Читать книгу Coast Guard Courtship - Lisa Carter - Страница 14
ОглавлениеRinsing the soup bowls, Amelia gazed out the kitchen window across the lawn to the water. Shorebirds wheeled over the marshy creek. The barrier island refuge shimmered like a tiny dot on the horizon.
“You’ve got a nice view from your cabin, too, Braeden.”
He leaned against the counter. “Looks mighty good from where I’m standing.”
But he wasn’t looking out the window.
Her pulse palpitated like butterfly wings. Why did he keep staring at her that way? Men didn’t notice her. Unless to remind her to pull her weight on the boat. Men noticed Honey.
Was he making fun of her? Setting her up to be the butt of a joke?
She edged past him to give the table a good scrub.
He pursed his lips. “Ah.”
She cocked an eyebrow into a question mark.
He pointed to the soap dispenser. “Lime.”
Now she was sure he mocked her. “It gets the fish smell off.”
Honey smelled of flowers. She, on the other hand...
Blinking fast, she swiveled toward the table.
“Hey, I wasn’t...” He cleared his throat. “I was thinking—”
“That’s dangerous.”
“I made a call to the Chief.”
She continued scrubbing, keeping her back to him.
“To Reverend Parks, too.”
She tensed.
“He recommended a fellow parishioner in Onancock who owns a heated pool.”
Pivoting, she focused on him, the dishcloth hanging from her hand. “What are you talking about?”
He eyed the cloth as if it were a weapon. “Max.”
She narrowed her eyes into slits. “What about Max?”
“He’s surrounded by water, Amelia. It’s irrespons—”
Amelia sucked in a quick breath.
Braeden held his hands, palm up. “Wrong choice of words. But you know after what happened today, he’s got to get right back in the water or potentially be enslaved to a fear of it forever.”
She clamped her teeth together so tightly her molars ached. “What’s this got to do with you?”
“I want to teach him. On my off-watch days. Work on it this summer with him as a friend.”
Summer... So far off. Maybe unreachable for Max.
Fighting the fear, Amelia seized on the next best distraction—her anger.
“Be his friend?” She snorted. “Until you’re transferred to a more exciting assignment.”
“Stop smothering him. It’s clear he resents that.” His rugged profile hardened. “Two-or three-year assignments, Amelia, and then you move on. You grew up here. You know that’s the Guard way.”
Amelia flung the dishcloth toward the sink. The hand-launched missile missed his head by a few inches. A few carefully calculated inches.
“What I know is after Mom died, Lindi and Caroline both went offshore. Lindi took up with this Norfolk-based Coastie who she later discovered kept a woman in every port. By the time she found out, she was pregnant with Max.”
Braeden pushed the sleeves of his sweatshirt to his elbows. “Men who stray will stray whether they’re military or civilian.” His scowl deepened. “And as often as not, it’s the home front sweetheart who Dear Johns returning sailors, soldiers and Coasties.”
“That Coastie, whom Max posthumously adores, got stinking drunk one night on leave in San Diego, fell into the water and drowned his sorry self.” She crossed her arms. “So Lindi came home. But two weeks shy of her due date, a drunk driver crossed the median on Highway 13 and plowed into her car.”
“Amelia, I’m sorr—”
“Lindi died in my arms at Riverside Memorial after going into labor. With her last breath, she begged me to take care of Max.”
“So you quit school and your dad—”
“I never made it to school. Dad went into a dark place after Mom died. And then when Lindi...”
“You stayed and took care of Max, your dad and Honey. Putting aside your own dreams.”
Returning to the window, she shrugged. “That was the least of it. When Max turned three, he was diagnosed with leukemia.”
For a moment, she relived that awful time.
Max shuddered with fear at the mere sight of the building where he received his chemo. She shrank inside at the memory of his pitiful cries for his Mimi not to take him into that place. How he’d begged her to go home instead.
How she’d held him down when the nurse inserted the poison into his port—
Braeden’s breath hitched and Amelia realized she’d spoken out loud. To this near stranger she’d spilled the words she’d locked inside herself. Before she could react further, he strode across the room and took her into his arms.
Leaning into his firm chest, she gave in to another’s comfort for once. His essence filled her senses. Tropical breezes laden with sandalwood. A delicious combination of paradise and something all Braeden Scott.
Maybe a friend?
She lacked the energy or vision to contemplate more. Hadn’t she learned the hard way not to trust a Coastie—or anyone besides herself and God? Besides, men like Braeden didn’t look twice at a tomboy like her.
Embarrassed, she twisted away.
Two-or three-year assignment. Here today, gone as soon as she let her guard down.
She chewed at her lower lip, smearing the pink gloss she’d borrowed from Honey’s dresser.
“You’re right about me smothering him. I’m just his aunt Mimi, not his mother. And I’ve become the scapegoat for his pain...” She took a ragged breath.
Braeden cradled her face in his hands. At the feel of them—strong and warm—against her skin, her heart accelerated.
She searched his features. And found honor and integrity.
“The way I see it—” his voice gentled “—Mimi is the closest thing the boy can say next to Mama.”
* * *
Just as she had every night for the past week once they finished dinner, Amelia scudded back her chair.
“Got to check the gear for tomorrow’s charter.”
Braeden folded his napkin and half rose from his chair to waylay her. But too late. Amelia Duer launched from the dining room as if propelled by rocket fuel. The screen door slammed against the frame in her wake.
Honey sighed and began to clear the table.
Seth scuttled back his chair. “Care to cross wits with an old, washed-up waterman like myself, Braeden?”
Braeden reached for the now empty serving platter. “I should help Honey with the dishes.”
“First off, you’re not a washed-up waterman, Dad.” Honey fluttered her hand. “And never you mind about the dishes, Braeden. Amelia cooked and left the kitchen pretty straight. These will go right into the dishwasher.”
Max made car noises underneath the table.
Honey pulled out a chair. “Then Max and I have an appointment with the bathtub.”
Max responded by using her foot as a ramp for his Matchbox car.
“What do you say?” Seth settled into a cane-bottomed chair next to a piecrust table where a game of checkers awaited.
Braeden glanced between Max and Honey.
“Go ahead,” she encouraged, starting toward the kitchen. “But proceed at your own risk. This so-called washed-up waterman is actually known locally as a checkers shark.”
Braeden eased into the chair opposite Seth. Zooming noises continued to emanate from the dining room.
Rubbing his hands together, Seth adjusted the pieces. “You take the red ones. I’ll be black.” The older man chuckled. “Best way to take the measure of a man. Squaring off in a game of skill and cunning.”
Braeden raised his eyebrow a notch. “Skill and cunning?”
“Sharpens the mind, young man. Got to keep on my toes with all these females around.” Seth craned his head toward the dining room. “Ain’t that right, Max, my boy?”
Loud screeches were his only answer.
Three shutout games later, Braeden threw his hands up in surrender. He darted a surreptitious look at the clock on the mantel. Amelia, still a no-show. Max’s bath time—amid much splashing and squawking cries for the XPO to rescue him—had come and gone.
Honey emerged, sopping wet, at the top of the stairs. She gripped pajama-clad Max’s shoulder. “I’ve about had it up to here—” she made a swiping motion with her hand “—with Amelia punishing you and me for not telling her about—oh.” Her mouth snapped shut at the sight of Braeden.
“I thought you’d abandoned ship by now.” Honey tugged at Max. “Considering the unearthly howls coming from this one. He won’t go to bed. Every night this week... I can’t fight this or him again, Dad.”
Seth gnashed his teeth. “Max...”
The boy’s lower lip wobbled. “Mimi always reads me a story.”
Braeden noticed the hardcover picture book tucked under Max’s arm.
Honey let out a gust of air. “Mimi’s not here right now, Max.” She threw up her hands. “And just look at me. Just look at the mess you’ve made of me—not to mention the bathroom.”
Braeden moved out of his chair. “I’ll read Max the story. Would that be okay?” He edged toward the sofa. “Probably not be as good as Mimi, but I’ll give it my best shot.”
Seth shook his head. “Not your responsibility, Braeden, though I appreciate the offer.”
“It’s me Amelia is avoiding.” Braeden shrugged. “Besides, it’ll be fun hanging out with Max before he goes to bed.” He cocked his head at the boy on the stairs. “You will go to bed after we read the story, won’t you?”
Honey teetered on the step. He and Seth both held their breath. Max nodded. Everyone else exhaled in relief.
Seth grasped the armrests and heaved himself to his feet. “And I’m going to have a little talk with another family member of mine, one Amelia Anne Duer.”
Honey paused at the landing. “She’s shy around people she doesn’t know, Dad. Don’t be too hard on her.”
Seth tucked in his shirt. “She’s stubborn is what she is.”
Honey sniffed. “Apples don’t fall far from the tree.”
Seth gave his other daughter a crooked smile. “Same could be said for you, too, baby girl.”
With a cautious look, Max ventured off the stairs as Seth made for the door and his aunt sailed upstairs. Using only the tips of his fingers, Max extended the book to Braeden. And Braeden, for the first time, began to wonder what he’d gotten himself into. An only child, he’d never been good with kids.
Or maybe he’d simply never had the opportunity to learn.
“So what do we have here?” Braeden opened the storybook and smiled. “One of my favorites when I was a boy.”
He was more than a little relieved to realize he knew the story. And that the boy’s literary appetites didn’t run to something the length of War and Peace. Although if he stalled long enough, perhaps Amelia would come back into the house.
Braeden patted the seat cushion beside him. “Hop on up and we’ll begin.”
Sticking his hand into the pocket of his pj’s, Max retrieved his miniature muscle car. “Mimi makes noises when she reads.”
“Noises?”
It was a story, Braeden recollected, about a plucky little sailboat exploring the deep blue sea.
Max nodded and scrambled beside Braeden. The little boy flipped past the title and copyright page. “It starts with the wind in the sails. Mimi makes wind sounds like this.”
He demonstrated by sucking in his cheeks and blowing out small puffs of air. Max recited the first five lines from memory. The clean, just-bathed scent of the little boy reminded Braeden of the boy he’d once been. And of the parents who once read this same story to him.
Braeden let go of the book. “Sounds as though you don’t need me to read it to you. You know it by heart.”
All motion ceased. Max’s eyes shot up to Braeden’s. A pucker creased the ridge between his eyes. “I guess so...” His voice faded and Max looked down at the tiny car he clutched in his hand.
“But...” Braeden swallowed against the unexpected feeling. “Since it’s been a long time since I read the story, maybe you and I—we—could read it together. You could coach me on the parts I’ve forgotten or if I don’t do the sounds like Mimi.”
“Really?” Max blinked at him.
“How about it?”
Max snuggled closer, and before long Braeden found himself as caught up in the story of the brave little sailboat as Max. They laughed together at the funny seagull parts. They groaned as the sailboat’s timbers shivered in the midst of a typhoon and high waves.
By the time they reached the climax where the boat sighted a distant, welcoming shore, Max had curled into Braeden’s lap.
