Chapter 9
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.
A gust hit the canvas, and the force traveled down the pole like electricity. Her grip slipped. The pole swung wide, and she lunged after it, catching it just before it could crash into the railing. Her shoulder slammed into the wood, and pain shot down her arm.
“Cassidy!” Bryan’s voice was tight with strain. He was still holding the main rope, but she could see him starting to slide forward.
She gritted her teeth and pulled. One more step, then another. Her hands were slippery with rain and probably bleeding, but she didn’t let go, couldn’t let go.
The ring was right there.
She dropped to her knees and jammed the pole’s anchor clip toward the ring. It missed. She tried again, hands shaking, vision blurred by rain and effort. The clip caught the edge of the ring, slipped off, and caught again.
Click.
The pole locked into place, and the tension on that side of the tent immediately eased. She sagged against the railing, gasping for breath.
“The other side!” Bryan was already moving, rope still wrapped around his arm. “We need to get the other corner down!”
She wanted to tell him she needed a minute, that her arms felt like jelly, and her shoulder throbbed where she’d hit the railing.
She wasn’t built for this kind of work, had never been built for it, and had spent her entire adult life in climate-controlled offices precisely to avoid moments like this.
Instead, she pushed herself to her feet and ran after him.
The second pole was even worse than the first. It had pulled completely free from its mooring and was dragging along the pier, gouging splinters from the wood. Bryan grabbed it first, and Cassidy threw herself at it a second later. Together, they wrestled it toward the nearest anchor point.
“On three!” Bryan shouted. “One, two—”
They heaved. The pole moved maybe six inches.
“Again!” Bryan’s face was set with determination, and rain streamed down his cheeks. “One, two, three!”
This time it moved a foot. Then another. Her feet slipped, and she went down hard on one knee. Pain exploded up her leg, but she didn’t let go of the pole. Bryan braced himself against the railing and pulled, and slowly, inch by painful inch, they dragged the pole toward its anchor point.
The wind screamed. The canvas snapped. Her arms shook with exhaustion, and somewhere in the back of her mind, she registered that her expensive blazer was probably ruined, that her knee was bleeding, and she’d lost both her shoes and would have to walk back to the cottage barefoot.
None of it mattered.
The anchor point was three feet away, then two. Then Bryan was dropping down beside her, hands working to line up the clip with the ring. The pole bucked in their grip, fighting them, but they held on.
The clip caught.
Bryan twisted it into place and locked it down. The tension released all at once, and the tent settled with a final flutter of canvas. The poles held. The ropes held. Everything held.
She collapsed back against the railing. Her chest heaved as she tried to catch her breath.
Rain poured down, plastering her hair to her face and turning her once-crisp blazer into a sodden mess.
She was covered in grime, splinters, and probably her own blood, and she’d never been so exhausted in her entire life.
Next to her, Bryan sat with his head tipped back against the railing, eyes closed. His shirt was torn at one shoulder, and there was a scrape along his jaw she didn’t remember seeing before. He was breathing as hard as she was.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The rain continued to fall, and the wind continued to blow, but the tent stayed secured. They’d done it.
“You okay?” His voice was rough.
She looked down at her hands. They were scraped raw, with rope burns across both palms. Her knee throbbed where she’d hit the pier, and her shoulder wasn’t much better. She was soaked to the skin, barefoot, and probably looked like she’d been through a hurricane.
“I’m fine.” She started to laugh. She couldn’t help it. The absurdity of the situation hit her all at once, and laughter bubbled up despite the exhaustion. “I’m completely fine.”
He opened one eye to look at her. Then he started laughing too. Deep, genuine laughter that shook his shoulders and made him wince from the effort.
They sat there in the rain, laughing like idiots while the storm raged around them.
Finally, he pushed himself to his feet. He offered her a hand, and she took it without thinking. His grip was solid and warm, and he pulled her up with an ease that reminded her exactly how strong he was.
“Come on.” He gestured toward one of the boats at the end of the pier. “Let’s get out of this rain before we drown.”
Mary Catherine was larger than she’d expected, a working fishing vessel with a covered deck area and what looked like a small cabin below.
Bryan jumped aboard first, then turned to help her across the gap between the pier and the boat.
His hand was steady on her arm as she stepped down onto the deck.
The covered area provided immediate relief from the rain. She could still hear it drumming on the roof above them, but at least it wasn’t pouring directly onto her head anymore. She wrapped her arms around herself and tried not to shiver.