Where It Began. Kathleen Pickering

her mother’s and her sister’s? Should he try, one more time, to see if their love was strong enough to overcome the trauma of retrograde amnesia?

       The chance to win her back, as a stranger, was cowardly, no matter how appealing. He’d be better off pursuing his new plans, away from Maria, especially with her in such a volatile, emotional state of mind.

       She was out of reach now, but if she remembered the accident without the right people around her to help her understand? Then, for sure, she would be lost to him. He’d be better off leaving for Australia and starting a new life. If, in time, her memory returned and she was willing to forgive him, they could at least remain friends.

       Sailing away with her tomorrow would simply make a bad situation intolerable. He should move on. After all, had she died in the accident, like the others, he would have had to start over. Her love would have remained an ache deep in his being—one he’d learn to live with. There wouldn’t be much difference between that sad acceptance and the way he felt now at the lack of recognition that pooled in her eyes when she gazed at him.

       Damn it all. While his heart tugged at him to take her away and make one last try, his mind demanded he run as fast as he could.

       Elias watched him with hawklike calm. Daniel might fool Maria, but the older man knew. He recognized the depth of Daniel’s love for his daughter. Elias had urged Daniel to overcome his fear of his own abilities to command a vessel.

       Daniel met his gaze, silently pleading that this interview end. He needed to commit to the races in Australia. Winning was critical to cement himself in the sailing arena. The sponsorship calls and advertising contracts wouldn’t be coming in forever. He only had a small window of time here to get back on track. Daniel had spent too many months wrestling with the guilt that had tied him to Reefside, day in and day out, and the need to ensure Elias and Maria fared well.

       A sigh escaped his lips. Why the hell was he arguing with himself, anyway? Elias’s look said it all. Daniel had no choice but to right the wrong that had begun with him. It was his fate to be ground zero when Maria exploded back to life. It just had never occurred to him, or Elias, that she would request to sail back to the place where it all began.

       Daniel needed time to think.

       “I have errands to do. I’ll answer you in an hour.”

       He didn’t even look back when Elias called out, “Be sure there is storage on the Honora for Maria’s canvases.”

      CHAPTER TWO

      AGAINST HER DECISION not to heed Del Rio at all, Maria watched his angry stride, infuriated at his rudeness. He had her full attention as he headed into the tropical overhang leading around the villa. His unwillingness to help confounded her. After refusing his attempts at conversation with her all these months, she finally needed him and he was dodging her.

       It made no sense.

       She’d avoided him most of this past year because a wave of anxiety would hit whenever he came around, rattling her right down to the bone. Then, his soothing, deep voice with its touch of laughter would lull and excite her at the same time. His concerned glances, as if he expected her to ask him a question at any moment, had left her feeling inadequate and foolish.

       Recently, however, she’d felt differently. It occurred to her that her subconscious was prodding her. Perhaps Del Rio knew the answers to her questions. Instinct said that he was her ticket to regaining her memory, and every ounce of her being knew this to be true. If only she could calm down enough around him to stop being such a shrew, he might be inclined to help her.

       The clang of iron from the side gate heralded his exit. She dropped into the seat across from Elias, aware her father watched her. Perhaps he was reassessing the wisdom of letting her leave. It didn’t matter. She had to make this voyage. Nothing was going to stop her from retracing that trip to Little Harbour—unless Poppa was ill.

       “You’re angry with me,” she said.

       Elias shook his head, his rheumy brown gaze filled with intention. “No, mi querida. It hurts me to see what is left of our beautiful family quarreling.”

       “Del Rio is not family. He acts as if you and I belong hidden away like a couple of loony tunes in an asylum.”

       He gave her an indulgent smile. “You simply do not remember, Maria.”

       Her breath caught in her throat. Yes. Poppa was right. While a niggling thought teased that she knew Del Rio, he remained an enigma. That his family had been tied to hers for so many years made her wonder why she could remember nothing of this South American.

       Yet, something about him disquieted her. Poppa had said Del Rio’s mother was beautiful, his father a lifelong business partner. Elias had laughed, insisting that Del Rio had inherited his Irish father’s renegade looks, while his blue eyes reflected the deep current of his mother’s Chilean soul. Del Rio must have held a strong affection for his mother and her Chilean roots, because he used her last name more often than his surname. The man certainly showed a respect for family that Poppa more than once had openly admired.

       Her father could keep his poetic musings to himself.

       “I am so tired of not remembering, Poppa.” Her tremulous words surprised her.

       Elias turned his wheelchair to face her. With a slow shake of his head he said, “My beautiful Maria. You have been lost in your hideaway upstairs for too long. I am glad you have found strength to seek the answers you want. If it was in my power to accompany you, I would.”

       Her chest tightened with love for her father. She stood. “Thank you, Poppa. You know I hate to leave you. I will be back as soon as possible.”

       Yes, Del Rio could go to the devil if he did not agree to take her to Little Harbour. It was as simple as that. She pressed her cheek to her father’s, relishing the warmth, inhaling the familiar, soapy smell of his shaving lotion. Familiar scents had been triggers for her memory, and Poppa’s was one of the first to bring her around. “I love you, Poppa. I trust you will ensure your captain cooperates.”

       He patted her back. “Have Enrique bring your things to the Honora.”

       Ascending her steps to the studio, Maria pushed thoughts of Del Rio away. A commissioned piece needed to be completed before morning. The easel holding a painting half her size stood by the open French doors to capture as much tropical light as possible.

       She reclaimed her seat on the wooden stool splattered with various colors of dried paint. Her gaze rested on her current work, which a socialite from her mother’s International Women’s group had asked her to paint. The woman wanted the view from her Islamorada home to be painted like a dream.

       Maria usually created only what arose in her imagination, but since this woman had been a friend of Momma’s and offered to pay an outrageous price, Maria had accepted. She had laughed out loud when she saw the photo from which she would work. Living in the Florida Keys was like living a dream. Lately, daydreams came easily to Maria. Anything that promised escape—the slow burst of sunrise, birds flying over the sea, this photo of the view of Florida Bay from her client’s window, all set her paintbrushes in motion. She’d created a technique of blending colors and images that left the viewer mesmerized and contemplative, just as the perfect dream might do. This commission had been simple to create.

       Maria still couldn’t believe that complete strangers sought out and paid huge sums for these canvases splayed with the surreal joys, sorrows and regrets of her soul that words could not describe. Heaven knew, even her nightmares made excellent subjects and sold fastest.

       She marveled at the encouragement she received from art critics for indulging this exquisite escape from reality. Yet now, only reality stared back from the canvas in the form of Del Rio’s face. He had mocked her when he asked her if she even liked to sail. He knew the answer. She didn’t. And her inability to remember shook her to the core.

       It was like being surrounded in complete gloom with no walls, no floor, no sound. No matter