Sunset Bay Sanctuary

by Roxanne Snopek

  Even though she really wanted to stay.

  Especially since she wanted to stay.

  She angled her path upward so she could keep an eye on him as he walked away and before long, he’d disappeared around a rise of black rock.

  “He seemed nice,” she told Jewel. “Though I could be biased by pretty packaging and a very nice voice. I’d ask your opinion but you’re as subtle as a freight train. You’d snuggle up to Jeffrey Dahmer if you thought he’d feed you.”

  The dog kept looking behind them, as if hoping the man would reappear. And he hadn’t given Jewel any food whatsoever.

  “I don’t have time for a man,” she said. “Or interest.” She’d blown through her share of relationships—if you could call them that—years ago and wasn’t interested in revisiting that minefield.

  Fine. She was a coward.

  “On the off chance I read the vibe correctly,” she continued, “I’m doing him a favor by shutting this down before it gets started. Trust me.”

  Jewel wagged her tail, panted and licked her lips.

  “Enough arguing,” she said. “Time to head on home.”

  As they retraced their steps to the area where she’d last seen the man, a sound wafted over the water. A voice, calling out. Calling her?

  “Did you hear something?”

  Haylee squinted against the last rays of gold and scarlet painting the smooth ripples of the bay, in the universal human belief that by straining her eyes she’d be able to hear better.

  She glanced at her dog, ambling across the vast, lonely stretch of sand ahead of her.

  Of course the dog had heard it. The lapping Pacific surf that muffled sound to human ears was nothing to a dog.

  His voice?

  She was probably imagining the distress.

  Most likely, she was hearing some kids horsing around up by the cabins, in which case, they’d say hello and call it a night.

  But what if it was someone in trouble?

  “Find it, Jewel.”

  Immediately, the dog put her nose to the ground.

  Haylee picked up her pace, watching Jewel’s tail sweep back and forth, a flesh-and-blood metronome, the tick-tick-tick measuring out a life lived in the moment, anticipation unmarred by dimming vision and arthritic hips, joy untarnished by worry or regret.

  She thought of her current fosters: the little terrier cross, so full of attitude. Another Lab–pit bull, who was almost ready to move to his forever home. The Border collie with the thousand-yard stare. None of them compared to Jewel.

  She pulled salt air deep into her lungs following as the dog moved upward, scrambling over the surf-scoured rocks gleaming against the fading citrus sky, absorbed, Haylee imagined, not so much in the object at the end of the search, as the search itself. The journey, not the destination.

  Jewel glanced back as if to say Pay attention!

  “Right behind you, girl.”

  She’d heard no more calls, but the old dog’s zeal was a joy to see. And you never knew.

  Like freshwater pearls on a loose string, the Oregon coastline was dotted with beaches, each one a glowing gem nestled against the velvety silhouette of black rock. The wind-and-surf-pounded outcroppings, with their hidden caves and mussel-laden tide pools, all gloriously inviting in the light of day, told a different story when darkness fell.

  It wouldn’t be the first time an unsuspecting beachcomber or sunbather had miscalculated the tides and spent a chilly night waiting for the ocean to recede.

  Newcomers and visitors were especially vulnerable.

  She cupped her hands around her mouth. “Hello? Is someone there?”

  In the silent suspension between waves, Haylee listened for the voice, but caught only the pad-pad-swish of foot and paw on sand, empty nothingness.

  Not the tall stranger then, with his piercing eyes and soft dog-patting hands who may or may not be Gayle’s handsome doctor.

  “Ju-Jube, honey, I think we’re SOL on this one.”

  But Jewel bunched her shoulders and clambered ahead. Haylee knew when she was being ignored. She ought to be firmer. She ought to reassert her position as alpha.

  Being and doing as she ought to got old. It wasn’t as if Jewel sought domination of their little pack, after all. She knew on which side of the pantry door her kibble was buttered.

  Just then the ocean paused its breathing and the sound came again, a voice, certainly, his voice, maybe, carried gently over the evening air, but landing not so much like distress as . . . the sounds you made when you banged your head getting into your car, cussing yourself out for stupidity. Dumb-ass noises, she thought.

  “Woof,” said Jewel, breaking into a stiff old lady’s run.

  “Please don’t throw yourself at him this time,” she cautioned. “He could be hurt.” More likely a loss of dignity, which did not preclude the need for assistance; however, she knew from experience that where dignity was concerned, the need for assistance was often inversely proportional to its welcome.

  “Hello?” she called again. “Is everything okay?”

  No answer.

  Haylee pulled herself up onto a ledge of rock, the top still dry, but not for long, as evidenced by growing splotches of foam where the incoming tide marked it. Already across, the dog splashed through a tide pool still warm from the sun, and disappeared around a corner. Haylee hissed as her knee grazed a section of mussel-encrusted rock, glad she’d switched her flip-flops for sturdy-soled ankle boots after supper. She’d have to check Jewel’s paws carefully when they got back.

  A watery crash sounded, large-dog loud.

  “Jewel!” Haylee hauled herself over boulders slippery with algae and bits of kelp. The Labrador retriever in Jewel gave her a great love of the water, but the Y chromosome could have come from a hippo, for all the grace she had.

  Another splash, then a storm of sloshing and splattering, and then the voice again, clearer now. Her pulse sped up a notch.

  It was definitely him. Didn’t sound like he was in trouble. Though he could certainly be trouble. And now, there wasn’t a single other soul to be seen on the peaceful beach.

  “Are you okay? Be careful with my dog. She’s old.”

  More squelching slips, accompanied by grunts and indeterminate half shouts. Haylee wide-stepped over a shallow pool and clambered around another section of rock, peering frantically for Jewel’s form among the shadows beneath her.

  “It’s the friendly dog,” came the voice. “That’s a relief.”

  She looked down onto the rocky landing from where she heard the voice and saw a figure sitting on the dark slab of rock next to a glittering pool, the sharp edges worn smooth by surf and wind. A white T-shirt clung to his upper body, cargo shorts below, both darkened by water. Jewel draped over him like a bad fur coat, half-on, half-off, her tail slapping wetly on the rock.

  The man sounded neither surprised nor irritated but, since Jewel’s sudden appearance would most certainly be cause for such reaction, this in itself was disconcerting.

  “We heard you calling,” she said. “Thought you might need help.”

  “Way better than an amorous sea lion, at least, which was my first impression,” continued the man, as if she hadn’t spoken.

  That nice crisp voice had a note of desperate calm running through it now.

  Haylee half climbed, half slid down the rock separating them.

  There he was, the same handsome stranger, in the flesh.

  “So, you’re okay, then?” she asked, slipping down the last bit, until she was standing just above where he sat with Jewel.

  “Oh, absolutely. I’m more than okay. I’m fantastic.” He gestured to the dog. “I can’t feel my legs, though. Do you mind?”

  “Right.” Haylee motioned for Jewel to climb off.

  He winced as the dog’s nails dug into his thighs. “You sure she’s not a sea lion? Ow! Or possibly a walrus? Wait. No tusks.”

  Haylee gave Jewel a hug. “Good girl, you found him. What a smart gir
l you are.” The dog was wet, happy, and whole. She’d definitely earned her cookies tonight.

  The guy rubbed his legs and got to his feet, keeping a hand on the rock. Yes, still tall. Still big. And all muscle, despite the unsteadiness.

  Her pulse jumped another notch. The vibe coming off him was clangy, discordant, like an orchestra in warm-up, after the long summer break. The scattered light reflecting off waves and wet rock cast stark shadows across the rugged planes of his face. No laugh lines now.

  “She was looking for me? Not to appear ungrateful, but I can’t imagine why. If she’s a sniffer dog, the cigarettes are oregano, I swear. I’m holding them for a friend. I’ve never even inhaled.”

  She took a step back and put a hand on Jewel’s warm back.

  There was no scent of tobacco, let alone weed, but he was speaking too quickly. Something definitely had him rattled and it was more than indignity.

  “I’m joking. Badly, I see. Don’t worry, I’ll keep my distance. I bet you wish you’d taken a different path tonight.”

  “What are you doing out here?” Someone needed to get this conversation on track.

  He wiped his face with his forearm. A tattoo ran along the underside but she couldn’t make out details. His strong jaw was liberally covered in a two-day growth of dark whiskers.

  You expected such a man to growl or roar or paw the ground, yet he talked like he had a beer in one hand and a pair of aces in the other.

  Bluffing?

  “It went something like this. I was watching the sunset, minding my own business, when a large, sea lion-esque creature”—he indicated the dog nudging her pocket—“belly-flopped into the tide pool at my feet. She seemed to not want to be there, so I helped haul her out. That’s when she took our relationship to the next level. You arrived. The end.”

  “You hauled her out?”

  “What can I say?” he answered. “I’m a helper.”

  “In that case . . . thanks.” She hesitated, then thought what the hell. “I’m Haylee Hansen. I work at Sanctuary Ranch, about a mile inland. You’re the new doctor, aren’t you?”

  He looked a little taken aback but then he caught himself and said, “Guilty as charged. Aiden McCall. Nice to meet you, Haylee. And Jewel, the friendly dog.”

  “Why were you yelling?” Haylee asked. “I thought you were hurt.”

  “Would you believe I was practicing for an audition?”

  “No.”

  “Right. My stand-up routine sucks. Oh well, worth a try.”

  He kept both hands on the rocky outcropping at his hip, as if he expected the earth to fall out from beneath his feet.

  “You’re going to be trapped,” she said. “The tide’s coming in.”

  He glanced down, as if only now noticing that his once-dry perch had an inch of water covering it.

  “Huh. What do you know? I guess we’ll be trapped together, then.”

  “Nah, that’s a rookie mistake.” She hesitated a moment, then sighed and held out her hand. “Come on. I’ll help you out.”

  But just then, a chunk of mussel-shell broke under her boot. She stumbled forward and would have slipped into the water below, but he caught her, one hand on her arm, the other around her waist, and pulled her away from the edge.

  His hands were cold from the water, his grip like icy steel but instead of a chill, heat rushed across her skin where he touched her. His scent enveloped her, a light, woodsy cologne overlaid with kelp and brine and wind and sweat.

  She’d misinterpreted his body language, she realized. Tight, tense, alert, this man was on, the same way she remembered her father and brother being, as all firefighters, soldiers, and surgeons were, even on weekends. Life-and-death situations demanded and honed a kind of raw energy, a costly undercurrent that didn’t disappear at the end of a shift.

  “God, I’m so sorry,” she said with a gasp. Daphne would love this story, if she ever got wind of it.

  “Don’t be.” His breath was warm on her neck. “My male ego is vastly improved.”

  He stepped away the second she found her feet, then slapped wet sand from his thighs and butt.

  Lean. Muscled. Nice.

  Oh dear.

  “Follow me,” she told him, hoping it was too dark for him to see the blush she felt on her cheeks.

  “What about your sea lion?”

  “Jewel?” Haylee gave a little laugh. The dog had given up on extra treats and was now trotting down the rocks back to the sandy beach above the waterline. “She’s way ahead of us. You okay to get back to . . . to get back?”

  He lifted his chin and looked at the horizon, his eyes narrow, his full lips set tight with thin lines slicing deep on both sides, as if in pain.

  “You bet,” he said. “I’m great.”

  Sunset colors splashed over the stark planes of his face, warmth meeting chill, light and shadow flickering and dancing. Haylee shivered.

  He looked, she thought, like a man walking through fire.

  * * *

  As the last of the light faded, Aiden McCall walked the half hour across the beach, angling upward until the smooth sand became interspersed with the rough brush and tall, spiky grasses growing roadside. How much of his rant, he wondered, had that dog-walker caught?

  A million miles of empty beach and he had to pick the one spot where someone could hear him.

  And not just anyone.

  A cute blonde with long curly hair, toned arms, and the kind of no-nonsense attitude that belonged behind a triage desk.

  Had she really thought he’d been stranded? Her dog—Jewel?—seemed to consider him the prize at the bottom of the Cracker Jack box. How long had he been sitting there? Surely not that long. But he wasn’t the most reliable witness, was he?

  One second he’d been watching the sun move down toward the sea and the next he was wrestling a dog in the semi-dark, up to his ass in seawater.

  He swiped at his face, recalling the animal’s warm tongue, ripe with the stink of life. Bacteria too numerous to count, certainly. Nothing dangerous, hopefully. Pet lovers always told him that living with animals strengthened the immune system; he preferred the soap-and-water method himself.

  Still, the creature had shocked him with its fleshy closeness. The heavy body leaning against him without boundaries, judgment, awkward courtesy, or worst of all, sympathy, had been oddly intimate.

  If only the woman hadn’t been there to witness it all.

  He kicked at a piece of driftwood. With his luck, she’d turn out to be pals with the head ER nurse, and before he’d even set foot in the hospital, everyone would know that the new trauma doc spent his evenings yelling into the sunset.

  Let it out. Yell. Scream. Be angry. Find a place where no one can hear you and get it all out. Psychobabble bullshit.

  What a load. Letting it out wasn’t his style, but good old-fashioned denial wasn’t working, so he had to try, didn’t he?

  Aiden preferred joking. He teased. He laughed. He prattled in true idiot savant fashion. Because, contrary to the board-mandated therapist’s belief, he was already plenty angry and well aware of it. But open that can of worms? Let it out? Who would that serve?

  Still, he’d tried, as he’d tried everything. He’d yelled into the setting sun and not only did he not feel better, but by tomorrow, they’d be calling him Crazy Eyes and monitoring his scalpel blades.

  If he had the energy, he’d feel mortified. Or at least, embarrassed. But once you’ve self-diagnosed a heart attack in your own ER and been convinced you were dying, only to be informed that you were one hundred percent A-Okay, just suffering from anxiety, well, it was tough to beat that low.

  His ward clerk finding him hyperventilating in the mop closet had done it, though.

  That’s when he knew he had to leave Portland. Two hundred and ten pounds of raw, quivering panic caused by a little car accident? He’d faced down whacked out meth-heads, calmed an armed man in full paranoid delusion, leaped into codes, led his team, handled everything, s
een everything.

  But the memories intruded, as they always did.

  Tires squealing, metal screeching against metal, “Mommy-Mommy-Mommy . . .”

  Then, silence.

  The silence was the worst.

  Aiden could hear his breath over the soft sounds of night. Slow down. Don’t think about it.

  Don’t think at all.

  But like avalanches, thoughts once started aren’t easily stopped. They tumbled in, over, through, gaining momentum until now, after thirteen years running a Level 1 emergency facility in one of the biggest hospitals in the Pacific Northwest, he was falling apart.

  It was the damnedest thing.

  His chest hurt. He couldn’t catch his breath. He needed to get inside. To sit down. To lie down.

  It was almost full dark now as he wound through the rabbit warren of Beachside Villas, looking for the one he’d rented for the summer, trying not to violate the privacy of those who hadn’t drawn their curtains.

  But the eye naturally follows light and every window seemed to frame people sitting around tables or moving about kitchens. Ordinary people. Ordinary meals. Not takeout in soggy cardboard containers, eaten alone in front of the TV, but real food. Eaten on dishes, at tables. Families. Friends. Husbands and wives.

  Children.

  Babies.

  He couldn’t resist looking, even though the sight of one towheaded youngster in a high chair brought Garret to mind so clearly his knees nearly buckled and he had to stop walking. This, years after the memory of his young son’s face had faded, after making peace with Michelle’s remarriage, being happy for her, even.

  The vise grip banding his ribs tightened but he stumbled on, tearing his gaze away from the window frames.

  Almost there. You can make it.

  Rich smells spiked the air, piercing his mind, giving his fragmented concentration something to grab on to but it made things worse: spicy tomato sauce spilled thick and red, garlic bit like acid, grill-seared flesh smoked, choking him.

  He gripped the back of his neck, then brought his hand up over his head, crushing his cap, as if he could physically squeeze the negative thoughts from his brain.