Under the Boardwalk: A Dazzling Collection of All New Summertime Love Stories (20 page)

Seconds later she felt his climax deep in her womb and she rejoiced. But it was the words he whispered next that sent her spirit soaring.

"I sure as hell hope you meant that, sweetheart, because I love you, too."

Long minutes later when they could breathe again, Drew rolled to his feet, then bent and lifted her into his arms. Cradling her against him, he walked out into the water and washed away the sand that now coated their skin. They frolicked in the surf like children, then loved like adults in waist-deep water. Wonderfully tired and temporarily sated, they exited the water and donned their clothes as protection against the late-afternoon sun. "We should go back to the cabin and get you a hat," Drew told her, scowling as he thumped the tip of her nose. "You're starting to resemble a lobster."

"Well, thank you so very much for the compliment," she dryly replied.

They walked hand in hand along the edge of the softly rolling surf, their conversation comfortable and limited to inconsequential matters. A couple of times Drew attempted to turn the talk to more serious subjects, but Hannah refused to cooperate. Time enough for that later; now she wished to simply enjoy the moment.

Then, suddenly, time ran out.

They returned to the fishing cabin to fetch Hannah a hat and found a sailboat pulling up to the end of the fishing pier.

"Oh, no," she fussed, tugging on the hem of her shirt in embarrassment. "He's early. Why? I specifically told him to pick me up in three days. In fact, he told me that suited him just fine because he wanted to make a run down to Corpus Christi to visit his sweetheart." After a moment's pause, she added, "Maybe they had a fight."

"Go on to the cabin, honey," Drew said, giving the small of her back a slight shove. "That's not the same boat."

"What? Were you expecting company, Drew?"

He shook his head. "No. Only a couple people know I'm here. I hope there's not trouble at the factory."

Trouble at the factory
? What factory? Hannah wanted to ask, but taking the time now wasn't worth the risk of getting caught by a stranger half-naked and thoroughly ravished. Darting for the shelter of the fishing cabin, she spared the sailboat one last curious look… and froze. She blinked and looked again. "Jeremy? And my father!"

Drew whipped his head around. "Jeremy?"

Hannah's eyes closed. "Yes. Oh my. And Papa, too."

Seconds ticked by in silence before Drew cleared his throat and asked, "Shall I send them away?"

Yes
, her heart cried, though her mind knew better. She had to face this sometime. Might as well get it over with. "No. I'll talk to them."

Drew took her by the arm and started tugging. "Better get in the house and get some clothes on in that case." Then, as he grabbed her dress and underwear off the line, he muttered just loud enough for her to hear, "I can't believe this is happening all over again."

Inside, he, too, quickly pulled on clean clothes. Then he walked to a large wooden box that sat in one corner of the room and carried it over to the table. Drew threw open the box lid and sat down.

"What are you doing?" Hannah asked, aghast. She knew what was in that box. She'd snooped in it yesterday. She might have understood if he'd reached for a gun or something, but fishing lures? Really!

Drew lifted one of the two dozen or more small wooden boxes inked with the words Castaway Bait Company from inside the larger container. "What am I doing?" Drew repeated. "I'm doing what every man should do when his father-in-law comes to call." Then he flashed her a pirate's grin. "I'm fixing to go fishing."

Drew was strung tighter than tangled fishing line on a rusty reel. Daddy Mayfield on Wild Horse Island. The man was about as welcome here as a hurricane. And, to make matters even more unpleasant, he had to go and bring ol' Jeremy with him.

At least this time Mayfield had the good manners to show up after the bedding—or beaching, in this case— rather than beforehand. Still, Drew would rather strap a steak on his butt and take a swim in shark-infested waters than go through another outraged-father scene.
Yep
, he thought as the pounding on the door commenced,
this is shaping up to put a real damper on what has been a mighty fine afternoon
.

Bang bang bang bang
. "Drew Coryell, this is Roger Mayfield. I wish to speak with you."

The moment took on a surreal cast. Drew had been in this place before, played this same scene in the past. It had ranked as one of the most miserable days in his life.

How would today's theater play out?

Drew glanced at Hannah, whose sun-kissed complexion had gone dead-fish-belly white, and found he could use a little reassurance. "Did you mean it?"

Smoothing back her hair, she met his gaze. He saw in her eyes that she knew what he meant. "I love you, Drew."

The knot in his gut eased just a little.

"It's open," he called, his stare locked with hers, even as the door swung wide and Roger P. Mayfield stepped inside. When he caught sight of his daughter, he briefly closed his eyes and swayed as if in relief.

"Hannah Elizabeth Mayfield. You
are
here."

"Hello, Father."

Drew's gaze slid right over Roger Mayfield, noting only in passing that gray hairs now outnumbered dark ones on the fellow's head, and focused on the man who trailed in behind him.
Jeremy
, he silently sneered.

A woman would think him handsome, Drew thought, taking in the coal black hair, aristocratic features, and solemn brown eyes. Good tailor, too. Drew detested the man on the spot.

Roger advanced toward his daughter. "Come along, Hannah. Let's go outside. We need a private place to talk."

He reached for her arm, but she shrugged him off. "Father, wait."

"Keep your hands off her," Drew warned, dismissing ol' Jeremy and turning his attention toward Hannah, ready to jump to the rescue if need be.

Mayfield shot him a glare. "I believe that's my line, Coryell. Hannah? Outside, now."

"No, Papa."

The firm tone of her voice shocked everyone in the room. Ol' Jeremy winced. Mayfield's mouth fell open. Drew sucked in a breath and studied Hannah. She had regained some color in her cheeks. Considering the hue was a shade of green, he didn't take that as a good sign. He also watched Hannah's eyes. That was where she would betray her feelings first, Drew knew, because he had seen it happen on their wedding day. The brightness in her eyes first dimmed, then dulled. When doubt sparked to life, Drew had wanted to die.

"No?" Mayfield repeated. "You said 'no' to me, Daughter?"

She nodded. "Anything I have to say may be said in front of Drew."

Mayfield went red. "You stubborn girl. I never thought to hear such disrespect from my own daughter's mouth. To think what your dear, departed mother would say at a time like this. She would be sorely disappointed, Hannah. The humiliation of having a daughter who…"

While Mayfield continued to expound on his late wife's opinions, ol' Jeremy crossed the room and took a seat at the table opposite Drew. He glanced at the fishing lures and lifted one small box from inside the larger one. Drew resisted the urge to bat his hand away and concentrated on Hannah instead.

Despite the fact that her father was busy scolding her like a child, she looked a little better. Pink had replaced the seasick coloring in her cheeks. In fact, the longer her father talked, the brighter her complexion grew, and by the time Roger paused to take a breath, she appeared downright flushed. Was she embarrassed or angry? He couldn't tell.

"… your mother's memory. And your parents are not the only people you have shamed with this behavior. To treat your fiance so shabbily is—"

"Fiance?" Drew questioned sharply.

"Fiance!" Hannah protested.

"Nothing official," Jeremy hastened to explain. "I asked. She never answered."

Good. Drew wouldn't have to kill the man, then. However, when he saw Jeremy wink at Hannah, he decided it wouldn't hurt to hurt him a bit.

… reprehensible," Hannah's father continued. "Last time was bad enough, but at least you had married the scoundrel. What about now, Daughter? Are you wife again or simply harlot?"

"That's enough," Drew snapped, shoving himself to his feet. Seconds later he had Roger Mayfield by the lapels and up against the wall. "Speak of her again in such a manner and I'll—"

"Don't, Drew," Hannah said, laying a hand on his arm as her father sputtered and spewed. "This is my battle."

"It's my island."

"He's my father."

"My sympathies, my dear."

She laughed, a clear peal of amusement that floated in the air like the scent of spring following a long, harsh winter. "Oh, Drew, go sit back down and play with your Texas Doodle Spring Hook."

"Hannah!"

"Father, you need to hear a few truths and I'm the only one who can say them."

It was then that Drew saw what he'd hoped to spy in her eyes. Confidence. Full-blown conviction. None of that nasty doubt that took her away from him before. For the first time since spying the sailboat, Drew was able to draw a full breath.

Slowly, he loosened his hold on Mayfield, patting out the wrinkles he'd made in the man's jacket with a little more force than was necessary. In a tone too soft for anyone else to hear, he warned, "Watch yourself."

Mayfield looked as though he wanted to hit him. Drew would have loved to oblige him with a fight. Instead he backed away and resumed his seat, casting a suspicious look toward Jeremy, who appeared intent upon studying Drew's lures.

Then Hannah addressed her beau. "It seems my family owes you an apology, Jeremy. I don't know what excuse my father used to drag you down here, but I doubt he included much truth."

Drew's hand fisted when Jeremy flashed her a grin and winked again. "Don't mind me, love. You know how much I enjoy good theater."

"She's not your love." Drew shot a glare across the table.

Jeremy folded his arms and leaned back in his chair. "Is that so?"

Drew put his hands flat on the table and leaned forward. "Yes. And if you feel the need to discuss it further, you and I can step outside."

Roger Mayfield opened his mouth, but Hannah spoke first. Enough," she said. "Drew, behave."

"Me? What about him?"

Her lips twisted in a rueful grin. "Jeremy always conducts himself like a gentleman. You, on the other hand…"

A gentleman, hmm? Drew relaxed a little more. Then, wanting to get on with it, he took the conversation to the heart of the matter. "I'm a scoundrel, but that's why you love me. Right?"

Hannah eyed him sharply. Their gazes held, his breathing stopped. She smiled and said, "Right."

Drew exhaled. Jeremy winced. Roger Mayfield groaned. "Oh, Hannah. Please, no. Listen to me. Perhaps I've gone about this poorly, but that doesn't negate the fact that nothing has changed. The man still lives on this island. He's stilla ne'er- do-well, he just admitted as much."

"No," Drew corrected. "Scoundrels and ne'er-do-wells are two different animals altogether."

Mayfield ignored him and pleaded with Hannah. "Think of your future. Think of your children. What kind of father will this man make?"