Marion Lennox - Cinderella And The Billionaire

Boof was on the floor of the boat, crouched low, almost as if he knew stability was an issue. He took Henry’s hand and guided it down to the dog’s collar. ‘I want you to hold on to Boof,’ he told him. ‘He’ll be worried. Hold him tight. Don’t let him move, will you?’

And to his relief he got a silent nod in response. Excellent. Not only would Henry’s hold anchor him to the big dog, it’d keep him low, as well.

Right. Meg. The tiller.

He watched the sea, waiting for his chance. The next swell swept by. No chop.

Now.

* * *

One minute she was holding the tiller, trying to stop the coughs racking her body, trying to keep control. The next...

Matt seemed to come from nowhere. Keeping his body low, he was suddenly at her end of the boat, though with enough sense to keep his weight back as far as he could. Crouching low, he tugged her hard against him, pulling her forward. For one long moment he held her still, checking balance, checking the waves.

Another swell passed—and then she was swung around and propelled onto the central seat.

And then Matt had the tiller and she was no longer in control.

His hold had been swift, firm to the point of brutal, a hard, strong grasp that had left her with nowhere to go. In any other circumstance it would have been terrifying, but right now she’d needed it. It was the assurance that responsibility wasn’t all hers. That she wasn’t alone.

It was a feeling that made her almost light-headed.

Though maybe that was the smoke.

She was still struggling to breathe. Matt might be in control, he might have reassured her that the boat was being cared for, but she needed air.

Smoke inhalation...

She’d done first-aid training. Grandpa had insisted and he’d also insisted on her updating over and over.

‘The bag...’ she managed and then subsided again. Oh, her chest hurt.

Matt was handling the tiller, watching the sea, but in between she could see him coming to grips with controls. He was also watching Henry, but he flashed her a glance that told her he was almost as worried as she was about her lungs.

He looked down at the bag. She’d seen his reaction as she’d tossed it down to him— what, you’re worried about luggage? Now, though... He wasn’t a fool. He had the bag opened in seconds, and, still with one eye on the oncoming sea, he started checking the contents.

The first-aid kit lay on top.

What she needed apart from a canister of oxygen—which she didn’t have—was a bronchodilator. Albuterol. It was in the first-aid kit to cope with possible asthma attacks.

‘Alb...alb...’ she gasped but he got it. He had the small canister clear, and she clutched it as if she were drowning.

‘You know how to use it?’

She did. She’d used it once on an overweight fisherman with a scary wheeze. She held it and inhaled, held it and inhaled.

Matt was steadied the little boat and turned her slightly away from the outcrop they were heading for, making a sensible adjustment to their path so it was more of a zigzag. It would stop the sideways swell.

He knew boats, then.

Maybe panic had as much to do with the coughing as smoke did, she thought. As she felt her breathing ease...as she watched Matt turn the tiller to avoid a cresting chop...as she twisted in the boat and saw Henry, crouched over Boof, holding his collar and even speaking reassuringly to him...her world seemed to settle.

For now they were safe. Moving on.

They needed help.

Radio...

‘There’s a radio in the bag, too,’ she managed. The coughing wasn’t over but at least she could talk. ‘And a GPS tracker. In the side pocket.’ She subsided and coughed a bit more while she watched Matt delve into the bag again.

And come up with nothing.

‘There’s nothing in the side pocket.’

‘There must be.’

No charter boat went to sea without an emergency radio and tracker beacon. It was illegal to leave port without them. Every boat in Charlie’s Marine Services therefore held a bag such as the one Meg had rescued. The presence of the bag was one of the things she checked, every time she boarded. She hadn’t checked the contents today, though. There’d been no need. The contents were standard, always in there.

But Bertha wasn’t usually used for charters.

No!

‘What?’ Matt went back to looking at the sea but she could tell by the rigidity of his shoulders that he’d sensed something was wrong. Seriously wrong.

‘My idiot boss.’ She buckled and coughed a bit more, and maybe that was caused by panic, as well. She was trying to make herself think.

Radios and GPS trackers had batteries that ran out. Charlie ran a regular schedule of checking, because it was sensible, but also, if any marine inspector found a charter boat without a working GPS beacon, or a radio with a flat battery, he’d be down on them like a ton of bricks.

But if such an inspector had come...say, last week...and Charlie had panicked and realised one of the sets was flat...

Why not grab the set from Bertha ’s bag? Bertha wasn’t being used for charters. She wouldn’t be checked.

All these things were flying through her head like shrapnel. Her head felt as if it might explode. For one awful moment she thought she might be sick.

And then Matt’s hand was on her head. He was leaning forward, propelling her downward.

‘Head between your knees until it passes,’ he said. ‘And there’s no need to panic. We’re safe. One step at a time, Meg.’

She had no choice but to obey. She ducked her head and started counting breaths. It was a trick her grandpa had taught her after her parents had been killed.

When all else fails, just feel your breath on your lips, lass. That’s all that matters. One breath after another.

It felt wimpy. It felt as if she’d handed total responsibility to a stranger but she put her head down and counted.

She was up to about a hundred and twenty before she heard Henry, his thin little voice piping up from the back. ‘Where are we going?’

She should answer. She should...

‘We’re going over to that big rock you see in front of you.’ And Matt sounded totally in control, as if he were stranded at sea after fire every day of his life.

‘Is that Grandma’s island?’

‘Nope.’ Matt’s voice sounded almost cheerful. ‘We’re going to this island first. Garnett Island’s a bit far away for us to get there in this little boat.’

‘But how will we get to Grandma’s?’

Good question, Meg thought. Right now she didn’t have an answer. Luckily Matt did.

‘We might have to wait awhile,’ he conceded. ‘But I’ve been checking this interesting bag our skipper’s brought with us. Apart from muesli bars and bags of nuts and sultanas, there are some cool things that look like flares. When you light flares you can be seen for miles. So my guess is that we’ll land on this island, we’ll eat our muesli bars and our sultanas, and we’ll wait for Meg’s boss to realise she’s no longer in radio contact. I imagine they’ll send a helicopter to find us. If we need to, we’ll light our flares to help him find us and then we’ll all be rescued. Even Boof. Is that a good plan?’

‘We might need a drink,’ Henry said cautiously.

‘There’s a water carton under the seat you’re sitting on,’ Meg managed and then turned and checked herself. All the tenders carried fresh water. At least that was there.

‘And what if it gets dark?’ Henry quavered.

‘I’d imagine Meg’s boss will send help before that, but if he doesn’t then we’ll build a fire with driftwood. I can see matches in Meg’s Marvellous Bag. We’ll sing songs and tell each other stories and then we’ll lie on these...yep, thermal blankets...and we’ll wait until they come. Is that okay with you, Henry?’