been over a week, but the feelings he’d evoked hadn’t faded.
She could still feel the touch of his hands on her body. When he’d pulled her over the cliff, he’d held her, just long enough to set her down gently. In that brief moment, she’d felt safe.
But as he’d held her, he’d also set in motion a wave of long-submerged feelings that made her feel vulnerable in the worst way.
How could a few moments in a stranger’s arms open a gap that yawned so wide and called to her with such an insistent voice? And how could being touched by him open a wound she’d fled England to forget?
It’d been three years already. How many more would it take before she’d trust again— if she could trust again?
She shook off the memory and eyed the high cliff bordering the cove.
It’d be an easy climb, lots of toe- and finger-holds. Climbing always helped her conquer her fears, helped her focus—with a wall of rock eight inches from her face and a good drop below, there was no other choice. Every move was deliberate and controlled. Every move was in her own hands.
She walked toward the cliff face.
The comfort of being in control was another reason she liked facts better than instincts. Facts could be logged, analyzed and examined; they followed the rules of logic. Instincts could rise up, unbidden, and had unfathomable rules of their own.
She squinted in the light, the little muscles of her neck contracting as she tried to neatly fit Alex and the feelings he’d roused into some sort of logical pattern. Gage was right: Alex had been strong enough to hold her, to haul her to safety, and he hadn’t known the risk. A normal person couldn’t have done it—he was remarkably strong for a rich boy. He probably didn’t navigate by the rules of logic, at least not any rules she knew.
A rock fell from above her and landed near her feet. She studied the cliff: the rains had soaked into the clay, softening the surface. It wouldn’t be a safe climb. Besides, her arm still hurt worse than she’d let on.
She stared at the patterns in the rock.
She’d have to find another way to sort herself out.
Chapter Five
A week later Jackie stood before a roomful of expectant faces, this season’s crop of would-be volunteers. The group would be much smaller before the training sessions ended.
She surveyed them as they sat in folding chairs and chatted nervously. Even after a decade of training volunteers, she still couldn’t predict which the rigorous training and physical challenges would weed out and which would make it through.
She dimmed the lights and flicked on her computer. The projected image of a mother harbor seal and a newly born pup lit the screen, and a chorus of awwws sounded through the room. She ran through a quick overview of the volunteer positions, explaining the duties of the water rescue team, the shore rescue team and the day and night crews. She flashed through the slides of the satellite centers, Albion Bay to the north and Monterey and Morro Bay to the south. The photos reminded her of the improvements needed at each center, improvements she’d put on the back burner until they had more funds to tackle them.
As she reached to click to the next slide and began to introduce the more graphic work performed in the hospital, the door in the back of the room creaked open.
In the dim light she saw Alex slip in and sit in one of the empty seats in the last row.
Why having him there made her nervous, she couldn’t say. But she knew why it sparked her ire. Michael had asked her to encourage Alex’s interest in the Center if he showed up again, knowing full well that she’d had enough of dabblers and dilettantes. More than enough. They sucked up her time and Gage’s time and tried the patience of even the most seasoned crew supervisors.
Yet in spite of her careful rationalizations, something about him riveted her attention. She’d buried Jackie Brandon, woman, under thick layers of work and
She could still feel the touch of his hands on her body. When he’d pulled her over the cliff, he’d held her, just long enough to set her down gently. In that brief moment, she’d felt safe.
But as he’d held her, he’d also set in motion a wave of long-submerged feelings that made her feel vulnerable in the worst way.
How could a few moments in a stranger’s arms open a gap that yawned so wide and called to her with such an insistent voice? And how could being touched by him open a wound she’d fled England to forget?
It’d been three years already. How many more would it take before she’d trust again— if she could trust again?
She shook off the memory and eyed the high cliff bordering the cove.
It’d be an easy climb, lots of toe- and finger-holds. Climbing always helped her conquer her fears, helped her focus—with a wall of rock eight inches from her face and a good drop below, there was no other choice. Every move was deliberate and controlled. Every move was in her own hands.
She walked toward the cliff face.
The comfort of being in control was another reason she liked facts better than instincts. Facts could be logged, analyzed and examined; they followed the rules of logic. Instincts could rise up, unbidden, and had unfathomable rules of their own.
She squinted in the light, the little muscles of her neck contracting as she tried to neatly fit Alex and the feelings he’d roused into some sort of logical pattern. Gage was right: Alex had been strong enough to hold her, to haul her to safety, and he hadn’t known the risk. A normal person couldn’t have done it—he was remarkably strong for a rich boy. He probably didn’t navigate by the rules of logic, at least not any rules she knew.
A rock fell from above her and landed near her feet. She studied the cliff: the rains had soaked into the clay, softening the surface. It wouldn’t be a safe climb. Besides, her arm still hurt worse than she’d let on.
She stared at the patterns in the rock.
She’d have to find another way to sort herself out.
Chapter Five
A week later Jackie stood before a roomful of expectant faces, this season’s crop of would-be volunteers. The group would be much smaller before the training sessions ended.
She surveyed them as they sat in folding chairs and chatted nervously. Even after a decade of training volunteers, she still couldn’t predict which the rigorous training and physical challenges would weed out and which would make it through.
She dimmed the lights and flicked on her computer. The projected image of a mother harbor seal and a newly born pup lit the screen, and a chorus of awwws sounded through the room. She ran through a quick overview of the volunteer positions, explaining the duties of the water rescue team, the shore rescue team and the day and night crews. She flashed through the slides of the satellite centers, Albion Bay to the north and Monterey and Morro Bay to the south. The photos reminded her of the improvements needed at each center, improvements she’d put on the back burner until they had more funds to tackle them.
As she reached to click to the next slide and began to introduce the more graphic work performed in the hospital, the door in the back of the room creaked open.
In the dim light she saw Alex slip in and sit in one of the empty seats in the last row.
Why having him there made her nervous, she couldn’t say. But she knew why it sparked her ire. Michael had asked her to encourage Alex’s interest in the Center if he showed up again, knowing full well that she’d had enough of dabblers and dilettantes. More than enough. They sucked up her time and Gage’s time and tried the patience of even the most seasoned crew supervisors.
Yet in spite of her careful rationalizations, something about him riveted her attention. She’d buried Jackie Brandon, woman, under thick layers of work and
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