Dancing Tides (181 page)

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Authors: Vickie McKeehan

Tags: #Romance, #Suspense

BOOK: Dancing Tides
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H
e
pl
a
nt
e
d his h
a
nds in
t
he
s
a
nd
a
nd l
e
a
n
e
d b
a
c
k
on th
e
m
f
or
suppo
r
t,
f
inish
e
d
wa
t
c
hi
n
g the
sun dip into the
wa
t
e
r
.
“Yea
h, but the
g
u
y
c
ou
l
d be
the
w
o
r
ld

s b
i
g
g
e
st
l
i
ar
.
W
h
a
t i
f
—”

“T
h
a
t

s
w
h
y
w
e’
ll
c
h
e
c
k
out his sto
r
y
.”
She
l
e
t the
subj
ec
t d
r
op th
e
n b
e
ca
u
s
e
he
s
ee
m
e
d a little
blue
a
bout it.
T
h
e
y
s
a
t th
er
e
on the
b
eac
h, b
o
th p
e
nsiv
e
,
e
nj
o
y
i
n
g
the
s
un s
e
tting
into a
g
limm
er
i
n
g
sh
ee
n
o
f
o
c
e
a
n
w
hile
the
tid
e
s d
a
n
c
e
d
in
a
nd out
ar
ound th
e
m.

A
ll
a
t on
ce
, he
pull
e
d
h
e
r
to him,
ra
n his long
f
i
n
g
er
s th
r
o
u
g
h the
b
r
a
id sh
e

d so p
a
inst
a
kin
g
l
y
w
o
r
k
e
d on
not
a
n hour
e
a
r
li
e
r
w
h
e
n
th
e
y

d
f
in
a
l
l
y
d
ec
i
d
e
d to
craw
l out of
b
e
d
f
or
f
ood.
H
e
r
a
k
e
d the
t
r
e
ss
e
s so th
e
y
loos
e
n
e
d
a
nd d
r
a
p
e
d
ar
ound
h
e
r
should
er
s.
“G
od,
I
love h
a
ving
m
y
h
a
nds in
y
our
h
a
i
r
.”


Show
me
a
g
a
in.”

A
nd
w
h
e
n th
e
y
g
ot b
a
c
k
to the
hous
e
, he
did.

 

 

Co
r
d sp
e
nt the
ni
g
ht.

A
nd the
n
e
x
t mo
r
ning
af
t
e
r
b
r
e
a
k
fa
st, th
e
y
f
in
a
l
l
y
m
a
de
th
e
ir
w
a
y
o
v
e
r
to
t
he
Co
d
y hous
e
.

I
n the
living
r
oom
th
e
y
w
e
nt ov
e
r
Ga
be
B
e
nn
e
tt

s sto
r
y
w
ith both
Ha
y
d
e
n
a
nd
E
th
a
n to
g
e
t th
e
ir
t
a
k
e.


I
t

s
ea
s
y
e
no
u
g
h to
c
h
ec
k,”
E
th
a
n
r
e
a
son
e
d.


B
ut
w
h
y
w
ould the
g
u
y
both
e
r
to
c
ome
a
ll the
wa
y
to P
e
li
ca
n Pointe
w
ith
a
m
a
d
e-
up sto
r
y
like
this on
e
?
W
h
a
t
w
ould he
h
a
ve
to
g
a
in
?

H
a
y
d
e
n
w
a
nt
e
d to kno
w
.

“A
nd ho
w’
d
h
e
know
Co
r
d

s d
a
te
of
b
i
r
th
a
nd the
bi
r
thm
ar
k thing
a
lo
n
g
w
i
th
a
ll th
a
t oth
e
r
stu
f
f
if
he
isn

t the
rea
l d
e
a
l
?

Kee
g
a
n point
e
d out.

I
m
ea
n
w
ho
w
o
u
ld m
a
ke
up th
a
t p
ar
t
a
bout p
r
ison
a
nd mu
r
d
er
.

He
r
g
a
z
e
shi
f
t
e
d to Co
r
d.

M
a
y
be
th
a
t

s the
r
e
a
son
y
ou
w
er
e
n
e
v
e
r
a
dopt
e
d.
N
o one
wa
nt
e
d to t
a
ke
a
c
h
a
n
c
e
on o
ff
sp
r
i
n
g
th
a
t h
a
d a
m
u
r
d
er
e
r
f
or
a
fa
t
h
er
.
T
hi
n
k
a
bout it. That had to be a stigma the boy could never shake.
Ga
be
wa
sn

t
c
l
e
are
d until a
d
ec
ad
e
a
g
o
.

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