Eleanor Jones - Footprints in the Sand

Couldn’t he see the danger?

I ran along the shoreline, scanning the beach for Bryn. And suddenly there he was, bright and fluorescent in my dad’s old fishing jacket, waving back at me.

Yellow Dog bounded around him in crazy circles, a distant dot beside the faraway figure of the man I loved. There, I’d said it. For the first time in my life, I’d said it. I yelled it out loud, caressing the words that had taken a small miracle to finally get out.

“I love you!”

My voice was carried away on the rising wind.

Bryn threw a stick as the tide rushed around the edge of the bay. Yellow Dog leaped up into the air, and then they were gone, lost in an opaque mist.

I stopped, aware of rippling water moving relentlessly toward me.

And then it was upon me, dragging me down. The surging white wave that heralded the tide, taking all in its path.

“Bryn!”

Dear Reader,

The inspiration for this story came to me when I was walking by the sea not so very far from here, where the tide comes in quickly and silently around the outside of the bay, often cutting off those foolish enough to walk way out across the sands.

It seems so tranquil and so beautiful a place and yet, in an instant, it can become deadly–much like life, really.

I do hope you enjoy this story.

All very best wishes to you,

Eleanor

Footprints in the Sand

Eleanor Jones

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ELEANOR JONES

Born and raised on a farm in northern England, Eleanor Jones has always had a passion for animals and the countryside. She has been writing almost all of her life. The poems and stories she wrote as a child, which still grace a cupboard somewhere, were mostly written in longhand. She later wrote articles for an equestrian magazine, and her first big break came when she began writing teenage pony mystery stories. These still sell successfully in seven countries throughout Europe and in America.

Married at eighteen to Peter, she had two children and then set up the Holmescales Riding Centre in Cumbria with her husband. This busy center now trains career students, takes hacks and treks and teaches at all levels from children and total novices to competition riders.

Eleanor still rides every day, schooling and training horses, and her daughter is now a partner in the business and competes at national level. Both her daughter and her son are now married and she has three wonderful grandchildren with whom she loves to spend as much time as she can.

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I would like to dedicate this book to my dear

mother, Grace, who always loved the sea.

THE SORROWING SEA

By T J Darling

A sight so wide it fills the eye, its vast horizon

meets a sky that stretches to infinity. That holds

my heart. That sets me free.

Timeless echoes in my ears; a haunting melody;

ten thousand seabirds sing their woes to a wild

and restless sea.

So many lost beneath the waves of the mighty

ocean’s rage: How much more heartache can it

writhe its anger to assuage.

But when it sparkles, shimmering sands, its

transient beauty a promised land, it sings another

song to me, of peacefulness and harmony.

A place to live: A place to die.

A place I love.

Contents

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

CHAPTER ONE

WHERE WAS BRYN? My car keys made a heavy clunk on the pine table. The sound echoed hollowly inside my head as my eyes flickered around the tiny kitchen and out into the narrow hallway. Please don’t let me be too late, please don’t let him be gone already. All the stupid, phobic insecurities that had held me back seemed shallow and insignificant now. At last I could tell him how I felt—if it wasn’t too late. Or perhaps I’d kept him waiting for too long and finally missed my chance of happiness altogether...now, when I needed it most.

The silence brought hope. If Yellow wasn’t here, then Bryn must have taken him for a walk; they’d be on the shore. I hugged my news to myself, clinging to the joy that ached inside me, deep down where the anger used to be. I longed to see his face when I told him. I couldn’t wait for him to come back; I had to find him now.

Leaving the door open, I ran back outside, taking in the scene that had filled my life forever. A scene I couldn’t live with and couldn’t live without. Miles of sand stretched out toward the far horizon, and gulls coasted in easy circles, their haunting cries echoing with a melody that spoke only of the sea—a place of beauty and of pain that held me fiercely in its grip.

To my disappointment the glistening sand was smooth and bare, not a single figure in sight. I glanced uneasily at my watch, knowing the tide so well and aware that at any moment it would come rushing around the bay. Apprehension dulled my joy, but of course Bryn knew the dangers that lurked behind the serene facade of the bay, and surely he must have heard the siren that warned of the approaching tide. He must have taken the path that led across the cliff top instead. He loved to stand up there staring out to sea, for in every view he saw a picture waiting to be painted. Perhaps I should just go back to the cottage.

No! My heart beat hard against my rib cage. What if he was still down on the shore? I knew this place with an instinct that never failed and something told me I had to find him now.

The horizon was fading, at one with the rippling sea, lost in the mist that settled over the water and spread soundlessly toward the shore. Even the gulls were silent as they waited for the tide.

“Bryn! Bryn!”

My voice disappeared into the emptiness as I stepped onto the sand, feeling its familiar, comforting squelch against my feet. I started to run along the shoreline, scanning the beach for Bryn. And suddenly there he was, a bright fluorescent figure in my dad’s old fishing jacket, waving back at me.

“Bryn! Bryn!”

Couldn’t he see the danger?

Yellow Dog bounded around him in crazy circles, a distant dot beside the faraway figure of the man I loved. There, I had said it. For the first time in my life, I’d said it. I yelled it out loud, caressing the words that had taken a small miracle to finally get out.

“I love you!”

My voice was carried away on the rising wind.

“Come back!”

He threw a stick.... Threw a stick as the tide surged around the edge of the bay.

“Bryn!”

And then he was heading toward me. Relief rushed in like the tide as I set out to meet him.

One moment, I could see him, way out toward the horizon, a tiny matchstick man against the smooth expanse of sand, picking up the stick to throw again. Yellow Dog leaped up in the air and then suddenly they were gone, lost in the opaque mist that settled over the bay. I stopped, aware of rippling water moving relentlessly toward me.