Footprints in the Sand. Eleanor Jones

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      “Bryn! Bryn!”

      Couldn’t he see the danger?

      I ran along the shoreline, scanning the beach for Bryn. And suddenly there he was, bright and fluorescent in my dad’s old fishing jacket, waving back at me.

      Yellow Dog bounded around him in crazy circles, a distant dot beside the faraway figure of the man I loved. There, I’d said it. For the first time in my life, I’d said it. I yelled it out loud, caressing the words that had taken a small miracle to finally get out.

      “I love you!”

      My voice was carried away on the rising wind.

      Bryn threw a stick as the tide rushed around the edge of the bay. Yellow Dog leaped up into the air, and then they were gone, lost in an opaque mist.

      I stopped, aware of rippling water moving relentlessly toward me.

      And then it was upon me, dragging me down. The surging white wave that heralded the tide, taking all in its path.

      “Bryn!”

      Dear Reader,

      The inspiration for this story came to me when I was walking by the sea not so very far from here, where the tide comes in quickly and silently around the outside of the bay, often cutting off those foolish enough to walk way out across the sands.

      It seems so tranquil and so beautiful a place and yet, in an instant, it can become deadly–much like life, really.

      I do hope you enjoy this story.

      All very best wishes to you,

      Eleanor

      Footprints in the Sand

      Eleanor Jones

       www.millsandboon.co.uk

       ELEANOR JONES

      Born and raised on a farm in northern England, Eleanor Jones has always had a passion for animals and the countryside. She has been writing almost all of her life. The poems and stories she wrote as a child, which still grace a cupboard somewhere, were mostly written in longhand. She later wrote articles for an equestrian magazine, and her first big break came when she began writing teenage pony mystery stories. These still sell successfully in seven countries throughout Europe and in America.

      Married at eighteen to Peter, she had two children and then set up the Holmescales Riding Centre in Cumbria with her husband. This busy center now trains career students, takes hacks and treks and teaches at all levels from children and total novices to competition riders.

      Eleanor still rides every day, schooling and training horses, and her daughter is now a partner in the business and competes at national level. Both her daughter and her son are now married and she has three wonderful grandchildren with whom she loves to spend as much time as she can.

      I would like to dedicate this book to my dear

      mother, Grace, who always loved the sea.

       THE SORROWING SEA

       By T J Darling

      A sight so wide it fills the eye, its vast horizon

      meets a sky that stretches to infinity. That holds

      my heart. That sets me free.

      Timeless echoes in my ears; a haunting melody;

      ten thousand seabirds sing their woes to a wild

      and restless sea.

      So many lost beneath the waves of the mighty

      ocean’s rage: How much more heartache can it

      writhe its anger to assuage.

      But when it sparkles, shimmering sands, its

      transient beauty a promised land, it sings another

      song to me, of peacefulness and harmony.

      A place to live: A place to die.

      A place I love.

      Contents

       CHAPTER ONE

       CHAPTER TWO

       CHAPTER THREE

       CHAPTER FOUR

       CHAPTER FIVE

       CHAPTER SIX

       CHAPTER SEVEN

       CHAPTER EIGHT

       CHAPTER NINE

       CHAPTER TEN

       CHAPTER ELEVEN

       CHAPTER TWELVE

       CHAPTER THIRTEEN

       CHAPTER FOURTEEN

       CHAPTER FIFTEEEN

       CHAPTER SIXTEEN

       CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

       CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

       CHAPTER NINETEEN

       CHAPTER TWENTY

       CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

       CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

       CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

       CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

       CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

      CHAPTER ONE

      WHERE WAS BRYN? My car keys made a heavy clunk on the pine table. The sound echoed hollowly inside my head as my eyes flickered around the tiny kitchen and out into the narrow hallway. Please don’t let me be too late, please don’t let him be gone already. All the stupid, phobic insecurities that had held me back seemed shallow and insignificant now. At last I could tell him how I felt—if it wasn’t too late. Or perhaps I’d kept him waiting for too long and finally missed my chance of happiness altogether...now, when I needed it most.

      The silence brought hope. If Yellow wasn’t here, then Bryn must have taken him for a walk; they’d be on the shore.