Read Online Sunday Kind of Love by Dorothy Garlock - Free Book Online Page B

from behind by the moon. She raised her hands, flailing them about, but doing so used all the strength she had left. Completely spent, she closed her eyes, uttered a silent prayer, and surrendered to her fate.
    This was the end.
      
    Hank cocked his head and listened. He heard the wind whistling through the bridge’s beams, Doris Day singing on the radio, and an owl’s hoot from the east bank of the river. But then, just as he was about to chalk it up to a figment of his imagination, Hank heard it again.
    It was a shout, the words indistinct.
    It sounded like it had come from behind him, upstream. Hank hurried across the bridge, leaned against the railing, peered into the darkness, and searched the river. The Sawyer was running fast, close to overflowing from all the rain. Here and there he saw clumps of leaves, a chair, fallen branches, and even the carcass of a deer, the animal unfortunate to have wandered too close to the river in search of a drink.
    Heaven help anyone who fell in…
    “…help me!”
    Hank’s heart quickened when he heard the words, this time clear enough for him to make out. Suddenly he saw a pair of flailing arms coming right at him. He couldn’t believe it. Dumbstruck, he was too stunned to do more than stare.
    Caught in the powerful current, the person—Hank couldn’t tell if it was a man or a woman—came closer in a hurry. Then, just before they reached the bridge, drifting into the darker shadows cast by the moon’s glow, their head slipped beneath the water’s churning surface, leaving a lone hand raised toward the sky. A split second later, the person was lost from sight beneath the bridge.
    Shocked out of his stupor, Hank turned and sprinted for the opposite side. Without any hesitation, he hoisted himself up and over the railing, hurtling into the air, hanging for an instant before plunging down toward the river. He plowed into the water feetfirst, sending up an enormous spray, the rainwater colder than he’d expected. Immediately, he began kicking, forcing his way back to the surface, gulping a lungful of air, his head on a swivel, looking.
    Come on, come on! Where are they?
    For a long, agonizing moment, Hank feared that the person had gone underwater for good, but then, between swells, he saw the hand again, bobbing in the river ahead of him. He started swimming, his hands knifing through the water, determined to reach them in time.
    Hank had reacted without thinking, his instincts telling him to help another, even if it meant putting his own life in danger.
    He would save them both, no matter what it took.
      
    Beneath the water’s surface, the sounds of the raging river were dull, almost muted. Darkness pressed toward Gwen from every side. Having given up, she was limp, directionless; left was right, back was front, up was down. Somehow, through all the chaos, beauty began to emerge; she felt warm, at peace, and was strangely comforted by the memory of her mother singing her favorite lullaby.
    Then someone grabbed her wrist.
    The touch was so unexpected that Gwen, as bad off as she was, was frightened. Reflexively, she tried to pull away, but the grip was too strong. Slowly yet insistently, she was pulled upward. When her head broke the water’s surface, Gwen began to cough violently.
    “I’ve got you! Don’t let go!”
    Groggy, still hacking up water, and with all her strength spent, Gwen looked at the person who’d suddenly appeared alongside her in the river. From the voice and what little she could see, Gwen knew it was a man, but she had no idea of the identity of her would-be rescuer.
    He pulled her close, wrapping one arm around her waist while the other pushed hard against the current, moving them slowly toward the shore. Exhausted, Gwen struggled to keep her head out of the water, needing to occasionally rest against the stranger’s shoulder.
    “Hang on,” he told her. “This is our chance!”
    Ahead of them a dark shape loomed; as they raced ever closer,