Having a concierge-shaped Ryan motor in like some water-bound guardian angel never gets old, I gotta say.
Even when he can’t decide what to scold me about first.
“You weren’t answering the radio,” he says as he stomps ashore through the dark water, long legs clad in hip waders. A new spotlight on his boat lights us up like noon.
“I was busy. And the battery’s dead.”
He looks over his shoulder at my very quiet, very dark vessel.
“The spotlight. It was on for a few hours,” I say.
“That’ll do it.” Ryan takes the last step out of the water and freezes. “What are you holding?”
I smile at him, a big, goofy, don’t-yell-at-me smile. “She needed help.”
“Hollie, what is it?”
I try not to grin but I can’t help it, even if he’s going to be angry. “A baby otter.”
“Oh man, what the hell?”
“Sh
