by Melissa Tagg
Did it really matter? As long as everyone’s job would be safe?
“Autumn?” Ellie’s call sounded from the first floor.
“Just a sec. I’m coming.” She set the old photo on the dresser, an uncertain tingle traveling to her heart.
The tingle turned to alarm halfway down the stairs when she heard Ellie’s gasp, a pan crashing to the floor.
9
The morning was barely over, and fatigue already clawed at her. Apparently, a toddler did that to a person.
Autumn lifted her head from the steering wheel. She pushed open her door and stepped into muted sunlight, gray clouds shadowing the lot. At least Ellie was okay. The early contractions weren’t unusual, but the doctor ordered bed rest for a few days—to which Ellie had practically filed a court appeal. Poor thing.
Autumn opened the back door of her car and ducked in. “All right, little Oliver. Auntie Autumn has one more hour with you before your daddy gets off work.”
It’d been the least she could do—offer to watch Oliver so Ellie could get some rest after spending five hours last night at the hospital. She’d bugged out of helping Blake map out the festival booth arrangements.
“I wanna see the water.”
Oliver pointed over her shoulder to where Lake Michigan dabbled with the shore, edging in and out against the sand. One look at the sky and she could tell a mix of rain wasn’t far off, maybe even the snow they’d all been waiting for, if the morning’s unseasonably warm temperatures dropped as predicted.
“I don’t know, Oliver. You’re not dressed for playing outside.” She should’ve grabbed playclothes at Tim and Ellie’s. But she hadn’t been able to resist the adorable corduroy pants and little Converse All-Stars she found in Oliver’s bedroom.
“Pleeease.”
Her gaze hooked on the figures walking down by the beach. Lucy and Betsy. And they weren’t alone. Apparently the warmth had coaxed several of the hotel’s guests outside. She recognized the Hammersmiths, a retired couple who visited the shore every December. And farther down the beach, a younger married couple. Autumn had checked them in yesterday, and if they hadn’t told her then, she’d have known now that they were professional photographers by the cameras and elongated lenses they both held, pointed toward the landscape.
“Please, Num,” Oliver repeated.
It was a gorgeous day for December, but she expected it wouldn’t last long. “Okay, but just for a few minutes.”
As they approached, she saw that Lucy had abandoned her shoes in the grassy knoll that faded into sand and rock. The frothy scent of the water engulfed Autumn as she reached Lucy and Bets, sandy wind pricking her skin.
“Hey, girls. Barefoot in winter, huh, Luce.”
“I love the feel of sand.”
The weight of Oliver pulled on her arms, and he jiggled in an effort to get down. She let him slide down her side but held on to his hand. “What happened to making Christmas cookies?”
Betsy held up a bandaged hand. “Word to the wise: hot pads were invented for a reason.”
Lucy was kneeling down now to smile at Oliver. “Can I have a high-five, buddy?”
Autumn released Oliver’s hand so he could play patty-cake with Lucy as another windy howl chugged through the water, sending it closer to where they stood. The swirls of gray and white in the sky tinged her with unease.
Or maybe those were simply leftover feelings from last night. The doubt, circling around in the back of her mind like a seagull that couldn’t decide where to land. Causing her to question, for the first time since receiving her Paris job offer, whether she really wanted to leave Whisper Shore.
Of course, I do. I’ve been dreaming of this forever. Sure, I love the inn and my friends and this town. And she’d miss them, yes.
“Again.” Oliver giggled from where he plunked in the sand.
“Patty cake, patty cake, baker’s man . . .” Lucy’s voice lilted.
“Can you believe this day?” Betsy’s voice poked into her thoughts. “Thermometer hit fifty degrees at noon. Yet they’re saying by midafternoon, it’ll be snowing and . . . Hey, look who it is.”
Autumn followed Betsy’s bandage-wrapped point. Past the Hammersmiths and the photographers, another couple roamed the beach, hands held. Dylan and Mariah.
“And on that note . . .”
Betsy patted her arm. “Let’s go inside, guys. I’ll make you some of my homemade hot chocolate. It’s like a Hershey bar sliding down your throat.”
“Not yet. I want to go wading.” This from Lucy.
“Brr, seriously?” Autumn shivered just thinking about it. “Your feet will turn blue. Lake Michigan is nippy enough in the summer, but in the winter it’s downright biting.”
“I want to.”
Betsy shrugged, an impish grin breaking out on her face. “Well, in that case . . .” She kicked off her shoes and bent over to peel her socks off.
Autumn lifted Oliver once more. “You two are crazy.”
“Me too! Me too!” Oliver called as they watched Lucy and Betsy toe the water.
“I don’t think so, kiddo. I have a feeling your mom would not be happy about it.”
“You wade in while holding him, Autumn,” Betsy called.
“Uh-uh. No way. I have no desire to freeze my feet off.” But even as the argument climbed up her throat, a distant memory floated in. Cloudy at first, but clearing until she could almost hear his voice. Dad’s.
“Come on, girls. I dare you.”
She couldn’t have been older than eight or nine. Ava, ten or eleven. They stood on the shore, cold breeze flickering through their pigtails as Dad coaxed and laughed. “I double-dog dare you.”
Dad used to try to get them to swim in Lake Michigan in the winter. Drove Mom crazy. She’d tell him it was asking for pneumonia, and he’d wave her off and promise her they’d take hot baths after.
The memory tasted crisp and new. Dad stripping off his coat, running in. She could still feel her own reluctance, the pull of fear as Ava rose to the challenge . . . and she shrank back, standing on the shore with Mom. Watching as Dad and Ava floated in the water on their own private adventure.
She locked gazes with Oliver. “All right, buddy. But I’m only going in as deep as my ankles.”
His eyes lit with delight, as if he understood.
She ditched her shoes and socks, rolled her jeans, and picked up Oliver. Her feet sank into squeaky white sand, its quartz content causing it to gleam in the sun. In the distance, dunes rose like tiny mountains sprinkled with beach grass and sand cherries.
“Hurry, hurry.” He clapped.
Lucy and Betsy were already shrieking as they skipped through the water. “Okay, here we go.”
Cold, wet sand squished between her toes as the first lick of foamy water over her feet prompted shivers. “Brr.” Oliver giggled at that. Two more steps and the chill reached to her ankles. Her squeal pierced the air. “More, Num!” To the tune of Oliver’s laughter, she splashed around for a few minutes before tiptoeing out of the water.
She hadn’t lasted long . . . but she’d done it. Wonder if Dad could see. . . .
Betsy flustered over. “I think my internal organs are turning to ice.”
Still giggling, and now on dry sand, Autumn set Oliver down and rubbed her hands over her arms, settling the goose bumps trailing her skin underneath her jacket. Chills beat through her body, but watching Lucy kick through the water was worth it.
And knowing she’d gone in satisfied a curiosity about herself she hadn’t even known she had.
Betsy picked up her shoes. “I’ll take Oliver inside and start heating up that cocoa. Stay with Lucy ’til she’s ready to come in?”
“Sure thing.”
After Betsy left with Oliver, she knelt down to brush the sand from her toes and unroll her jeans.
“Wading in the winter. A surprising Kingsley hobby?”
Autumn jumped at the voice behind her. A shadow joined hers in the white sand, and she s
pun.
Blake stood with arms folded. His fitted military-style jacket didn’t hide the knot of his muscles. Curiosity danced with amusement in his dark eyes. And for a moment, she was back in the doorway of the guest room she had hid him in, every nerve standing at attention.
“Uh . . . hey.”
Blake looked behind her. She turned, saw that his gaze had landed on Lucy, now back at the end of the shore, peering into its aqua translucence. “Are you two still staying at your mom’s house?”
She stood up, bare feet turning numb. “Yeah. Until I can get an electrician out to check out the wiring, I’m not comfortable moving back in.”
He nodded, not quite looking her in the eye.
“So . . . did you stop out here for any particular reason?”
He looked tired. Why did he look so tired? Sure, he’d been running around on festival errands for days, in between helping her at the inn. But today he seemed . . . worn down.
“I got some news yesterday.” He ran his fingers through dark hair tousled by the wind. The scent of his aftershave mixed with the cold.
“What kind of news?”
“The kind that . . .” His lips closed around the finish of his sentence. “Listen, you free tomorrow night?”
“Well, I’ve got the Christmas party in just a few days and . . . ” Now she was the one to cut off, the puddle of hope and sadness in his expression stilling her.
His stare was intent. “I was thinking that—”
But Lucy’s piercing voice interrupted. “Miss Autumn!”
Both Autumn and Blake spun at the panic in her tone.
And then a scream from down the beach.
Blake could sense the swelling of Autumn’s panic.
It nearly matched his own. Lucy was frantically pointing to the water. Not far away, Mariah yelled Dylan’s name.
Autumn’s fingers hooked around Blake’s arm. “He can’t swim. Dylan can’t . . .” The wind whipped through her hair. She stood so close loose strands tickled his cheek.
The low grumble of dense clouds tracking overhead fed his own worry. He’d heard snow and wind were on the way today. Was the storm setting in already?
“Dylan!” Autumn matched Mariah’s call, plowing her way to the lakeside, alarm anchored in her voice.
Mariah was running toward them now.
Autumn fought with the zipper of her fleece coat. “Drat this thing.”
“What are you—” He dropped the question, and instead took over for her. He pried her fingers away, then loosened the zipper from where it had stuck on the fabric. “There.”
Autumn’s breath came in warm, rapid puffs. “Thanks.” The second he removed his hand, she jerked the zipper the rest of the way down and floundered out of her jacket.
And then it dawned on him, what she intended to do. “No, Red.”
Mariah reached them then. “My hat . . . the wind . . . He went in after it, and then . . .”
Blake scanned the lake, hurried gaze finally landing on the bobbing figure a ways out from shore.
“I’m going in.” Autumn looked frightened but determined.
“No, you’re not.” He was already peeling off his own coat, kicking off his shoes. “I am.”
“I’ve had lifeguard training. I’m a great swimmer.” She stepped into the water.
Blake sprang toward her. “Stay with Luce and Mariah.” Fear puddled in her eyes and she attempted to push past him, but he caught her in his arms. “Trust me. I’ve got this.”
And before any more precious seconds could tick by, he pushed her away and plunged into the water. Water stung through his clothes, icy and sharp. He plummeted under, heading the direction of the flash of color he’d seen before pitching into the lake’s sudsy blue.
Cold sliced over and into his body, and the force of the water battled with his determination. With strained strokes he pushed his arms forward and back, kicked his legs with every ounce of strength in him.
What would it have been like to rush after his brother like this? To dive through clouds instead of waves? To reach into cavernous skies and pull Ryan to safety?
Blake jutted his head above the surface, gulping for air, scanning the lake. There, just a little farther. Dylan bobbed, water up to his neck, the skin of his cheeks white. “I’m coming. Keep treading.”
Once more, he barreled under and kicked his way toward him. His lungs pulled taut. How had Dylan ended up so far from the shore in so short a time?
It was the same question he’d asked himself over and over about Ryan. How had his brother drifted so far from hope and happiness so quickly, so fully? Oh, Blake had known he was hurting, but not that the ache went so devastatingly deep. When he’d convinced Ryan to go skydiving, he’d honestly thought the diversion might be enough to snap his brother out of it. How could he have known Ryan would come home in a coffin?
But I should’ve. I should’ve seen the signs.
As he heaved through the water, the memories hit him just as they had so many times before: Ryan watching hours and hours of game tape. Staring at the photos on his cell phone when he thought no one was looking. Looking straight into Blake’s eyes, mouthing his good-bye before stepping from the plane.
The sky groaned, the sound muffled by water rushing past Blake’s ears. Thunder. Odd for December. Dangerous for him and Dylan.
He burst through the surface, gasping for breath, opening his eyes. Through the rivulets catching in his eyelashes and running down his face, he saw Dylan.
He approached carefully. At least the guy wasn’t panicking. “I’ve got you, Dylan. Hold on to my arm and kick. We’ll go back together.” The first pricks of sleet hit his forehead, then disappeared into the water around them. “We need to hurry.” If the snow picked up in this wind . . .
Blake pushed against the water, the added weight of Dylan slowing his movement. But he was kicking as well. “I-I lost my balance and swallowed water, and when I came up . . .”
Dylan should stop talking. He could explain once they’d reached dry land. But Blake was too tired to issue the order. Just keep swimming. Keep pressing forward. The hope of rest and their safety pulled him on.
That and the thought of Autumn waiting.
Please, God, don’t let her have come in, too.
Not with the sleet now falling in steady rhythm.
He shook the hair out of his eyes and looked to the shore. Though his heart hammered, relief pulsed through him at the sight of her, arms hugging her middle. She’d listened to him. Trusted him.
One, two, three more hefty kicks and they reached the point at which both Blake and Dylan could touch the sand with heads above water. The man’s heavy breathing sounded at his side. Thank you, God. Thank you.
Mariah rushed into the water. “Honey, are you okay?”
Behind her, Autumn still waited with Lucy. Wind and sleet pasted her hair to her face and landed in splotches on her lavender fleece. But she’d never looked more beautiful.
The thought smacked into his common sense. Exhaustion, that’s all it is.
Dylan emerged from the lake, clothes sticking to his skin. “I’m sorry, Mariah, everyone.” He said the words through chattering teeth, probably as embarrassed as he was relieved.
“I’m the one who’s sorry.” Mariah hugged him. “If it wasn’t for my stupid hat.”
Blake stepped away from the couple, numb feet sinking into sand now instead of water, and approached Autumn and Lucy. He must look like a drowned Hulk. Drained of energy, he leaned over his knees. When he lifted his head, Autumn was still staring. Finally, she blinked, blue-green eyes glowing against the growing dark of the storm. “I’ve never seen someone swim like that.”
Blake pulled his shirt away from his torso, but it dropped back and clamped to his skin. “Like what?”
“Like you were pounding through a cement wall rather than water.” The tone of her voice untangled the meaning of her stare. She’d been looking at him—still was—as if he were a . . . hero.
“Thank you!” Dylan called from where he stood with his arms around Mariah.
“No problem.” Truth was, he’d do it all over again for that smile from Autumn. And then, as they turned toward the inn, he reached for Autumn, pulled her to his side, and left his arm around her shoulder.
She gave him a questioning glance.
He pointed his thumb behind them. “They think we’re a couple, remember?”
She only laughed. And didn’t pull away.
Autumn was as cold as if she’d been the one to barrel into the water. But deep down, emotions sizzled and melted her heart into goo.
She was falling for Blake Hunziker. Hard.
They stood around the island counter in the middle of the inn’s kitchen, Lucy wrapped in a Christmas quilt Autumn had pulled from the settee in the fireplace room, and Autumn with a towel hanging around her shoulders. They may not have gone all the way into the lake like Blake, but both had still ended up with wet clothes and damp hair from the sleet.
After they had all warmed up for a bit in the kitchen and ensured everyone was okay, Blake had headed home. And Dylan and Mariah left, too—Dylan with a sort of mortified set to his shoulders and Mariah’s eyes brimming with thanks . . . and perhaps apology, too.
“It’s crazy how fast it happened.” Autumn cupped her mug of hot chocolate. “Sometimes, with the right amount of wind, the lake can get so grabby. I’ve seen it knock people down and pull them away from shore several times. And to think, all Dylan was trying to do was rescue Mariah’s hat.”
Betsy ladled hot chocolate into a second bowl-shaped mug. “Thank God for Blake.”
Yes.
“He’s strong.” Lucy said, accepting the cup from Betsy. “You should see his muscles, Betsy. His shirt was all wet, and—”
“I get the picture, Luce.” Betsy eyed Autumn.
Who then looked away to conveniently fiddle with Oliver’s shoes as he perched on the counter. “Lemme down, Num.”
