“No we ain’t.” Buddy clamped the pipe stem between his gristly jaws. “I’ve got league tonight.”
Great. If she made it through the next hour, she was going to owe it all to Buddy’s dogged determination to get to his weekly bowling night.
Ella checked her phone again. The cell service on Sanctuary was never great, but with the interference from the storm, “not great” had been downgraded to “downright abysmal.”
Who would she call, anyway? She certainly didn’t want Merry traipsing around the island in this weather, or Jo driving that broken-down old truck on the roads that had almost defeated Ella’s trusty rental sedan.
Grady.
She closed her eyes and pictured him the way he’d looked that first day, his muscular thighs gripping the horse’s flanks, his shoulders broad enough to block out the sun when he rode up to interrogate her about her intentions toward Jo.
Funny. Ella had been so sure they’d moved past that initial distrust—but apparently it had been lurking underneath everything, every conversation, every kiss, every caress.
Gripped by nausea, she opened her eyes and stared sightlessly out the rain-smeared plate glass enclosing the cockpit.
The ferry pitched alarmingly, giving a shuddering clank that stopped Ella’s breath for a moment before the lights in the cockpit flickered and went out. The eerie darkness was such a sudden shock that it took a moment to realize there was a reason she could hear her own heartbeat thudding in her ears.
The constant grinding throb of the ferry engine had stopped.
And in the instant before red emergency lights buzzed on, Ella knew that if she had even a single bar of signal and could make one last call, in spite of everything, it would be Grady Wilkes she reached out to.
CHAPTER 30
Grady made the hard right into the dock parking lot, cranking the wheel so sharply that the back end of the Jeep swung out in an uncontrollable arc.
But he was a man on a mission. His grip never wavered, all his focus on getting to the dock before the ferry cast off.
She’ll still be there, he’d told himself over and over on the drive from Ben’s cabin. Buddy knows better than to make the run to Winter Harbor in weather like this. He’ll wait it out.
She’s not gone.
Ella couldn’t be gone—Grady had too much to say to her. And on top of everything else, he knew she’d never forgive herself if she missed the birth of her niece or nephew.
And God forbid anything should go wrong, but Grady didn’t know if Ben had ever assisted with an unplanned home birth of a human being rather than a calf or a foal.
Ella needed to be there, that’s all there was to it.
But when he reached the shore, the ferry was nothing but a black smudge bobbing against the darkness of the waves in the distance.
Unable to believe it, Grady parked and jumped out of the Jeep before he’d made a conscious plan.
All his plans had centered on getting here in time. As if his body hadn’t gotten the message that it was too late, he found himself running, feet slapping through puddles and skidding on the slurry of gravel and mud coating the parking lot.
He ran down the pier through the forest of tall sailboat masts, their sails all packed away tightly, the colors painted on the sides of the powerboats a blur in his peripheral vision.
Lungs contracting like a bellows, Grady pushed himself to the limit, racing to the end of the wood and concrete pier, fifty feet out over the churning water.
He caught himself against a short pylon wrapped with thick rope, his eyes still on the ferry in the distance and urgency firing his blood.
This was as close as he could get to her.
Wiping rain out of his streaming eyes, Grady panted through the slashing pain and frustration.
Wait. Something’s not right …
Shaking his head to clear it, Grady screwed his eyes shut and opened them again to check that he was seeing what he thought he was seeing.
He might not have set foot on that ferry personally in five years, but there wasn’t a soul on Sanctuary who hadn’t memorized its schedule. The comings and goings of the ferry were part of the rhythm of island life—and as Grady stared at it now, his overloaded brain flashed a warning that there was something missing.
Lights. The ferry was equipped with safety lights fore and aft, and in cloudy conditions, the cockpit at the aft end of the upper deck was always lit like a beacon.
Right now, it was dark.
Fear reached up from Grady’s gut to choke him, but he hardened his jaw and forced himself to concentrate on the ferry’s movements.
In the minute or so since he’d parked, the ferry hadn’t moved any farther away.
That, plus the lights being out—the ferry had lost power.
Ella, and whoever was on that ferry with her, was marooned in stormy seas halfway between Sanctuary Island and Winter Harbor.
Years of training kicked in smoothly, as if Grady had never left the task force. No cell service on the dock, so he loped back up the dock to his Jeep and whipped out his CB radio to call it in to the Coast Guard. He reported that the ferry didn’t appear to be in distress, apart from the loss of power. The dispatcher sounded harried—no doubt the Coasties were spread thin by the storm.
He wouldn’t interfere with an official rescue op, but he wasn’t going to sit on his hands and wait, either. In most cases, he’d be the first to strongly advise a civilian to keep out of it and let the pros handle the situation—because nine times out of ten, a civvie who rushed out to save a friend or family member in trouble ended up needing rescuing himself.
But Grady Wilkes was no civilian. And he had a perfectly seaworthy boat tied up at the dock, waiting to take him out to Ella.
Thank God he’d never dropped the habit of keeping the task force essentials in his kit. Grady grabbed his tool bag out of the back of the Jeep. Unzipping it, he did a quick double check—yep, flashlight, rope, signal mirror, knife, first-aid kit nestled in the corner of the bag next to the leather roll of screwdrivers and wrenches.
Grady slung the bag over his shoulder and moved quickly down the dock to the slip he’d rented for his sport boat. After years of tinkering and polishing, maintenance and hanging out, his feet carried him there without conscious thought. His hands remembered the motions, knew how to untie the lines, and cast off from the dock.
He’d tossed his tool bag into the open bow and vaulted into place behind the custom steering wheel before it hit him.
The minute he turned the key in the ignition and motored away from the dock would be the first time he’d left the safety and security of Sanctuary Island in five years.
Grady waited for the panic to slam into his chest, stealing his breath and flipping his stomach like a hamburger on the grill, the way it had every other time he’d tried to step foot off the island.
But it didn’t come.
Maybe the panic couldn’t get through the adrenaline careening through his bloodstream. Or maybe even his stupid, broken brain knew better than to allow an irrational fear to stop him from rescuing Ella.
The perfectly tuned engine roared to life at the flick of a switch, and Grady pushed back from the pier.
After all, he thought grimly as he put the full strength of his shoulders and back into fighting the surf, the slippery, wet steering wheel wrenching against his grip, his safety meant less than nothing if Ella was in danger.
Peering through the wet strands of hair clinging to his forehead at the helpless ferry in the distance, Grady muttered, “I’m coming for you, Ella.”
*
Ella left Buddy in the cockpit trying to call for help on his radio. Both of their cell phones had lost signal before they even left the harbor, and she’d long ago passed nervous and was hurtling straight into freaked the heck out.
Keeping one hand on the rough wall to steady herself, Ella made her way down to the lower level. She’d stowed her suitcase in the backseat of the rental car, and she wanted to
have it with her in case the Coast Guard or whoever sent a rescue boat. She wanted to be ready.
Mostly, she wanted to do something, anything, instead of sitting around tracking the rudderless drifting of the creaky old ferry.
It was dark in the narrow metal stairwell, lit only by the sullen red glow of strips of emergency LED lights. Ella gripped the handrail against a particularly heavy swell, the floor rocking under her feet and sending her stomach tumbling.
Please let me almost be there, she pleaded silently, fumbling down the last few steps toward the cavernous blackness of the lower deck where her car was parked.
The emergency lighting appeared to end at the bottom of the stairs, Ella noticed, squinting. Cautious but determined, she moved forward—and gasped when she stepped down onto the last stair and splashed up to her ankle in icy water.
Heart hammering, she scurried back up a few steps and groped for her phone. Still no signal, but when she turned it face out, the light from the backlit screen illuminated enough for her to see the water lapping fitfully at the hubcaps of her rental car.
Giving her suitcase up as a lost cause, Ella scrambled up the stairs as quickly as she could. She had to let Buddy know what was going on, so he could tell the Coast Guard to harry the hell up, because, oh God—
“Water!” she gasped out, hanging on to the metal door frame of the cockpit by her fingernails. “There’s a leak … or something.”
Shooting her a sharp look from underneath his bushy gray brows, Buddy said, “You sure?”
“There’s a sloshy puddle in my right shoe,” Ella told him, “and my rental car is floating better than the ferry. Yes, I’m sure.”
“How much?”
Being forced to think and answer questions was actually helping her calm down. “About a foot, maybe? At least eight inches.”
Buddy held the radio up to his mouth and relayed, “Yeah, we’re taking on a little water, too.”
“Copy that,” came the tinny voice over the receiver. “This is the second call we’ve received about your situation. We’ll send a boat out as soon as we can to tow you in. Sit tight for a spell. Over.”
Before Ella could politely, calmly inquire exactly how long “a spell” might be, Buddy muttered something about checking out the damage and headed down below, leaving Ella alone in the cockpit.
Just as she was contemplating whether she’d be able to steer this thing if Buddy somehow knocked himself unconscious before the power came back on, her phone buzzed in her pocket for the first time in an hour.
Signal!
Not enough bars for a phone call, she saw as soon as she pulled the phone out. But a couple of text messages had gotten through. They were both from Jo.
Merry in labor. Had cramps all day, thought it was just braxton hicks but no, real deal! Ben is here, says everything will be fine, but she needs you.
And then, from a few seconds later, We both do. Come home.
Everything in her body went taut. Rushing to the radio, she picked it up and started mashing buttons, trying to get the stupid thing to power on so she could hail someone, anyone, to get her off this bucket right the hell now.
After a long minute of frantic switch-flicking, all she could hear was the raspy sound of her own panicked breaths, punctuated by the occasional roll of thunder.
This wasn’t getting her anywhere. Even with the rational voice in her head cautioning her that the smart thing would be to wait for the Coast Guard to show up, Ella ducked out of the cockpit and into the driving rain to search the upper deck for something, anything, that might help her.
At the first sign of trouble, Buddy had hauled out the flotation devices, so she was already wearing a bulky orange life vest. She found the rest of them in a plastic box under one of the bench seats and briefly, hysterically, considered lashing twenty or so together to make a raft.
She slid the bin of orange vests back under the bench and kept looking. Heaven help her if she found a lifeboat, because Ella was afraid she’d have a really hard time talking herself out of that one.
Mind filled with images of her sister crying through contractions, asking where Ella was, she slid on the slippery deck as the ferry lurched precariously atop the waves. Adrenaline spurting, lungs squeezing, hands shaking, she clung to the railing for dear life and shook her head to dispel the odd ringing in her ears.
If this is what a panic attack feels like, she thought dazedly, no wonder it stops Grady from leaving the island.
Rain pelted her already chilled flesh, stinging like a shower of pebbles, but she couldn’t give up. Merry needed her.
She could almost hear her sister calling out for her, Ella, over and over and over.
Wait. That wasn’t just in her head. Someone was yelling her name.
Blinking water out of her eyes, Ella leaned over the railing and stared. That was it, she’d gone nuts. There was no way she was seeing that.
Grady Wilkes, soaked to the skin and battling a huge ocean swell in a tiny powerboat.
Joy, relief, and pure terror collided in a dizzying rush. “Grady!” she yelled down to him, her shout nothing but a thready whimper against the fury of the storm. “Oh dear God, be careful!”
At any moment, he could be dashed against the side of the ferry, his boat shattered into shards of fiberglass, and Grady tossed down into the depths. But he didn’t seem afraid—his grim concentration never wavered while he carefully pulled alongside the ferry and did something complicated with a rope and his other hand.
The maneuver ended with his boat attached to the back of the ferry somehow, and with one burning look up at Ella, Grady disappeared behind the corner of the bigger boat.
Rushing to the back of the ferry as fast as she could—which wasn’t all that fast, since she was working against the pitch and sway of the boat—Ella arrived just in time to reach out and grab Grady’s wet, straining arm as he hooked it over the top rung of the safety ladder.
Heart in her mouth, Ella gasped in a strangled breath and wrapped both her arms around his broad chest in a desperate embrace.
“Ella.” His voice was a guttural growl so low, it rumbled through her like the thunder overhead. Slinging one leg over the top railing and planting his booted foot on the deck, he crushed her closer, his mouth hot against her chilled cheek.
His lips moved up her cheekbone to her temple as his hands swept over her shoulders, mapping the curve of her waist and the flare of her hips as if checking for injuries. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” she all but sobbed, overwhelmed. “What are you doing out here? I thought you couldn’t take your boat out, that you’d panic…”
Grady pulled back far enough for his eyes to devour every inch of her no-doubt pale face framed by stringy, bedraggled hair. He didn’t seem to notice that she must look like a drowned cat.
One of those impossibly warm, broad-palmed hands came up to thread through her hair and push it back from her forehead. “Guess I never had the right motivation before.”
Everything inside her thrilled toward him for one glorious moment, before reality came crashing back in.
Remembering the way they’d parted, Ella was abruptly aware of how tightly she was hanging on to this man who’d basically called her a money-grubbing opportunist.
She jerked out of his arms and stood on her own, ignoring the reflexive tightening of his grip. “Come on, get all the way onto the deck. Not that it’s so much safer up here than you were down there. In fact, let me get you a life vest and then we should probably head straight back down the ladder.”
“The situation here doesn’t look too bad,” he said, scanning the deck. “You’re probably better off waiting for the Coast Guard—I sent up the distress call as soon as I saw the ferry had lost power.”
“Thanks,” Ella said. “But unless your boat has sprung a leak, it’s definitely safer than this ferry.”
CHAPTER 31
It turned out that the ferry was, in fact, sinking … but very slowly. Buddy, wh
o’d come back up to the cockpit to report on their status to the Coast Guard, nearly threw a fit when the Coasties radioed saying they expected not to have a rescue boat free for another hour, but to keep them apprised of any changes in the situation.
Shivering even while wrapped in the silvery survival blanket from Grady’s kit, Ella sat in the copilot seat with a dangerously pigheaded look on her pretty, chalk-white face.
“I’m not waiting another hour,” she announced firmly. She didn’t look at Grady.
After that first, ecstatic moment, Ella hadn’t met his eyes once.
Trying his best to be the calm, sane voice of reason even though he’d never felt less sane in his life, Grady said, “Ella, I know you want to get to Merry, but you’re not going to do her any good if you manage to get yourself injured making the trip back to Windy Corner. The Coast Guard is the most capable, safest option right now. They’ll be here in…” He checked his watch. “Less than an hour, now.”
“And then what?” Ella said, staring out at the still-raging storm. “They’ll mess around trying to get the ferry’s power back on? Who knows how long that will take. And then they’ll tow the ferry back to Sanctuary, which probably won’t be a fast process, either.”
Buddy took the pipe out of his mouth and pointed the stem at the windshield. “Nope. They won’t be towing us to Sanctuary.”
Ella’s head swiveled to him so fast, it made Grady’s neck hurt. “What? I have to go back to Sanctuary! My sister is in labor, about to have a baby with a freaking veterinarian as her attending physician!”
Buddy’s brow wrinkles creased even deeper than usual. “That sounds like a made-for-TV movie.”
Ella snorted. “Welcome to my life. But you see why we have to get the Coast Guard to tow us back to Sanctuary.”
“Can’t.” Buddy shrugged.
Ella threw up her hands, the blanket sliding down to pool around her waist. “Seriously? Your bowling league is more important than a woman in premature childbirth?”
Grady had no idea what bowling had to do with anything, but he figured it was time to step in before Ella popped the ferry captain a fast one on the jaw. “If the Coast Guard can’t get the power on, the ferry will have to go to the big docks at Winter Harbor to get repaired. We don’t have the resources on Sanctuary.”
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