Still holding onto his hand,

she reached out and touched his cheek. He shivered slightly. His skin felt cold, clammy.

He was freezing.

Desperation seized her.

She needed to get him warm. His wet clothes, the chilling wind. He could die from exposure if she didn’t get help.

She released his hand and shrugged out of her sweater as she looked up and down the beach. It was deserted except for the few birds scurrying along the shore. She didn’t want to leave him, but common sense told her he needed more than she could give him.

“I’ll go get help.”

She draped her damp sweater over his chest. His eyes flew open. He reached for her. She caught his hand and squeezed it.

His eyes pleaded for her to stay.

Her insides melted. “I won’t be long, I promise.” She looked into those questioning, blue eyes. “It’s not far. I’ll bring someone to help.”

A soft smile creased the corners of his eyes, and he nodded, ever so slightly.

Her throat constricted. Her breath caught and held as if she could hold onto that moment forever simply by refusing to breathe.

Impulsively, she kissed his cold hand. The odor of burnt oil and rubber lingered on his skin. “You’re safe now,” she whispered. “I must go, but I’ll be back. I promise.”