WindSwept Narrows: # 1 Samantha Elliott

Logan Sheffield parked the SUV near the construction trailer. He stepped onto the damp pavement and surveyed the huge achievement laid out across the massive twenty-five acre property. The two story parking garage was almost complete. The arcade center was half finished. The restaurant and resort, half finished. The casino was at the almost done phase, too.

One palm rose, stroking the shortly clipped goatee and moustache, a newly acquired habit when he was deep in thought. Comfortable boots crunched on the unfinished gravel driveway, a small canopy with a large drafting table set up beneath it his destination.

Simon Oliver glanced up from the report he had and the plans laid out before him. The bright yellow hardhat sat on the table, his pencil moving over the large paper, making notes until the crunching gravel caught his attention.

“Come to view your new kingdom, Logan?” Simon leaned back on the stool, his palm out to greet his client and friend.

“Can’t wear the crown without the kingdom, the peasants rebel,” Logan drawled with deceptive laziness. “So tell me about my casino.”

“Knowing you, you’ve read the report I sent you at least twice,” Simon gestured to a stool, Logan’s head shaking.

“Been driving for days…standing feels much better,” Logan paced around the canopy. “At least twice, true…I like the changes we talked about.”

“Green building is important in this area,” Simon watched his friend. “Wind and sun power will save you a great deal. You’re going to be on the ground level of the new private casino rush. You’ve pulled together one big project.”

“The four of us make a good team…we’re all after the same thing,” he said thoughtfully. “And in the same age range…similar values…combining the fun aspect to fit all needs was an interesting challenge.”

“The hotel is done and only the aesthetics being worked now,” Simon checked his watch. “Being Friday, there won’t be anyone here until Monday, though. If you want access…”

“I do…I’ll take one of the rooms and stay here,” he accepted a master pass card from Simon. “Thanks. I hear you’re married now?”

“Chloe…she’s an incredible woman,” Simon admitted warmly. “Have you talked to Ian? He’s at the compound…he’s engaged.”

“Engaged? Little brother made the move, huh?” Logan slipped the pass card into the pocket of his jeans. “Dad knows I’m relocated…I didn’t know you knew Ian.”

“Yeah…it’s a long story…interested in dinner? Or just crashing for the night?” Simon closed his brief case and made certain anything of value was locked up inside the trailer. “Security is here and I’ve sent out a text with your photo and name. You shouldn’t have a problem at the night entrance.”

“Dinner would be great…”


Logan pulled his shirt from his jeans when he exited the elevator. It was somewhere eerie to wander the halls of an empty hotel. But it gave him time to look over the décor and various amenities. Very nice, thick carpeting, his footfalls barely registering as he went to the end of the third floor. He didn’t pay attention to the small brass embossed sign outside the room he selected as his for the next few weeks. All he knew was it would be roomy and comfortable.

He tossed the large suitcase onto the stand near the bathroom. When Jared designed a suite, he did a great job of it. A small kitchenette, a small washer and dryer, an excellent bathroom. He pulled his shirt over his head and threw it toward the open washer. He’d go shop for groceries tomorrow, wash clothes and spend time reading and taking a much earned partial vacation.

The generous balcony decked out with comfortable furniture faced the South Sound. The Narrows Bridge was off to the west and a wide expanse of rocky beach below.

Logan sunk into one of the cushioned chairs, his booted feet on the rail and head back with a long sigh. It had been a nice evening. Simon and Chloe were good together. That kind of happiness wasn’t something he’d had much experience about and listening to Chloe tell him all about Anya and his brother made him smile.

There were the sounds of cars and trucks in the distance. Even the now and then rustling of leaves when the breeze off the Sound swept through the trees. But it was the abrupt and shrill scream that broke the tranquility Logan had been sinking into. His body reacted instinctively, boots hitting the concrete and all six foot three of him pulled upright.

Dark eyes swept the direction he thought the sound have come in from just in time to see the bright spark of a gunshot further down the beach. Then his gaze caught on the bright color of a tank top, the flipping of a long ponytail and the outline of a woman falling to the low tide rocks.

Logan grabbed the pass card on his run out the door, not bothering with anything else. It was a nicely warm late May evening, the sun going down at nine in the evening as he took the stairs two at a time, hitting the door hard that led to the outside. He didn’t pause, but oriented himself as he ran over the concrete, weaving between the garage and the fencing.

He found a gate at the back, passing his card through the reader and hitting the solid packed sands at a hard out run. There was no sign of a shooter, his vision of the wide open beach sweeping as he ran. The only thing marring the stretch of kelp covered stones and sand, the crumbled figure of a woman, one of her hands wrapped tightly around a large backpack.

He reached her at the same time the first signs of lightening appeared in the west, winds sweeping across the water with a chill. Sure fingers found one wrist, her pulse pounding strongly beneath his touch. She lay on her side, long hair pulled back from her face in a high riding ponytail. She looked tall, his hands moving behind her back and beneath her legs after putting the backpack on his shoulder.

He stood up carefully, striding back the way he had come. It was thirty minutes before he used the pass card on the door to his room, grateful for the auto swing that latched it behind him. He laid her on the bed, dropped the pack and went in search of towels. They hadn’t escaped the rain. Thunder rumbled outside the open patio door, his hands pulling off the hiking boots she wore.

Logan straightened slowly, rubbing a towel over his head. This could go radically wrong, his conscience warned when he reached for the shirt tucked into the waistband of her jeans. But he was never a guy who didn’t because of what might be. It was pretty sure she’d get sick if she stayed in the soaked clothing and she was showing no signs of waking.

He found the complimentary robes, reminding the male in him that he was undressing an unconscious woman. A very nicely curved, beautiful unconscious woman with long, silky red hair. Pale eye lashes and brows and a genuine redhead, he mused, trying to work fast and get her wrapped inside the warmth and dignity of the robe. You are almost thirty-seven years old, his conscience stated firmly. You are old enough and mature enough to look at a naked woman and not drool like an eighteen year old. Yeah, right.

He took her clothes and his, threw them into the washer and added the complimentary soap before beginning the cycle. A long glance at the unconscious woman before he went into the bathroom, leaving the door ajar and standing for a very long time beneath the stinging spray.

Logan dragged the towel over him, staring into the mirror at the dark hair and dark eyes. Now and then the lights caught and sparkled off a stray silver hair either on his head or his chest. He sighed and pulled the belt tight on the robe, striding into the main room and freezing in place.

“Hello,” she was sitting in the middle of the bed cross legged, head tilted slightly. She’d watched the steam leaving the bathroom for a long time. Slim fingers had traced over the letters on the bathrobe she wore, dark green eyes taking in the very large room. There was a sofa and very cushiony chair; a large TV and a beautiful view of the beach and waters, now quite choppy from the storm that tossed the drapes over the patio screen door.