to settle; she wanted something to be passionate about, like Cris with her cooking, or Alex with running the inn.

“And Dad would be tickled pink if you decided to stay on at the inn,” Alex added.

“Dad doesn’t look good in pink,” Stevi deadpanned.

Although she knew her father wanted all of them to have ambitions, to follow their dreams, she also knew that her father was hopeful that all their dreams could be fulfilled within a ten-mile radius—if not closer.