Strike a Chord

When a slick, stormy road sends single mom Jennifer
Baldwin’s car spinning into a ditch just days before Christmas, she figures the
only thing she’ll be unwrapping this year is a repair bill. But help comes in
the form of Dax Van Camp—gruff, paint-splattered, and unexpectedly kind. A bass
player and reclusive artist, Dax leads a simple—albeit lonely life on a small
farm with his chickens. The last thing he needs is more chaos in his life—but
something about Jennifer and her young son calls to him.

When the power goes out in Jennifer’s neighborhood, leaving her,
her son, and her elderly landlords in the dark, Dax offers up his home—and his
quiet heart. What starts as an act of kindness soon becomes something warmer.
Shared meals, laughter, music, and long looks turn a simple rescue into
something much more complicated.

But when the storm passes and real life comes rushing back,
can two people from such different worlds hold on to the connection they’ve
struck? Or was this just a brief flicker of something beautiful… meant to fade
with the holiday lights?

Memories always flooded him when he visited Vancouver for an art show, or a gig with the band. He’d lived in the city for decades and every corner of it held ghosts both good and bad.

But Dax van Camp had long given up trying to get ahead and get any decent bit of land on the mainland. Everything—even the shit boxes—were over a million dollars now. And even though he did well for a fifty-year-old single guy, he also wanted to be able to retire at some point and travel.

Besides, he really wanted some fucking chickens and goats.

So he sold his condo in Burnaby, and moved to the island.

Vancouver Island to be precise.

A ninety-minute ferry ride from Vancouver, but a slice of paradise in the Pacific Ocean.

With the money he made off the sale of his condo, he was able to buy just over an acre of land in a little town called Nanoose Bay. His neighbors were farmers on either side of him, and he sold eggs at his ramshackle farm stand at the top of his driveway.

His goats were garbage cans that ate everything and climbed on everything else, and Dax had never been fucking happier.

Pulling into the ferry line destined for the island, with his instruments and equipment in the back of his pickup truck beneath the canopy, Dax exhaled a deep sigh.

His ex-girlfriend who was now just a friend, ran a very successful art gallery in downtown Vancouver and he’d just dropped off a few more paintings for them to sell. He also had his art in a few galleries on the island, as well as a gallery in Seattle and one in Sechelt on the Sunshine Coast.

The odd online commission would come in, but he only accepted those when he liked what the customer wanted him to paint. If he didn’t like it, he passed. Life was too short to do shit you didn’t want to do. Even for a couple grand in cash.

Closing his eyes, he let the hard rain pummelling his windshield lull him into a doze.

Hopefully, the wind stayed at bay until he at least reached the island.

That was one of the downsides to living on the island which was only reachable by ferry or plane. You were at the mercy of the wind gods. And if the wind gods got angry for whatever reason, then you were stuck. On one side or the other. They cancelled sailings and flights all the time—particularly in the winter during the stormy season.

But, despite the icy rain, the wind didn’t seem too bad.

He kept his eyes closed, exhausted from the two shows he and his band had played on Friday and Saturday. He wasn’t a spring chicken anymore, and two shows in three days wiped him out.

He must have actually dozed off, because the honk of the horn behind him made him jump. He opened his eyes to find one of the ferry workers, decked out in reflective rain gear giving him the stink eye and directing him to stop holding up traffic and get a move on to board the ferry.

He hit the button to start his truck and it roared to life. Then, with an apologetic wave to the ferry worker, he followed the cues and boarded the ship on the upper car deck.

Good.

He hated the lower car deck.

You weren’t allowed to stay in your vehicle during crossings if you were down below. They made you go upstairs to the passenger decks and sit with all the other passengers. And since it was cold and flu season, he was almost always guaranteed to be sitting behind or in front of someone with a nasal drip and a non-stop sneeze. And no matter how much Vitamin C Dax took when he got home, he still wound up sick. Maybe he needed to start drinking hand sanitizer and not just incessantly rubbing it on his hands.

He parked behind a red Kia sedan and turned off his ignition, reclined his seat and closed his eyes. He didn’t even know when they pulled away from the terminal or how close to the island they were. But that fucking kombucha he had a couple of hours ago hit his bladder like a freight train and his eyes shot open.

“Fuck,” he murmured, knowing full well he wouldn’t last until he got home. It was another thirty minute drive once he got off the ferry. And yeah, sure, he could stop at Tim Hortons to piss, but he probably wouldn’t even make it.

Grumbling, he reached for his plaid jacket from the passenger seat and opened up his driver’s side door. They were crammed onto this ship like sardines, so you couldn’t just swing your door out. You had to be careful and not only make sure you didn’t hit anybody, but you didn’t hit any cars, either.

He shrugged into his jacket and checked the signage for the nearest elevator or stairs.

It was cold on the deck since they were in the middle of November and Mother Nature was reminding the world she was displeased with the way people treated her. She baked them in the summer and froze their asses in the fall and winter. The shoulder seasons of temperate weather were getting shorter and shorter. You don’t believe in global warning? Then roast alive, motherfuckers!

He hightailed it to the stairs and made his way to the first passenger deck, knowing full-well that with such a full ship, the passenger decks would be packed.

No fucking thanks.

He just needed to piss and get back to his truck.

What frustrated the shit out of anybody he spoke with was that on a lot of ferries the men’s washroom was on one side, while the women’s was on the other. Of course, where he came up off the stairs, he was on the side with the women’s washroom. So he had to find a place to cut across through the cafeteria, his bladder close to fucking bursting.

He made it in time—but barely—and when he came out, he nearly barrelled over a young kid, maybe eight, eyes fixed on his Nintendo Switch and not watching at all where he was going or who he was bumping into.

“Careful,” Dax said.

The kid grunted. “Sorry.”

Shaking his head, Dax quickly forgot about the boy and made his way back to his truck. A cursory glance out a window said that they were probably another twenty minutes to the Departure Bay terminal in Nanaimo.

So in less than an hour, he should be home.

He missed his chickens and goats.

He was also looking at rescuing a dog, but hadn’t found one that fit in with the chickens and goats. The ones that he’d brought home so far for a trial visit, just terrorized the poor livestock and Dax was pretty sure his animals were considering mutiny if he did it again.

He reached his truck and climbed in, closing his eyes again. He wasn’t going to fall asleep this time, but lightly doze. The last thing he wanted was to hold up the line a second time.

In about ten minutes, the announcement of their impending arrival came over the speaker, inviting all passengers to return to their vehicles.

Dax had done this trip countless times. It was like riding a bike, so he waited until the vehicle ahead of him turned on its ignition and the red brake lights shone, before Dax turned on his ignition. No sense idling too long and filling the deck up with carbon monoxide.

He expected the vehicle behind him to do the same, and normally, he wouldn’t have glanced in his rearview mirror, but he did and what he saw was a woman beginning to panic.

The vehicle in front of him pulled away, but Dax tossed on his hazard lights and jumped out of his truck, running to her window. “Won’t start?” he asked the pretty woman with dark blonde hair. He glanced into the backseat and recognized the kid he’d crashed into on his way out of the bathroom. The kid was still playing on his Nintendo Switch.

She rolled down her window, deep-seated panic in her pale green eyes. “Y-yeah. The battery must have died.” She tried a few more times, but it just did the grating sound of the key turning over, but no engine starting up.

Dax nodded. “I’ve got jumper cables in my truck. Hang on.” Then he ran back to his truck just as a ferry attendant approached.

“Her battery died,” he said to the guy as he hauled out his jumper cables from under the back seat. “I’m going to wait, and turn around to help her.”

“Okay. We’ll unload around you. But you need to be quick.”

Dax bobbed his head, then climbed back into the front seat of his truck, waited for space and did a quick three-point-turn so that his front bumper was just a few feet from her front bumper.

He got her to pop the hood, then he went to work hooking up her battery to his with the cables.

It probably felt like forever to the embarrassed woman and the ferry workers, but in reality, it all took about five minutes before her engine revved and he had her smiling.

Unhooking the cables, he closed the hood and nodded. “You can pull out and drive off before me. I need to turn around.”

“Thank you,” she said, relief in her eyes. “I so appreciate it.”

“Drive safe.”

“You, too.” Then she pulled away in her white Toyota Venza, taking it slow as she unloaded off the ferry.

Dax was quick to stash his jumper cables and shut his hood, then he climbed back into his truck, turned around and was out of there. Lo and behold, who should he be behind as they made their way through the parking lot and onto the main road, but the Venza lady herself.

It was a hell of a lot windier on the island that it was in Vancouver, too. He was surprised they hadn’t cancelled any sailings yet.

Ferry traffic was always hell to get through, but in the dark, rain and wind, it was even worse. Even though he needed to get home to his pets, he did have a neighbor checking in on them, so it wasn’t like they’d gone three days without food or attention. By the time he got home, they’d all probably be put away for the night, so he’d go say hello to everyone in the morning.

Knowing that he didn’t need to get home to the animals made it easier for him to take it easy on the road. There was no need to rush. No need to endanger his life or anybody else’s. Not in such terrible fucking weather.

Unfortunately, not everybody thought that way, though, and more than one more person rode his ass like they’d just bought him a seven-course dinner, and others wove through traffic as if they were trying out for the Olympic slalom team.

Dumbasses.

All of them.

For whatever reason, the Venza was always a car length or two in front of him, and he kept a close eye on it. Just in case something happened and her battery gave out again or whatever.

How far did she have to drive to get home? They were both heading north, but that didn’t mean much. There were still hours of driving north or west on the island. She could live five minutes away, or three hours away in Tofino, or five hours away in Port Hardy.

They were just on the north end of Nanaimo now. The flow of traffic steady and heavy the whole way. Most people were being cautious.

But visibility was skewed because of how dark it was. Add in the reflection of all the lights, and the rain and it was a cocktail for disaster. Then, some idiot thought it was a good idea to take a left on a green—not an advanced green—at a light and who should that risk-taking dumbass hit, but the white Venza.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.