Mary Margret Daughtridge SEALed Bundle

by Mary Margret Daughtridge

  Pickett swallowed and her head jerked in a short nod. “After I jump in the water. Then what will happen? What will you do?”

  Jax’s teeth flashed a teasing, sexy grin in the lurid light. He waggled his straight dark brows with comical innuendo. “The breaststroke.”

  For an infinite instant she cradled his cheek, relishing the tiny prickles of his beard. “Go,” she whispered. “Get Tyler to safety.”

  “Don’t move from this spot until you see me in the water.”

  Pickett looked over the rail at the black water shifting in the fire’s glow. “Will I be able to see you?”

  Jax looked a little chagrined. “I’m used to making sure I’m not seen. Give me your scarf.” He quickly tied the long swath of silk around his head and faced her. “Will this work?”

  His head was covered from the forehead back in silk pattered with flowers. The ends of the scarf streamed and fluttered in the wind. He should have looked silly; instead he looked like a merry pirate, swashbuckling, yet stern, the gaiety of the flowers somehow enhancing the implacability of his purpose. His masculinity sprang from some immutable essence that could not be diminished by femininity, only enhanced by it.

  Pickett’s heart leapt and swelled as in one of her intuitive flashes she saw what she and Jax had to give to one another. Rather than losing or sacrificing any part, by giving themselves in love, they would each become more perfect, more fully what they already were.

  “Pickett, I asked you, will this work?”

  The flowers of the scarf appeared almost black in the lurid light of the fire, but the white background glowed. As soon as she said yes he would leave her to face the fire, to face jumping by herself. She was just barely holding herself together with him by her side. What would happen when he was gone? Her jaw tightened against the up-rushing terror. She pulled in deep breaths, demanding her throat relax enough to get a word out. The most important thing was to get Tyler to safety.

  “Yes,” she said.

  Jax straightened and shifted Tyler to his hip. “Okay, big guy. We’re going to swim just like we did in the sound, you remember? You’re going to hold tight to my neck and I’m going to swim with you on my back.”

  “We’re going to jump off?” Tyler started to struggle against Jax’s encircling arms. “Uhn-uhn. Pickett’s ’fraid to jump.”

  Pickett grasped the child’s ankle to get his attention. “Not anymore. That was before.” She fumbled for an explanation he would accept. “That was when I was little. I didn’t have your daddy with me so I was afraid. But now I’m not. You said it was fun to swim like that with your daddy. You get to go first,” she twinkled, “and then it will be my turn.”

  She was amazing. You’d think she was discussing a ride at a fair. Her shoulders were shaking in a telltale quiver but she found courage to give to Tyler. “Lady, you blow me away.” Please God, let her find the courage to … he stopped the thought.

  Swiftly he brought Tyler tight against his chest, stepped onto the bench and then the wide top of the rail. One-handed, he let himself down on the other side and slid carefully onto the pilings that jutted from the base of the pier. The further he could get from the pilings the better. Crusted with barnacles and trailing fishing hooks from a thousand casts that went awry, they were a formidable danger to unprotected flesh. Was Pickett watching? He didn’t dare risk his balance to look back at the rail.

  “Hold tight with your legs, Tyler. You might need to hold your breath a long time, but you can do that, can’t you?” He could feel Tyler’s nod against his chest. Skinny legs gripped his waist and sharp little fingers dug into his neck.

  SEALs referred to people they were tasked to rescue as precious cargo.

  This was his own precious cargo, his son, to be carried to safety but not to be relinquished ever. And that was his lady. His, by God.

  He took a firmer grip on his precious cargo, placed one hand on top of the silky head, to counteract the buoyancy that could otherwise squirt Tyler out of his arms like a pea popped from a pod, and jumped.

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  Bubbles caressed and stoked him on all sides. Another time he would have relished the sensual delight of jumping into warm water without a hundred pounds or more of equipment. Another time he might have let himself relax and sink as far as he could through the caressing bubbles, content to let the ocean bring him to the surface in its own time.

  Tonight he pulled up his knees to stop his descent then kicked for the surface almost as soon as the water closed over his head. The powerful muscles of his thighs propelled them to the surface.

  They had only been under seconds but Jax knew an unreasonable measure of relief when he heard Tyler suck in a breath. The kid had been through so much tonight, enough to traumatize most adults. Jax wouldn’t have chosen to make this his first experience of jumping into water. In the next moment he knew the apple hadn’t fallen far from the tree. The little boy shook water from his eyes, cleared his nose the way he had been shown, threw back his head, and crowed in delight. “Do it again, Daddy!”

  With an enormous whoosh, flames shot up from a new section of the building. Pickett heard a loud electrical buzzing and popping and the pier went dark. People screamed. Seen only in its own light, the fire seemed larger and more menacing. From time to time burning chunks of pier fell into the water. The railing was eerily outlined by tongues of flame, and flames suddenly leapt up a lamppost.

  Was the fire closer? Pickett couldn’t tell. The wind blew smoke in front of it making it hard to see. Pickett leaned over the rail to watch the two heads so close together move toward the shore. There was only the light of the fire to see by now. Soon they were lost to sight in the thick pall of smoke. Pickett choked back a sob. They were all right. They had to be. Even if she couldn’t see them, she reminded herself, Jax would keep Tyler safe. But she wished she could see him take the child to shore. Set him down. Give him to one of the people who was surely there by now. Was that the sound of fire trucks in the distance or was it wishful thinking? Maybe they would get here in time and she wouldn’t have to jump.

  She shouldn’t think about that. Don’t think about jumping. She hadn’t been exaggerating to Jax. She really did almost flunk swimming because she wouldn’t dive even from the lowest board. And strangely enough, for her, jumping off the side of the pool was just as bad. Honestly, she thought she passed because the teacher didn’t want to have to deal with her again.

  Don’t think about how far away the water looks. Don’t think about how much bigger the swells look from the height of the pier when you can see them from trough to trough.

  Don’t think about it.

  Watch for Jax. In a few minutes he would have gotten Tyler to shore. In a few minutes he would turn around. In a few minutes she would be able to see his head through the smoke.

  He actually thought she could do this. Pickett choked back a half-hysterical laugh.

  Don’t think about it.

  She hoped everybody in the bait shop and lunch counter had gotten away. She offered up a prayer for their safety and the safety of all the people on the pier.

  Oh dear God, help me. Just let me do everything Jax said and get it right.

  But he didn’t know what a hopeless klutz she was.

  Oh, dear God, help me not to think about it.

  The smoke was thicker now.

  She could only see the water directly below and a little ways toward shore. Would she be able to see Jax? Yes, she would. He said when you see me I’ll be in the water. That meant she would see him.

  A man shouted high and panicky, “We gotta get out of here. We gotta jump!” A child wailed, there were murmurs and shouts, and several people climbed up on the rails.

  Two young men—Marines, judging from their “white wall” haircuts—jumped to the rails. They disappeared and what felt like a long time later there were twin splashes and heads appeared.

  Other people began to jump. Horrified, Pickett watched a young woman clutching what
looked like a baby climb up on the rail. Before Pickett could reach the woman to tell her to wait, that Jax would help her, she leaped from the very tip of the fantail.

  Pickett didn’t see them come up, but the water, dark with burning light, was littered with heads, indistinguishable from one another and with coolers that had been thrown in as flotation devices. She said a prayer for the woman, and then for herself. How was she going to find Jax?

  Pickett. Did someone call her name? Was that … yes, there he was. Not looking absurd at all with the flower-patterned scarf around his head. He was looking for her.

  He had come.

  Her heart beating so hard that her entire body shook, Pickett climbed onto the bench and threw one leg over the rail. The foot-wide platform where fishermen rested their rods made it hard to get her leg over. She feared she would fall before she could jump. It was never going to work. She couldn’t touch with her toes until she had both legs over.

  She squirmed around until her diaphragm rested on the platform then slowly allowed both legs to drop over. The platform was much closer to chest height than to waist height, and her legs now dangled. Ignoring the splinters scraping into her arms and chest, she lowered herself down, feeling for something solid with her feet.

  At last. But now she would have to let go in order to turn around. Her entire body throbbed with the force of her heartbeats. Turn. She could do this.

  Now her back was to the pier and all she had to do was crawl into the piling.

  There he was, watching her.

  Pickett knew for a fact that she could not jump into that dark, oily-looking water, shifting and moving so that you could never tell where it was.

  Jax, however, believed she could. At every turn he’d believed she was stronger, truer, and braver than she thought herself to be. She’d faced some truths about herself—that she kept herself sealed off, rarely letting people know how she felt or what she needed. But because of Jax, Pickett had talked more openly with her sister than she ever had, asserted her needs, revealed her shortcomings, and as a result, she had a sister today who was also a friend. She’d opened up to her clients and been met with compassion and support.

  She’d told Jax she couldn’t jump and he hadn’t said, “Oh you poor thing.” He’d said, “Jump anyway.” If she focused on the water she couldn’t do it. If she focused on him, she could. She could choose to listen to her fear—about everything—or listen to him.

  She made herself see only Jax, not the water. She made herself know only that she was going to him. The distance between them didn’t mean anything. She reviewed his directions. You will jump feet first. Keep your feet tight together, arms across your chest, pinch your nose. We will swim together. I can. You will.

  But she couldn’t do as he said while crouched in a ball.

  Never letting her eyes leave his face, she slowly stood.

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  There she was. She’d seen him. The fear, too unbearable to think about, that she wouldn’t be there on the fantail, that he wouldn’t be able to get to her until too late, released its talons from his gut so swiftly as to leave him lightheaded. In seconds he would have her and then she’d be where she belonged.

  What the hell was she doing? She was going over the rail. Why didn’t she just stand on it to jump? It was wide enough to hold her little feet easily. Stand up! Jump, you idiot! Oh shit. Her legs were dangling. He willed her toes forward until they touched the weathered boards.

  She looked so little crouched there, clutching an upright with one arm while she turned. With the glare of the fire at her back, he could see little more than a dark shape, and yet for a moment, he had the impression she was looking straight into his eyes.

  She stayed like that forever. For eons. Until he was sure she had frozen. He had seen it happen. When the fear became overwhelming and people just curled into a ball. And then she began to move, a funny scooting crab-like crawl onto the piling.

  Smoke drifted across her but when he could see her again she was a little further along. Come on. You can do it. You want to jump off a piling? That’s just as good. A little further and you’re ready. Come on. Come on!

  Oh damn. She was frozen again. Maybe she didn’t intend to jump. Maybe she had panicked and was simply trying to crawl as far as possible from the fire. No. This time he could see the shine of her eyes as she looked straight at him. She rose from her crouch with the swift fluid grace that was so much a part of her, and launched herself into the air. Feet together, arms pulled in tight, pinching her nose, she entered the water with textbook-illustration technique. Hooyah.

  Though he wanted to, there was no point in diving down to where she had entered the water. With an almost leisurely crawl he moved to where the swell would bring her up again.

  Bubbles hitting her face, tickling across her skin, loud burbles and gurgles. It went on and on. She just kept going down and there didn’t seem to be anything she could do about it. Soon she would start coming up. That was the thing you could depend on. The ocean would always bring you up.

  Her descent was slowing finally but her lungs were already burning, and she still had to get all the way back up. Something bumped her, trickling more bubbles across her face. Reflexively she put out a hand to brush it away and felt her fingers tangle in fabric and then close around a tiny, soft … it felt like an arm. A baby’s arm. Her first thought was to wonder what child had lost her doll. She pulled it closer and felt a tiny hand brush her face then cling to her collar.

  A baby. There was a baby in the water with her. Under the water. Babies would reflexively hold their breath, hadn’t she read that? But for how long? Her own lungs were beginning to scream for air. How long had the baby been under? She began to kick for the surface, her efforts feeling clumsy and futile with the unaccustomed weight of her slacks.

  “Jax,” she screamed as soon as her head broke the surface, immediately swallowing a mouthful of water as she tried to lift the baby above the water. Though tiny, its water-logged diaper made the infant amazingly heavy and Pickett went under again.

  A cool-warm arm circled her and brought her to the surface. “Easy. I’ve got you now. Just relax.”

  Pickett coughed and coughed but continued to hold the baby as high as she could.

  “Breathe,” came Jax’s voice warm in her ear. “You’re all right.”

  “A baby.” Pickett gasped. “It was in the water with me. You take it.”

  Jax suddenly made sense of the bundle Pickett seemed to clutch so senselessly. He quickly turned Pickett to face him so that the baby was supported between them.

  “Is it breathing?” Pickett asked. “Is it alive?”

  Wide dark eyes looked into Jax’s face with a look of indignant inquiry while a rosebud mouth pulled into a serious pout. The mouth opened in a huge shuddering breath and let out a wail.

  “I’d say it is.”

  “Save the baby, then. I’ll be all right. I’ll—”

  Of all the idiotic, lame-brained—! She had been about to drown herself trying to hold a kid out of the water. Leave her! There was no one he would not sacrifice, except Tyler, for her safety. Shit. He didn’t have time to deal with this right now.

  “Hush.” It wasn’t reassurance. It was a command. “Here’s what we do. You’re going to turn on your back, and hold the baby on its back on your chest, arms crossed across it. I’ll tow you.” Each word was driven with hammer blows.

  Where was the man with the glinting gray eyes that sparkled with ready laughter? This man with the hard face, and harder voice, was someone she didn’t know. This was the man she’d seen in the grocery store—was it only two weeks ago? Dangerous. Implacable. Remote.

  Thank God he was on her side.

  Taking care of Tyler was his job, so he would do it. If she married him, she would be his to take care of too, and he would do it the best he could.

  She nestled the baby, who seemed to enjoy this novel form of transportation, a little closer, and was almost sure the s
tinging in her eyes was caused by the saltwater.

  THIRTY-NINE

  In almost no time, she felt Jax touch the bottom and urge her to stand as well. Wordlessly he took the baby and when she stumbled, clumsy in her wet clothes, steadied her with his other arm.

  People appeared to pull her from the surf. Someone threw a large beach towel around her. Before she could ask where Tyler was, he was throwing his arms around her knees.

  “Did you jump, Pickett? Did you swim on my Daddy’s back? Was it fun?”

  Jax’s hand caressed the back of her neck. “You’ll be okay. Stay with Tyler. I’m going back in.”

  Before Pickett could reply, he was already diving back into the surf. Yards away he reappeared, head bobbing in a lazy-looking breaststroke that nevertheless covered distance easily.

  Then, her attention was taken by the hysterically grateful mother of the baby. No matter how Pickett tried to explain that she hadn’t saved the baby, it didn’t seem to make an impression. As an EMT pulled the woman away to check the infant over, Pickett lost sight of Jax.

  She knelt and wrapped Tyler in the beach towel with her, while scanning the water.

  Surfers with their boards started appearing in twos and threes as if by magic, and racing into the water. A Hobie Cat had been launched and was being paddled to the end of the pier. Sirens wailing, the fire department arrived, and set up giant stadium-type lights and deployed their hoses.

  Suddenly Pickett’s eyes found Jax. She blessed her flowered scarf. Because he still wore it on his head she could locate him among the bodies in the water.

  “See, Tyler,” she pointed. “There’s your daddy. He’s helping people onto the surfboards.”

  Tyler followed Pickett’s pointing finger for a few minutes, then sagged tiredly against her breasts.