Free Beach House Beginnings by Christie Ridgway Page A

backward to shore. Once on dry ground, she continued to watch him, noting as he stroked off toward the cliff at the south end of the cove.
    That’s what Peter had done that day, she remembered, panic rising again. Peter had paddled in that direction, then gone outside the cove, and neither her feelings for him nor the merpeople magic had been strong enough to keep him safe.
    Something wet touched the back of her knee. She looked down. “Bitzer,” she whispered, dropping low to take him into her arms. His fur was warm against her face. “Bitzer, I don’t know what to do.”
    The dog seemed to have a plan. After allowing her a long hug, he started trotting down the sand, his gaze on his master, who was skimming through the water, about fifty yards offshore. Then Caleb angled, clearly intending to head around the bluff.
    Throat tight, Meg followed in the paw-steps of the dog, the both of them keeping pace with the man in the kayak. But as she and Bitzer ran out of cove, Caleb edged around the waves crashing against the rocks at the base of the cliff and disappeared.
    At that, a short, harsh sob caught in Meg’s chest. Still looking out to sea, Bitzer whined, and she dug her fingers into his fur, hoping to bring him comfort. “It will be all right, boy,” she croaked out. “It will be all right.”
    Please, Caleb. Please come back.
    Of course I will, sweetheart. Keep the faith.
    With some vague notion of climbing the bluff for a view from the top, Meg headed toward one of the paths that led up the rocky side. But then her gaze caught on Beach House No. 9, and she felt compelled to go toward it instead. Griffin Lowell was still absent, so she and Bitzer wouldn’t be disturbing anyone. Calling the dog to her side, she trotted toward the steps leading onto the deck. There, with the furry canine leaning against her leg, she kept watch, waiting for the first glimpse of Caleb.
    Waiting for her love to return to her.
    More panic churned in her belly at the thought. Love?
    “I love him,” she told Bitzer, caught somewhere between dread and awe. Caleb, with his confidence, his laughter, his pure enjoyment in every breath he took, had found his way beneath her long-held defenses. He knew exactly who he was and what he wanted, and she…she… “I’ve fallen in love with him.”
    The dog shot her a craggy grin, then redirected his attention to the ocean. Meg did the same, all the while feeling as if No. 9’s deck was that of a rocking ship in the midst of a storm, and she was struggling to get her sea legs.
    I’ve fallen in love with Caleb.
    How had this happened? Despite her past, despite her fears, the man had found an ember of hope inside of her and with his very breath nurtured it into a full and steady flame. He’d brought her to life, too, by making her love again. By making her love him.
    Time passed. Minutes? Hours?
    Bitzer’s vision was better than hers because he let out a burst of a bark before she could detect any sign of Caleb or kayak. Then she saw them both, and as the dog took off down the steps, so did she, racing through the soft sand, damp sand, wet sand, until the water rushed over her toes. Even then she didn’t stop. Instead, she kept on going, until the skirt of her sundress was drenched and plastered against her thighs. Caleb was calling to her, saying something, but she couldn’t make out the words because she was laughing and crying and now she was actually swimming toward him.
    Her hands clutched the side of the kayak and he was smiling down at her—the man she loved was alive and smiling at her!—all the while shaking his head. “What are you doing, sweetheart?”
    The explanation stuck in her throat. So she attempted clambering into the watercraft. It took two tries, the second one aided by Caleb and also—she decided to just go with the wild thought—the supportive hands of the merpeople she fancied just might be watching out for her after all.
    She fell against the sun-warmed man,