Stormcatcher

by Colleen Rhoads

  “No, no, it’s fine. We won’t be that late.” She opened the picnic basket. “Let’s chow down on some chicken before it gets cold.”

  Before Simon could answer her, she saw a movement from the corner of her eye. She stood and waved her arms. “Hey, get away from there!” Their boat was being pulled away from shore by a small boat.

  The figure clad in dark clothing was too far away to see his face. Simon ran to the edge of the water and waded in, then dove into the waves to try to catch hold of the boat. Wynne knew it was a lost cause. The small boat’s engine fired and both boats moved off quickly.

  Simon returned to shore. “We’re stuck,” he said. “No one knows we’re here.”

  Wynne had already thought of that. “What are we going to do?”

  “I’m not sure.” He sneezed and began to shiver.

  “Here, take this blanket.” She wrapped it around him. “Your other clothes are still soaking wet, too. Let me see if I can get them dry.” She went to the fire and shoved some rocks as close to the blaze as she could. She draped Simon’s wet clothes on the rocks.

  “That’s going to take a while,” Simon said. “The storm will be here by morning. We need to find a way off before then.”

  Wynne nodded. “Let’s explore the island and see what’s here.”

  “There used to be an old canoe on the leeward side of the island. Maybe it’s still there.” Simon took her hand, and they walked along the sand to the other side of the tiny island.

  “Who is doing this, Simon?” Wynne tightened her grip on his hand. “I’m getting scared. And what was the purpose of this?”

  He stopped on the sand and pulled her close. “I don’t want to scare you more but in a big storm, a surge can flood the island. I’d say it’s an attempt to kill us.”

  “But why?” she asked, her voice muffled against his wet chest. She shivered, not so much from Simon’s cold clothing but from the bleak situation.

  “I’ve been trying to think of that, too. It could be Wilson. He might want the Viking site. It’s worth more than money—it’s prestige. Or maybe it’s Alan and he’s out for revenge.”

  “An old girlfriend of Jerry’s?” Wynne suggested.

  “But why? Jerry is dead. So is Amanda. What would she gain by killing us?”

  Wynne pulled away and rubbed the moisture from her cheek. “I have no idea. Have you offended any old girlfriends? Maybe she thought she was killing you when she sank the yacht, and when she found out she got the wrong man, she’s trying again.”

  “It’s a stretch, even if I had wounded a woman, which I haven’t.” He took her hand again, and they continued to march around the island.

  “There it is,” Wynne said, pointing to the old canoe. “Is it sound?”

  Simon knelt and rolled it over. He inspected the sides and bottom. “Looks like it. But in these high waves, it’s going to be dangerous to try to paddle it to Eagle Island. I want you to stay here until I send back help.”

  “No way.” Wynne shook her head. “I’m going with you. If we don’t make it, at least we’ll be together.” She stopped short, aware of what she’d just admitted if he had the insight to hear.

  His gaze caught hers, and she saw the same awareness in his eyes. He cupped her face in his hands. His lips came down on hers. The promise in his kiss gave her hope and courage.

  “We’re going to make it,” he said, looking deep into her eyes. “I know it’s quick, but I love you, Wynne. I guess this is the first time I’ve ever really felt this way.”

  “I love you, too,” she whispered. She glanced at the sky. “Now let’s get out of here.”

  Simon couldn’t see any holes in the canoe, but it wasn’t the best looking craft he’d ever seen. There was only one paddle, and it was chipped and battered. He had to wonder if it would make it without breaking on the high surf. He found a split branch that was sort of flat on one end and handed it to Wynne.

  “You can try to steer us with that,” he told her. Looking at her, he knew he had to find a way to get them both out of this mess. He should have told someone where they were going. This was his fault. If he’d just slowed down and thought this through.

  The clouds hung low in the sky, and a stiff wind blew from the north. Simon shivered in his still wet clothes. It was hard to believe it was summer with the cold chill in the air, but the weather on Lake Superior was capricious.

  He thought about changing his clothes again. The ones by the fire might be slightly less wet than what he wore, but he dismissed the idea. He’d be drenched again in minutes so there was no use in wasting the time.

  He and Wynne dragged the canoe to the water. “Get in,” he told her. He glanced at his watch. Five o’clock. There were a few hours of daylight left, but they’d need to move fast from the look of the sky.

  Wynne hopped into the boat, and he shoved it along the last bit of sand until it floated freely in the waves. He clambered over the side, nearly tipping it before they were even offshore.

  Wynne grabbed the sides of the canoe and hung on. “Whoa!”

  Simon steadied the canoe with the paddle. “We’re okay.” He stood and pushed the paddle into the sand under the water, then sat back down and began to paddle in the direction of Eagle Island.

  “How long do you think it will take us to get there?” Wynne asked. From the bow of the boat, she thrust the branch in the water and helped steady it.

  “A couple of hours probably.” He didn’t add “if the winds cooperate.” He didn’t have to. Wynne knew as well as he did that the situation was desperate.

  Away from the island, the winds battered them and their small craft. Wynne’s hair soon came loose from its braid and blew around her head. She kept thrusting it out of her face, and Simon wished he had a rubber band for her.

  He knew she had to be as cold as he was. Probably colder. “Take the blanket,” he yelled. He thrust it toward her, and she took it. It wouldn’t help much, he knew. It was soaking wet. But at least it would be another layer.

  Blisters rose on his hands as he doggedly fought the waves. “Looks like the Thunderbird is out today!” he shouted above the roar of the wind.

  “I’ve been praying,” Wynne called back. Her cheeks were pale, and her eyelashes were spiky from the constant spray in her face.

  The sky darkened even more. Thunder began to rumble in the distance, then grew closer as streaks of lightning flashed across the sky.

  Wynne flinched and hunkered down onto the floor of the canoe. “We’re sitting ducks out here,” she hollered. “I hate lightning.”

  “I didn’t think you were afraid of anything.” He grinned at her. His arms felt like they were going to fall off. There was still no sign of lights along the shore of Eagle Island. With the sun obscured, he wasn’t positive they were even going in the right direction.

  “Are we lost?” Wynne looked back at him.

  “I hope not,” he told her. He continued to doggedly paddle in what he hoped was the right direction.

  “There,” Wynne said suddenly. “I see lights.” She pointed.

  The rain began to fall, and Simon squinted through the curtain of moisture covering the landscape. “I see Turtle Town.” He recognized the strip of neon lights that glared through the darkening clouds.

  A rogue wave came out of nowhere and slammed into the canoe, nearly tipping them both into the waves that were taking on monstrous proportions. He fought to keep the canoe steady.

  He heard Wynne scream and looked up to see a towering wave heading toward them. “Hang on!” he shouted. The wave slammed into the small craft. He swallowed water, then he was tumbling in the water, not sure which way was up and which was down. The black waves tossed him around and he could see nothing.

  Wynne, he thought, his arms flailing. They might have had such a wonderful life together. It was all going to end here just a half mile from safety.

  Wynne clung to the side of the upended canoe and scanned the rolling waves for Simon’s head. Where
was he? He’d disappeared when the giant wave had swamped the boat. She couldn’t feel her fingers at all, though she knew she was still holding to the boat. She prayed with what little thoughts she could gather as she tried to stay conscious.

  She saw something off to her left. “Simon!” She reached out toward his dark head bobbing in the waves. He was facedown. Please, Lord, don’t let him be dead. She released her hold on the canoe and managed to snag his shirt. She rolled him over. “Simon, wake up.” Her voice sounded was so weak it was barely above a whisper, but he must have heard because his lashes fluttered, and he coughed.

  Waves kept rolling over their heads. She was so cold. “We’re almost to shore,” she urged him. “Come on, fight.”

  He nodded and they began to swim for the shore. The lights seemed just out of reach. Wynne couldn’t feel her limbs or even her face anymore. Moving sent blood pumping through her head though, and her thoughts sharpened.

  They could make it. She felt an inner voice urging her on. They wouldn’t give up so close to safety. Conscious of Simon struggling beside her, she focused on one kick after the other. Going through the motions. Her muscles screamed for rest, crowding out all other sensations: the cold, the howling wind, the water slapping her in the face.

  Then her knees scraped sand. Another wave caught her and tossed her against some rocks. Her chin struck something hard, and she saw stars. The strength ran out of her arms and she sank then came up sputtering.

  Simon had gained his feet. He grasped her hand and hauled her up against him. “I’ve got you now,” he muttered against her hair.

  She sagged against him. He was trembling as much as she was. “I can’t believe we made it,” she whispered.

  “I prayed with what little focus I could find,” he said.

  “Me, too.” She wrapped her arms around his waist as the rain continued to pelt them.

  “Let’s get inside where we can get dry and warm.” He led her toward the café. Bob’s Eats looked as welcome as a bowl of hot chili on a winter night. The blast of warm air that hit them as they entered the restaurant enveloped Wynne like a blanket.

  “I’ve lost my cell phone or I’d call your family,” Simon told her. “I’d better find a pay phone.”

  She caught at his hand. “Don’t leave me yet,” she said. “I still can’t believe we’re alive. I just want to look at you.”

  He smiled wearily and draped his arm around her shoulders. They went to a back table.

  Rhonda was working tonight. Her mouth dropped in shock. “What’s happened to you? Here, have some coffee.” She poured out two cups of coffee. “Who should I call for you?”

  “Call the sheriff for one,” Simon said. “Then if you’ll bring me the phone, I’ll call Wynne’s family.”

  “Be right back.” Rhonda hurried off toward the kitchen.

  Wynne wrapped her hands around the hot cup. She wished she could dive in and have her whole body feel as warm as her hands. She took a sip and shuddered as the warm liquid made its way down her throat. She pressed the cup to her cold cheek.

  Her gaze locked with Simon’s. He’d said he loved her before they left the island. Did he mean it or was it just nerves talking? He regarded her steadily then reached across the table and took her hand.

  “When this is all over, we need to talk. I think you’ll agree there is an ‘us’ after all.”

  Welcome heat flooded her face. “I hope so.” She felt suddenly shy. On the island when it had seemed there might not even be tomorrow, it had been easier to contemplate a future. Now the reasons she’d told herself that stood in the way crowded back for attention.

  TWENTY-TWO

  Sheriff Rooney put his pad and pen away. “I’ll see if the Coast Guard can find your boat. You sure seem prone to losing it these days.”

  “We didn’t lose it,” Simon said testily. “Someone seems bent on drowning us. Why can’t you figure out who is doing this?”

  “You’ve seen this mysterious person and you still can’t identify who it is,” the sheriff pointed out.

  Simon conceded, “I’m just tired of this.”

  Brian burst through the door. “I just heard what happened,” he panted. “Are you both okay?”

  “We’re fine.” Simon rubbed his head.

  “Did you see who did this? I heard you were deliberately stranded.”

  “Yeah, we were. But God brought us through.” Simon still couldn’t believe it. They should have been dead at the bottom of the lake.

  “The storm seems to be dying,” Rooney said. “I’ll see what we can do about finding your boat.”

  “It’s not even mine,” Simon said. “I borrowed it.”

  Rooney winced. “Maybe we’ll find it.” He didn’t sound optimistic.

  “What about tomorrow?” Brian asked. “We were going to go back to the Viking site.”

  “If it’s not been covered up with silt.” Simon felt as morose as he sounded. His body ached, and he fought the heavy droop of his lids. “We don’t have a boat.”

  “Or a crew,” Brian added. “Joe and Bjorn told me they were taking the day off and going to the mainland.”

  “Great, just great. Guess we’re all taking a break.”

  Brian hesitated. “Maybe not. I’ve got a boat ready to launch, and the owner isn’t taking possession for another few days. The three of us could go out. I can’t be gone all day, but we could hit it in the afternoon.”

  “Perfect. That will give the silt and mud time to settle, and we’ll see how much damage the storm caused.”

  “And we can sleep in,” Wynne put in.

  “There’s that, too,” Simon agreed. “I feel like I could sleep for a week.”

  Wynne yawned. “Me, too.”

  “I’ll take you home,” Brian said. “You look beat.”

  “I’ll take her,” Simon put in quickly.

  Brian raised his eyebrows and grinned. “You’re the boss.”

  Simon went toward the door. “I’ll be back with the truck. Don’t go anywhere.” By the time he got back with his truck, Brian and the sheriff had left. Wynne was watching from the plate glass window, and she hurried out to hop in the passenger side.

  “We never did get to eat our dinner,” she said suddenly.

  “I’m too tired to be hungry.” Her stomach rumbled, and he laughed. “I guess you’re not. Moxie will feed you though.”

  “Yeah.” Her face brightened and he knew she was thinking about the welcome she would get when she arrived at Windigo Manor. He envied that type of family connection.

  He dared hope he was going to be part of it one day. “Wynne,” he began. He choked back the words when he saw that her eyes were closed. “Never mind,” he whispered. “It can wait.”

  The tapping wouldn’t go away. “Wynne, time to get up.”

  Wynne groaned and dragged the pillow over her head at the sound of Becca’s voice. “Go away. Nobody lives here anymore.”

  The knocking just intensified. “I know you’re in there. You’ve got a phone call.”

  Simon. “I’m up,” she called. Wynne threw the covers back and snatched at the phone. “Hello,” she said breathlessly.

  “I hope I didn’t awaken you.”

  Her heart fell. It was Gordon Masters, her boss on the upcoming project in Australia. “No, it’s fine, Gordon. I was just out a little late last night.” Late didn’t begin to cover it. If a truck had run over her, she wouldn’t have felt any worse.

  “I just wanted to finalize our plans. I need you here a little earlier than we’d initially planned. Can you be here next week?”

  “Next week! That’s nearly a month early.”

  “I know, but our permit has come through, and I’m eager to get to work. E-mail me your travel arrangements and I’ll have someone pick you up at the airport when you arrive.”

  In a mental fog, Wynne wrote down the information he rattled off and hung up. Next week. Her stomach plunged. She would have to leave Simon. She got up and moved to the b
athroom. Her dark eyes looked stark in her white face, and her hair was a fright. Tangled and gnarled, it looked as bad as she’d ever seen it.

  She turned on the shower and hopped in, letting the hot water ease the pain from her body. It was all she could to do hobble around and get ready. Her arms ached when she raised them to braid her hair, and she could barely stand upright.

  She had to talk to Simon. Her lungs squeezed at the thought. She still didn’t know what she would say. It had seemed so easy at Gull Island yesterday. Her thoughts were as tangled as her hair.

  Still moving slowly, she dressed in jeans and went downstairs. Yesterday’s storm left a freshness in the air, and she sniffed appreciatively. The house felt empty and silent. Where was everyone? She glanced at her watch. Eleven o’clock. Molly had a softball game.

  She wandered into the kitchen and snagged an apple from the refrigerator, then headed out to the verandah. Munching her apple, she watched some sparrows flit along the flagstone as they scavenged for crumbs. She had to face this and decide what to do before she saw Simon.

  What did she really want to do with her life? Shaking her head slightly, she stood and tossed the apple core to the birds, then headed toward the dock. Simon had said he’d pick her up at eleven-thirty, and it was nearly that now.

  Walking down the slope, she heard the sound of an approaching boat coming toward the Manor’s dock. Simon waved from the deck. She lifted her hand in greeting and watched the wind ruffle his hair.

  She couldn’t imagine leaving him, couldn’t fathom not seeing him every day. Her heart ached as much as her body did. What could she do?

  “I wasn’t sure you’d be out of bed yet,” he said, his smile widening as she stepped aboard the boat. “I called an hour ago, and Becca said you were still asleep.”

  “She should have woken me sooner.” Her fingers curled around his, and he didn’t relinquish her hand even though she was safely aboard the boat. He rubbed his thumb over the palm of her right hand, and shivers ran up her hand.