Still yearned for love.
* * *
Gideon never went looking for trouble, did his best, in fact, to avoid it. But when trouble found him, he didn’t back down. And he didn’t lose.
But as he stood on the rocky precipice, watching small stones skitter down the path toward the ocean, he knew he was headed for a battle he might have to lose. Winning this one could cost him the very thing he sought.
He crushed the letter in his palm. All the preparation in the world wouldn’t have been enough for this response.
One light nudge of his hiking boot and a bit of basalt that had clung for years, eons maybe, on the windswept ledge, went spinning and bouncing to land who knew where. If he opened his fist, Lana’s words would go even farther, the pastel sheet—as if the gentle color could ease the message—sailing on the wind, whipped past the trees, far out to the bitter sea.
A gull called high above him, cocking its grey head, eyeing the piece of paper in his hand, probably hoping it held a sandwich. He decided against throwing the letter.
“Don’t waste your time,” he muttered.
Gideon turned his mind to another battle, equally troublesome and just as unlikely to end favorably. From his vantage point on Sanctuary Ranch land, he could just make out the south-most beach of Sunset Bay, where Jamie taught her classes.
She hadn’t returned the pup yet. Someone was going to come looking for it. And when they found it, she was going to be in trouble.
She didn’t back down easily either.
He searched the long expanse of sandy beach and the jutting rocks that bracketed the bay loosely on either side. From this height and distance, he could see the shapes and colors of the beachgoers below, young people dashing after Frisbees, dogs with waving tails following, parents and children exploring tide pools.
There she was, her lime-green windbreaker bright against the sand, introducing young minds to the wonders and the power of the sea. Miss Vaughn to them, he supposed, smiling at how Jamie would react to that.
Jamie had a way with most people, once she deemed them worthy, and the same energy she displayed with Haylee’s dogs made her good with kids, good at teaching, even casually like this.
In between talking about sea stars and crabs, she gave them information that could save their lives. She taught them how even a quick walk on a piece of driftwood could be deadly. How the ocean was strong enough to pick up a huge log and plop it down on top of you before you knew what was happening. How even the smallest logs could weigh tons when sodden with seawater. How it only took five inches of water to lift four tons of driftwood.
Yet he could tell she did it without making them fearful, with sparkling, contagious energy, her movements quick and sure. Every now and then, the wind tossed a small, high voice upward, a shriek of laughter or a yell of delight.
Or maybe he was hearing crying.
Gideon didn’t know much about kids.
He knew almost nothing about his own child.
As Lana had pointed out.
He’s happy. We’re a happy family. Seeing you now would only upset and confuse him.
Since the day he’d gone to prison, he’d been waiting for Lana to relent and let him see their son. He hadn’t wanted to push, knew how difficult she could make it, knew she could turn Blake against him if she felt threatened. So, he’d waited. Patiently.
Idiotically.
Now, not only had Lana denied Gideon’s request for access to their son, but she’d countered with a plea for him to relinquish all parental rights.
I’m getting married. Elliot wants to adopt Blake. He’s the only father our son has ever known. He’s a good man. If you love Blake, let him go.
She wanted him to abandon their son.
His son.
How could he do that? But did Lana have a point?
Six months ago, he could have asked Jamie. But not now. Not anymore. That prickly exterior hid a soft heart, big as the Oregon sky, though she didn’t let a lot of people see it.
She’d let him see it. And he’d thrown it back in her face.
He turned back to the path, stuffed the letter into his pocket, and walked up the rocky slope to Sanctuary Ranch. He had chores to do before dinner. He couldn’t talk to Jamie about this, not now.
He aimed for the main house, positioned on a rise overlooking the western horizon. The views spanned a hundred and eighty degrees, yet it was sheltered from winter storms by stands of pine, cedar, and cypress to the northeast.
A solid place. More than a home for most of them. A refuge.
Perhaps it would be best for Jamie if he left.
He groaned. How had things gotten so complicated? The incident under the mistletoe last winter had been his first clue, and he felt like a moron for not realizing sooner that she wanted more than friendship from him.
It was a crush. That’s all it was, all it could ever be, and if in the privacy of his mind he’d ever toyed with the possibility of more, Lana’s words had destroyed that. Besides, Jamie deserved someone far better than himself, and if she couldn’t figure that out herself, well, he’d have to be the responsible one.
Olivia, the ranch owner and his boss, met him at the gate to the yard. She was wiry thin with a wispy, white braid at the back of her neck. The braid had once been blond, long, and thick, and Liv still tossed her head occasionally, as if wondering where the weight had gone.
“Huck blew a tire on the way back from the feed store. Can you go down and get Jamie? She drove in with him.”
At the sound of her name, Gideon’s pulse jumped. “Is Huck okay?”
“He’s fine. Drove over a nail. He’s getting the tire fixed now. But Daphne needs Jamie now. Do you mind?”
“Of course not. If you need me to.” He heard the reluctance in his voice and scrambled for an explanation. “It’s just, I’ve got to feed the horses and without Huck, it’ll take me even longer.”
In fact, his equilibrium hadn’t quite returned where she was concerned. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to act normally with her, especially preoccupied now with Lana and Blake. If she had an inkling something was wrong, she’d keep picking until he was laid bare, and the thing was, a part of him wanted that.
The selfish part.
Olivia cocked her head and frowned. “I’d go, but I’m waiting for a call on the office line. I saw Tyler wasting time in the garden with Quinn. He can get the feed going while you’re gone. I’ll tell him now.”
He swallowed. “Great. Thanks.”
“Good.” Olivia narrowed her eyes. “You okay?”
Gideon returned her gaze evenly. “Sure.”
He respected Olivia Hansen for what she’d created here. She knew things about all of them that they didn’t share easily, and she protected that knowledge, having measured it carefully before taking them on.
She crossed her arms. “Do I need to be concerned?”
“Nope.” He stepped around her and pulled the gate shut behind him.
“Let me be more specific,” she continued, following him to his truck. “Do I need to be concerned about you doing a runner again? We’ve got a full schedule and I need you here.”
He inhaled slowly. “I’ve never once left without informing someone, Olivia.”
He climbed into the vehicle, then turned in the seat and looked at her through the open door. He owed her more, but couldn’t bring himself to get specific, not yet. “Something’s come up, family stuff. I’m handling it. I won’t let it affect my work.”
“Family stuff.” She surveyed him for a long minute, then exhaled. “Okay then. Remember, Gideon, I’m here if you need me.”
He nodded once, then looked out the windshield. “Appreciate that, Honch.”
She slapped the hood. “Go pick up Jamie before Daphne starts recruiting the rest of us.”
He smiled. “See you in a half hour.”
He pulled off the yard and onto the gravel road leading to the highway connecting them to Sunset Bay, wondering which o
f his many wrong turns had led him to this place. He was done with gambling; he hadn’t touched a drop of alcohol in years, hadn’t touched a woman since Lana.
He barely knew his son, and if Lana had her way, the narrow window of opportunity for him to develop a relationship with Blake was about to be slammed, bolted, and painted over.
And now he had to pretend nothing was wrong to the one person who, after years of going through the motions, had made him feel alive again.
* * *
Jamie hunched down to explore the vibrant tide-pool life that had been lost on the adult portion of her audience. With the water just beginning its return, she could easily see the jewel-toned sea stars that clung to the wet rock, and the rough grey and brown barnacles, their dead shells protecting delicate tendrils deep inside the return of the water. Emerald-green moss and algae, tiny, shimmering minnows, swimming in their tight little groups.
It all amazed her. Twice daily, these pools were deprived of the water that carried their oxygen and nutrients, that kept them at the right temperature and salinity, that covered them against marauding birds. Then the tide would turn, first lapping, then leaping, then crashing over and over with deadly, relentless force.
Life. So fragile, yet it went on.
She stepped carefully to avoid inadvertently crushing any of the delicate creatures. On one faraway rock, she made out the image of a harbor seal pup resting as its mother fed off shore. Seabirds cried overhead while, at the shore, small, long-legged birds ran in drift of their own, like schools of land-fish, their feathers iridescent in the setting sun. She lifted a rock and a crab scuttled away from the light, shiny and salmon colored, gritty with sand. She replaced the rock gently, so as not to destroy its home.
Every living thing, no matter how small or insignificant, deserved a chance to grow and thrive. To live, reproduce itself, and die.
With a flap of wings, a gull dashed in front of her, snatched the crab in its beak, and swooped into the air.
“Oh!” she said, lifting her hand impotently.
Here, then gone. That, too, was life.
For a moment, she let herself feel the unfairness of the world. Then she pushed it away. There was no point bemoaning reality. She lifted her face to the sun and raised her arms above her head and focused on her breath.
She couldn’t mourn the loss of something she’d never had. Gideon was still her friend. It wasn’t his fault she wanted something more.
She’d overcome a lot more than disappointment in her life. She’d be fine.
She was a survivor, after all.
Chapter Seven
If you’re going in the wrong direction, today is full
of opportunities to get onto the right track.
—Gideon’s horoscope
Gideon drove through town, and pulled to a stop in the public beach parking lot. He scanned the beach, looking for that shock of green.
There she was, standing on a rise of black rock, holding a yoga position of some kind, still as a heron, graceful as a hawk. Quietly, he opened the door and stepped out, leaning one foot on the running board and draping his arms over the window, watching, almost against his will, unable to tear his eyes away.
Blake, within his rights but just out of reach.
Jamie, within reach but utterly wrong.
He walked out toward the railing separating the parking lot from the descent to the sand, feeling as if his heart had climbed out of his chest to perch on that thin metal rail, dripping and warm, while he stood behind it, empty and helpless.
It didn’t matter that Jamie was adored by kids and dogs alike, that she’d overcome more challenges in her youth than most would see in a lifetime, that she was strong and sweet and smart and loyal. Lana wouldn’t see past the tattooed and pierced former runaway with a foul mouth and a record of petty crime and an easygoing attitude toward rules.
She hated Gideon’s checkered past already; his friendship with someone like Jamie would not help his cause. Let alone that friendship being something more.
Which it wasn’t.
And never would be.
“Jamie,” he called, tightening his jacket over his chest.
Jamie jumped and whirled in his direction, then leaped off the rock.
“Hey, Gideon! Did you see me? It’s called dancer pose,” she called, jogging toward him. “I was thinking of starting a blog about yoga by the sea. You know, different poses shot against the water and clouds with my own pithy thoughts about the meaning of life. Very moody and inspirational and shit. Some people make a lot of money blogging. Of course, I’d have to get sponsors and that would probably suck the living soul right out of it and I’d become jaded and bitter, throw myself into a bottle and die a penniless alcoholic.”
She came to a stop, breathless, and squinted her eyes at him.
“What’s the matter with you? You look like someone stole your teddy bear.”
Listening to her made him feel better, all that bubbly chatter.
He gestured to the truck. “Huck had a flat. I’m your ride. Get in. Daphne’s waiting for you.”
“Oh, no, you don’t, bucko.” She put her hands on her hips, her eyes flashing more green than blue today. The wind caught her thin jacket, pressing it against her lithe body, outlining her small breasts and flat stomach.
Then she lowered her hands. She hopped over the railing to stand right in front of him, and he felt the concern come off her in a wave.
He said nothing, but he couldn’t stop an audible exhale. The letter weighed heavy in his pocket, almost as heavy as the heart beneath it.
“Gideon?” Jamie put her hand on his arm. “What is it?”
Gideon had a choice. Jamie or Blake.
He stepped away. “I’ve got a trail ride to lead tonight. And you’ve got a dog to return.”
* * *
She watched Gideon turn toward the truck. Something was definitely bothering him, and it wasn’t just that she’d kept the pup.
Though that didn’t help.
She glanced behind her. A few parents left on the beach had gotten a little louder. She wondered if they’d brought something extra in their thermos bottles. It wasn’t allowed, strictly speaking, and it certainly wasn’t smart, but people did it and trying to stop them all would be like trying to turn back the tide.
“You looked good out there,” Gideon said, abruptly.
She looked back in surprise. “What, the yoga?”
“With the kids. You’re good with them.”
His praise warmed her heart. “They’re like any little animals. They need clear expectations, positive reinforcement, focused attention, and a lot of treats. Of course, it helps that I’m not around them all the time. I’m sure it’s different when they’re yours.”
He looked away, shoving his hands deep into his pockets. “Come on. Let’s go.”
As she followed him across the parking lot, an area of dark, choppy water fifty yards off shore caught her eye. Topped with debris and foam, it had the look of a rip current. Jamie’s pulse quickened.
“Hang on a second,” she told Gideon. She searched out the children on the beach, doing a mental tally.
Were they all there? It appeared so. What about the adults? Five people sat on their blankets, cross-legged, leaning toward each other, utterly unconcerned. Hadn’t there been more in her group? One of the dads had taken a call on his cell phone just before the end. Maybe he’d left.
Jamie didn’t like the look of that wave. Distance was hard to judge, but it seemed the frothy mass had moved closer already. The picnickers were about twenty yards above the high-water mark, far up enough to be safe.
Probably.
Then, down the beach a ways, on a secluded pocket beach where the creek trickled into the ocean, she spied another family. Two kids chased the waves on chubby legs, their bottoms diaper-wide, their movements new and clumsy. The woman stood with her hands on her hips, her yoga-pants-clad legs planted firmly in the sand, her shoulders slouched a little
, as if tired but determined to have fun on this family outing.
“Be right back,” she told Gideon. “I don’t like the look of that wave.”
She jogged in their direction, keeping one eye on the rough water. She was probably overreacting, but since she was already late, she might as well give them the same speech she’d just given the other parents.
The man was farther from the water, holding his cell phone out, then bringing it in and examining it. He said something to the woman, who turned, then strode toward him, gesturing.
No, thought Jamie, picking up her pace. Never turn your back on the sea.
The dark, rolling mass continued to churn off shore, not coming closer, not dissipating, simply hovering at the edges, like a wolf padding around a flock of sheep, waiting for an opening, watching for the shepherd to look away.
One of the children plopped onto the sand and set up a wail that could be heard above the surf. The other one paused, looked back, then bent, picked up a handful of sand and flung it at the smaller one.
The mother paused from her conversation, waved impatiently at the kids over her shoulder, then turned back to continue arguing with her husband.
The wolf saw its opportunity.
Jamie saw it too.
“Hey!” she yelled, racing toward them. “Get your kids!”
Somewhere behind her, she heard Gideon calling, but she ignored him.
“Get back, get back!” She waved her hands. With the growing force offshore, the surf receded, a shiny tongue slipping back into the maw of the beast. The smallest child got up, pointing her bottom into the air and then joined her brother, chasing the disappearing water across the glistening sand.
The parents looked up at her, unconcerned, then went back to their discussion. On a perfect sunshiny day like this, on a calm beach, there couldn’t be any danger, could there?
“Get your kids,” she yelled again. This time, they looked at her in annoyance.
Driftwood Creek Page 6
