Radclyffe - Wild Shores

“I just flew in from the rig,” Austin said. “I’m afraid we don’t have much of a story for you at this point. Unless you’re here to cover the hurricane. I can’t tell you much about that you don’t already know.”

“I understand you’ve got a spill, and it’s headed this way.” Smiling, Linda waved a hand toward the trucks that were boldly marked with FEMA. “Really, why else?”

Gem stepped forward. “I can answer that, since I called them.”

Linda Kane swiveled toward Gem, a boldly arched auburn eyebrow rising. “Really. And who would you be?”

“Gillian Martin. I’m head of the research team here at the sanctuary. This is a protected area and with the storm coming, we need to secure the coastline.” She nodded toward the FEMA trucks. “Standard procedure under these conditions.”

“And of course, with the oil spill—”

“At this point,” Gem said, “we’re a lot more worried about the storm than something that might happen. The hurricane is not theoretical.”

“I guess we’ll all find out about that together, then,” Linda said jauntily, as if they were all going to the same cocktail party that evening.

“If you’ll excuse us,” Gem said, “I need to get these people organized.” She turned her back on the reporter and headed toward the lead FEMA van. “Bill?”

A slender, handsome young African American stepped forward, hand outstretched. “That would be me. Our command vehicles are setting up in town. Where do you want the sand?”

“There’s an access road behind the building,” Gem said, returning his handshake. “Take that down toward the beach. I’ll meet you there and we can get started.”

“Good enough.” He herded his people back to their trucks. “Saddle up, everybody.”

Within a minute, the parking lot was empty except for the news van. Gem ignored them as she strode after the FEMA vehicles.

Austin caught up with her on the path. “Thanks for having my back.”

“I wasn’t. I just wanted to keep the record straight.”

“Well, I appreciate it, all the same.”

“You’re welcome,” Gem said, cutting her a glance. “What are you doing here?”

“I thought I’d make myself useful and fill some sandbags.”

“I think that’s a little below your pay grade, isn’t it?”

“I want to help, and right now it’s a waiting game out on the rig. There’s nothing I can do out there. So if it’s all right with you, I’d like to stay.”

Gem let out a breath. “All right, as long as you promise to keep those news people out of our hair.”

“You don’t ask for much, do you?”

“Actually,” Gem said, thinking back on all the things she’d once wanted from a lover and never thought to have, “I think I’m finally beginning to.”

Chapter Twenty-three

Gem dragged a bag of sand to the barricade and heaved it on top. Pressing a hand to the small of her back and stretching her shoulders, she squinted down the beach to survey their progress. The mountain of sand dumped from the FEMA truck still looked like a mountain, but it must be smaller, because the line of sandbags stretching along the high-tide line was higher. She couldn’t fool herself into thinking it would be enough if the surge came ashore ten feet high, but even then the wall would be a deterrent to the coastal washout and the overwhelming flooding in the marshes. A quick look at her watch told her they’d been at it much longer than she’d realized—in another hour they’d be working under floodlights. Some of the FEMA crew were rigging them now. As long as they had power, they’d be able to keep erecting their puny physical barrier in the face of one of nature’s most violent ambassadors.

She grabbed another empty bag, hefted her shovel, and started back to the sand hill. Halfway there she made the mistake of looking where she had been trying not to look for the past few hours, and a glimpse was enough to stop her in her tracks.

Fifteen feet away, Austin stared out to sea as she talked on her phone. She’d shed her jacket and stood, legs spread, in rolled-up shirtsleeves, dark hair blowing in the wind, one arm resting on the handle of her upright shovel. She might’ve been standing on the quarterdeck of a three-masted sailing ship, for she looked like nothing less than a pirate captain, with an aura of loosely chained power warning she could spring into action at any moment. She certainly didn’t look like anyone’s mouthpiece or any of the slick talking heads who so often handled PR at times like this.

Austin didn’t have to be out here in the driving winds with a shovel, bagging sand. There were no cameras, at least not this close, and none of the dozen volunteers filling bags paid any attention to her beyond an appreciative glance now and then from a woman or man. She wasn’t bending her back for good PR, but she was earning it from Gem all the same. Just watching her made Gem want to touch her, and a whole hell of a lot of other things she couldn’t think about now.

Gem should have turned away when Austin tucked the phone into her pants pocket, but she was too slow. They hadn’t spoken since they’d reached the beach and started work, and when Austin caught her gaze and held it, Gem couldn’t look away. They might’ve been alone on the windswept coast. When Austin shouldered her shovel and strode toward her, a wave of longing as potent as pain unfurled deep inside her.

Gem forced a casual smile and ignored the sudden tremor in her legs. “Any news?”

“That was Tatum—he’s the incident commander on the rig.” Austin ran her fingers through her hair, leaving it sexily disheveled. “He’s making some progress running an exterior column down the well shaft to contain the oil.”

Gem tilted her chin toward the two large ships and a smattering of smaller ones that had been moving up and down along the coast for the past few hours. “But you’re going ahead with the booms all the same.”

“We have to, considering the storm coming. If we wait until we see oil, we’ll be too late.”

“That has to be costly for your bosses.”

Austin shrugged. “Not nearly as costly as the oil reaching shore.”

“In more ways than one,” Gem muttered, thinking of the news vans that had set up residence behind the line of FEMA trucks. The camera crews had shot some footage of the sandbag operation and then headed back to the cover of their vehicles. They were here for the oil story, not what happened to the refuge.

“How are things looking from your end?” Austin asked.

“We could use a few dozen more people, but if we keep going as long as we can, we’ll make a difference.”

“When will you evac to the mainland?”

“My team isn’t leaving. We can’t risk being cut off from the island. Time is critical in rescue operations, and if we end up dealing with oil on top of storm damage, we’ll already be behind.”

“Three days of heavy rain closed the causeway before,” Austin said. “You might not be able to get back out here even if you stay.”

“The Coast Guard will get us here.” Gem grinned. “I’ve got an in with them.”

“You’ll be in for a rough ride,” Austin said, her tone cautious.

“This coming from someone who spends her time on top of oil wells out in the middle of the ocean.”

Austin grinned, her rakish expression making Gem’s stomach tighten. “It’s a little like riding a bucking horse. You just hold on and go with it.”

Hold on and go with it. Could anything in life really be that simple? Climbing aboard the roller coaster, strapping into the rocket ship, setting sail without a map? Gem had made a choice to ride the whirlwind when she’d kissed Austin first, when she’d taken her hand and led her upstairs, knowing they’d end up in bed, when she’d abandoned her self-imposed exile from passion. She had followed her desires, and she had surely ended up at sea without a chart. “I made a choice.”