Mail-Order Matty. Emilie RichardsЧитать онлайн книгу.
breath caught. He was afraid that at this point it was the most forceful protest she could manage.
* * *
Matty took a double dose of motion sickness tablets. They had nearly worn off by the time Samuel arrived two hours late—Bahamian time, Damon called it—to ferry them to the cay. He was a large man, with smooth dark skin and hands as large as shovel blades. He ushered them on board with friendly chatter as the waves slapping at the jetty threatened to toss Matty to the deck. Damon seemed unaffected.
“The crossing, it’ll be a rough one,” Samuel said with a distinctive Caribbean lilt. “The boat go up and the sea go down, not always at the same time. But we’ll make it, no problem. I’ll be staying at the cay tonight for sure. Just don’ want old Nanny makin’ my supper. Bought food for us to eat.” He lifted the lid on a gigantic plastic cooler. The pungent smell of fried seafood, of garlic and a nostril-tingling assortment of herbs and spices, rose to greet her. “Plenty for all.”
Matty glanced wordlessly at Damon. He started forward to slam the lid, apparently all too aware of her reaction. She heard the click as the lid fell back into place, but it was already too late. She was fumbling blindly toward the side of the boat to hang her head over the rail.
* * *
At some point on the boat trip to Inspiration Cay the waves began to seem like allies. Matty knew that if she could just struggle to the side again and this time manage to throw herself overboard, the waves would swallow her and put her out of her misery. Dying that way seemed preferable to dying by inches. And she was sure she was dying. She would not live to see Inspiration Cay, not live to see the baby she was to raise or to marry the baby’s father, a man she had loved silently and passionately so many years ago.
“We’ll be there before the last rays of light fade away.” Damon said. “Are you going to make it?”
“No.”
Something much too close to a chuckle rumbled through his chest. He pulled her a little closer. Sometime during the last hour he had slung his arm over her shoulders to keep her warm. “I really am sorry about this. Do you always get seasick?”
She had never been on waters like these. She had canoed and rowed on placid Minnesota lakes without a qualm. “How often…?” She couldn’t finish.
“How often do we have to make this trip?”
She nodded weakly.
“Only as often as you want. We’ll have to go to Nassau to get our wedding license in a few days. But after that you can stay put if you like. The water’s not usually this rough, and you’ll be rested and ready the next time you brave the waves.”
“Never…”
“It’s been a big day, Matty.”
She wanted to tell him to turn the boat around, that the day had been much too big to absorb, and she had made a terrible mistake. But if he did as she asked, the trip back to George Town would be longer than the trip to Inspiration Cay. And she was a slave to what was left of her stomach.
“There are 365 cays in the Exumas, did you know that?”
She had done her reading. She knew cay was pronounced “key” and that many of the Out Islands of the Bahamas, of which the Exumas were a part, were uninhabited. “One for each day,” she whispered.
“I’ve been to a number of them. Some don’t even exist at high tide. Some, like Inspiration Cay, are high enough above sea level to live on comfortably. The house at Inspiration is on a low rise. It makes for spectacular sunset views.”
She tried to hold on to that thought. The sun was setting right now, and had she not been dying she might have termed it spectacular. As it was, she couldn’t watch the heavenly light show, because every time she focused on the horizon the boat dipped and her head went spinning in protest.
“The house has stood on that rise for almost a hundred years.” Damon seemed to know that she was soothed by the sound of his voice and the warm weight of his arm. Matty knew he was trying to offer his support in the only way he could. Both his voice and arm were impersonal, the comfort anyone might offer. In fact, every time he had touched her—and in their hours together he had touched her five times—he had scarcely seemed to notice what he was doing. She, on the other hand, had noticed every pressure, every movement, every texture.
“It’s a wonderful house,” he said. “Spacious and airy, with sun-filled rooms, and breezes sweeping through that keep it cool enough to bear on the warmest days. You’ll recognize the architecture from pictures of Key West. Double verandas, hipped roof and French windows you can step through into the sunshine. My room—” He broke off abruptly.
She sat very still and waited for him to continue.
“My room’s facing east,” he said, after a moment. “I can see the sunrise, and I’m usually awake to do it with Heidi over my shoulder or on my lap. I don’t expect you to share my room right away. Heidi’s room is beside mine in what was probably a dressing room at one time. And then there’s another room that shares the same balcony. That will be yours until…” He didn’t finish.
He was absolutely right, and she knew she should feel relieved. Instead she felt more dispirited, if that was possible. And what had she hoped? That Damon would be so attracted to a seasick mouse of a woman that he would demand that she crawl into his bed on this, their first night together, and make passionate love to him?
“I’m never going to make any demands on you,” he said. “I’ll never be able to thank you enough for marrying me, and I’m not going to ask you for anything else. When and if you’re ready, you’ll know where my room is.”
“If I’m ever steady enough…on my legs again…to walk that far.”
He laughed, a spontaneous eruption that almost convinced her that he hadn’t given up on her completely. “You’ll be fine after a good night’s sleep. I promise.”
“I’ll hold you…to it.”
“The cay just ahead,” Samuel shouted. “Follow the wide purple streak to the sea, Matty, and look left.”
Damon got to his feet. “Can you stand?”
She really didn’t know. Theoretically it seemed possible. She wanted to see the island that was to be her new home, to get her first glimpse with Damon at her side, his arm around her waist. Surely she could summon up enough physical and emotional reserves to take her in to shore.
He held out his hand, and she took it, letting him pull her to her feet. For a moment she felt fine, as if the mysterious concept of sea legs was a reality in which she shared.
“Rough water here,” Samuel shouted. “Hold on tight. I be takin’ her in to Inspiration slow, and the boat, she gonna shake.”
Samuel’s words were a prophecy. The powerboat began to dance over the water’s surface like a hippo in an out-of-control conga line. Matty had already lost everything she’d eaten. Her stomach was beyond revolt, but her head was not. The world grew black, and just before she lost sight of it, it began to spin. She made one valiant attempt to take her seat again before the deck rushed up to meet her.
* * *
“Matty, this is Kevin,” Damon said.
Matty peered into the near darkness, illuminated by a row of lamps strung along a winding path that rose toward a two-story house set behind palms. Kevin was about ten yards away, nothing more than a hazy man-size shape in the distance.
“Matty’s not feeling well,” Damon continued. “She’s had a rough day. Would you mind helping Samuel with her suitcases, then take him up to the guest house? He’s brought enough food to feed an army, if that’s any incentive.”
Kevin grunted in response, then started toward them, making sure to give Matty a wide berth. She wanted to say something, anything, that might signal good intentions, but she was still trying