It started slow, barely perceptible from land, a wall of dark water, flecked with white foam, streaked with detritus and weeds from the ocean floor, building moment by moment, inch by inch, as the gleaming expanse of sand grew, and the sound of the surf waned, beckoning the tiny humans into the grinning jaws.
It happened so quickly, yet to Jamie, time slowed to a deadly crawl. She watched, frame by frame, as the parents’ body language went from distracted to irritated to confused.
In that endless moment when the water was at its farthest, and the ocean paused for breath, Jamie yelled again. “Get back! It’s coming in hard!”
The mother took a step, called to the children. The dad walked away, once more concerned with catching proof of their quality time on camera. The kids stopped, turned to look at their mother, and that’s when the water turned.
She was almost there. She dug her toes into the sand and sprinted, racing the wall of water heading for those small bodies. It came at them like a freight train, the bellow growing like a yell down a tunnel. The mother wasn’t running fast enough. The father, looked up, still unaware of the danger, the phone still in position.
Building, building, building, the water went from nothing to a one-foot, two-foot, three-foot wall ready to slam those little bodies to the sand and tumble them end over end.
Jamie reached the scene just before the wave broke, bracing herself as it crashed against her back, grabbing the smallest child by one arm, lifting her high, anchoring her as the ocean tried desperately to pull her free, to carry her away.
She saw the other child get thrown to the sand and in two steps, she was behind him, her fingers just catching the back of his jacket. Frigid salt water boiled and foamed around them, screaming and crashing filled her ears as they were pummelled, pushed and pulled, but somehow, she managed to stay on her feet, her hands clamped like vices.
Then the wave turned to rush back out, and she braced herself again, bending her knees and leaning forward. She felt the tide suck the little bodies backwards and held on for all she was worth.
And then it was gone.
The water let go. She fell to her knees, drenched from head to foot, but immediately struggled to her feet. A second wave would catch them while they were down if she didn’t hurry. She stumbled up the beach, dragging the children with her, and dropped them, like a triumphant retriever, at the father’s feet.
Both kids were screaming bloody murder.
“What did you do to her?” yelled the mother, picking up her daughter. She peeled the little jacket away. Red marks were already forming on the girl’s tiny wrists. “Look at this.”
“Ow, ow, ow! Mommy, it hurts!”
The kid was howling for all she was worth, holding her arm like Jamie’d broken it.
She spat bitter sand onto the beach, then patted the boy’s head. “Stay safe, munchkin.”
The mother yanked him to her side. “Don’t touch my child.”
The man looked uncomfortable. “They could have been hurt, honey.”
“She is hurt, look at her.”
A couple of the parents from Jamie’s class ran up to them then. “Is everyone okay?” asked one of the moms. “Jamie, that was amazing. That wave came out of nowhere.”
The woman scowled at her husband, then stalked away. “Get the bags, Evan,” she snapped over her shoulder. “The kids are soaked. We need to go home.”
“Yes, dear.” Evan waited for her to get out of earshot, then turned to Jamie. “What’s your name?”
She shook her head, unable to catch her breath. Suddenly Gideon was at her side, wrapping his jacket over her, his strong arm holding her up.
“Why?” His voice was deadly calm. “So you can tell your lawyer?”
His solid warmth bled into her cold limbs. Now that the crisis was averted, Jamie felt like her legs might give out beneath her. A phalanx of people gathered around, bristling. “Jamie’s a hero,” one woman snapped.
“You’re lucky she was there,” another added.
“Never, ever take your eyes off toddlers at the beach,” said a third. “What were you thinking?”
Evan put his hands out. “I know. I’m grateful. I saw what you did. Jamie, is it?”
She nodded warily, her teeth chattering.
Evan’s wife called to him from the parking lot, her words indistinct but her message crystal clear.
“I’ve got to go,” Evan said. “Thank you, Jamie. Don’t listen to her. She gets upset and . . .”
He shrugged, then shook her hands and jogged up the beach to find his family.
Gideon led her across the beach as the crowd clustered around her.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
She nodded, soaked and shaken. “Just another day in paradise. The kids are okay, that’s the main thing. Let’s go home, okay?”
He tightened his grip around her. “You got it.”
* * *
Jamie hugged herself and clenched her wet legs together, waiting for the heater to start working. This business of getting soaked while fully dressed was getting old.
Gideon drove with his right hand draped over the steering wheel, his fingers moving in time with the music, his left elbow out the window. But the skin at his temples looked thin and tight and a muscle twitched in his jaw.
“I’m fine, Gideon.”
“I know.”
She turned in her seat, so she could examine him more closely.
“What?” He spoke casually, as if nothing were bothering him in the world.
But she wasn’t fooled. “Something’s chewing at you. Is it me?”
Might as well be blunt.
He shot her a quick glance, his brow furrowed. “No, of course not. You scared me, though.”
She bit back a smile. Good. He ought to be scared now and then. Maybe then he’d realize that they were already more than friends.
The heat started to penetrate her wet clothes, and she felt her limbs loosen. “You don’t have to worry about me. I’m tough.”
“You are, at that.” He slanted another sideways look at her and, with effort, seemed to come back from wherever he’d been. His shoulders lowered and his jaw loosened. “How was your class? Before the Baywatch moment, I mean.”
It was deliberate misdirection, a caginess that annoyed her. She wasn’t that easy to fool and didn’t appreciate him trying.
But she played along. “Pale kids missing their tablets. Parents talking as if they did nature walks with them all the time. A lot of hand-woven hemp. One little girl found a hermit crab she wanted to take home and name Harry. The usual. So, why are you tapping the steering wheel like you just had a caffeine IV?”
He reached out and turned up the radio. “I’m not.”
She turned it down. “Yes, you are. If it’s because of us—”
“It’s not.” He huffed out a breath. “It’s nothing.”
“I knew it!” She couldn’t help but crow. “When people say it’s nothing, it always means it’s something. Usually something big. Look, you might as well tell me, because I’ll get it out of you sooner or later.”
He looked out the window. “Ever heard of personal boundaries?”
“Overrated. Speak.”
“I appreciate you caring, James.” He hesitated and in that moment, the chill returned. “But it’s something I have to handle myself.”
Bad, definitely. She cranked the heater to high and forced a smile. “Is that supposed to make me back off? You know my imagination is going crazy, right? What is it? You got subpoenaed to testify in a mob hit? You’re a descendant of Rasputin? You won the Publisher’s Clearing House lottery?”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s private, Jamie.”
“Private like a bad credit score? Testicular cancer? I know: irritable bowel disorder. Your guts are definitely tied up in knots about something.”
This at least earned a laugh. “You guessed it. You never give up, do you?”
“When it comes to you, my f
riend, never.”
She used the word deliberately. He was spooked, she got it. Okay, so she’d made a fool of herself in the past few months, hanging on his coattails, arranging her schedule to match his.
Then that day at the creek. Smelling his hair. Squishing his shoulders under her fingers. The memory burned, and she forced herself to face him now, her expression open, bland.
Friendly.
His smile faded. “Lucky me.” He turned the wheel, and they began the bump up the long driveway to the ranch.
He held his shoulders tight, and whatever crack had been there a moment ago slammed shut again.
“Fine.” Jamie hugged her elbows tight, unable to get warm. “Don’t tell me. But now I’ll be thinking the worst and it’ll distract me from my work. I might lop off a finger while I’m peeling potatoes, and you know how Daphne is. She’ll finish dinner and whip up a pie before I’ll be allowed to go to the hospital. So, me being fingerless will be on your head. Can you live with that, huh? Can you?”
He parked the truck in his usual spot between the corrals and his own cabin and turned off the engine. It rumbled and shuddered to a stop, and then it was silent in the cab, except for the sound of their breathing.
He turned sideways then. His face was so solemn, her heart started thudding. This was serious. Whatever was worrying him, it was important.
He reached for her hand, tentatively, as if unsure if he could touch her or not.
“Gideon?” She grabbed it before he could pull back and his fingers tightened over hers, holding on as if she were a lifeline he hadn’t known was there.
He met her gaze. His eyes were full of pain.
She swallowed against an ache that had suddenly set up in the back of her throat and spread to her chest. “You’re scaring me. What is it?”
He turned her hand over, and covered it with his other hand, his warmth wonderful against her cold skin.
“I’ve got some stuff to deal with,” he said. “Family stuff.”
“Family stuff?” She ran her thumb over his knuckle. “You mean your brother?”
She knew he had a brother named Josiah and that they weren’t close. Gideon had never mentioned anyone else.
“No.” He took a deep breath and gently extracted his hand. “My ex.”
The word hung there in the thick damp air of the truck, like fog on a cool autumn morning. Whatever she’d been expecting, it hadn’t been that.
“Your . . . ex.”
“Yes. Her name is Lana. What’s the matter? You didn’t bat an eye when you found out I’d been in prison, but this shocks you?”
He was a grown man, after all, with a life before she’d met him.
“So you have to go see your . . .” She forced herself to say the name. “Lana. Wait. Is that where you’ve been going on your mysterious weekends away? Are you . . . are you . . . getting back together?”
She wanted to fall through the floor of the truck. No wonder he wasn’t interested in her.
“God, no.” He shuddered.
The thought of him secretly going to meet up with a woman he’d once known intimately . . . that he’d never told anyone about this . . . that he hadn’t told her . . .
Or maybe he hadn’t kept it completely secret.
“Does Olivia know?” she whispered.
He nodded, the gesture like a slap.
“You told Olivia?” Her throat was tight. “Before you told me?”
“Aw, James, don’t make this a big deal.” He rolled his head, as if his neck was sore.
“Don’t call me James.”
“It’s a term of endearment.”
“Right.” She slugged him, hard.
He rubbed his arm. The sad smile he gave her made her heart twist in her chest like a colt on a rope.
Get it together, Jamie.
He didn’t owe her anything. And why would he trust her if this was how she reacted? Whatever was going on with him and this . . . Lana . . . had shaken him. He needed someone.
“I’m sorry,” she said on a breath. She forced herself to say the only words she could. “Your personal life is none of my business. I had a crush on you, it made things awkward and uncomfortable. You’re not into me—I get it. It’s fine.”
Deep lines bracketed his eyes. He reached for the door handle. “Let’s forget it, okay?”
“Wait.” She swallowed. “I hope you know that you can still talk to me. You can always talk to me.”
He turned away, staring beyond the windshield. Green leaves swished back and forth above the truck in the breeze, dappling the dashboard with light and shadow. His profile might have been carved from oak, for the emotion he showed on it. Yet she held her breath, sensing that, beneath the sun-bronzed skin and his glittering charcoal eyes, a battle was being waged.
Chapter Eight
When Mercury squares Uranus, be on the lookout
for unexpected or unwelcome communications.
—Gideon’s horoscope
Gideon walked on stiff legs back to his cabin. He needed to get a handle on this, figure out his next move. Until then, the less anyone knew the better.
Even Jamie.
Especially Jamie.
She’d been shocked to learn about Lana; what would she think about him being an absentee father?
Inside his cabin, he tore open the envelope again.
He scanned the single sheet quickly, only a few lines, in Lana’s barely legible scrawl.
The gist of it: she didn’t want innocent, six-year-old Blake around “negative influences.”
Like his father.
He could demand access, of course, but with his past, a judge wasn’t likely to side with him. Biology was no guarantee, especially when it came to fathers. And Lana had hedged her bets well.
No, his best chance with Blake depended on her cooperation. Lana, with her gated community, her chauffeur to take Blake to his exclusive private school, all paid for by investments Gideon had put in Lana’s name before he’d gone away.
He pulled a duffel bag out of the closet and began throwing clothing into it. If he left first thing in the morning, he’d be in Portland by noon. He could talk to Lana in person, make her see that he wasn’t backing down, but that they both wanted the same thing. They both wanted what was best for Blake.
Blake was the main thing.
Surely, Lana would understand that a boy needed his father. And that, despite everything that had happened, Gideon was still a good man.
They could resolve this without a battle.
And then, once they’d come to an agreement, he’d bring his son to Sanctuary Ranch.
He’d tell Jamie everything then.
But before he left, he had work to do. It wasn’t fair to leave Huck in the lurch, and he didn’t want Olivia to have to pick up the slack. He tossed the bag on the bed and strode out of his cabin heading for the barn.
“Hey.”
He jumped as Jamie pushed off from where she’d been leaning casually against the cedar shake facade of his cabin. She’d taken time to change into dry clothes, but that was about it. Now she was back, like a bloodhound on the trail.
“I changed my mind,” she said, falling in with his rapid pace. “I was going to be all mature and let you go on with your strong, silent act, but let’s face it. I gotta be me. So to hell with your privacy. I’m not a tabloid reporter and you’re sure as hell not Leonardo DiCaprio. So you might as well tell me what this blast-from-the-past wants from you and why you look like you’re getting ready to do something rash.”
He stopped short and turned, and she nearly bumped into him from behind.
“What?”
She laughed at his expression. “Come on, it’s written all over you. I’m the queen of impulsive actions. I recognize the symptoms in others. Where are you off to in such a white-hot panic?”
He pushed past her. “I’m not in a panic. I forgot some chores, that’s all.”
“You’ve never forgotten a chore in your life.”
He lifted the latch to the horse barn and went inside. She followed.
“Maybe I’m getting a head start for the morning.”
“Nope,” Jamie said, grabbing at his sleeve. “Try again.”
He stopped and faced her, reluctantly. The dim light in the barn cast shadows across her face, making her eyes even shinier than usual. There was an urgency about her that he recognized.
She was afraid, and trying not to show it.
Against his better knowledge, he lifted a knuckle to her cheek. She inhaled sharply and closed her eyes at the contact. Her lips were slightly open, plump and inviting. One kiss, he thought.
No.
He dropped his fist and stepped back. “It’s personal, Jamie. But I promise, I’ll tell you about it soon. Okay?”
She bit her lip, then nodded, her expression troubled. Her throat looked milky white and soft as one of the kittens Tyler was raising.
“Gideon?” Her voice was quiet and serious. “People like us can’t afford to be overly stupid. If you won’t talk to me, talk to someone. Okay?”
Her words spiked his heart. She meant so well. She was going to find out sooner or later. He should just tell her.
He hesitated. As much as he wanted to tell her about Blake, the situation didn’t paint him in a good light. He knew how Jamie felt about deadbeat dads, and though he’d been more than generous in looking after Blake financially, he’d provided nothing emotionally. He wanted the custody dispute to be settled before he tried to explain.
“You don’t have to worry about me,” he said eventually.
As if recognizing the cop-out for what it was, she tightened her jaw. “If you say so.”
He opened his mouth, then exhaled loudly, closed it again, and shook his head. “Make my apologies to Daphne.”
“You’re not coming in for supper, either?” she said in disbelief.
“Not hungry.”
“You have to eat.”
“I’ll come up later for leftovers.”
“There might not be any. It’s lasagna night. Everyone loves Daphne’s lasagna.”
“I’ll be fine, Jamie.” He turned for the door, but she reached back and braced her arm against it, holding it closed.
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