local economy. Spectacular panoramas, combined with exclusive real estate, yacht charters and marina facilities brought residents and visitors alike to the area. Judging by the number of expensive cars in the town, Skye had no doubt the book was correct.
The ferry to Friday Harbor left at eight the following morning, and the travel agent had recommended that Skye stay at the inn close to the terminal. Tired from her drive, she ate a solitary dinner in the hotel's dining r oom before calling it a night.
A short time later, she slipped between the cool white sheets of the Queen-sized bed and settled against the comforters. Sighing deeply, she wiped a surreptitious tear from her eye.
" Where did we go wrong, Michael? Why couldn't you talk to me? Why did you have to hurt me the way you did? "
Chapter Two
The following morning dawned cold and grey, the cloud level so low, that the majestic mountains of the Pacific northwest were completely hidden from view. O nly a few cars wait ed for the ferry, and those appeared to be long to locals and business people. The tourists would come later, making it essential to book passage and spoiling t he tranquillity of the journey.
Skye locked the car and climbed the stairs up to the main deck. The aroma of coffee drew her towards the small cafe. She purchased a beaker of Seattle's Finest, and wander ed out to the observation deck.
As the ferry slowly steamed towards the islands, the cloud base gradually lifted, allowing the sun to filter through here and there. Amazed by t he panorama unfolding before her eyes, she wondered why anyone would want to lie on a sun-drenched beach all day, when they could have this.
Friday Harbor soon came into view. It was much smaller than Skye had imagined, and she wasn't prepared for the numerous sailboats with their impossibly tall masts, which filled every berth in the marina. The San Juan Islands were a Mecca for tourists, whether they arrived off the ferries from Anacortes or Canada, or sailed their own yachts into the tiny and picturesque harbo u rs that dotted the islands .
Skye found the realtor's office in a side street, just up the road from the ferry terminal. The formalities completed, and with the key in her pocket and a detailed map in her hand, she once more set o ut.
The roads were deserted , and the only vehicles she passed were trucks carrying fish from the north of the island to the ferry terminal. Skye found driving in this backwater much easier than in Seattle or on the Interstate. Her exit came into view; she moved across the highway, and signaled her turn into the private track.
The cabin was all she had hoped for and more. Constructed purely of timber, it stood some five hundred yards from the shoreline and a mile or so off the highway. A path led down from the cabin to a small wooden dock. Eager to explore, Skye unloaded her shopping, and made herself a quick cup of coffee. The rest of her luggage could wait. She wanted nothing more than to breathe the clean fresh air and savo u r the view, before unpacking and settling into what would be her home for the next month.
She left her jacket over a kitchen chair, and carried her steaming cup down to the dock and sat down. She slipped off her shoes, and was just about to dip her toes into the deep blue water, when a very masculine voice called out.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you. The water is pretty darned cold at this time of year."
Startled, Skye’s heart thumped in her chest. She turned and scanned the trees in an attempt to locate the voice, which emanated from the very depths of the pinewood. She squinted into the early afternoon sunlight. A figure emerged from the trees. He was tall, well over six feet, with raven black hair and the slight shadow of a beard. She couldn't really see his eyes, but had a feeling they would be icy blue and would have that ‘damn you to hell’ expression.
A chill
The ferry to Friday Harbor left at eight the following morning, and the travel agent had recommended that Skye stay at the inn close to the terminal. Tired from her drive, she ate a solitary dinner in the hotel's dining r oom before calling it a night.
A short time later, she slipped between the cool white sheets of the Queen-sized bed and settled against the comforters. Sighing deeply, she wiped a surreptitious tear from her eye.
" Where did we go wrong, Michael? Why couldn't you talk to me? Why did you have to hurt me the way you did? "
Chapter Two
The following morning dawned cold and grey, the cloud level so low, that the majestic mountains of the Pacific northwest were completely hidden from view. O nly a few cars wait ed for the ferry, and those appeared to be long to locals and business people. The tourists would come later, making it essential to book passage and spoiling t he tranquillity of the journey.
Skye locked the car and climbed the stairs up to the main deck. The aroma of coffee drew her towards the small cafe. She purchased a beaker of Seattle's Finest, and wander ed out to the observation deck.
As the ferry slowly steamed towards the islands, the cloud base gradually lifted, allowing the sun to filter through here and there. Amazed by t he panorama unfolding before her eyes, she wondered why anyone would want to lie on a sun-drenched beach all day, when they could have this.
Friday Harbor soon came into view. It was much smaller than Skye had imagined, and she wasn't prepared for the numerous sailboats with their impossibly tall masts, which filled every berth in the marina. The San Juan Islands were a Mecca for tourists, whether they arrived off the ferries from Anacortes or Canada, or sailed their own yachts into the tiny and picturesque harbo u rs that dotted the islands .
Skye found the realtor's office in a side street, just up the road from the ferry terminal. The formalities completed, and with the key in her pocket and a detailed map in her hand, she once more set o ut.
The roads were deserted , and the only vehicles she passed were trucks carrying fish from the north of the island to the ferry terminal. Skye found driving in this backwater much easier than in Seattle or on the Interstate. Her exit came into view; she moved across the highway, and signaled her turn into the private track.
The cabin was all she had hoped for and more. Constructed purely of timber, it stood some five hundred yards from the shoreline and a mile or so off the highway. A path led down from the cabin to a small wooden dock. Eager to explore, Skye unloaded her shopping, and made herself a quick cup of coffee. The rest of her luggage could wait. She wanted nothing more than to breathe the clean fresh air and savo u r the view, before unpacking and settling into what would be her home for the next month.
She left her jacket over a kitchen chair, and carried her steaming cup down to the dock and sat down. She slipped off her shoes, and was just about to dip her toes into the deep blue water, when a very masculine voice called out.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you. The water is pretty darned cold at this time of year."
Startled, Skye’s heart thumped in her chest. She turned and scanned the trees in an attempt to locate the voice, which emanated from the very depths of the pinewood. She squinted into the early afternoon sunlight. A figure emerged from the trees. He was tall, well over six feet, with raven black hair and the slight shadow of a beard. She couldn't really see his eyes, but had a feeling they would be icy blue and would have that ‘damn you to hell’ expression.
A chill
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