As she drew near, her breath snagged in her throat and she could barely breathe—maybe she should have dragged the oxygen along with her.
Her savior was a young man, maybe her age of twenty-eight—or a little older—with short dark hair and a strong, shadowed jawline. He was covered with a blanket, his face ashen, and he had a nasty cut on his forehead.
Kim felt her knees tremble, and she thought she might pass out. She gave in to her shaky legs and sank to the sand.
She pressed a hand to her knotted tummy. No, no, no.
What had she done?
Several minutes passed as the paramedics worked on Seth. Kim was stuck to the sandy beach where she sat, exhausted physically and sick at heart.
Finally, she found the strength and rose. “Is he going to be all right?” she asked the paramedics, forcing herself to move forward and face the situation rather than following her instincts and running far, far away.
One of the techs looked up from monitoring the injured man’s pulse. “He’s conscious now, but he’s taken a pretty severe blow to the head, which can be dicey.”
Dicey. That didn’t sound good.
The wind kicked up, whipping Kim’s blanket from around her body. A shiver ran though her as she grabbed the edges and held on to it tighter, her legs still quivering from shock and cold.
She was chilled to the bone, and not just because of the sudden gust of wind pummeling her.
Clenching her hands into fists, she stayed a ways back to let the medics work.
Lily came to her side and put a comforting arm around Kim. “Don’t worry. Seth is a tough guy, and he’s young and healthy.” She squeezed Kim’s shoulders reassuringly. “He’ll pull through.”
Kim hoped so with everything in her, with every fervent prayer echoing in her heart. If anything happened to this Seth, Kim would never forgive herself.
Would God? Surely He would…
Fighting back tears, she could do nothing but stand back and beg for the Lord’s help from deep inside her soul.
Please, God. Help Seth pull through.
A few moments later, two burly paramedics carried a stretcher from the parking area down to the beach. Just as they put the stretcher down, Seth moved. A husky groan escaped from his blue-tinted lips and he moved his arms out from under the blanket. Kim stared at them for just a moment. Clearly the guy was in shape. No wonder he’d been able to drag her through the current.
Kim rushed forward and pushed through the cluster of singles group participants who had also gathered around the scene. She made it to his side and fell down on her knees next to him, resisting the strong urge to take his hand in hers; she was almost afraid to touch him.
Just then, he turned his head and looked at her, his beautiful sky-blue gaze hitting her like a laser. She froze, feeling his stare to the tips of her toes. Her heart sped up as they looked at one another for one beat, then two.
His eyes widened slightly, and it looked at if he recognized her. A shaky ghost of a smile crossed his face, and, strangely, Kim felt an odd yet unmistakable connection flare between them.
“Seth…” she whispered. She stretched out her hand, once again needing to touch him, comfort him, tell him how grateful she was.
“Did I die?” he asked, his deep voice raspy.
Relief flooded through her. He was talking—that had to be a good sign. She shook her head and grasped his icy hand, feeling tears burn her eyelids. “No, you saved both of us.”
Before Seth could reply, one of the paramedics touched her shoulder. “Miss, you’re going to have to move out of the way. We must transport him, stat.”
She nodded. Of course. Kim stood and moved back, brushing away her tears.
Shaking, she simply watched, her hands clenched together in front of her, as the techs told Seth what was happening with practiced efficiency and loaded him onto the stretcher. A tall man in a baseball cap who seemed to be part of the church group stayed by Seth’s side while they carried Seth away to the ambulance waiting in the parking lot, its lights flashing.
Two paramedics stayed behind. One started cleaning up and the other approached her.
“How are you doing?” he asked Kim. “Are you feeling light-headed at all?”
Kim shook her head. “I’m okay.”
“Why don’t I take your blood pressure and pulse again just to be sure.”
As he worked, Kim watched the paramedics load Seth into the ambulance. Lily stayed by her side, a silent support Kim appreciated.
The ambulance pulled away, and Kim watched it go with a heavy heart.
“Everything checks out normal,” the paramedic said, rising. “You can go. But if you have anything come up, anything strange at all, be sure and go straight to the E.R.”
Kim nodded her agreement, too numb to speak.
“Why don’t you let me take you home,” Lily said. “You have to be dead on your feet.”
“No, I can’t go home until I’m sure Seth is okay.”
“I can call you when there’s news—”
“No. I have to go to the hospital.” Her jaw set, her mind made up, Kim stood and started walking toward where she’d left her tote bag near the bonfire spot, her tired legs having a tough time negotiating the soft sand.
Lily trotted along beside her. “Are you sure you should be driving?”
“I can handle it,” Kim replied, remarkably clearheaded now that she wasn’t standing around, purposeless. She might have almost drowned because of her rash decision, but she wasn’t heartless.
Lily put a firm hand on Kim’s arm. “I’ll drive you in my car.”
Kim was too tired to argue. She nodded as she reached her canvas bag with her stuff in it, pulled out her fleece pullover and dropped the blanket from around her shoulders. Shivering, she pulled on her sweatshirt, wondering if she’d ever be warm again. She wished she’d brought some sweatpants, too. Oh, well. Her wet board shorts would have to do. She’d put her tennis shoes on when she got to her car.
“Let’s go,” she said to Lily.
As they walked to the parking lot, guilt poked her.
She prayed Seth’s injuries weren’t too serious.
Chapter Two
Seth closed his eyes against the rhythmic pounding in his head.
Bam. Bam. Bam.
He held back a groan of pain. His head felt like he’d been hit by a Babe Ruth line drive. Five or six times.
“Would you like some pain medication?” Dr. Anderson, the older E.R. physician who’d been taking care of Seth, asked from where he stood at the end of Seth’s narrow hospital bed.
“Don’t need it,” Seth replied. He’d been a professional athlete; he could handle pain. And after he’d watched his older brother, Curt, almost ruin his life with a prescription drug addiction, Seth hated taking any kind of medication, even aspirin.
His bushy gray eyebrows raised, Dr. Anderson looked up from Seth’s chart. “Well, it’s your choice, of course, but you did suffer a grade two concussion—and your laceration required ten stitches, so you’re going to have some fairly significant pain.”
“No drugs. No way.”
“Okay. But if you change