Season of Storm (17 page)

"They want to mail my baby finger to my father?  My ear?"

"Something like that," he admitted.

Her heart seemed to fold in on itself. This time her fists did not clench. She was very frightened, and unspeakably hurt, as if she had just learned that everyone in the world hated her. She looked down at her hands. Mutilation. These people didn't know her, they didn't know her at all, and yet they wanted....

Johnny's large comforting hand covered hers. "They're idiots," he said gently. "They're drunk with this sudden power they think they have. My people are not a violent people, Shulamith. Joseph Three Elk has forbidden them. He said there was no room for a provisional wing of the Chopa people."

"I heard him talking on the news yesterday," she said quietly. The Chopa chief had sounded to her like an intelligent and humane, if angry, man. "Will they listen to him?"

Johnny Winterhawk adjusted his course minutely before answering.

"Possibly not," he said reluctantly, but she was already expecting the answer, for why else was she here on the boat? "They privately demanded that I hand you over to them, and when I refused they threatened to come and get you."

"They know I'm on the island?"

"I'm sorry, yes. It was pretty obvious."

Shulamith jumped to her feet, fear finding release in anger. "Well, this is just great!" she fumed. "First I was prisoner on an island, and now I'm on a damned
boat
! And there's still no solution in sight! How the hell am I ever going to get home? You don't even know where we're going to drop anchor tonight, so how are you planning on getting out of this? The police are after you, and now the entire Chopa nation is after me, so just what the hell are we going to do about it?"
 

"Not the entire Chopa nation," he corrected her, but Smith was in too great a rage to care.

"Oh, fine!" she exploded. "That's fine! I appreciate the distinction!
Not
the entire
Chopa nation is after me, but sadly it doesn't
take
an entire people to cut off an ear!
Not
the entire nation, but you'll forgive me if I consider them a significant minority!" She looked balefully at him. "Over whom you don't seem to have much control!"
 

"No," he agreed, and she caught the sound of pain in his voice.

"Why not?" she demanded, for Johnny Winterhawk seemed to her the sort of man who would command respect anywhere. "Why can't you control them?"

He was checking his course again, looking up at the sails while the sun glinted off the raven black of his hair and bathed his saddened face in a golden glow.

His voice was quiet against the wind. "I left the reserve," said Johnny Winterhawk, and he was no longer seeing the sail in front of him, but looking into the past. "I was taken from the reserve as a child and put into the white man's world. And I wanted to make it in the white man's world. I crossed over. When I saw my mistake it was too late to go back. I am tolerated by my people because sometimes I am useful to their cause, but I am not an Indian. I am not one of them."

Shulamith gasped. There was an anguish in his voice that it hurt her to hear. She stood looking at him, almost afraid to move.

"Why?" she whispered on a long, horrified, unhappy note.

"Because that is the way of the world," said Johnny Winterhawk with bitter self-loathing. "You have to lie in the bed you've made for yourself."

"I'm sorry," she whispered, desperate to take away his unhappiness, knowing she could not. "I'm so
sorry."
 

Johnny Winterhawk did not reply, and there was a painful silence between them.

After a few minutes he said, "I'm going to run into Silva Bay. We can take on fuel and water there."

"Wait a minute!" Smith said, as an idea struck her. "Silva Bay! Rolly's got a waterfront place not too far from Silva. We could probably drop anchor there."

He looked at her in dry amusement. "And you can finish the conversation you started with Rolly yesterday," he suggested lightly.

"No. That's just it. Nobody'll be there. Valerie's just had twins. Valerie's his wife," she said impatiently as Johnny continued to gaze impassively at her. "We can moor there for ages without being bothered."

He lifted his eyebrows at her. "I don't think so."

"Why not?"

"Do you really think his neighbours would take no interest in a strange boat moored in front of his house?"

"Oh." He was right. "But then...what are we going to do? We can't sail around all night. It's ridiculous to think we can!"

"I don't think it."

"Well, then what are we going to do?"

Johnny Winterhawk sighed as though she was being tedious. "I guess we'll go to a provincial marine park and hope like hell no one recognizes you," he said flatly, as though it was a last-ditch choice, and he made it reluctantly.

Sixteen

Hours later, in the shadow of the setting sun, the big engines churned to bring
Outcast
close in beside a small mooring buoy. There was only one other boat, moored on the opposite side of the little bay, and when they were docked, and Johnny switched off the engines, the perfect silence of the place fell around them.
 

"My God, I'm exhausted," Smith said gratefully, breathing in air that smelled faintly of their gas fumes. The journey to this small, out-of-the-way provincial marine park had been hell. The never-ending sense of being hunted was more exhausting than any physical effort could ever be. Smith told herself over and over again that no one could recognize them at a distance, but each time they passed another boat her heart pounded and her stomach churned until the strange boat passed. Even now, in this tiny remote cove, she could not feel safe.

Johnny Winterhawk made the boat fast for the night while Smith stood stupidly watching, hands clenched deep in her pockets, unable to relax.

When he was finished Johnny leaped into the cockpit and stood for a moment gazing down at her in the soft slanting light of the setting sun. In a convulsive little movement Smith turned to him.

"Will they find us here?" she asked.

A half smile moved one corner of his mouth.

"My hunters or yours?"

But of course the police might already be on his trail. If even one of the men who had been in the house that night had been arrested....

"Let's get below," Johnny said. "If they do find us it won't help to be standing around on deck worrying."

He shepherded her down the companionway to a seat in the lounge, then disappeared for a moment.  She heard the generator start up.  Johnny moved into the galley. "A drink and food, in that order," he said, opening a cupboard to pull out two glasses. "We need it."

A responsive growl in her stomach reminded Shulamith that she had eaten only a sandwich since lunch many hours ago. "You said it! I'm starved!" she exclaimed.

"Scotch? Gin? Wine? What will you have?"

"Is there ice?"

"There's ice."

"Then scotch, please, Johnny," Smith said, and his name was easy on her lips. "On the rocks."

It had been easy on her lips all afternoon, she realized, glancing across the room at him with an imperceptible gasp of awareness as he caught her eye. Suddenly her head was filled with the memory of the beach and the erotic devastation she had experienced at his hands. Never before had she experienced such a total lack of sexual shame, never before been on the receiving end of a man's total devotion to pleasure. She had felt like a pagan, like a worshipper in some ancient cult of the Goddess of Love.

As he turned to his task, she watched the play of shoulder and arm muscles under his blue t-shirt with a pleasure that was both new and somehow disquieting. And when he set a glass of amber liquid in front of her, Smith reached for it eagerly. The alcohol burned her throat, but at least it gave her another focus than Johnny's body.

There was a bed in the aft cabin. That was where he had put her the night he had kidnapped her. He had kissed her on that bed. What would he do to her there tonight? The thought of going back to that true self, that fully human, unashamedly physical person again, made her anxious suddenly. Was it her true self, or was it just the animal body taking over?

Shulamith leaned back against the sofa cushions and spread her arms along the back, her glass in one hand, trying to understand what it was that had happened today.  No other man had taken so for granted the fact that her body, and his own, was an engine of pleasure. The fabric of the navy cushion covers was strong and rough under her fingers. She stroked it appreciatively, gazing around at the brass fittings and the oiled teak glowing so richly in the golden sunlight.

"This is a beautiful boat," she said softly. She had seen in his movements on deck that Johnny Winterhawk loved the
Outcast,
and
no wonder. She was not so experienced a sailor as he was, but it didn't take an expert to see that the yacht handled superbly.
 

He glanced at her. "Yes," he agreed shortly. He rooted in cupboards and freezer, lit the oven, and began to prepare supper. He opened various cupboards, pulling out dishes and condiments.  

Shulamith set her glass down, sat up and lifted the flap of the drop-leaf table.

"Beautifully maintained, too. How long have you had her?" she asked, lazily aware of the long sweep of her hair as she bent down to fasten the table in place, knowing he watched it with erotic pleasure.

"A few years," Johnny said.  

He set down mats and dishes and she began to lay the table.  She looked up to find his dark eyes on her, full of hunger and promise, and she burst into babbling speech. "Daddy prefers motor. He's got a huge motor yacht. But I have a small sail—just a twenty-five footer—a C & C. I haven't been sailing for ages. She's been out of the water for a year, and I haven't had time since I got back."

Johnny listened in silence as he worked. "Her name is
Sweet Cherry Yacht,
because when I was a kid I thought that's what the song was about. You know, Swing Low, Sweet Cherry Yacht?" she laughed. "I used to—"
 

"Shulamith," he interrupted firmly, and his deep voice had a quality that instantly stilled her. She was silent, staring at him, her heart tripping.

"They aren't going to find us tonight. If they're going to check every marina between the island and Tsawwassen they've got more than one long night's work ahead of them."

Smith made a face. "They don't have to sail, though, do they?" she countered, and maybe he was right, maybe that was what was making her nervous. "You registered back at the marina. All anyone has to do is call around."

"Which will be easier for the police than anyone else," Johnny pointed out.

Silence fell between them, so that the noise of the generator seemed suddenly loud. Her eyes searched his. "Are you frightened?" she asked. If the police found them now, she would be safe, but Johnny...Johnny would never be safe again.

He raised his eyebrows in a gesture that reminded her of Wilf, picked up his glass and took a long drink. "Any non-WASP in this country who isn't afraid of a confrontation with the police needs his head examined," he said. "Of course I'm afraid. Not only have I abducted a white woman, but also I have already given her grounds for a charge of rape. And it's still all I can do to keep my hands off her."

The sudden high whistling of the kettle drowned out Smith's shocked gasp. Reaction twisted her stomach until she felt faint. With wide eyes she watched Johnny Winterhawk move into the galley and lift the kettle from the fire. She watched every movement of his hands as he poured water on the instant soup in the two fat mugs he had set on the counter and left them to steep.

As the kettle whistle died, over the thud of the generator they could hear the noise of an outboard motor.  They froze, staring at each other, listening with every pore as the sound came closer.

"Ahoy,
Outcast
. Ahoy
Outcast
!"
 

 They heard the motor die and the muted thump as a dinghy bumped lightly against the
Outcast's
stern.
 

Johnny Winterhawk turned toward the companionway.

"Is it the police?" Smith hissed.

He lifted an eyebrow in a half shrug, his face white. "Always get their man."

She followed him to the foot of the ladder and clung to hold him back. Desperately she whispered, "Tell them we've been sailing! Tell them we haven't heard the news! Don't admit anything, Johnny! Don't let them come aboard!"

"Hi, there! Anybody home?" This time it was a female voice, bright and happy, and they both blew out a deep sigh.

"Stay below!" Johnny whispered, and went lightly up on deck and closed the hatch behind him.

She stayed where she was, listening to the voices and laughter, not distinguishing anything except the vital fact that their visitors were not threatening.