Shipwrecked-Chapter 10
With Della's help, Perry managed to build them a shelter. First, he had retrieved the long-abandoned signpost. Then using a hammer and screwdriver from the toolbox and the large hooks he had taken from the sail, he hammered the hooks into the sandstone of the cliff above the cave-like area and attached one end of the sail to the hooks. Together they dug a hole for the signpost. Perry attached the other end of the sail to the post using some of the rope, effectively forming a tent-like shelter for them.
Della, concerned Perry was overdoing his shoulder, had insisted he rest. In the interim she had given him more food and some water. He, in turn, had insisted she have some too, which had led to a brief squabble. That, naturally, led to Della winning the argument, although she had given in and taken a few sips of the water.
Afterward, Perry had gone to the beach to make sure the Zodiac was secure and bring the last few items back to their shelter. When he returned, he could barely contain his surprise. Della, turning into an efficient housekeeper, had set up a designated cooking area and a separate sleeping area.
"Miss Street, I presume?" he teased, coming to stand beside her. She looked up at him with adoration clearly printed in her eyes. That look snatched his breath away. She had told him more than once she trusted him; seeing that expression in her hazel eyes did a better job of convincing him than the words ever did.
"One in the same." She grinned at him. "How is the shoulder?"
He shrugged. "Almost as good as new. Well, as good as it is going to get, at any rate. Della, you can't waste any more energy worrying about it. Is it sore? Sure. But I can manage."
"I'm so glad to hear it. You, Mr. Crusoe, have some fish to fillet."
"Bossy. I'll have to make a mental note of that. Della Street, troop leader."
A while later, after he had cleaned and filleted the tuna, she had placed the fish in one of the pans salvaged from the sailboat and was now cooking it over a fire. Focusing on her task, she was unaware she was being observed.
Beautiful, he thought in reverence, amazed again by the hidden talents she possessed. Life with Della will never be dull. No matter what life throws at her, she will always rally. Her strength continues to impress me. Where any other person, regardless of gender, would have given into despair, she simply moves on to the next task. All while worrying about my health.
A private smile spread across his face. No matter how long it takes, no matter what I have to do, I am going to spend my life with her. Even if we only have until our supplies run out. Della will survive this. We will survive this. And when the time is right, I am going to marry her.
Unexpectedly she looked up, caught him watching her. She smiled up into his deep blue eyes, then drew in her breath. Perhaps it was the firelight that had the strange effect on them, but she had the impression his soul was laid bare. Those eyes! They normally masked his thoughts with a thousand guises, then at rare moments, allowed someone like her to see the mischief and the cunning that suggested some grand adventure. They were eyes that could brood with the somberness and weight of his clients' burdens, or snap and crackle with points of fire as he squared his sights on a witness. She had seen them hard, cold and calculating, soft, warm and guileless. But in that moment, all she read was earnest, straightforward love and pride.
"What?" she asked after a full minute of mutual staring.
He shook his head. "Just a feeling, Della. Like we have the world right here, in the palm of our hands. Like—we're at home."
She smiled. "Our home is in L.A., where you can blow from case to case and—" She broke off as he came to her.
Kneeling next to her as she turned the fish, he placed a tender kiss on her cheek.
"Sweetheart, anywhere I am with you is home to me."
Her eyes flooded with tears. "Oh, Perry," she managed, then lost the rest of her words.
"Della."
He gathered her in his arms, but she wiggled free. "Unless you want burnt tuna, you need to get the table set."
When he cocked an eyebrow at her, she pointed to the picnic hamper, covered with a towel. He merely smiled and grabbed the plates and utensils from where she had stored them. As he did, he couldn't help but notice the area she had set up for sleeping. He felt the warmth spread through his body.
Easy, Mason. One step at a time. He set the makeshift table and helped her finish the tuna.
As they ate, Perry consciously avoided any talk of how long they might be stranded. He suggested that in the morning they might climb back up and do a little more exploring. That seemed to meet with her approval. His girl was definitely one for action.
"Now that I have a pistol and bullets to spare, maybe I can hunt down that wild boar for you," he joked, and had the pleasure of hearing her delightful chuckle.
"You'd stand a better chance of catching a rabbit!"
"No. A wild boar was promised, and a wild boar you shall have."
That produced another chuckle. "Don't make promises you can't keep, Counselor. Men have been sued for less."
"Not on my island." Then changing the subject, he said, "I thought I might try to find a spot to rig an antenna. Then we can reconfigure the radio, and maybe get a signal."
She nodded. "That sounds like a plan. Did you do a lot of that in the war?"
"Not a lot, but some. I actually learned about that stuff at law school. I had to have an outlet. I figured it might come in handy someday. As usual, I was right."
She punched his arm. "As usual? Chief . . ."
"You can't believe everything Jack Danvers said on the sailboat, Della," he said, suddenly serious. "Jack . . . was working with very limited, often incorrect information. We were friends, sure. But we weren't confidants."
"What is it you're trying to tell me?" She studied him. "What is it you want me to know? Whatever it is, Perry, I trust you. You know that. And—you don't owe me any explanations about your past."
He looked down at his empty plate, chewing on her words. Realizing they were both finished with their meal, Della took the plates and utensils down to the water to wash them, while Perry dried. He didn't broach the subject again; instead, he suggested they go for an evening swim.
Changing into their swimwear, they both ran full on into the warm water. Staying in reasonably shallow water, they swam and splashed each other before heading back to their shelter.
While Della changed, Perry stood at the water's edge, looking out over the ocean, brooding.
I am enjoying this far more than I should! If we weren't marooned, we could be any other married couple, perhaps on our honeymoon or on a vacation. He could imagine himself coming home to Della every night, having a quiet dinner, sitting in front of a fire, then retiring to make lo…
The first flash of lightning and roll of thunder brought him out of his fantasy.
"PERRY!" The panic in Della's voice sent him running to the shelter. He knew she had a fear of thunderstorms.
"I'm here, Della. It's okay." He had arranged the sail so it could be pulled down and again using hooks, secured it to the sign to keep them dry. Once he was sure that they would be protected from the storm, he enveloped Della in his arms, holding her close, soothing her.
She was trembling, terrified and angry at herself again for being so. "I—I'm sorry, Perry. Ev—ever since I was a-a little girl and my brother locked me out of—of the house during one of our Midwest st—storms…"
"Carter should be horse-whipped. But just hang on to me and everything will be fine."
As the next clap of thunder hit, she curled tightly against him, her body shaking. Perry thought if he had her brother here now, he'd beat him into the sand.
Then all thoughts of anyone other than Della fled his mind. As Della continued to tremble in his arms, he was consumed with the desire to remove all her pain, all her fear. She tilted her head and surrendered into her emotion. Slowly, ever so slowly, he lowered his mouth to hers. He wanted to savor each second, tucking it away, storing it for a time when, perhaps, he would not have this joy. Their lips touched, hers still trembling at first. His were certain. And with a gentleness that surprised himself, Perry molded his mouth softly to hers. Della didn't even hesitate. She was kissing him back in earnest. Unbidden, she opened beneath him, and drew his tongue deep into the warmth of her mouth. It was sweet. So achingly sweet. Something in the pit of his belly seemed to melt.
He wanted her. Good God, how he wanted her. It was some sort of unbridled lust, nor was it strictly borne out of a desire to comfort and console her. He, Perry Mason, wanted to love her, Della Street, with an intensity that would have worried him were he not so desperately lost in her kisses. When her arms went around his neck, he deepened the kiss. Since they were already sitting on the blankets, he gently laid her back.
At the moan that escaped from Della, he broke the kiss and pulled back to hover above her. "Sweetheart, I'm sorry. I shouldn't…"
Della's eyes were a deep brown, her lips parted, her breath coming in gasps. "It's fine, Perry. I want you to . . . please . . . let's…"
"Be sure," he said, waiting.
She managed to nod. With that, Perry made love to her, with his words, his mouth, his hands and his whole person, gently and unerringly. Della responded, giving herself to him utterly. He made love to her, it felt, with every element of his being; loved her until her breath came sharply while the storm raged around them, and they at last gave into their desire and passion. He cradled her cheek, kissed her again, then rolled to one side, drawing her protectively to him, burying his face in the tangle of her hair.
"I love you, Della," he whispered into her ear. "Forever. No matter what. Rescued, not rescued."
She smiled sweetly, more drowsy than awake. "I love you, Perry Mason. Completely, with no questions asked, and no confessions necessary. I am yours." She sought his lips for a quick kiss, then said finally, "Just try to lose me now."