Page 9 of Until the Sea Runs Dry

Loki’s tail wagged back and forth, loving the game he now thought they were playing.

She thought it interesting that, despite apparently not wanting to have the dog, he was still concerned for his welfare.

They reached a path of sorts, created by aged pieces of driftwood set into the sand. She focused on the warmth of the wood beneath the soles of her feet.

Little details.

If she focused on the smaller things, she wouldn’t become overwhelmed.

Logan led them up the short path, past several steps until they crossed a small white-painted gate and into the grounds of his home.

She was struck by how perfect it all was.

The landscaped gardens were lush, thriving with exotic flowers and plants that bloomed in cleverly designed displays, but pretty as they all were, the standout was the pool that overlooked the ocean while a rock waterfall cascaded over one end. Adjoining it was a beautiful pool house clad with a finish that resembled those driftwood steps that even from her cursory glance, seemed fit for a king.

At a fraction of the size of the main house, it shared the same shingle style cottage design, but with modern highlights that came in the form of floor-to-ceiling doors that could be opened up all the way to let the house spill into the back yard. She imagined when the sun set, this entire place would seem magical.

None of the splendor affected Loki in the least as he tore madly about the place, that giant branch gripped tightly in his mouth, but when he caught sight of a particular flower bed, he dropped the branch like it was a hot coal.

“Don’t you dare…” Logan began, but the dog had already dashed over to the flower bed and started to dig a large hole in the dirt.

Logan threw up his hands but did nothing to stop him.

“Aren’t you going to tell him off?” She couldn’t understand Logan’s reticence. If this was her home, she wouldn’t let the dog — adorable or not — destroy this beautiful place.

“I’ve tried. All it does is get him excited again. I’ve learned it’s best to leave him to it. Once we move away, he’ll get bored and come after us.”

He was right. As soon as they started away, Loki stopped digging and chased after them, barking with abandon, his face now covered with dirt.

When they finally reached the three-lane-wide driveway that was decorated with another stunning floral display, Logan started toward what she assumed was the garage. It was hard to know since it looked like another outbuilding, like the pool house. It certainly didn’t look like any garage she had ever seen — any that she could remember.

Loki tossed a look her way, torn whether to stay or go, but clearly, he was devoted to his owner. He bounded after Logan, yipping at his heels.

She heard Logan curse again as Loki almost tripped him up. Impatiently, he bent down, carrying the dog in his arms so he could get to his car quicker. This delighted the dog no end as he slathered Logan’s face in wet kisses.

The last thing she heard as they disappeared from view was Logan making a sound of utter disgust.

Alone, she took in her surroundings.

Remember to focus on the details…

Someone had planted white jasmines by the door. Their sweet, familiar scent drifted into her nose, causing her to grow suddenly excited. She knew what the flower was!

But how could she know that, and not her own name?

What insanity was this?

The driveway itself was a sweeping river of stone flanked on either side by pristine lawns of the greenest grass. Branches heavy with the leaves of mature willows bordered the driveway, offering privacy while still letting in the natural light and some of that stunning California beach view that stretched on as far as the eye could see.

It must cost a small fortune for Logan to live here.

What on Earth did he do that he could afford such a luxurious lifestyle?

She considered whether he could be a stockbroker, though they tended to live in the East Coast by Wall Street. Maybe some other financial business: from the little she had seen of him though, he seemed too casual for the suited type. Try as she might, she could not picture him behind a desk, crunching numbers on a calculator.

Maybe he was a model — he was certainly good-looking enough. Her cheeks flamed at the thought.

She might be hurt and suffering from amnesia, yet it hadn’t slipped her notice that her rescuer could have given a young Hugh Jackman a run for his money.

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