The Mighty Quinns: Rourke Read Free

was about to do.
    Was this another one of those moments? Rourke wondered. Was this really about being a good neighbor, or was this about the strange attraction he felt for Annie Macintosh? An uneasy feeling came over him and he thought about turning the car around and heading back to the coast road. After all, he was no white knight ready to ride to her rescue. “Come on, Buddy, give me a sign,” he murmured.
    A few seconds later, a sparrow, buffeted by the winds, landed on the hood of Rourke’s car. The bird stared at him through the windshield. Rourke held his breath and a moment later, it flew off.
    He cursed softly, then continued his drive toward the water. So many years had passed since they’d last seen each other. Did she really remember him or had he only imagined the look of recognition in her eyes?
    The road was rutted and hard to navigate, his Range Rover bumping along as he tried to make out two tire tracks in front of him. When the light keeper’s house finally came into view, he stopped the truck and stared out at the landscape.
    The cottage had seen better days. The porch was sagging at one end, the chimney looked as if it was listing and the shutters that used to protect the house from storms like the one rolling in were falling off their hinges.
    When he reached the house, Rourke turned off the ignition and hopped out of the truck. “Hello!” he shouted.
    A dog barked in the distance and he walked up to the front door, avoiding the rotten step just in time. Rourke rapped on the door and waited. “Hello! Miss Macintosh?” A few seconds later, a border collie came charging around the corner of the house and Rourke froze, wondering if he’d be able to make it back to the truck before being bitten.
    But the dog stopped short, then spun around and ran in the opposite direction. It stopped again, as if waiting for Rourke to follow him. He charged again and this time, Rourke held out his hand. The dog gave him a wary look as he came closer, then nudged Rourke’s palm with his nose.
    “Do you know where she is?” he asked.
    The dog took off and Rourke followed, heading down a narrow path toward the sea. The lighthouse and keeper’s cottage were set on land that had been scrubbed almost bare by the wind. The trees had been cleared long ago, leaving nothing to serve as a shield between the buildings and the white-capped Atlantic.
    The surf was already high, the water roiling ahead of the storm blowing in from offshore. As he stared out at the horizon, he caught sight of Annie, standing on a small spit of sand and rock, the waves crashing around her and sending up huge plumes of water.
    She was already wet, yet she didn’t seem to notice. She just stared out at the slate-gray water, her eyes fixed on some distant point. The wind whipped her hair around her face and the roar was so loud that he doubted she’d be able to hear him. The dog stood on the shore, barking at her, but she didn’t turn around.
    Another wave broke against the rocks and he watched as she struggled to keep her balance on her precarious perch. “What the hell are you doing?” he muttered. Rourke ran toward the shore, cupping his hands over his mouth and shouting at her to come back in.
    To his relief, she turned at the sound of his voice. But at that exact moment, a rogue wave hit the rocks, slamming against her back and knocking her down. From where he was, Rourke couldn’t see if she’d slid into the surf. He said a silent prayer that the water hadn’t washed her away.
    He made it down to the water in a matter of seconds, then climbed through the rocks. Rourke kept his eye on a small patch of maroon, the color of her jacket. When he reached her, she was lying on her back, the water rushing around her. Her eyes were closed and he leaned close, listening for her breathing. Rourke saw her chest move, then picked her up in his arms.
    When they reached the safety of the shore, he laid her down in the tall grass and examined her for