She sucked in a deep, shuddering breath and then leaned against him and buried her face in his shoulder. “How many times have I told you,” she said in a muffled voice. “Don’t call me James.”
“James,” he whispered against her hair, drawing out the word. “Ah, James, what you do to me.”
She shuddered again, and this time, she hooked her knee around his thigh and pulled their bodies together tightly. “I’m doing this for Roman,” she whispered.
Then she seemed to come to her senses. She stepped back, blinked several times, and pressed her lips together. “Lana. What’s happening? Can she use that mess of mine to keep Blake from you?”
“She’ll try.” He ran his hands down her upper arms, barely restraining himself from pulling her close again. “But she won’t succeed. I’m done being the nice guy. You made me see that love isn’t supposed to be easy or convenient, at least not all the time. Love takes work. It will between you and me. It will between us and Blake. It will as we work with Lana and Elliot to provide a stable life for our child. But you also showed me that people are tougher than I give them credit for. Blake is my kid, which means he’s tough enough to handle the upheaval as we negotiate the next steps. We all want the best for the boy. We’ll make it work.”
“I made you see all that?” she said.
“Roman helped.” He gave a quiet laugh. “It was a lucky day when that pup of his escaped.”
Jamie’s eyes widened. She stepped away and scanned the horizon, searching for the flash of yellow fur.
“There,” she said, letting out a gust of air. They quickly followed his tracks to where he was running after gulls and frothy waves, heading toward the small stretch of beach where Driftwood Creek emptied into the sea.
“Chaos! Come on back, boy.” Then she pointed toward the little beach beyond the black rocks. “Hey. Isn’t that Blake?”
He followed her gaze and yes, it was. Blake and Elliot were climbing among the tide pools while Lana sat at a picnic table out of reach of the surf.
“The tide’s coming in,” Jamie said, scanning the water.
“They’ll come back,” Gideon said. “Let’s get Chaos and head back. I don’t want to confront them here.”
Jamie reached for the pup, but just then, someone kicked a red beach ball in the direction of the tide pools. In a flurry of sandy paws, he dashed off after it, barking with delight.
From the driftwood log where they’d left Roman, he heard a hoarse shout along with some cursing. The man was struggling to his feet so Gideon turned toward him, gesturing for him to stay put. “Jamie will get him, don’t worry.”
Fatigue and pain had made the older man’s movements unsteady, and Gideon hurried up the beach to help support him. He should have insisted Roman bring his cane, though on the sand, it wouldn’t have been much help anyway.
He glanced over his shoulder just as Chaos climbed the rocks, following Elliot and Blake. Lana had noticed them now and even from here, he could see the frown on her face. Perfect. Now she’d have this to use against him, too.
The puppy was having a blast, chasing the same waves Blake was playing in, the red ball forgotten, easily staying out of Jamie’s reach.
Just as she rounded a bend and disappeared from sight, he realized that Jamie wasn’t going after the puppy, anymore.
She was chasing Blake.
Chapter Thirty
It’s an unfavorable day to schedule a major event.
Tread carefully.
—Jamie’s horoscope
Blake and Elliot, not hearing her or seeing the coming danger, continued around the bend in the cove, no doubt attracted by the sheltered warmth provided by those jagged black arms.
But the tide was coming in fast and that pocket beach was the perfect place to get trapped.
“Blake!” she called, waving. “Elliot!”
But they didn’t hear. The puppy had circled around and was now making his way back to Roman and Gideon, but Jamie didn’t go back.
She kept watching Blake, willing the boy to turn around, to come back this way, to notice the water edging closer. But he saw nothing but the little birds running just in front of the surf.
Elliot held one hand at his ear, the other arm shading his face against the light from the gunmetal sky. He waved to Blake, then found a spot in the lee of the rock, sat down, and stretched out his legs.
He was sheltered from the wind but perfectly positioned to take a huge hit, should a sneaker wave attack.
Jamie slowed her steps. Was she being paranoid? This was near where she’d grabbed those two kids and look at the trouble that had caused. Maybe the mother was right, maybe they’d never been in danger and Jamie had run in and grabbed them and that little girl had been hurt for no reason.
Still, she knew the sea. And this was Gideon’s son. She looked out at the choppy water offshore. Though it could change direction at any moment, it didn’t appear to be heading for the shallow stretch where Blake played.
Elliot’s perch, however, was directly in its path.
“Hey, Elliot,” she called. “Wave’s gonna get you. You need to move.”
But the crashing surf muffled her words and the wind scattered them to the sky.
Farther down the beach, away from the rocks, children danced among the tide pools, while parents watched and chatted, all of them seemingly oblivious to the tide, expecting that it would continue its regular, gentle ebb and flow.
The wave was churning closer now, a big one, its path unchanging, heading straight for the spot where Elliot sat talking on his phone.
“Hey! Watch out!” she yelled and redoubled her pace.
Damn it, another sneaker wave. She should have trusted her instincts.
“Elliot!” she screamed, already knowing she’d be too late.
The man looked up about one second before it landed. Instantly he was engulfed in a mini-tsunami, a surging wall of water dark with sand that swept him off his feet and tumbled him like clothes in a washing machine.
The group on the beach looked over; then the women scrambled to their feet, racing for the children. One of the husbands took off toward Elliot, but Jamie reached him first and grabbed his arm.
“No,” she gasped. “Get back. Get the kids.”
From the corner of her eye, she saw Blake, standing out of harm’s way, watching. Not him, then. Thank God, he was safe.
She ran, calculating the waves, dancing in and out of the worst of them. Elliot tried to get onto his feet, but the churning froth knocked him down again. His movements were clumsy and slow, weighed down by clothing saturated with a mixture of water and sand that probably felt like liquid cement.
“Hang on,” Jamie called, evading another wave. If she could reach him, help him to his feet, he’d be able to get out. It didn’t look like he’d been injured, but he was awfully close to the rocks.
The damn wave just wouldn’t stop although she knew only seconds had passed.
Get up, Elliot, you idiot. Get up!
“Help him!” screamed a woman from the rocks above. Lana. “He’s drowning!”
Elliot was prone now, his arms clawing at the sand, but then more water crashed over his head.
Then a smaller voice sounded.
“Elliot?”
Blake, too, had clambered the rocky edge separated from his mother by a series of tide pools.
“Get back, Blake!” Lana yelled.
But the boy started to cry. “Elliot!” He scrambled down. He was going to run to the man, and then, he might be swept out himself.
“Blake, stay back!” she hollered. “Someone, get that kid!”
Jamie gauged the rhythm of the water as best she could, and ran into the surf, grabbing for Elliot. His body slammed against her legs and she nearly went down herself. She reached for him, caught his sleeve, but the water retreated, snatching him away, then returned with fury, tipping him end over end, his neck bending grotesquely.
Holy fuck, he was going to be smashed to pieces, right in f
ront of her.
In that split second of rest between the ocean’s inhale and exhale, Jamie grabbed hold of the man’s jacket, so full of sand it may have been an anchor, a death shroud.
“Get up, Elliot, damn it!” she shrieked. “Get up!”
She crouched in preparation for the next wave to hit and managed to stay on her feet. By some miracle, Elliot got his own legs under him and they clung to each other as the murky sea battered them.
“You okay?” she yelled, trying to step to higher ground. Her running shoes felt like bricks, and they dug into the sand as if wanting to bury her.
He didn’t speak, but managed to stumble out of the water’s grasp, pulling away from Jamie.
As his weight disappeared, she fell to her knees and that’s when she felt the rip grab her legs and suck her under.
Shit, she thought as the water closed over her head and the world turned upside down.
I didn’t see that coming.
Chapter Thirty-One
If something in your life’s not working, now’s the
time to change it.
—Gideon’s horoscope
Gideon saw it unfold like a nightmare, and by the time he realized what was happening, he was too far away to help and the beach might as well have been quicksand.
By the time he reached Elliot, the man was sitting up, coughing. “I’m fine, I’m fine,” he said, waving the strangers away. Sand and seaweed clung to his face and hair. His skin was grey, his teeth were chattering, and his cheek was bleeding. “Where’s Blake?”
“He’s here.” Lana fell to her knees beside him, gathering Blake onto her lap, trying to hug them both at the same time. “What happened?”
Elliot bent over, gagged, spat, and braced his hands on his legs, panting. “I don’t know, exactly. I was talking to my brother, and then all of a sudden I was under water.”
“Where’s Jamie?” Gideon demanded.
“Jamie?” Lana drew back. “What do you mean?”
“She was here—where is she?” He gripped her shoulders and shoved his face toward her. His throat was almost closed, his voice strangled. “She saved him, Lana. The woman you say is a danger to Blake just saved your fiancé’s life.”
He shoved her away and staggered to his feet. “Jamie!”
“I saw her,” Blake said in his clear little voice. “She pulled him out.”
Gideon turned to his son. “She did?” He forced his voice down out of the panic zone. “Where is she now, son? Where did she go?”
Blake frowned. “They were in the water. And then Elliot was out. I don’t know where Jamie went.”
Oh, God. Gideon stood up and took several stumbling steps toward the surf, scanning the horizon.
“There!” Someone yelled, pointing. “I think that’s her! Someone call 911!”
Gideon shielded his eyes against the sunlight glittering fiercely off the water.
There. A sleek head, just above the surface, now there, now gone.
“She got pulled in.” He pointed, kicked off his shoes, threw off his jacket, and waded into the water.
He kept his eyes on the brief glimpses of Jamie, her head again, then what he guessed was her shoulder. When he had her location burned into his brain, he dove into the surf and swam hard, feeling the pounding white water over his head.
The riptide pulled viciously at him and he let it, swimming with the water, not fighting it, though every instinct screamed otherwise. His head broke the surface and he sucked in a deep breath before diving under again.
He could reach her. She wasn’t far offshore and the ferocity of the wave had calmed now that they were away from the rocky beach.
But was she hurt? Was she conscious?
Was she alive?
No. He couldn’t think like that. His muscles burned as he pressed them against the frigid water, over and over, pushing himself hard, kicking and breathing, stroke after stroke.
Then she was in his arms.
“Jamie.” He rolled onto his back, pulling her against him to keep her face out of the water.
She sputtered but didn’t speak. Her eyes were closed.
She was breathing. Thank God.
He hiked her tighter under his arm and made a diagonal course for the beach, his heart thundering in his chest. She was a small woman, but the weight of her clothing and the sand she’d taken on made her body a hard haul.
Oh, Jamie.
She’d thrown herself into the sea for Elliot, a man she barely knew and had no reason to care about, without a thought for herself or her safety, without even taking off her jacket.
He could feel the pull of the water lessening, but it would get rough again when he reached the surf, unless he could make it to that long, sandy stretch.
Gideon sucked in another big breath, hoping for more buoyancy, and kicked hard. He was weakening.
“Jamie, can you kick?”
She moaned and twisted in his arms, immediately slipping below the water.
Never mind that.
He tightened his grip on her and swam for all he was worth, as his body grew colder and the water began to feel warm, as his ears began to sing in time with the slap-slap of the sea against his face, as his strokes shortened and his legs struggled against the heavy denim shackles.
Then, he could hear screaming, coming in spurts as his ears were under water, then above. People, on shore, reaching for them. Lights, flashing red and blue. Two men, running halfway in, dressed in wetsuits.
He pulled his arm through water that felt like mud, thick and cloying. Suddenly, his foot hit something, turning his ankle, tripping him. Sand.
He’d made it. He tried to stand, missed, dunked them both in the surf. Tried again. The sand was gone, he’d lost it. Then he hit again, a dull underwater whack that bent back his toes. Someone grabbed Jamie from his arms, and he fell forward hard.
Careful, he wanted to say, but his mouth wasn’t working. His lips didn’t form the words, and his throat was tight and sore, too busy sucking in air to verbalize his thoughts. He pulled himself from the water on hands and knees, step by impossible step and finally he was out. He collapsed to the wet sand on shaking arms, unable to move. It took everything in him to lift his head to watch where they’d taken Jamie.
Someone was standing in his way. He shook his head, or tried to. He needed to see Jamie. Where was she? What were they doing?
Hands under his arms, lifting, pulling, dragging him like so much dead weight, and him letting them, powerless to assist.
“She’s okay,” said a voice. “She’s going to be fine. Let me look at you, all right? You took a real shit kicking out there.”
A light shone in his eyes and he squinted away from it. “Jamie,” he croaked. “She’s . . . okay?”
“Is that her name?” the paramedic asked. “Jamie?”
He nodded. “Jamie . . . Vaughn. From . . . Sanctuary Ranch.”
“And you are . . . ?”
He coughed, spat out saliva bitter with salt water. “Gideon Low. Where are you taking her?”
The paramedic lifted him to his feet. “Same place we’re taking you, Gideon. To the hospital.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
A sizzling Sun–Uranus trine means things are
finally looking up.
—Jamie’s horoscope
Voices, sharp with worry, drifted around Jamie, pulling her up from a warm, easy sleep. Footsteps squeaking. Metal creaking. Doors sliding, bells dinging.
She turned her head slightly, away from the sounds. She didn’t want to wake up. She was so cozy. Everything was good in her dreams. Something bad was up there, in the cold, not-sleeping world. Whatever it was, she wasn’t ready for it.
She drifted down, down into the warm, happy nothingness where she didn’t have to worry about anything. Didn’t have to do anything. She was safe, completely and totally.
Yes.
“They’re calling her a hero, you know.”
No.
The v
oices were back, closer this time, tugging her upward.
“That idiot would have drowned without her. I’d like to smack him upside the head. Never turn your back on the ocean. How many times do people have to hear it?”
Jamie knew that voice, even ragged and rough as it was.
Daphne.
Who was the idiot? A thought slipped in, then out, before the fingers of her mind could catch hold.
“They’re both okay, and that’s the main thing.”
Olivia, her boss. If Olivia was here, it must be serious.
“Jamie? Wake up, Jamie.” Olivia touched her shoulder, and with Herculean effort, Jamie peeled open her eyes.
“Hey,” she said. Her throat felt like she’d swallowed a cheese grater. She cleared it and tried again. “What . . . happened?”
“There she is. There’s my girl.” Daphne came closer and stroked her calloused fingers over Jamie’s cheek. It felt like heaven. “He’s okay, honey. You’re both going to be just fine.”
Wait.
“Gideon?” she rasped. She struggled to her elbows, then fell back against the pillows. Something bad, it was something bad. She knew it was something bad.
She smelled seawater in her hair, tasted salt on her lips.
Bright lights started to pulsate at the edges of her vision. Her fingers tingled, her eyes were hot, a sizzling sound filled her ears.
Something bad, something bad.
“Breathe, Jamie, breathe.” Olivia pressed firm hands against her shoulders. “She’s hyperventilating. Get the nurse.”
Footsteps floated above the sizzling, she could see them, all sparkly pink and purple and gold.
Warm weight settled near her hip.
“James. Stay with me.”
The voice came from far away.
Then someone gripped her upper arms, tight. Too tight. Bruising tight. But the spangles receded.
“Everyone’s okay, Jamie.” Olivia, smelling of mint and oregano.
She was falling backward, unable to stop herself, unable to stop the dread pulling at her, to shut out the evil laughter just around the corner.
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