Stormswept: The Bold and the Beautiful

by Shannon Curtis

  “I don’t think everyone shares that sentiment,” Oliver replied dryly.

  “No, I think they do,” Rick said. He halted on the trail, forcing Oliver to stop too. “They just aren’t comfortable expressing it.”

  Oliver arched an eyebrow. Rick’s sister had seemed quite comfortable expressing herself last night. And Oliver had received the message, loud and clear. There was no hope, he should move on. He almost laughed at his own pun.

  “Just—talk to us before you make any decisions, okay?” Rick’s expression was serious.

  Oliver nodded. “Okay.” They’d be having one of those discussions shortly. He had received a job offer in Genoa City. It was just a temporary placement, but one that he was now seriously considering. As of last night, that is.

  Rick patted him on the shoulder and jogged down the trail to catch up with Caroline, who was doing her level best not to touch anything dirty—hard in a rain forest.

  Sandy and Jasmine had set up some tables on the beach, and Oliver’s mouth watered at the spread. Hors d’oeuvres, tropical fruit, and seafood. Lunch had been a couple of hours ago, so everyone was happy to see the food.

  They all enjoyed an impromptu picnic on the beach. Oliver found himself chatting to Jasmine for most of the time. He’d spent an enjoyable couple of hours in her company that morning. She was easygoing, with a dry sense of humor that had him laughing—something he felt in need of today. She was … undemanding. Uncomplicated. Nice.

  But she wasn’t Hope.

  As the crew packed up the equipment and moved it back to the boats, Oliver scanned the horizon. The clouds had darkened since they’d ventured into the verdant growth on the island, and the wind had picked up.

  Jasmine waved at him as she helped load the equipment.

  “Feel like hitching another ride?” she offered.

  He glanced over his shoulder. Hope was busy talking to Caroline and Rick, and wouldn’t meet his gaze. Much as he’d like to spend a few more hours without the awkward tension he now felt with Hope, they had work to do. Today’s shots had to be processed. He had to print out some proofs, and they had to start making their selections. Besides, he had to face Hope sooner or later.

  “No, it’s back to work for me,” he said ruefully.

  Jasmine grimaced. “Oh, well, maybe later.” There was no mistaking the invitation in her eyes.

  He nodded. “Maybe.” For some reason, the prospect didn’t excite him as much as spending time with a stubborn, resistant woman. He sighed. He must be a masochist.

  *

  “Hey, you,” Caroline chirped as she approached bearing two glasses of wine. She laughed as the yacht rolled, then held the glasses overhead triumphantly. “Didn’t spill a drop. I think it’s time we relaxed. No more photo shoots, no more poses. At least, not until next week.”

  “We still have work to do,” Hope protested. Rick wanted the images chosen tonight so that they could send the collection through to the Sydney office first thing the following morning.

  Caroline frowned. “I believe it’s wine o’clock in LA—that’s good enough for me. Don’t worry, it’s just one glass. Sandy is preparing a scrumptious feast for us. Whoa!” She landed on a sun lounge with a thump when the yacht dipped unexpectedly. “Er, what happened to smooth sailing?”

  Hope clutched the railing. The sun had set, but unlike the previous nights, there were no stars twinkling overhead. She’d donned a light jacket. Even Oliver had finally found a shirt. The temperature had dropped several degrees, and the wind was strong.

  Behind them, Rick shook his head. He raised his iPad. “I’m taking this below. It’s getting a little rough out here.”

  Captain Marshall climbed out on deck, walking with a balanced gait that showed his familiarity with the pitching seas. “Good idea. I suggest you secure everything you can below. I’ve just gotten off the radio with home base. The storm we were expecting tomorrow night has hit a little early.”

  Rick frowned. “The reports said that was a pretty major storm—are we going to be all right?”

  Marshall nodded as he rubbed his arm. “Yeah, but it will be rough. We don’t have enough time to get to Cid Harbour before it hits, but there’s a protected bay we can use for shelter. Jasmine’s already there, waiting for us. We’ll just have to wait it out.”

  Caroline shook her head. “That doesn’t sound good. Are we in danger?”

  Hope’s grip tightened as the yacht rolled. Their skipper smiled, and she was sure he was trying to be reassuring, but there was a shadow in his eyes, a concern that he couldn’t hide.

  “This is cyclone season. Occasionally the weather can be erratic. At this point in time it’s best to find a safe spot and ride it out, and that’s exactly what we’re doing. We’ll be fine. Why don’t you go down below and make sure everything is secured?”

  Hope and the others did as instructed, clutching the fixtures as they fought to keep their balance with the pitch and roll of the deck.

  Sandy was already securing the kitchen and salon area, and she smiled encouragingly as they passed.

  “Don’t worry, it’s just a storm in a teacup,” she called out, then laughed as she fell back against the banquette seating. Hope lurched along the corridor, and then down more stairs to her cabin. She scooped up a pair of long pants and pulled them on over her bikini bottoms, thankful for the warm fabric against her legs. It had gotten substantially cooler outside. She braced herself against the wall, and then moved quickly to pack away any items lying around, throwing her cosmetics and toiletries into her bag and stowing it in the cupboard.

  She jumped as rain hit the porthole with an unexpected ferocity, sounding like marbles rolling against glass. She dragged herself along to the small round window, using the wall and bunk for support, then peered out. Lightning flashed, and she caught a brief glimpse of rough, choppy waves before darkness consumed her vision.

  That didn’t look like a teacup. Hope sat on her bed and scooted along to where it butted against the cabin wall, bracing herself in the corner. They were going to be fine. Sandy and the skipper had said so. She grabbed at the wall as the yacht dipped, and her stomach flipped, as though on a roller coaster ride. This was not good. The cabin was stuffy, and nausea swelled in her stomach and throat.

  The horizon. Didn’t they say if you felt seasick, focus on the horizon? Hope raised herself to her knees and peered out into the rain-lashed darkness. She couldn’t see the horizon.

  She lurched toward the door. She wasn’t scared. She … just wanted to be with other people. She gulped as a wave hit the yacht broadside and the boat rolled. She needed to be with Oliver. And her brother. Okay, Caroline too, but Oliver was her first thought. Purely to make sure he was all right, of course.

  Unsteadily, she made her way to the salon. She could hear Caroline’s voice getting louder the closer she got to the main salon, and Hope breathed in relief. If Caroline was there, Rick would be nearby. Maybe even Oliver. Either way, Hope could huddle with others, as opposed to being flung around her nausea-inducing cabin.

  Rain splattered against the windows like sharp bullets. The noise was savage. Oliver, Caroline and Rick sat at the table, bracing themselves against the furniture.

  Just as they heard a shout from outside, Sandy burst into the room. “Okay, folks, we’re going to have to put these life jackets on—” She broke off when another shout came from above.

  Hope wasn’t sure if it was pain or panic, but there was something in the tone, the pitch of the shout that had them all up and running for the stairs. Sandy shoved a bright yellow life jacket in Hope’s hands before mounting the stairs to the deck two at a time.

  Hope emerged on deck, gasping as the driving rain hit her face. The wind whipped ferociously at her hair, and she heard the crack of the sail above her as it snapped back and forth in the gale.

  Hope braced herself against the rail and tried to shrug into the bright vest, all the while trying to peer through the rain toward the rear of the boat. Captai
n Marshall cried out, but his words were snatched away by the wind.

  Something was wrong. He’d dropped to one knee, and was leaning heavily against the wheel.

  Hope started to head toward him. “Are you okay?” she cried out as she made her way along the length of the boat, moving hand over hand along the railing. His eyes met hers, and she instantly knew something was desperately, dangerously wrong. Her arms strained with the effort to hold on, to gain ground.

  “Hope!” She turned. Oliver was following close behind. Relief swamped her. It was treacherous out on deck, with strong gusts dragging at the life jacket she’d slung haphazardly over her head. Her hair whipped around her face, stinging her eyes and cheeks.

  She turned back to the old man at the wheel. He jerked, clutching his arm, his mouth twisting in agony. She pulled herself along, fear for the aged skipper giving her a metallic taste in her mouth. He slumped over the wheel, then slid and hit the floor with a force that had her wincing.

  “James!” Sandy screeched from the other side of the boat. The yacht rose with a wave, then crashed, and Hope’s feet left the deck for a millisecond. She heard an ear-splitting crack.

  “Hope!” Oliver bellowed.

  She turned, and the boom of the sail hit her in the chest before she could recognize the danger. She screamed.

  Pain, instant and hot, flashed across her chest and side, and suddenly she was airborne. Her arms flailed, trying to catch something, anything, but the sea rose to meet her with frightening speed, plucking her out of the air and plunging her into cold, wet darkness.

  Chapter Seven

  “Hope!” Oliver frantically scanned the dark water as Rick continued to call out behind him.

  His heart stopped, then accelerated. Where was she? The yacht pitched and rolled, and all he could see were the white caps of turbulent waves as huge gusts of wind buffeted the boat.

  There. A flash of yellow. Her life jacket—but no Hope.

  “Hope!” he bellowed into the tempest, his throat closing over in panic, making it difficult to swallow. Oh, God, Hope.

  A pale arm waved in the distance, then was engulfed by a wave.

  Oliver launched himself into the raging sea, ignoring Caroline’s screams of alarm. The chilled water swallowed him, trying to suck him down into its cold, black depths. He struck out in the direction he’d last seen Hope, rising and falling with each wave, the life jacket he’d hastily donned dragging at him, holding him back. He tried to catch a breath, but each time he turned his head, the wind threw water in his face.

  He paused, shaking the stinging spray from his eyes while he tried to get his bearings. Waves crashed all around him, over him.

  “Hope!” he yelled hoarsely. “Hope!”

  He heard a faint cry and started swimming again, kicking out at the water that wanted to drag him down. There. A brief flash of color spurred him on. A pale hand fluttered as it was swamped by a wave, and he dove for it, clutching at nothing. He kicked harder, reached out, and startled when something seaweed-like brushed his arm. Instinctively he grabbed it and pulled, hauling Hope up to the surface by her hair.

  She was limp, floating in his arms as the sea tried to tear them apart. He turned her so that her back was against his chest and held on, lifting her chin up to breathe into her mouth. The sea raged around them, over them. “Come on, Hope, come on, baby,” he choked, and breathed into her mouth again, buoyed by his life jacket. Waves buffeted them, and he clung as the swell pulled them apart, then swept them together. Please be okay. Please be okay. His hands clenched, and he pressed his fists against her chest, alternating between breathing into her mouth and lightly compressing her chest.

  Over and over, he repeated the action. Please be okay. He desperately wanted her to open her eyes, to laugh, to cry—hell, to tell him to get lost, if need be. Just be okay.

  She sputtered, and her chest jerked before she started to cough, expelling water from her lungs in a brutal fit that Oliver felt as it racked her body. She trembled in his arms, her head lolling forward as she started to cry.

  “It’s okay, I’ve got you,” he said, weak with relief. He held her carefully, keeping her head above the waves as best as he could, despite the roiling waters. He turned them about, looking for the yacht.

  His mouth widened, and he coughed as a wave hit him in the face. Oh, hell. The yacht was several hundred feet away, the gap widening with each pounding surge of the sea.

  “Hey,” he yelled, raising an arm. “We’re over here!”

  With its running lights and the glow coming from the salon, the white yacht looked like a remote beacon of hope—hope that was rapidly dwindling as they were swept farther and farther away.

  He waited for the yacht to change direction, for the engine of the dinghy to throb across the darkness. But there was no turning around; no answering cries came from the bedraggled crew they’d left behind.

  There was no rescue.

  Oliver clutched Hope to him, determined not to lose her as they were swept away into the darkness.

  *

  Rick scrambled over the pitching deck to join a frantic Sandy, who was shaking her unconscious husband.

  “James,” the woman shrieked. “James!”

  Rick touched the man’s neck. His pulse was thready and weak, but his chest still moved with each breath.

  “We need to turn back!” Rick yelled, desperate to be heard above the roaring wind. Sandy shook her head, patting her husband’s cheek as tears fell down her face, mingling with the rain.

  “My sister’s back there,” Rick cried, not bothering to hide his panic, his fear. “Turn us around.”

  “What’s wrong with James?” Caroline screamed above the wind as she stumbled to his side.

  There was a loud crack, then the sky exploded with sparks as lightning struck the mast. Rick threw his body over the others as the mast buckled in the gale-force winds and hot metallic shards rained down on them. The running lights on the boat blacked out, and suddenly they were in complete darkness, at the mercy of the elements. Rick frantically brushed at the scorching fragments on his hair and back. The strong scent of burnt ozone blanketed them. The mast was still attached to the boat by the rigging, but it swung haphazardly in the wind.

  Sandy grabbed Rick’s hand. “We need to secure the mast, and get James below,” she yelled. “He’s hurt.”

  “What about my sister? And Oliver?”

  Sandy gazed at the rail of the boat where Hope had gone overboard. Her eyes were dark with fear and anxiety. “We won’t find them in this.”

  Rick shook his head. He couldn’t accept that.

  Sandy’s grip tightened on his hand. “We don’t have a choice. Please, help me. Please.”

  Rick blinked the rain out of his eyes as he stared down at the fallen man, his face a pale gray blur in the darkness. He wasn’t a doctor, but he was fairly certain their skipper had suffered a heart attack. Now his sister and his employee were overboard, and their boat had been struck by lightning. God, what a mess.

  It was times like this he valued his father’s guidance. One problem at a time. Fix the most imperative. That’s what Eric would say.

  He nodded, though it pained him to agree. He turned to Caroline. “You and Sandy take James downstairs. I need to secure that mast.”

  “I can’t, Rick,” Caroline sobbed, her eyes wide. “I need you with me.”

  He clasped her face in his hands. “You can do this,” he said, trying to will strength into his scared wife. “You can do this. You’re Caroline Spencer, remember? You can move mountains. You can organize a successful fundraiser in less than a day. You can do this. I’ll be down as soon as I can, but we need to do this.”

  She bit her lip, then finally nodded. He pressed a kiss against her lips, then rose to stagger across the rolling deck, ducking as the mast swung in his direction.

  He grabbed onto the damaged rigging and pulled the mast down until he could secure it to the boat railing. He kept glancing over his shoulder,
keeping an eye on Caroline and Sandy as they struggled with James, trying to maintain their balance in the appalling conditions.

  Rick pulled on the ropes, binding and knotting. He wasn’t a sailor, and these were by no means nautical knots, but by the time he’d finished, he was confident the darn thing wouldn’t budge even if the boat was picked up in a hurricane and tossed to another corner of the globe. It was secure.

  He staggered over and almost fell down the stairs into the main salon. Caroline and Sandy had lain James down on the banquette seating, using a cushion for a pillow. Sandy knelt by his side, sobbing, while Caroline sat on the floor, her eyes dark with encroaching shock.

  “Sandy, what do we do now?” Rick asked, trying to keep his voice gentle and soothing. He wanted to rant and scream, but that wouldn’t help his sister, nor would it help this distraught woman, whose husband was in just as dire a situation as Hope and Oliver.

  Sandy bowed her head over her husband’s still form, her shoulders racked by her weeping. Rick crossed to the prone man and rolled him onto his side.

  “We need to put him in the recovery position,” he explained when Sandy protested. “I think he’s had a heart attack. Sandy, we need your help.”

  Sandy lifted her gaze, confusion clouding her eyes.

  “Sandy, nobody is sailing the boat.” He kept his voice calm. He’d learned from his time at Forrester’s that no matter how dire the situation became, remaining calm in the face of adversity was the best way of conquering it. “We’re in the middle of a storm, and we have two people overboard. What can we do?”

  Sandy shrugged, her expression slack. He hoped she wasn’t going into shock.

  Caroline whimpered from her position on the floor, and covered her face with her hands. Rick leaned over and placed his hand on her shoulder. “We’re going to be fine,” he told her, injecting his voice with a confidence he was far from feeling. He clutched Sandy’s arm. “But we need to do something. We need help. Can you use the radio?”

  God, he hoped she could use the radio.

  Sandy tore her gaze from her unconscious husband and drew in a deep, shaky breath. She blinked as she tried to focus on Rick. “Not the radio. I mean, I know how to use it, but the antenna was on top of the mast.”