Wild: Whispering Cove, Book 1

by Mackenzie McKade

  She stared speechlessly at her parents’ names and the scripture. To live in the hearts of those we love is never to die. But they had died and, with them, her will to live.

  Did they blame her for that night? That selfish, selfish night she tore them from this earth. She sniffled, but it didn’t hold back the flood of tears or the guilt threatening to strangle her.

  God help her. She jerked her head up, staring into the graying sky, fighting to stay above the ocean of misery threatening to drown her.

  If she’d only known. If only…

  Andrea buried her face into her palms and wept.

  When the well inside her went dry, she rose on shaky legs. Numb. She felt nothing but the salty breeze feathering through the trees. The call of the sea put her feet in motion. Like a zombie empty of emotions, she walked until the tree line met the beach. In the distance whitecaps kissed the waves. The swells rolling with temptation pulled her further toward the place she had lost her heart—the pier.

  Before long she found herself standing in that dreadful spot, looking over the water. A gust of wind swirled around her, bringing with it a spray of mist that covered her. This time Andrea knew she heard her name whispered over the currents. An eerie sound that reminded her she was alive, but not living.

  At eighteen she had so many dreams. Marriage to Brody. Two children. A boy and a girl. Both she and Brody had agreed Whispering Cove was home, but not now.

  Andrea swallowed hard. She would never be free from her chains of guilt. At least in California with her demanding job she could try to forget, but not if she took a piece of this world of Whispering Cove with her when she returned.

  The truth was her feelings for her grandfather and Brody could tear down the invisible walls she erected to protect herself.

  She couldn’t let that happen.

  Andrea had to leave Whispering Cove—this time forever.

  Chapter Five

  Brody pushed the glass door of the police station open and stepped out. The scent of rain hung heavy in the cool air. The graying sky hid the last of the sun sinking fast in the west. As he made a beeline for his truck, a gust of wind picked up a handful of leaves and danced them around parking lot.

  A storm was coming.

  Cramming a hand into his leather jacket pocket, he extracted his keys and pressed the remote to unlock his vehicle.

  Click.

  “What a hell of a day,” he muttered, reaching for the door handle. The mournful creak reminded him that he had to oil the hinges.

  From rambunctious teenagers weaving throughout the crowded streets on skateboards and bikes to several beered-up men streaking on the family beach, the nutcases were out in full force. What was it about the heat of summer that made the youth act up, to get into more mischief than usual? They even had a seventy-something couple arrested for shoplifting.

  The moment he had stepped into the office, a steady stream of calls kept coming, while all he could think about was getting back to Andie. The anticipation of hearing her voice, holding and kissing her was killing him. A smile tugged the corners of his mouth.

  Damn. He loved that woman. Time had changed nothing.

  Twice he had attempted to call her. The first time Harold said she was still sleeping. The second time he informed Brody she had stepped out for a walk. As he climbed into his truck, someone called his name.

  Laurel Savage, his secretary, waved from the door, moving hastily toward him. The wind whipped her long blonde hair around her shoulders. Her pretty face lacked its usual softness. Instead, tightness made her look weary.

  As she approached, she placed her hand on the door. “Marg asked me to tell you that Harold Adair just called.” Marg was the evening dispatcher.

  Brody’s backbone went ramrod stiff. His stomach did a somersault, as his hand dropped to the steering wheel. “What’s up?” His fingers clenched.

  “His granddaughter never returned from her walk. He’s concerned because it’s getting dark.”

  Brody swallowed the breath he didn’t know he held. He reached for the door to close it, the movement driving Laurel backward, before he slammed it shut.

  Unsheathing his cell phone from where it hung at his belt, he punched in Harold’s number, and then pressed the gas pedal. Tires squealed. The scent of burnt rubber filled the cab as he tore out of the parking lot.

  Harold answered on the first ring. “Brody?” The old man’s voice shook. His breathing was heavy and pronounced so that it came clearly through the receiver. The old man was definitely worried.

  “Yeah, Harold, it’s me.”

  “Andie hasn’t come home and it’s been almost four hours since I’ve seen her.” Panic rose in his tone. “Where could she be?”

  Brody didn’t want to ask, but he had to. “Did you look in the bedroom to see if her bags are gone?” He flipped his headlights on to see in the dusky distance.

  “G-gone?” Harold murmured.

  A crash in the background sounded and Brody thought he heard Errol say, “Sit down, Harold, before you fall.”

  “Are her bags missing?” Harold asked.

  “I’ll check.” It was Byron’s muffled voice that replied.

  The ensuing silence made Brody’s pulse leap.

  Dammit.

  Andie couldn’t do this to him a second time. Not after what happened on the beach. Still, he had to remind himself that she hadn’t said she loved him. But it was in the way she held and touched him. Nothing had changed between them. Nothing.

  “No. Her things are still here.” Errol had possession of the telephone. He lowered his tone and murmured, “Harold’s a mess. You best be finding that girl.”

  Brody exhaled a long, slow breath of relief. Then a thought sparked and he knew exactly where he’d find her. “Tell him not to worry. I think I know where she might be.”

  “Tell that lad to bring her home,” Harold yelled.

  “You heard him,” Errol grumbled. “Bring Andie home.”

  Brody jerked sharply on the steering wheel and headed away from the beach houses and onto the main road. After her parents’ accident, Andie had disappeared frequently. Brody had always found her in the same spot—the pier.

  Glare from his headlights glistened off the rolling ocean as he pulled to the side and cut the engine. She had to be there.

  A lone silhouette stood beneath the lamppost, staring over the ocean. The image painted a desolate picture. It didn’t help that the rushing of the water to meet the shore only added to the bleak moment. Without hesitation, he opened the door and it whined its resistance. His feet sank into the sand as he got out and started to walk toward the landing. Footsteps echoed off the wooden deck creaking below as he closed the distance between them. He was approximately six feet away from her when she turned.

  Their gazes collided.

  The withdrawn expression of loss and despair on her face sent chills up his spine. Brody knew that look. It was the same one she had given him just before she announced she was leaving Whispering Cove.

  Everything inside him screamed to not let her go this time. Desperately, he moved forward, reaching for her only to stop midway when his radio squawked.

  “Sheriff?”

  Pressing the button, he leaned his head toward the radio at his shoulder and spoke into it. “Marg, what’s up?”

  “Ambulance has been dispatched to Harold Adair’s.”

  Andie’s eyes widened. She drew nearer.

  His gaze never left hers, but his heart beat faster. “Why?”

  “The old man is complaining of chest pains. Errol Wilson called it in.”

  Andie grasped his arm. “Brody, no.”

  “Ten-four. We’re en route to the hospital.”

  Spinning on the ball of his foot, he grabbed Andie’s hand and they took off, feet pounding hard against the deck. Approaching the truck, they split up, each going for a door and climbing in. The keys were already in the ignition. Brody gave the key a turn and shifted into drive. Sand spewed as t
he truck tires spun and he pulled onto the road.

  Neither spoke as they made the short trip to the hospital. But he could see worry in her swollen eyes and the tension in her clenched fists lying in her lap. The second he maneuvered into a parking space, Andie was out the door. He had to run to keep up with her. Light sprinkles fell from the dark sky. She stopped just inside the sliding glass doors and quickly scanned the lobby, spying Errol and Byron, heading straight for them.

  “Where is he?” Her voice was taut with emotion.

  Brody could see from their worried expressions that they were as frightened as Andie.

  Byron stood, nodding toward two large doors. “They’ve taken him back for tests.”

  “What happened?” she demanded.

  Brody moved behind her and circled her waist, pulling her trembling body against him. She was so cold, her bare arms like icicles.

  “He collapsed.” Errol pushed unsteadily to his feet, leaning on his cane. “Started complaining of chest pains. He looked bad—real bad.”

  Andie turned in Brody’s arms, silent tears falling from her blue eyes. “Please,” she choked back a sob. “They’ll let you back there. Find out if he’s okay.” Her pleading expression was too much to deny.

  He kissed her softly on the forehead, released her and shrugged out of his jacket to drape it around her shoulders. “I’ll see what I can find out.” With each step he prayed Harold would be okay. The man was like family to him.

  Brody spoke briefly to the receptionist and she opened the doors to allow him passage. The strong smell of antiseptic was overwhelming. Nurses darted around to disappear into a room. He followed.

  Harold lay on the bed, trembling. His complexion was ashen, forehead covered in perspiration. His chest jerked with each short breath he inhaled. At least five nurses worked on him at the same time. One woman continued to ask questions about his medical history, while two connected leads to him that jutted out of several machines. A tall male nurse was taking his vitals. The last person drew his blood.

  Harold looked up at him. “Did”—he sucked down a weak breath—“y-you find her, laddie?”

  “Yes, sir.” Brody forced a smile he hoped was comforting.

  “Is she well?”

  “Yes. Just worried about you.”

  “Sheriff, can this wait?” A soft female voice interrupted their conversation.

  Brody spun around to see Dr. Dani or Danica Kent, as he had known the blonde in school, addressing him.

  “Is he okay?” he asked.

  “We won’t know until the tests are completed and I’ve examined him. If you wait in the lobby, I’ll let you know how he is just as soon as I know.” With that she pushed through the crowd, smiled sweetly at Harold, and pulled out her stethoscope.

  When Brody emerged from behind the large doors something in Andrea’s chest fell to her feet. Hands on the arm chair, she pushed into a standing position. His smile was strained.

  She took a couple steps toward him. “Is Grandpa okay?”

  Nearing, he stood before her and pulled her in his arms. Andrea let him because she needed his strength. She needed something or someone to keep her from falling apart. Her skin felt too tight, like it might split open at any moment. Her pulse raced. Brody’s coat had taken away the night air chill, the smell of his aftershave a blanket around her, but the fear of losing her grandfather lay bone deep.

  “I spoke to the doctor. It’s too early to say, but Harold appeared to be resting comfortably.”

  Andrea studied Brody, trying to read between the lines when Byron came to stand next to them. “I hope you don’t mind I called Dr. Dani. Ol’ Doc Mallory is on vacation.”

  Doc Mallory had been their physician for as long as Andrea could remember. “Dr. Dani?” The last thing she wanted was someone she didn’t know caring for her grandfather, especially if he was having a heart attack.

  “Danica Kent from high school is one of Whispering Cove’s newest doctors,” Brody explained.

  “You’re kidding, right?” Andrea couldn’t keep the surprise out of her voice. All she remembered about the shy, studious girl was she had a really bad crush on Braydon Mitchell and couldn’t speak a single word in front of him.

  “I trust her, Andie,” Byron confirmed.

  Andrea’s grip on Brody’s arms tightened. “I just want him to be okay.”

  Please God, let him be all right.

  Brody kissed her softly, firming his hold. “He will be. Come on. Let’s all sit down. It will be awhile.”

  Time passed like water dripping from a faucet, slow and irritating. Each time Andrea glanced at the clock on the pristine white wall, she grumbled a curse beneath her breath. Ten minutes ago Larry King Live came on television. His guests’ laughter was more than she could bear. Getting to her feet, she started to pace the medium-size room filled with two love seats and a dozen chairs. The two coffee tables before the sofas had an assortment of magazines. In the corner there was a little kitchenette where coffee brewed and a couple of vending machines stood.

  When Andrea pivoted for another pass through the room, she ran straight into Brody’s solid chest. He caught her again in his arms.

  “You okay, Andie?”

  “Yes. No.”

  Why even pretend?

  Emotion weighed on her chest as if she had swallowed a load of gravel. Her nose was clogged from crying. A nagging headache had taken residence at the nape of her neck. She felt like hell and she was scared, scared of being completely and utterly alone. Even with distance between her and her grandfather, Andrea always knew she had someone to lean on, someplace to come home to.

  “Can I get you anything?” he asked.

  Andrea was about to say, Yes, information, when the doors swung wide and a nurse in light blue scrubs exited.

  The short, dark-haired woman, whose name tag identified her as Helen, held the doors wide. “You can go in and see your grandfather now.”

  Brody’s arm stayed around Andrea’s shoulders as she moved forward, Errol and Byron hot on their heels.

  “Only two visitors,” the nurse informed them.

  Byron shot her a glare. “Listen here, chickadee, we’re all going in.”

  “But—”

  Errol struck his cane against the wall and the nurse jumped, but didn’t say anything more. They all passed through the doors without another objection.

  God. Andrea hated the smell of hospitals. One would think they’d try to mask the antiseptic fragrance.

  Each side of the room was separated by colorful curtains denoting acute care areas, but Brody lead her to an actual room with a closed door. He released her to open the door wide.

  “Grandpa.” Andrea rushed to his side, gathering one of his hands in hers. The wrinkles around his eyes were more pronounced. He looked flushed with perspiration and trembled uncontrollably. “Are you okay?”

  The frown furrowing his scrappy gray brows screamed bad mood. Or was it fear? “I’ve been stabbed, poked and prodded. Can’t get a word out of these bottom-feeders.”

  “Grandpa!”

  Brody placed a chair at the back of Andrea’s knees and she sat down. “Have any of the tests come back?”

  “Nary a one.” Her grandfather barely got the words out before a pretty blonde walked into the room.

  “Byron.” Then she looked at Brody. “Sheriff. Mr. Wilson.”

  “So, how is the crotchety ol’ geezer?” The note of humor in Byron’s voice fell flat. By the worry in his eyes Andrea knew he, as well as Errol, were as scared as she.

  Dr. Dani walked to Harold’s bedside. She glanced across the bed and held her hand out. “It’s good to see you again, Andie.”

  “You too, Danica.” Andrea accepted her hand, wanting the niceties to be over and for them to get down to business. “How is my grandfather?”

  “Mr. Adair’s symptoms were similar to a heart attack. Chest pains. Increase in blood pressure and heart rate. Pale skin, sweating and trembling. All the tests came back
negative.”

  Relief and worry collided. “Then what’s wrong with him?” Andrea asked.

  “He had an anxiety attack.”

  “Anxiety attack?” Byron blurted. His gaze whipped to Errol and they both started to chuckle.

  Andrea didn’t miss the scowl her grandfather shot them or the ease of mind that softened their weathered faces.

  “Yes. Anxiety attack, which, by the way, is no laughing matter, because if not controlled it can become disabling.” Danica leveled a steely glare on Byron and Errol, slowly and one at a time, before she focused her attention on Andrea’s grandfather. “You three are not getting any younger. You need to keep your stress levels down, eat better, and lay off the rum, especially you, Mr. Adair. You’re carrying more weight than is healthy.”

  Andrea’s grandfather grumbled a curse beneath his breath.

  Andrea squeezed his hand, refusing to let go of it. Her grandfather would be all right.

  Errol cleared his throat. “Maybe you should keep Harold overnight, just in case…”

  “Arghhh,” her grandfather growled. “I be needing no stinking hospital—” His mouth pinched close.

  Errol’s suggestion had merit. What if Danica was wrong? What if things changed in the middle of the night?

  “Grandpa, maybe that’s not a bad idea.”

  “Can you do that for us, chickadee?”

  “Byron, that was next on my list of recommendations.” Danica turned to her patient. “Your blood pressure is still a little high. I’d like to increase your medication tonight and have the staff observe you. If you’re doing fine come morning you can go home…and rest.”

  “If you think it’s best.” Then he turned his gaze to Andrea and Brody. “But only if you promise me, laddie, you won’t be leaving my girl alone tonight.”

  “Grandpa!”

  Shit. Shit. Shit.

  Brody. The two of them alone—all night long. Not a good idea.

  “I’ve been living by myself for ten years. There isn’t a need for anyone to babysit me.”

  “Errol, give me a hand here.” Her grandfather made grunting noise as he attempted to rise in a sitting position. “I’m going home.”