Half an hour passed before she caught a glimpse of a tiny boat way off in the distance. It was being dashed about, and as it slowly drew closer, she could see a person there struggling to maintain control. Breanna strained to see if it was Dawson. She saw no signs of Dodge, and her heart sank. Either it wasn’t Dawson’s boat she saw, or Dodge had been lost. She felt her throat tighten, and tears sprang to her eyes. Fifteen minutes later, the boat was much closer, but still not close enough so that she could see the man’s face. Against all reasonable evidence, Breanna still had a feeling it was Dawson, so she began to run.
She raced down to the water’s edge, all the while keeping her eyes on the little boat being tossed at sea. When she got to the water, all she could do was watch in horror as Dawson struggled with the oars to keep the boat upright. He was drenched, and she wondered how the oars had not already slipped from his hands or the boat had not sunk from incoming water.
When she thought he was close enough, she rushed forward, steadying herself the best she could in the dangerous tide that rushed in around her legs. She lost her footing at one point, falling backward and taking in a gulp of cold seawater. Coughing and spewing the salty water, she quickly scrambled to stand upright, but the waves were strong, and she wasn’t sure she would be able to stand for long.
By then, Dawson was close enough to shore that he jumped out of the boat and began to pull it forward against the crashing tide. Breanna assisted him the best she could, but she felt that she was more of a hindrance than a help. Once the boat was out of the water, Dawson fell to the ground, gasping for breath. Water dripped from his hair and beard as his chest heaved, struggling for air. Breanna knelt beside him, wiping the water from his face and running her hand through his hair to sweep it out of his eyes. It wasn’t until a drenched black ball of fur began to lick the water from Dawson’s face that she realized that Dodge was there, too. She cried out at the sight of the massive beast and threw her arms around him, hugging the dog tightly.
“I did all the work, and he gets the reward?” Dawson said, panting.
Breanna’s mouth fell open, but she didn’t know what to say. A hysterical laugh bubbled out of her, and she threw her arms around Dawson’s neck in relief. His skin was cold against her cheek, and she lay her palm against his face as if she could warm him. His beard, though wet, was soft beneath her fingertips. She had wondered for some time what it would feel like. Now she knew.
With her face still close to his, she whispered, “How on earth did ye manage to keep control of that little boat of yours and get it to shore?”
“I have no idea,” he rasped, but he didn’t look at her. Instead, he looked back out over the water, his face full of regret.
“I lost it all, Breanna. The whole day’s catch. I think I may have even lost a trap. I tried to get them all back in the boat as soon as I could, but the storm came upon us so quickly, there just wasn’t time.”
She sat back on her haunches and looked at him. The loss was devastating to him, but all she cared about was that he was still alive.
“We’ll make up for it tomorrow. Ye will see. What’s important right now is that ye and Dodge are safe. Come, let’s go home and get ye warmed up.”
He stood on shaky legs, and she helped steady him as he walked. The irony of it was not lost on her as she thought back to two months earlier, when it was she who needed assistance in walking away from the ocean’s wrath. She was just thankful that they had both survived its
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