Tides of Hope (8 page)

Why couldn't it have waited another six weeks to die?
she lamented, shoving her hands into the pockets of her gray slacks. Once the charter season kicked in, the cost wouldn't be such an issue. But her bank balance was often anemic by April. This year more than usual, thanks to an extra trip to the pediatric pulmonologist and some high-priced tests and medications for Maddie. Her health insurance covered a good percentage of those expenses—but not enough. She'd be operating on fumes after this.

Chester, bless his heart, had offered to do what he could when he'd dropped her off at school today. For once, though, she doubted his mechanical skills would be able to save her.
He was a great tinkerer, but he wasn't equipped to pull off such a major repair.

She'd find a way to deal with the expense, though. She always did. Because moving away from the island, as her parents had been forced to do when the cost of living skyrocketed, wasn't an option.

“Hey, Kate, aren't you going to the assembly? After all, you got our speaker.”

At Clarie's question, Kate turned her back on the dreary scene outside as two other teachers joined her in the lounge.

“My sole contribution was a thirty-second call. Larry took it from there.”

“Personally, I can't imagine any available woman
not
going.” Steph, who taught history, responded to Clarie's question as she rested her hand on the bulge in her tummy. “If I wasn't already spoken for, and motherhood wasn't imminent, I'd sit front and center. Did you get a load of that guy?”

“Yeah.” Clarie responded to Steph's question. “What a hunk!”

“I didn't know you ladies were talking about me.” Hank Kraus, who taught social studies, pushed through the door with a grin, smoothing down his thinning salt-and-pepper hair and patting his slight paunch.

“Cute, Hank.” Clarie smirked at him. “We were talking about today's speaker for the career opportunities assembly.”

“Oh, yeah. I saw him in the lobby. Impressive uniform.”

“You are staying, aren't you?” Clarie aimed her query at Kate as she rummaged in her purse for her lipstick.

“For a few minutes anyway. But I'll probably sit in the back and sneak out early. I have to deal with some car problems.”

“I, for one, being available, interested and attractive, intend to sit in the first row,” Clarie announced as she applied her lipstick.

“Two out of three isn't bad.” Hank ducked as Clarie aimed a playful swat in his direction.

Ten minutes later, after a quick stop in the ladies' room to run a comb through her hair and touch up her own lipstick, Kate headed for the auditorium, choosing the seat closest to the door in the last row. As she settled in, the principal strode onto the stage.

“Quiet, please. We're ready to begin.” He waited until the teenage chatter died down before launching into his introduction. “Ladies and gentlemen, today we were supposed to wrap up our career series with a navy pilot. I know a lot of you were looking forward to hearing from him. However, another commitment has kept him from joining us.”

A collective groan rolled through the room, and the principal held up his hands. “However, our new Coast Guard commander graciously agreed to step in and take his place. Some of you may have heard about his previous position at headquarters. But you may not be aware of the exciting life he led before he took a desk job in Washington. Today he's going to share with us some of his experiences as a Coast Guard rescue swimmer. Please welcome Lieutenant Craig Cole.”

As Craig rose from a seat in the first row, his dark blue dress uniform drawing attention to his broad, powerful shoulders, Kate wanted to sink through the floor. The man had been a rescue swimmer. A member of an elite group of well-trained men and women in superb condition who jumped out of helicopters into raging seas to save lives.

And she'd hammered him about swimming off Great Point.

Mortified, Kate considered sneaking out the back door. But before she could make her move, Craig stepped behind the microphone and turned, displaying an impressive array of ribbons above his left pocket.

And once he began speaking, he held every person in the auditorium—Kate included—spellbound with his stories of dramatic rescues in both the icy Arctic waters off Alaska,
where he'd begun his career, and in the tropical seas off Hawaii, which held their own terrors for the unsuspecting.

During the forty-minute presentation, Kate learned that there were only three hundred rescue swimmers among the thirty-eight thousand men and women on active duty in the Coast Guard; that the attrition rate in the rigorous swimmer training school was higher than fifty percent; and that the term bingo might be a good thing in reference to a square piece of cardboard containing numbers and letters, but it was a very bad thing for a search and rescue team in a Jayhawk.

She learned something else, as well.

Craig Cole was a true hero.

Although he downplayed his role in the rescue operations he described, always giving credit to the entire Jayhawk team, Kate knew that when the flight mechanic gave the signal, he was the one who'd jumped into the churning sea. This was a man who'd put his life on the line to save others. Countless times. Craig might have come to Nantucket from a desk job in Washington, but he'd earned his stripes the hard way.

Impressed didn't come close to describing Kate's reaction.

Yet…there was a disconnect, she suddenly realized.

In many of the rescue scenarios he'd described, Craig had talked about the need for flexibility, quick thinking and improvisation. About the importance of modifying procedures to suit unique situations not covered by the cut-and-dried rulebook. But since his arrival in Nantucket, he'd been hard-nosed about enforcing minor safety regulations. Everything had to be done precisely by the book, no matter the circumstances. She hadn't been his only victim, as she'd later discovered.

It didn't make sense.

However, now wasn't the time to try and figure it out, she decided, as he wrapped up his talk. Not if she wanted to make a quick exit.

As the applause died down and a cluster of students surged
forward to talk to the commander, Kate used the opportunity to slip out the door.

Moving down the hall a short distance, she pulled out her cell phone and called Edith. Chester had told her to let him know whenever she was ready to leave, and although the heavy rain might slow him a little, he could make the trip in less than ten minutes. He'd arrive long before Craig finished answering questions from the interested students.

A busy signal beeped over the line. Waiting sixty seconds, she tried again. Still busy. It had to be Edith, Kate concluded. Chester didn't like telephones, preferring face-to-face conversations. As a result, his calls rarely lasted more than a minute.

Frowning, Kate tapped her foot. If Edith's conversation dragged on too long, she could always duck into the ladies' room.

At least she wouldn't have to worry about running into the lieutenant there.

 

From his position in the front of the auditorium, surrounded by a large group of students clamoring for his attention, Craig caught a quick glimpse of fiery red hair in the back of the room. Kate. Craning his neck, he looked again. But she'd vanished.

“Do you need to talk to Ms. MacDonald?”

The astute question from a gangly teen juggling a knapsack who'd zoned in on Craig's line of sight refocused his attention.

“No. She seemed to be in a hurry.”

“Yeah. She's got a lot on her plate. But she's never too busy to talk to the students or walk us through a tough assignment. She's awesome.”

Considering she was raising her daughter alone, ran a charter fishing operation—also alone—and taught school, the student had picked a good adjective to describe her, Craig concurred.

“Are there any women rescue swimmers, Lieutenant?”

The query from an athletic-looking girl forced him to switch gears. “Yes. A few.”

For the next fifteen minutes he fielded questions, until the principal stepped forward and reminded the students their rides were waiting and that Craig had to get back to work.

“I'll tell you what. If any of you have other questions, give me a call at my office. I'll be happy to answer them.” He withdrew some business cards from his pocket and passed them around.

As the students broke up, he shook hands with the principal, accepted the man's thanks for being a last-minute substitute and headed toward the door where Kate had disappeared. But he wasn't surprised when a quick scan of the hall revealed no one with red hair.

Stifling a surge of disappointment, he strode toward the entrance.

“Lieutenant!”

At the summons, he turned. A thirty-something blonde smiled and approached.

“I'm Clarie Peterson.” She extended her hand. “I teach math here, and I wanted to say I thought your talk was very informative and inspiring.”

“Thank you.” He retrieved his hand with a gentle tug.

“Of course, I'm sure you barely scratched the surface in the short amount of time you had. I, for one, would be fascinated to hear more of your stories. I wondered if I might buy you a cup of coffee sometime?”

Keeping his PR smile in place, Craig searched for a diplomatic way to refuse the invitation. “I'm glad you enjoyed the presentation, Ms. Peterson. And that's a very kind offer. The thing is, I'm still learning the ropes at the station, and—”

The ladies' room door opened, and Craig suddenly found himself looking into a pair of startled green eyes below a
flaming halo of hair. Sending a fervent thank-you heavenward, his smile changed from PR to the real thing.

“Kate. I was hoping to catch you. Do you have a minute?” He telegraphed a silent SOS, praying she'd catch the signal.

Her gaze flickered to Clarie, and she smiled back at him. “Sure.”

Message received.
Thank you, Lord!

The blonde's eyes narrowed as she sized them up.

“Clarie!” Hank waved from down the hall. “We need to run or we'll be late for the get-together at Brotherhood.”

“I'll be there in a sec,” Clarie called over her shoulder. Tipping her head, she gave Craig a forced smile. “The offer of coffee stands. You can always reach me through the school. See you later, Kate.”

Not until she disappeared around the corner did Craig speak. “Thank you.”

Kate gave him an empathetic smile. “Clarie can come on a little strong. She got divorced about three years ago and lately she's been on the prowl. But the pickings are somewhat limited. So when someone like you shows up…” She shook her head, and her smile grew rueful. “A rescue swimmer, no less. I'm embarrassed about my faux pas at Great Point.”

“Don't be. You were right.” He shoved one hand in the pocket of his slacks. “I took a foolish chance. And your dressing-down was a wake-up call. You'll be happy to know I've been more prudent in my swimming locations since then.”

“Thanks for being gracious about it. Anyway, Clarie's a lovely person. You'd enjoy her company.”

“I'm not in the market.” Without giving Kate a chance to linger on that comment, he changed subjects. “The guy who called your friend mentioned a gathering. I hope I'm not keeping you from a social engagement.”

“No. Making small talk isn't my thing. Besides, my time is
too—” The ring of her cell phone cut her off, and she retrieved it from her purse. “Would you excuse me for a second?”

“No problem.”

As Craig listened to the one-sided conversation, it became clear Kate was relying on Chester to pick her up. Leaning over, he spoke close to her ear. “Do you need a ride?”

She shot him a quick glance. Hesitated. “Can you hold a minute, Edith?” Pressing the mute button, she shook her head. “Thanks. I've got it covered.”

“But I'm here. Chester's not. Why not save him a trip on this rainy day? Besides—” he gave her what he hoped was a persuasive smile “—you rescued me a few minutes ago. One good turn deserves another.”

Craig wasn't sure why he was pushing—other than the fact he liked being around Kate MacDonald. In her presence, he felt more alive than he had in three long years. She was engaging, energizing and appealing—not to mention lovely.

In other words, he was attracted to her.

And that was dangerous. He ought to be backing off, not forging ahead. That would be the smart thing to do.

The flicker of indecision in her eyes told him she was uncertain, too. If he gave her an excuse to decline, he suspected she'd take it.

But he didn't.

For several long moments she studied him. Then she spoke into the phone. “Tell Chester he can stay dry, Edith. I have a ride.”

Leaving Craig to wonder if he'd just made a big mistake.

F
ive minutes later, as Craig pulled up in front of the school and Kate dashed for his car, the word
mistake
kept repeating in her mind like a stuck needle on one of the old vinyl records her father used to play.

Spending time with the handsome lieutenant was not a good idea.

With each encounter, his appeal grew. And that was scary. It could undermine her resolve to steer clear of romance. When Mac had died, a big chunk of her heart had died, too. A person could only take so much loss, and she'd reached her limit.

At least the ride home was short, she reassured herself as Craig slowed to a stop and pushed open the passenger door.

Kate slid in. “Wow! What a day to forget my umbrella.”

“Considering Nantucket's reputation as a resort destination, I have to admit I'm surprised by the weather.”

“It's a summer resort. And around here, summer doesn't get a good grip until June or July. The rest of the year can be pretty much like this. Or worse.” She clicked her seat belt into place as he accelerated. “Take a right. It's not very far.” His medal-bedecked jacket was gone, she noted, replaced by a rugged, off-white fisherman sweater.

Catching her inspection, he grinned and answered her unspoken question. “I ditch the jacket as soon as possible after official functions. It's a high-maintenance garment. So, may I assume your need for a ride indicates car problems?”

“You may. My timing belt's shot.”

He grimaced. “Ouch. That's an expensive repair.”

“Tell me about it.” Although she tried to keep her tone conversational, a note of discouragement crept into her voice. She hoped Craig wouldn't pick up on it.

But she wasn't surprised when he did. The man had razor-sharp instincts.

“I suppose managing a budget with two seasonal careers has its challenges.”

“That's a polite way to put it. Take a left at the next corner.”

“Have you ever considered teaching full-time?”

“Yes. I was offered a full-time position two years ago. But I'd lose two of my most lucrative fishing months. And it would pretty much even out income-wise. The group insurance would be nice because my premiums would be lower, but I like the flexibility of being available for Maddie.” She sighed and shook her head. “There's just no easy answer.”

He took a quick look at her, noting the determined set of her chin. He doubted there were many obstacles capable of stopping Kate from achieving any goal she set. Yet worry—and hard work—took a toll, as evidenced by her too-thin frame, the shadows beneath her lower lashes, the faint lines at the corners of her eyes. Spunk and resolve, much as he admired them, could exact a hefty price.

“Make a right. Then in two blocks make a left. I know the layout is a maze to newcomers, but it makes perfect sense to us natives.”

“How long has your family lived here?”

“Almost two hundred years. We go back to the whaling days. My forefathers did very well on Nantucket, until
kerosene and the Great Fire ended the glory days. Every generation since has had its struggles. Most of the family ended up moving to the mainland. It's tough for ordinary people to make a living on the island, especially in recent years.”

He took a quick look at her, noting the shadow that crossed her face.

“Even my parents had to move,” she continued, a touch of melancholy softening the words. “A few years ago they sold the house where I grew up and relocated to a small bungalow in North Carolina. But they didn't transplant well. Two years later, my mother suffered a fatal stroke. Eight months after that, my dad died of a heart attack.”

Shocked, Craig digested this new information. In a handful of years, Kate had lost not only her husband, but both parents.

“It's the next street on the right. Lighthouse Lane.”

Slowing, Craig turned into the tiny dead-end street containing a handful of houses. Most were a nice size, but in light of her comments about finances, he wasn't surprised when she directed him to a small clapboard cottage tucked between two of the grander homes.

She secured her purse on her shoulder. “Thanks for the lift. I know Chester appreciates it as much as I do.”

“It was my pleasure.” He shifted toward her as the rain continued to beat against the car, the rivulets of water acting like an opaque curtain, insulating them from the world. Only Kate's hair added color to the neutral palette around them. Even in the weak light, it sparked with life and vibrancy.

All at once, Craig was rocked by a powerful urge to touch those curls. To smooth away the shadows under her eyes. To twine his fingers with hers and assure her she didn't have to face her problems alone.

Where that urge came from, he had no idea. All he knew was that the force of it threatened to shatter the emotional control he'd mastered as a rescue swimmer—a control that
had saved his life on numerous occasions. And that unnerved him. He relied on that control.
Needed
that control. It was what helped him survive—in the water and out. Nothing—and no one—had ever managed to shake it as quickly and thoroughly as Kate MacDonald. Worse, she'd done it without even trying.

As if sensing his inclination, Kate groped for the door handle.

“Th-thanks again for the ride.”

“Wait.” His hand shot out, restraining her, and she turned to him with an almost panicked expression. Gentling his voice, he summoned up a stiff grin, trying to dispel the charged atmosphere. “I have an umbrella in the back. No sense getting drenched. Let me walk you to the door.”

Without giving her a chance to refuse, he reached into the backseat for the umbrella, opened his door and stepped out into the driving rain.

He took as long as he dared circling the car, pretty certain that huddling with Kate under the umbrella wasn't going to help matters. Based on the trepidation in her face when he pulled her door open, she'd had the same thought. And her discreet but obvious effort to keep some distance between them while they walked down the flagstone path that led across the tiny front lawn was also telling.

As they approached the entrance, Craig tried to distract himself by focusing on the weathered clapboard cottage she called home, noting the sage-colored door and matching trim framing the windows that gave the house a rustic charm in keeping with the historic nature of the town. No porch or awning protected the front door from the weather, and he canted the umbrella over them as she dug in her satchel for her keys.

“I appreciate the ride.” Her words came out in a breathless rush. “I'm already late picking up Maddie, and you saved me some time.”

“Is she at Edith's house?”

“Yes.” Kate motioned toward the two-story Federal-style clapboard home to the left. Painted yellow and adorned with black shutters, it boasted a small set of friendship stairs at right angles to the front door that allowed visitors to approach the landing from either side.

Although Edith's house was far grander than Kate's, it paled in comparison to the one on her right. Also two-story and constructed of clapboard, it was painted white. The black shutters, Greek Revival roofline with its deep frieze, and a small, white-pillared front porch gave it a stately air.

“That's The Devon Rose,” Kate told him, noting the direction of his glance as she fitted the key into the lock. “The owner lives on the second floor and serves high tea every afternoon downstairs. Well…” She edged the door open.

“Would you like me to get Maddie for you? With this giant umbrella I might be able to keep her drier than you could. No sense having her catch a cold.” A gust of wind spewed rain in their direction, and he adjusted the angle of the umbrella to compensate. “And if you have an extra blanket I could throw it over her as added protection.”

After another brief hesitation, Kate nodded. “Okay. Come in while I get an afghan.”

She pushed the door open, and Craig stepped inside behind her.

While the exterior of the cottage was in keeping with the Historic District Commission guidelines, great liberties had been taken with the interior, Craig realized. Instead of the warren of tiny chambers he'd expected, he found himself in a spacious, open room that brought the house into the twentieth century without compromising the character of the original dwelling.

Wide pine floorboards, complemented by exposed beams in the ceiling, ran the length of the large room to the right of the small entry space. In the front of the room, a comfortable-
looking upholstered sofa and chairs were clustered around a fireplace. The wooden mantel had been painted a soft ochre, and an old-fashioned clock flanked by brass candlesticks stood in the center.

Further back, a dining space was defined by an area rug in a bold, contemporary pattern. A sturdy wooden table, bare except for a fruit-filled lightship basket in the center, was surrounded by four ladder-back chairs with woven rush seats. The walls were painted a soft white, adding to the feeling of airiness, and double French doors at the back of the room led outside.

“Very nice,” Craig commented. “And not at all what I expected.”

“Thanks. My husband and I inherited the cottage from his parents, but the original layout was pretty claustrophobic. We felt bad about tearing out century-old walls, but I like the result.” Grabbing an afghan off the couch, Kate passed it to him. “I'll call Edith before you go so she can have Maddie ready.”

While Kate retreated to the kitchen to place the call, Craig ambled around the living room, stopping to examine a striking painting of Nantucket moors that hung over the mantel. He turned as he heard her approach.

“This is extraordinary.”

“I think so, too.” She moved behind a wing chair and gripped the top. “My husband painted it.”

Surprise arched one of Craig's eyebrows. “I didn't know he was an artist.”

“That's what he did in the off season, while I taught. He was good enough to do it year-round, but he liked the variety of two occupations. And he said being out on the water doing the charters gave him ideas for paintings.” A spasm of pain tightened her features. “I wish we'd kept more of his pieces.”

“Did he sell at one of the local galleries?”

“Yes. As fast he could paint them. I only have two.” Her
fingers tightened on the chair, rippling the smooth surface of the fabric. “We both thought he had plenty of years left to paint more.”

Knowing he was stepping onto shaky ground, Craig asked the question anyway, his tone gentle. “What happened to him, Kate?”

She swallowed. Moistened her lips. “He had an undiagnosed congenital heart defect. Hypertrophic cardiomyopathy, if you want the official name. It's caused by an asymmetrical thickening of the walls of the heart, and it can trigger sudden cardiac arrest. You mostly hear about it in athletes. But Mac liked to go scalloping with friends in the off season, and that can be a pretty strenuous activity, too. He was…gone before they could get him back to shore.”

At Kate's strained retelling of the tragedy that had changed her life, Craig's gut twisted. He knew what it felt like to be the recipient of that kind of devastating news. But Kate's story was even more heartbreaking than his, in some ways. As he'd learned from Maddie, she'd not only lost her husband, she'd lost the father of her unborn baby.

“I'm sorry.” From experience, he knew the trite phrase did little to ease an aching heart. But he also knew there were no words that could provide solace.

“Thanks.” She blinked and cleared her throat. “They say the good die young. That was the case with Mac. He was only forty-one. But you know, as much as I grieved over my own loss, I think I was sadder that Maddie would never know her father. She was born two weeks after he died.”

The coil in Craig's gut tightened another notch. What must it have been like for Kate, so recently bereft of the man she'd loved, to give birth to the daughter they'd conceived? On what should have been an occasion of shared joy, she'd been alone, caught in a no-man's-land between grief and happiness as she mourned her husband and rejoiced in the birth of her
daughter. At least he'd been with Nicole for the birth of both of their children. And he had good memories of their years as a family. Kate had neither.

“Anyway, I talked to Chester. Edith will meet you at the front door.” She moved toward the fireplace and knelt. “I think I'll turn on the gas logs. It's an extravagance, but it always chases away the chill.”

In her room, if not her heart, Craig speculated, watching as her fiery hair spilled over her shoulders and sparked to life in the light from the flickering flames.

It was clear she didn't expect Craig to respond to her revelation or to offer further condolence. And he was glad. There was nothing he could say to ease her pain. Only a warm embrace from a good friend, or someone she loved, would help. And he was neither.

But as he stepped through the door and popped open the umbrella to protect him from the storm, he couldn't help wishing he was.

 

By the time Craig returned—after an absence long enough to convince Kate that Edith had cornered him about the reason for the unexpected visit—she'd made some hot chocolate for Maddie.