“We’ll make a proper bed,” he assured her. “Er, I mean…”
“I understand,” she replied.
He assisted her down the path, pointing excitedly to a crevice in the rock face where rainwater had accumulated. Pleasantly surprised when he scooped water in his big hands and offered her the first drink, she held on to his wrists and slurped. “Good,” she sighed, swiping her sleeve across her mouth. “You now.”
He gathered his long hair into a queue as he bent to drink from the crevice. Even in profile, his features were striking. He looked up and caught her staring.
“Your beard is growing,” she improvised lamely.
He rubbed his chin. “Better get used to it. There’s no barber here.”
Her mouth ran away with itself. “I could shave you” she said.
He eyed her curiously. “With my dagger? I don’t think so.”
“You don’t trust me,” she replied, sounding like a petulant child to her own ears.
He looked into her eyes. “I’d trust you with my life, Heidi Jakobsen, but I doubt you’ve shaved a man with a dagger before.”
He was right, though she’d shaved Torsten with a straight edge.
“Besides,” he chuckled. “You wouldn’t survive long here without me.”
Foraging
Intent on finding shelter, Maximiliano hadn’t paid attention to anything except Heidi as they’d fought their way through jungle foliage the previous day. Retracing their steps to the clearing, he was reminded of his childhood, foraging for fruit on his parents’ estate in Cabo Tinto.
He plucked a bunch ofquenepas, scored the shell of one with his teeth and chewed greedily into the flesh. “Try,” he said, offering her one. “Stringy, but sweet.”
He took back the fruit when she couldn’t break the shell and did it for her.
Her eyes widened in surprise when she began to chew. “Delicious,” she breathed. “I never tasted them before.”
He chuckled when she plucked another and had no trouble opening the shell.
“I must look terrible,” she said. “I feel like I’ve got sand everywhere.”
Her hair was a tangled mess, her face smudged, her lips sticky withquenepasjuice. He wanted to lick her clean, all over, but he’d resolved to respect her. “You look like you spent the night in a cave with a pirate,” he teased.
Her laughter only intensified the urge to kiss her, but then she spotted a guava tree. “I used to buy those in the market,” she said.
Some of the fruit fell to the ground when he shook the tree. He cut one in two with his dagger. “Not ripe,” he said, “but better than nothing.”
They scooped up the rest of the guava, picked a few morequenepasand took the haul back to the clearing. As he’d predicted, the portmanteau and his sack were still there.
“At least we won’t starve,” she said.
It gladdened him to hear a note of optimism in her voice, but how long could they exist on fruit and coconut? “I’m going to climb as far up the mountain as I can,” he told her.
“You’re leaving me here?”
He regretted the note of panic in her voice. “You can’t scale mountains, even in those shoes, and I want to see how big the island is, and if there’s a better place to shelter. From up there I’ll perhaps see other islands and get my bearings.”
He handed over her own pistol. “I don’t think you’ll need this,” he said. “But you’ll feel better if I leave you with a weapon. The powder should be dry, and the bullet is still in the barrel.”
“It was my husband’s,” she admitted, staring at the brand on the handle.
He’d anticipated that, but her next words shook him to the core.