Free Breeze off the Ocean by Joan Hohl Page B

cabin, except when hunger drove them to the tiny galley for sustenance.
    At those times they worked together, mostly getting in each other’s way. Micki, clad in her mid-thigh-length beach wrap, juggled a frying pan around Wolf’s large frame as she endeavored to prepare a cheese omelet on the small two-burner cooking unit. Wolf, wearing a belted, knee-length terry cloth robe, stretched long arms around and in front of her in his effort to make a pot of coffee and open a jar of olives.
    When Micki opined that had they followed the simple method of flipping a coin to determine who would get the meal the job would have been completed a lot faster, Wolf retorted that it would also have been one hell of a lot less fun.
    They went through the same bumping into and laughing procedure while preparing a canned soup and canned corned beef sandwich supper, washed down with canned beer.
    And both times, after appeasing the hunger of their stomachs, they went back to the appeasement of their seemingly insatiable hunger for each other.
    They slept for short periods when exhaustion could no longer be held at bay, waking every time to come eagerly together, resentful of the hours of separation the need for sleep had imposed.
    At one of those times, late in the night, Micki woke first and lay quietly, unmoving beside Wolf’s sleeping form. Touching him with her eyes only, she studied him minutely, imprinting his likeness on her mind, in her soul.
    Although by now she knew him fully in a physical sense, he was still a stranger. A stranger she was deeply, unconditionally in love with. It was a sobering thought. Sobering and somewhat frightening, for although he had murmured countless, impassioned, exciting love words to her, none had been words of love for her. But then, she had not spoken of her love for him either. Maybe it was all too new, too sudden for both of them. And maybe, she thought with a insight beyond her years, the avowals of love now would ring false, take on the shadings of an excuse for their wild coming together. Micki shrugged mentally. It didn’t matter. She’d face the reality of it all tomorrow. For right now, she knew she loved him, would probably always love him.
    Micki’s eyes misted over as she stared at his face. He had made her so unbelievably, joyously happy. She loved her father dearly, yet she knew that should Wolf ask her, she would go with him anywhere in the world with never a backward glance. She had had no promises of undying love, had had no solemn words spoken over her, still she felt like a bride on her honeymoon. And no girl’s honeymoon, she was certain, had ever been more idyllic, more perfect than this one.
    “Why are you crying?” Wolf’s tone, though soft, held hard concern.
    Blinking against the moisture, Micki snuggled close to him.
    “Because I’m happy,” she whispered, her lips brushing his taut jaw. “Haven’t you ever heard that women cry when they’re happy?”
    “ Yes, I had heard that” The movement of his lips at her temple sent tiny shivers down the back of her neck. “In fact there have been several occasions when I have been the recipient of those happy tears.” The admission was made tonelessly, without conceit. “But never for so little.”
    “Little?” Tilting her head back, Micki looked up at him, her eyes reflecting her confusion. “I don’t understand. What do you mean—for so little?”
    Lifting his head, he studied her expression, as if trying to determine if her confusion was authentic. Obviously deciding it was, he shook his head in wonder. “Always before, the tears were in response to a gift from me.” Wolf’s eyes held hers steadily, gauging her reaction. ‘Jewelry, flowers, things like that,” he shrugged, “but always a tangible, usually expensive, object.”
    Micki gazed back at him, trying, but failing, to keep the hurt from her eyes.
    “And you think,” she asked softly, “your gift of this weekend, being an intangible gift, has no