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Rachel laughed. “It wasn’t that bad, and having a gorgeous man come to your rescue couldn’t have been that horrible either,” she said with a raised, suggestive eyebrow as she looked at her through the mirror. Obviously, her friend wasn’t ready to drop that conversation.
Carly sighed. Sebastianwasa gorgeous man and hehadrescued her in her moment of need and theywouldbe spending a lot of time together that summer. All of that was true.
Unfortunately, it was also a truth universally acknowledged that Carly’s heart wasn’t up for grabs. It was—and would probably always remain—in the clutches of the one man in town who hadn’t been there to see her in her underwear that evening.
And probably never would.
“PORTSERENITY’SLIGHTHOUSEhas stood tall on the cliffside overlooking the North Pacific for over a hundred years. Timeworn and fragile, the structure serves as more of a beacon of the past, shining light on maritime history, than—”
A loud emergency response alarm that echoed throughout the lighthouse tower the next day interrupted Rachel’s spiel, giving Oliver Klein a welcome respite. “Hold that thought,” he told her as he and his daughter Tess sprang into action inside the historic building.
Rachel sighed loudly behind him, but Oliver didn’t have time to worry about putting off the local historian blogger who had been harassing him for an exclusive interview since the day she’d moved to town. This “emergency” couldn’t have come at a better time.
“6.7 earthquake. Go, go, go!” he told Tess.
“I’ve got the tower,” she said. Dressed in her lighthouse tour guide T-shirt and shorts, his ten-year-old daughter sprinted up the winding, concrete tower stairs, her little legs moving at the pace of lightning.
Oliver hurried inside the showroom where the historic artifacts were on display to check the main floor washrooms. He knocked once on each door, then went in, checking all stalls.
All clear.
He opened the records-room door and scanned, but there was no one inside. The seating area with the library boasting books about Port Serenity’s heritage was empty as well.
Everyone must be in the tower.
As Oliver reentered the main room, a group of people descended the tower stairs carefully but quickly as the alarm continued to wail, echoing for miles across the marina.
Oliver frowned as he surveyed the group. There should be eight people. A quick head count revealed only seven. His daughter appeared at the rear. “Injured male. Fifties. About two hundred pounds,” Tess reported, pointing up the stairs.
Shit.
Oliver moved past her on the stairwell and his thighs burned as he made the fast climb toward the injured man at the top of the tower. Why the hell were there so many stairs? Maybe they should reconsider letting tourists into the tower. Did they really need to see the beacon up close? Or the view of the ocean from that vantage point?
Might be a hard sell for the tourism board if they removed that aspect, and unfortunately, with the coast guard having assumed official control over the lighthouse, Oliver was more tour guide than anything else, despite being an honorary member of the Coast Guard Aids to Navigation crew, which currently maintained the functioning of the lighthouse. Upgrades in technology meant there was little maintenance on the place these days.
Ten seconds later, he reached a man in his late forties, sitting on the floor, his back to the concrete wall, a pained expression on his face as he groaned, clutching his left leg. Oliver bent next to him and assessed the injuries. “Can you walk?” he asked the man, helping him to his feet.
The man’s leg gave way and he shook his head. “I don’t think so.”
Fantastic.
Oliver sighed as he bent, braced himself for the weight and heaved the man over his shoulder. The guy was definitely heavier than two hundred pounds. Tess needed to work on her assessment skills. At thirty-five years old, Oliver liked to think he was still in good shape, but the aching of his muscles and the slight panting for breath after the sprint up the stairwell had him rethinking it.
Carrying the man, he headed back downstairs, careful not to trip over the chipped concrete edges of the stairs. He could see the others from the tour group were already outside, so he brought the man out and set him down on the grassy, safe muster area.
Tess was dismantling the camera tripod they used to capture the tour group photos. She quickly secured it in the underground bunker several feet away from the lighthouse.
With everyone safely outside, Oliver got to work closing the storm shutters on the outside of the windows, then headed back up to the tower to apply storm panes for the lantern rooms to protect the optics. With the exterior of the building secure, next, he and Tess got to work wrapping the threatened artifacts and displays in the museum room with plastic and tape. He gathered the artifacts and paper records and the two of them exited the lighthouse, closing and securing the door.
Oliver stopped his stopwatch. “Eight minutes and forty-eight seconds,” he said to Tess. “We beat the record.” Rehearsing their response to disaster warnings was something they did regularly throughout the year, but especially before the start of tourist season, when groups would be coming through the lighthouse.
It was important to have a plan and to ensure its proper execution. There was no room for improvisation in the wake of a disaster. Good planning sped recovery and minimized loss. Most importantly, being ready with a detailed, well-organized disaster response plan increased everyone’s safety.
During the year, there was only the two of them to worry about. But when tourist season started the following day, the lighthouse would host tour groups three or four times a day during the week. They had to ensure they were prepared to evacuate in the case of a sudden emergency. Like the fake earthquake they’d just simulated with the help of volunteers.
The lighthouse where Oliver and his daughter lived was a tourist favorite in the small town, just as most lighthouses attracted visitors for their mystery and history. But a lot of people underestimated the dangers. Lighthouses were put in places to warn of risk. Their purpose was to mark landfalls and passages. They were positioned in locations fully exposed to storm waves. Visiting them was a great way to learn about a place’s history, but people needed to be aware of the potential hazards.
Oliver could understand the appeal of the Port Serenity lighthouse. At one time, this lighthouse had charmed him as well...
