Hurricane Hannah. Sue Civil-Brown

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      Hannah put her hands on those luscious hips. “Thanks, but no thanks.”

      “You can use mine,” Buck heard himself say, another one of those Delilah-induced moments. It was like being under an evil spell.

      “You don’t mind?”

      He shook his head. Mind? He’d have to be out of his mind to mind. “Go through the back door of the office. The bathroom is off to the right.”

      “Thanks.”

      She shifted directions and headed back to her plane, prolonging his agony. When she re-emerged from the Lear, she was carrying a duffel.

      “I thought,” she said as she passed him, “that I’d be vacationing in Aruba. I guess it’ll be here instead.”

      Vacationing here? Running up the side of the volcano and jumping into the crater was beginning to sound like a pleasant alternative. Certainly a safer one. But then he remembered Edna. Nope. No running up the side of a volcano for him.

      Then, thanks to all powers that be, Hannah disappeared through the door. All of a sudden the air lost its thickness and he could breathe again. He ignored the strange look Craig was giving him.

      “Let’s take a look at these schematics.”

      “Wouldn’t it just be easier to look for signs of the spilled fuel?”

      Buck gave him a look. “Sure, go ahead. Be my guest. In the meantime, I’m going to find out exactly what we’re getting into here so I don’t mess it up.”

      Craig sighed and pulled over a stool, the metal legs scraping on concrete. “No seat of the pants, huh?”

      “Not with this one. I want that woman off this island in one piece just as soon as I can manage.”

      “Yeah, right.”

      Buck glared at him, and Craig wisely shut his yap.

      BUCK’S APARTMENT behind the office was pin-neat, although darkened by a shortage of windows…probably deliberate because of storms.

      Hannah couldn’t resist looking around a little out of curiosity. The man had apparently brought Navy habits with him into civilian life. Every bit of furnishing was utilitarian. Nothing appeared to be out of place. A check of the refrigerator showed it was spotless, and also offered the bounty of some fresh fruit. Grabbing a pear, mindful that it was probably terribly expensive given how far it must have come, she ate it, loving the way the juice trickled down her chin.

      Having seen everything else, she was no longer afraid to look in his bathroom. It, too, was spotless, and the shower stall gleamed. The hot water felt like heaven and she took longer than she might have otherwise. When she at last emerged, she was pink from the heat and her fingers were beginning to prune.

      When she had toweled off she decided that since she wasn’t going to be spending the expected time in Aruba, she might as well wear some of the nicer clothing she had brought.

      Like the sarong she’d bought years ago in Jamaica, a lovely combination of blues and greens. Sandals…and a barrette in her hair that was decorated with a small but colorful flower.

      A glance in the mirror told her she looked okay, so off she went to find a ride to town, because if she had to spend all day with Buck Shanahan, there was going to be blood on the floor.

      Then she returned to the hangar and said, “Can someone give me a ride to town? I need some necessities.”

      Buck glared. Craig jumped to his feet. “Sure,” he said.

      AS THE JEEP bounced along, rounding one tight switchback after another on their way down the mountain, Craig glanced over at Hannah, obviously trying to decide whether to say something. Finally, he spoke.

      “You really ought to find a way to bow out of Buck’s poker game tomorrow night,” he said.

      “Why?” she asked. “I like poker. It’s fun, and I’m going to be bored beyond belief if I don’t find something to do.”

      “I understand that, Ma’am, but….”

      “First, it’s Hannah, not Ma’am. ‘Ma’am’ is my mother, or my grandmother. Second, I’m not going to be offended if you guys smoke cigars and tell bawdy jokes, if that’s what you’re worried about. I have three brothers. I think I’ve probably heard it all.”

      “It’s not that,” he said. “Look, if you’re bored, I’ll give you a ride to the casino tonight. They’ll still have the poker tables open in the restaurant. Play there. Don’t play in Buck’s game. Buck’s game is the toughest on the island, bar none. He says it’s just a few friends, but they play hard and they’re all damn good. I don’t play in Buck’s game. My wife would kill me if I did.”

      “I don’t feel much like being stranded away from my plane if the hurricane should happen to pick up speed,” she said. “And I never gamble with money that I can’t afford to lose.”

      “Well, that’s what you’ll do if you sit at Buck’s table,” he said. “Take my word for it.”

      “You never know, maybe I’ll get lucky,” she said.

      By this time they were riding along a dusty street framed on either side by small, colorful shops. Not many people seemed to be out and about, however. Maybe they were all working. Or maybe they were battening down for the storm.

      “You’ll need to, Ma’am…Hannah. Well, here’s the island grocery. Do you need me to show you around?”

      She smiled. “I woke up with an alligator staring at me. I think I can navigate the wilds of a grocery. But thanks anyway. Meet back here in an hour?”

      “Sure thing,” he said as she climbed out.

      So this was going to be a major tourist resort? she wondered as she looked around. It looked more like a Caribbean version of Shantytown, U.S.A. Across the street from the grocery was the requisite tourist T-shirt shop, and a few other shops appeared to specialize in island-themed knickknacks, but by and large the town center looked tired and more than a bit run-down.

      The grocery itself was a small shop, more the type she commonly saw in Europe than the big box supermarkets she was accustomed to in the U.S. The shelves were plywood on two-by-four frames, closely packed with what seemed to be a hodgepodge of items in no discernible organization. But she was able to find the few staples she needed—bread, some cold cuts, milk, juice, mustard, coffee, cream and sugar—and the prices were not much higher than she’d have paid in Houston. Considering that everything had to be flown or shipped in, that surprised her.

      The grocer, an elderly man who introduced himself as Horace, the sole surviving descendant of Hank Hanratty, leaned over the counter to chat as she set her selections down. “So you’re the fruitcake who ruined last night’s game. I hear Buck had sevens full.”

      At first surprised, then a little irritated, Hannah answered, “I had to make an emergency landing, yes.”

      The old eyes, a faded blue, smiled at her. “Does him good to get shook up once in a while. You’ll have a run for your money, СКАЧАТЬ