“She’s been asking for you, by the way.”

“Storm? I figured I’d let Em have first crack at her.”

“Hilarious. Storm could care less about anyone but Em. She’s taken root on her hip.”

“There’s my favorite skunk cabbage,” Trystan said, handing Logan his beer and breaking out one of his rarely used wide smiles. “Are you going to come see me?”

Storm kicked and grinned and buried her face in Emma’s neck, making Emma wince as she grabbed a handful of Em’s hair, but she was chuckling at how excited Storm was.

“Say hi to Trystan, you silly goose,” Emma urged the baby.

Storm abruptly twisted to reach for Trystan, making a tsking noise against her teeth.

“Are you trying to say my name, you little ball of yarn?” He lifted her over his head, making her chortle, then he brought her down for growly kisses against her neck.

“I’m going to hit the toilet while she’s distracted,” Emma said under her breath and hurried inside.

While Trystan cruised Storm around the yard like an airplane, Logan stuck his brother’s beer back on ice and let himself be drawn into playing ringtoss with the kids.

Sophie arrived a short while later and she did bring What’s-his-name. She wore cut-off jeans and a pale-pink T-shirt. Her hair was still drying from her shower so it was falling around her face in red-gold curlicues that he hardly ever saw loose like that. He found them extra fascinating and really wanted to touch them.

“Delta, this is Biyen’s dad, Nolan.” She stopped where Delta had joined Art in the shade.

Logan would have listened more closely, but Biyen ran up to him. “Logan, look. I got stung by a wasp.”

“You sure did.” He touched under the boy’s chin to tilt his face and examine his puffy cheek. “Does it hurt?”

“Not anymore. Dad put ice on it, but I wanted to see Mom. She said I’ll live. Gramps said we can camp on the yard instead, since Auntie Glenda is visiting and needs my bed.”

“That all works out, doesn’t it?”

“Yup. Hey, Dad. Do you want to play ringtoss with us?”

“Sure, dude. Hey, man. I’m Nolan,” he drawled with a heavy vocal fry as he came across and offered his hand to Logan.

“Logan. I think we met at my mother’s wedding a few years ago.” He offered the toy rings he held rather than a handshake.

“Yeah, that was a fun night.” Nolan’s clothes gave off a vague aroma of campfire, but his hair was wet and combed off his tanned, bearded face. A face that bore a distinct resemblance to Biyen’s.

“Let me get you a beer,” Logan said as an excuse to walk away. “Sophie?”

“I’ll find a glass of water first.” She went up the outside stairs to the kitchen.

Logan relayed the beer to Biyen’s father and checked in with Delta and Art who didn’t need refreshing yet.

“Uncle Reid,” Cooper called up to where Reid was cleaning the barbecue on the deck off the kitchen. “Will you be on my team? Immy doesn’t want to play anymore.”

Imogen had fallen for the Trystan Effect. She was following him and Storm around the yard, asking questions about sea otters and orcas and owl pellets.

“Sure thing, buddy.” Reid looked to Logan. “Will you finish this for me?”

Logan nodded and passed him on the stairs.

“Oh, you want to be on our team, too?” Reid asked as he walked by Trystan and Storm reached for him. “That might be an unfair advantage, but sure.”

Trystan gave her up and crouched beside Imogen, pointing up to the treetops, then down at the ground as he explained some wonder of nature to her.

Reid looked like the quintessential dad, cradling Storm in one arm while he helped Cooper hone his ringtoss technique, giving Biyen and his father a run for their money.

Logan stood at the rail of the upper deck, looking down at all those men in their fatherly roles. He had always looked down on that role because he’d looked down on his own father, but for once he felt differently about it.

Reid was really trying to do better than their father had. Logan had to admire him for it. Trys was Trys, naturally good in any one-on-one role, especially with a kid. Even Biyen’s father couldn’t be faulted, praising Biyen for a, “Good try, bud. Take my turn. See if you can get it this time.”

Logan had no faith in himself as a father. He presumed he would be terrible at it, like his own, which was why he had never wanted to be one.

A gritty, tarred sensation invaded his chest as he wondered, really wondered, if he could ever be even half as good at it as those men were. As far as responsibility went, shaping the life of a child was monumental.

“Logan.”

Sophie’s voice cut into him like a blade, making him jolt with a strange mix of culpability and defensiveness.

She wasn’t looking at him. She clapped her glass of water onto the table and shaded her eyes. “Something’s going on with the Missionary II.”

Logan followed her gaze to where the tour boat was coming into the cove. Built in the early 1900s as a floating hospital, the vessel had been converted by a couple out of Campbell River into a tour boat ten years ago. It carried sea kayakers along the coast, coming into Raven’s Cove a few times each summer. Its name was a source of adolescent amusement among the locals. Everyone knew what the first missionary position was. What was the second?

Logan swore as he saw the smoke. The people on board were scrambling and the boat seemed to lose power.

“They’ve cut the engine.”

They were likely radioing for help, but Logan clapped the barbecue shut and turned off the knobs, whistling down to his brothers.

“Fire on the water.”

He clattered down the stairs. Reid handed Storm to Delta and leapt behind the wheel of the truck. Sophie came in beside Logan while Trystan rode shotgun. Minutes later, they were running down the wharf, hurrying to launch the Storm Ridge along with half the other boats moored alongside them. The fire brigade from the fueling station was headed out there, too.

As they approached, kayaks were being dropped into the water along with lifeboats. People in life preservers were scrambling to get down ladders, but more than one fell into the water or jumped.

The powerful engine of the Storm Ridge allowed them to be one of the first on scene. Trystan slowed as they approached, trying to keep his wash to a minimum.

“Man overboard, starboard,” he called down, cutting their engine.

Logan spotted the man clumsily trying to swim in his life preserver. He threw a ring for him and Reid joined him at the rail, helping him pull the rope to haul the man closer.

Alarms and a bullhorn were sounding all around them. The fire boat was pouring water on the Missionary II while smaller boats buzzed closer, trying to help without running over those who were in kayaks or in the water.

Sophie came up on Logan’s right, starting to hook up the recovery harness and ladder. She wore her own life preserver and hurried to secure each side before she removed a section of rail.

“Do you need help?” she called down to the man.