Chapter9
The rain started before Cassidy reached the waterfront, not the gentle mist that had rolled in during breakfast, but fat drops that slapped against the pavement and left dark circles on her linen blazer.She should have grabbed an umbrella.She should have changed into something practical.She should have stayed at the cottage and sent an email instead.
But emails were easy.Emails let you hide.
She picked up her pace as the rain intensified.The harbor stretched before her, gray water churning under an equally gray sky.Fishing boats rocked at their moorings, and the wooden planks of the pier gleamed with moisture.Somewhere out there was Bryan Lucas, probably already convinced she was the worst thing to happen to this town since the last hurricane.
He might be right.
She pulled her blazer tighter and stepped onto the pier.The wood creaked under her heels.Water sloshed between the planks, and she could smell the brine and diesel that seemed to define this place.A gull screamed overhead, circling once before disappearing into the storm clouds.
The pier was mostly empty.A few boats bobbed at the far end, and she spotted movement near one of them.A tall figure bent over something on the deck.Even from this distance, she recognized the set of his shoulders.
Of course, he was working in the rain.
She made it halfway down the pier before the wind picked up.It hit her like a physical force and nearly knocked her sideways.She grabbed the railing with one hand and fought to keep her balance.The rain came harder now, driving into her face and soaking through her blazer in seconds.
This was a terrible idea.
But she’d already walked this far, and turning back now would only confirm what Bryan already thought of her.That she was all talk and expensive clothes, someone who gave up the moment things got uncomfortable.
The wind gusted again, and this time she heard something else.A sharp crack, followed by the sound of canvas snapping.
She looked up just in time to see the tent.
It was a large canvas structure filled with crates, and it appeared that someone had forgotten to secure it properly.Now the wind was tearing it loose.The heavy canvas billowed like a sail, straining against the few remaining tie-downs.Metal poles screeched as they bent, and the entire structure lurched toward the edge of the pier, toward the water.
She ran.
Her heels slipped on the wet planks, but she didn’t slow down.The tent was massive, easily twenty feet across.If it went into the harbor, it would sink straight to the bottom, along with whatever supplies were stored inside.
She reached the tent just as another gust hit.The canvas ballooned outward, and she grabbed the nearest rope with both hands.The rope burned against her palms as it tried to slip through her grip.She dug her heels in and pulled, but she might as well have been trying to hold back the ocean itself.
The tent lurched forward another foot.
“Hold on!”
Bryan’s voice cut through the wind.She didn’t turn to look, couldn’t spare the attention, but she heard him running across the pier.Then he was there beside her, his hands closing over the rope above hers.
“Pull!”he shouted.
She was already pulling.Her arms screamed with the effort, and her feet slid forward on the slick planks despite her best efforts.The wind howled, and the canvas cracked like a whip.
“The corner!”Bryan jerked his head toward the far side of the tent.“We need to get that pole secured first!”
She looked where he indicated and saw the problem immediately.One of the support poles had come completely loose and was swinging wildly in the wind.If they didn’t get it anchored, the whole structure would collapse.
“I’ll hold this!”He wrapped the rope around his forearm twice.“Go!”
She didn’t argue, didn’t point out that she was wearing a linen blazer and heels, or that she’d never secured a tent pole in her life.She just ran.
The pole was heavier than it looked.She grabbed it with both hands.It took everything she had just to keep the pole from swinging into the railing.The wind pushed against her, rain streamed down her face, and her arms felt like they might pull out of their sockets.
She spotted the anchor point, a metal ring bolted to the pier, about six feet away.It might as well have been six miles.
She dragged the pole forward one step at a time.Her heels caught on the planks, and she kicked them off without thinking.The wet wood was rough under her bare feet, but at least she could get traction now.She hauled the pole closer to the ring, muscles burning, lungs screaming.
Almost there.
