Chapter 1

The distant barking woke him from his nap. Ed listened for a moment just to identify the sound over the rolling surf -- he woke slowly -- and then for another in sheer surprise; Toby almost never got this excited. Whatever it was, it was something new. Without further thought Ed rolled out of the hammock and ran out of the beach hut, setting off toward his friend's voice. He loaded up on the way: knife, binoculars, rifle; over the last several years, new and exciting had occasionally meant dangerous.

As he rounded the point, he saw that Toby seemed to be barking at a fair-sized piece of driftwood washed up on shore a quarter mile or so away. Odd. Maybe it had a crab or something on it... except Toby had seen crabs before, and didn't as a rule get all excited about them. But he was over on the far side...

"My God!" With one thrust he planted the stock of the rifle into the sand and ran over to the girl who had lain hidden by the log. She was cold to the touch and faintly blue; her hands were grasping the branches of the driftwood even in unconsciousness.

Unconsciousness? No no no not... Ed put his head down to listen to her chest, only then noticing that her breasts were uncovered -- in fact she was naked save for a thin pair of panties that in their soaked condition hid nothing. It startled him but he instantly dismissed it and again laid his head down on her chest... "Quiet, Toby! Be quiet!"

... lub-dup... lub-dup... lub-dup... very slowly, but it was there.

Thank God.

"Good Toby! Good! Warm, OK, gotta get you warm, OK, let's warm you up, OK, here, let me get you up..." With a haste he had not shown in years he started talking to the girl as he tried to pull one arm and then the other to try to get her up. Her hands didn't let go of the driftwood. Rather than waste time fighting her he whipped out his knife and cut the half-torn-away branches she was grasping, let her carry them as he lifted her to his arms and carried his human and vegetable newcomers back to his hut.

Twenty minutes later she was still unconscious, but she was now wrapped in blankets in the warm sand in the sunny lee of his hut, and he'd managed to get a couple of swallows of heated broth into her as well — fires start quickly when the wood is doused in lamp oil. Four grapefruit-sized fire-warmed rocks that had previously made up part of his fire circle were embedded with her in the blankets, under her arms, between her thighs, and the flattest one on her chest, all well insulated from her skin. Her color was better, so he decided more rocks might be overkill. Instead he shaded her face with some palm fronds, left her some broth, picked up some more blankets, and took Toby to go retrieve his rifle -- the long way, around the island. Ed wasn't sure whether he wanted to find anyone else or not — but she didn't look like a sailor, so she probably hadn't been alone; it was possible somebody else had washed up too.

Tropical waters. The water temperature must be near 70. You are the luckiest girl on the face of the planet, Ed thought silently as he cast a glance back to his new guest. The water's warm enough so that you didn't freeze, you found a log so you didn't sink, and you landed on one of the last islands in the chain so you didn't have to float another three thousand miles before you washed up somewhere. I hope you bought a lottery ticket before you went swimming.

A scan of the horizon and a Toby-assisted search of the beach all the way around the island had shown nothing, neither more visitors nor any clues as to how or why his guest had arrived. She was still out when he returned, the broth untouched. Her hands and feet were still cold so he replaced the cooling stones with heated ones again. This time he couldn't help but notice the toned, smooth lines of her thighs as he readjusted the blankets.

Twenty or twenty-one, maybe. God, she's gorgeous, even bedraggled and out cold. Bet she cleans up well. Hmm, maybe I oughtta clean up a bit myself so I don't scare her to death when she wakes up. Ed typically went a week or two between shaves — there wasn't much point, when you didn't see anybody for three months at a time. For that matter, he didn't keep track much; he just shaved whenever his face started to itch from his growing beard. He'd thought about letting it grow once, but looking like a castaway didn't appeal to him, even if the only person around to see him was a dog. It's been a long time. She could probably look like Truman Capote in Murder by Death and she'd look good to me. Still, mustn't forget entirely how to be social.

Several hours and changes of rocks later, the girl was lit only by the fire some feet away. A slight stirring brought Ed from repairing his nets nearby to sit beside her makeshift bed. Her hands, feet, and face seemed to be up to a living temperature; he took away the stone on her chest to make her more comfortable. A tiny murmur and head movement — he tipped a little water on her lips and she swallowed once, twice, a third time, before stopping and falling back into senselessness.

Well, OK then, he thought. I guess I'll call that a good sign. Wake up soon, though, girl, because your body's going to want food and a lot more water. And what about that salt on you? That'll itch like crazy. You need a bath, and badly. You're warm enough now, but what if you wake up in the middle of it? He knew how itchy the salt would be, but it wasn't exactly a life-threatening condition. He wrestled with his conscience while he warmed a bucket of water over the fire but decided he was legitimately her caregiver, and it would give him a chance to check for other injuries as well.

When the water was warm he settled down next to her. He bent over her tentatively and caught his lower lip in his teeth as with his softest cloth he began to gently rinse and buff her face: forehead to temple... dip the cloth... cheekbones and cheeks... dip the cloth... beside her nose... now the other side... don't let the water run into her eyes... he opened the cloth up to give her a final caressing buff. The movements brought out an intensely personal tenderness in him as he cleaned her perfect nose and her parted lips. Without realizing it he slowed as her lips were cleaned; they had been reddened and warmed by the attention, so gloriously tempting...

He had to shake himself. Jesus, what's getting into you? A perfect stranger, and young enough to be your daughter almost. Yes it's been a while but don't go nuts, for crying out loud. And let's not go thinking she might want to kiss you just because her lips are open when she's unconscious! If you're being her caregiver, then give her some care.

Dip and bathe, dip and bathe. Chin, perky. Neck, smooth. Ears — well, young, and fine, like everything else about her. What do you say about ears? Very nibble-worthy — or will be once the salt is gone. He grinned suddenly with honest humor: come to think of it, I wouldn't care about the salt.

With the cup he sluiced water into her long black hair time after time, massaging to get the water down to her skin. I could get used to this. He tipped her head from side to side to get all around her scalp. The blanket she was on was getting soaked, but it was better than getting sand plastered to her in place of the salt, and he had more blankets.

He used a lot of water on her hair and was left with only half a bucket. Need a lot for the next step. Rather than continue immediately he filled it up again and set it back near the fire. He gave it a considering look and then went and brought out his soup pot, twice the size of the bucket, filled with water and set it next to the fire as well.

Again, her youthful beauty struck him as he settled back to wait, a penknife in one hand working one of her bits of driftwood in the other. Guess I should have bought a lottery ticket too. By all rights, anyone who washes up here should be old, male, and in other ways unsuitable. This girl belongs in Hollywood — which puts me smack in the middle of a B-movie right now.

Logic and common sense could not repress a twinge of guilt at what obviously had to come next. When the water was nearly enough for a hot bath, he took the bucket over to her again and bathed one hand, gently working the cloth into each crevice between her fingers; keeping it full of fresh water at every step, he bathed her wrist and forearm, paying special attention to the inside of her elbow. He sloshed a rinse over the parts he had done and worked his way up to her shoulder, always using plenty of the warm water; when he was done with the arm he tucked it back under the blanket. Her other arm was treated with equal concern.

OK, how to do this... He decided to fold back the blanket to expose one leg at a time. On this island she wouldn't get too cold being out from the blankets but no point in taking chances — and besides, she might wake up at any time.

Dip and bathe... dip and bathe... Her left foot was smooth, and tanned, and shapely, and wholly attractive. The washing turned into a foot massage — something I used to be good at, not that you'd know it from her — strictly for his own pleasure, and the washing of her calf, knee, and thigh took longer and used more water than might have been strictly necessary. When he got high enough for her panties to peep out from the blanket it was time to bathe her other leg...

It had been a matter of some personal pride to him, back in his foot-massage-giving days, that he spent as much time on the second foot as on the first. This time was no exception. With the care he took washing between her toes and then up her leg he might have been an artist working on a beloved sculpture or a world-class conductor leading an orchestra in an sweet adagio.

The last of the water in the bucket rinsed both the girl's legs, and he replaced the blanket and refilled the bucket from the soup pot of water by the fire. This time when he sat back down next to the girl, he had to stop and take a deep breath. OK, well, in for a penny, in for a pound...