Page 43 of Her Wild Coast Refuge

In this moment, my craving for her rises to an almost-fury. It takes everything I have to get back into the boat. And when I do, the last of the adrenaline ebbs from my body, leaving me feeling spent. And empty.

Lexie takes the oars again and gets us moving downstream.

I remember her question:What will you do when it’s over?

As if she can hear my thoughts, she glances over her shoulder, her face as tense as my heart.

ChapterEleven

LEXIE

The rain startsas a heavy mist, like we’re caught in a cloud. We pull on our rain slickers just as the giant gravel bar that serves as our take-out comes into view. I fight the urge to keep going. Let the river take us wherever she wanders. But that would end once we hit the ocean, and then what? We’d be lost at sea in a rainstorm.

Part of me doesn’t care. Because even though that’s risky and dangerous, at least we’d be together.

I row hard to ferry us to the pool below the gravel bar. My hands are raw from rowing, but I ignore the burn. Thanks to a favor from Sully who set up our shuttle, Coop’s truck and the trailer are parked above the river in a narrow rocky pullout.

When I cross through the eddyline and the boat drifts safely to shore, I soften my grip on the oars with a heavy sigh.

I’ve never shared such an intimate experience with another person before. When I’m on the river, it’s just me and the clouds. My brothers respect my passion, but they don’t fully understand it. My friends sort of get it—plenty of families in these parts fish commercially—but I bet they’ve never wept over the sound of water moving over stones in the dawn’s stillness, or felt the stars align in one single cast.

When I’ve tried to describe it, the words sounded corny. It’s about being part of something bigger than myself, something raw and perfect. It’s about freedom, and peace, and wildness.

But today, I didn’t have to explain. The three of us experienced it together. No need for words.

How wild do you like it, sweetheart?

My arms and back are weary and my ribs are sore from where an oar cracked into me during one of our battles. Inside, I’m a mushy mess. I’m worn down from fighting my feelings, from being frustrated and heartsick and exhilarated, sometimes in the same minute.

I care for both of them, but the thought of where that could lead us makes my head spin. Dawson’s married, but from the hints Quinn has dropped, I’m starting to wonder if the marriage isn’t sostrict. That alone is weird enough, and confusing.

Loose marriage laws aside, there’s the problem of choosing between them. If I do, that means excluding the other, and I can’t imagine breaking them apart.

We make a good team.

A shiver tingles down my spine.

How does being with two actually work?

Would I like it?

We jump into the shallows and pull the boat up the gravel bar, working together in silence. Are they thinking the same things I am? I know today meant something to them. I saw it with my own eyes. Has it brought us closer, to some inevitable conclusion? Or is it fleeting, and once they settle their affairs, life will go back to the way it was before?

The mist turns to a steady drizzle, but the work of de-rigging the boat and carrying it up the steep bank to the road keeps me warm. After I secure it on the trailer with tie-down straps, I join the guys under the awning of the truck’s back hatch. Rain clatters on the roof of the cab and puddles have filled in the potholes on the road. Beneath our tiny shelter, we peel off our outer layers, bumping into each other to a chorus of “sorry” and “oops”, that make me jittery.

Dawson reaches for my hand, and I jolt.

Grimacing, he turns my palm over.

The blisters from rowing have torn, creating pink ovals of raw skin.

Quinn winces as he peels open my other hand. “Jeez, Lexie.”

“It’s okay,” I insist.

“Don’t we have a first aid kit?” Dawson asks, reaching into the truck bed. He snatches up the pouch and unzips it.

I groan. “I’ll put band-aids on them later. Let’s get out of the rain.”

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