Brann
“G et it together, Cragbeard ,” I growl as Bjorn dumps swim gear on the ground of the parking lot beside the beach, instead of in the bin where it’s supposed to be.
“Geez, someone sleep on a bed of pinecones? I thought you would appreciate the extra sleep our nine o’clock start provided. I sure did. So did August,” he winks at me and Kaj, who snorts in return, as he picks up the goggles and fins.
“I didn’t sleep well,” I say under my breath. We normally joke around a good amount—it happens when you work so closely with people and depend on them with your life. But I’m in no mood for joking. All I could think of last night was Natasha . Every time I rolled over, my erection had other thoughts for me. It was...unrestful, to say the least.
I’ve kept my distance so far this morning, and it’s been good. She knows the equipment, reads the maps properly, asks smart questions. I think she’s a keeper—in the sense of work.
“Alright! I’m manning the RIB,” I yell to be heard, jerking a thumb over my shoulder at the small inflatable boat bobbing in the water behind me. “I’ll throw the dummy overboard. You’ll work as a team to recover it. CPR is expected as well as care for hypothermia. Speed is of the essence—both for the dummy and you. It’s still early season, and the current is running fast. Beckett, you’re swimming first. Get ready!” I bellow, ready for action. Ready for anything to distract me from Natasha Beckett.
I smell her panic, but her face is steely with determination. She’s wearing a pink one piece, her wetsuit pulled up to her waist, which only accentuates the curves of her hips, stomach, and breasts. Her nipples stand at attention from the coolness of the morning. Pure torture.
It’s my job to make sure she’s ready, but gods, I don’t want to be any closer to her. “You good? Any questions?”
“Is this the point where I tell you I’ve never done open water rescue before? I’ve only done pool training rescues.” She pulls up the wetsuit, covering her gorgeous breasts, shoulders, and arms. Good, she should be warm, at least.
“Yes, this is the point. You’ll be fine. There’s only one way to learn this. You’re swimming with a flotation buoy. The water is calm today. You swim back with the dummy to the shore. Pull it out of the water and perform CPR. Easy-peasey. And remember, you have crewmates preparing on shore to help. Don’t be afraid to ask for assistance. We’ve got each other’s backs.” I fix her with my stare, trying to ensure she understands she isn’t to put herself at risk for this exercise.
Once I start the engine and drive the RIB out into the bay, I blow the whistle, throw the dummy overboard, and start the timer.
I’ve watched my crew for almost a decade now, in exercises and rescues, putting their lives at risk to help others. Forest fires alongside firefighters, mountain rescues in winter and summer. Fielding blizzards, summer storms, landslides and churning seas. But never have I felt this nervous watching one of my people.
It’s just because she’s new and unknown , I tell myself over and over. No, I do not unbutton my shirt in anticipation of jumping in after her when it looks like she’s struggling with the dummy and goes under. I certainly don’t hold my breath and count the seconds. I don’t have one foot on the rib, ready to dive in. No, not me. I’m the boss, and I’m cool and collected.
The pride I feel at her success is normal , I say. It’s perfectly normal for me to throw a fist in the air in triumph when she reaches the shore, and exhale a deep breath.
We run the exercise several more times. The crew is excellent. I’m glad I’m in the RIB and not standing near her while she waits and cheers with the rest of the crew. Separation of boss and employee, I repeat it to myself like a mantra. Everyone warms up with coffee and hot cocoa in between runs. I splurged and ordered carafes from Moonlit Grounds, knowing the good stuff would help with morale. All that is left is the debrief and packing away gear.
O nce I’m ready to go and everyone else has left, I see that Natasha hasn’t moved—still in her car, looking down, the car off. Against my better judgment, I knock on her window. She jumps, looks up at me with a tear-stained face. I make a hand motion to get her to either roll down the window or open the door.
She opens the door but doesn’t stand. “Sorry, just stuck.”
“What do you mean?” She rubs her hands up and down her face, smearing her tears even more.
“My car won’t start. I’m a cold, salty wreck. Today totally wrecked my emotions. I love this work; I believe in our mission. But I don’t know if I can do this. I have a daughter to think about. She’s my everything, my light. And—” Beckett bursts into tears again.
Gods, how I hate tears.
“Get out of your car,” I say, gruffer than I intend. She doesn’t protest, just stands up, albeit a little wobbly. With no warning, I wrap her into a hug, both my arms clinging to her like she needs rescuing and I’m her lifesaver. “You’re so cold. No wonder you’re upset. You need to warm up.” I rub my hands up and down her arms, creating friction, then her back, again to her arms. I desperately want to get on my knees and create friction for her legs, but even in my I-found-my-fated-mate-but-it-can’t-be-her-because-I’m-her-boss-and-I-don’t-like-children state, I know that’s too far.
Her arms stay at her side, her breathing ragged but calming until she finally lifts her head enough to take a slow breath out through her mouth that doesn’t sound like she’s still miserable. “Better?” I bend a little to look into her chocolate eyes. There are galaxies in her eyes I want to get lost in, but I make myself stand straight when she nods.
“Hop in the truck, I’ll take you home. We’ll call the tow truck to come get your car.”
I know she’s embarrassed, but I don’t care. Broken cars happen to all of us. She gives me the address and we bounce along our small-town roads.
“I think like we should discuss the other night,” she says, voice quavering. Nope.
“Beckett, I didn’t know who you were. You didn’t know who I was. I say we call it stones for the wall and start fresh. You’re my employee and I’m happy you’re a part of our team.” There are a thousand more things I want to say, but none of them are work appropriate, so I don’t say any of them.
Her “Okay,” is small as she looks out the window. The rest of the ride is quiet until we get to a cute blue house on Pinefang Trail. I park in the driveway.
“Cute place,” I say, unsure what the hell to do or say. I keep my hand on the shifter—that seems like the safest thing to touch.
“This is Sophie’s place. Thanks for the ride. Lucy and I can walk from here.” She’s out of the truck before I can think of what to say. I completely forgot she had to pick up her kid. Damnit. Foiled from my secret dreams of bedding her that were not going to come true because I am the boss, I get out of the truck and stand in awe as the pigtailed girl comes bounding out of the house squealing “Mommy!”
Beckett squats down, arms out to receive her daughter. Damn, it’s a fine, fine ass. One I’d love to have sit on me. They hug and something stirs in my rock-hard heart that I ignore. After kisses and whispers, the kid looks at me, smiles, and then barrels for me.
The kid attacks my legs with the vigor of a baby goat. She hugs my knees hard, smiling up at me with dimples that match her mother’s, and eyes that shine with unfettered joy. “You’re my mommy’s new boss. Hi, I’m Lucy. Lucy Star Beckett. You’re really tall!”
It was all one breath. All those squeaky words came out in one breath. Amaze. Beckett’s chuckle pulls my attention away from the tiny star attached to me, and I see her matching dimples on full display. Another crack in my stone heart.
“Lucy, remember how we aren’t supposed to attack people with hugs? We have to ask permission first.” Beckett’s voice has a rich playfulness to it that makes me want to be on the receiving end of all her little chastises.
“I know, Mommy, but he’s so big. I didn’t think he’d mind. He likes hugs. Don’t you.” It isn’t a question.
Eventually, I find my voice. “It’s nice to meet you, Lucy. Can I shake your hand?” Reluctantly, she lets go and thrusts her hand up into the air for me to shake it. Her hand is soft, squishy, and the size of a puppy’s in mine. Ever so gently, I shake her hand, marveling at the power this tiny creature has.
“Thanks for the ride, Captain. I’ll see you tomorrow.” We’re back to professional interactions. I nod, chastising myself for feeling disappointed to leave them.
“How far away do you live?”
“One mile. It’s nice out. We’ll have a good walk home.” Beckett smiles, but her lips still look slightly purple.
“Would you like to ride in the work truck?” I ask Lucy who nods vigorously and hops up and down.
“Let’s go!” I open the door, pick the child up and set her in the truck, then get in, all the while knowing that Beckett’s eyes are studying me. I have no fucking clue what I’m doing, but I know that I’m not ready to let go of her yet.
The ride to their tiny yellow house is short and bouncy and extremely chatty. I don’t have a kid seat, so Beckett holds Lucy tight in her lap and I crawl along the one mile, hoping that Sheriff Draugr doesn’t see us.
Lucy bounds out and runs to the house, excited to make her mom hot cocoa and watch some movie they were talking about.
Beckett reaches out and puts her hand on my forearm, “Thank you,” she says, and then she’s gone, dragging my heart behind her.