by Zoe York
“Miss Berton,” her neighbour said, commanding her to stop.
Maybe that’s where Catie’s dislike of Will’s preference for formal address came from. She pasted on a smile. “Frances.”
“I noticed your sprinkler went off this morning.”
Nosy. Fucking. Neighbour. “Yes?”
“It’s a no-watering day.”
Catie pressed her lips together and counted backwards to one. “That’s for municipal water usage, Frances. I have a rain barrel and that’s the source of my timed sprinkler.”
“How am I supposed to know that?”
The gall of her to sound offended, when it was none of her business in the first place. “You could just not worry about it?”
“We have rules for a reason.”
“And I follow them.” Catie went to step around her neighbour, but stopped as she realized Will was directly in front of her, talking to a group of people—including Frances’s daughter, Ashley.
The older woman’s gaze followed the line of Catie’s attention, then swivelled back. “Did you know Ashley was home from college? You should go say hello.”
Catie didn’t have the same negative thoughts about the younger woman as she did about the girl’s mother, but she didn’t want to go say hello.
Which meant she had to stand here and find something else to talk to Frances about until the people directly in her path moved on.
Of course, she could just move on with her life and not worry about what Frances thought, but that wouldn’t stop her neighbour from whispering about her non-stop, exactly as she had about Catie’s mother, too.
“Just ignore her. That Schmidt woman is a nosy bitch who doesn’t have enough fun in her life.” Twenty years later, that stinging observation remained painfully true.
“Frances,” Catie said smoothly, a practiced approach that doubled as a shield against evil. “About the rain barrel system. Since you seem to have a good handle on who is watering their lawns excessively, perhaps you could help me spread the word about this alternative?”
“People don’t need a new system. They only need to stick to watering on the allowed days.”
Catie had expected that sourpuss response. She didn’t really care about Frances’s opinion, anyway.
All she cared about was Will getting out of her path, and Ashley, too.
Preferably not together, she thought darkly as Ashley grabbed Will’s arm and pulled him from where he was standing near the deck at the side of the marina’s main building, toward the dock.
The girl was almost young enough to be his student, for goodness' sake. A few years younger and she would have been one of his students.
Will, being the least spontaneous and fun person in Pine Harbour, didn't move far. He slowed down, glancing back at the group they’d just split away from. Ashley pulled harder, prompting Will to say something under his breath that Catie couldn't hear.
Whatever it was, it prompted Ashley to pout. Even from a distance Catie could see her lower lip jutting into the space between them. The play for Will’s emotions worked, and he closed the gap between them and ducked his head, mollifying her.
Catie couldn’t hear their conversation, but it wasn’t exactly private. They were standing next to a group of people. After a few exchanges, Ashley tossed her hair over her shoulder, gave Will a hug, and spun away. But the girl misjudged how close she was to the edge of the dock, and the final turn of her spin completed with a splash into the lake.
Frances shrieked. “That’s my baby!”
On the dock, everyone pointed and laughed. Everyone, that was, except for Will, who without a second thought handed his phone to the person beside him and jumped into the lake after the panicking woman. The whole exchange had been annoying to watch, but that part was pretty impressive. He quickly got Ashley oriented to the ladder and urged her up and out of the water.
As soon as he hauled himself back onto the dock, she was clinging to him, like a sad, drowned rat plastering itself to a…
“Oh, he’s just so handsome,” Frances said, fluttering her hand against her mouth in a weird mix of worry and admiration. “Good job, Ashley.”
Catie narrowed her eyes at her neighbour—good job? “Aren’t you going to help?”
Frances scowled back. “She doesn’t need my help. She has Will. Look at them.”
Catie jerked her attention back to the display on the dock. Will had his arms around Ashely now. Although on second thought, it was less of a hug and more like he had his hands on her upper arms. Catie liked to think he was peeling the other woman off him, but it wasn’t clear from this angle. Then he scanned the crowd. His attention finally landing on January, rushing towards them with towels.
Beside her, Francis said, “My daughter is going to marry that man,” at the exact same moment Will shoved Ashley into the towel January was holding out.
“Can you deal with her?” He asked his colleague, and that was loud enough to carry across the crowd.
Catie smothered a smile as Frances made a huffing sound. Will glared at the person who had been holding his phone, who immediately handed it over, and then the soaking wet principal stalked away, water still sluicing off him.
No, she didn’t think Ashley was going to marry that man after all.
And the weird fog that had settled on Catie’s shoulders lifted.
When she got home that night, she looked at the email from Will. Maybe it was time to write back.
From: Catie Berton
To: Will Kincaid
* * *
Will,
Thank you so much for the belated reply. Since my last email some time ago, my schedule has filled up. What day does the club meet on? I’ll see if I can fit it in.
* * *
Regards,
Catie
Chapter Ten
Will laughed out loud when he received Catie’s email. He wondered how many drafts it had taken her to once again put him in his place.
He replied immediately.
From: Will Kincaid
To: Catie Berton
* * *
Catie
My apologies, again. In the past, the club has met on Thursdays, but you are welcome to pick another weekday afternoon. Whatever works for you.
Yours,
Will
He spent the next week checking his email—no reply, she was taking her time and making him sweat—while he also hid at Josh’s garage. Working on his Duster was infinitely preferable to fielding the unrelenting romantic inquiries of Ashley Schmidt, who had dropped by his house once and called twice—but thankfully hadn’t figured out that he liked to spend time with his brothers.
The universe was having a good laugh at his expense. He’d had a few passing thoughts about looking for the right person to settle down with, and now he was in the cross hairs of someone who he couldn’t be less interested in.
Ashley was a nice enough girl, but there was a hard emphasis on girl. And it didn’t seem to matter to her that he didn’t share her enthusiasm for the thought of dating each other. When Will thought about finding the right person, he knew deep down it would be like the kind of love his brothers felt for their wives. All consuming, intense. Scary, even, because once that love took hold in his chest, it would require sacrifice and change.
Once he fell in love, if he was ever that lucky, he would be changed forever.
He would know if he was falling in love with Ashley Schmidt. He wasn’t. He couldn’t even bring himself to fall into like with her for an afternoon.
Other than that minor personal situation, which he was doing his best to avoid entirely, and the upcoming SAR training on Thursday night, he didn’t have anything else on his schedule for the week. The ideal lazy summer vacation, after a tough school year—but the calm was disrupted by two very real callouts for the Search and Rescue team, back to back.
The trainees weren’t ready to participate in searches yet, so they didn’t join the veteran members at the Red Bay Lodge p
arking lot, which had been converted to the second command centre in as many days.
And once again, they were right on the edge of the water, which added a layer of complexity to the search.
The day before, the subject had been a little boy, and he’d been discovered within an hour, much to the relief of his parents. Today it was a woman in her eighties, who may or may not have taken medication that could cause confusion and disorientation.
The search took hours, and was complicated by the insertion of community volunteers—although Tom did a good job of redirecting most of those folks up and down the shore road, keeping them out of the water.
When they found the search subject, she was alive, but not conscious. They had to work together with emergency services to stabilize her and safely get her off the rocky shore and onto a backboard.
That night’s debrief was longer than the day before—and they all stayed together at the training centre until they got a positive update from the hospital, which wasn’t always possible. It helped that both Tom and Will had paramedic siblings.
“Probably a sign we should add water search training to the summer’s schedule,” Tom said as they walked out to their trucks. It was an add-on training course they usually did in the winter, when they could combine it with ice safety. But the more the shoreline was developed, and people unfamiliar with the lake were spending time there, the more often they’d get called out for this type of search.
Will dragged himself home, ready for a hot shower, a beer, and his bed. He frowned when he found a gift bag sitting in front of his door. Inside was a beach towel, and a suggestive note from Ashley that the next time they went for a swim together, it could be part of a day at the beach.
He sighed, set it just inside, and resigned himself to the fact that the next morning’s agenda would need to include a direct conversation with the persistent young woman about how he just wasn’t interested.
He bumped the beer up the action item list, stalking into his kitchen and finding a cold bottle in the fridge. Then he climbed the stairs to his bedroom, started the shower, and stripped out of his clothes. He smelled like the lake, and pine trees, and a day of stressed-out sweat.
A trip to the beach was exactly what he needed, but not with Ashley.
A fleeting thought of Catie flashed through his mind. Stretched out on an oversized beach towel, nose buried in a book. Would she be a bikini type, getting maximum sun? Something bright, like the running pants she wore to training nights? Neon triangles covering her breasts…
He shook his head, trying to dissuade himself from that line of thinking.
Trying, failing.
Maybe she was more of a sporty one-piece kind of girl. A red racing stripe up her side as she chased him into the water, launching herself into the waves. The spandex stretching high up her waist, baring a plump slice of her ass…
Stop.
He was half-hard, though, and his imagination was off to the races. Catie in every Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Edition poster young Will had ever pored over. A zippered suit, unzipped down to her navel. Her breasts again, round little swells. Her shoulders, as he slipped one strap off her body, then the other.
Making out in the lake. Slow kisses.
Fuck.
He forced himself into the shower, taking his beer with him. Hot steam, cold lager. It did nothing to scrub his mind of the inappropriate and fucking glorious fantasies, stacking up fast and furious now.
How was he going to look her in the eye on Thursday? His only explanation was that it had been a weird week, and a long two days of searching for people.
He was tired. And apparently, horny for a certain brand of opinionated spitfire. At some point, he’d need to reconcile these unexpected feelings with the fact she didn’t like him very much. It wasn’t healthy to want someone who didn’t want you back.
But oh, it felt pretty fucking healthy to want Catie tonight. She was so much. Endlessly challenging. Her glorious glower. A glare that would win awards. The perfect stare, unwavering and bold.
She was confident and knowing. Is that what she would be like in bed? As she peeled off the neon bikini and climbed on top of him, rubbing her slick pussy against his cock, and then his belly, before climbing onto his face?
Fuck. Fuuuck…
Will closed his eyes and gave in, stroking himself hard as he fantasized about the impossible dream—Catie Berton liking him enough to let him tongue-fuck her into ecstasy.
One of Catie’s favourite things about SAR was the phone tree of text messages before training each week, reminding each other about gear and coordinating rides together. The camaraderie and team spirit cheered her up every single time.
Today’s training had changed at the last minute, based on real rescues that had happened earlier in the week, and the text chain told them to wear clothes that could get wet.
Catie went with her trusty neon-yellow leggings and a long-sleeved navy blue swim shirt. Not quite visible enough, she thought to herself, so she put a hot pink bandana over her hair, too.
At training, Tom launched right into lecture mode, all business. “For the most part, from our perspective, we’re focused on shore-based approaches to a rescue. But on any rescue, if we’re looking at a water search, we also have to consider whether motorized watercraft would be a better rescue option, and that means coordinating with local authorities. A reminder that that’s a decision that is made at the search coordinator level, and your team leader will update you as appropriate, but if you don’t see a boat, don’t assume one is coming. For that reason, what we’re going to practice today are some simple shore-based approaches. In the fall and winter, we run a separate training course on lake rescue, but all of us need to know how to toss a rope either into the lake or, more likely, a river.”
Tom gestured to where Will was over at the rope cupboards, pulling out specific types. He waved as Tom continued. “It looks like everyone got the text messages about clothing. Just to underline why it matters. Before we talked about the importance of visibility. Now we need to consider buoyancy as well. You don’t want to wear anything into the water, or even on the shoreline, that could weigh you down. And it’s not just clothes—our packs get taken off and left back from the waterline. And when the water is cold—and it always is on the Georgian Bay side, if we get called over there—we need to be considerate of what will help retain our body heat temperature for as long as possible.”
Shit. Catie hadn’t considered that at all. She put her hand in the air. “Can you elaborate on that?” She gestured down her body. “I went strictly for swimability here, not warmth.”
“And that’s fine for today,” Tom said reassuringly. “We’re just going down to the creek. But Yolanda, can you share your favourite pieces?”
The older woman stood up and took them through a quick tour of the layers she was wearing, including a lightweight wool base layer in bright red that Catie adored.
Then another member of the SAR who didn’t usually come to the training nights was introduced. Sharon Dunks ran an open water swim club, and gave a quick overview of how SAR members were welcome at any of their regular swims, and could participate in their training programs for free.
Catie saw another fitness goal in her future.
Tonight, though, they weren’t all getting into the water. Only Sharon would be rescued, over and over again, as she floated in a creek not far from the training building.
As Will handed out bright red bags with rope coiled inside, Sharon and Yolanda demonstrated the difference between an overhand throw—more accurate—compared to an underhand or sidearm toss, which were better for distance.
“Practice makes perfect. And tossing a throw bag is hard, so we’re going to practice it tonight until our arms fall off.”
Sharon nodded in agreement with Yolanda’s statement. “And that practice will carry forward to when you actually put it into motion. Every time, before you do your actual toss, you’ll want to go through the throwing
motion a few times. Visualize where you want the rope to land, ahead of where your rescue target is. The visualization and practice movements both help the throw land on target.”
“Ready to go?” Tom glanced around for any final questions. “All right. Lead the way, ladies.”
A path behind the training centre led to a well-maintained set of stairs, with multiple landings and benches on the way down to the creek.
“I haven’t been down here before,” Catie said to Yolanda as they descended.
“Really?” The other woman grinned. “Then you’re in for a treat.”
Catie heard the rush of water before she saw the waterfall. Wide and layered at the top, and then narrowed by boulders, it split the river into two parts. One curved off into the forest, leaving a wade-able but fast-moving creek at the bottom of the stairs.
Sharon jogged ahead along the creek bed, toward the waterfall, then waded into the middle of the creek where the water was waist high.
Yolanda got into position down current from her. Sharon yelled out an exaggerated “Oh no!”, kicked out her feet, and was quickly carried toward them on her back. Yolanda yelled to get her attention, and made the rope toss look easy. Sharon grabbed it the first time and climbed out.
“Mission accomplished,” Lore cheered. “We can go home now.”
Everyone laughed.
“I think you’ve volunteered to go first.” Yolanda gestured for Lore to join her. “Everyone else, line up.”
It turned out, it was not nearly as easy as Yolanda made it look.
Over and over again, Sharon jogged up the path, into the water, and was carried back in their direction. More than half the time, the rope missed her by a mile.
The only person who made it look as easy as Yolanda was Will—of course. Both of his tosses were pitch perfect, and the way he confidently pulled Sharon to the safest exit point was noted, too.