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That wasn’t what this week was for.
Shaking her head, she got up and wiped sand off her bottom. The breeze had stilled, and she was getting hot sitting on the sand. And it wasn’t good that she’d neglected her sunscreen. When she got back, she would cover up with the cheap towel she’d bought at the store beside the gas station.
The sand squishing between her toes, Sarah beelined toward the water. She was tired of being angry, upset, inconvenienced, out of sorts and shoved from her environment. For once, she wanted to feel fun again, young again.
Maybe it was being on this beach that had affected her. This was the last place she remembered enjoying herself before it had all turned to muck. The most fun thing she remembered from back then was running into the waves and bodysurfing with other kids she’d met at the beach.
Sarah decided to go for a swim. She wouldn’t mind that her limbs moved more stiffly, more heavily, than they had when she was a girl. The wind was still in her face and she would brace her body for the shock of the cold New England ocean when she felt it.
* * *
SAM WATCHED THE woman as she sprinted for the surf. He didn’t make a habit of checking out women while he was on the job, but there was something about this one that drew his eye.
He paused on the driver’s seat of the ATV. Duke had asked him to check in with the newer guards. For about half of them, it was their first summer, and Sam, at thirty-two, was an old hand. He was practiced at constantly scanning the water and the beach. He knew when swimmers ventured too far out; he would summon them in with a whistle and a wave.
Very few people were swimming today. In June, the water was frigid and the air wasn’t hot enough to drive people into the water seeking relief. Farther up the coast, the surfers would be wearing wetsuits. Here, at the fringes of the family beach, still not quite on the main boardwalk section, there was little incentive to wade in beyond one’s ankles.
It was a sleepy, easy day. Great for a lifeguard new to the job. Not too many kids—it was still early for family vacations, and school was still in session in some local towns. Midweek was prime time for retired couples, groups of moms with preschoolers and the odd pair of early vacationers relaxing here and there with their books.
When the woman appeared again in his peripheral vision, he couldn’t help turning to watch her pass. Of everyone on the beach, she stood out. It was the way she moved. One thing that had always fascinated Sam was watching the different people in the grand parade of humanity that passed up and down the shoreline in summer.
Some people strolled. Some marched. Some lolled. Some shuffled. Others strutted—the young, usually. Teens slunk along in too-cool-for-school groups. Little kids skipped or danced. Young couples walked hand in hand. His own daughter strode with purpose.
This woman—she commanded. It was the only word he could think of, the only action that described her.
He liked that she was confident and powerful. She strode toward that water like she wasn’t afraid of it. Like she was going to possess it and make it her own.
He paused, aware that he was smiling. The first lighthearted, happy moment he’d felt all day. His cares lifting, he leaned back and waited to see what she would do when her toes hit the frigid water. Her pale skin suggested she didn’t get much sun. The grim set of her jaw told him she was determined to bathe in the sea.
The foamy tide surged toward her. He watched, waiting. With her ankles submerged in the chilly surf, she paused. Where others shivered and hugged themselves, she was stoic. A look crossed her face, a small, sad smile. He wondered why.
She was someone he would like to talk to. Not here. Not now. But if he were across the world, in Scotland, say, hiking on the West Highland Way (as he had planned, but he wasn’t going to think of that), he definitely would have found an excuse to catch up with her. To match those powerful, determined steps. To walk beside her and make light conversation.
And later that night, to take her into his bed.
With a sudden set to her jaw, she shocked him by surging forward. With great, long-legged, awkward steps she raced through the cold water as fast as she could. When she was waist deep, she thrust her arms over her head and made a graceful, curving arc. She dove directly into the wall of a large, nearly breaking wave.
It was magnificent.
But she didn’t come up right away. Frowning, he stood up straight, on alert.
And then he noticed what he should have noticed, if he’d been concentrating on the water and not on the woman.
The water was dark and swirling—a single lane that led from the beach out to sea. On either side of the lane were tiny ripples of white waves.
The woman had entered straight into that dark tunnel.
“Damn,” he said aloud. He jogged to the guard’s chair, knocking on it. “Charlie? Radio to chair nine, tell Jeannie McLaren to get over here and join us ASAP. Tell her to bring her rescue equipment.”
The young man gaped at him. “Why?”
“Rip current,” Sam said grimly, gazing toward the woman. Her head had appeared. Already she was being pulled farther from shore, but she might not have noticed that yet.
“Rip current?” Charlie repeated, shading his eyes and staring at the surf ahead.
“Yeah, we talked about it yesterday. Do you remember what we need to do to save her?”
“Yeah.” The kid set his jaw. “Yeah, I’m on it.”
“Call chair number nine,” Sam instructed again. And then he grabbed a rescue torp and sprinted toward the woman who’d thought she could master the sea.
* * *
AT FIRST SARAH decided to swim out past the waves to where it was calmer. Swimming seemed easier than she remembered.
How long had it been since she’d swum in the ocean? Funny, but she’d lived in California for over twenty years now, and she’d never once taken a dip in the Pacific.
Catching a glimpse of how far out she’d come, past where the waves were breaking, she paused. Immediately, without her blood pumping as hard, she started to shiver. This water really was freezing, and she couldn’t ignore that any longer. She tentatively stretched her legs, but her toes didn’t touch bottom. Or maybe she just couldn’t feel it.
In any event, as she realized how far out she was, it was pretty obvious that she must be way over her head.
And the longer she watched the shore, the farther out she appeared to get. The beach was receding by the second, and that wasn’t her imagination.
Taking a breath, Sarah started to swim directly to shore. The salt water stung her eyes and her lungs burned with the effort. But when she looked again, she seemed farther out, if that was even possible.
It simply made no sense. She felt like she was in a science fiction movie, lost in a twilight zone. Or on some strange planet where the laws of nature didn’t apply.
I’m just out of shape. I need to do something about that. Now I have all sorts of time to remedy it.
Hysterical laughter erupted from her throat. But it did no good; she was being swept farther and farther out as the seconds ticked past.
I might die here, she thought.
Panic bubbled in her chest.
Flailing, she tried harder to swim and make progress. Stroke, stroke, stroke, she told herself. Kick, kick, kick. Her lungs ached with the effort. She couldn’t control her breathing any longer—oh, to be able to count breaths and meditate! Another small, hysterical laugh broke from her mouth, and with that, a snort of seawater went down her throat.
She choked, sputtering. But she couldn’t hear herself panicking, because the roar of the ocean filled her ears.
Don’t give up, Sarah! Work harder! Fight harder!
She stroked and kicked with all her might.
Until she couldn’t anymore.
CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_d5fa5f77-1084-55bc-bcdd-36eb5ebddecd)
SAM’S TEAM OBSERVED from the shore while he swam out as fast as he could to reach the woman caught in the rip current.
He gripped a flotation device—one of the bright red rescue cans that they called torpedo buoys, or torps, because of the shape—and kicked out past the breaking waves on a course parallel to the swimmer he intended to assist.
Sam’s adrenaline kicked in. He didn’t think he loved anything better than the intensity of making a save.
When he was as far out as she was, Sam turned sharply and swam toward the female swimmer across the narrow rip current, kicking hard, holding the torp in front of him with outstretched arms. Though the woman’s dark hair was matted to her head and her blue eyes were huge, he assessed that she wasn’t in such distress that she couldn’t understand him.
“Grab the handles and I’ll pull you to safety,” he called to her. When he was close enough, he helped the woman latch onto the flotation device and then guided her out of the lane of the rip current.
Sam had to give her credit; she was breathing heavily but she was alert and hadn’t panicked—her skin wasn’t clammy and her pupils looked okay. She was a fighter, that was for sure.
“Hang on,” he said to the woman. “Just a few more yards. I’ll stay with you until you can touch bottom. Then we can walk in to shore together.”
“I’m fine,” she insisted through clenched, chattering teeth. “I can handle it on my own.”
He said nothing in response. They would talk again when they were safely on shore and he’d called in a medical team to assess her.
His feet hit the sandy bottom, and he shifted one hand to the waist of her red bathing suit. Soon they were sloshing through the shallow waves together. He kept his hand on her waist, guiding her in.
“Let go of me,” she hissed.
“Your legs might be shaky. You’ve been through a rip current.”
“I had it under control,” she muttered. “I don’t need you.”
“Maybe so,” he answered. “We’re just being careful. Rip currents can be quite powerful and tough to escape from.” He went into science teacher mode. “In this case, they’re formed by a depression, or low point, on the ocean floor, which in turn causes a strong surface flow of water running from the beach back to the ocean.”
“I know all that,” she snapped. “I’ve had plenty of science classes in my day.”
He nodded and remained silent, just walking in with her. Once on shore, she bent over and gave herself a little shake. He could tell she was a bit stunned from her ordeal, but it was obvious she’d be okay.
He motioned to Jeannie McLaren to take out her radio. The new lifeguard looked at him owlishly. She seemed frozen.
“We’ll review the procedures again in training tomorrow,” he said quietly to McLaren. “But right now, it’s customary to call the medical team. They’ll check the lady over. Then I’ll make a report to the lifeguard captain. Typically, just one person is needed to handle a save like this, but since it’s the beginning of the season, I wanted you all to learn and get experience firsthand. As such, all of you will get credit.”
Charlie perked up. “Credit?”
“For the save,” Sam explained.
The lady he’d rescued shook her head at them. “No one saved me. I’m fine. And if you call any EMTs...”
She paused and gazed toward the direction of the cottages. They all did. A woman in a business outfit—skirt and sleeveless blouse—was picking her way across the sand toward them. She carried her shoes in one hand. Across her shoulder bounced a briefcase.
“...then I will sue you,” the lady they’d rescued continued, turning back to smile at them triumphantly. “And if I’m not mistaken, here is my lawyer.”
Sam squinted. The lawyer with the briefcase looked an awful lot like the only lawyer he knew in town, Natalie Kimball. Or had her name changed since she’d married? He couldn’t remember. In any event, she wasn’t his lawyer because she didn’t handle child custody cases.
While he was ruminating over name changes and custody cases, his “distressed swimmer” staggered off toward Natalie. Sam’s two lifeguards looked at him expectantly, as if to say, “Now what?” To add to the fun, most of the people who’d been soaking up the sun nearby wandered over, too. Everybody liked a show.
“What did you mean by ‘credit for a save’?” Charlie asked him. “Does that get us a cash bonus or something?”
“No, Charlie.” Sam sighed. “It just gives you bragging rights at the end-of-summer banquet.”
Charlie looked disappointed, but honestly, all lifeguard groups that Sam had ever known set up friendly competitions during the season. However, Sam didn’t need to be explaining all that with an audience of civilians gathering before them.
He slid a gaze back over at the lady. He couldn’t hear what she was saying to her lawyer, but could very well guess.
“Okay, good news—our distressed swimmer is obviously feeling better,” Sam said to his green staff, wrapping this lesson up so they could disperse the crowd as soon as possible. “The takeaway for the day is that we can’t force a person to go for treatment if they don’t want to. This is all perfectly normal.”
Charlie and Jeannie nodded in unison, along with some of the people in the crowd.
Usually, the medical team with the resulting paperwork would have been here by now—even if just to handle the victim’s refusal of treatment—but the season was still young and Sam supposed the recent hires were getting used to Wallis Point lifeguard protocol. In any event, he’d seen new teams being a bit clueless before. Nothing he couldn’t handle.
The radio on his all-terrain vehicle squawked. Sam’s boss. Sam headed over to answer the call. Probably, Duke had heard about the save. McLaren had radioed it in, and now there would be a report due.
Damn it. Sam still needed to get the victim’s information for the save statistics.
He glanced back up at the angry lady staggering away from them. He would have to follow her.
Again, nothing he couldn’t handle. In his years as a lifeguard, he’d seen many different types of victim reactions before.
Keep things smooth and easy—that was Sam’s motto.
* * *
SARAH CONTINUED HER march toward Cassandra’s cottage, her aunt’s lawyer beside her. She tugged tighter on the beach towel she’d wrapped around her wet bathing suit. The towel smelled strange, and the flimsy material of uncertain provenance felt gross against her skin.
“...and it’s such a pleasure to meet you,” Natalie was saying breathlessly as Sarah strode through the sand. “I don’t know if you realize it or not, but Cassandra showed your magazine article to everyone in the office. I love reading about strong female role models. We all think it’s wonderful. My daughter, Hannah, is six, and I hope women like you will be an inspiration to her.”
“Yeah, well—” Sarah stopped herself from a biting retort and glanced sideways at the lawyer. They were approaching Cassandra’s cottage now, near the tired-looking wooden deck without any railings, and the lawyer didn’t appear to be sucking up to Sarah or even blowing smoke. Natalie seemed strangely, provincially sincere. Sarah needed to adjust her expectations. She squeezed the towel tighter around herself. “Where is my aunt, anyway? She was supposed to be here to let me in. She knew what time I was set to arrive.”
“Yes. She asked me to handle that for her. I’m sorry I got held up so long.” Natalie pulled her briefcase from her shoulder. Daintily, she balanced it on the arm of an Adirondack chair as she opened a side pocket. “Here, I have a note from Cassandra explaining the situation to you. And your copy of the house key.”
“What situation?” Sarah spit out as she grabbed the letter with one hand and the key with the other. “Why is she always so damned dramatic? You should tell her to get a phone like regular people. Who uses a lawyer or a post office box to communicate with her flesh and blood? Her only flesh and blood, I might add.” Sarah’s voice had risen. She hadn’t meant to express her anger, obviously much deeper than she’d realized. But it was always there, inside her, and today had been a crappy day from start to finish. That Cassandra had pulled another of her stunts was so typical. Sarah was even angrier with herself for not foreseeing it.
Before Natalie could answer, the roar of an ATV drew suspiciously close. Sarah groaned and whipped her head around.
It was the lifeguard again. The older-but-still-younger-than-her man with the too-good looks, the bare chest and the surprisingly calm, competent manner.
He came to a stop and just gazed at her for a moment, his mouth hitched in a half smile, as if he found something about the situation funny.
“What?” she snapped at him.
“Hello, Sam,” Natalie greeted him.
“Hi, Natalie. Good to see you again.” But Sam had focused all his intensity on her. Sarah.
She’d been about to say something scathing to knock him off balance, but as his kind, appreciative eyes swept first up her body, then down, she felt the angry words wither in her throat. She’d forgotten what she was going to say in order to keep the upper hand. He didn’t seemed fazed by her anger in the least.
And then his eyes met hers directly—as deep blue as the ocean that had first seduced her, then nearly swept her away and swallowed her up whole.
