Love's Rescue by Christine Johnson

The distance between them was too great. He could never reach her. She must somehow get to him.
    She was hanging on a remnant of the sail, her feet dangling into the sea. The heaving waves spun her around. Her arms ached. Her fingers slipped. The weight of her skirts dragged her down. If she let go with one hand, she would fall.
    “Climb, Elizabeth!”
    “I can’t.”
    “Yes you can. I’ve seen you swim in pounding seas. You rowed around the island.”
    “That was years ago.”
    “You still have it in you.” A trace of desperation colored his pleas. “You are strong, Elizabeth Benjamin. Hold on a little longer, and I’ll come to you.”
    Help me, Lord. The prayer came from desperation and with little hope, yet when Elizabeth looked up, she saw Rourke moving down the line, a short rope between his teeth. He stopped and slung his legs over the rescue line. It bowed under his weight, but it held. He reached for the dangling spar. Then he began to lift. His face contorted with effort, but she felt herself move upward.
    He was attempting to pull her up.
    His effort opened a well of strength she didn’t know she possessed. She inched upward, gaining some ground.
    His fingertips brushed her hand. “A little more.”
    Her hands ached. She hadn’t any more to give.
    “Come to me, Elizabeth,” he urged, his fingertips trying to coax her hands off the sail. “Let go with one hand, and I will lift you to safety.”
    Oh, his touch! It resurrected feelings and memories and hopes that couldn’t be. The feel of his arms would shatter every vow. Elizabeth squeezed her eyes shut.
    “I can’t!” she cried.
    “You must.”
    Rourke or death. The choice was simple, but in her fevered mind Elizabeth could not save her life simply to propel it into the risk of Rourke’s embrace.
    “Better to suffer with grace than to unequally yoke oneself,” Mother had counseled before Elizabeth boarded the ship to Charleston. Her letters had expressed disappointment that Elizabeth had turned away every suitor, explaining that no man was perfect.
    Mother hadn’t understood. Rourke was perfect for her. No other suitor had ever come close.
    “I’m sorry.” She needed to say more, to explain what a cowardshe had been four years ago and beg his forgiveness, but even with death knocking she could not find the words.
    “Hold on!”
    A wave tossed her against the deck, and her burning fingers slipped. Something between a scream and a moan tore out of her. She couldn’t hold on a moment longer.
    Then she felt him grab her left hand. His grip hurt, but he pulled her out of the sea and onto the spar.
    “Hold on,” he said. “I need to let go a moment so I can get this rope around you.”
    Though his touch left her, she now knew she would be safe.
    Then another wave slammed the wreck. The spar gave way. Elizabeth slid down, down. She squeezed her eyes shut, preparing for impact. Old memories flitted past. Rourke tenderly touching her bruised lip. Father scowling. Mother weeping at Charlie’s bedside. Father demanding answers. The disappointment that flashed across Rourke’s face when she let him take the blame. The sinking knowledge that all was lost.
    Elizabeth cried out.
    Something yanked her upward. God? Was she rising to heaven like a prophet of old?
    Her eyelids flew open. Somehow Rourke had swung the spar so it deposited her right into his arms. He gathered her close and pressed his lips to the hollow below her ear. “I thought I lost you.”
    Elizabeth choked back a sob. He did not know it yet, but he had.



4

    D awn’s orange glow revealed three wrecking ships approaching from the west-southwest. As wreck master, Rourke decided which of those vessels would ferry the passengers to Key West and which would help with the salvage. He must reach an agreement, or consortship, with them on the division of the spoils. Since the cargo lacked substantial value, most would leap at the chance for an equal share.
    He strode toward the lookout,