Читать книгу Coast Guard Sweetheart - Lisa Carter - Страница 12

Chapter Two

After several hours of cleanup, Honey stole a look at Sawyer’s shuttered face as she handed him another rinsed plate to towel dry.

Standing on the other side of the stainless steel commercial sink, he refused to meet her gaze. In the adjacent dining area, Max—his usual no-holds barred bravado gone—mopped up the remains of their shared folly.

For a moment, she allowed herself the pleasure of lingering on Sawyer’s craggy Nordic features. His features once as familiar to Honey as her own.

The straw-colored, stick-straight hair cut in a Coastie buzz. Same brawny muscular build, which befitted the former rodeo rider and boat-driving coxswain.

His sharp bone structure and hooded brow missed handsome by a smidgeon. But somehow it suited him better. And to Honey’s way of thinking always made him more fascinating. At least to her.

Yet she noted new lines bracketing his mouth since the last time she’d seen him. A hairline scar on his chin. A somberness out of place on the puddle pirate, full-throttle Coastie she’d previously known.

And loved beyond all reasoning. Until he’d broken off their relationship one night on a deserted moonlit beach outside Ocean City for no explicable reason.

Three summers of unanswered questions as to why Sawyer Kole so abruptly ended their burgeoning romance fairly burned a hole in her tongue. And as for her brother-in-law, newly appointed Officer in Charge of USCG Small Boat Station Kiptohanock? Make that her former favorite brother-in-law, Braeden Scott.

Honey had a few choice words for mother hen big sister Amelia, too. After their mother’s early death, Amelia had semiraised Honey. But how dare Amelia keep Sawyer’s transfer a secret and allow Honey to be blindsided by him? Her cheeks reddened at the memory of how once before his rejection exposed her to total public humiliation in the eyes of the close-knit fishing community.

Small towns. Small minds. Big mouths.

And after today’s incident... Okay...that was on Honey’s head.

But enough with the suffocating silence. “Look, Kole...”

Her deliberate use of his surname accomplished her intended effect. His lips flattened into a tight line. And something else—hurt—flickered across his eyes before his customary aloofness returned.

Yet somehow her small victory felt hollow. Much less satisfying than she’d imagined in the thirty-nine months, five days and ten hours since he’d broken her heart.

But who was counting, right?

Distracted by the nearness of him, Honey fought to convey a nonchalance she didn’t feel. Not with Sawyer a mere elbow’s length away. Not when every traitorous, torturous nerve ending quivered with longing every time he breathed.

She found it hard to breathe with Sawyer Kole this close. So she settled for sighing to release her pent-up store of oxygen.

“For whatever reason, we’ve been the victims of a Duer/Scott conspiracy. I’m assuming you returned to Station Kiptohanock under duress.”

Sawyer concentrated on drying the plate. “A Coastie goes where a Coastie is assigned.”

“And where have you been assign—never mind.” Honey gave her head a tiny shake. “Not that I care what you’ve been doing all this time. I’ve been plenty busy reopening the Duer Fishermen’s Lodge.” She tucked a wavy curl behind her ear.

Sawyer’s eyes followed the movement of her hand. “I heard through the village grapevine about the inn. How your hard work is paying off. Your dreams coming true.”

“This season is critical for turning a profit. Make it or break it. After finally branding the lodge as a premier Tidewater wedding venue, I don’t need any more grief from you or those with mistaken notions about my own good.”

His face shadowed. He folded the dishtowel into meticulous thirds on the drain board. “I expect this peninsula—if not this village—is big enough for the two of us, Hon—” He grimaced. “I mean—Beatrice. I promise I’ll do my best to stay out of your way.”

“I’d like to tell you what I think of your promises, cowboy. But I won’t.” She shoved off from the sink. “What you can do is explain to me why you cut anchor and sailed out of my life three years ago. I think you owe me that at least.”

Hunching, he crossed his arms over his broad chest, momentarily distracting Honey.

Sawyer tucked his thumbs under his biceps and out of sight. “I’m sorry for hurting you. But better I hurt you before you got in over your head.”

Her eyebrows rose. “Before I got in over my head, Coastie? Speak for yourself.”

Sawyer glanced away.

Her stomach churned. Why wouldn’t he look at her? Was she so repellant to him that he still couldn’t bear facing her? If only she knew what she’d said or done...

Or had he walked away for greener pastures? She’d been an idiot to believe he was any different from the skirt-chasing Coastie who’d abandoned her dead oldest sister, Lindi, and baby Max.

“Let me get this through my obviously thickheaded Eastern Shore dumb blonde skull, Kole.”

She grabbed hold of his chin between her thumb and forefinger, and jerked his gaze to hers. Electric fire sparked between her fingertips and his skin. She dropped her hand.

He edged out of her reach. “I had my reasons.”

She rubbed her tingling fingers against the side of her skirt and gathered the remnants of her self-respect. “So you’re sorry you hurt me, but not sorry you left me? And you still don’t have the decency to tell me why.”

A vein beat a furious tempo in his cheek. Her heart pounded at the bleak expression on his face. Her eyes stung. She was so done with crying over this cowboy.

Confusion and misery rose in equal measure, twisting her insides. “I wish,” Honey spat, “you’d stayed in that black Oklahoma hole that you crawled out of.”

Sawyer flinched as if she’d struck him. He closed his eyes for a second as if absorbing the blow. And when he opened his eyes?

Her heart wrenched, leaving her feeling like she’d just kicked a dog when it was down.

“I think...” That slow, cowboy drawl of his cracked a trifle. He cleared his throat and surveyed the Sandpiper kitchen. Once more refusing to meet her gaze.

Or answer her questions.

“I think between us, we’ve done about as much as we can to repair the damage.” He took a ragged breath. “But I wish...”

She strained forward, but Sawyer choked off the rest and hurried toward the dining room.

What? What did Sawyer wish?

He yanked open the glass-fronted door, setting the bells into a furious jingle.

She stared until the door whooshed shut behind him. She monitored his quick, determined stride across the parking lot separating the CG station from the cafe. With a sinking heart, she watched him disappear toward the end of the Kiptohanock town pier.

“You’re mean, Aunt Honey.”

Max hung over the cutout window, elbows planted in place. She wondered how long he’d perched there. How much he’d overheard.

“I don’t like you today.” His lower lip trembled. “And I don’t want to stay with you and Granddad this summer while that stupid baby’s born.” Max frowned. “Inside I feel as mean as you treated Sawyer.”

Remorse fretted at her conscience. What was wrong with her? She used to never be this way. That is, not until Sawyer had cut her heart to the quick.

“Is that why Mimi left me here? ’Cause I’m so mean?”

“No, Max.” She reached for him. “You’re not mean. Amelia had to go to her doctor appointment. Like last month. She told you why you couldn’t come today.”

Max slung his legs over to the kitchen side. “I want her to come home. I want things to be the way they used to be before...” He shook his head. “But once the other boy comes nothing will ever be the same.”

She gathered him close. “Mimi and Braeden love you. That is something that will never change.”

Max leaned his forehead against hers. “Do you think she wanted this baby ’cause I got too big to hold? I tried not to grow. Honestly.” He captured her face.

She ignored the gritty feel of his palms on her skin and focused on his blueberry eyes where moisture welled. “Oh, Max.”

Max had been born mere hours before his dying mother, Lindi, the oldest Duer daughter, bequeathed her infant son into the trustworthy hands of Amelia. And when Max turned two? Honey shuddered to recall those horrible years after Max was diagnosed with childhood leukemia. How she, Dad and most especially Amelia—Max’s beloved Mimi—suffered with the little boy through every treatment until he reached remission.

The frail, sickly boy Braeden Scott first met had been replaced by this healthy, suntanned, mischievous bundle of energy. This same redheaded boy had been instrumental in Amelia finding her own happily-ever-after with the handsome Coastie Scott.

“Nothing will change when this baby’s born, Max. Only then, you’ll have someone else to play with and love, too.”

“It won’t be the same...” His voice dropped.

She kissed his forehead. “It’ll be better, Max. Better than before, I promise.” His skin tasted of cinnamon sugar, a legacy from the Long John war.

“Like Sawyer promised?” Max peered at her. “I like Sawyer. Don’t you remember when he—”

“When he showed his true character.” Honey remembered that glorious spring far too well. “Sawyer Kole doesn’t keep his promises. Me you can trust, Max. Him, I can’t afford to.”

* * *

Sawyer grabbed the mooring line Seth Duer threw to him. He secured the rope around the cleat on the Kiptohanock wharf. Motorboats and other small fishing vessels also docked alongside the pier. The briny aroma of sea salt perfumed the air.

He took a deep, steadying breath.

Because this conversation promised to be about as fun as sitting on a desert cactus. Unpleasant, but a necessary part of Sawyer’s self-prescribed penance. He’d hurt this man’s daughter. Sawyer prepared himself to be slugged in the jaw and dropped in the Machipongo drink. All of which he deserved.

And more.

“Mr. Duer, sir.”

His hand hard with calluses, Seth passed him one of the now empty bait buckets. Sweat broke out on Sawyer’s forehead at the older man’s unnerving silence. He stepped back as Honey’s father hoisted the other bucket onto the pier. And with a light-footedness that denied his fifty-odd years, the rugged Shoreman bridged the gap between the Now I Sea and the dock.

The wiry waterman brushed his hand over the top of the mounted iron bell on the end of the pier. A bell, Sawyer remembered, used only for the annual blessing of the fleet at the start of the fishing season in spring. And to summon the villagers in times of maritime disaster.

“I’m assuming the Sandpiper has been restored to proper working order.”

Sawyer nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“You starting your two days on or two days off, son?” Seth squinted at him, his eyes a variation of the blue-green teal many of the Shore residents sported. “May I call you, son?”

Sawyer swallowed past the large boulder lodged in his throat. If only his own father had been a tenth of the man Seth Duer was.

How often that spring he spent with Honey he’d envied her strong, loving family. Envied the faith that bound the community together. Wished he had somewhere and someone to call home.

A seagull’s cry broke the silence. Sawyer realized that Seth Duer still awaited his response, the old waterman’s head cocked at an angle.

“I’d—I’d be honored, sir. It’s my two days off.”

Honey’s father studied him. Sawyer remained still under his gristly-browed scrutiny, ready to take whatever blow Seth dealt him. Something Sawyer had learned from his no-good drunken excuse for a father.

The older man blew a breath out between his lips. “Braeden’s right,” he declared in that gravelly smoker voice of his. “You’re not the same brash boy who left here three years ago.”

Oh, how Sawyer prayed he wasn’t.

Sawyer trained his eyes on the inlet that meandered past the barrier islands until emptying into the Atlantic. A cormorant dive-bombed for fish in the marina. With the wind picking up, seagulls wheeled aloft in graceful figure eights.

“I know what you did for my daughter.”

His gaze swung to Honey’s father. “For your daughter, sir? Don’t you mean to your daughter?”

“The sacrifice you made.” The waterman scrubbed his hand over his stubbly jawline. “Reckon you believed you were doing her a favor. Saving her future heartache. Didn’t turn out that way, though. That’s why I put a word into Braeden’s ear. Why I asked, if possible, you receive a temporary posting to settle things once and for all.”

“You were the one?” Sawyer jammed his hands in his pockets. “I figured you’d be the one meeting me at the Bridge with a shotgun.”

The old man grinned. “Don’t think that idea didn’t cross my mind three years ago.”

Sawyer inserted his finger between his neck and his collar. And tugged. Despite the bracing sea breeze keeping the marina flags aflutter, the air had grown a bit too close for comfort.

“You’ve got your current chief, Braeden Scott, to thank for saving your life once upon a spring night.”

“Chief’s been a good friend. Better than I deserved. The brother I always wished I had.”

Tenacious about staying in touch the past three years wherever Sawyer found himself assigned. Three long years when all he could do was lick his wounds and work hard to make his CG mentor proud.

“Braeden also told me about your past, son.”

Sawyer reddened. “He shouldn’t have done that, sir. I—I—” He dropped his eyes to the gray-weathered planks unable to face Seth Duer.

The old man heaved a sigh. “I understand better than you could ever know.”

He darted a glance at the waterman’s face as a faraway look crossed Seth Duer’s stern countenance. “I’m not the kind of man Honey deserved. Wouldn’t have been a welcome addition to the Duer clan like Braeden.”

Seth gave him a faint smile. “I wouldn’t be too sure about that or Honey if I were you.”

He opened his palms. “I promise you, Mr. Duer, I’ll stay far away from Honey till my permanent reassignment comes through. Braeden—I mean Chief Scott—promised if I’d give it through Labor Day, he’d arrange a transfer.”

“Well, here’s the thing, son.” Seth removed his Nandua Warriors ball cap and resettled it upon his head. “Honey ain’t that sweetly naive girly-girl you remember. In fact, she’s become a highly driven, successful entrepreneur with more sharp edges than a barracuda.”

Sawyer clamped his lips together.

“The Martha Stewart wannabe has become the Hostess with the Mostest on our fair Eastern Shore.” Seth ground his teeth. “She’s about to drive us crazy with her doilies and tea cakes and dressed-to-impress agenda. She’s about driven me out of house and home.”

Seth drew his brows together in a frown. “Not to mention every man within a Shore-wide radius, including the ever-faithful Charlie Pruitt—”

Bracing himself, Sawyer squared his jaw.

“—Driven us stark raving insane with her prickly, self-imposed perfectionism.”

Something tightened in Sawyer’s chest.

“After pondering long and hard on the situation,” Honey’s father took a cleansing breath. “We—the Duer clan—need your help.”

“Need my help? How?”

“The girl,” Seth rolled his tongue over his teeth. “I’m speaking plainly to you now, son. The girl needs a course direction. She needs to be reeled in and brought to her senses before it’s too late. Before she drives away everyone who tries to love her. The hurt’s festering in her soul. She won’t let it heal. No time for life. No time for love. No house, no career can fill the emptiness inside that girl.”

Guilt for his part in Honey’s pain ate Sawyer alive.

“There’s nothing I’d like more than to make things right for her.” Sawyer gave a hopeless shrug. “But she hates me, Mr. Duer. Flat out can’t stand the sight of me, not that I blame her.”

Honey’s dad eyed him. “Thought you Coastie boys were perceptive.” Seth stroked his bristly mustache with his index finger. “Hatred, I assure you, son, is not what that girl of mine feels for you. Quite the opposite, I imagine.”

Sawyer shuffled his feet. “I’ll apologize to her again—in a less dangerous setting than the Sandpiper—”

Old Man Duer grinned, rearranging the wrinkles on his face.

“—So she and—” This part made Sawyer want to puke right into the tidal marsh. “So Honey and that—that Charlie Pruitt can find their happily-ever-after.”

“Pruitt, huh?” Seth grunted. “Love is so wasted on the young.” His mouth contorted. “The both of you make me tired. After the work that went into getting ’Melia and Braeden together, I hoped I was done with the hard cases. I’m too old for this romantic nonsense.”

The waterman squelched in his Wellingtons a few feet toward the parking zone until turning. “You got till Labor Day to clean up this mess with Honey and bring back my sweet girl, Petty Officer Kole. You owe me. You owe Honey that much. You read me?”

Sawyer’s Adam’s apple bobbed. “Loud and clear, sir. Loud and clear.”