With the bad economy of late the center had seen a downturn in donations and those bequests. Keegan didn’t intend to let her grandparents down though. Since their deaths she knew it was getting tougher and tougher to keep the center running, especially since things like medicine and food continued to rise in price. The care of the wildlife they rescued and rehabilitated took priority but it didn’t stop fuel costs from climbing, or medicine from skyrocketing, or bills that had to be paid on time.
And since the center had lost its veterinarian, Keegan had put out plenty of feelers for a new one. But so far, not one qualified vet wanted to relocate to a small town the size of Pelican Pointe.
Even though Keegan wasn’t a vet, she could administer antibiotics in a pinch and so far she’d been able to rely on the town veterinarian, Bran Sullivan, for counsel and emergency services.
She thought back to those days last November right before Mary had died. Keegan had known her grandmother had been sliding into despair. It seemed to her that since Porter’s death, Mary had lost the sparkle she’d once had. She’d lost interest in almost everything. Yes, there had been a dozen signs that Mary wasn’t coping well with her husband’s death. For the first several weeks she hadn’t wanted to get out of bed, acted as though she didn’t want to face the day, or watch any of her favorite programs on TV.
Mary had even shunned spending time at the center with the animals. That alone should’ve told Keegan her grandmother had been fading into an abyss of depression and had no interest in a comeback.
But she’d thought giving her time to grieve was the answer.
Keegan realized now that had been a mistake. She should’ve demanded Mary go see a therapist. Even though she couldn’t imagine loving anyone that deeply or staying in love for as long as Porter and Mary had been together, she should’ve done more to help her grandmother.
At the age of five Keegan’s mother had brought her back to Pelican Pointe for a visit to finally meet her grandparents, parents Maryanne Fanning hadn’t always gotten along with. But on the same day the two of them had arrived in town, Maryanne had crawled back into her pride and joy, a sleek black 1989 Pontiac Trans Am with the lame excuse she needed to go pick up a pack of cigarettes at the gas station.
A five-year-old had bought the lie. But looking back, Porter and Mary Fanning had known their daughter wasn’t coming back.
Mainly because Maryanne hadn’t exactly been mother material, and hadn’t for a very long time.
Keegan never laid eyes on the woman again, and as far as she knew, neither had Mary or Porter. She’d dumped Keegan in Pelican Pointe and went on to do whatever Maryanne enjoyed doing, which history said was mostly partying with bad boys who could supply her with a steady stream of drugs.
Maryanne certainly hadn’t cared about her daughter. Keegan barely remembered what the woman looked like in the flesh even though her grandmother had kept pictures of Maryanne sitting around the house, on the mantel, on the nightstand beside her bed.
Keegan hadn’t wanted to tell her grandmother those photos of Maryanne didn’t mean a whole lot to her. In fact, she’d already boxed them up and stored them away out of sight, out of mind. The only pictures she needed sitting around were the ones of Porter and Mary and ones that reminded her of the good times they’d had together.
Keegan had never even known her father, didn’t know the color of his eyes or his hair, or how tall he’d been, or what he did for a living. She didn’t even know if he still lived or had died at some point. Maryanne mostly forgot to mention those kinds of details.
There were some things Keegan had never bothered asking. Maryanne hadn’t hung around long enough. And asking her grandparents seemed to bring back memories they seemed reluctant to revisit.
Because none of it had mattered—the people who had raised her were now gone.
For more than twenty years, Mary and Porter Fanning had given her stability, a home-onboardlife, unconditional love and acceptance. They’d sent her to UC Santa Cruz for her degree in marine biology. From them, she’d inherited their love of nature, of wildlife, learned to respect the sea, and the marine life that lived there.
As of last November, Keegan had inherited the compound south of the pier on Ocean Street where the rescue center made its home. That included an old two-story brick building and the little house adjacent to the ten-acre property.
To Keegan, both places seemed lonely and empty without Mary and Porter Fanning bustling around, hovering in their own way, to take care of everyone.
Keegan had discovered the hard way over the past few months that the animals, much like the center, did not wait for grief to pass. And stressing about expenditures and stretching a dollar wouldn’t change a thing.
She squinted out into the horizon and decided that even if it looked like she had another hour or so before the marine layer rolled in for real, she’d consider calling it a night—at least on the water. She could always head for shore and wait there to see if the pup headed inland. Wounded animals, by instinct, tended to know it was dangerous for them to stay in the water where predators could make an easy meal out of them.
Realizing her stomach rumbled with hunger pains, she began jonesing for a greasy grilled cheese and salty fries from the Diner. Since the peanut butter and strawberry jam sandwich she’d eaten around noon seemed like a distant memory now, getting food sounded like a solid plan. She could always dash in, grab a quick meal and then eat it on the pier while she kept an eye out for the pup with her binoculars.
Because pretty soon the light would be gone anyway and she’d have to resort to using the searchlights, which tended to make sea lions skittish.
Reluctantly Keegan went to the helm, pushed the button to start the ancient engine—or tried to. She heard the grinding noise that always made her grimace. They might’ve spared no expense on the latest equipment onboard, but Keegan knew the engine on the Moonlight Mile would likely need a major overhaul before summer.
She’d have to see if she could persuade Wally Pierce, her best bud and all-around mechanic guru, to take a look at it, as well as the engine in the twenty year old Ford truck she used for land rescues. Sadly, both had been misfiring.
As soon as the motor roared to life, she turned and headed inland. All the while Guinness stood at the railing, tail wagging at the prospect of getting to shore soon and back to his dog dish for supper.
Heading due east, she brought the Moonlight Mile into the harbor—and noticed the man first. He walked straight out into the water, the entire time he seemed to be talking to himself. Odd, she thought. From this distance the man looked similar to the one she’d seen in town a time or two, the one who worked for Nick and Jordan out at Taggert Organic Farms.
Rumor around town said he had a major drinking problem—along with a questionable past, whatever that meant.
Keegan shrugged absently. Whatever his past held, it was no business of hers. Having grown up in Pelican Pointe, she knew all about small-town gossip. People liked to buzz and needed someone to talk about, the newer you were, the juicier the tidbits tended to run.
But that didn’t explain why the stupid man had decided to go swimming in the bay this close to dusk with all his clothes on. Sane people usually didn’t go in the water on a chilly night in early March without an excellent reason or a wetsuit.
Idiot man, she decided. He obviously was unaccustomed to being around Smuggler’s Bay and its changing tides.
She made a wide swing around the area where he drifted into the waves.
Spending the next several minutes getting the boat moored, she slipped the rope through the shackle and secured the lines. By that time, she noticed the man had disappeared entirely. Suddenly realizing a good ten minutes had gone by without seeing him surface, she scanned the water. When she didn’t spot him, she turned to study the shoreline in case he had given up and gone back to sit on the sand.
But the beach was empty.
Guinness began to bark wildly. From the corner of
her eye, she spied a body floating in the water, face down. Instinctively she took out her cell phone and dialed 911.
“I’ve got a potential drowning victim in Smuggler’s Bay. There’s a man in distress. Get an ambulance here! Now!”
While she talked, she pulled off the mackinaw and replaced it with a life jacket, shrugging it on. “He looks unconscious. I could take the boat out but I might stand a better chance if I simply go in and try to pull him out.”
“You shouldn’t do that. Wait for the EMTs to get there,” the voice on the other end of the line cautioned.
“I wait; chances are he’ll be gone for sure.”
And with that, Keegan tossed the phone aside, threw off her Raiders cap, toed off her shoes and without considering the consequences, dived into the frigid, wet cold of the Pacific Ocean.
At that moment, an injured sea lion wasn’t the only creature in need of saving.
Chapter Two
When Guinness jumped in after her, she shouted, “You go back, go on now, Guinness. Go back to shore. Now!” Keegan demanded, and watched her dog change direction, reluctantly heading back to land.
Good thing too, because now where the shelf dropped off into deeper water, she struggled mightily with the rip current. She had lived around the water for most of her life. If she wasn’t in it surfing or swimming or netting marine mammals, she was on it.
But now, the tide kept pulling her farther out to sea.
By the time she caught up with the man, he was still face down, not moving. And they were both a good seventy yards from shore. Not only that, it felt like the man weighed a ton. She managed to turn him over, tried to get a good grip on him around his neck. She began to swim parallel to the beach.
At this point, she knew fighting the current would be useless. If she was lucky she might be able to tread water until the paramedics showed up.
She bobbed up and down before realizing that if she waited much longer to head for shore, she might not be able to revive the guy once she got him to the beach.
Because of that she began to kick harder and move them southward, with the current not against it. She’d gone what felt like forty yards across before she recognized the tide and current had changed in her favor. As soon as that happened, only then did she begin to kick and swim harder toward the pier.
His dead weight prevented her from getting him all the way up on land though. It took her forever to drag the man through shallow water. Even then, she collapsed on top of a sandy bed of gravel and rocks to get her breath back. She glanced around for the EMTs.
They still hadn’t shown up.
But Guinness had. He immediately started licking the man’s face.
She pushed the dog back long enough to lean over the guy’s chest, put her ear to his heart, listened, and then realized he wasn’t breathing.
She smelled whiskey, strong, overpowering.
But she opened his mouth anyway, made sure his airway was clear. She tilted his head back, lifted his chin up, and pinched his nose closed. She blew air into his mouth and began CPR.
Focused on her effort, Keegan didn’t even hear the ambulance screech to a halt up above them on the pier.
But after almost a hundred reps, the man still wasn’t breathing. As she continued to count, Guinness kept up his own steady lick to the man’s forehead or whatever he could reach.
Just when she’d about given up, the guy coughed and shot out a ton of sea water onto his own already soaked T-shirt. The minute he took his first full breath, Keegan rolled him to his side and began rubbing his back.
Keegan heard him mutter, “Cassie, my Cassie.”
Guinness woofed near the guy’s ear and then got up close and personal, making the man blink in surprise. Once the dog had his attention, Guinness gave him a couple more licks to the face for good measure.
Stretched out on the sand, the man put a big hand on the dog’s snout as if he needed the contact. With his other hand he shoved his mass of long hair back off his face.
About that time the paramedics came running up.
Over the top of Guinness’ head, his wary eyes darted to Keegan’s and held. Gruffly, he whispered, “Goddamn it why, why couldn’t you have just left me out there in the damned water.”
He made a weak attempt to get up.
Taken aback by his words, Keegan pushed to her feet and grabbed Guinness’ collar then watched Deacon Jones, one of the EMTs out of San Sebastian, take over by attempting to get the man’s vitals, wrapping his arm in a cuff to take his blood pressure.
But the man jerked his arm away. “Leave me the hell alone,” he groaned and immediately began trying to remove the wrap.
For the first time since pulling him out of the water, realization dawned on Keegan. The man had obviously done this on purpose. He hadn’t gone swimming at all, the current hadn’t caused him to falter but rather he had tried to end his life by drowning.
Something about that pissed her off.
With the drop in adrenaline, she began to shiver in the cold.
Brian Driscoll, Deacon’s partner, draped a blanket around her shoulders. “Good job, Keegan, looks like he’ll be fine, doesn’t seem to appreciate that fact though.”
She puffed out an angry breath. So Brian had gotten the gist of the man’s mindset as well. It was then she spotted Ethan Cody running down the beach with his wife, Hayden, in tow. Ethan looked determined and furious and Hayden had trouble keeping up with his stride.
Eyeing Ethan, the man on the ground did his best to sit up again, knocking Deacon’s hand away when he offered it in assistance.
“What the hell happened?” Ethan barked.
“What does it look like?” Cord choked out. “I had too much to drink. I went for a swim and ended up going out a little too far. That’s it.”
Keegan pursed her lips together trying to decide what to say. Should she rat the guy out? What if next time no one was around to save his ass? What if next time he took someone with him? She didn’t need this, didn’t need the aggravation. She had work still to do, a sea lion pup to find. If the man didn’t want to live—what the hell did she care?
She watched as Deacon and Brian started packing up their equipment. Neither man said a word. But all of a sudden Keegan couldn’t let this go. “Bullshit,” Keegan muttered, staring straight into Cord’s gold-flecked brown eyes. “I watched you from the boat. I watched as you walked out into the tide. At first that’s what I thought you were doing, that you were just in the mood for a swim despite the fact you looked out of it. But you didn’t even try to swim, not once. And why don’t you go ahead and tell Ethan about that gun you’re carrying in your pocket.”
She’d felt that, too, when she’d gotten him onto the beach.
Cord put his hands out on the rocky gravel and struggled to get to his feet. But in the midst of standing, he stopped dead still. His eyes landed on the mouthy redhead.
As if he’d just noticed the goddess for the very first time, he blinked and sucked in a ragged breath. Jesus. Long, straight, wet tresses skimmed down to her shoulders and clung to the creamy skin along her neck. The damp locks curved softly around a classic narrow face topped with saucer-sized, striking cobalt eyes. A cute, patrician nose turned up slightly at the end.
Despite the fact she was pissed, she looked like his idea of what a mermaid might look like if such things existed. Attraction had his belly tightening.
Lust aside though, Cord cursed under his breath and threw a look of disdain at the drenched woman before finally turning to face Ethan—and lied through his teeth. “I brought the gun with me for protection. It’s just a little ol’ .22, Ethan. You know how rowdy McCready’s can get on Friday nights. I wanted to be prepared.”
Ethan’s eyes narrowed to slits. Realizing he’d been suckered not thirty minutes earlier, Ethan had heard enough. He quickly turned Cord around and cuffed his hands behind his back. He patted him down, retrieved the .22 from his wet pants pocket.
“Prepared for what exa
ctly? Well, prepare for this,” Ethan stated emphatically. “I’m taking you into custody for a weapons violation and then recommending to the judge you get a psych evaluation as soon as possible.” To make a point, he started reading Cord his Miranda rights.
“You aren’t serious? Who will Nick get to milk the cows in the morning, do all my chores and stuff? Silas and Sammy had a wedding to go to this weekend, dragged their cousins Marty and Ben along with them to Visalia. Even though the Miller boy is doing the evening milking doesn’t mean he’ll stick around for long tonight. That leaves Nick shorthanded.”
“Yeah? Well, you shoulda thought of that before you brought a gun with you to take a walk off the pier.”
Disgusted, Ethan hauled Cord up the beach, trudging through sand the entire way. “Damn it, Cord, not only do I have to spend the rest of the evening away from Hayden on a Friday night, but I’ll be mired down with filling out paperwork, your paperwork for the rest of the damned evening. You know how I hate administrative shit, especially when I could be snuggled up to my wife of three weeks making out on the couch.”
He turned to Hayden. “Sorry. Looks like Cord put a dent in our movie plans.”
Cord watched as newlywed Hayden Cody leaned over and whispered something in her husband’s ear. The simple gesture tugged at his heartstrings. Now he felt guilty for being the one to mess up things between a pair of newlyweds.
Cord considered his predicament. “You’re actually locking me up?”
Ethan nodded. “You bet I am.” He turned to plant a kiss on his wife’s cheek. “Don’t start Clash of the Titans until I get back, okay?” With that, Ethan shoved Cord in the back and headed up the steps to the wharf above.
Hayden hung back to study Keegan and realized the woman must be freezing. “Come on. Let’s get you out of those wet clothes. You okay?” “I’m fine. Serves me right though for getting involved in this whole mess when I should’ve just let the paramedics handle it and mind my own business. I’ve got an injured baby sea lion to find.”
Dancing Tides Page 3
