Page 12 of Hot Buttered Rum

Chapter 7

The fog had somehow churned up the current, and small waves lapped over the sides of the canoe, soaking my legs and boots. With each passing wave, the canoe was pushed closer and closer to the tangled tree roots lining the rocky shore. Coco’s canoe would be ruined, and I would more than likely be pitched against the hard rocks.

I lowered the paddle again and pulled against the tide. My best option was to paddle away from the trees, in what I surmised was the general direction of the inn.

My arms grew tired quickly as I fought the force of the tide. Suddenly, the canoe shot forward. I hardly had to move the paddle. I’d caught the current leading back to the beach. I sighed and relaxed enough to consider what yummy delights Coco might have waiting for me when I trudged back inside, wet and cold.

The fog was still dense, and I couldn’t see much past the nose of the canoe as it rose and fell with each passing wave. I was soaked, both from the turbulent water and the fog. A shiver shook my body. I let go of the paddle just long enough to rub some warmth into my arms.

Something white loomed in the distance. I passed it off as the same streams of ghostly looking moisture I’d seen earlier. But as the white silhouette neared, I recognized the outline of the buoy. Coco’s warning dashed through my head, sending my pulse into overdrive. I wasn’t heading back to shore. I was being dragged out to open sea.

I sat up with a gasp. As I did, my knees shot up and knocked the paddle into the water. I leaned over and frantically grabbed for the oar as it floated away from the canoe. My fingers couldn’t reach it. I hopped up and knelt on the wooden seat to reach low over the side. In the distance, I heard the stutter of a motor boat, and I cried out in fear that I’d be struck by a passing ship.

A large swell struck the side of the canoe, and I went face first into the cold, dark water. I surfaced and sucked in a sharp breath, drawing in more water than air. I struggled to keep my head above water as I worked through the coughing fit that followed.

I grabbed hold of the side of the canoe, but I couldn’t pull myself back inside. The freezing water slowed the movement of my legs, and I felt myself moving farther out with the tide. The fog that had rolled in so suddenly seemed intent on staying. I was trapped in a terrifying nightmare and hoped that someone would wake me soon.

Another large swell lifted the canoe and me higher. As it rolled beneath me, the daunting silhouette of a boat’s hull came into view. I screamed and tried hard to climb back into the canoe, but the turbulent sea was working against me.

A deep voice pierced the thick mist. “Take my hand!”

The man was leaning off the side of a rope ladder. His warm breath had dissolved the mist around his face. It was Turner. A sob burst from my lips at the sight of him.

“Let go of the canoe and reach for my hand.” He leaned out as far as he could. I let go of the canoe and lunged for his outstretched hand. My fingertips brushed his, then the icy water yanked me under. I flailed my arms and legs, trying to find the surface. The dark skies muted the sunlight, and it was impossible to get a sense of direction. Full panic engulfed me, and my heart felt as if it would explode from the terror of drowning.

Like a cork had been popped from a massive champagne bottle, a violent burst of bubbles swirled around me. A strong arm wrapped around me, and in seconds, I was sucking in misty air.

When my lungs had finally refilled with oxygen, a shuddering sob left my mouth.

“I’ve got ya. You’re all right, Ginger.” Turner’s deep, soothing voice and the comfort of his strong arm around me brought on another sob.

My body trembled with cold and shock. I was little help to my rescuer as he swam through the choppy waves toward his boat. We reached the ladder hanging over the side.

“Grab hold and I’ll give you a push up,” Turner said between gulps of air.

My fingers were numb as they curled around the first rung. My legs were exhausted and cold and they felt like rubber as I frantically searched for a foot hold on the ladder. Turner’s big hand went beneath my bottom and he pushed me out of the water. Somehow I managed to climb up and over the side of the boat.

Once on deck, I collapsed to my knees and hugged myself. The uncontrollable shaking that wracked my body was a combination of the freezing water and the terror left behind from nearly drowning.

Turner’s hand clamped around the railing of his boat as he pulled himself up and over.

“Coco’s canoe,” I said, “I’ve lost her canoe.”

“No, it hasn’t been pulled out to sea yet. The canoe will find its way back in on the tide.”

A beam of light poked through the thick fog, and I lifted my face to feel the warmth.

“Looks like the fog will leave soon.” Turner reached down his hand. “We need to get you out of those wet clothes and under the covers before hypothermia sets in. Your lips are turning blue. I much prefer them pink.”

I was shaking so hard lifting my hand to his was a struggle. He seemed to sense that I was already well on my way to a dangerously low body temperature. “Christ, I need to get you inside.” He leaned down, swept me into his arms and carried me to a small set of stairs that led below deck.

I curled myself against him, hoping to find heat, but he too had just pulled himself from the same icy water. He carried me through a mini galley kitchen, and I caught a glimpse of Dexter sitting on a perch with a peanut in his beak. He dropped the peanut and cried ‘pretty girl’ as we walked past. Hearing it made me smile.

“A pretty wet girl, Dex. I need to get her dry.”

I was so relieved to be safe and alive, tears pooled in my eyes. “Thank you for jumping in,” my voice broke. The violent tremble in my chin didn’t help. “I nearly drown—” Another sob cut off my words.

“Shh, you’re fine. You didn’t drown.” He sat me on the edge of a narrow bed that had been nailed to a corner of the small room. Two portholes looked like big round eyes just above the bed. Turner knelt down in front of me as more tears rolled from my eyes. He combed his long, wet hair back with his fingers. His blue eyes glittered with concern.

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