Page 1 of Muskoka Blue

Chapter 1

It was the perfect time to be brave. The sun shone, bouncing brightness off the smooth blue glass of Lake Muskoka.Musk-oh-ka. She rolled the word around in her mouth as she drank in the postcard-like scene. Tall, deep-green pines leaned over the shore, watching expectantly, guardians of this beautiful sapphire two hours north of Toronto.

Sarah glanced around. Nobody was here to talk her out of it. Nobody was here to say, “Sarah, are you sure?” and start the second-guessing that was all too familiar now. Nobody was here to see the scars that marked her side and look at her with pity or, worse, ask those questions for which she didn’t have answers.

She stepped off the small patch of sand into the water.

“Ah!” She screeched as the icy water bit her skin, pressing her lips together to stop another groan. Of course Canadian summers would differ to those back home—but surely the water should be warmer than this!

Be brave.

Memories flashed: moving to a new country. Singing in front of thousands. Learning to walk again. She lifted her chin. Took another step. Sun-warmed air made the cold shock all the more, but she plowed on regardless. Things were never as they seemed. Superficial calm could hide pain so deep—

No.Don’t think about it.

She took another step. Gritted her teeth. Then plunged in headfirst.

The water slapped her face, her chest, her skin tingling with a million pinpricks. She gasped, heaved air past the rocks in her lungs, and sliced her arms through the water.Stroke. Stroke. Stroke.Movement eased the chill, bringing a modicum of warmth. Once the icy fire in her lungs abated, she could see the red-and-white buoy in the lake and, over on the lake’s far shore, small fir and spruce sheltering under the arms of larger trees. Kicking with her good leg, she pivoted to study Aunt Angela and Uncle John’s small, homey cottage. It huddled under a pair of poplars cathedral-high.

She glanced across at the three-story mansion next door, all gleaming windows and big fancy deck. It even boasted its own hot tub, little jetty, and cute red boathouse. She made a face at it and turned toward the buoy, forcing her left leg to kick like her physical therapist back home had taught her and slowly carving her way closer.

Her hip felt better today. Maybe those sadistic exercises over the past eighteen months were working. Her hip hadn’t seized up for…almost four days. Not since that ultra-embarrassing episode on the plane when she’d started cramping halfway through the sixteen-hour flight from Sydney to Vancouver, before needing sedation to stop her gasps and whimpers from scaring the other passengers. Her skin crawled at the memory. Cowering in the aisle. People staring, probably thinking she was deranged. Bile rose—

No. She sucked in a breath.Don’t think about it.

She scooped her way closer to the buoy bobbing happily in the lake. Fifteen meters. Ten. Five. And touch. She began treading water as a smile threatened to escape. Yes. She’d done it. Victory.

She flipped over onto her back and gazed at the blue bowl of sky, cloudless, open to the heavens. “See, God? See what I can do without You?”

No answer, but that wasn’t surprising. God had stopped answering her prayers eighteen months ago. He certainly wasn’t going to start talking now.

Sarah closed her eyes. The splash of water played against her ear as she floated, drifting like a broken stick on the sea. It would be so easy to stop trying, to cease this struggle to stay afloat, to just let go and sink to the bottom of a foreign lake…

She frowned. Except if she did, her parents and sister would be devastated. And her aunt and uncle would never forgive themselves for going into town today. And anyway, she’d already spent way too long at the bottom.

Be brave.

She opened her eyes—and stared straight up into a pair of deep brown ones.

Bump. Her head hit something hard. Then water filled her nose and she was underwater, long strands of red hair swirling in front of her. Her heart hammered:Can’t breathe! Can’t breathe!Hands grabbed her upper arms. She clawed at them. The pressure released. Her head broke the surface and she spat out water. Gulped in precious air. Saw the brown eyes again. Kicked away.

Her hip cramped, the spasms shuddering up her left side. “Ow!”

“Hey!” The man stretched a scratched hand toward her. “Want a hand?”

She shook her head and tried to swim away. Dumb move. Her hip was on fire, her left leg a dead weight. Drowning wasn’t on the agenda today.Oh God, please help me!

“It’s at least a hundred meters to shore. Can you make it that far?”

Cramps continued ratcheting up her side. Sarah bit back a moan to study the shoreline. She gulped. Glanced back.

The man leaned over the boat’s side, dark eyes concerned. “Do you need help?”

No. She was sick of people needing to help her all the time, sick of being pathetic, sick of being sick. But something in his face suggested kindness. And hopefully he’d be like all those plane passengers and she’d never see him again either. “Yes.”

Sarah inched her way to the side of the boat. The man reached down, grasped her right hand, and hauled her up like she was a feather. Her knees scraped against the metal rim, then she landed with a grunt in the bottom of a sleek, modern runabout. She eased into the seat he gestured to, pressing deep into her side as she glanced about. Fishing rods were propped into narrow slots, their lines stretching taut into the water. The smell of bait penetrated her nostrils, threatening to send her insides out. She fought the nausea and studied her rescuer.

Brown hair, unshaven jaw, tanned skin, dressed in a scruffy beige T-shirt and khaki shorts, he looked very…brown, like an advertisement for Mr. Wilderness. Judging from the muscled arms he’d used to haul in her not-so-dainty self, he probably wrangled bears in his spare time while off camping somewhere hundreds of miles from civilization—and a decent coffee shop. She drew up her knees and wrapped one arm around them, grasping the side for balance as the boat gently rocked.

---