For a split second, the calm in Bram’s eyes wavered, revealing a spark of hurt so imperceptible that it mightn’t have been there at all. His smile grew to match hers. “Then I suppose there’s only one question left, Bug.” He adjusted the tiller and shifted back, tipping his head to study her. “What is God telling you to do?”
Delight thyself also in the LORD: and He shall give thee the desires of thine heart.
A trembling began in the very pit of her stomach that produced a keening in her soul so mournful, it brought tears to her eyes. Oh Lord, if only . . .
She turned away, unwilling for him to see the grief hidden within. Her gaze snagged on the jagged shore of Angel Island and she pounced on the diversion, jutting straight up in her seat. “Oh, I just love Angel Island,” she breathed, “both the name and the fact that it’s a military post, like an angel watching over San Francisco.” She spun around, her excitement bringing a grin to Bram’s face. “Did you know the Army first set up camp on Angel Island during the Civil War?”
He nodded, lips pursed in amusement. “But it’s merely a discharge camp now, Bug, for processing those returning from the Philippines, not a line of defense anymore.”
She teased with a jut of her chin, gaze returning to the vibrant green hills that seemed to roll into the restless sea. “I don’t care. It’s the largest island in San Francisco Bay and home to Fort McDowell, so that alone elicits a feeling of power and protection. And,” she said, turning to give him a look of wonder that coaxed another grin to his lips, “did you know that some say the island is so large you can see Sonoma and Napa on a clear day?”
He chuckled, his gaze following hers. “You may have missed your calling, Miss McClare—perhaps you should be a tour guide.”
“Perhaps I should,” she said with a giggle.”
A faraway rumble drew Bram’s attention and he frowned, the sun lost in a swirl of dingy clouds that seemed to consume the sky. “We better head in—looks like weather might be brewing.”
Her heart lurched, not wanting their excursion to end. She glanced at the watch pinned to her blouse before she raised frantic eyes to the man with whom she felt safer than any other. “Oh, Bram, just a while longer, please? The darkest clouds are so far away, and we still have a good hour and a half before the last ferry. Can’t we sail to Alcatraz first?”
He hesitated, gaze flitting to the horizon and back with a sober look. “I don’t think so, Bug—weather in the bay is unpredictable, and I want to get you home safe and sound.”
“All right, Bram,” she whispered, unable to hide the disappointment in her tone.
He stared for several moments, a twitch in his jaw indicating she was asking him to do something of which he didn’t approve. And then with a sharp rise of his chest, he blasted out a noisy sigh that told her she’d won. He aimed a blunt finger, tone harsh for a man so gentle. “One quick pass, and we head back, understood?”
Her brows circled high over wide eyes. “I’ve made you angry,” she whispered—something he seldom displayed. Clutching her hands in her lap, she dropped her gaze to the floor, feeling absolutely awful. “No, please—let’s go back.”
She flinched when he dropped the tiller to squat before her. “Meg,” he whispered, “look at me.”
Her throat worked as she slowly raised her eyes. “I’m s-so sorry, Bram, truly—”
He cupped her face, thumbs feathering the line of her jaw. “Meg, I couldn’t be mad at you if my life depended on it. What you heard in my voice, sensed in my manner, was fear and concern because I would never—ever—want to put you in harm’s way.”
She blinked, swiping the moisture from her eyes. Oh Bram—you already have . . .
His heavy sigh carried away on a breeze as he clasped both of her hands between his. “Forgive me—please. You’re a woman full-grown, but I sometimes forget just how tender you are inside.” He swept stray curls from her face, his smile shadowed with tease as he shook his head. “No doubt about it, young lady—you’re a heartbreaker with those tears in your eyes.” He squeezed her fingers and jumped up, gaze traveling to a moody horizon darkening by the moment. “I’m more than fair with a sail, Miss McClare, but even I’m running out of time, so we best get moving.” He grinned. “Duck when I tell you, aye?”
Hands braced to the tiller, he steered the boat through the wind, jerking the jib sheet out of its cleat. “Duck!” he yelled and Meg dropped flat on the bench, hands over her head as the boom swooped across the boat, self-setting the mainsail on the other side. With lightning speed, Bram hauled in the jib sheet until the sail grew taut. Meg grinned as it bloomed in the breeze, skimming the sloop across the water with astonishing speed. She laughed out loud when the wind whipped the pins from her hair, curls streaming while sea spray tingled her face.
Excitement pulsed in her veins like the bay beneath the keel. Heart swelling with pride, she watched Bram straddle the tiller, so incredibly solid and male and tall. He emanated a strength that swirled heat in her belly as much as the wind swirled the waves, and when he tossed a grin over his shoulder, her heart soared along with the pelicans overhead. “Alcatraz at your service, milady,” he shouted, sandy hair lashing in the breeze like some tawny-haired pirate who had truly pirated her heart. She clapped her hands in delight as the island loomed with its Cape Cod lighthouse, rising from the sea, a sinister presence that seemed to grow before their eyes. A nervous thrill bubbled in her chest at the memory of Bram’s comment earlier in the day. “The Evil Island,” he’d told them, an appellation bestowed by Native Americans who believed the island accursed until the Spanish wisely renamed it. Alcatraz—Island of the Pelicans.
Boom! She screamed when a horrendous crack of thunder stole the air from her lungs, leaving her dazed and breathless until a bolt of lightning split the sky. It splintered both the heavens and her peace of mind, causing her heart to thud to a stop. Bram jerked to look behind, and danger flashed in his face. One hand on the tiller, he snatched two life preservers stowed in the bow and tossed one to Meg, grappling to don the other with his free hand. “Tie it around your waist as tight as you can,” he yelled, another growl of thunder almost drowning him out.
Sweat beaded beneath her bodice despite the sudden chill in the air, and fingers trembling, she did as he said, tying the strings of the cork-filled preserver as quickly as she could. Unbidden, thoughts of the horrific tragedy in New York two and a half months prior came to mind—over 1,000 men, women, and children perishing after the PS General Slocum sank in the East River. Her mouth went dry while she fumbled with the ties. Oh Lord, please—protect us!
“Meg!” She jolted at the shout of her name, Bram’s voice barely audible with the angry rattle of the wind snapping at the sails. “I need you to crawl—not walk—to the stern and retrieve a coil of rope beneath the bench, all right? Bring it to me, please, while I reef the sails.”
Casting a worried look at the horizon, she dropped to her knees and scrambled to the stern, skirt soaked by a pool of water blown in by vicious waves. She shivered while her frantic gaze flicked to the skyline. Her blood iced at the grim sight of ink-stained clouds undulating like some ravenous monster. When she returned with the rope, she waited while Bram secured the boom, fingers flying with half hitches as quickly as lightning slashed the sky. Whitecaps surged when water slammed against the hull, dousing them both with icy sea spray that molded Bram’s shirt to his chest.
“During a storm, you want to flatten the mainsail,” he said loudly, as if talking it through might help ease her fear. But his fluid movements possessed an urgency while he explained each motion, moving to the aft to pull the clew near to the end of the boom. His gaze darted to Alcatraz, mouth thinning and jaw tight. “I think we can make it to the shore if our speed holds, but I need you to tie the rope around your waist, Meg, then hand it to me.”
Sleet slithered through her veins. “You think we’re going to sink?” she cried, hysteria creeping into her voice while she clutched the rope to her chest.
>
His gaze met hers, unflinching while wind battered his body, willing her to calm. “It’s standard safety procedure, Meg, nothing more.” Before she could speak, he’d tugged the rope from her hands and tied it to her waist, leaving a good length to loop around his own. A crack of thunder exploded while jagged veins of electricity spidered overhead, and Bram wasted no time securing his end of the rope to the mast. He grabbed for the tiller, eyes mere hollows of black as they flicked to the island and back. “Almost there . . .”
A deafening roar pounded in her ears and in a hard slam of her pulse, the heavens disgorged, icy pellets and frigid rain assaulting so violently, she could barely see Bram three feet away. “Meg—down!” he screamed, but she had no time to comply. A rogue wave bludgeoned the boat, blinding her with saltwater when another whitecap knocked her down. A cry gurgled in her throat as the boat began to heel, and with a hellish howl, a wall of water broadsided the sloop, heaving Meg into the air with a final shriek before blackness swallowed her whole.
“Meg!” Bram’s cry was lost in a slash of seawater while he pummeled the waves, eyes burning as he frantically searched over the raging foam. Beside him, the shattered sloop bobbed on its back, its hull broken and battered. Violent sheets of rain continued to gush from a sky dark as pitch, and fear constricted Bram’s chest until he couldn’t breathe. “Meg!”
Something dark and fluid floated several feet away, and his heart shot to his throat, his sudden gasp choking him with icy brine. “Meg!” he rasped, hands numb as they groped along the sodden hemp. His blood froze to ice at the horror of her facedown, auburn tresses black while they snaked through the dirty froth. Within two painful throbs of his pulse, he had her in his arms, fingers shaking as he swept sopping hair from her face. Her head lagged back with eyes closed, and for several paralyzing seconds he couldn’t breathe or move or think. And then with a violent gasp of air, he shook her hard, fingers digging into her frigid flesh. “Meg!”
Her body hung slack in his arms, and his wild gaze darted to Alcatraz. Relief surged through him when he saw that the thrashing waves had almost washed them to shore. With renewed energy, he braced her rib cage from behind and swam with one arm, her body pinned to his side while he focused on the rocky shoreline. His silent petitions were as fractured as his breath, terror striking like the thunderous waves that battled his body. Legs pumping as fast as his heart, he refused to give sway, inching his way to safety. God, please—don’t let me lose her—please!
It seemed like eons, but he knew it was only moments until he crawled into a crevice at the base of the bluff, barely large enough to shelter them both. Warring against panic, he wrenched her frigid body into his lap and briskly rubbed her arms before pushing a thumb to her wrist. His heart leapt at the faintest of beats. Chilled and exhausted, he struggled to remember life-saving techniques he’d learned on the sailing team. God, help me please . . .
In a wild whip of the wind, it all came rushing back like a dictum from God, guiding him as he elevated her legs higher than her head. Lips moving in silent prayer, he applied pressure to her abdomen, hope flaring when water gushed from her throat. “Come on, Meg,” he whispered, and cradling her head, he covered her mouth with his own, blowing in long, slow breaths that caused her chest to rise. He intermittently massaged her arms, then breathed in again and again, pulse slamming to a stop at the gargle of a wet, guttural cough.
Bluish eyelids flickered on her waxlike face before they slowly lifted, as if made of lead and too heavy to bear. Tears stung while he caressed her pale cheeks, fingers trembling with the motion. “Oh, Meg,” he whispered, voice hoarse and broken, “I thought I lost you.” His body heaved as he clutched her close, tears streaming instead of saltwater. “God help me, I thought I lost you.”
“B-Bram?” It was no more than a frail breath on her lips, but he craved to taste it for himself, this precious whisper of life. With unrestrained laughter bubbling warm against her icy skin, he caressed her mouth with his own, skimming joyously to every part of her face, overcome with wonder and awe over the priceless gift of God in his arms. “Oh, Meg,” he rasped, kissing her forehead, her temple, her cheek . . . “My life would be so empty without you.” He lost himself in the joy of touching her, mind dazed while his lips explored a treasure too long forbidden. The delicate line of her cheekbone, the soft flesh of her ear, the curve of her throat—his for the moment at least—a miracle that wrung more tears from his eyes. Besieged by gratitude, he found himself bewitched by wonder, undone when her lips moved warm beneath his. Oh Meg, I love you more than life itself . . . Gratitude swelled like a riptide, and cocooning her close, he took her mouth with a passion long, long overdue, deepening the kiss until his moan melded with hers.
“I love you, Bram . . .” Her tender words were no more than a breath against his skin as her body slowed and melted in his arms. Her eyelids weighted closed while exhaustion claimed her with a final rustle of air before sleep stole her away. “So happy . . . ,” she whispered, voice fading when her porcelain face stilled like a child abed, the faintest of smiles shadowing her mouth.
Bundling her close, his gaze trailed into the storm that had already abated, his euphoria dissipating as quickly as the rain. She loved him. And he loved her. Pain slashed, more brutal than any tempest that could ravage the sea. He tucked his head to hers, jaw firm while he fought the tide of more tears. Because he knew to the depth of his being.
Although one tragedy had been averted.
Another yet remained.
30
Logan sprinted up the brick steps of Cait’s house, throat parched and heart pounding while he kneaded a dull ache in his chest with the ball of his hand. It’d been like an electric shock when Cait had called, a dizzy sensation as if he were falling when he’d first heard her voice.
“Meg and Bram capsized in the bay . . .”
Everything important before—the Board of Supervisors, his law firm, even his relentless pursuit of Cait—suddenly meant nothing in the face of losing one of his own. He’d been nauseous, then chilled, then numb, rushing from his apartment without even a tie, barely aware of traffic as he sped to Cait’s house.
Breathing hard, he didn’t even bother to knock, but thrust the door open with a loud crack to the wall. “Where is she?” he shouted to Hadley, his tone barely contained. “Where’s Meg?”
Hadley stepped aside, his expression grim. “In her room, sir, second door on the left.”
Without so much as a glance in the foyer, Logan raced up the staircase like a man half his age, the muscles around his heart cramping as hard as when Cait had first called. He literally ran down the hall, barely knocking before he burst into Meg’s room, body heaving to a stop when he stared at her bed. Even in the dim light, her face was like chalk, dark circles sinking beneath translucent lids while matted hair splayed on her pillow. She seemed so small and frail, barely a bump under the covers, and when he spied the bruises on her cheek, tears sprang to his eyes. “Meg.”
He noticed Cait for the first time when she rose from a chair by the bed, eyes and face swollen as quivering fingers flew to her mouth. “Oh Logan . . .”
Within three powerful strides, he swept her into his arms, clutching so tightly, they became as one, trembling together over the terror that might have befallen them all. The feel of her in his arms was so natural, so right, that he groaned with relief to be here for them both—the woman he loved and the niece that he cherished. He pressed a kiss to Cait’s hair, and immediately a calm settled on him as he focused on her and how he could help. “How is she?”
Her shiver rattled them both, and he gripped tighter while she did the same, her voice congested with tears and fluid and grief. “Sleeping soundly on a dose of laudanum, although she wouldn’t have needed it as exhausted as she was. Dr. Miller just left, but he said she’s bruised and in shock, but should be fine.”
“And Bram?” He hated the waver in his tone.
“Unscathed, thank God.” She pulled away, her gaze
traveling to a chair in the dim corner of Meg’s room where Bram appeared comatose, head back while he slept and as haggard as Logan had ever seen. “At least physically,” she whispered as more tears sparked in her eyes. “I think he blames himself although he saved her life. But he refuses to leave.”
Logan swept a palm the length of her back, his voice a whisper. “How did this happen?”
She related the details in a mechanical tone, espousing it as a miracle that the lighthouse authorities at Alcatraz had spotted the wreckage close to the shore. An investigation led to Bram and Meg’s discovery in the cleft of a rock. Her voice cracked when she mentioned that the others had been sailing with Bram and Meg earlier. “Oh Logan,” she whispered, fear quaking her words, “the storm could have happened when they’d all been in that boat. Cassie, Alli, Jamie, Nick—”
“But it didn’t,” he stressed, maintaining a firm grip. He gently brushed a stray hair from her eyes. “Everything’s fine, Cait, our family is intact.”
She nodded and averted her gaze, taking a step back. “Thank you for coming so quickly, especially given the strain between us lately . . .”
He nudged her chin up. “This is my family too, Cait. And no matter what happens between us, I will love you and them until the day that I die.”
With a jerky bob of her head, she returned to her daughter’s side and cradled her hand while Logan circled the bed to press a kiss to Meg’s forehead. Exhaling a halting sigh, he made his way to where Bram lay sprawled in the chair, a half-day’s growth of blond bristle beneath hollowed eyes. At the sight, a deep-seated gratitude surged in his chest for this man, this friend, who had enriched his life—and so many others—with his wisdom and love. As much of a son as my own, Logan thought with a burn of moisture. He lightly shook his shoulder. “Bram—wake up. You need to go home.”