Unbelievable (Beg For It 4)

“Really?” I’d read the advice in magazines, that we should all be drinking gallons of water every day. It would keep our skin youthful, etc. But did we really need that much for survival?

“We need that much,” he nodded. “But I bet we have some coconuts around here, too. And maybe even some fresh water.” At my worried expression, he added, “Not that we’ll need it. I’m sure they’re already on their way.”

“You should take a couple of Advil,” I suggested. I’d seen the way he’d jolted up against the roof of the plane when we’d first crashed into the water. The seatbelt had restrained him, but not prevented a hard bump.

He brushed it off. “Let’s save it in case we need it. Something might start hurting on you yet.”

As he spoke, I realized my ankle did throb. Nothing serious, but I still had a lot of shock and adrenaline running through me. I rested my face in my hands, drawing a deep, shaky breath. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

“I should have checked on the pilot far sooner.” He shook his head, running a hand through his thick, dark hair. But then he stood up, dusting off his pants, clearly shaking off his negative thoughts as well. “There’s a chance we’ll need to spend the night here. Without a flare it’ll be harder for them to spot us. I want to see about gathering things for a fire.”

“Do you know how to make a fire?” I must have sounded really surprised, because he looked down at me with an arched eyebrow.

“Is that so hard to believe?”

“Um.” I bit my lip, deciding on honesty. “Yes. I don’t see you as going out and doing much camping.”

“I have a few tricks up my sleeve.” He rolled up his shirtsleeves as he spoke, still somehow managing to look suave and debonair after a plane wreck. Framed by the palm fronds, bright blue sky and white sand, he looked like he might be on a brochure for a resort. Except he was still wearing business clothes, his collared shirt and dark suit pants not exactly island-casual.

“Are you feeling well enough to come take a look around?” he asked. “I want to stay close in case a plane flies by, but we should see what we can find.”

I scampered to my feet, thoughts of a sore ankle forgotten in my desire to stay by his side. I wasn’t exactly a scaredy-cat—I’d been the one killing spiders and checking out spooky nighttime noises with a flashlight for years now—but I felt shaken to my core. For all of Colt’s reassurances, panic jostled right at the surface of my emotions. An exploratory walk seemed like a good distraction.

“Your sneakers are OK?” Colt took my hand and led me out of the shade and up the beach. I nodded. They were soggy, like everything else, but in tact.

My shirt clung to me and I thought about taking it off. But we hadn’t been stranded that long. I wasn’t about to strip down to my bra and undies. Yet.

“It’s probably around 90 now.” Colt wiped his brow, helping me through the slippery sand as we climbed up to higher ground. “Tonight it’ll drop, but it shouldn’t get too cold. Maybe low 70s.”

Thick vegetation clustered along the sand, every leaf a vibrant, bright green.

“Perfect!” Colt bent down below a palm tree and picked up some brown, hairy things. “Coconut husks,” he explained, holding them up. “Great for tinder. Gather what you can find. And I’ll see if I can get us some coconuts.”

I carried a couple of handfuls of husks down to our area, then worked with him to use dark branches to spell out HELP on the white sand. The man had a Swiss Army Knife. I’d never felt more grateful to have avoided airport security in my life. On a private plane, you could fly up in the air with any kind of knives you wanted right in your pocket.

Fatigue set in fast. Before the sun even fully set, I could barely keep my eyes open. Colt insisted I eat a Power Bar and drink another bottle of water. He couldn’t find any coconuts down low enough to eat, but he did find a mango tree. The ripe, succulent fruit would have made me exclaim with joy if I weren’t so incredibly tired. I barely managed to put the pieces into my mouth before I dozed off.

Until a sea plane flew by. That woke me up.

“Hello!” we yelled, waving our arms frantically, running out onto the beach. “We’re here!”

But they didn’t see us. Dusk had fallen. They were likely looking for flares or fires. In the dim light, they flew right past our message HELP.

“They’ll come back,” Colt assured me.

I was too tired to worry. I climbed into our life raft and passed out instantly.

§

The next morning twin sensations mingled, fighting for space in my confused brain. On the one hand, I ached. My shoulders and arm muscles, hands and jaw, everything felt stiff and was throbbing.

But there was also the slight start of an ache and a throb of a different sort. My backside was pressed up against a warm, solid man, the smell of him enveloping me. Colt’s strong arm draped around my waist. He held me to him, keeping me secure and safe. It made me want to snuggle in deeper, wiggle into him and get even closer.

“Morning.” He nuzzled my neck, pressing his hand to my hip, bringing me back against him. “This is a good way to start off the day stranded on a deserted island.”

We were stranded! It all came back to me in a rush and I bolted upright, the blanket drawn up over us pooling at my waist.

“The plane missed us last night!” I remembered it gliding right past, our words of HELP unnoticed.

“I will try to find a volleyball for you today to name Wilson.” Colt rose much more slowly, rubbing his eyes. Even with bedhead from sleeping in a life raft, the man managed to look rakish and rugged. I couldn’t imagine I had the same natural glow. I probably looked like a sea witch.

“How are you so calm about this?” I sounded exasperated, but I already felt more relaxed because he was.

“Because they will find us. Soon. Believe me, we’ve survived the most dangerous part.”

“We have?”

He pulled me against him again. “The crash landing was bad. But surviving in the middle of the ocean is even harder. Now we’re here, safe and warm, in a tropical paradise.” He leaned down and kissed my neck. “And we have water. I bet you’re thirsty.”

He left my side, heading outside our palm-frond haven for a moment. When he reappeared, he had two half-filled water bottles. “Drink.”

“Did you fill these?”

“I set them out overnight and it rained a little. March is the wettest month here.”

I eyed him as I drank and, he was right, I was thirsty. “So what you’re telling me is we’re not going to die here?”

“We’re not going to die here,” he confirmed.

“And we’re in a tropical paradise?” For the first time in the hours since the plane crash, I felt a small bubble of excitement.

“We are.” Colt grinned. “Would m’lady enjoy a fresh fruit platter for breakfast?”

“Only if it’s organic,” I teased.

“I can guarantee you, no pesticides or hormones were used in the growing or harvesting of these fruits.” He pulled me up to standing. “Come on. Let’s go see what we can find.”

I held his hand as we exited our little hiding place under the cluster of palms, and saw he’d set up a line of water bottles wedged in the sand with their narrow tops cut off to gather more rain. A few even had large, V-shaped le

aves balanced into their spouts, helping any dew or precipitation flow in. Smart man.

We tidied up our HELP sign on the sand—a few sticks had gotten blown out of place—and headed along the coastline. The vegetation inland looked thick and impenetrable, but the coastline stayed mostly flat. I didn’t want to risk injuring my feet so I resisted the temptation to take off my sneakers, but the sand looked just like white sugar. We couldn’t see any other ships or planes, but far in the distance we could make out the hint of another island.

“See, we’re not in the middle of nowhere.” Colt pointed it out, never letting go of my hand.

Around a curve in the coastline, we found more evidence to support Colt’s conclusion: a cave with some remnants from fishermen.

“These aren’t even that old!” Colt declared, sorting through a tangle of netting.

I found a broken bowl and a chipped cup and picked them up to take back with us, already in scavenger mode. But Colt suggested a switch instead, moving our life raft and possessions over to the cave. It would provide more shelter in case of heavier rainfall. And no sooner did Colt and I manage to carry the life raft on top of both of our heads down the coast and into the cave did the heavens burst open upon us.

“Stale Power Bar?” he offered me as we settled down inside our shelter. It was about eight feet high at the mouth, curving in around ten feet deep.

“Just what I wanted.” I thanked him, and settled easily next to him, feeling far too comfortable for a marooned plane crash survivor. But his nonchalant attitude was infectious.

“When this rain ends I’m going to catch you some fish!” He clapped his hands together, then pointed over to the pile of netting. “There’s a couple of spears in there. My guess is somebody comes here to fish every now and then.”

Colt was a man of his word. The rain let up soon and he prepared to head out on the hunt, wearing his dress shoes and slacks but shirtless. He was a mighty fine specimen, his chest and abs rippling with lean muscles.