Ready for Anything, Anywhere!

508 Pages·2016·1.87 MB·English

by  Barton Beverly

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
M
y 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.”