Rick squeezed his eyes shut. Seriously? “We need help, Sandy. What can we do?” He shook her gently to force her to concentrate. To focus on doing something to fix this nightmare.
She dragged a hand over her face. “Uh, we have—we have a satellite phone. We could use that.”
Thank God. “Great. Let’s do that, then.”
Sandy dipped her head. “Yes, yes we can do that.” Her gaze returned to her husband. Her reluctance to leave his side was obvious.
“Caroline will sit with him. Right?” He turned his attention to his wife’s tear-ravaged face.
Caroline bit her lip and nodded, then cleared her throat. “Yes, sure.” She levered herself up onto her knees.
Rick nodded. “Good. Let’s get that call out. We need to get a search underway for Hope and Oliver.”
Sandy grimaced. “The search won’t start until conditions improve.” Her chin wobbled. “They can’t fly helicopters in these winds. Most of the rescue boats can’t operate in this weather, either. It’s nearly cyclonic out there.”
A look of sober comprehension passed between them. That meant there would be a delay on the search party for Hope and Oliver—and on a medivac for James. They both had loved ones at risk.
“Think, Sandy. We can’t just sit here and drift, can we?” He had no idea where they were—or if they were about to hit a coral reef.
“We need to get to Windy Bay. We need shelter.”
“But the mast is broken,” Caroline said, her voice a whisper.
“And my sister and Oliver are out there in the middle of this. How can we find them?” This couldn’t be happening. They had to find Hope and Oliver.
Sandy got to her feet, and Rick held her arm to steady her. “We’ll call in. Then we’ll see if the engines still work. They should. We have a grounding wire in the mast, but it looks like we’ve lost some electronics.”
“Can you operate this boat?” he asked. This would be a hell of time to try his hand at sailing, but he would if he had to.
She straightened and looked him in the eye. “I can sail this boat. Engine or sail. Neither James nor I would have it any other way.” She firmed her lips, and nodded once. “Okay. Let’s make the call. Then you’re up on deck with me. Make sure your life jacket is secure.”
She lurched over to what he’d thought was a seat, but she lifted the cushion to reveal a storage space beneath. She lifted out the satellite phone, along with another gadget.
“Handheld GPS,” she explained when she noticed his enquiring gaze. She proceeded to make the call.
Rick turned back to Caroline, whose face was pale with anxiety. He knelt beside her. “We’re going to be okay.”
She didn’t smile or nod, just stared at him, her brown eyes dark with fear. “I don’t think I can do this,” she whispered, and a tear rolled down her cheek.
He patted her reassuringly. “We’ll be fine. We’re not that far from land, I’m sure. Just keep an eye on James. Make sure he’s breathing, and that he stays in this recovery position. Do you know CPR?”
Her jaw dropped in dismay. “Do you think it will get to that point?” she squeaked.
Rick gazed down at the unconscious skipper. “I hope not. But be prepared for anything.”
“This so wasn’t part of my dream holiday with you,” she muttered. “You are going to have to pamper me to within an inch of my life after this.” She reached out and touched her hand to James’s wrist, and Rick realized she was checking his pulse. She closed her eyes briefly in relief, then looked at him. “You and I are a team. If we can handle Thorne Forrester, we can handle this. We’ll be okay.”
He smiled. Her confidence was returning. “You are amazing. Don’t forget that.”
“I won’t. I won’t let you forget it, either.”
He turned as Sandy finally got hold of someone on the other end of the line.
What a nightmare. He prayed Oliver and Hope were okay.
Chapter Eight
Hope’s leg bumped against something solid, jerking her awake. She opened her eyes—at least she thought she had, but all she could see was darkness.
“Shhh,” a male voice whispered in her ear. “It’s okay.”
Oliver. She relaxed against his life jacket, feeling the security of his arms around her. They were bobbing in the water. The waves weren’t as violent as before, but they still rose and dipped with the substantial swell, the wind a low roar around them. Thankfully, the rain had dropped to a gentle, constant splatter.
“I felt something,” she said, her throat sore, her voice hoarse, and even that felt like too much effort. She was exhausted.
“It’s okay.”
Her leg brushed against something again and she squealed, recoiling in fright. Was it a shark? She tried to get away, then whimpered when Oliver’s arms tightened around her, agony lancing through her side.
“It’s okay,” Oliver repeated, his voice calm in the darkness.
“No, there’s something there,” she wailed, straining to be heard above the wind.
She could hear a rhythmic crashing, and saw snowy white caps ahead of them. This time they thumped against something, and her legs grazed against a sharp, gravely surface.
Their legs tangled, and she knew Oliver could feel it too. Waves picked them up and threw them forward, and for a moment Oliver flung a hand out, his other still clutching her top. Another wave crashed over them, then eddied back.
“Land,” Oliver muttered, as they were both thrown farther up onto the dark beach.
The waves crashed and swirled around them, as though trying to pull them back into the ocean’s dark, stormy grip. Oliver used his free hand to drag them up the beach, and Hope tried to help, crawling through the vortex of sucking water with weak and shaky limbs.
Oliver wrapped his arm around her waist, and she gasped at the pain. They crawled over the scratchy beach, shell and grit crunching under their weight, until they were clear of the breaking waves on the shore.
Hope collapsed on the gritty sand, exhausted, but thankful to be on dry land. Well, windswept and rain-soaked land.
Tears trailed down her cheeks, the droplets warm against her chilled flesh.
“We’re okay, Hope,” Oliver said, collapsing next to her, his arm over her waist. “It’s going to be okay.”
Hope peered out into the darkness. She could hear the crashing waves, the heavy pounding of rain, but couldn’t see past the glow of the breakers. Her eyes fluttered. She tried hard to keep them open, but could feel herself being sucked back under a dark blanket. This is not okay, she thought, as sweet oblivion claimed her.
*
Oliver coughed, waking himself up. The rain had picked up, and was now pelting down. His throat was sore, either from yelling or swallowing the briny seawater, and he was cold. He sat up, wincing at the aches and pains of his abused body, and glanced down at his feet. He’d lost a shoe.
His legs were lightly grazed, probably from the coral beach. He shifted. Hope lay next to him, and his heart lurched at the pale skin he could see through the tangled, sodden mess of her hair.
“Hope,” he said, reaching out to smooth the hair from her face. Her eyelids fluttered, and she slowly opened her eyes. He sighed with relief when he saw her familiar blue gaze. She stared blankly for a moment, then tried to sit up. The wet sand showed an outline where her body had lain.
“Ow, oh, ow,” she moaned as she slumped backward.
Oliver frowned, reaching for her. “What’s wrong?”
She winced, then shook her head. “I’m sore.”
“Where?”
“My side,” she gasped.
“Can you move?” He looked about. They were on a small beach littered with shells, rocks, torn branches, and leaves. Behind them, scrubby vegetation clung to brown-gray rock, and just a few feet in, a large cliff face stretched toward the gray sky. Where were they?
“I’m good, I just need a minute.”
He helped her sit up carefully, then glanced
out to sea, hoping to catch sight of their yacht—or anything, for that matter. But all he could see through the curtain of rain were white-capped waves pitching in all directions, as though the wind was wrestling with the water.
“Where are we?” Hope asked, pushing her matted hair back.
“I don’t know, but we’re going to have to get out of this rain.” He was sore and achy, and he couldn’t begin to imagine how Hope must be feeling after taking that hit from the boom. He didn’t want them to get sick, too.
He helped her up and they limped across the sand, turning their heads against the sting of the rain.
They made it to the fringe of vegetation, stepping over low bushes and plants until they reached the cover of the trees.
Hope groaned as she sagged against the trunk of a nearby tree. Oliver glanced back at the beach just in time to see a dangerously beautiful lightning display over the water.
“Not the trees,” he bit out, and helped Hope to her feet, despite her protests. “Let’s see if we can find shelter near the cliff.”
He pulled her arm over his shoulder and half walked, half dragged her toward the rock face. The cliff rose hundreds of feet above them—he couldn’t see the top, not with all this dark cloud and driving rain. They stumbled along the base of the rock until he found an overhang, and they wriggled underneath it.
Sitting down, Hope’s hair brushed the rock ceiling. Oliver had to hunch over. Hope shuddered next to him, and he wrapped his arm around her, pulling her close. She sucked in her breath.
“Show me where it hurts,” he said.
“No, no, I’ll be fine,” Hope said through clattering teeth.
Oliver rolled his eyes. “Hope, you don’t need to pretend with me. We are stranded on a beach—we’re going to have to rely on each other for a little while, okay? That means letting me help you. We can’t afford for your injury to get any worse. Now, show me where it hurts.”
She looked up at him, her blue eyes wide with pain and worry. She finally nodded and twisted, wincing a little, pulling up her sodden jacket to reveal a flat stomach pebbled with goosebumps. A massive dark shadow extended from her ribcage almost around to the center of her back. The extent of the bruising was serious enough that Oliver wasn’t once distracted by her purple bikini.
He reared back, wincing as his head hit the unforgiving roof of their sanctuary. “Hope, that looks like it hurts.”
He reached out to gently touch the bruise. It was deep, it would take days to emerge properly. “Does it hurt to breathe?” he asked quietly.
Hope nodded. “A little.”
“Sharp stabbing pain, or dull throb?”
“Mostly throbbing, but if I take a really deep breath, or touch it, then it feels like someone’s sticking a hot knife in there.”
He shrugged. “I’m no doctor, but if you don’t have a broken rib or two, I’d say they’re at least cracked.” He glanced around their little space. Although it wasn’t much of a shelter, it did provide some refuge from the driving rain. But if Hope could straighten up or—even better—lie down, she would be more comfortable.
“I’m going to see if there is someplace close by where we can shelter, somewhere a little more comfortable.” He lowered her jacket gently, careful not to touch the wound.
Hope grabbed his hand and shook her head. “No, don’t go. Please stay.”
Oliver had always hoped to hear those words come out of her mouth—but he’d never imagined it would be under these circumstances. He patted her shoulder. “I won’t be long, but I think we can do better than this dimple in a rock wall. Besides, I need to go out there in case there are search boats looking for us.”
She clung to him.
“Seriously, we’ll be fine, Hope. We’re in this together, okay?” he reassured her. He squeezed her hand, and she finally let him go, her expression anxious.
“Not for long,” she said.
He nodded. “Not for long.” He shuffled backward out of the tight confines of the space, into the cold, blustery gale.
The wind whipped at his hair and plastered his wet clothes to his body. He glanced out to sea. No boats or aircraft were visible. He eyed the choppy waves. In these conditions, it would be too dangerous to launch a search party, he realized. He glanced back at their hideaway. He could see the toes of Hope’s filthy canvas shoes.
She was scared, and with good reason. They were stuck on a beach somewhere in the Whitsundays—it could be a while before someone found them. Possibly days. He had to make sure she was comfortable, and find a way to relieve her pain.
He shuffled through the wind until he reached a rock platform. Waves were crashing over it with a ferocity that stopped him in his tracks. He turned back down the beach, shaking his head in disbelief. Only a few hundred yards farther north and they would have been dashed upon these rocks, instead of washing up on shore. They were so lucky.
He turned back to the rocks. He couldn’t go any farther in that direction. There were only two outcomes there: getting pummeled against the rocks or being dragged back out to sea. No. He didn’t have a death wish.
He retraced his steps, skirting past Hope’s refuge and continuing on in the other direction, using the cliff face as a windbreak. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been staggering around for—climbing over uprooted trees and fallen branches, and the occasional outcropping of rock. He was just about to turn back when he stumbled upon a cave—literally.
He’d been using his hand as a guide, running it along the craggy cliff as he kept his face down to protect it from the stinging sand. Suddenly his hand left the solid surface for empty space, and he tumbled in. He lay on his side for a moment, catching his breath, listening.
The wind roared outside, but here, in the darkened interior of the cave, it sounded like a muffled freight train. Oliver rolled over and sat up. The cave was large enough for him to stand up in. In fact, he wasn’t sure if it was a cave or a tunnel—he couldn’t see that far. He got to his feet and looked around. There was seaweed strewn near the entrance, and some more branches, but farther in it seemed calmer, quieter. He couldn’t see any sign of a creature sharing the space with him. That was good. There were no bears in Australia, right? Well, apart from koalas, but they looked way too cuddly to arouse fear.
Satisfied that the cave would be a better shelter for them, Oliver trekked back along the rock base to get Hope.
*
“I don’t think it’s working,” Hope said, then bit her lip.
Oliver had been struggling with a sodden mound of sticks for ages. Hope wasn’t sure how long, exactly—her watch was no longer working after her extended dip in the sea.
Oliver sat back on his haunches, his shoulders sagging. “The Aborigines made it look so simple at the cultural center,” he grumbled, prodding the mound of sticks.
Hope’s laughter escaped as a soft wheeze, and she held up her hand in apology when she saw Oliver’s offended expression. “Sorry, it’s just that—we’re in the middle of what feels like a cyclone. I think even an Aborigine would struggle to start a fire with wet wood.”
“I guess.” Oliver nodded reluctantly. “I think I’m a little lightheaded from all the stick rubbing and panting. I feel like I’ve been hyperventilating.”
This time Hope didn’t try to hide her laughter. She clasped her side as pain shot through her. “Oh, ow. Stop it, don’t make me laugh.”
Oliver stood, and stepped toward the opening of the cave. It was still blowing a gale, but at least the rain had stopped. Conditions were easing. The terrain from the cave sloped slightly downward to the beach, offering a clear view across the scrubby vegetation to the water, and beyond.
Gray sky. Gray water. Gray, gray, gray.
“Can you see anything?” Hope called.
He shook his head. “Nope. Not yet. But I’m sure it won’t be long,” he replied, keeping his tone optimistic. He hoped to God it wouldn’t be long.
They had to get help. Hope was injured, and while she tried to pl
ay it down, he could tell she was in considerable pain. He turned to her.
“I hate to ask this, but do you think you can walk?”
She frowned. “Of course I can.”
He held up a cautionary hand. “Hang on. We need to scout around this island, see if we can find someone here—maybe a resort. Do you think you’re up to it?”
She climbed gingerly to her feet. “You are not leaving me here,” she ordered as she walked toward him, favoring her right side. She would run a marathon, as long as he stayed with her.
She’d been terrified when he’d left her earlier, her tired imagination kicking into overdrive. What if he fell somewhere, and couldn’t get back to her? What if he stumbled into the sea? What if he was bitten by one of those ‘World’s Most Dangerous Creatures’ that Caroline kept talking about? What if he had an undiagnosed heart condition and had a cardiac arrest? Okay, after that one she’d realized she was approaching near hysteria, and forced herself to calm down, but still … “We are in this together, you and I. No more leaving each other alone.”
Oliver’s gaze was full of concern, wariness, but he finally nodded. “Fine. But if you need to rest, let me know.”
*
They’d been walking for hours. Oliver swatted at a fly. The wind had died down, but now they were plagued by flies and mosquitoes. They were trudging through a section of forest, having been forced to leave the rocky, treacherous shore to avoid hazards.
“Wait,” Hope called out breathlessly as she sagged against a small tree. Oliver walked back to her. She was pale, and perspiration dotted her brow and lip. Her clothes were filthy, and the legs of her pants were torn and frayed. At least she has pants, Oliver thought gloomily, looking down at his scratched legs.
She held a long, thick, sturdy branch that Oliver had found on the beach and trimmed for her to use as a hiking stick, and she grimaced as she tried to straighten up. Oliver could sympathize. He’d had cracked ribs once when he was a kid—each breath had felt like fire, and bending over was like you were cutting off your air supply.
Stormswept: The Bold and the Beautiful Page 7