Tides of Hope (16 page)

Her gaze jerked back to his. This time his meaning was crystal clear.

He intended to kiss her.

And this wasn't going to be a casual peck on the cheek.

But he was warning her. Giving her a chance to back off. Leaving the decision up to her.

She'd known when she accepted his invitation that this was a date. Had known it would move their relationship to a new level. This was a logical next step. And she'd thought she was ready for it. Thought she could get past her fear enough to explore the attraction between them.

Now she wasn't certain.

As if sensing her dilemma, Craig angled toward her and reached for her hand, enfolding it in his.

Staring down at his strong, lean fingers, she went absolutely still as a sudden, overwhelming rush of long-absent
emotions spilled over her. For the first time since Mac died, she felt safe. Secure. Protected. Cared for. Wanted.

“If it's any consolation, Kate, I'm as nervous about it as you are. I haven't been on a date in years.”

His candid admission did more to quell the butterflies in her stomach than anything else he could have said or done. “I don't want to rush.”

“Me, neither. But I think we're past the kiss-on-the-cheek stage, don't you?” A hint of humor diluted the stronger, more intimidating emotion in his eyes, and her comfort level edged up another notch.

“I guess so. But…I'm really out of practice.”

“That makes two of us. What do you say we brush up on our skills?”

Without waiting for her to respond, he leaned closer, erasing the distance between them. Cupping the back of her head with his hand, he captured her lips in a gentle kiss that left her heart pounding harder than the surf.

Backing off a few inches, he smiled down at her. “Not bad, considering we're both rusty.”

It took her a few moments to find her voice. “Yeah.” It was all she could manage.

He grinned and winked. “And it will only get better with practice.”

His comment did nothing to slow her racing pulse.

A sudden gust of wind whipped past, stirring the sand around them, and Craig scanned the sky. “We timed this outing well. Looks like Mother Nature is being fickle.”

Weather. He was talking about the weather, Kate realized. Forcing herself to switch gears, she checked out the dark clouds gathering on the horizon. But she doubted the tempest to come would hold a candle to the one raging in her heart.

Leaning past Craig, she called out to the girls. “Maddie! Vicki! We need to leave. It's going to rain.”

As she reached for her flip-flops, Craig gathered up the remnants of their picnic and rose to fold up the blanket. The girls trotted over, and Kate collected their buckets and shovels.

“Before we go, how about I take a picture of you three ladies over by the water?” Craig pulled his camera out of his pocket.

“Okay.” Vicki grabbed Maddie's hand and pulled her closer to the breakers.

Kate held back. “Why don't you just take a shot of the girls, Craig? It would be a nice keepsake for them and—”

“Would you folks like me to take a shot of all of you together?”

An older man and his wife, beach chairs and towels in hand, stopped beside them on their trek to the parking lot from farther down the beach.

Craig took her hand. “I like that idea.”

It was like a family shot, Kate thought. The very thing she'd found herself wishing for at the Daffodil Festival. But now she hesitated.

“Come on, Mommy!” Maddie called. “We can all squeeze together.”

“Yeah.” Craig grinned and gave her another wink. “I'm a good squeezer.”

Capitulating, Kate let him lead her over to the girls.

As they took up a position behind their daughters, Craig placed one hand on Vicki's shoulder and draped his arm around Kate.

“Say ‘cheese!'” the older man instructed.

After they complied, he examined his handiwork on the tiny screen as Craig rejoined him. “Nice-looking family,” he remarked, handing it back. “You folks have a good day.” With a wave, he and his wife continued down the beach toward the sandy path that would take them to the parking lot.

Tucking the camera in his pocket, Craig retrieved the cooler and blanket while Kate slung the beach bag over her
shoulder and nested the buckets. As they began their trek toward their cars, Craig once more claimed her hand in a warm clasp, entwining his fingers with hers.

It was slow going through the deep, loose sand, and more than once Kate felt off balance.

But while she tried to blame her unsteadiness on the terrain, in her heart she knew it had nothing to do with the shifting grains beneath her feet and everything to do with the shifting landscape of her world.

 

“I like that picture, Daddy.” Vicki watched, four hours later, as the shot of the four of them on the beach emerged from Craig's printer.

Lifting it, he had to agree. They looked like the family the man who'd taken their picture had assumed they were. The little girls—one fair, one dark—were holding hands. His arm was around Kate's shoulders, and she was leaning into him. All of them were wearing happy smiles.

“Where are we going to put it, Daddy?”

“We'll have to start a photo album. I'll get one this week.” Since acquiring the camera, he'd already taken more than a dozen shots.

“But can't we put this one where we can see it all the time?”

“Sure. I think I have an extra frame in my bedroom.”

“Let's look!”

Vicki led the way, and Craig opened his closet. He thought he remembered seeing an empty four-by-six frame in one of the boxes he hadn't gotten around to unpacking completely.

Pulling the box out, he lifted the lid and dug through it until his fingers closed over the edge of the frame. But when he withdrew it, the glass was cracked and one corner of the wood had been crushed. A casualty of the move, he supposed.

“It's broken.” Vicki's face registered disappointment.

Setting the damaged frame aside, Craig was preparing to console her with a promise that he'd pick up a new one tomorrow when the family shot on his dresser caught his eye.

He froze.

No!

Fighting down a wave of panic, he tried to quash the idea that sprang to mind. It was too…final. Letting go was too hard.

Yet how could he move forward if he clung to the past?

“Daddy?”

Vicki's uncertain voice told him she'd picked up on his potent emotions, and he tried his best to summon up a reassuring smile. “It's okay, honey. Daddy's just thinking about something.”

“About Mommy and Aaron?”

“Yes. This is a pretty picture, isn't it?” He rested his unsteady hand on top of the frame.

She regarded it in silence. “Yes. But it makes you sad. I think you should put up pictures that make you happy. Like that one. It makes you smile.” She pointed to the shot in his other hand.

His daughter was right, Craig conceded. Continuing to mourn for the past would do nothing except deprive him of a future. Nicole and Aaron would always have a special place in his heart, of course. And someday, perhaps, he would be able to recall the joy they shared with fondness instead of pain.

But until then, he needed to set his old memories aside and move on. To open himself to the opportunities the Lord had sent his way to create new memories. With a new family.

Fingers trembling, Craig reached for the koa-wood frame and slid the backing off. Removing the photo, he replaced it with the one taken today, tucking the older one behind it. After sliding the backing on again, he set the photo on his dresser, beside the one of him and Vicki at the Daffodil Festival parade.

A small hand crept into his, and he looked down to find Vicki watching him.

“It's okay, Daddy. You have me.”

Hot tears welled in his eyes. Dropping to one knee beside the daughter he'd neglected for too long, he said a silent, fervent prayer of thanks that she'd responded to his fumbling attempts at fatherhood, blessing his life with her sweet, innocent love.

And as he pulled her close, he also prayed for guidance as he entered the uncharted waters ahead.

T
alk about an easy way to make a buck.

One hand on the wheel, Kate guided the
Lucy Sue
slowly through the water off Great Point and watched the three college-age anglers in the stern, who were doing more laughing than trolling. She was glad they were having a good time, but as far as she was concerned they had more money than sense. It was only mid-May, and other than a few premature arrivals, the bluefish were still miles south of Nantucket on their trek north. There was little chance the lackadaisical fishermen would snag even one.

Not that they seemed to care. When they'd approached her on the dock, they'd assured her they were more interested in fresh air and sea breezes than catching fish. And after they'd flashed all those fifty-dollar bills at her, offering to pay more than her usual fee, she'd been glad to oblige. Her cash reserve could use a little extra padding after the expense of fixing her dinged propeller.

Best of all, she hadn't even needed to call on Chester to assist today. For larger groups, he served as her mate. But she could handle three people. Especially when they weren't all that serious about fishing and it was only a two-hour charter.

So far, this trip had been a piece of cake, she reflected, making a wide arc to starboard. It was a glorious, sunny Friday. Perfect for cruising, if not for fishing. And unlike most trips, she had time to enjoy it. After making sure the three passengers knew how to handle their rods, she'd retreated to the helm and let herself daydream about a certain appealing Coast Guard commander.

Since the picnic on the beach last Sunday, her relationship with Craig had taken a quantum leap forward. He stopped in every day after picking Vicki up, sometimes only long enough to claim a quick kiss, other times staying for an impromptu pizza or spaghetti dinner. Those family-type get-togethers were supplemented with phone calls that sometimes lasted far too late into the night. Although her sleep was suffering, she felt invigorated rather than tired.

That's what falling in love could do to you, she supposed.

And she was falling. Hard. No question about it.

While lingering traces of fear continued to lurk at the edges of her consciousness, she was doing her best not to let them influence her decisions or impede the progress of a relationship she was coming to believe, after much prayer, God intended for her to pursue.

The brilliant sunlight suddenly dimmed, cooling the air, and she scanned the sky. A few clouds were scuttling across the blue expanse while their grayer cousins gathered on the horizon. Good thing they were more than halfway through this excursion, she concluded. It looked like Nantucket's notoriously capricious weather was about to change. But they'd be okay for a little while.

Kate checked on her passengers. They were lounging in the deck chairs, feet propped up, slugging back the bottles of water they'd brought on board and sharing some rowdy laughs. They still held their fishing lines, but it was apparent their attention was elsewhere.

Turning away from the trio, Kate swung the
Lucy Sue
to port and drank in the view of the cerulean waters ahead. The hue was a perfect match for Craig's eyes, she thought dreamily. Maybe she was a little old for schoolgirl fantasies, but around him she felt—

The sudden sound of a reel spinning out of control refocused Kate's attention and she swung around. One of the college guys vaulted to a standing position, his feet hitting the deck with a thump.

“Hey! I've got a fish!”

Putting the engine in neutral, Kate was preparing to join the threesome and talk the lucky angler through the landing when a larger-than-usual swell rocked the
Lucy Sue.
Kate had no trouble keeping her footing, but the next thing she knew the fisherman standing in the stern lost his balance, staggered toward the rail—and went into the drink headfirst.

The turn of events was so fast—and so unexpected—it took Kate a couple of seconds to process it. Never, in all her years of charter fishing, had she had a customer fall overboard.

His two companions reacted with hilarity. Hooting with laughter, they, too, rose and leaned over the edge of the boat.

“Hey, Marcus, you're not supposed to go in after the fish!” one of them called.

The wind had picked up, and the deck of the
Lucy Sue
tilted as another swell rolled by. Still laughing, the two guys staggered and grabbed the rail.

Snagging a life preserver, Kate elbowed them aside. Their friend was flailing in the water, bobbing up and down, and she heaved the preserver in his direction. “Is he a good swimmer?”

“Sure,” one of the guys responded. He swayed toward her and grinned. “In the country club pool anyway.”

As his breath hit her in the face, a chill ran up Kate's spine. She didn't have a lot of contact with alcohol, but she could identify the smell.

Snatching up one of the nearly empty water bottles, she sniffed. One whiff was all it took to confirm the clear liquid inside wasn't H2O.

Her customers were drunk.

Kate had a rule on her boat—no liquor. Alcohol and the sea didn't mix. Period. She was up-front about that with her charter customers, but she hadn't mentioned it to these three. The trip had been impromptu, and she'd assumed their water bottles contained what the label indicated.

Big mistake.

Another swell rocked the boat. As the college kids tottered again, panic washed over her.

“You two, sit down! Now!”

“We can see the fun better from here.” His words slurring, the sandy-haired guy gave her a stupid grin.

She looked out at their friend in the water. He was still floundering. Still trying without success to grab the buoyant ring. If he was as drunk as his friends were, he was in big trouble. The water was cold, the wind was rising and, based on his inability to grab the life preserver, she figured the alcohol had seriously impaired his coordination.

Moving in close to the other two, Kate drew herself up to her full five-foot-three inches. Her short stature was no match for their six-foot-plus frames if they balked at her orders, but she hoped her authoritative manner would convince them to comply.

“Look. I can get your friend back aboard. But if one of you falls in, too, you could drown. That's what happens to drunk people in the water. They drown. Is this the day you want to die?” She enunciated each word.

Her serious, intent demeanor seemed to register with the dark-haired customer.

“Come on, Stephen.” He pulled his friend back from the railing and tried to push him into a chair.

“I wanna stay and watch the fun.”

“Come on!” Pulling harder, he forced him down. Then he took his own seat.

That problem taken care of, Kate redirected her attention to the man overboard. He was treading water, but his efforts were slowing. If Chester was aboard, she could have had him maneuver the boat much closer to the victim while she shouted directions. As it was, she couldn't risk moving in too tight for fear of hitting him. And the two jerks sitting in the stern would be of no help in guiding her. For all she knew, they were seeing double. The best she could do was try to position the boat a few feet away from the victim.

Kate accomplished that maneuver as quickly as she could and put the engine in neutral. Yanking a life jacket out of the bin, she slipped her arms through and pulled the straps snug, struggling to stem her rising panic as she kept an eye on Marcus. It was obvious he was tiring.

Unlatching the fish door in the stern, she dropped to one knee.

“Marcus! Marcus, over here.” She waved her hands to catch his attention. “Grab the life preserver. It's to your left.” If he could latch on to it, she could tow him back with the nylon rope that secured it to the boat.
Please, Lord, let him be able to grab it!

He tried. But when she pulled on the rope he lost his grip. And disappeared under the gray swells.

Kate's heart stopped.

By the time his head reappeared three seconds later, she'd already kicked off her shoes and slipped into the cold water.

The breath-stealing shock wasn't unexpected. The Nantucket sea was never warm, but in mid-May it still retained much of its winter chill. She knew she had to move fast—before the numbing water impaired them both.

Striking out toward the figure in the water, she covered the distance in less than a dozen strokes. When she reached him, his desperate thrashing warned her to proceed with caution.
He was a lot bigger than she was, and driven by panic-induced adrenaline, he could easily overwhelm her as he struggled to save himself.

Approaching with care, Kate positioned herself out of arm's reach—but close enough to grab him if he began to sink. Shoving the life preserver in his direction, she tipped it up. “Put your arms through the hole,” she instructed.

Marcus lunged for the lifesaving doughnut. But he missed the hole, flipping it over—and away—instead.

As Kate reached for it, Marcus grabbed her arm. She wasn't too concerned, figuring if he couldn't hold on to the life preserver, he couldn't hold on to her with one hand. But as she prepared to yank free, his other arm swung around and landed a wild blow to the side of her face.

Stunned by the searing pain that radiated through her head, she gasped. Bright lights exploded behind her eyes, obscuring her vision.

The next thing she knew, Marcus had climbed on top of her and shoved her face in the water, using her life-jacket-clad body to keep himself afloat.

Surrounded by blackness and locked in a death grip, Kate's tenuous hold on rational thought tottered as the danger slammed home.

She could die.

Right here.

Right now.

At the hands of a drunken college student, whose self-preservation instincts were about to cut her life short and rob Maddie of her mother.

No!

The silent, vehement denial ripped through Kate's mind. She wasn't going to let this happen!

Lord, give me strength!
she cried in silent anguish.
Please! Maddie needs me!

Summoning up every ounce of her energy, Kate twisted and kicked and bucked. At first her efforts had no effect. But just when her lungs felt ready to explode, she jabbed her elbow into Marcus's midsection with as much force as she could muster, loosening his grip enough to give her the opening she needed. With a powerful shove, she kicked away from him and shot to the surface.

Sucking in air, Kate took a few seconds to regroup as she treaded water and kept a wary eye on Marcus. Once she could breathe again, she retrieved the life preserver and moved back into position, ready to back off at the slightest indication he was going to lunge for her again.

But he was spent. He was barely keeping his head above water now, and his pupils had gone glassy.

Time was running out.

Shoving the life preserver next to him, she again tipped one end out of the water. “Marcus. Put your arms in the hole.” She called out the words, speaking slowly.

Please, Lord, let him cooperate!

She repeated the instruction once. Twice. On the third try, he managed to comply.

The first hurdle passed, Kate let the preserver drop back into the water, over his head. Snagging the attached nylon rope, she issued one more instruction as she began towing him toward the
Lucy Sue.
“Hold on tight.”

Buoyed by her life vest, Kate didn't have to expend a lot of energy getting him back to the boat. But no way was she going to be able to haul Marcus through the fish door without assistance. And he was in no shape to climb back on board himself.

With no other option, Kate tried to remember the black-haired kid's name. He seemed the least inebriated of the bunch. Jack, she recalled.

Hauling herself out of the water, she remained on her knees, reeling in Marcus as she issued instructions over her shoulder.

“Jack, I'm going to need some help. Tell Stephen to stay in his chair. You get down on your hands and knees and come over here.”

To her relief, the kid did as she instructed. When he crawled up next to her, she noticed he'd gone a few shades paler. Maybe the gravity of the situation had finally registered in his alcohol-fogged brain. She hoped.

“Okay. I need you to grab one of his hands. I'll grab the other. Stay off to the side of the fish door.” The last thing she wanted was another headfirst tumble into the ocean. “On the count of three, pull.”

Somehow, between the two of them, they managed to drag a spent Marcus back on deck, where he lay like an oversize bluefish—but with far less flopping about. Kate closed the fish door, feeling as if she'd run a marathon. Every muscle in her body ached. And now that the sun had disappeared under a blanket of clouds, the wind cut through her sodden clothes, chilling her to the bone.

Gripping the railing, she pulled herself to her feet.