5. Chapter 5
"Zane. Can you hear me, son?" A firm hand pounded Zane's back. "Please, God, let him be all right."
Grandpa Clem?
Awareness crept over Zane in tiny increments.
He was lying on his left side, his neck at an awkward angle, as if he'd lost his pillow.
A cough seized him, one that made him sputter and gasp.
Alarm shooting through him, he struggled to open his eyes.
Shivers wracked him. Why was he so cold?
He tried to sit up, but he couldn't seem to find the required energy.
Another cough came, bringing something slimy with it.
He grimaced and spit it out. At least he could manage that much.
Not without a protest from his throat muscles, though. They ached something fierce.
Wait. Hadn't there been a woman? A hazy recollection tickled his mind. A lilting voice. An urgent plea. And . . . a song? He furrowed his brow, trying to capture the memory. But like an unhooked fish, it wiggled out of his grasp and disappeared.
"Zane? Open your eyes, boy. Come on."
He obeyed, but the simple action proved remarkably difficult to accomplish. "Grandpa Clem?"
His body chose that moment to make him aware of a hundred different aches all at once. Ribs. Head. Calf. Big toe. He squinted against the sunlight and groaned. "What . . . happened?"
"Thank the Lord." Tremors laced his grandpa's voice, signaling the seriousness of the situation.
Zane finally managed to tighten his stomach muscles enough to lift his head and shoulders from the ground. His grandpa immediately wrapped an arm around his shoulders in support and helped him sit up.
As Zane found his balance and his bearings, details began to filter through the fog in his brain.
He sat on a beach. Sand coated his trousers, forearms, and probably a dozen places outside his field of vision.
The tide licked his boots as it moved in and out, making him aware of his soggy state.
The wet sand beneath him. His soaked clothes.
Dripping hair and skin. A breeze whooshed over him, worsening his shivers and invalidating the sun's warmth.
"Here."
Heavenly heat enveloped him as his grandpa's coat covered his back. But when Grandpa Clem tugged the flaps of the coat under Zane's chin, he jostled Zane's head. Pain erupted inside Zane's skull. He hissed and pulled away.
"Sorry." Grandpa Clem eased back, then frowned as he examined the side of Zane's head.
"You've got a good-sized gash above your ear.
" He sat back on his haunches. "Stars and garters, Zane.
I thought you were a goner when I saw that boom knock you overboard.
What were you thinking, taking your eye off the sail? I taught you better than that."
"There was a woman standing on a knoll near the edge of the water .
. . singing . . . I think. My memory's still a little fuzzy.
" Zane turned his head slowly and blinked to bring his grandpa's face into focus.
"She had the most incredible voice. Like an opera singer, but more .
. . down-to-earth. She sang a hymn." A smile tugged the edge of his mouth upward.
"I joined in for a verse, not that she could hear me.
But after the final note, our eyes met, and something powerful just . . . hit me."
"The boom's what hit you, you numbskull." Grandpa Clem shook his head at him, but his tone had lost its heat. "Since when have you ever let a woman distract you? To hear your mama talk, you're impervious to feminine charms. Even the musical ones."
Because music wasn't meant to be stiff and formal, a mere checkmark on the list of wifely qualities a man of standing should appreciate. Music was supposed to evoke emotion—joy and melancholy, peace and tension. What he'd heard on that knoll had been so raw it had riveted him.
"Hers was no drawing room recital. It was worship.
Authentic, heart-wrenching worship. Private and powerful.
She didn't sing to impress. She sang because her spirit overflowed.
It was . . . mesmerizing." He turned to peer at the top of the nearby knoll, but if the woman had been there earlier, she was gone now.
Zane sighed. “Either that, or I hallucinated the entire experience after getting knocked in the head.” He reached up and gingerly prodded the bloody knot a couple of inches above and behind his left ear.
“She weren’t no hallucination.” Grandpa Clem turned his attention toward the knoll as well, only his gaze seemed focused on the rocky outcropping near the water. “I saw her, too.”
Imaginary billiard balls ricocheted through Zane's chest. She was real! Which meant she could be found. An influx of energy zinged through his lethargic limbs.
“I’m pretty sure she’s the one who pulled you out of the water.”
“What?” Zane turned back to his grandpa.
He hadn’t even considered how he’d ended up on the beach.
All his concentration had been centered on remembering how to breathe and cataloguing his injuries.
His gaze swung to the Gulf and landed on the small white boat bobbing several hundred yards from shore.
“How could it have been her? She'd not been attired in a bathing costume. She’d worn a normal-looking blue dress, and, I assume, all the necessary layers beneath it. Even an accomplished swimmer would have sunk with all that sodden weight. She couldn’t have rescued me. Could she?”
Even as he made the denial, a flash of memory returned. A feminine voice urging him to breathe. A gentle touch rubbing his back.
Grandpa Clem shrugged then moved around to Zane’s back and grabbed him beneath his arms. “I can’t say if the woman you saw on the ridge was the same one who rescued you or not, but there was definitely a woman next to you on the beach.” He tightened his hold. “Let’s get you up.”
With a grunt to match Zane’s groan, Grandpa Clem levered his grandson to his feet then slid to his side to provide support. He kept one arm wrapped firmly around Zane’s torso. A good thing, since Zane was pretty sure he would have crumpled back to the sand if left on his own.
“What did she look like?” Zane asked, craving as many details as possible about the woman.
Grandpa Clem chuckled softly as he set Zane in motion toward the carriage that waited at the edge of the beach.
“My eyes ain’t what they used to be, but I’m sure she weren’t wearin’ no blue dress.
If I had to hazard a guess, I’d say she was in her underthings.
Probably why she scurried off the moment as she spotted me trottin’ down the beach.
I was more focused on you, truth be told, but I can tell you one thing. She had bright red hair.”
“That’s her! It has to be. The woman on the knoll had red hair, too.”
“Maybe it was. Or maybe you’ve got a red-headed guardian angel watching over you. Either way, I’m right thankful she pulled you out of the drink. I ain’t ready to lose my favorite grandson.”
Zane smiled as they neared the buggy. “I’m your only grandson.”
Grandpa Clem winked as he positioned himself to help Zane onto the carriage seat. “That you are. So no more near-fatal accidents, you hear? I don’t have any grandsons to waste.”
“Deal.” Zane grabbed hold of the mounting handle near the bench, then twisted his face back toward the sea. “What about the boat?” He didn't want to lose it. He and Grandpa Clem had put too much work into it.
“I’ll send some lads to fetch it. Right now, I’m more concerned with getting you home and fetching the doctor.”
Zane couldn’t argue with that logic. A warm bed and a headache powder sounded rather wonderful at the moment.
Yet as the buggy rolled down the road, it wasn’t thoughts of home that filled him with longing.
No, it was thoughts of the mysterious woman who had saved his life.
He scoured the knoll for any sign of her as they drove past. The fact that he found none did nothing to dilute the desire building within him.
He wanted—no, needed—to thank her. And after that? Well, if she happened to be unattached, he just might make his mother’s dearest wish come true. If the lady proved amenable.
I don’t know how, he silently vowed, but I am going to find you.
Muriel peeked her head out from behind a rock and scanned the beach for any sign of the man she’d rescued or his Grandpa Clem.
Neither one was anywhere to be seen. Thank heaven.
She’d worried the older man would try to find her once he’d confirmed his grandson’s well-being, but it seemed he cared more about getting the young man named Zane to a doctor than searching out the woman who’d inadvertently caused his grandson’s accident.
Zane. ‘Twas a name she’d not heard before. She liked it, though. It seemed to fit the young man she'd pulled from the water. Strong and straightforward. Focused. On her.
How her breath had caught when she’d opened her eyes to see him standing in his boat, staring at her.
Not in a leering way. She’d been on the receiving end of a few of those stares when she wandered along the docks, looking for her da.
Zane’s attention had been different. Curious and full of appreciation.
For a single heartbeat, her soul had felt connected to his.
And then the untended sail swung across the boat and whacked him in the head.
Muriel sent another prayer heavenward on the young man's behalf, pleading for healing.
She’d never quite understood how a person could pray without ceasing until today. Every breath she’d breathed over the last hour had carried a petition on its wings. Petitions the Good Lord, in his mercy, had seen fit to grant thus far.
As she made her way home, prayers for Zane continued to dominate her mind and heart.
It felt strange to be so consumed with thoughts for a man she'd never met before today. She didn’t even know his last name.
Yet Zane didn’t feel like a stranger. He felt like .
. . a part of her. A part that had begun to ache after being separated from him.
‘Tis just because ye shared a near-death experience with the fella. It’ll fade with time.
That’s what Alana would say. Sensible, level-headed Alana.
Muriel had been trying to think more like her eldest sister of late.
Seemed the easiest way to train herself to act in a responsible fashion.
Alana excelled in responsible behavior. Of course, she also excelled in bossing and nagging and disappointed sigh heaving, but Muriel didn’t plan to take things far enough to suffer from those unfortunate side effects.
However, as she skirted behind buildings so as not to be caught with a bodice dampened by wet underclothes and a coiffure reminiscent of tangled seaweed, she couldn’t make the Alana logic stick.
Yes, she’d been through a harrowing experience with a stranger, but something more than the rescue bonded her to him.
Perhaps their connection stemmed from the admiration she’d heard in his voice as he’d explained his encounter with her to his grandfather.
Or the fact that he’d witnessed her soul, exposed and raw, and had drawn nearer instead of turning away.
Whatever it was, she doubted she’d be forgetting Mr. Zane any time soon.
As visions of a dark-haired young man swam through her mind, she failed to notice the scowling features of the older man standing in her kitchen until she nearly ran him down.
“Da!” She sucked in a startled breath and hopped backward. “What are ye doin’ home?”
He raised a brow and shot a pointed glance at the salt pork sizzling in the skillet on the cookstove.
“Makin’ supper, since me daughter couldn’t be bothered with the chore.
” He shoved the skillet to the back of the stove with a clatter and turned to face her fully, his head wagging in a sorrowful manner.
“Why, Muriel? Ye’d been makin’ such fine progress. Why’d ye disobey me?”
“I didn’t!”
“Yer hair is drippin’, me girl. Ye can’t expect me to believe that ye weren’t swimmin’ in the sea.”
“It wasn’t like that, Da. I swear! There was an accident near the cove. A man in a small boat took his eyes off the mainsail. When the wind shifted, the boom walloped him in the head and knocked him overboard. No one else was around. I had to go in, Da. He would’ve died!”
Her da’s eyes widened then narrowed as he took in her damp bodice and dry skirt.
“Ye swam out to an unknown man in yer . . . yer . . . unmentionables? Heaven’s breath, child.
Have ye no sense?” His hand trembled as he reached for the back of a chair.
“Ye coulda been . . .” His words trailed off as he rubbed a hand down his face and over his beard.
“Would ye have me leave the man to drown?”
“Yes! If it meant ensurin’ yer safety.”
Pierced by the quaver in his voice, Muriel stepped close and placed her hand atop his where it gripped the back of the chair.
“I’m safe, Da. God protected me. Ye need not fear.”
He grabbed her about the waist and pulled her into a bearish hug. “I can’t help meself from fearin’ for ye, girl. Ye’re me daughter. If anythin’ were to happen to ye . . . I don’t know what I’d do.”
Tears stung her eyes as she burrowed her face into her da’s chest and soaked in the love he squeezed into her. After a moment, he released her and leaned back.
He cleared his throat. “So . . . ah . . . what became of the young lad? He survived, I take it?”
A pride-filled grin stretched across her face.
“He did. I remembered yer training. Pumped his lungs until he coughed out the water trapped inside. For a while, I didn’t think he’d make it.
” Her chest clutched again at the memory, and unexpected tears moistened her eyes.
“I didn’t give up, though,” she said, her voice cracking.
“I kept on and on until he finally breathed on his own.”
“Of course ye did.” His tender smile loosened the last of the knots in her stomach. He smoothed her hair from her forehead. “I’ve heard tales of mermaids rescuing sailors at sea. I guess I should expect nothin’ less from me own little mermaid. I’m proud of ye, Muriel.”
His praise warmed her from the inside out. “Thanks, Da.”
Then his expression sobered, and Muriel’s stomach twisted anew.
“But ye can ne’er tell a soul about what ye did today. It would ruin ye. And if ye ever see that lad about town, ye’re to turn away and walk in the opposite direction. Do ye hear me, daughter?”
She nodded. “Yes, Da.”
I hear ye, but I can’t promise to heed ye.
For if she ever saw Zane again, walking in the opposite direction was the last thing she intended to do.