Tides of Hope

But then, out of the blue, his cobalt eyes had softened a fraction—telling her he’d seen far more than she’d wanted to reveal. Thrown by his ability to so easily breach the defenses around her heart, she’d backed off and escaped as fast as she could.

Still, if whatever he’d detected convinced him to cut her some slack, maybe it had been worth that brief exposure. Their paths weren’t likely to cross very often once this was resolved. In fact, she’d do her best to ensure they didn’t. No way did she want to risk experiencing that unsettling feeling of vulnerability again.

Realizing that Edith was waiting for a response, Kate cleared her throat. “I don’t know why he eased off. I guess he had some second thoughts.”

“Hmm.” Edith tipped her head, and Kate shifted under her scrutiny, uncertain how to interpret the gleam in the woman’s eye. “So what does the invisible man look like?”

Although she’d been too angry to pay much attention to his appearance, Kate had no problem summoning up an image of him. And handsome was the word that popped into her mind. Lean and toned, with broad shoulders and a powerful chest, he had a take-charge manner and a commanding bearing that radiated strength and competence.

“I didn’t focus on his looks, Edith.”

“Oh, come now. You must have noticed the basics. Height, hair color, age.”

“Six one or two, I’d guess. Dark blond hair. Fortyish.”

“Attractive?”

She shrugged and tried for nonchalance. “I suppose some women might think so.”

“Are you one of them?”

Kate didn’t like the twinkle in her neighbor’s eye. Much to her dismay, for the past few months Edith had been introducing the subject of romance with increasing frequency. As usual, Kate discouraged her.

“He’s not my type, Edith. And I’m not in the market anyway.” She swallowed and looked down into the black depths of her coffee. “There was only one man for me.”

The older woman reached out and covered Kate’s hand with her own, all traces of humor vanishing from her voice. “Mac was one of a kind, Kate. No question about that. But he wouldn’t want you to live the rest of your life alone if another man came along who was worthy of your love.”

“No one could ever take his place, Edith. Besides, my life is crazy enough without adding romance to the mix.” Gesturing toward the sunroom, she rose. “Let’s go check on Maddie’s castle, okay?” Without waiting for a response, she picked up her mug and moved away from the table.

But a few minutes later, as she and Edith listened to the youngster’s imaginative story about the castle she’d constructed from her blocks, the most annoying thing happened.

Every time Maddie mentioned Prince Charming, an image of Lieutenant Craig Cole came to mind.

Chapter Two

By Sunday afternoon, Nantucket was living up to her nickname—The Gray Lady. But the dismal weather couldn’t dampen Kate’s upbeat mood. Thanks to Chester’s magic touch with all things mechanical, the Lucy Sue’s sometimes-temperamental engine was purring along as her bow cut a wide swath through the choppy seas off Great Point. And despite another asthma attack in the middle of the night, Maddie had awakened with no ill effects.

Her skin tingling from the salt spray, Kate took a deep, cleansing breath of the bracing air. Nothing could be more relaxing than this, she concluded. And today was the perfect chance to enjoy it. Although she’d be making this trip twice daily with a boatful of amateur anglers once the season kicked off, their need for constant attention would leave her little opportunity to relish the grand view of the majestic whitewashed lighthouse and the long expanse of pristine beach backed by endless sky.

Today the outline of the tall, stately column was blurred by the gray mantle draped over the island, but the bright white light that flashed every five seconds made the tower easy to locate. In a world where very little could be counted on, Kate took comfort in that steady, consistent beacon. And she appreciated it most on days like this, when Nantucket’s three lighthouses had the chance to do the job for which they were designed—guiding lost souls safely home.

In truth, Kate didn’t mind the dreary weather. The view might be prettier on sunny summer days, when the heavens were deep blue and the sea sparkled as if it had been strewn with diamonds, but she felt a kinship with this wild, windswept speck of land no matter its wardrobe. Isolated by twenty-six miles of sea from the mainland, Nantucket was a place that bred strength, where self-reliance was a way of life and only the hardy survived.

Unlike summer people and day-trippers, who came to sample the unique rhythm of the island but whose lives pulsed to a beat far removed from these shores, the lives of year-rounders were inexorably linked to the cadence of the sea. It had been that way back in the bustling whaling days, and it was no different now. Only ten thousand people could claim the title of Nantucketer, and Kate was proud to be one of them.

Just as Mac had been.

Swallowing past the sudden lump in her throat, Kate blinked and checked her watch. Time to head back and pick up Maddie from Edith’s. She didn’t want to take advantage of her neighbor’s generosity—or grow maudlin thinking about the man who’d filled her days with sunshine and whose loss had left an aching void in her heart.

As Kate swung the wheel to port and pointed the Lucy Sue back toward the harbor, she scanned the undulating sea, relishing the solitude. In two months, this prime fishing ground would be dotted with crafts of all sizes. Today she had the spot to herself.

Or did she?

A bobbing orange speck in the distance caught her eye, and she eased back on the throttle, squinting through the mist. It could be debris, she supposed. But she’d pulled more than her share of too-confident swimmers out of these waters and had learned long ago never to overestimate people’s common sense.

Without taking her gaze off the spot where the orange speck kept disappearing among the swells, she felt for the binoculars secured within reaching distance of the helm. Fitting them to her eyes, she planted her feet in a wide, steadying stance and focused on the object.

In general, the seven-by-thirty magnification was sufficient for her needs. But today it couldn’t overcome the obscuring combination of distance, mist and the rocking motion of the boat. All she could tell with any certainty was that the object was about fifty yards offshore and moving on a steady, purposeful course parallel to the beach.

Meaning it was alive.

And it wasn’t a seal or a fish. Fluorescent orange wasn’t in the marine life palette of Nantucket.

That left only one possibility.

It was human.

Shaking her head, Kate huffed out a breath. What kind of idiot would go for a dip off Great Point? These were dangerous swimming waters any time of year, let alone in early April, when the threat of hypothermia amplified the peril.

It was obvious the swimmer churning through the swells didn’t understand the risks—or didn’t consider them to be a problem. She didn’t know which was worse. The former smacked of stupidity, the latter of arrogance. In either case, someone needed to pound some sense into the guy’s head. And it was a guy. She was sure of that, even if the conclusion reeked of stereotypical sexism.

Compressing her lips into a grim line, Kate swung the Lucy Sue hard to starboard, shifted into full throttle and headed straight for the bobbing orange speck. Disgust and annoyance vied for top billing on her emotional chart, with impatience and frustration not far behind. Whoever she found cavorting in the heaving gray swells was about to get an earful.

One, two, three, four, five, breathe. One, two, three, four, five, breathe. One, two, three, four, five, breathe.

Encased in his neoprene wet suit, Craig cut through the swells with powerful, even strokes, propelling himself forward with strong, steady kicks of his flippers, oblivious to the forty-two-degree water. After all the missions he’d swum in the Arctic, this was a bathtub. The chop was distracting, and the riptide had been a tad annoying, but neither had disrupted his bilateral breathing rhythm. After fifteen minutes of steady swimming, he wasn’t even winded.

As he sliced through the water, Craig counted each stroke as a victory over the intimidating marine conditions—and over his emotions. It had taken him two years to put so much as a toe in the ocean after the accident. He’d hated the sea with the same intensity he’d once loved it, his anger almost palpable. If it had been an enemy he could have gotten his hands around, he’d have choked the life out of it. Not the most Christian impulse, he knew, but that was how he’d felt.

Those potent feelings had prompted his request for a transfer from field duty to Washington. Hoping his fury and grief would ebb in a new environment, he’d planned to complete his twenty years of military service behind a desk, as far removed from his previous life as possible. And retirement wasn’t far in the future. Because he’d enlisted right out of college, he’d be able to wrap up his Coast Guard career as a relatively young man. Only three more years to go.

To his relief, the time and distance provided by three years of desk duty had eased his sorrow and mitigated his rage—to some degree. But much to his surprise, as his hate had begun to recede, his love of the sea had resurfaced. He’d fought it fiercely, overwhelmed by guilt, unable to understand how he could yearn to return to the very thing that had robbed his life of joy.

Until Paul Gleason had helped him make an uneasy peace with his conflicting feelings.

The admiral had come upon him one night last fall, seated in his windowless office in Washington behind tall stacks of reports awaiting his review. Craig had been trying all week to make some headway on them, but by Friday he’d done little more than riffle through a few.

Annoyed by his inability to focus, he’d been determined to stay all night if necessary to deal with the pile of official documents. No way had he wanted them waiting for him on Monday morning. But neither had he relished his self-imposed assignment. Paul’s unexpected appearance at his office door at the end of the day had been a welcome reprieve.

“Looks like you’re planning to burn the proverbial midnight oil.”

At the admiral’s greeting, Craig had summoned up a smile. “If that’s what it takes to empty my in basket.”

“What about Vicki?”

A wave of guilt had washed over him, and Craig had picked up a stack of papers on his desk and tapped them into a neat, precise pile. His personal life might be a mess, but at least he could keep his desk tidy. “The nanny will put her to bed.”

He’d waited for Paul to comment, to add another layer of guilt to the load he already carried over his lackluster approach to fatherhood. And he deserved it, Craig had acknowledged. For all his heroic work on the job, he was no hero when it came to raising his daughter. That, too, had begun to eat at him.

To his relief, Paul had let the subject pass. Instead, the admiral had surveyed the stack of reports and given a low whistle, arching his trademark shaggy white eyebrows. “You could be here till morning.”

“Tell me about it. How have you managed to deal with this kind of stuff day after day for all these years? I’m not even convinced it’s written in English.” In public, he and the admiral—his mentor since their days at Air Station Kodiak well over a decade ago—observed military protocol. Off duty, their relationship had evolved into a comfortable friendship.

A rueful chuckle had rumbled in the older man’s chest. Dropping into the chair across from Craig’s desk, he’d run his hand over his close-cropped white hair. “I’m afraid it comes with the rank. But I must confess there are days I wish I was back in Kodiak. Once the sea grabs hold of you, she never lets go.”

Casting a shrewd eye at the younger officer, the admiral had leaned back in his chair. “By the way…I have some news. I’m retiring the first of the year. Mag and I are going to take up full-time residence in our little cottage in Maine and go sailing every chance we get.”

The announcement shouldn’t have surprised Craig. After thirty-five years of military service, Paul deserved his retirement. Yet the news had left him with mixed feelings.

“I’m happy for you, Paul. And more than a little envious.”

“You’re too young to retire.” Paul had folded his hands over his stomach, its girth a bit wider since their Kodiak days. “Or were you referring to my return to the sea?”

Not much got past the admiral, Craig had acknowledged. Picking up a pen, he’d tapped it against his palm as he’d weighed his response. “There are days lately when this—” he’d swept his hand around the office “—gets on my nerves and I think about the sea. But I asked for this transfer. I shouldn’t complain.”

“You needed an escape then. Maybe you don’t anymore.” Paul had steepled his fingers and given Craig a steady look. “You know, I’ll be here through December. If a request for a transfer came through, I’d be inclined to give it a favorable review.”

Shaking his head, Craig had raked his fingers through his hair. “I shouldn’t even consider it.”

“Why not?”

“After what happened…how could I want to be around the sea?”

The hint of a smile had touched the admiral’s lips. “Love is a strange thing, Craig. Whether for a woman or for the sea. You don’t like everything about her all the time. Sometimes she does things that infuriate you. There are days you’re tempted to walk away. But you never stop loving her. Not if it’s real. That’s how love works.”

Several moments of silence had ticked by while Craig considered the admiral’s comment. “I don’t know, Paul.”

The man had stood and rested a hand on the tall stack of reports. “Well, I do. You don’t belong behind this desk. You never did. You’ve done a great job here, but this isn’t where you should finish your career. Think about it. A change like that could be good for you—and Vicki. She’s only four, Craig. She needs you.”

In the end, after weeks of soul searching, Craig had come to the same conclusion. Although he hadn’t understood his jumbled feelings about the sea, he’d asked for a transfer back to the field. To a station on the other side of the country from Hawaii, hoping a new setting would give him a fresh start with his life—and with his daughter. The opening on Nantucket had fit the bill.

An icy smack in the face from an unruly wave brought Craig abruptly back to the present. Caught unaware, he sucked in a mouthful of water. Coughed. Lost his rhythm.

Anger surged through him, and he swam with renewed energy, arms slashing through the water, attacking the swells. He’d let the sea surprise him, score a point. Bad mistake. One he’d vowed never to let happen again. His last mistake had cost him too—

“Hey! Hey, you!”

At the shouted summons, Craig broke his rhythm again, this time on purpose. Riding the swells, he lifted his head and checked for the source.

The name of the boat rocking on the waves a few yards away clicked into focus first. Lucy Sue.

Meaning the human hurricane couldn’t be far behind.

Taking a deep breath, Craig looked higher. Sure enough, the voice belonged to none other than Katherine MacDonald. And she was in a snit once again, judging by her ruddy color and tense posture as she glared down at him, her wind-tossed red hair whipping about her face.

The full blast of her fury was coming. He knew that. He’d already had a sample of her temper, and the signs were all there. But instead of using the lull before the storm to brace himself, he found his thoughts wandering to Grace O’Malley, the legendary Irish pirate queen. Somehow he had a feeling she’d looked a lot like Katherine MacDonald.

“…recreational swimming area!”

The tail end of her comment interrupted his musings. “What?”

“I said, are you crazy? This is not a recreational swimming area!” She had to yell to be heard above the hum of the engine and the waves slapping against the side of the boat.

“I’m fine,” he called back.

“You can’t be fine! The water’s freezing! And there’s a bad riptide here. You need to get back to shore!” She flicked her hand toward the beach, as if shooing a recalcitrant puppy back from the edge of a busy street.

It was obvious she didn’t recognize him. But why should she? His wet suit, swim cap and goggles left very few identifying features exposed.

As he bobbed on the swells, he considered his options. The path of least resistance would be to remain anonymous, acquiesce and retreat to the beach. That would be the smart thing to do. He’d been about ready to head toward shore anyway.

Instead, prompted by some impulse he couldn’t identify, he lifted his goggles and settled them on top of the orange swim cap. “I can handle this sea, Ms. MacDonald.”

Her reaction as his identity became apparent was reward enough for his rash action. Seeing Katherine MacDonald shocked speechless was, he suspected, a rare treat.

Unfortunately, it was short-lived.

“I don’t believe this! You, of all people, should know better than to swim in seas like this! Alone, no less! And you cited me for a safety violation?”

He’d known she’d come back with a zinger. She hadn’t disappointed him.

“I’m trained to swim in worse conditions than these. And I’m well-equipped.”

She dismissed his explanation with a curt flip of her hand. “That may be true, but no one in their right mind would put themselves into dangerous conditions without cause. Do you have a death wish or something?”

For some reason, her question jolted him. He knew it was an exaggeration, meant to drive home her point, yet it left him feeling uneasy. And no longer interested in prolonging their verbal sparring match.

Pulling his goggles back over his eyes, he prepared to resume his swim.

The red-haired spitfire must have sensed his intent because she called out again. “I can’t in good conscience leave anyone alone in these waters, especially in this weather.”

He checked her out over his shoulder as he treaded water, buoyant on the rising swells. She was still standing by the side of the boat, gripping the rail, watching him.

Ignoring her comment, he resumed his course, swimming parallel to the shore.

Thirty seconds later, he heard the hum of her boat behind him.

Craig kept swimming for two more minutes, the boat pacing him. She wasn’t backing down. No surprise there, he supposed. And he didn’t relish company on his solitary swims. Besides, he’d stayed out as long as he’d planned, and the cold seeping through his neoprene insulation was beginning to get uncomfortable.

Altering his course, he aimed for shore. Let Katherine MacDonald assume she’d won the battle. He knew better. Had she caught him at the beginning of his swim instead of the end, he’d have put up with the audience and she’d have found herself tooling around in the Lucy Sue far longer as she discovered he could be as strong-willed as she was.

That revelation wasn’t going to happen today.

But he had a strong suspicion it was coming.

As the lieutenant changed direction and headed for shore, Kate let out a long, relieved breath. Good. Had he balked, she wasn’t at all confident she’d have won the skirmish. Yet the rule-bound commander didn’t strike her as the kind of man prone to capitulation. So why had he given in?

The answer, she grudgingly acknowledged, was clear.

He’d been ready to call it a day anyway.

Meaning her victory was hollow.

Kate planted her fists on her hips and watched as he surged through the swells with powerful strokes, doing her best to stifle the flicker of admiration fanned to life by his masterful physical control and his command of the water. Just because he was a good swimmer didn’t mean he should be taking chances by venturing into hazardous seas alone. It was folly to feel invincible around the ocean, no matter how strong or well-equipped you were. And a Coast Guard lieutenant should know that. Taking him to task for his irresponsible actions had been more than justified.

The instant he emerged from the water, Kate once more swung the Lucy Sue to port and headed home. And as the boat plowed through the waves, she forced herself to switch gears and focus on the pleasant evening ahead. She and Maddie were planning to indulge in a pizza, followed by a movie of her daughter’s choice. No doubt her current favorite, The Lion King. They’d seen it four times already, but Kate didn’t mind. Cuddling with her daughter under an afghan, a cozy fire burning in the grate, was about the most comforting way she could imagine to spend a chilly evening.

Only one thing would be missing from that picture of contentment, she reflected, the salt from the spray reminding her of the taste of tears. Mac wouldn’t be with them. How he would have loved an evening like that! With him, however, it would have been impromptu, a spontaneous celebration rather than a planned event. He’d had a remarkable gift for turning ordinary days into special occasions, his infectious joie de vivre and go-with-the-flow attitude carrying everyone along with him.

Kate could imagine what tonight would be like if he were here. Instead of pizza, he might suggest chocolate chip waffles. Rather than sitting on the couch, he might drag out their folding chairs, make popcorn and have them all pretend they were at the old hall in ’Sconset that showed family movies in the summer. And he might resurrect their vintage video of The Sound of Music and encourage them all to sing along, his off-key baritone and contagious laugh ringing through the house.

Life with Mac had been one grand adventure, Kate recalled, her lips softening into a melancholy smile. Flexible, agreeable, always upbeat, he was a man who’d lived—and loved—with an abandon that had taken her breath away. Without him, she felt as she had as a child waking up the day after Christmas, the excitement and anticipation of the previous day replaced by a sense that life for the next 364 days would be dull, dull, dull.

Though Kate’s world had been graced by the presence of Dennis “Mac” MacDonald far too briefly, she would always be grateful to him for their days together. And for teaching her by example to embrace life—and not sweat the small stuff. She’d struggled at times with that during the past few years, but at least she kept trying.

The stiff, stuffy lieutenant she’d left on Great Point would do well to learn that lesson, too, Kate thought, her smile fading as her hands tightened on the helm. He seemed focused only on the small stuff. Such pettiness was an unlikable trait to begin with, and even less endearing because it had caused her nothing but problems. The commander’s insistence on following the letter of the law—whether it made sense or not—was maddening.

Calm down, Kate, she counseled herself, easing her grip on the wheel. Getting mad again won’t solve the problem. If anything, your antagonism could make it worse.

And worse might very well be a description of the current situation, given her tirade a few minutes ago, she granted, as she neared the harbor entrance and passed the diminutive Brant Point lighthouse adjacent to the Coast Guard station. Instead of reading him the riot act and following him like a persistent seagull follows a boat, she could have acquiesced to his explanation and headed home.

Yet what she’d told him had been true. She couldn’t, in good conscience, leave anyone alone in the waters off Great Point. Even the disagreeable lieutenant. It was asking for trouble, no matter his skills or equipment. She’d dug in her heels for his own good, whether he appreciated it or not.

Not being the obvious conclusion. And that didn’t bode well for a favorable response to her request—more like demand, she acceded—that he wipe the citation off her record.

The wharf came into sight, and Kate cut back the throttle, trying to recapture her earlier lighthearted mood. But that felt like ancient history now. As in B.C. Before Cole. And she doubted it would return unless the citation issue was resolved in her favor.