Читать книгу Love, Lattes and Mutants - Sandra Cox - Страница 13

The wind picks up. The water rises, gray and stormy. A cold drop plops on my face then another and another.

The sky opens. Rain pours down in sheets. A large wave washes over me, picks me up, and tosses me down. I go with it, closing my nose, mouth, and blowhole. Icy water washes over and under me.

It subsides, only to build and hit again, more powerful than ever. The squall blows in earnest. I can survive this, last as long as it takes, but can Tyler?

How can his boat keep from capsizing? Somehow, I have to find him. In spite of the waves that pound me and the icy liquid that pours in my eyes, I push forward through wall after wall of gray swells.

There’s nothing but an angry sea, black skies, and sheets of rain. I feel alone in the universe. The sea creatures have the good sense to head deep into the ocean and wait out the storm’s ferocity.

Treading water, I glance around. To my right, something white catches my eye. I swim toward it. A wave knocks me back. I try again and get knocked back again. After what seems forever, I reach it. A poor drowned crane floats on the water. It disappears in the next gray wave.

Which direction now? I sluice the rain out of my face and push back my hair. I might as well not bother. I’m blinded almost immediately.

The waves slow. Taking advantage, I look around, cupping my hand above my eyes for better visibility. In the distance, a dot of orange catches my eye. I swim toward it, pushing through the icy water.

A dolphin DNA benefit that completely escaped me is the layer of fat under the skin to keep me warm. Right now, the only thing keeping my teeth from chattering is constant movement. Even so, goose bumps roughen my skin as I swim toward the orange dot. A swell tosses me backward. I’m getting nowhere.

I get my bearings and dive beneath the waves. Ah, much better. The ocean is rough but I’m holding my own. I press my lips together and taste the salty liquid of the sea.

I swim for about eight minutes then surface, just in time to get hit by another wave. Several feet away, something floats on the water. The downpour so intense I can’t make out what it is. I swim forward, reach…and a gust of wind carries it away. I dive after it, stretching out my arm till it feels like my joints will pop. I’ve got it! My heart sinks. A life preserver.

“This doesn’t mean it belongs to Tyler.” The howling wind whips my words away.

Without the sun, it’s impossible to tell what time it is. I’ve been in the water for hours. I’m tiring. Even girls with dolphin DNA have limits in storms.

Time to go back under. I start to dive down just as a wave lifts me eight feet in the air and tosses me down. I belly flop. “Ouch!” It hurts like a mother. Ignoring the pain, I dive below.

Rod cells in my retinas allow me to see in the murky dark of the ocean. Nothing shows above. At least the swimming isn’t so difficult. Cold waves still buffet me, but not with the intensity of the surface.

I’m several miles out. I have to believe Tyler would have headed back when the squall hit or at least tried. I decide to swim horizontal with the shore for a six-mile radius from the dock. It’s not perfect but it’s a plan.

Back and forth. Back and forth. I’m exhausted, but I force myself on. I have no idea how long I’ve been in the water. My neck has a permanent crick in it from staring up at the surface.

I keep thinking of that floatation device. What if it’s too late when I find him? Or worse yet, what if he’s never found?

I’m so tired it takes me a moment to realize there’s a shadow on the water. As I get closer, I see the outline of a boat tilted on its side. I swim faster.

There! Two long legs hang from the side of the boat, water running in rivulets along the dark hairs covering them. Pushing with my feet, I swim straight up, bubbles pouring behind me as I breathe rapidly.

I hit the surface.

It’s Tyler! Barely conscious, he holds on to the side, a life preserver wrapped around his waist.

The temperature is dropping. The rain continues its steady downpour. At least the waves have died to manageable levels. I take his hands and try to pry them away from the boat. “Let go, Tyler. I’ll tow you in.”

Barely conscious, he blinks at me. “Piper?”

Even in the water, my body jerks. How has he recognized me? My voice.

I can’t worry about that now. I grab his life vest. “Tyler, let go.”

“I can’t.” His head lolls, his eyes close, his shoulders slump. I have no idea how long he’s been in the water. I touch his hand. It’s icy cold. What if he has hypothermia? Fear sluices through me.

I have to concentrate on getting him to shore.

“Let go.” I paddle in place beside him.

“Can’t,” he repeats.

I massage the pressure points in his hands. Gradually, they open. Rain continues to fall, plastering his hair to the sides of his skull. His white cheekbones look like they will break through the skin any minute. A wave hits and knocks him several feet from the boat. I dive into the water and catch up with him in a few smooth strokes.

I surface, grab his life vest, and haul him toward shore. He floats on his back, water from the rain and waves drenching his face. I fervently hope he doesn’t drown before I get him to land. Is that what waterboarding feels like?

“Tyler.”

He makes no response.

“Stay with me, Tyler.” I strike out faster, extending my arm as far as I can, and kick hard. Steadily, we move forward.

I feel the tremor of the wave before it reaches us. Pulling Tyler’s icy body against mine, I bury his head in my shoulder. His skin is so cold it permeates my bones. I push my body close to his, trying to warm him but my own body temperature is too low.

Moments later the wave crashes over us. The powerful icy surge sucks us down. Tyler squirms against me trying to break free. I hold on, afraid he’ll drown if I let go. If the wave doesn’t flatten soon, he will anyway.

Finally, the wave subsides with a grumbling swish. Tyler has stopped struggling.

I head toward shore. My heart races, my breath comes in short sharp gasps. “You stay with me, Tyler. Do you hear?” I yank hard at his hair for emphasis.

“Ouch.”

It’s weak but I hear it.

“Piper.” It’s no more than a breath near my ear.

“I’m not Piper,” I shout into the wind.

There’s no response. I swim harder. My arms and legs ache. The sky has lightened to dull gray, still dark but not black. The rain has turned to cold drizzle. I’m exhausted. Even mutants have their limits, especially when they’re hauling a limp young man through undercurrents.

I squint through the dreary mist. To my right and several hundred yards ahead is the cove. I switch direction and head toward it, praying Gramps will be waiting for me. As I get closer, I see the beam of truck lights.

My pace picks up. It has to be Gramps! There’s a steep, overgrown, one-vehicle lane that circles down to the cove. It’s a private road that no one else uses.

Water slaps against rock. We’ve made it. I hit the shallows and pull myself up on rubbery legs. I let go of Tyler’s life vest and he splashes back into the water. I grab the back of his vest and haul him out.

His eyes open, dilated and unfocused. He grabs my shoulders and pulls me down against him. Shock shoots through my system. He moves a hand, brings my head down to his, and plants his mouth on mine. Not quite sure how it happens, I’m returning a kiss that has a little tongue and a lot of experience. I forget the cold and wet, lost in the moment.

He sighs. His hands fall to the wet sand. I lift my head and his flops to the side.

“Tyler?”

No response. He’s passed out.

“Piper!” Gramps comes running.

“I’m okay.” My cheeks hot, I hope the overcast sky and rain curtained that kiss from my grandfather’s view.

“How’s the boy?” Gramps hauls him away from the water, further up the rocky shore. Tyler’s body bumps over pebbles and stones, till Gramps lays him on a flat spot of sand.

“I don’t know.”

Gramps gives me a quick look. Something in my voice must have given away my confusion: the kiss and the fear for his welfare. But I’m pretty sure he couldn’t have kissed me like that if he’d been at death’s door. I shudder.

Gramps sees it and mistakes it for cold. He shrugs out of his yellow slicker and drapes it around my shoulders.

“You keep it.” I start to take it off.

He lays a hand on my shoulders. “Keep it, girl.” He bends down awkwardly. I can almost hear old bones creak. “He’s breathing.”

Is he? Does it take air to kiss someone senseless?

Gramps tilts him to the side so he can cough up any water he’s swallowed.

Tyler lets loose and expels what he’s taken in. While Tyler wheezes, Gramps moves in front of me to block his view. He pulls the collar up around me and sticks his yellow-billed, heavy-duty, rain hat on my head, and pulls it down where my eyes are shadowed. “Let’s get him in the truck.”

I nod. I’m not just worried about Tyler. Gramps doesn’t need to be out in the damp, chilled to the bone, at his age. In two months, he’ll turn seventy-one.

He’d scoff at my concerns so I don’t bother to voice them.

We each put an arm around Tyler and half-drag, half-carry him to the truck. The old door opens with a loud squawk. We lift Tyler inside. At a stiff gait, Gramps trots to the driver’s side and climbs in. I hoist myself on the seat and slam the door.

Tyler’s head falls against my shoulder. I have no idea whether he is conscious or has slipped back into unconsciousness. Gramps turns the key and the old truck roars to life. He reaches over and turns up the heat. The warm air blowing out the vents feels like heaven. I balance Tyler with my free arm and slouch back against the worn leather seat, my eyes closed, exhausted.

I must have drifted off because the next thing I know, Gramps is pulling me gently out of the truck. “Come on, Piper, wake up. Let’s get you both inside.”

I pry open sticky eyes and nod. My arms and legs feel like lead. Every bone in my body aches. Tyler shifts against me. The heat helped but he’s still chilly. A shudder runs through him. His face is white, his sunken eyes stained purple.

“We need to get him in the house.” The old seat groans as I shift uneasily. I slide off the seat and out of the truck.

“Piper?” Tyler’s head rests on the back of the seat, his long thick lashes resting on the taut skin under his eyes.

I open my mouth to respond. Gramps shakes his head. I snap my mouth shut, appalled. What if I’d responded and he made the connection between the woman who rescued him and me?

I tug on Gramps’ arm and whisper in his ear, “Do we need to take him to the hospital?”

He shakes his head and says in a low voice, “I’ve hauled enough men out of the sea to know he’s going to be alright.” Without saying another word, we drag him into the cottage and the little spare bedroom in the back. Gramps keeps his fishing rods there and I have a pen and a couple of cages for the occasional hurt turtle or bird I bring home to nurse back to health. A small sparrow, with a wing healing, chirps from his perch.

We manage to get Tyler onto the twin bed where he drops face down on the gray and white striped duvet. His long, lanky body makes the bed look even smaller.

With a grunt, Gramps rolls him over, fumbling at the clasp of the bright orange life vest Tyler still wears. I start forward to help. With an abrupt jerk of his head, Gramps motions me out of the room.

I nod and slip out. I hang up his raincoat and hat on the peg in the hallway then head for my room. Feeling fragile as cracked glass about to shatter, I head for the bathroom. There I drop my wet suit on the floor and climb into the shower. I turn the water on hot as possible and stand under it, my head down, my palms on the side of the wall. Steam that smells of vanilla-strawberry gel fills the tiny room.

I no longer feel the cold in my bones as I step out of the shower and go to my room, a soft old blue towel wrapped around me and tied above my breasts.

With a martyred sigh, I pull out baggy linen pants and one of Gramps’ plaid shirts that hangs past my knees. Grimacing, I push the sleeves up and scrape back my hair. I lift the wretched glasses with all the enthusiasm I’d show a poisonous snake. Oh well, it can’t be helped.

My nerd costume firmly in place, I make my way down the hall. Gramps is pulling blankets up to Tyler’s chin. He straightens and motions toward the hall.

“How is he?” I whisper.

“Exhausted.” Gramps takes my arm and leads me to the kitchen. He pulls eggs out of the refrigerator. With a flick of the wrist, he cracks them, the sound melding with the homey hum of the refrigerator. “He surfaced long enough to ask if you’d rescued him.”

“And you said?”

“That I found him on the shore and brought him home.”

“Thanks, Gramps.” I heave a sigh of relief.

“Have you called his parents yet?” He beats the eggs.

“No, I thought we’d better get our stories straight first.”

“You’ve been here all day. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.” He looks over his shoulder and grins. His blues eyes twinkle like a young man’s.

One look at that grin and my heart warms. He’s the most important person in my universe. I refuse to think about his age or that he won’t be around forever. “I like your story.”

“I thought you might. You better call.” He turns around and goes back to his eggs.

“Will do. By the way, what time is it?”

He glances at his watch. “Two-thirty.”

“In the afternoon?” No way. I’d been in the water, in the middle of a storm for almost six hours. But then again, so had Tyler. Who knew when his catamaran turned over.

“That’s right.” Our eyes meet. The worry he felt surfaces before it’s quickly hidden.

Trying for reassuring, I wink at him.

He winks back. “While you were out there, I kept thinking of the night you were born. There was a gale blowing then, too, and the rain coming down hard enough it washed the roads out. Good thing your daddy and momma decided to have you at home. We wouldn’t have been able to get out anyway.” His face softens as he speaks and his lips turn up in a reminiscent smile.

“Having Grams deliver me was a good decision.” I grin and point over my shoulder to my blowhole.

“Neither of your parents knew how much of your momma’s DNA you carried and didn’t want to take any chances with anyone outside the family. But that’s ancient history. You best make that phone call.”

“Right.” Lifting myself from the chair, I trot to my room, groaning as my creaky legs complain. I scoop my cell phone off the dresser and hit speed dial.

“Hello.” Holly’s voice sounds strained.

“Holly, it’s Piper. I wanted to let you know, your brother is all right.”

“Thank God! Where is he?”

Before I can respond, she sings out, “Mom, Dad, he’s all right.”

“Sorry. Where is he, Piper?”

“Here.”

“At your place?”

“Yes.”

“How’d he get there? What happened?”

“I have no idea. He’s asleep so I haven’t been able to find anything out. The only thing I know is Gramps said he found him on the shore.” I cross my fingers with my free hand. I’m such a bad liar.

“On the shore?”

“Yeah, pretty wild huh?”

“I’ll say, but he’s all right?” I can feel anxiety thrumming through the phone.

“I think so, Holly. To be on the safe side, your parents might want to take him to emergency and have him checked out. Gramps says he’s going to be fine, but it wouldn’t hurt to confirm it.”

“I’ll pass the suggestion along. We’ll be right there. And, Piper?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks. We owe you.”

“You don’t owe me a thing.” I end the connection before she can say anything more. Thanks of any sort embarrass me.

My stomach rumbles, reminding me how hungry I am. When I enter the kitchen, the aroma of fresh brewed coffee wraps around my senses like a lover’s embrace. Gramps stands at the stove stirring a pot. He’s been a busy bee.

“How do you think he is?” I pull out two plain mugs and pour a cup for each of us, so tired my hand shakes.

“He’ll be all right. He’s young and strong. Sleep will do wonders for him. Sit down and I’ll bring you some oatmeal.”

“Thanks.” My chair scrapes against the white oak floorboards as I pull it out and fall into it. I lift my cup then take a sip. Even the rich-flavored caffeine does no more than give me enough energy to eat the huge bowl of oatmeal Gramps thumps down in front of me, followed by a plateful of fluffy yellow eggs and light brown toast.

It’s a toss-up whether my rumbling stomach or my dragging fatigue will win out. My stomach wins by a hair. I inhale the eggs and toast, scrape the oatmeal bowl clean then stumble to my bed where I throw myself face down on the soft pink coverlet. I should check on Tyler is my last waking thought.

The screech of a gull wakes me. The room is lighter than when I fell into bed. Maybe the sun has come out. I tumble out of bed, pull back the curtain, and blink. The sky is a contented blue without a cloud and the sun shines bright in the eastern sky. I’ve slept through the day and night.

Hastily, I throw on my clothes, tuck my hair in a ball cap, push my glasses up onto the bridge of my nose, and trot down the hallway to the little guest room.

I open the door a slit and peek in. The sparrow chirps and ruffles its good wing. The bed is empty. The gray and white duvet smoothed neatly over it.

I make a quick trip through the cottage. Tyler is gone and so is Gramps. Though Gramps has at least left a pot of coffee for me. Still feeling slightly fragile, I doctor it with cream and sugar.

Taking one last look to make sure Tyler isn’t around, I wander back to my bedroom nursing my cream-laden java. Once in my room, I toss off the glasses, let my hair down, comb it with my fingers, and step out of my nerd attire, leaving the offending garments on the floor where they fall.

From my closet, I pull out a red-ribbed, sleeveless, fitted-tee and white shorts. I grab a bottle of Crimson Sunset nail polish, and carrying my coffee in the other hand, go to the small deck on the back of the house.

Listening to the happy chirp of birds, and the rhythmic lap of the waves, I paint my toenails, sip my coffee, and fall asleep.

“Piper. Mr. Dunn. Piper. Mr. Dunn.” I’m dreaming of Tyler. Telling him, even though he’s a great kisser, I can’t get involved with him. Along with the pounding, the voice becomes more insistent. Groggy, I open my eyes then jerk upright. “Oh, my God, it is Tyler.”

I leap out of the chair, run into the house, and throw on my nerd gear. Out of breath, I race to the door. He’s turning away. The old screen creaks when I open it. “What are you doing here?”

He turns and gives me a mega-powered smile that leaves my knees weak. “Shouldn’t you be home in bed?” I manage.

“I’m okay. Can I come in?”

“Sure.” I step back.

He stops inside the threshold. His first words take me by surprise. “You paint your toenails.”

Heat floods my cheeks. “So?”

“So, you have attractive feet.”

“Gramps said you nearly drowned. Your brain must still be waterlogged.” I try hard not to squirm.

“Possibly,” he admits. “But that has no bearing on the fact that you’ve got nice feet. They’re slender and perfectly formed.”

“Carlisle, do you have a foot fetish?” I narrow my eyes.

He laughs and seems sincerely amused. “No. It’s just that’s one of the few portions of your anatomy that’s visible.”

I hate these clothes. “You need to be home resting. You had a harrowing experience. I’m surprised your parents let you out of the house.”

“I snuck out.”

“You need to go back home and to bed.” I open the door.

Instead of walking through it, he leans against the wall, crosses his arms, and looks at me speculatively. “I do feel rather weak. Maybe I should lie down.”

I glance at him uneasily. These glasses make it difficult to see. But it doesn’t take too much effort to recognize the devils dancing in his eyes. “You certainly aren’t suggesting…”

“What?” he asks innocently, the devils still dancing “I’m just saying if you’re worried about me I can rest here.”

I heave a sigh and try to get my racing heart under control. I do my best to act put out. “You better go home.”

“I can’t help teasing you. You’re so easy to get a rise out of.”

“I knew that. There’s no way you’d want to go to bed with me.” The bitterness in my voice embarrasses me.

He takes a step closer. “You’re wrong about that,” he responds, suddenly serious.

I take a step back.

“But what I came for is to thank you and your grandfather for saving my life. You especially.” His gaze burns into mine.

I reach for the doorknob. “Gramps isn’t here. I’ll give him the message. But as far as me, I didn’t do anything.” I hold crossed-fingers behind my back.

“If you don’t mind, I’ll wait for your grandfather.” He says nothing about my involvement or lack thereof.

I sigh and motion him toward the small living room. “If you won’t leave,” I say ungraciously, “you might as well sit down. Would you like some tea?” I would offer other beverages, but I don’t like his color. He looks feverish and needs to be off his feet.

“Yes, thank you.”

“Sit.” I point in the direction of our living room. It holds a saggy old couch and a TV that still has a tube instead of the sleek LCDs.

“Yes, ma’am.” He salutes me and heads toward the living room.

I walk into the kitchen and heat the water. When the teakettle begins to whistle, I pour the boiling water over the tea bags then set the kettle back on the stove. Turning, I nearly land in Tyler’s arms. The sun shines through the kitchen window and casts a shadow across his face.

He places one hand on the counter and one on the cool portion of the stovetop, neatly trapping me in the corner. My heart pounds. I lift my chin and ask in what I hope is a cool voice, “What are you doing?”

“When I was in the water, a beautiful young woman rescued me. What do you know about that?”

“Maybe you hallucinated. That doesn’t sound possible, especially in that storm.”

“My sister told me you called continually trying to get hold of me to tell me not to go out. You knew a storm was coming before anyone else, even the weather station. How?”

I had an answer for that one. “Gramps’ knee. It always acts up when bad weather’s coming.”

“I’ll give you that one. But how did I get to shore?”

“How should I know?”

“Oh, I think you know all right. And I know how to prove it,” he murmurs, his lips a breath away from mine.