Tides of Hope. Irene Hannon
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just happened. He felt the same as he always had after emerging from a perilous rescue mission. Nerve endings tingling. Pulse pounding. Lungs pumping.
In his rescue-swimmer days, however, it hadn’t taken long for the adrenaline rush to subside. But that wasn’t happening today. Instead, he was swamped by an odd mix of emotions that left him feeling unsettled, off balance—and irritated. He never let emotion affect him on the job. As a rescue swimmer, there’d been no room for it. Succumbing to even a few seconds of debilitating fear could have meant the difference between life and death for himself or the victims he’d been sent to save. Nor had it had a place during his tenure as controller of a search and rescue command center, where deployment decisions were based on the pure facts and figures of the Mayday. And it had been easy to keep emotion in check in Washington. Shuffling papers had engendered little more than mind-numbing boredom.
As for emotion in his personal life, he’d kept that carefully tucked away these past three years, as well, leaving his days dull—but livable.
That had all changed in the past ten minutes. Emotion could be Katherine MacDonald’s middle name, Craig concluded. Hers hadn’t just run high; they’d exploded. Even now, in her absence, the room continued to vibrate with them. He doubted the word dull was in her vocabulary—or in anyone’s who came into contact with her.
A discreet knock sounded on the door, and when Craig responded, Barlow stepped inside, his grin still in place. “Checking on survivors, sir.”
Ignoring his aide’s comment, Craig picked up the pristine copy of the safety citation he’d scanned earlier and handed it over, leaving the crumpled version untouched on his desk. “See that this is held for a couple of days before we file it.”
“Yes, sir.”
The amusement in the man’s voice wasn’t lost on Craig, and he felt warmth once again steal up his neck. Fixing the executive petty officer with a steely look, Craig folded his arms across his chest. “Is there a problem?”
To Barlow’s credit, his demeanor instantly grew more serious. That was why Craig tolerated the man’s slight impertinence. Not only did he balance it with a likable manner and razor-sharp skills, he knew where to draw the line.
“No, sir.”
His aide beat a hasty retreat, and Craig walked to the window to survey the harbor. It was far emptier than it would be in a couple of months, but a fair number of boats were in residence—including Katherine MacDonald’s. Strange. Half an hour ago, he hadn’t known the woman existed. Yet in the course of one brief conversation, she’d managed to awaken emotions in him that were best left undisturbed.
As for his plans for a nice, relaxing weekend—they, too, had been disrupted. Also thanks to one certain red-haired fishing boat captain.
“Mommy, Mommy, Mrs. Shaw and me baked cookies! Chocolate chip!”
As Kate bent to hug her daughter, she glanced over the four-year-old’s shoulder toward the stocky, gray-haired woman behind her. “I bet that was fun, honey. It sounds like you had a good afternoon.”
The woman gave a reassuring nod. “Maddie and I had a fine afternoon.”
Some of the tension in Kate’s shoulders eased. But it would take a lot longer for the rest of it to dissipate, thanks to her unpleasant encounter less than an hour ago with a certain lieutenant.
“You seem stressed, my dear.” The older woman gave Kate a discerning perusal. “Why don’t you have a cup of tea before you head home?”
A whisper of a smile tugged at her lips. “I ought to go next door to The Devon Rose if I want tea instead of taking advantage of your hospitality.”
“That would be more elegant, no question about it. Heather serves a wonderful proper British tea.” Then Edith winked. “But I guarantee she won’t offer you home-baked chocolate chip cookies. As for taking advantage…that’s nonsense. We’re neighbors, for goodness’ sake. You’ve listened to me vent plenty of times. I’m happy to return the favor.”
“Is it that obvious I need to?”
“In a word…yes. Problems with the Lucy Sue?”
“Minor compared to my problems with Lieutenant Craig Cole.”
“You met the invisible man?” Interest sparked in the older woman’s eyes.
“Who’s the invisible man?”
Her daughter’s question reminded Kate how little the youngster missed—and of the need for prudence in her presence when discussing grown-up topics.
“It’s kind of a joke, honey. No one has seen very much of the new commander at the Coast Guard station, so people call him the invisible man.”
“Maybe he’s busy.”
“I expect that’s the reason.”
“Maddie, why don’t you finish building your castle in the sunroom while your mommy and I have some tea?” Edith interjected. “After we’re done, you can tell us a story about the people who live there.”
“Okay.”
As Maddie skipped off, Kate shook her head. “Talk about little pitchers.”
“She doesn’t miss much, that’s for sure.”
“No more problems today?”
“Not a one. She’s fine, Kate. Come on, let’s have that tea.”
“Could we make it coffee instead?”
Edith grinned. “Heather still hasn’t converted you, I see.”
“It’s a lost cause.”
“She’s made inroads with me. But I still like my coffee, too. You’re on.” Edith led the way toward her early American-style kitchen, pulling two mugs from pegs on the wall.
“Where’s Chester?” Kate took a seat at the familiar hickory table that had hosted more than its share of gab sessions and propped her chin in her palm.
“In the garden, finishing up the renovations on the guest cottage.” She shook her head as she bustled about the homey room. “I’m not convinced it will be ready to rent out this season, though. My good husband has been futzing around with it for months, and the tourists will be descending before we know it.”
“And life will get even busier.” Kate sighed and selected a cookie from the plate on the table.
After pulling a pitcher of cream from the refrigerator, Edith turned a keen eye toward her Lighthouse Lane neighbor. “Do I detect a hint of discouragement in that comment?”
Forcing her lips into a smile, Kate shrugged. “Maybe.”
“That’s not like you. You’ve always kept a positive attitude despite problems that would have made most people cave long ago.”
“You and Chester can take a lot of credit for that. If you hadn’t agreed to watch Maddie while I work, and if Chester hadn’t stepped in as my first mate, I doubt I’d have made it.”
“Yes, you would. You’re a survivor, Kate MacDonald. But even the best of us can get discouraged on a bad day. And yours sounds like a doozy.” She dropped her volume. “Starting with Maddie’s asthma attack at four in the morning.”
“It wasn’t a great beginning,” Kate conceded, angling her head toward the window-rimmed room Chester had added to the back of the kitchen. Maddie was busy with her blocks and oblivious to the adult conversation, the panic-filled attack in the wee hours of the morning, the tears, the nebulizer treatment already a distant memory.
Kate wished the same was true for her. But after each episode, the agony of watching her daughter struggle for air and the feeling of desperate helplessness that twisted her stomach into knots stayed with her. Sometimes guilt was thrown in for good measure, too. Like now.
Setting