With all the strength of will he possessed, Drew shoved away the anxiety and the fear. Never again would he allow those emotions to rule him or shutter his life. Moving as far as he dared from his wheel, he reached out an arm to her. “Sweeting, I can’t lose you. Catch my hand. You’re almost there.”
She slowly left the relative security of the wheel she clung to. Bit by tiny bit she came further toward the middle of the coach’s frame. When she extended her left arm, it shook, from exposure or the cold, he couldn’t say. This time, her fingertips touched his.
“That’s it. Just a little more.” He wriggled his fingers, and when she attempted the connection again, she thrust her hand into his gloved palm. With strength borne of desperation, she held on. Oh, thank goodness. “Now, release the coach,” he urged in a soft voice.
“You won’t let me go, will you?”
“I’ve let many things go recently, but you are not one of them. Not anymore.” He might have laughed at his word choice, for that was exactly what he’d learned to do with her guidance and his father’s letter.
“I believe you.” Then Sarah released her hold on the wheel.
For several heart-stopping moments, the muscles in his arms strained as she hung onto him, her body battered by the rapid current, but Drew bore down, gritted his teeth, and slowly pulled her close until she clung to his body, her breath ragged in his ear.