The Package Deal. Marion Lennox

He owed her privacy but he was going out of his mind.

      He hauled himself outside to sit in the sun, acknowledging as he did just how swollen his leg was; how impossible it was that he do anything useful.

      He stared out over the storm-swept island, at the flattened trees, at the mountain of debris washed up on the beach.

      Jake.

      Mary.

      It was too much. He hauled himself back inside to fetch the papers.

      It was none of his business. He acknowledged it, but he started to read anyway.

      * * *

      Negotiating the beach was a nightmare. The cyclone had caused storm surges and the water had washed well up the cliff face. She looked at the new high-water mark and shuddered. If she hadn’t found Ben when she had...

      Don’t go there, she told herself. It made her feel ill.

      Surely no one else could have survived, but she had to check. The debris washed up was unbelievable—and some of it looked as if it had come from the yacht fleet.

      Every time she saw a flash of something that shouldn’t be there, a hint of colour, waterproof clothing, shattered fibreglass or ripped sails, her heart caught in her mouth. No bodies, she pleaded as she searched. No Jake? He had to have been rescued.

      What sort of people manned those rescue helicopters? she wondered, thinking suddenly about the woman who’d been dangling in a harness with the unknown Jake. There was a prayer in her heart for both of them—indeed, for anyone who’d been out there.

      But even before she’d found Ben, the radio had said people had died.

      She searched on and stupidly, weirdly, she found herself crying. Why? Tears wouldn’t help anyone. She was Mary, the practical one. Mary, who didn’t do emotion.

      Mary, who’d just spent twenty-four hours in a stranger’s arms?

      She didn’t feel like Mary any more. Over the past months she’d been blasted out of her nice, safe existence, first by the death of her stepsister’s baby, then by a storm—and now by a man holding her as if he cared.

      He was shocked and frantic about his brother’s safety. He’d been using her body to forget.

      ‘And I was using him,’ she told Heinz. She was sitting on a massive tree trunk washed up on the beach, retrieving her apple from her backpack.

      But he’d held her as if he cared. No one did that. Even her father...

      Don’t go there. She’d loved her father as much as she’d loved her mother. Her mother’s death had been unavoidable.

      Her father’s marriage to Barbie had meant desertion and she’d never truly trusted anyone since.

      She stared down at her apple, but she didn’t feel like eating. What was she doing, dredging up long-ago pain?

      She wanted, quite desperately, to be back on the mainland, surrounded by her roller-derby team. She needed a fast, furious game where she could pit her wits and her strength against skills that matched hers—where she had no room to think of anything beyond the physical.

      As she’d been when she’d lain in Ben’s arms?

      Only there’d been room for more than the physical with Ben. It had felt like there was far more.

      And there wasn’t. She didn’t need anyone. Hadn’t her whole life taught her that?

      ‘So get over it. Get over him.’ She crunched her apple with unnecessary force. Heinz looked at her with worry, and she bit off a piece and offered it.

      He wasn’t interested. He headed back into the kelp. Here be dead fish and stuff. Here be something better than apples.

      ‘That’s what I get for hauling your dog food to the cave,’ she retorted. ‘Some dogs would be grateful for apple.’

      Her words caught her sense of the ridiculous and she managed a half-hearted smile. It was only half-hearted, though. She truly was discombobulated. In the last couple of months her world had been blasted apart, and the cyclone seemed the culmination.

      Wrong. Ben seemed the culmination.

      * * *

      He was a fast reader but sometimes he slowed. Sometimes he wanted to soak in each word.

      He’d desperately needed an escape from his worry about Jake. Last night Mary had been that escape. Now the manuscript in his hands was giving him a lesser one.

      His dark, shadowed eyes, grey and mysterious, seemed to bore into parts of her she hadn’t even known existed. They seemed to see the wolf within.

      He got it. He was grinning with delight as he recognised himself. She’d gone back and crossed a few things out in the backstory. His build, his eyes, his physique, were superimposed on...her hero?

      This man was supposed to be a twin? Heaven help her if there were two of them. One was enough to make a werewolf run for cover.

      He read on, entranced. Escape... That’s what this woman was all about, he thought, and she was very, very good at it. Her writing was part of her. The whole was entrancing.

      * * *

      She rounded the entire island. She found storm-blasted birds, some dead but most simply stunned and battered, hunkering down while they recovered.

      She—or rather Heinz—found dead fish. Heinz let the birds be but not the fish. How much fish could one dog eat? Mary was past caring.

      Thank God, no bodies.

      Finally she made her way inland to check on the hut. But what hut? The base of the fireplace was all that was left. The tin roof was scattered through the bushland. The timber walls had crumbled. Her friends’ possessions were sodden and ruined. There seemed nothing left for her to save.

      ‘And we’ve probably ruined the quilt as well,’ she told Heinz.

      ‘I’ll fix it.’

      Ben’s voice in the stillness made her jump. She turned and he was sitting on a fallen tree at the edge of the clearing, watching her.

      ‘You shouldn’t have come,’ she said, shocked. ‘You should be resting your knee.’

      ‘You’ve been gone for four hours,’ he said pointedly. ‘A man’s allowed to get worried. Two stout walking-sticks and I managed.’

      ‘How did you know where to come?’

      ‘There are two paths from the cave. One leads to the beach. I figured the other led here, and I figured this was where you’d end up. I’m up there with Einstein,’ he said proudly.

      She managed a smile. He looked astonishing. His face was battered, the shirt and pants he was wearing had the odd rip, he’d wrapped his one bare foot in a ripped towel to form a makeshift shoe, but he looked...healthy?

      Maybe more than healthy, she conceded. He looked more tough, rugged and good-looking than any man had a right to look.

      Especially when a woman had to be sensible.

      Think about something else, she told herself desperately. Focus. She gazed around the clearing at the mess.

      Nothing occurred. She just wanted to look at him.

      ‘I’ll have the quilt cleaned,’ he told her. ‘Restored if necessary. I’ll have this cottage rebuilt if insurance doesn’t pay for it. I’ll do anything in my power to pay for what you’ve done for me. Starting with the quilt.’

      ‘How did you know the quilt’s important?’

      ‘I’ve seen homes destroyed in Afghanistan. I’ve seen women who’ve lost all their possessions, and I’ve seen what a tiny thing can mean.’ He smiled at her, but his smile