Eden's Spell by Heather Graham Page B

doing?”
    He was shouting; she shouted, too, in order to be heard above the growl of the motor and the howl of the wind and sea.
    â€œIf you’d just give me the damn wheel—”
    â€œNothing doing!”
    â€œYou admit you haven’t the faintest idea of what—”
    â€œI’ve been on ships since you were in grade school, lady! Now just point out the—”
    â€œYou’ve been on ships, but not here! Give me the wheel—”
    She reached for it; too late. They both heard the long, tearing scrape against the hull, like the sound of nails scraping over a blackboard—amplified. It was a sound that would have assured even a complete landlubber that the Maggie Mae had been hit, and badly.
    â€œNow look what you’ve done!” Katrina exclaimed.
    â€œWhat I’ve done! Dammit! I should have known you were out to destroy everything!”
    â€œDestroy! If you would have—”
    â€œOh, shut up—and get Jason!”
    Oh, God, yes, Jason!
    Katrina was up with one last, backward epithet for him. She was only dimly aware that he was up, too, headed for the port.
    Jason—no fool—was already out of the cabin and scampering up the stairs. “We hit, huh.” It was a statement, not a question.
    â€œYeah—” And Katrina had a few things to say about Mike being an idiot. The wind and rain swallowed most of her words as she grabbed his hand, the two of them slipping and swaying together as they hurried over the deck by way of grasping the mast.
    She didn’t see Mike anywhere; the deck itself appeared to be gray, the wind had risen to such a lash that the rain wasn’t just falling, it was being hurtled at them in sheets.
    â€œHere! The dinghy.”
    Almost blinded, Katrina stumbled that way. She was soaked to the bone. Even with the wind, it wasn’t cold, but the feeling of being so very wet was miserable and chilling. Jason, she realized, had nothing on but his trunks, and yet he was probably just as well off, since nothing was protection against the onslaught.
    Mike was struggling to hold the dinghy next to the Maggie Mae. “Come on!” He urged her.
    â€œJason—go!” Katrina said to her son, glad then that he was agile, that he was accustomed to boats and water, that he was a little boy full of ability, independence, and coordination. Still, she steadied him when he leapt to the rim with his bare feet.
    Mike caught his body and set him into the one of the seats. Then he looked back to Katrina.
    She, too, balanced onto the rim, comfortable with her own coordination. But just then a gust of wind sheeted against her with enormous strength and she plummeted back to the deck of the Maggie Mae, the breath knocked from her, her head spinning. Water filled her mouth instantly, and she choked, tears stinging her eyes.
    She hadn’t seen him come, she didn’t even know how he was there so quickly, but he was. His slicker was gone; even his shoes were gone. And his arms were around her, helping her, lifting her up.
    She choked, coughed, and assured him, “I’m all right. I—”
    â€œIs your head okay? Seeing any spots?”
    â€œNo. No!”
    She didn’t have to climb to the rim again, he was lifting her over it, setting her feet into the tossing dinghy. He let her go because she was then below his reach. She quickly ducked to a sitting position to keep the dinghy from capsizing.
    Then the sharp sound of a snap brought her staring back up with horror; the line had broken, and the dinghy was instantly pitching away from the Maggie Mae with no lead, no purpose or reason.
    Mike was still on deck.
    Shouting at her, of all damned things.
    â€œWhat?” she screamed against the fury of the wind. “Come on!”
    Could he swim? she wondered, her heart pounding mercilessly. He was a sailor, wasn’t he? But even if he could swim, the water was murderously rough! Currents were seething all