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.
He shook his head, but he was clearly struggling against shock, needing two tries to grasp at the rubber rungs of the ladder before he very shakily climbed up.
“We’ve got you,” Logan assured him, going onto his belly so he could reach down and grab hold of the man’s life preserver. Reid did the same and they dragged the man up, landing him like a two-hundred-pound tarpon onto the deck where he lay shaking and gasping.
Sophie was over on the port side calling, “Come around to the ladder.”
Two pairs of double kayaks paddled around the bow. An older woman in the front position of the first one was crying. She held a paddle, but didn’t seem capable of using it, or even knowing what to do beyond making a panicked grab for a rung on the ladder.
“I’ll come down and stabilize it for you,” Sophie said, starting to swing her leg down to the ladder.
“You will not.” Logan caught the waistband of her shorts in a fist.
“You guys are stronger,” she pointed out impatiently and brushed his hand away. “You need to pull her up. I’m wearing a life jacket.”
She lowered herself down the ladder and, with one hand and foot on the flexible rungs, stepped her other foot onto the kayak, keeping it close. The second woman in the kayak took the paddle and Sophie guided the first woman onto the ladder.
“There you go. That’s it. You’re doing it. Keep going.”
The ladder quivered under the wobbling scramble of the terrified woman. Sophie swung precariously outward as the kayak shifted beneath her foot. The second woman in the kayak was anxiously pushing forward so she could also climb the ladder.
Logan swore, heart swerving as Sophie grasped on with two hands and worked to secure her footing.
They got the two women aboard, both shaking with reaction.
Trystan guided each out of the way, wrapping them in blankets before he came to help with the second couple.
Once they were aboard, Trystan went down the ladder to help Sophie recover the kayaks and paddles. They guided them up and Logan stowed them out of the way while Sophie and Trystan came back on deck.
Reid closed the rail while they all scanned for anyone else still in the water.
Sophie was safe, Logan told himself, waiting for his heart rate to settle. He didn’t have to worry she was in the water, floating out of reach, but damn her for almost letting it happen.
*
Sophie collected the names of their passengers and radioed that they were aboard the Storm Ridge.
A few minutes later, the captain of the Missionary II announced everyone was accounted for. While the fire brigade continued to put out the fire, Trystan steered the Storm Ridge back to shore.
They all breathed a huge sigh of relief. That could have been so much worse!
