Ready for Anything, Anywhere! Read online

  Ready for

  Anything,

  Anywhere!

  HIS ONLY OBSESSION

  BEVERLY BARTON

  STRANDED WITH A SPY

  MERLINE LOVELACE

  AWAKEN TO DANGER

  CATHERINE MANN

  www.millsandboon.co.uk

  HIS ONLY OBSESSION

  BEVERLY BARTON

  About the Author

  BEVERLY BARTON has been in love with romance since her grandfather gave her an illustrated book of Beauty and the Beast. An avid reader since childhood, Beverly wrote her first book at the age of nine. After marriage to her own “hero” and the births of her daughter and son, Beverly chose to be a full-time homemaker, aka wife, mother, friend and volunteer. The author of Romance Writers of America and helped found the Heart of Dixie chapter in Alabama. She has won numerous awards and has made USA TODAY bestseller lists.

  To the members of my Alabama RWA chapter, Heart of Dixie, past and present. Thank you for all the good times we have shared during the past twenty years.

  Prologue

  My dearest daughter,

  I have asked your mother to give you this letter on your eighteenth birthday. It is my hope that after reading this, you will understand why I have been an absentee father all these years, why I have let you and your mother down, why I feel that I have no choice but to leave both of you in order to continue pursuing a dream that will consume me to my dying day.

  Let me try to explain. It all began for me many years ago, long before I met your mother.

  There is an ancient legend that tells of a mystical island located somewhere between what is known today as Bermuda and the West Indies. The story has been handed down, from father to son, for generations since before the time of Christopher Columbus. The tales of this island and the unique people who inhabit it vary. Some say the natives of this island share the same ancestry as the Mayans and the Incas, others claim they were the first Europeans to arrive in the New World, before Columbus. A few even claim that these unique people originally came from ancient Egypt.

  Most people believe the legend is nothing more than a tale told by dotty old men to awed young children and gullible adventurers. But a precious few swear the island exists—out there somewhere, perhaps in the Devil’s Triangle. Some say it has streets paved with gold, while others claim it is a tropical paradise with crystal-clear waterfalls and lush vegetation. Although the stories themselves vary in many aspects, there is one detail on which all agree. The people of this mysterious, uncharted island—an island with no name—possess an enviable quality, one the outside world would kill to obtain: the average lifespan is two hundred years.

  The first time I went to the Indies and sailed the Caribbean Sea with my parents and brother, I was a young man of twenty. I had already chosen my college major—botany. Nothing fascinated me more than the world of plants. During our family trip, I collected specimens on every island, from the Bahamas, Cuba, Jamaica, Barbados, Puerto Rico and even as far north as Bermuda. My father, a banker, a conservative thinker and a strict disciplinarian, did not understand me, and I think, perhaps, did not approve of the profession I had chosen. But my mother, sweet, doe-eyed Gwendolyn, who loved Elizabeth Barrett Browning’s poetry and adored taking my brother, Elliott, and me to the movies at least twice a week, thought I could do no wrong. So, I suppose that my father and mother balanced each other out.

  I shall never forget that special summer … the last summer the four of us were together. Even then, I was amazed that my father actually took an entire month away from his successful, highly demanding job to give his family a once-in-a-lifetime vacation. Looking back, I can see all three of them in my mind’s eye. Daddy with his sunburned face and thick, dark mustache. Mama with her straw hat and sunglasses. And Elliott, who had just turned fifteen, with his golden, tanned skin and sun-streaked brown hair.

  We heard the legends of the mystic island at every port, each version slightly different, but each equally captivating. Being a realist, with both feet planted firmly on the ground, Daddy said it was superstitious native nonsense. Mama, on the other hand, ever the romantic dreamer, commented on how marvelous it would be to find the island and gain the Fountain of Youth secret.

  I was then and am now my mother’s son.

  Late in June that summer, with less than a week left on our month-long vacation, we boarded the small rental yacht and sailed off from Bermuda, heading south, our destination the Bahamas. It was a warm, balmy day, with only a few fluffy white clouds in the sky. My father had checked weather conditions before leaving port and we expected only blue skies and sunshine for the entire trip. But less than two hours out to sea, we encountered sudden high winds, followed by dark, swirling clouds and an unexpected storm that tossed our yacht about with frightening force. My mother huddled with us belowdecks and prayed without ceasing for what seemed like hours. And then it happened. The yacht caught fire as if repeatedly struck by lightning. My father lowered the single lifeboat and my mother insisted that her two boys go first, which we did with great reluctance.

  Everything happened so quickly that to this day, I’m not sure of the details. All I know is that once Elliott and I were in the lifeboat, our parents didn’t join us, and the burning yacht sank with unbelievable speed. The choppy waters made it impossible for us to do any good with rowing, so we had little choice but to hunker down and allow the water and wind to take us where it would.

  I don’t know how long we drifted, how many endless days we went without food or water, but long enough for both of us to become delusional. Eventually we did little but sleep, both of us certain that death was imminent.

  And then, on the very day salvation came, I awoke from a deathlike sleep to discover my brother missing. Sometime while I had slept, he had either fallen overboard or deliberately jumped into the ocean.

  There I was alone, mourning the deaths of my parents and my only sibling and anticipating my own demise at any moment, when I saw the island. At first, gazing at it through the mist that surrounded it, I thought I had imagined seeing land, that it couldn’t be real. I had no idea where I was or if I had possibly drifted south, southeast or southwest; or maybe simply east, out into the vastness of the Atlantic Ocean. Barely able to do more than sit up, I somehow managed to row the small lifeboat toward the island, and with each beat of my heart, I prayed that it was no cruel illusion. Could this be the Bahamas? I wondered. Or had I somehow bypassed the easternmost islands and was now approaching Trinidad? What did it matter? I saw land. I wasn’t going to die.

  What happened next, in the days and weeks that followed, no one would ever believe. But I ask you, my dear little Gwen, to suspend your disbelief, to open up your heart and mind to the possibility that there are indeed more things on earth than we have ever dreamed possible. There are miracles and magic and wonders to behold. I know these things exist for I have seen the mystical land of legends, met the men and women who live to be two hundred years old, who never suffer the cruelty of illness or deal with the ravages of time. You see, my child, I found the island. I was rescued by its people. And I discovered the secret of their illness-free lives and longevity.

  Even then, as a youth of twenty, I longed to bring that miracle back to the rest of the world, but I was denied the privilege. These people do not welcome outsiders and would never willingly have contact with us. And they will kill to protect their secret.

  They have killed to protect it.

  After only three weeks on the island, I was forced to leave. They gave me food and water, then set me out to sea in my little lifeboat. I couldn’t understand why they would save my life only to send me back to certain death. But oddly enough, the very next day I was
picked up by a fishing vessel off the coast of Cuba. When I told others what had happened to me, about my weeks on the island and how I wanted to head an expedition and return to the island as soon as possible, people laughed in my face. Even the kindest and most caring thought that the legendary island where I’d stayed had been nothing more than a mirage, a figment of my feverish imagination. But I swear to you, it was real. It does exist!

  This happened over twenty-five years ago and I have spent most of those years on a quest to rediscover this uncharted island that lies somewhere between Bermuda and the West Indies. I have spent a great deal of my salary as a botany professor and most of my inheritance from my parents in pursuit of this dream … some may even say obsession. But hear me, daughter, on this island, there is a plant that exists nowhere else on earth that can give us mortals prolonged youth and protect us from illness.

  When you read this, I pray you understand and forgive me for abandoning you. I love you and your mother very much, but your mother does not understand me, cannot accept my desperate need to bring this great gift to the world. She, like so many others, has decided that I am mentally unbalanced. Do not believe them.

  My hope is that I will have found the island again and brought long life and health to the world’s people before you turn eighteen and read this letter. But if not, then I pray that you will believe me and come to me to join me on my quest.

  Your loving father,

  Emery

  Gwen Arnell read the letter, then folded it neatly and returned it to the yellowed envelope. Her father had written this letter eight years ago, shortly after her mother divorced him. Gwen had been ten, and despite the fact that her father had spent most of his time at work or in the Caribbean, she had adored him and treasured those infrequent but precious moments she spent with him. After the divorce, she hadn’t seen him again for nearly two years. Sometimes he remembered to send her a birthday present, but often as not he would forget her birthday and Christmas. Every so often, sometimes after a year or longer, he would call for a brief conversation. She had seen him a total of three times since the divorce.

  “You seem all right,” her mother said. “The letter didn’t upset you?”

  “No.”

  “I had no idea what he wrote and wasn’t sure how the letter would affect you. But I swore to him that I would give it to you when you turned eighteen.”

  “Weren’t you ever tempted to open it and read it?”

  Jean Arnell nodded. “I will admit that the thought crossed my mind, but it wouldn’t have been right. It’s the only thing your father has ever given you, the only thing he will probably ever give you, so I thought of it as your legacy from him.”

  Gwen sighed. “Do you truly believe he’s crazy, the way all his colleagues believe he is? I realize everyone who knows Daddy thinks he’s a fool.”

  Jean didn’t respond immediately, then said quietly, solemnly, “Your father isn’t certifiably insane.”

  “That’s not what I asked.”

  “A tragic incident in his youth affected your father mentally and emotionally. Losing his entire family the way he did … “Jean reached out and took Gwen’s hands in hers. “Emery loved me. He loved you. He still loves you, but he can never be the father you want him to be, and I really don’t think he can help himself. He has allowed his obsession with finding that nonexistent island and that miraculous eternal-youth plant to consume his entire life.”

  “But what if the island is real? What if there really is such a plant? It is possible, isn’t it?” Gwen wanted to believe in her father’s dream, wanted to share it with him.

  “I don’t think so. There are no known islands anywhere on earth where your father claims this island was. And if it did exist, why has no one else found it in all these years? Why is it nothing more than a legend?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe Daddy is special, that it was meant for him to be the one to rediscover this place, to—”

  Jean grasped Gwen’s shoulders and gave her a gentle shake. “No. Do you hear me—no. The island does not exist. The plant doesn’t exist.”

  Gwen looked her mother directly in the eyes. “I want to get in touch with Daddy and ask him if I can go to the West Indies with him this summer and help him in his search.”

  “Oh, Gwen, sweetie, no. Please, don’t allow your father to suck you into his delusional world.”

  “Don’t worry, Mother, the only obsession I have is to get to know my father. He’s practically a stranger to me. Sharing a summer with him on his quest could be good for him and for me. Please, try to understand.”

  Jean squeezed Gwen’s shoulders, then released her and said sadly, “You do what you must, but I’m afraid that in the end, he’ll break your heart. Do not for one minute believe that you can ever be more important to him than his great obsession.”

  Chapter 1

  Fifteen years later …

  As Gwen unlocked her back door, she replayed the message left on her cell phone. “I’m in Puerto Nuevo. You must come here at once. I want you to be with me when I rediscover my island.” Her father’s voice had vibrated with excitement, the same elated tone she’d heard so many times over the years. “I have people who are interested in backing this expedition, people who believe in me, in my island.”

  Gwen sighed heavily as she entered her home in Madison, a short drive from the Botanical Gardens in Huntsville, Alabama, where she worked as CEO. Exhausted from trying to put a day and a half’s work into one day while worrying about her father, she dropped her keys, shoulder bag, cell phone and briefcase down on the kitchen counter and headed straight to the refrigerator. Whenever a crisis confronted her, she turned to food, especially something sweet. She had spent a lifetime—all of her thirty-three years—fighting to keep her body in shape.

  Of course, eating a salad would be the wise choice, but the leftover piece of cake from a recent retirement dinner for a colleague looked mighty tempting. Chocolate. Her favorite.

  Grabbing the cellophane-wrapped concoction, Gwen tried to dismiss thoughts of her father’s recent phone message from her mind. She seldom heard from him, but when she did, their conversations wreaked havoc on her life for weeks afterward. If only she could accept the fact that her father would never change, that he would forever chase a phantom island and be considered a lunatic by his fellow scientists. A brilliant lunatic, but a lunatic all the same. Gwen had learned years ago, after joining her father on two quests in the West Indies, that she could no more change her father than she could stop the sun from rising in the east.

  Before her death ten years ago, her mother, Jean, had exacted a promise from Gwen to keep her distance from Dr. Emery Arnell and his insanity. Gwen had kept that promise, seeing her father rarely and never again joining him on one of his fruitless expeditions. But every year or so he’d call, breathless with anticipation, begging her to be a part of his great discovery, to share in the glory that was soon to be his.

  Gwen removed the plastic wrap from the cake, retrieved a fork from a kitchen drawer and headed to the table. Before sitting, she kicked off her two-inch heels and wiggled her toes. Until she’d taken over as CEO of the botanical gardens, she’d worn jeans and walking shoes to work, but now she had to dress more appropriately, something suitable for her position.

  Just as she finished the last bite of cake, the phone rang. Bone weary, she decided to let the answering machine take the call. It might be a solicitor. And if it was something about work, she could easily return the call later, after she’d taken a shower and put on her pj’s.

  The answering machine picked up. “This is Dr. Gwen Arnell. Please leave your name, number and a brief message at the sound of the beep and I will return your call as soon as possible.”

  “Gwen, darling girl, if you’re there, please pick up the phone,” Emery said, his voice quivering with emotion. “Everything is coming together for this expedition. My backers are eager for us to begin the journey. I want you with me, daughter, when I sail into the h
istory books as the man who discovered the Fountain of Youth.”

  Oh, Daddy. Poor Daddy.

  “Gwen … please.”

  She left the crumb-dotted plate on the table, shoved back her chair and stood.

  “We’ll set sail soon, very soon.”

  When Gwen reached the phone on the kitchen counter, her hand hesitated, hovering over the base.

  “I … I’ve cashed in my life insurance policy to use as part of the investment, to subsidize this final expedition,” Emery said. “But once I bring back the plant and offer it to the world, we will be rich beyond our wildest dreams.”

  Gwen grabbed the phone. “Daddy, I’m here.”

  “Gwen, how soon can you get to Puerto Nuevo? My backers are eager to set sail, as are Jordan and I.”

  “Who is Jordan?”

  “Surely you know. Well, perhaps you don’t. Jordan Elders is my research assistant. He was one of my students, a very bright boy. He has great faith in me and my plans to find the island. You see, we’ve come up with a theory as to why I’ve been unable to rediscover my island all these years.”

  “Oh, Daddy.”

  “No, listen to this. Jordan and I believe that the island isn’t visible all the time, only at specific intervals. Perhaps only certain months or even certain years. Maybe only once a year.”

  “Daddy, I can’t come to Puerto Nuevo. I’m sorry, but my job is here in Huntsville. My life is here.”

  “Are you upset with me for cashing in my life insurance policy? You were my beneficiary, you know.”

  Gwen groaned silently, her mind reeling off a few well-chosen curse words. “No, Daddy, I’m not upset about that.” But she was concerned that her father was practically penniless, that as a retired botany professor his income was enough to live on but not enough to fund repeated trips off into the vast unknown, searching for his Utopia.