Page 11 of Rescued by the Single Dad

Land!

Relief swamped her so much that she stopped and sunk for a half a second.

She couldn’t give up now. Not when she’d come so far.

She pushed on until she was even shallower and could tiptoe on rocks, fighting the waves, fighting the fatigue and the tears that blurred her eyesight until she could put both feet down solid. Then she ran and crawled as best as she could, not caring that her feet and knees were getting cut up by barnacles and sharp rocks. She’d made it.

She made it to land.

That was all that mattered.

Then, as if that same person from the yacht was behind her again—only this time, in the form of fatigue and hypothermia—she fell to the earth. And that was the last thing she remembered.

It all sounded so outrageous that it had to be a dream.

A nightmare, more like.

A horrible, realistic, terrifying nightmare.

Because why else would the sound of birds chirping and the smell of fresh coffee wake her up?

She was clearly at her hotel suite back in Seattle and her assistant, Inez, was making coffee.

“Daddy, can I have pancakes?” came a little girl’s voice. “Are there any left from yesterday?”

“Shhhh.”

“Why are you shushing me?”

“Come here,” said a man’s voice.

Brooke still hadn’t opened her eyes.

She was insanely warm and drenched in sweat. And now there was a man and a small child in her hotel room.

What was going on?

“There is a lady sleeping on the couch.”

“A lady?” the child asked.

“Her name is Brooke and I found her last night on the beach. She was very cold. So I brought her back here, called Dr. Malone, and then she had a bath upstairs to get warm. But she’s asleep, so we need to be quiet.”

“I want to see.”

It wasn’t a dream.

Slowly, Brooke peeled open her eyes, only to find herself face-to-face with a beautiful little dark-haired girl with wild bedhead, and bright blue eyes. “She’s awake now, Daddy!”

Footsteps echoed and a tall man with model-like chiseled facial features, dark hair, scruff and the same blue eyes as the little girl came to stand over her. “Hello.”

Brooke’s eyes darted between the two of them. Then everything from last night came flooding back like a tidal wave. His name was Clint. This was his house, and he’d found her on the beach. Then he called a doctor and ran her a bath. She glanced down at her body. She was in an oversized white T-shirt, and when she wiggled her toes, she could feel socks.

“You know where you are?” Clint asked her slowly, eyeing her warily.

She nodded. “Sort of. You’re Clint, right? And you found me and this is your house.”

His head bobbed. “Right. We’re on San Camanez Island.”

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