One, two, three, four,she counted silently, trying desperately to quell her fears.
Five. Six. Seven.
Could she do this? Lord help her, it didn’t seem to be working. She wasn’t calm at all. In truth, she felt weak with fright. Would Christian reach her in time? Would St. John come after her?
Eight. Nine. Ten.
Perhaps there was no need to jump, after all, she reconsidered, for she had every faith in Christian. Hazarding another glance behind her, she drew in a deep breath and released it, for it seemed he would never close the distance. And then, her gaze reverting to St. John, she happened to spy the gleaming silver of his pistol beneath his frock coat, and she froze at the sight of it. God help her, she knew instinctively he would kill Christian if given the chance, his hate was so deep. It was there in his eyes. Christian would reach them, she was certain, but somehow... before then... she had to seize the weapon from St. John...
Recalling that night so long ago when Christian had been so concerned that she would tip the boat, she lit upon an idea. Not daring to spare the time to think it through properly, she stood abruptly and screamed like a shrew, hurling herself at St. John, scrambling toward him, feigning hysteria. “Oh, my Lord! Something... there’s something in the boat!”
Snatching at his leg frantically, she attempted to stand.
The small boat tipped precariously, and St. John bellowed in fear, his face paling. “Nay! Jessamine, do not—be still! You’lltopple the boat!” Jessie ignored him and threw herself at him once more, as though seized by panic. “Nay, but I cannot swim!” He threw up his hands to gain his balance. Catching him unawares, she suddenly snatched away his pistol, and St. John, comprehending too late her ploy, lunged at her to retrieve it. Heaven help her, but Jessie, refused to give him the opportunity to murder Christian in cold blood! She tossed it within the water, but he seemed not to notice, for he continued to struggle. The boat rocked treacherously as she fought him with every ounce of strength she possessed.
Christian’s heart lurched as he recognized Jessie’s petrified screams. Rowing furiously, he turned to watch from his own skiff as she lunged at St. John, then toppled backward into the small boat with St. John grappling over her. For an instant his blood ran cold as he stared at their struggling forms behind him, and then suddenly their boat pitched violently and overturned, toppling them both into the river.
There was no time.
“No!” he exploded, rowing faster, losing precious seconds as he turned again to watch the boat drift away from the struggling pair. “Jessie! Noooo!” All he could think of was that by some sordid twist of fate, he would lose her now—and God help him, he could not bear it!
Sputtering and kicking wildly, Jessie tried to free herself from St. John’s fatal grip. He wouldn’t release her! Try as she might, she couldn’t break free.
Dear God, she was going to die here!
She wasn’t going to make it!
Her sodden skirts weighed her down... down... and with sudden inspiration, she took a deep breath, allowing herself to sink with them. Her ploy worked. St. John released her at once, catapulting desperately toward the rippling surface, freeing her.
Relief flooded her—short-lived, for as she tried to resurface, the impossibility of it struck her like a blow to her breast. She panicked. And still her skirts carried her down ... down... down . . .
Nay! She was going to die, and there was nothing she could do about it!
But nay—she refused to!
God help her, but she refused to die! Her breast ached terribly with her pent-up breath, but she remained composed enough to know that she needed to dispose of her sopping skirts. Tearing wildly at her garments, she struggled free of them. It seemed to take a lifetime, but with that done, she shot back toward the surface, desperate for even a small breath of sweet, lifesaving air.
Yet the light was too far now! The air, too far! And her lungs felt near to bursting.
Breaking through the surface suddenly, she sucked in a desperate breath, but it was immediately stolen from her when St. John once again seized her by the shoulders, climbing atop her, pushing her down, struggling to remain aloft at her expense.
His words came back to her then:Nay, Jessamine... I cannot swim.
Oh, dear God! What cruel fate! She and St. John were going to die here together! She would breathe her last without ever having told Christian that she loved him first and foremost, that nothing else mattered as long as they were together, that she did not blame him for what he claimed to have done to her father.
Oh God, Christian, I love you... I love you so very much, her heart cried out, but she couldn’t speak the words, for her lungs were burning for air... and she was entombed in ice-cold water...
“Son of a bitch!” Christian roared. “Get off her, bloody whoreson!”
Christ! He was so close now, so close—yet not nearly close enough! And then he spotted the gator, gliding swiftly through the water, converging upon its struggling prey, and he lost priceless seconds over the shock of the sight.
His blood pounding through his temples, he began to row more furiously still, shouting warnings, cursing the beast at the top of his lungs. Jessie and St. John were so involved in the effort to stay afloat that he doubted either of them heard a word or sensed the danger. His gut twisting, he realized there was no way he could make it in time; but his heart would not surrender. A strangled, keening sound escaped him as he rowed, hoping against hope, watching with pent-up breath as the gator sped in Jessie’s direction.
God help him, he had the sudden urge to stand and hurl the oar at the beast, but that would be the worst thing he could do, he knew, for if by chance the gator chose St. John instead, he would need both oars to reach Jessie still.
“Ah, God,” he prayed aloud, casting his head back as he rowed, “she doesn’t deserve to die! If You’ve never listened to me before... please... please... please... listen to me now.”
Even as he spoke, the enormous beast submerged, and Christian watched over his shoulder, fear gripping him as never before. An instant later, both Jessie’s and St. John’s heads jerked beneath the surface, and then an explosion of bubbles ripped the water as the river churned violently against the deadly struggle.
