Sweet Talkin' Scoundrel by Tess Oliver Page B

The nearest island was a good mile off. Unfortunately, it was a privately owned island that the owners rarely visited. My brave Marcus,” she hesitated as if it was hard to speak past the pride swelling in her chest. She swallowed hard, and it took her a second to get over what I was almost sure was a rush of emotion. It had to have been a nightmarish day for the family. I could only imagine the feelings it stirred.
    An audible sigh followed. “Marcus took Becky from Jack’s arms and swam through the rough water to the island. After he got Becky safely on shore, exhausted and cold, he returned to the wreck. Of course, Jack insisted he take James to shore first. My husband had grown up privileged”—a tender smile appeared that made her look far less severe. Pretty, even—“And a little spoiled,” she said fondly. “He liked nice things, but he always had a good heart. And his kids meant everything. Marcus helped James to shore. Then he returned to the wreck.” Her voice dropped to a near whisper. “But it was too late. Jack was dead. The doctors said it was his heart.”
    Katherine rested back and her face returned to its usual mannequin hardness. She touched her cup. “Now my tea is cold.”
    “I’ll get the kettle.” I scooted back my chair, but she shook her head.
    “No, I need to get ready to fly to King’s Beach. You best get back to your inattentive pupil.”
    And that was that. She’d told me this incredible story, fraught with danger and ending with the tragic loss of her husband, and it was as if she’d just recited a recipe for blueberry muffins. I carried our cups to the sink and left them with the other dirty dishes.
    “I’ll be back later this evening,” Katherine noted in her usual business-like tenor as she strode out of the room.
    I had a moment to myself to think about the entire interaction. It was incredible to picture Marcus doing something so selfless and brave. I hadn’t seen any characteristics in him to give me any inkling that he had that type of fortitude and courage within him. Obviously, I’d misjudged him. It certainly gave me an entirely different opinion of the man. It had to have been gut-wrenching for him to know that as hard as he’d tried, he still couldn’t save his father. It was entirely likely that James, who for no other reason than his youth, was more fit than Jack. If Marcus had taken his father to shore first, everyone would have survived. I wondered briefly if that was the source of contention between the family and the son who had left for a life away from his island home. It seemed odd to think that would be the case. What mother wouldn’t be forever grateful that all her children made it safely home that day, even with the loss of her husband.
    In the distance, the now familiar rat-a-tat chirp of Tero’s engine broke the natural silence outside. Just the sound of the man’s plane sent a rush of feelings through me. I reached up to rub the tickle from my nose and headed out of the kitchen. A wry, almost laughable notion popped into my head about being a fly on the wall of Tero’s cockpit when Dax was charged with the task of flying Mrs. Underwood to King’s Beach.

Chapter 9
    Dax
    My wetsuit scraped over the sandy wax on my board as the swell blew up like a balloon beneath me. I grabbed the edge of the board and my feet popped under me to stand. I knew before I’d even straightened that I’d overshot the wave. The water that had been a semi-solid surface underneath the board sucked back down. I bailed, headfirst, into the water. My leg snapped straight as the leash held tightly to my ankle as it headed in the opposite direction of the surfboard. My shoulder smacked the sea bottom. The churning water spun me as if I was a sock in a washing machine before releasing its hold on me.
    I headed in the direction of sunlight. I shook the water from my ears as my head popped through the surface.
    “Fuck, dude, you can’t surf worth shit this morning.”