Bride on the Run by Anna J. Stewart

Author:Anna J. Stewart
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2020-10-14T19:10:20+00:00

CHAPTER ELEVEN

THE WORLD DROPPED into slow motion.

Shoulder throbbing, Sienna dragged her soggy self across the wheelhouse to grab hold of the railing above her head. Monty was lying prone on the deck, arms and legs splayed. He slid over the slick surface as the boat bobbed in the storm.

Duchess squawked loud enough to wake the dead but not loud enough to bring Monty around. Sienna checked the console. He’d been steering away slightly, not parallel to the storm. The engine continued to rumble and for now the waves seemed to have gotten whatever anger they had out of their system. They were back to the violent eddies she’d been riding earlier.

Before she seized the wheel again, she braced her feet on either side of Monty’s hips and grabbed his arms. She wedged him into the corner of the pilot cabin. In the dim light, she saw blood pooling in the water.

She couldn’t do anything about that now. She wouldn’t be any help to Monty if she couldn’t keep the boat moving safely forward. Sienna threw herself into the chair and amped up the throttle just a bit. The engine roared, louder than the storm now, and she quickly resumed the course he’d set. The muscles in her arms strained. Her shoulder felt as if it was on fire. Strands of her hair came loose and stuck to her face. Her clothes were soaked completely through and the rain continued to pour. “Keep going,” she whispered to herself. “Just keep going. You know what you’re doing. Just. Keep. Going.”

“Squawk! Your shoulders are not earrings.”

“Not now, Duchess,” Sienna snapped and threw every ounce of energy she had into keeping the boat as level as she could.

The rain continued to fall. The waves continued to rise and fall. It was like being on an unending roller coaster, and not the good kind that made you scream with laughter.

“Come on, Dream. You can do this. This storm isn’t going to beat you, is it?” Sienna kept her tone light, encouraging, as she talked to the boat. She glimpsed the corner, saw Monty hadn’t moved. The blood on his head was more visible now, darker around the scalp where he’d taken that hit on the railing. Fear clawed through her, trying to get a hold of her. Whether her hands trembled from the strain, from the stress, or from the cold, she couldn’t be sure. All that mattered was getting them to a place where she could finally check on his injuries.

She considered dropping the bow anchor and killing the engine, but there had to have been a reason Monty hadn’t done that. She had to trust his judgment and push on with what she did know how to do.

“Forty-five degrees and slow. That’s it.” She controlled the panic—she’d spent a lifetime learning to manage it. She could freak out later, once she had them at least out of the storm. He’d wake up, she told herself. He’d wake up and be fine. A little dizzy, no doubt a bit cranky, but he’d be fine.

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