Free Stranded in Paradise by Lori Copeland Page B

unsuspecting sun-worshipers.
    Spitting sand, she sprang up and grabbed the umbrella. Wind caught the frame and stripped the fabric inside out. Another hefty gust sent her nearly airborne as she stumbled around, trying to wedge her toes into a pair of rubber flip-flops. “Stupid thongs!” she muttered. Sun-blistered snorkelers boiled out of the churning water to make a dash for the shoreline.
    Grabbing her belongings, she set off for the car. Her hat blew off and she went to retrieve it. The injured ankle gave way then, and she stumbled, then pulled herself upright before she hobbled on.
    Ramming what was left of the shredded umbrella into the nearest trash receptacle, she lunged for the car. Once inside, she dug sand out of her eyes and ears and places where sand didn’t belong.
    Grasping hold of the steering wheel, she batted her forehead against the backs of her hands. Why-why-why? Why couldn’t she have a nice relaxing vacation?
    After a moment, her nerves calmed. A shower. She needed a shower to get rid of this sand. She turned the key in the ignition . . . and heard nothing.
    Nothing.
    She whacked the steering wheel. “Don’t do this!”
    She turned the key again.
    Nothing.
    â€œNo. No.” Gritting her teeth, she tried again. Grinding.
    Grinding.
    Again.
    Nothing. Grind.
    Clamping her eyes shut, she heaved an exacerbated oooomph. Faced with the inevitable, she fumbled in her purse for her cell phone.
    Grimacing against the feel of gritty sand in uncomfortable places, she listened for the dial tone and found she had none. Of course. Tess, you’re losing it, girl . Okay. She looked around, deciding she had to take charge of the situation. Sand still pitted the car’s windows. Who knew how long this would keep up? She’d just have to borrow a cell phone from a fellow sun-worshiper. So, pulling her hat down on her head and retying the sarong around her waist, she opened the car door and began to make her way in the wind and sand to the phone. The back of her sand-logged swimsuit hung a good two inches too low as she walked backward through the gale, trying to avoid getting more grit in her eyes. “Hey!” a voice said as she felt a thump against her back. “Watch where you’re going, Lady!” a tall, tanned Adonis said in a gruff voice.
    Her face flamed. “Sorry. Can I use your cell phone?” And for once, the man had one. Her luck was picking up.
    â€œI don’t know what’s wrong with the car,” she told the rental agent. “It won’t start. I turn the key and nothing happens.”
    â€œWe’ll send someone right away—Big Beach, right?”
    â€œRight.” Big sandy beach. The clerk didn’t mention that help was still two hours away.
    And so as the sun set on Lahaina Harbor on Tess Nelson’s third night in paradise, she was in her room, soaking a sprained ankle and trying to get the taste of sand out of her mouth. Too weary to eat, she skipped dinner and fell asleep before eleven, only to be awakened by the wind around three A.M. Peering out the window blinds, she watched palms bending to the onslaught, loose fronds whipping across the parking lot.
    â€œGilligan’s Island,” she conceded. “I’m trapped on Gilligan’s Island.”
    What would Mona think of her now?
    â€œShe’s so pretty.” Tess stared at the beautiful creature lying in a pink velvet box. Its blue eyes opened and closed, and when she pressed its tummy, the baby cried real tears. She never cried. Mona spanked her when she cried.
    â€œPlease, Mommy. Can’t I have this doll?”
    â€œOh, all right, you ungrateful twit. You can have the stupid doll. I hope you’re happy.”
    Mona glared at her daughter as she paid for the purchase. They left the store and got into the car to go home. But before Mona turned on the ignition, she looked at the doll and said snidely, “It looks like it’s lying in a