Honey blinked back tears. Sawyer called 911 on his handheld radio. Then, he called Reaves at the station.
“They’ve closed rescue operations till the storm dies down. They can’t risk any more lives at this point. They said they’d try to come out once the storm moves off-Shore. But until then...”
She huddled against the railing. “We’re on our own.”
“Braeden’s team isn’t back from Oyster yet. The storm’s gotten worse fast. They’ve probably had to take shelter where they could find it.”
“We’ve got to find Max.”
Sawyer tightened his jaw. “I’ll find Max. No way I’m letting you out in this storm. The wind would knock you clean over.”
Honey enfolded her raincoat closer around her body. “I’m tougher than I look. You need me.”
Sawyer’s sky blue eyes flickered.
Her cheeks burned. “You need my help, I mean.”
Sawyer turned away. “I need you to stay here. I can’t rescue Max and you, too. Max will be cold and hungry. Best thing you could do is what you do best.”
Honey lifted her chin. “What is it exactly you think I do best? I’m more than just some girly-girl.”
“Nothing wrong with being a girly-girl. I like girly-girls.” Sawyer faced the raw fury of the storm. “Fact is, you strengthen and comfort. You give hope.”
He pointed to the tree line. “Maybe Max and the dogs holed up in Braeden’s old cabin. I’ll check there first.”
She caught his arm. “Be careful.”
He nodded. “Go back inside, out of the wind and rain.” He didn’t wait to see if she obeyed.
Which she didn’t. She held her breath, afraid the rescuer might need rescuing. Although she hadn’t the slightest idea what she could do if worse came to worst.
Under the shelter of the porch, scant though it was, she watched him struggle against the current across what had once been the Duer lawn. Bending almost double, he plowed his way toward the woods and disappeared from view. The minutes ticked by. Her anxiety grew.
Where was Sawyer? How had Max gotten left behind in the shuffle of evacuation? Shame smote her conscience. If she hadn’t been so obsessed over saving the inn none of this would have happened.
If anything happened to Max... She clasped her hands under her chin. And if anything happened to Sawyer—
God, please. Help Sawyer find Max. Keep Sawyer and Max safe.
Her first prayer in how long? She squeezed her eyelids shut. Please, God. Please...
She sighted a patch of yellow through the trees. She strained forward to see better. His arms wrapped across his chest, Sawyer edged closer in the waist-high water, shielding something—someone—with his body.
A flash of red. Max’s mop of carrot curls lay flattened against his skull. Sawyer slipped and stumbled. She gasped. Sawyer recovered and, lips clamped together, persevered toward the porch.
She dashed forward, arms open, to take Max from him. “Max? Is he—?”
Max lifted his head at the sound of his name. His freckles shone in sharp relief against his pale face. “Aunt H-Honey...”
“I got him, Beatrice. I’ll take him inside—”
“No,” Max squirmed. “Blackie and Ajax, they’re still trapped. You got to help ’em, Sawyer.”
She tried prying Max’s arms from around Sawyer’s neck. He clung to the guardsman like a limpet on stone. “Max, come inside. We need to get you warm. Let go of Sawyer.”
“Please,” Max burrowed his face into Sawyer’s shoulder. “Please.”
The wind whipped the hood off Sawyer’s head. Lines of strain bracketed his mouth. He’d been on call since yesterday. Clamming in the tranquil waters of the inlet seemed ages ago. He had to be exhausted.
“I’ll find them, Max.” Sawyer unclamped Max’s arms and legs from his torso. “I promised you. And I keep my promises.”
His gaze shot to hers as if he expected her to argue. “Only way I could get Max to leave the cabin. The dogs are stuck underneath the lattice under the cabin porch.”
She pulled at her nephew. “Let him go, Max. You’re wasting time Blackie and Ajax may need.”
Max reattached his stranglehold to her. She reeled. Sawyer’s arms went around her and steadied her from toppling off the porch.
Caught between them, Max’s body quivered with cold. She found herself inches from Sawyer’s face. The closest in three years to the man who’d never stopped haunting her dreams.
And when he looked at her that way... Her mouth went dry. As if he still...
“I—I wish you wouldn’t go back out there. I don’t want anything to happen to the dogs. But...” Her heart pounded with fear. “I don’t want anything to happen to you, either.”
His arms tightened around her and Max. Something raw, something stark, eased in his expression. His lips brushed across her forehead.
She drew a quick indrawn breath.
“I’m tougher than I look.” He smiled at his deliberate mimicry of her earlier words. “Take care of Max. Okay?”
Mute, she watched him trudge down what used to be the steps and through the water toward the woods. Her heart torn in two, she forced herself to retreat inside the house. She carried Max upstairs and busied herself by getting him out of his wet clothes and into dry ones. Max insisted on getting into Mimi’s bed where he snuggled his cheek against Amelia’s pillowcase.
She rummaged through the cardboard box of kitchen supplies she’d carried upstairs before Sawyer arrived. From the thermos of hot water, she fixed a cup of hot chocolate for Max. He practically inhaled the stale Long John donuts left over from breakfast yesterday when the lodge’s last guests departed.
Every few moments, however, she rushed to the window, scanning the darkening landscape for signs of Sawyer. He should have returned by now. What was taking so long?
Nightmare scenarios erupted in her mind. Sawyer trapped under the wooden planks of the porch with the dogs. The water rising. The pocket of air diminishing. Sawyer gasping for breath. Going under. Not coming up—
Something yellow bobbed in the fading light. Sawyer... Floundering. His strength giving out. It was a long way to swim. A river of oceanic tide separated him from the house. Two small canine heads dog-paddled beside him.
Honey sucked in a breath and bounded down the stairs. Sloshing through the knee-deep water, she wrenched open the door. “God, please, help him!” The wind snatched her words away.
She edged as far as she dared on the porch. Two lines tethered the dogs to Sawyer’s chest. If one of the dogs were to get snagged on the swirling mass of debris floating past the house, they’d go under and drag Sawyer with them.
“You crazy, stupid man. Let go of them,” she hollered into the wind, knowing he couldn’t hear.
What was he trying to prove? Risking his life for Max’s dogs. Her fear and anger rose. If he didn’t drown, she was going to kill Sawyer for scaring her like this.
She clenched her fists. Her head throbbed. His long strokes faltered. Two strokes forward, the wall of water pushed him back three. He was losing ground. He’d never make it.
A shutter tore free from the corner of the porch and flew across the expanse. It smacked Sawyer broadside before careening into the wind. He went under.
Without stopping to think, she dove into the water. She cupped her palms, forcing her body through the churning water. She dodged a lawn chair. She narrowly avoided smashing her head against the battering ram of a downed tree.
She reached Sawyer as a wave broke over his head and dragged him downward. In the semidarkness, she groped for something of him to grab on to. Scissoring her body, she took a deep breath and plunged beneath the water, her arms outstretched searching, seeking—
Encountering something solid, she tugged upward. With a forward thrust, she surged above the surface of the water. She screamed and choked on a mouthful of water as Blackie’s coarse wet tongue licked her face.
Not Sawyer. But if Blackie were close, Sawyer had to be nearby. Somewhere. She splashed the water around Blackie’s body. Another whine on her right. Ajax.
Sawyer should be somewhere between them. The line. Treading water to stay afloat, her fist closed around the cord strung between the dogs. Hand over hand, her fingers traced the length of the rope. And was rewarded with the soft, feathery feel of Sawyer’s short-cropped hair.
Inserting her arms underneath his shoulders, she rotated him onto his back and rested his head against her shoulder. With Sawyer unconscious, she had to keep his face out of the water. And somehow get them to the shelter of the house.
But her legs were giving out. She wasn’t athletic like Amelia. She wasn’t going to make it. The distance between the raging ocean bent on reclaiming the Shore as its own and engulfing her home had increased, not lessened.
It was too far. Sawyer was too hurt. They were both going to die. If he wasn’t already— Please, God... No.
Sawyer groaned. Crying in relief, she brushed her hand over his face and felt his breath pass over her palm.
“I’m too heavy for you.” His voice was weak. “You can make it if you let go of me.”
She secured her hold. She wasn’t ready to let go of him. Not three years ago, nor since.
“No,” she whispered, more to herself than to him. “I’m not letting you go.”
The line tied around Sawyer went taut. She barely managed to hold on to him. Their bodies sloughed through the water as if on skis propelled by a motorboat.
Not a boat. The dogs. She raised her head toward where a light shone. And glimpsed the silhouette of a child.
Framed in the light streaming from inside the house, Max summoned the black Labs forward. “Come on, Blackie,” he urged above the wind and rain. “You can do it. You can make it. Come on. Keep swimming. Come to Max.”
Yard by yard, foot by foot, the dogs strained, weighted by their humans. But they were relentless. Persevering. Never stopping. Never giving up.
Her knees scraped against something hard and unyielding. The steps. She struggled to find her footing. A tidal surge sent them the rest of the way. And she found herself cast like driftwood hurtling across the remaining distance toward the doorway.
She yanked Sawyer through the doorframe. Max worked frantically at untying the rope before a receding wave could drag the dogs and Sawyer out toward the depths again. Flotsam streamed past what had once been the living room. And the water continued to rise.
With Blackie and Ajax free, Max helped her lug Sawyer toward the safety of the stairs. “Upstairs,” Honey shouted. “I’ve got him.” Paws scrabbling, the dogs raced toward the landing. Max scrambled after them.
Sawyer’s arm slung around her shoulders, she pushed through the waist-high water. His feet dragging, Sawyer stumbled and fell against the newel post.
He righted himself and rung by rung pulled himself up the staircase. “I’m okay. Go to Max. I’ll be right behind you.”
“No.” She glared at him. “I’m not leaving you. You go first.”
“Of all the hardheaded, stubborn...” He gritted his teeth and muttered a few other phrases too low for her ears to catch.
Something oily and coiled slithered past her leg. Her eyes widened. She screamed.
Grabbing a floating umbrella from the overturned coat tree, Sawyer pinned the copperhead to the wall and smashed his head. She fought the bile rising in her throat.
Another triangular head broke the surface of the water lapping against the stairs. Two more followed. The hurricane had shifted loose a nest of vipers. She screamed again.
“Get upstairs,” he yelled. “I’ve got this.”
And this time, she didn’t argue. She darted up the remaining stairs to the sounds of Sawyer beating back the sea-loosed serpents.
She charged onto the second floor to find Max leaning over the railing, cheering Sawyer on. “Smack ’em. Whack ’em.”
“Max, get away from there.” She prodded him once again toward Amelia and Braeden’s room. Where she found the dogs curled under the bed.
“You’re wet again,” she clucked. “But you were so smart and brave.” Peeling off Max’s shirt, she toweled his carroty locks dry.
“So were you.”
Honey glanced up to find Sawyer, breathing hard, leaning against the doorway. Blood trickled down the side of his head. His face pale, he swayed and caught hold of the doorframe.
“I don’t like the look of that cut. You took quite a blow.” She grasped his arm. “You could have a concussion.”
“Hard head. You should know.” He gave her a semblance of the former cocksure King of the Rodeo smile. “I’ll be fine.”
She tugged him toward her father’s room. “You need to get out of those wet clothes. We need to get you warm before you go into shock.”
He gave her a lopsided grin, curling her toes. “That sounds like the most promising thing I’ve heard in ages.”
She propped him against the bureau. “You must be okay, cowboy, if you’re able to flirt. Though I suspect it’s so second nature, you’ll be flirting from your deathbed, too.”
“Only if you’re standing bedside at the time.” A small smile quirked one corner of his mouth. “What can I say? You inspire me.”
She ignored him and pulled one of her father’s shirts and a pair of jeans out of a drawer. “Here.”
He shied away. “That belongs to your dad.”
She arched a brow. “You will wear these or catch your death of pneumonia. Don’t make me go all Amelia on you, Sawyer. You wouldn’t like it.”
He snagged the clothing from her arms. “You’re right. I wouldn’t. ’Cause I like you the way you are, Beatrice.”
She rolled her eyes. “Now I know you’re feeling better.”
He shuffled his feet. “You saved my life out there.”
“Just doing what anyone would’ve done. God and those dogs saved us both.”
“But you saved me first. Long time ago, too.” His eyes bored into hers. “In more ways than one.”
She put a hand to her throat.
“And you know what they say when someone saves your life where I come from, Beatrice?”
“No. What do they say, Sawyer?” she whispered.
He gave her the old smile that used to send her knees a-knocking. Still did, apparently. She caught hold of the edge of the bureau.
“They say when a person saves your life, you belong to that person forever.”
Forever? She swallowed. That’s how long she suspected she’d be in love with this brash guardsman.
Sawyer leaned forward. She held her breath.
And the lights went out, plunging them into the darkness.