Those Cassabaw Days (29 page)

He allowed her to finger the buttons loose, then he stood and shucked out of the soft faded denim before stretching over her, propping himself up with one elbow and looking down at her. “I think I’ve always known this would be,” he said, and his voice was gruff. “Hoped, anyway.”

Emily smiled up at him, not so shocked by his admission. Then she moved her fingers over the hard ridges of his stomach, and the muscles flinched under her touch. His chest, his neck, and she pulled him down to her mouth and with a deep groan, he kissed her. Softly at first, then more hungrily, yet his hands moved gently as he explored her breasts, her hips, fingered each rib space.

And then there was nothing between them but skin, and air, and memories, and every movement seemingly choreographed, so perfect and fluid each motion, each touch, and their hands were as starved as their mouths, their eyes, and Matt nudged his thigh between hers, moved his lips over hers, then to her ear.

“Emily Shay Quinn, I’ll love you till the day I die,” he said, his voice shaky, raspy, perfect.

And she smiled, held him close, and when he entered her, not just her body but her soul, they moved together, perfect motion, perfect rhythm. The storm wind outside sang along with their dance, just as heartily as the vintage music pouring from the vinyl record, and that sensation built up within Emily. From somewhere deep within her, built and built with each movement until she grasped Matt with all her might as they came together, light exploding behind her eyes as waves of pleasure swamped her.

Matt held her tight, close, and Emily couldn’t tell where her body ended and Matt’s began. Their movements slowed, stopped, until they lay there, wrapped in each other’s arms.

Matt’s lips found her temple and kissed her there, and tucked Emily close to his side, and Emily snuggled against him. Fear pinged inside her, though, resonated deep, so deep it was easily masked. But it was there. She feared if she gave her heart fully, truly, that it would be easily broken. Unintentionally or not. Could she bear that kind of pain again?

But Matt’s arms tightened around her, and they lay there content.

Finally together.

And to Emily’s sincere hope, together forever.

* * *

W
HEN
M
ATT
CRACKED
open his eyes, he was immediately aware of two things.

The soft, willowy woman tucked against him. His Em.

And the wind roaring outside.

He reveled in one before addressing the other.

“Em,” he said as gently as he could. “Hey, wake up.”

Emily stretched beside him, wound her legs with his, and they were long, soft and just as he’d imagined they’d feel. “Too early.”

Matt laughed lightly. “Yeah, it is. You’re used to it, though.” He pushed his hands through her thick hair. “We’ve got to secure the café and river houses.” He kissed her head. “The wind’s picked up. I think the storm’s shifted.”

Slowly, she awoke, and when those strange eyes locked onto his, they turned liquid.

And so did his heart.

“Hey, you,” she muttered sleepily. “You remind me of a raccoon with those black eyes,” she said. “Are you okay?”

“Hey back,” he said, and pushed the hair from her eyes. “And yes, I’m fine.”

“I guess we’d better find out what’s up with Henry,” she said, and reached over and lifted her iPhone from the bedside table. Holding it up for them both to see, she found the weather report.

“Category one,” she said. “I guess we’d really better get a move on.”

Hurriedly, they both dressed, ran through fast morning routines, barely even having time to slow down and enjoy this new direction of their friendship.

Hurricane Henry had shifted, changed direction and was moving fast toward Cassabaw. Just like Jep had predicted.

By the time they let themselves out of the house, Nathan and Eric were hurrying up the lane.

“What the hell—where’d you come from?” Nathan said.

They both jogged to Matt and all three Malone boys embraced.

“We were just coming to get Emily,” Eric called.

“Storm’s coming,” Nathan said. “Really kicked up fast overnight.” He looked at them. “Thought it was cutting a path for Florida but it just shifted, like Jep said it would.” He looked at Matt. “I hate when he’s right. It’s turned and seems to be heading right toward us.”

“How long?” Matt asked, glancing skyward, although he couldn’t see a thing.

“Soon.”

Matt rubbed the back of his neck. “Soon ain’t a lot of time.”

“Nope. Most of the islanders stay prepared year-round. Most of the tourists packed it up and moved out earlier in the week. We’ve got to secure the houses. The Windchimer.” They started walking together.

“I’ve got to go in,” Eric said, and Matt knew he meant for the Coast Guard. “But wanted to see if you guys needed any help here first. Gotta go keep the citizens of Cassabaw Station safe!”

“We’ve got this,” Matt replied. “You go. Might need you more out there.”

Eric threw up a hand and ran back up the lane.

“Let’s get this done,” Nathan said. “I’m sure you’ll tell me where the hell you’ve been later, right?”

“You got it,” Matt agreed.

Together, the three battened down Emily’s river house. While the guys were finishing up, Emily grabbed a claw hammer from her toolbox and took off down the dock.

No way in Hades would she leave behind the beloved sign that Matt had made her.

Once there, she pried the sign off the front of the dock house, glanced out at the already turbulent river churning dark gray and brown and filled with wind ripples, then ran back over the dock. Inside the house, she tucked it safely inside her kitchen pantry, on the top shelf. On second thought, she ran to the office, grabbed the box of albums she’d found that Aunt Cora had so lovingly stored and carried it to the pantry, too.

“Let me get that,” Matt said, and hoisted the box onto the top shelf. “Good idea, actually.”

“Yeah, let’s pray the river doesn’t rise higher than the stilts,” Nathan commented.

“Get a bag together,” Matt told her in the hallway. “Necessities. Just in case you have to stay with us.”

“Okay,” she answered, and did just that.

Soon, the Emily’s river house was secured.

“I’m gonna go check on Mr. Wimpy and Ms. Frances,” Nathan called out. “Meet you guys at the café.”

Matt and Emily hurried along the path to the Malones’ river house, and when they stepped inside, Jep was hustling about.

“Damned Henry,” he muttered. “Screwing up my baseball game.” He eyed Matt and Emily as they walked in. He looked them up and down, and the skin crinkled at his old eyes as he grinned. “Well, now,” he said. “See you found your way home, boy. Looks like you got beat with an ugly stick.” He eyed her. “You ever been in a hurricane before, missy?”

“No, sir,” she answered. “Not yet.”

“Well, you’re about to. I told ’em he’d turn. Shoulda had you bake a pie.”

“I’ve got blueberry at the café.”

Jep’s eyes lit up to green sparkles. “Well, what are you waiting for?”

Emily, Jep, Matt, Nathan and Owen finished battening down the old, stilted river house, which had seen more than one hurricane it its lifetime.

“Honey, you can stay here with Jep,” Owen said, placing a hand on her shoulder. “Me and the boys can go batten down the café.”

“Thank you, sir,” she answered. “But I’ve got to help, too. Plus—” she winked at Jep “—I’ve got to rescue a few pies.”

All together in Nathan’s truck, they raced through Cassabaw’s old seaside cluster of cottages, to the main drive that led to the boardwalk. The wind whipped the kites Chappy’s IGA still had hanging from the awnings, and the flags hanging in yards whipped around. The islanders already had their awnings down and cottages battened down. A small line of traffic leaving the island wasn’t exactly at a standstill, but it was crawling for sure.

They pulled into the parking lot of the café and jumped out. They fastened the hurricane shutters.

Eric came by in the Coast Guard truck. “Hey, it’s moving inland fast,” he warned. “Winds up to a hundred miles per hour.” He jerked a thumb. “Better get a move on.”

A thought struck Emily, and she glanced down the boardwalk, toward the drive leading to Catesby’s place.

She glanced at Matt and Nathan, who were busy battening down the Windchimer. The wind had picked up even in the small time they’d been beachside. She had enough time.

No one else would probably ever think to check on him.

Without a second thought, Emily took off down the boardwalk, heading to old man Catesby’s place.

* * *

M
ATT
LOOKED AROUND
. At the wind whipping the flag he’d hung on the café’s veranda. Up and down the boardwalk.

“Where’s Emily?” he asked his brother.

“Inside maybe?” he answered. “Just about finished here.”

Matt leaped from the last rung of the ladder and hurried through the café door.

“Hey, Em?” he hollered out. The pies were sitting on the register counter, wrapped in tin foil. “Emily?”

No answer. He ran to the back. Ducked into the bathrooms.

She was nowhere in the café.

Throwing open the back door, he checked outside. Jep’s truck was still there, but no sign of Emily.

He ran back out front and searched the beach, up and down the boardwalk. The rain had already begun, and although wasn’t a downpour just yet, it was getting close. He didn’t see Emily anywhere.

Then, a thought struck him right in the back of his head.

He turned his gaze down the boardwalk, toward old man Catesby’s place.

He knew, then. Knew it with every fiber in his body. “Nathan!” he yelled.

“What?” He stuck his head around the corner.

“She took off to old man Catesby’s,” Matt hollered. “I’m going to get her.” Get them both, probably.

“I’ll finish up here and meet you there,” Nathan called.

And Matt took off running down the boardwalk. Waves crashed against the jetty, whitecap after whitecap filling the turbulent gray-blue water. The skies were nearly pitch-black, and the wind sliced sideways. The electricity had gone out, and not a single streetlight was on.
What the hell was she thinking?

By the time he reached Catesby’s drive, the rain was slashing sideways. Anything unsecured in Catesby’s yard—mostly everything—was being tossed around by the wind. The front door was opened, and he poked his head inside.

“Emily? Catesby?” he hollered.

He made his way through the cluttered old cottage, but neither Em nor Catesby could be found. He ran out the back door, and hurried to the old wooden barn of an outbuilding, setting close to the sand and sea oats of the north end of the island.

He saw her then—the white tank top and blue shorts she’d been wearing—and she ducked into the building, around the side. “Em!” he yelled. But it was against the wind, and she hadn’t heard him. “Dammit,” he growled, and took off. What the hell were they doing?

* * *

“M
R
. C
ATESBY
! P
LEASE
! You’ve got to come with me!” Emily hollered over the storm.

“No!” he yelled back, and continued to hobble his way through his massive collection of treasures in the barn down by the wharf. “My little girl and wife’s belongings are in here. I ain’t leavin’ them!”

Emily climbed over several stacks of boxes of picks he’d collected over the years, trying to make her way to the loft where, somehow, Mr. Catesby had managed to get to. “Leave, girl,” he hollered. “Leave me be!” He pulled the ladder up so Emily couldn’t follow. “Go now!”

Emily wasn’t going to leave a lonely old man to ride a storm out alone in a rickety old barn. No way. She searched the area, saw a stack of leaning boxes that almost reached the loft and started to climb up. “If you stay, I stay,” she called out.

“You’re crazy!” Catesby hollered down at her. “Girl, you’re gonna get hurt, now. Go on! I ain’t leavin’!”

Emily continued to climb, the wind and rain outside beating against the old barn. One more step, she’ll be just close enough—

The box began to tip, sway, and Emily overcompensated and swayed even harder, then she placed the tip of her shoe too close to the box’s edge, and in the next second she was falling, falling, until she smacked into something with her head.

Before she even hit the ground, the stars swamped in behind her eyes, and she saw nothing but blackness.

* * *

“E
MILY
!”

Matt pushed in to the barn just in time to see Emily lose her balance on a tall stack of boxes and fall, striking her head on...something. She fell to the floor, limp as a rag doll.

With his heart in his throat, he leaped over piles of Catesby’s junk stockpiled in every manner of box and plastic tub and crate until he reached Emily.

He skidded on his knees, huddling over her. “Emily.” His voice shook—he heard it in the cavernous old building, with the wind and rain raging outside. With hands as gentle as he could make them, he inspected her. She was lying limp on the floor, unconscious—then he saw the blood, coming from under her head.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered. Pulling his phone out of his pocket, he called Eric’s emergency line, and his brother answered right away.

“What’s up, bro?” Eric asked.

“Emily’s fallen, and she’s unconscious and bleeding from the head,” he said, trying to keep calm. “We’re in the barn at old man Catesby’s.”

“We’re coming,” Eric assured him. “Hold on.”

“Matt?”

“Nathan! Over here!” Matt hollered. His brother made his way through the boxes and piles and treasures. “Get him down, will ya?” Matt nodded toward the loft.

And then, Matt didn’t pay much attention to anything else, other than Emily’s too-still body lying heaped on the barn’s dirty floor. He wanted to pull her up and cradle her, away from the dirt and grime and grass growing between the slats of wood. But he didn’t dare. She’d fallen twenty feet, easily—she’d almost been to the top of the loft’s floor. Trying to get the old man down.

With Henry howling at the barn’s doors and cracks and windows, screaming and carrying on like a banshee, crazed and hungry, Matt kneeled beside Emily, slipped her hand into his, laced their fingers together and sang to her.