He didn’t take the time to wash her blood from his hands before he took the helm. Ky whipped the boat around in a quick circle and headed full throttle back to Ocracoke.

CHAPTER 7

As she started to float toward consciousness, Kate focused, drifted, then focused again. She saw the whirl of a white ceiling rather than the pure blue arc of sky. Even when the mist returned she remembered the hurt and thrashed out against it. She couldn’t face it a second time. Yet she found as she rose closer to the surface that she didn’t have the will to fight against it. That brought fear. If she’d had the strength, she might have wept.

Then she felt a cool hand on her cheek. Ky’s voice pierced the last layers of fog, low and gentle. “Take it easy, Kate. You’re all right now. It’s all over.”

Though her breath hitched as she inhaled, Kate opened her eyes. The pain didn’t come. All she felt was his hand on her cheek, all she saw was his face. “Ky.” When she said his name, Kate reached for his hand, the one solid thing she was sure of. Her own voice frightened her. It was hardly more than a wisp of air.

“You’re going to be fine. The doctor took care of you.” As he spoke, Ky rubbed his thumb over her knuckles, establishing a point of concentration, and kept his other hand lightly on her cheek, knowing that contact was important. He’d nearly gone mad waiting for her to open her eyes again. “Dr. Bailey, you remember. You met him before.”

It seemed vital that she should remember so she forced her mind to search back. She had a vague picture of a tough, weathered old man who looked more suited to the sea than the examining room. “Yes. He likes…likes ale and flounder.”

He might have laughed at her memory if her voice had been stronger. “You’re going to be fine, but he wants you to rest for a few more days.”

“I feel…strange.” She lifted a hand to her own head as if to assure herself it was still there.

“You’re on medication, that’s why you’re groggy. Understand?”

“Yes.” Slowly she turned her head and focused on her surroundings. The walls were a warm ivory, not the sterile white of a hospital. The dark oak trim gleamed dully. On the hardwood floor lay a single rug, its muted Indian design fading with age. It was the only thing Kate recognized. The last time she’d been in Ky’s bedroom only half the dry wall had been in place and one of the windows had had a long thin crack in the bottom pane. “Not the hospital,” she managed.