“That for once you tell me where you plan on taking me!”

“Spoilsport!”

“Kane!”

“Where’s that girl who loves mystery and old movies?” he inquired, a twinkle coming to his eyes.

“You’re not going to tell me, are you?”

“Not unless you think of some wildly erotic torture that will force me into submission.”

“Dreamer,” she shot back at him, before turning to pack.

The small motorboat churned through the cold gray waters of Puget Sound and out toward the Pacific Ocean. When Erin had stepped into the tiny vessel, she had guessed that Kane was taking her to San Juan Island, but he had preferred to keep the destination and his secret to himself. Now, as the frigid salt spray tickled her nose and clung to her hair, she was grateful that she had had the foresight to bring her down jacket with her. She drew the warm collar closer to her neck in an effort to keep the moisture-laden air off her skin.

By the time they reached Orcas Island the sun had set, and only a long orange glow remained along the horizon. Night was closing in, and the lights of Deer Harbor winked like silvery diamonds against the black island as the launch continued on its journey around the small piece of land.

Erin rubbed her hands together, and then pushed them deep into her pockets in an effort to warm herself. At that moment the rhythmic rumble of the small craft’s engine slowed, and Kane maneuvered the boat inland. It was difficult to see clearly in the evening light, but Erin made out a small cove with a relatively private beach and a ramshackle cabin.

Kane cut the engine and jumped out onto the private dock. He secured the craft and helped Erin out of the boat. Her eyes swept the beach until she spotted the cabin. A slow smile spread over her features.

“Well, what do you think?” Kane asked, his arm draped possessively over her slim shoulders.

“I think this all looks suspiciously like a set from one of those 1940s, black-and-white, slice-of-life movies,” she commented as her eyes studied the small cozy cabin and its state of apparent neglect.

“I knew you’d like it,” Kane replied with a self-satisfied smile. “Come on. Let’s take a look inside…”

The cabin was, if nothing else, rustic. A broad, sagging front porch protected the front door. The cabin was constructed of cedar, and to Erin’s discriminating eye, had never been painted. It bore the weathered look of exposed gray wood blanched by the salt of the sea. At one end of the porch a worn rope hammock swung in the breeze coming off the ocean. The front door groaned as it was opened, and the interior of the cabin had a musty, unused odor. There was no electricity, but running water was pumped into the kitchen. A woodstove in the kitchen and a massive stone fireplace at one end of the living area provided the only sources of heat in the building. Erin surveyed the cabin with a skeptical eye. She had never been much of a believer in “roughing it” when modern conveniences were the available alternative.