She dizzily skidded to a stop at the point’s cliff edge. Pebbles skittered over the edge to hiss and rattle down the steep drop. She waved her arms frantically, coughing and gasping in the fierce heat to catch enough breath to shout, “Nate! Nate! I’m sorry! Come back. I love you!”
Distant whistles and cheers rose from the direction of Spider Camp. Oh, great, they could hear her make her humiliation complete.
Does that matter?
No.
Gathering all the breath she could, she yelled once more with all her might, “I’ll go! I love you!”
Nate had too good of a breeze. He couldn’t hear her, not from so far away.
Her rainbow sails full, the Morning Whisper picked up speed, gliding over the blue.
Too little, too late.
Kay swayed on trembling legs, panting, numb and drained. Nate’s ring bit into her clenched hand, all her bandaged cuts and bruises burning and aching, but none of the assorted pains together were enough to drown the pain in her heart. Her shaking legs gave up and dumped her ass-down to the ground. The rock’s heat seared through her shorts. Running after him was so stupid. She should have jumped into the Duckling and motored after him, followed him to the marina. She should have run to Spider Camp and begged Dave to take her in his ski boat.
She still could, should…as soon as she caught her breath.
She sucked in hot breaths, readying to rise and run. He still had to leave, she still had to let him go, but she could tell him she was wrong, he was right. She’d make it right.
The Morning Whisper sailed on, growing smaller and smaller.
****
Blue sky, bright water, the perfect wind, the perfect boat. What more could a sailor want?
Nate nudged the tiller and sighed. The Whisper was loving the wind today. She eagerly slipped along the water as if she were a racing sloop rather than her steady, sturdy little self.
However, the farther the brisk breeze carried Nate away from the shore, the more his sense of dread grew. Focusing on immediate plans was no help. Trying to make himself believe cutting loose from a hopeless situation was the correct decision was proving even more useless.
Giving up the staying drunk for forty-eight hours plan now looked like a really bad decision.
Her sails full and strained, his Whisper was running at the top end of her modest knots. He looked away from the ragged range of the Black Mountains shimmering under the afternoon sunlight to the empty bench seat across from him.
This was not the time to be thinking of Kay sitting there or how she’d smiled before she’d knelt down the other night…her soft lips, skin pale in the moonlight, her slim talented fingers and his ring on her hand, her eyes deep with the look he’d believed with all his heart was love.
And looking away, down the companionway into the cabin and his view of the still rumpled v-berth bedding, wasn’t helping one damned bit.
His hand tightened on the tiller, a shudder ran through him and the Whisper, and he gave serious consideration to the bottle of Black Label in the cabin.
He had made the wrong damn decision. Again.
No, not his impulsive leaving the ring behind—that was completely right, likely the only thing he’d done right for her today—but the leaving Kay behind. Again.
Leaving her standing there alone on the shore once more. Like he did every year.
No wonder she didn’t trust him.
Hell, yeah, he loved Kay, but what had he ever done to give her any confidence in him? How often did he stick around for her? Never. How often did he prove to her she was more than a convenient vacation romp? Never.
He’d never earned that trust he’d so cockily demanded.
Everyone left Kay. Even JoAnn, her closest friend, left her behind. They all went home to their daily lives, leaving Kay behind. And what he’d learned about her family, well, hell…she was better off with them staying far away from her—
As soon as he got to the marina, he was going to call his mom and dad and give them a fervent thank you for their generous love and stability.
Everything that had been so clear in Auckland and Oahu and Oregon: what to do, how he felt, what he believed she felt—hell, he’d screwed it all up.
His vision might be clear and sharp through a camera lens, but he’d never bothered to see Kay clearly. He’d seen what he wanted to see and ignored the warning signs.
He thought over her little OCD habits and her quiet way.
My sister and I learned to take cover, fast
.
Kay had loved her dad, and got to see the man flirt and womanize and likely emotionally abuse her mother, her sister and herself. Always waiting for him to come home. Hoping? Dreading? Her mother apparently liked being bitter and went through husbands like tissues. Her sister stuck with an abuser. And her grandparents were the same.
Yeah, great conditions for learning to trust. Not.
And, yeah, so he’d bit the celibate bullet voluntarily because she was the one he wanted, but expecting Kay to trust he really was a one-woman man, when he was off running around the world? Running on the job so much like her dad. Then he’d demanded Kay trust him just because he said so?
Then Olivia getting shitfaced and kissing him, yeah, that went over real well—not. Even if Kay said she believed him.
You’re an idiot, Quinn.
Fine. So how could he stop being an idiot, turn this mess around, and fix it?
Wash his hands of the situation and go find someone easier to love? That was the sane thing to do.
But he was in love with Kay, and neither washing his hands of this disaster, nor months upon months away was going to turn his heart and mind from that inescapable truth.
Turn…
Turn around.
The urge rattled him.
Turn around. Prove your love is the safe harbor you claim.
How the hell could he turn around now? He had a plane to catch with Bev. He had to meet Kincaid in London. He had to be in Antarctica and elsewhere for the next who knew how many months, taking the shots he’d dreamed about and lusted for ever since PopPop gave him that old Brownie camera and the subscription to National Geographic. His friends had drooled over hotrods and motorcycles. He’d set his focus on the South Pole.
Many years and detours later, he was on his way at last. Only…
The dream project he had aimed his entire life toward obtaining was not the pearl he’d believed, but merely a pretty soap bubble.
Kay or his dream job?
The expedition with Kincaid? A decent paycheck and nicer status points, some major luster to his professional name. The perfect addition to his resume and platform.
The dream book? The proposal he’d put his heart and vision into working toward and waited so long for? The adventure he’d wanted for so long and so bad he could taste it? Now? Boiled down to a lot of work for a paycheck, really.
So, Kay or a couple checks and a few royalties?
The gig with Kincaid wasn’t the only problem. Without Kay, the house was going to be damned empty. Damn sure he didn’t want to live there with only his book for company. He’d bought the place seeing her in every room.
He glanced unwillingly to the cabin where his carelessly piled bags failed to conceal the rumpled bedding or stop the memories. Like he was ever going to be able to sail the Whisper again and not think of Kay?
He groaned.
Kay, hands down. Shit. Hadn’t he already decided to settle down with studio work? He’d paid his dues, yeah, could do that work in his sleep. He had the deal mostly worked out with Ricco. No adventure in that, sure, busting his butt doing the senior year pictures, weddings, babies, but with the lure of the simple pleasure of going home every day, his own bed…He could—
Start his own studio.
The simplicity of the idea stunned him. His own studio? Why not? Why not think beyond the darkroom and workroom he had in mind for the new house. Why not a studio? His mind roared with a flashflood of ideas, problems, excitement, and challenge. His studio, his way.
There were other books in him, other proposals, other dreams, and other possibilities. Hell, he could do a whole book on the weeds in the house’s backyard. He’d told Kay the truth when he’d told her he was ready to settle down.
He’d follow her to Tucson and sleep in the trailered Whisper on her street if he had to, if that’s what it took to convince her he was serious. The cops would have to haul him off to get him to leave. Yep, time to lay in a get-serious Plan B change of course.
With a prayer and pull of the tiller, he brought the Whisper about.
****
Kay sat, staring at the ever-shrinking rainbow swatch marking the Whisper’s course.
She had to pull herself together and think and move, but she was too wrung out to do more than grab for each inhale and exhale of whistling breath. Her drying sweat prickled her skin in the roasting heat radiating off the stony ground. Her eyes burned from the stinging mix of tears, sweat and sunscreen.
She needed to get up. She needed to stop cooking there in the sun. She needed to go beg Dave. He could catch Nate fast enough, but the longer she just sat like a lump…
The Whisper looked nearer.
What? Kay swiped at her tears with her clenched fist.
The heat was making her dizzy. With her eyes all puffy, blurred, and burning she couldn’t be sure. It was an illusion of the heat and distance. He was just tacking. He’d turn again. But…
Her heart banging away, she heaved to her feet and squinted hard as she raised her hand to shade her eyes.
Yes—the small bright sail was larger. The bow had come around. He wasn’t simply tacking. He was coming full around. He was coming back. He couldn’t possibly have heard her from that distance. Her hand tightened on the ring. Had he regretted leaving it behind?
Oh, please, please. Give me this chance. I won’t blow it this time.
Where was he heading? To her at Skunk Beach or over to Spider Camp? Maybe he’d only left something behind.
To hell with it.
She ran, glancing over her shoulder, trying to guess. Her foot slipped on the rough ground, and she stumbled, jamming her heart further in her throat, but she caught herself
. Slow down, before you hurt yourself.
She’d be a real fool if she slipped and slid into a clump of beavertail or cholla. Her breath rasped, dragging in the baking desert air.
Please, please, please, let him come back to me. Please give me another chance.
Her footsteps pounded along with her prayer. The trail back to her camp had never been so long.
She slipped and scrambled down the hillside path, nearly wiping out at the same place she’d fallen before. She ran to the water’s edge and slid to a stop, standing on shaking legs, panting, sweating and overheated.
Please. Please.
She swiped at her stupid tears. Enough already. How much could she possibly cry? But everything hurt, from the burning in her clenched hand to the pinching, stabbing stitch in her side. Her knees ached. Her heart pounded.
Epiphany was one thing; now she had to face him and get the words out one more time.
But what if he was headed to Spider Camp and not to her? She couldn’t run there, could she? She didn’t need an audience for this.
Why not? She had already resolved to beg Dave’s help. The gang had heard her make a fool of herself screaming from the point. What was once more? Either she was willing to do whatever it took or not. Trembling and sucking in oxygen, she poised ready to run again if he cruised past.
Please, please. I’ll make it right.
The Whisper’s gleaming bow glided around the point, gracefully turning.
Turning toward Skunk Beach, toward her. Slowing.
She gave up on swallowing back her fresh flood of tears.
Nate hustled with the lines, quickly bringing down the sails. Moments later the anchor flew in the sun, splashing. The Morning Whisper bobbed at her anchor rope from the current and breeze. Nate crouched at the bow, one hand on the rail, beach anchor in the other. She couldn’t read his set face beneath his sunglasses and fishing hat more than he looked determined.
Determined to do what?
Kay’s throat was too choked with fear and hope to say anything.
I can do this. I have to.
She swallowed hard.
No matter what
. Even if he was only here for a forgotten sock, he was not leaving without her saying her piece. She would make it quick and send him on his way to catch his flight.
Nate gave a sharp nod, as if he’d heard her thoughts, and hopped over the railing into the shallow waters.
And disappeared underwater.
He floundered to his feet, streaming water. His hat floated away. He shrugged with an embarrassed laugh. “Damn. I find the one hole.”
Chapter Sixteen