Читать книгу Coast Guard Sweetheart - Lisa Carter - Страница 13
ОглавлениеHoney peered through the cord grass across the shallow drifts of the channel that separated the barrier island wildlife refuge from her home.
A gentle low tide lapped against the end of the canoe she and Max had beached on a high spot of muck and mud. Migratory birds on their yearly autumnal stopover cawed above her head. The blue-green waters waxed and waned according to the tide and the pull of the moon. Reflecting the ebb and flow of her life, too.
Uninhabited islands protected the peninsula from the fierce Atlantic currents and storms. And beyond the dunes where once a fishing village and lighthouse thrived, ocean waves churned. As did her emotions since Sawyer Kole strolled into her life again.
The soothing in and out rhythm of the tide mirrored the sum total of their relationship. Only not so soothing. More like choppy, unpredictable and treacherous.
Suddenly, Max gave a shout.
Jolting, her heart flatlined. She’d taken her eyes off him for one moment, but that’s all it took. Knee-deep in the murky water and her feet encased in layers of marsh mud, she spun a one-eighty almost toppling over when she lost her balance.
But five yards away, Max—too springy to be constrained by mere mud—bounced on the balls of his feet. He cupped his small hands around his mouth. “Aunt Honey! Look!” He gestured toward a kayak rounding the curve of the not-too-distant shoreline.
The channel sparkled like glittering diamonds in the late afternoon sun. And she’d recognize that blond towhead anywhere. After all, hadn’t it nightly haunted her dreams?
Max waved like a signalman on an aircraft carrier. “Ahoy, Coastie!”
Sawyer pointed the nose of the kayak toward the mud bank. Sloshing forward through the ankle-deep mud, Max surged forward to meet him.
Honey remained rooted in place. Unable—as in life—to either move forward or backward. Trapped in the mire that was Before Sawyer Kole, and the bleakness of her life After Sawyer Kole.
She shaded her hand over her eyes as Sawyer leaped sure-footed over the side of the kayak where Mighty Max rushed to help Sawyer drag the kayak to higher ground.
She let out an exasperated sigh. “What are you doing here?”
Like the shy, awkward boy Max had never been, Sawyer jammed his hands into his pockets. “I came looking for you.”
“That ship sailed a long time ago, Kole.”
He dropped his gaze.
“Why are you really here?”
“I wanted to talk. Ask for your forgive—”
“Save it for someone who cares, Kole. I’m working on forgiveness. Don’t push it. Or me.”
Her nephew propped his fists on his hips, Super Max-style. “Aunt Honey... Be nice.”
She winced, recalling Max’s earlier assessment of her at the diner. Earlier and accurate—at least every time Sawyer Kole got too close.
Giving her a vexed look, Max angled toward Sawyer. “You ever been clamming?”
“No.” Sawyer flicked a glance her way. “Don’t think we ever got around to—”
“We never got around to a lot of stuff, Kole.” Her mouth twisted. “Your choice, remember?”
Max scrabbled inside the canoe. “Got any more of those marsh moccasins, Aunt Honey?”
At Sawyer’s quizzical look, Max lifted his suede-clad foot above the waterline. “Aunt Honey makes these. Keeps your feet from getting cut on the clam shells.”
Honey curled her lip. “You never know what lurks in the muck. Stub a toe. Slice open a foot. And no, Max. This Coastie only wears cowboy boots, best I recall.”
Sawyer blew out a breath. “Honey... I’m sorry. You’ll never know how sorry. I only—”
“Don’t call me Honey...” She growled.
He raked a hand across his hair, leaving the sun-bleached buzz cut standing on its ends. “Sometimes you make me want to take a long walk off a short pier.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “Yeah, blame the victim.”
“I never meant for things to turn out the way they did. Though in the long run—”
“How did you mean for things to turn out then, Kole? Better in the long run for you, huh?”
“That’s not what I meant.” He heaved a breath. “If maybe we could take a drive and—”
She gave him a nice view of her back. “I’m not going anyplace with you.”
Max snorted. “Stop being a big baby, Aunt Honey. Come on, Sawyer, I’ll teach you how a proper waterman goes clamming.”
She glided her feet through the mud, the balls of her feet searching for the rounded shell.
“Just like Aunt Honey’s doing, Sawyer. Slide... And dig with your toes.”
Honey couldn’t resist a look over her shoulder.
“Slide...” Hands behind his back, Max coasted forward in a stride not unlike an Olympic speed skater. “Slide... Slide. You try it, Sawyer.”
Max stumbled and then righted himself. “Granddad says I got an eagle eye for finding clams. You gotta look for keyhole shapes in the mud. It’s the sign of clams underneath feeding.”
Crouching, he plunged his hand beneath the outgoing tide. Scrounging through the mud, seconds later Max raised his arm, a shell clutched in his hand. “Aunt Honey’s clam chowder, here we come.”
Honey sighed. “You don’t have to become one with the mud, Max. We have a spade and rake in the canoe, you know.”
“Muddier is better.” Max scooted a few inches farther. “Got another one, Aunt Honey.” He grinned. “And another one. I hit the mother lode.”
Sawyer cut his eyes at her.
Against her will, a smile tugged at her mouth. “He went gold panning on a recent trip to visit Braeden’s Alaska hometown.”
“Bring the bucket, Sawyer. Get the rake, Aunt Honey.”
She laughed. And at the sound, Sawyer’s eyes crinkled, the corners fanning out.
Ignoring the heart palpitations his eyes ignited, she slogged toward the neon yellow bait bucket resting next to Sawyer’s bare feet and the canoe.
Sawyer motioned toward the words on her T-shirt. “It’s a Shore thang that only you, Beatrice Honey Duer, could look beautiful while clamming in a tidal estuary.”
He thought she was...? She came to an abrupt stop and lost her balance. Her arms flailing—Sawyer’s eyes went big, Max shouted—she landed butt first in the muck. Sinking to her elbows.
Sawyer let out a rumbling belly laugh.
Honey glared at him. “Don’t you dare laugh, you landlubbing cowboy.” She blew a strand of hair out of her face. “Max! Get over here.”
Max hustled over, sending a tsunami of marsh water over her head. She sputtered and coughed. Extricating her hand from the mud, she swiped at a rivulet of water cascading down her nose.
Sawyer smirked.
“What?” Her gaze ping-ponged from a chortling Max to the Coastie.
“You wiped mud all over your face, Aunt Honey.”
Honey poked out her lip.
Sawyer crossed his arms over the broad muscular chest she couldn’t help noticing and rocked on his heels. “I hear women pay big money for a mud bath like this. And you got yours for free, Eastern Shore-style.”
Honey muttered something under her breath about she’d show him Eastern Shore-style. Max flung out a hand. Her tug threw Max off his feet.
“You’re too heavy, Aunt Honey.” He shot a mischievous glance Sawyer’s way. “Too many Long Johns, I reckon.”
“Max!” she yelled.
Her nephew snickered. “Too many Long Johns. Get it, Sawyer?”
Sawyer unsuccessfully attempted to keep the mirth off his face.
“Help me, Max. I can’t get up.”
Max let go of her. “She’s fallen and she can’t get up.” He made exaggerated bug on its back motions.
Sawyer extended his hand. “I’ll help you, Honey.” He flashed her a snarky smile. “I mean, Bee-ahh-triss.”
Fluttering her eyelashes at him, she wrapped both her hands around his.
And at his sudden, wary look, she yanked Sawyer forward into the marsh. Fighting to right himself without landing face first, he landed with a plop beside her. Mud particles flew in every direction, including her Shore Thang shirt.
Okay... Maybe not the best idea.
Especially when, taking his cue from the grown-ups, Max belly flopped between them. Brackish water blasted over both Honey and Sawyer.
“Max!”
“Dude!”
Cupping his hand, Sawyer funneled a wave of water in Max’s direction. Grinning, Max splashed back.
“Stop it, Max.” She struggled to pry herself from the muck. “And Sawyer, stop egging him on. Will the two of you look at what you’ve done to me?” Honey plucked a long strand of sea grass out of her hair.
Max clasped his arms around Sawyer’s neck. “We ought to do this more often, Aunt Honey.”
She grunted.
With the boy dangling off his back, Sawyer staggered to his feet. “I agree, Beatrice. Why don’t you?”
Always particular about her appearance, she wrinkled her nose at the reeking odor of marsh mud at low tide. “Because we’re going to have to hose off the canoe, not to mention us, when we get to the dock.”
“Yahoo!” Max fist-pumped the air. “No bath tonight.”
“That’s not what I said, Max.”
At the sandbar, Max slithered off Sawyer’s back like an eel.
Sawyer flicked a daub of mud off the boy’s cheek. “Try to de-sludge yourself as much as you can, Max, before getting into the canoe, okay?”
And once again venturing into the water, Sawyer offered his hand to her. “You pull off gorgeous even if you are covered in slime.”
“Trusting soul, aren’t you? Who’s to say I won’t pull you in again?”
“Who’s to say I’m not hoping you’ll do exactly that?”
The Oklahoma drawl of his sent a tingle down her spine. Cheeks burning, she grasped hold of his hand.
Both feet planted, he pulled. And with a squelching, sucking sound, he extracted her from the muddy tomb.
He stepped back a pace, giving her breathing room. “Thanks for trusting me.”
She scowled. “Forgiveness is one thing. Trusting is another. Trust has to be earned one day at a time.”
“I’d like the chance to earn back your trust. We were friends... Before.”
Before. Always before. She was so sick of Before.
“Thought you were shipping out next week after Labor Day. Your eight-second, bronco-busting attention span kicking into gear again? Takes more than a hand up to earn trust, Coastie.”
“Well, you know what they say?” His lazy cowboy grin buckled her knees. “Got to get right back on the horse that threw you.”
“Did you just compare me to a horse, Kole?”
“Mule-headed is more like it.” He retreated toward the kayak when she reached for a glob of mud. “How about I follow you to the lodge?”
“How about you keep paddling toward England?”
“Aboot.” He pursed his lips, imitating the lilting local cadence. Sawyer gave her a wicked grin. “You know how I love it when you Shore-talk me, baby.”
With as much dignity as she could muster, she pushed the canoe off the mud and held it for Max to climb aboard. “Don’t call me baby. I’m nobody’s baby. Not Dad’s. Not Amelia’s. And definitely never yours. Steady, Max,” she instructed as she joined him in the canoe.
Max grabbed hold of both sides as the canoe rocked until she evenly distributed their weight.
“What aboot your clam bucket, Beatrice?”
She thought aboot—about—cracking the paddle over his cocky Coastie head until she remembered the eight-year-old eyewitness and her responsibility to be the grownup. “For the love of fried flounder, just hand me the bucket, Kole.”
“Your wish is my command.” He waded in and positioned the plastic bucket between her feet and Max.
“That’ll be the day.”
After shoving off in the kayak, Sawyer pulled alongside their canoe.
“Even strokes, Max.” She congratulated herself on the tremendous willpower she exerted in averting her eyes from the play of muscle along Sawyer’s bicep. “Paddle on the right, Max. I’ll take the left.”
And then Sawyer started singing an old Irish sea shanty her dad used to sing to her when she was a little girl. A song called “Holy Ground.”
“Fare thee well, my lovely Dinah,
a thousand times adieu.
We are bound away from the Holy Ground
and the girls we love so true.
We’ll sail the salt seas over
and we’ll return once more,
And still I live in hope to see
the Holy Ground once more.
You’re the girl that I adore,
And still I live in hope to see
the Holy Ground once more.”
It annoyed Honey to no end that by the chorus Max matched his stroke to Sawyer’s rollicking cadence. Yet at the sound of his mellow baritone, she worked hard to keep from smiling.
“Oh now the storm is raging
and we are far from shore;
The poor old ship she’s sinking fast
and the riggings they are tore.
The night is dark and dreary,
we can scarcely see the moon,
But still I live in hope to see
the Holy Ground once more.
You’re the girl that I adore,
And still I live in hope to see
the Holy Ground once more.”
He had a right nice voice. Not that she’d ever tell him that. Would only enlarge that already swelled ego of his. She reminded herself of the fleeting nature of cowboy Coastie charms.
But in no time flat, they arrived at the Duer dock. Sawyer scrambled out of the kayak and hoisted Max onto dry land. Beaching the canoe onto the shore, Sawyer offered his hand again. “Beatrice.”
Honey was already wishing she’d never told him to call her that. But she placed her hand in his, unsure if she’d receive a dunking or not. However, he set her feet onto solid ground and released her hand immediately. But not before she noted how his hand trembled at her touch.
And something knotted a long, long time, started to uncoil within Honey.
Clambering onto the dock, he cranked the faucet and freed the hose wound around a piling. “Max, your turn first.”
Max shivered in his cut off jeans and Chincoteague Pony Roundup shirt. He shimmied when the cold spray of water hit his head. Sawyer kept the nozzle trained on Max’s short crop of hair until the curls resumed their natural carrot-topped hue. Bobbing on his tippy toes, Max closed his eyes as Sawyer spray washed his face, neck and clothes.
A brown puddle formed at Max’s feet. “Look at the dirt coming off me, Aunt Honey. Cool.”
She grimaced. “And thanks to you both, I’ve got mud caked in places I don’t want to think about.”
Aboot... She flushed as Sawyer rolled his tongue in his cheek.
“I’d leave that go if I were you, Kole. Max, get the bucket out of the canoe and then you’re in charge of cleaning the canoe and the paddles.”
A gust of wind buffeted Braeden’s sailboat, the Seas the Day, tied at the slip on the other side of the dock. Shuddering in his wet clothes, Max grabbed the clam bucket. “I’ll take these to the kitchen and be right back.”
“You better,” she called after Max, disappearing up the path to the house. “Granddad will have your head if you don’t make sure the equipment is clean.”
Sawyer held up the nozzle. “Your turn to come clean, Beatrice.”
Honey gave him her best put-a-Coastie-in-his-place look. “I don’t need your help.”
Sawyer smiled. “Thing is, I’m learning everyone needs help from time to time.”
Honey turned the hose on herself. “Not from you, I don’t.” She shut her eyes and allowed the water to trickle over her head, neck, shirt and shorts. She opened her eyes to find Sawyer studying her with an unwavering focus.
“What?” she grunted.
“You missed a spot—several huge chunks in fact—in your hair.”
Honey tilted her head over the side of the pier, her hair dangling over the tidal creek. She ran the hose water and her hand through her shoulder-length hair. “Am I good now?”
“From where I stand, you always look good. But no, you’ve still got mud in that hard to reach place on the crown of your head. Here.” He reached for the hose. “Let me.”
She eyed him for a second before surrendering the hose. He gave her a crooked smile meant to reassure. Instead, it curled her toes and jump-started her pulse.
“Lean your head...” Sawyer directed the stream of water and finger-combed the mud out of the strands of her hair. “Good. Stay like that. There...”
At his touch, she squeezed her eyes shut and reminded herself to breathe. In and out. Like Sawyer appeared in her life. Here today—
“Okay. I think I got it.”
Eyes wide open and with tingles frolicking like dancing dolphins across her skin, she realized he hadn’t stepped away. But he dropped his hand with the hose to his thigh. And his free hand?
It still lingered, woven into the locks of her hair.
Only inches away, his eyes had gone a smoky blue. She took a quick breath. He cradled the nape of her neck and drew her closer.
In the circle of his arms, she soaked in his warmth. He tilted his head. Her lips parted.
“Honey!”
She jerked. Sawyer stepped back.
Amelia waved from the screened porch. “Honey! Sawyer!”
“She shouldn’t be on her feet. Doctor’s orders.”
But Amelia came down the steps and let the screen door bang shut behind her. Sawyer turned off the faucet and recoiled the hose.
“What’s wrong?” Honey surged forward, clasping Amelia’s sleeve. “Did the contractions return? Do we need to take you to the hospital?”
Amelia shook her head. “No. I’m fine. But Braeden called. Thought Sawyer might be here.” A smile lifted her cheeks. “Turns out he was right.”
Sawyer’s posture altered, becoming all business. “Is there a problem at the station?”
Amelia moistened her lips. “Braeden’s calling for the off-watch Station Kiptohanock crew to report to headquarters. The forecast’s changed. The tropical depression skipped tropical storm status and mushroomed into Hurricane Zelda.”
“What’s its current status?” Sawyer frowned. “And where is it projected to make landfall?”
Amelia took a deep breath. “It’s Category 4 and gaining speed. Braeden’s meeting now with Accomack County Emergency Management officials to coordinate strategies. Landfall is estimated to occur somewhere between Hatteras and Ocean City.”
Worry prickled Honey. “Putting the Shore right in the middle of its path.”
“Like a bull’s-eye.” Sawyer’s mouth tightened. “Increasing our chances for major storm damage.”
“What about the Decoy Festival this weekend? Has it been cancelled?”
“The storm’s headed our way, but not till later this week. So for now, the festival’s still a go.” Amelia swallowed. “But it’s going to get bad. Maybe mandatory evacuations if it truly veers in our direction.”
Honey sniffed. “Real Shoremen don’t leave because the wind changes direction. We stand our ground.”
“It’s a bad wind that never changes.” Amelia gave Honey a pointed look. “And I’m not just talking about a hurricane.”
Sawyer’s brow furrowed into a V. “If the Coast Guard tells you to go, you better go.” He surveyed his mud-splattered clothing. “Good thing I keep a spare uniform in my vehicle.”
Come to think of it, she’d have known Sawyer was back in town if she’d spotted that flashy blue convertible of his.
Honey flicked him a look. “You better hose off first, Coastie, or you’ll ruin your fancy car.”
“Sold it. Got me a truck like I had in Oklahoma.”
Avoiding her gaze, he headed toward the dock once more. “I better get moving. Cool off while I’m at it, too.”
Him and her both.
But a truck? Sawyer Kole had a truck?
She wondered why he’d made the change. Wondered what the change signified about him. Maybe more in keeping with his true cowboy nature?
From the house, Max bellowed for Mimi. Amelia trudged uphill, leaving Honey staring after Sawyer’s broad-shouldered back.
Because most of all, Honey wondered why in the name of flying Long Johns she still cared.
