around them. Breaking surface did not mean that one could breathe; the rain was like a blanket, cold and miserable. And there were the reefs below them, beautiful coral shelves that could be wickedly sharp and dangerous when the water was this strong, strong enough to toss a body about as if he were feather light. She knew how cruel those reefs could be. So beautiful yet so treacherous, waiting like sirens of time to prey upon the unwary, merciless even to those who knew and loved them.
âThe oars, Mom!â Jason already had one; she was staring back at the Maggie Mae with open mouthed horror while her eight-year-old was maturely taking things in hand. âHe said to get the oars!â
Nodding dumbly, she reached for the second oar and set it into the water. The initial force threatened to wrench her arm from her shoulder. How was Jason managing this?
And how could she be falling apart when she had her son to worry about?
But she looked back to the Maggie Mae. Taylor was no longer anywhere in sight. The deck looked bleak and naked. The sea seemed to stretch into countless yards between them, all frothing gray and vicious whitecaps.
âOh, God!â she gasped out.
âHeâll come!â Jason promised her. âHeâll come!â
When? she wanted to shriek. Moments passed, endless moments, in which she saw nothing but the engulfing wrath of the waves, rising higher and higher. And she knew that below them, not far below them, the coral reached out in its deadly dance. The reefs were alive, with a combined will that beckoned, demanding its sacrifice. Long ago, pirates had likened the reefs to a seductress, one who lured boats to shipwreck, who reached out with eager, eerie fingers to claw at a manâ¦.
âThere he is!â Jason yelled out.
And he was, his head just breaking surface about ten yards away. Somehow, the sight of him steadied Katrina. She held her oar firm against the power of the water; she defied it with confidence. She couldnât row back to Mikeâs position, but with Jasonâs help she could keep the dinghy from drifting away.
He disappeared again; panic began to gnaw at her. But then a hand, large and bronzed and powerful, shot out of the water. Fingers found a hold on the dinghy.
Katrina dropped her oar into the boat and grasped his wrist with both hands. His head appeared again, and then his other hand. His steel gaze caught hers for just a second, and ludicrous as it was, he seemed to smileâamused by the anxiety he found in hers.
Then the muscles in his arms tightened and bulged, and he pitched his body into the dinghy.
For a moment he just lay there, legs crooked over one seat, torso bent. He gasped for breath and searched for her oar again. They still werenât home safe; they wouldnât be until they reached the beach. And even then there would be a quarter of a mile to go inland, through falling palms and branches, until they reached, the house.
âYou okay?â Jason shouted out.
That seemed to rouse Mike.
âYeah, son, Iâm fine.â He gathered his length together carefully, not rising to rock the boat as he slid up to sit next to Katrina, reaching for her oar.
âI can do itââ she began.
âNot half as quickly,â he told her, and for that she had no argument. She didnât have his strength.
The shore couldnât have been a hundred yards away, but it seemed that it took them an hour to get there. With every movement forward the wind pushed them back. The rain filled the dinghy until it seemed that it would sink with the weight.
But then they were there; the dinghy scraped the beach.
Katrina hopped out of it, grabbing the line. Jason was quickly at her side, and the two of them together grappled the towline. It dragged their weight, the tide ready to swallow it up again.
But then Mike was with them, adding his weight to theirs. Slowly, the dinghy crawled onto the shore. When it was deeply
âThe oars, Mom!â Jason already had one; she was staring back at the Maggie Mae with open mouthed horror while her eight-year-old was maturely taking things in hand. âHe said to get the oars!â
Nodding dumbly, she reached for the second oar and set it into the water. The initial force threatened to wrench her arm from her shoulder. How was Jason managing this?
And how could she be falling apart when she had her son to worry about?
But she looked back to the Maggie Mae. Taylor was no longer anywhere in sight. The deck looked bleak and naked. The sea seemed to stretch into countless yards between them, all frothing gray and vicious whitecaps.
âOh, God!â she gasped out.
âHeâll come!â Jason promised her. âHeâll come!â
When? she wanted to shriek. Moments passed, endless moments, in which she saw nothing but the engulfing wrath of the waves, rising higher and higher. And she knew that below them, not far below them, the coral reached out in its deadly dance. The reefs were alive, with a combined will that beckoned, demanding its sacrifice. Long ago, pirates had likened the reefs to a seductress, one who lured boats to shipwreck, who reached out with eager, eerie fingers to claw at a manâ¦.
âThere he is!â Jason yelled out.
And he was, his head just breaking surface about ten yards away. Somehow, the sight of him steadied Katrina. She held her oar firm against the power of the water; she defied it with confidence. She couldnât row back to Mikeâs position, but with Jasonâs help she could keep the dinghy from drifting away.
He disappeared again; panic began to gnaw at her. But then a hand, large and bronzed and powerful, shot out of the water. Fingers found a hold on the dinghy.
Katrina dropped her oar into the boat and grasped his wrist with both hands. His head appeared again, and then his other hand. His steel gaze caught hers for just a second, and ludicrous as it was, he seemed to smileâamused by the anxiety he found in hers.
Then the muscles in his arms tightened and bulged, and he pitched his body into the dinghy.
For a moment he just lay there, legs crooked over one seat, torso bent. He gasped for breath and searched for her oar again. They still werenât home safe; they wouldnât be until they reached the beach. And even then there would be a quarter of a mile to go inland, through falling palms and branches, until they reached, the house.
âYou okay?â Jason shouted out.
That seemed to rouse Mike.
âYeah, son, Iâm fine.â He gathered his length together carefully, not rising to rock the boat as he slid up to sit next to Katrina, reaching for her oar.
âI can do itââ she began.
âNot half as quickly,â he told her, and for that she had no argument. She didnât have his strength.
The shore couldnât have been a hundred yards away, but it seemed that it took them an hour to get there. With every movement forward the wind pushed them back. The rain filled the dinghy until it seemed that it would sink with the weight.
But then they were there; the dinghy scraped the beach.
Katrina hopped out of it, grabbing the line. Jason was quickly at her side, and the two of them together grappled the towline. It dragged their weight, the tide ready to swallow it up again.
But then Mike was with them, adding his weight to theirs. Slowly, the dinghy crawled onto the shore. When it was deeply
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