She even loved how Uncle John blasted music from his boom box at a volume that threatened hearing loss. And how Li’l Bastard, the island’s resident rooster, crowed his head off at the slightest provocation.
Case in point: When she cast her line and lure into the water, Li’l Bastard, who’d been strutting around her feet, let loose with a throaty cock-a-doodle-do.
“Shoo!” she scolded him, stomping her bare toes in the sand. He squawked in offense before running into the bushes. Off to pillage and plunder the island’s insect population, no doubt.
Back at the house, Meat answered the rooster’s call with two barks, and Chrissy smiled. She’d known that was coming.
If Meat barked, Li’l Bastard crowed. And vice versa. It was like the animals were caught in a never-ending conversation. And the oddity of their friendship made it all the more adorable, especially come midafternoon when the two of them curled up together to nap in the shade of the porch.
Humming to the sound of Bob Marley crooning about “three little birds” she reeled in her lure, the muscles in her arms attuned to the gentle tug of the current. If something other than the current took her bait, those same muscles would automatically react.
Fishing was her solace.
Her mother’s second husband, Doug, had taught her how on her eighth birthday. Two months later, her mother had found Doug in bed with the local manicurist. Doug had disappeared from their lives soon after that, but Chrissy would always be grateful to him for giving her a hobby to last a lifetime.
There was something soothing about the repetitive motion of casting and reeling. It put her body in a meditative state while allowing her mind to float free. In that freeness, she found comfort, satisfaction, even enlightenment.
Her mother used to shake her head and say, I’ll never understand how you can spend so much time alone.
Chrissy had tried to explain that she couldn’t begin to reckon with herself, with her achievements and mistakes, with her strengths and weaknesses, with the knowledge of who she was and who she might become until she found some quiet. Some solitude. And fishing allowed her both.
Josephine had simply thrown her hands in the air and muttered, My daughter, the philosopher. And that had been the end of that.
After landing on Wayfarer Island and unloading the plane, the Deep Six Salvage guys had decreed that, given the chaos of the last couple of days, everyone could use some time to decompress. Tomorrow, they would relocate their search grids to the reef circling the lagoon. Today, they would get a little R & R.
Hearing that, Chrissy had wasted no time traipsing out to the wind-stripped wooden shed to grab the fishing equipment stored there.
She needed to think. Needed to understand why last night, when she’d found herself caught in a storm of anguish over the things she’d seen, Wolf had been the shelter she ran to.
“Thought I might find you out here.” His deep voice with that Oklahoma twang sounded behind her.
Speak of an angel and he’ll flap his wings, she thought. Then she quickly decided Wolf was far more devilish than he was divine.
Turning slowly, she watched him heading closer. He was barefoot and wearing fresh swim trunks. His chest was smooth and hairless. Black tribal tattoos wrapped around his biceps.
Feeling like she was getting a sugar rush from so much man-candy, she forced her gaze to his chin. But she quickly decided that was cowardly, and so firmly met his eyes. Those black, fathomless eyes that, when focused on her, were so warm and liquid they made her heart want to melt.
It wasn’t really a smile he gave her, more a subtle deepening of the lines on either side of his mouth. But it was enough to have the corners of her own mouth curling down in response.
It’d been easy to resist his advances when all she’d had was the memory of That Night to go on. But now she had so much more.
She had the memory of last night. Of how he’d sweetly kept a hand on her shoulder for hours so she could enjoy a deep, dreamless sleep. Of how he’d looked this morning, all warm and lazy as he got out of bed and stretched like a cat. Of how he’d given her the first cup of coffee from the little hotel coffeemaker after adding cream and one sugar. Just as she liked it.
Plus, she had the memory of his bravery on the catamaran. Of his selflessness. His heroism.
“Figured I’d come out here so I didn’t inadvertently get cut by the dagger eyes Alex keeps sending Mason’s way.” She hoped her expression revealed none of the confusion in her head.
Wolf stopped beside her, his face pained. “On a scale of one to smotherin’ him in his sleep, how much do you think Alex hates him right now?”
Chrissy shook her head. “She doesn’t hate him. She loves him.”
A startled look contorted Wolf’s face. “Did she tell you that?”
“She didn’t have to. If you’d seen her when he got stabbed, if you’d heard the noise she made, you’d know.”
“Shit.” He ran a hand through his short hair. It made his bicep bunch which, in turn, made Chrissy’s stomach bunch.
She sighed. “And it gets worse.”
He looked at her expectantly.
“Apparently, last night, Alex made a deal with him to be friends. But that was only after she kissed him.”
“She kissed him?” He blinked, and shook his head in wonder. “That woman has a set of balls on her to do Wesley Warren Jr. proud.”
“That’s what I told her.” Chrissy agreed, then frowned. “Wait, who’s Wesley Warren Jr.?”
He shuddered dramatically. “A tragic guy with scrotal elephantiasis.”
She decided she’d rather not picture that. “Then Mason went and showed up this morning with Donna.”
Wolf’s brow wrinkled. “So? I thought you just said Alex and Mason agreed to be friends?”
Chrissy stared at her fishing rod and then stared at his head.
“Don’t even think about it.” His mouth curved around a knowing smile.
“Are all men clueless?” she demanded. “Or is it just those of you who live on an island in the middle of nowhere? He kissed Alex and then went and slept with someone else.”
“Mason didn’t have sex with Donna.”
She felt her forehead wrinkle. “And how do you know that?”
“He told Doc. Doc told me.”
“Even if that’s true,” she declared with a sniff, Team Alex all the way, “it doesn’t excuse his decision to let Donna drive him to the airport this morning. It was like he was rubbing her in Alex’s face.”
Wolf grimaced. “True. He probably could’ve been more sensitive.” His eyes laser-focused on hers when he said this next part: “But one bad decision does not define a man.”