Jill Sorenson - Island Peril

“OCD,” Brooke mouthed to Ella, who smothered a laugh.

Abby noticed the exchange but didn’t comment. When she finished rinsing, she walked behind Brooke with a cup of water, pouring a splash down her back.

Brooke leapt to her feet, squealing. “Hey!”

Abby almost dropped the cup in her haste to get away. Brooke started to chase her around the tent, stopping short when Paul appeared at the edge of the campsite. He smiled at their antics. Ella rose from the rock she’d been sitting on.

“I know it’s a little early,” he said, clearing his throat, “but the weather conditions are perfect for kayaking right now.”

Brooke did a cheerleading jump kick. “Let’s go.”

“Fifteen minutes?”

They agreed to that time frame and collected their supplies. Each kayaker needed drinking water, snacks and extra clothing. They changed into bikinis and shorts with rash guard surf shirts. Neoprene booties and fleece jackets went into the packs.

When Paul came back to check their gear, he nodded his approval. “You ladies have done this before.”

Ella put on her backpack. “The trip isn’t for beginners, right?”

“Right, but some people lie about their experience. They think it’s easy.”

“How hard is it?” Abby asked, winking at Ella.

“Harder on some days than others,” he said, taking a small spiral notebook from his pocket and flipping it open. “That’s why I have to factor the SCRS before every trip.”

“What’s that?” Ella asked.

“Sea Conditions Rating System.”

They gathered around while he pointed out numbers for wave height, wind speed and water temperature.

“Where do you get the data?”

“Ocean buoys and weather reports. I have an app on my cell phone. I can also do a rough estimate on my own.”

Ella was standing close enough to smell him. She detected an intoxicating hint of sunscreen and sports deodorant on warm male skin. He was tall, almost a foot taller than her. She studied his grip on the notepaper. He had big hands.

“Looks like we’re at Class II/III today. Should be a breeze.”

“Do you have helmets?” Abby asked.

“Absolutely. I wouldn’t go into a sea cave without them.”

Abby seemed relieved by his commitment to safety. They’d kayaked in calm waters like La Jolla cove, but never across the open ocean. Even Ella was a bit intimidated, though her excitement about metamorphic rock formations outweighed any fears. Brooke lived for adventure and had no reservations whatsoever.

They hiked down the sandy path to the loading dock, where the kayak equipment was stored. Paul gave them a quick refresher course on the beach before they prepared to launch. He was a good teacher, giving clear instructions. She admired the flex of his biceps as he demonstrated the strokes, his back to them. He had to be at least twenty-five, maybe thirty. Those shoulders belonged to a man, not a boy.

At the end of the session, he lowered his paddle and turned around to face them. “Any questions?”

“Are there speleothems inside the caves?” Ella asked.

His gaze sharpened in appraisal. She knew how nerdy she sounded; Abby was practically groaning beside her. Ella usually tried to dial it down on the science terms, but they popped out whenever she was nervous.

“Stalagmites, stalactites, that sort of thing,” she said, blushing.

“Those are more common in limestone caves,” he said. “The ones we’re visiting are mostly volcanic.”

Ella was thrilled by his informed response. She wanted to ask him about fault-line activity, but the topic might disturb Abby. The same earthquake that had traumatized her sister had inspired Ella to change her course of study in college. She’d chosen a career that would enable her to use geophysical research to save lives.

He moved on, taking the dry sacks from the storage compartment. “These are for anything you don’t want to get wet. They aren’t completely waterproof, so leave your electronics here in the lockbox.”

Abby frowned. “I can’t bring my cell phone?”

“They don’t work on San Miguel anyway.”

“What if we have an emergency?”

“I’ll use my radio.” He showed her his first aid kit and rescue supplies. “I stay in contact with the other guide at the campsite. I can also call headquarters.” Picking up the radio, he pressed the talk button. “We’re about to head out, Ramona. Over.”

Ramona responded a second later. “Thanks for checking in, Paul! Have a great trip. Over.”

Somewhat mollified, Abby left her cell phone in the lockbox. He secured it with a key he wore on an elastic band around his wrist.

“Are you two sisters?” he asked, glancing from Abby to Brooke.

Abby’s face, which had grown tense, relaxed at the compliment. She was young for a divorcee with a teenager, and she took excellent care of herself. It wasn’t the first time a charming man had asked her this question.

“She’s my mom,” Brooke said in an annoyed voice.

Abby hooked her arm around Ella’s neck. “This is my sister.”

“My mistake,” he said with a smile. “Good looks clearly run in the family.”

As he lifted his kayak and carried it to the water’s edge, Abby arched a brow at Ella. He was smooth—Ella would give him that. He’d already won Abby over. Her sister grabbed her kayak and followed him to the shore.

“Where are you from, Paul?”

“San Diego.”

“Really? So are we.”

“I live in Oxnard now,” he said, naming a suburb of LA.

Abby elbowed her. “Ella just moved to Northridge.”

“Oh yeah? We’re practically neighbors.”

She set her kayak on the wet sand, feeling self-conscious.

“What brought you to this area?” Abby asked.

“I came with a girlfriend.”

“How did that work out?”

“It didn’t.”

“How terrible,” she said brightly.

He shrugged. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

Ella climbed into the cockpit and secured the spray skirt around her waist as the others did the same. They pushed off the sandy beach into the rollicking surf. Launching a kayak wasn’t easy, but for a trip like this it was a necessary skill. Ella appreciated the fact that Paul expected them to get started without his assistance. Within moments, she was breathing hard, her arm muscles working as she paddled.

The physical difficulty of paddling past breaking waves prevented Abby from continuing her interrogation. It was obvious that she considered Paul a catch. Ella hoped her sister wouldn’t make any more pointed remarks.

Abby meant well. She thought Ella needed to get out more, and she was right. Ella spent too many hours staring at a computer screen, pondering theories and studying graphs. Even when she wasn’t indoors, she lived inside her own head. She was socially awkward. Most of her interactions with the opposite sex were platonic.

It was a bit like the pot calling the kettle black, however. Abby acted as if Brooke was her entire world and she had no room for romance. In reality, she was gun-shy. Ray’s betrayal had split up their family and broken her heart.

Paul led them east along the shore of Santa Rosa before he turned north. Ella’s pulse raced with excitement as they headed toward San Miguel. The four-mile gap of open water between them was a dizzying expanse, conjuring images of lurking predators. She wished she hadn’t watched so many episodes of Shark Week.

They’d gone less than a mile when Paul paused mid-stroke. He’d been looking over his shoulder at regular intervals, checking their progress. Ella glanced back to see what was wrong. Brooke and Abby were no longer paddling.

“Okay?” he called out, patting his head.

Brooke patted her head.