Читать книгу Coast Guard Courtship - Lisa Carter - Страница 12
Оглавление“What’s with this place?”
Braeden ran a hand through his short-cropped hair. “Should’ve known you’d be another redhead.”
Her eyebrows curved. “What did you say?”
Braeden folded his arms across his chest.
Amelia jabbed her thumb toward the dock. “I take it that sailboat out there is yours?”
Biting the inside of his cheek, he nodded.
“And just what have you got against redheads?”
“I think my boat speaks for itself.” He cocked his head at the grappling hook in her hands. “Redheads are nothing but trouble, plain and simple.”
She curled her lip. “By the way, you’re welcome.”
“For what?”
“For saving your life.”
His mouth dropped open. “You didn’t...”
She pointed at the doughnut lying against the baseboard.
He tightened his lips. “Thanks for saving my life, Ms. Duer.”
“Don’t mention it.”
She inspected him from the top of his head to his regulation black shoes. And something in her face told him she found him wanting. Heat crept up his neck.
He clenched his jaw. “Someday I’ll try to return the favor.”
“Don’t bother. I won’t be in need of your help. As you can see, I’ve got my own back. Me and God.”
He uncrossed his arms and took a step back.
What was with the God talk around here?
Braeden’s eyes traveled over Amelia Duer—her clothing, her boots, her face.
Her hair.
Not a slave to fashion, he guessed, with her ragged-at-the-knee blue jeans tucked into the navy blue Wellingtons. And that gosh-awful neon yellow slicker, which clashed with her wind-tossed strawberry blonde hair. As he’d wrestled her for the grappling hook, the scent of seawater, mud marsh and...something else...brought the Florida Keys to mind.
Tall for a woman, with an athletic build. Late twenties, maybe. A sprinkle of freckles—the bane of redheads, in his considerable and unfortunate experience—dotted the bridge of her nose. Temper and redheaded attitude—he shot another glance at the grappling hook—in abundance.
If this was God’s idea of a joke, it was a bad one from his point of view. Good thing he preferred petite, feminine women.
A phone warbled a tune about burning kisses.
Her eyes rounded, and she fished through the pockets of her rain slicker.
Blushing, she extricated her cell. But flustered, her fingers fumbled. She dropped the phone on a phrase about love that couldn’t be denied. The cell skidded across the table.
“Love, huh?” He smirked and shoved the phone in her direction. “Like Romeo and Juliet?”
She ignored him, seizing hold of the cell. “Honey and her pranks.” She stabbed the talk button as the Pointer Sisters belted, “Fire—”
“Hello? This is—” She swung away. “Is Max okay?”
Braeden frowned at the concern lacing her voice.
“I’ll be right there. Thanks for calling.” Pushing the off button, she headed for the door.
Braeden caught her arm. “Is everything okay? Can I help?”
Lines of weariness carved grooves around her lovely rosebud mouth. She shook her head, the red waves coming loose, falling in soft tendrils around her face. “I’ll take care of it. I need to pick up Max at school. He’s not feeling—” Her face constricted. “I shouldn’t have let him talk me into allowing him to go to school today.”
Max?
Feeling sucker punched, he removed his hand from her arm. She had a son? A husband, too?
Duh...children and husbands usually went together, Scott.
This redhead was someone else’s headache.
Which didn’t make him feel any better.
He snapped his fingers. “Key lime pie.” She smelled like—
“Excuse me?”
He shook his head. “Nothing.”
A bleak expression in her eyes, she rubbed her temples as if she had a headache. “Dinner’s at six. I’ll see you then?”
“Eighteen hundred. I’ll be there.”
“Don’t expect haute cuisine.” She cut her eyes at him, a challenge animating her face once more. “The redheaded Duers are plain and simple folks.”
As she exited the cabin, he followed her onto the porch, watching her disappear through the cover of trees. So that was Amelia Duer. Gutsy. Tough as a sea barnacle. She’d have made a great Guardsman. He stroked his chin, admiring her strength. Able to take care of anything life threw her way.
But who took care of her?
* * *
Rounding the square, Braeden caught sight of Seth Duer standing in front of the Sandpiper. The older man stared through the plate-glass window, shielding his eyes with his hand. Glancing at his watch, Braeden figured he had enough time to find out what was up with Amelia Duer before visiting Station Kiptohanock just across the street.
Parking, Braeden exited his truck. Gravel crunched. “Mr. Duer? Sir?”
Seth Duer jerked and whipped around. “Oh.” His shoulders relaxed. “Already been to the cabin and back, huh?”
Braeden pursed his lips. “Interesting little reception committee you’ve got there in your older daughter, Mr. Duer. You might’ve warned me.” He narrowed his eyes. “Or at least warned her to expect me.”
Seth’s eyes widened. “You met ’Melia?” He rubbed his hand over his jawline stubble. “Thought she’d be on the water till lunchtime.”
“What’s going on here, Mr. Duer?” Braeden rocked onto his heels. “Does our rental agreement still stand or not?”
“Course it does.” Seth attempted a weak laugh. “You introduced yourselves to each other, I take it, son?”
Braeden grimaced. “Oh, yeah. Name, rank and serial number, right after she threatened me with a harpoon.”
Seth’s Adam’s apple bobbed. “Sorry about that. ’Melia is a mite protective. And feisty.”
“And potentially lethal to unwelcome visitors.”
Seth swung open the glass-fronted café door. “She’ll come around. She always does. Just got to give that one time.”
Not to mention a wide berth, Braeden resolved as he allowed Seth to usher him inside.
“Still early for lunch, but I probably owe you a cup of joe for your trouble this morning.”
After almost being skewered, Braeden reckoned Seth might owe him more than that. But he paused in the doorway, inhaling the hearty smells of eggs, fried potatoes and ham. Probably the good Smithfield, Virginia, ham he’d read about as he’d ambled up I-95. The continental thing people called breakfast at the roadside motel in Virginia Beach this morning seemed like hours ago.
He and Seth shuffled past green vinyl booths packed with some of the same men and women he’d met earlier at the marina.
“And here’s my baby girl.” Seth gestured toward a young blonde woman whose embroidered name on the retro 1950s waitress uniform identified her as Honey.
On second thought, maybe not so retro in Kiptohanock.
A young Guardsman leaned his elbows on the counter on either side of his coffee mug, smiling in Honey’s direction.
Beside Braeden, Seth Duer went rigid.
The Guardsman grinned at Honey Duer. “Always ready... That’s our motto...”
Seth growled. “Ready to chase every skirt in Kiptohanock, you mean.”
The Nordic-blond Coastie swung around on the stool. His eyes narrowed.
Seth hustled Braeden forward, blocking the Guardsman’s view of Honey. “This is Braeden, Honey. He’s already—”
The Guardsman elbowed Braeden aside. “Hey, I was here fir—”
Braeden went ramrod stiff and broadened his shoulders. “Boatswain’s Mate Third Class—” he scrutinized the surname on the fellow Coastie’s uniform “—Kole. Did you just shove your XPO?”
The boy’s eyes widened at the stripes on Braeden’s sleeve. “Br-Brae...” His voice cracked and his sunburned features turned a color akin to eggplant. “Executive Petty Officer Braeden Scott? I didn’t realize—”
Kole leaped to his feet and rammed the side of his hand into his forehead. “Boatswain’s Mate Third Class Petty Officer Sawyer Kole.” His blue eyes pinned a spot on the far wall above Braeden’s head.
Braeden acknowledged his salute with one of his own. “At ease, Kole.”
Kole spread-eagled his hips, both arms grasped behind his back.
“Just finished your two days on rotation, Kole?” Braeden studied his watch. “Or just getting ready to report to your watch this time of the morning?”
Kole—in his early twenties, Braeden wagered—swallowed. Hard. “Yes, Petty Officer Scott. On a long-john run for the OIC.”
“Then I suggest you discontinue making a public nuisance of yourself and get to Station Kiptohanock ASAP.” Braeden crossed his arms. “We’ll continue this conversation at the station later, and perhaps—” he blew a slow breath out from between his lips “—review CG standards for fraternization and respect for the local populace.”
Kole gave a short, emphatic nod.
“Was that an affirmative, Boatswain’s Mate? Do you read me?”
“Yes, Petty Officer Scott. Loud and clear. Permission to be dismissed?”
“Granted.”
Snatching his cap off the counter, Kole, with a sharp pivot, exited the diner with a whoosh of air and a jingle of the bell.
Braeden angled toward his new landlord. “I’m sorr—”
Honey lobbed a napkin at her father. “Did you have to embarrass Sawyer in front of his XPO, Daddy?” She picked up Kole’s abandoned fork.
Braeden stepped back.
“Now, Honey.” Seth threw up his hands. “After what your sisters went through, I’m not big on Coasties.”
Her brown eyes darkened. “Sawyer’s not like that, Daddy.”
Seth folded his arms over his chest. “They’re all like that, Honey.” He flung Braeden an apologetic look. “Begging your pardon, Braeden. No offense intended.”
“None taken, Mr. Duer.”
“Please, call me Seth.” Seth swiveled to his daughter. “Honey, you know how I feel about—”
Honey dabbed her large doe eyes with the edge of her pink ruffled apron. “You’re trying to ruin my life, aren’t you, Dad?”
Seth’s eyebrows arched. “Ruin your life? Honey...”
Guffaws bellowed from the booths.
“I’d leave it go if I were you fellows.” Seth heaved a sigh, not bothering to turn his head. “Or see how quick those motors of yours get fixed.” Which produced further hee-haws from Seth’s gray-haired peers at the corner booth.
Seth leaned over the counter. “Braeden ran into ’Melia at the cabin.”
Honey sucked in a quick breath. “How’d that go?”
Braeden scowled. “About as well as you’d expect at the end of a harpoon.”
Honey rolled her eyes. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Scott. I’d hoped we could ease in an introduction tonight between dinner and pie.”
“Braeden,” he huffed. “Since if anything happens to me, I assume you two will be the ones making my funeral arrangements.”
Honey shook her head. “Don’t you worry. Amelia will come around. May take some time, but she always gets on board eventually.”
Braeden sighed. “That’s what your father said.”
Honey grabbed a coffee mug. “I’ll give her a call.” She reached for a nearby coffeepot warming on a burner. “You’ve had an eventful morning. You need a jolt of java to tide you over.”
“No, thanks.” Braeden held up a hand. “I’m headed to the station. And your sister got a call from Max’s school. She’s headed there to pick him up.”
Seth’s hand clenched on the back on the chair Kole had vacated.
Honey’s lower lip trembled. “Was she upset?” She fingered her apron. “Of course she was upset. I mean, was she crying upset?”
Seth frowned. “’Melia doesn’t cry. Never has. Was Max okay?”
Braeden threw him a long look. “She said Max wasn’t feeling well.” His gaze swung to Honey. Something was going on here that he didn’t understand. “And no, she wasn’t crying.”
Seth nodded. “She’ll handle it, then. Got it under control. She’s not a crier.”
Honey bit her lip. “Might be better if she did.” Straightening her shoulders, Honey lifted the top of a glass cake stand filled with pastries. “If you won’t take some coffee, why don’t you help yourself to another long john, Braeden?”
The image of strawberry blonde waves of hair flashed across Braeden’s mind. The gutsy, harpoon-wielding married Duer sister, he reminded himself. As for doughnuts?
After the near-choking incident at the cabin...too soon.
Too soon for a lot of things.
Refusing, Braeden promised to be on time for dinner and hurried toward the station, where at this point, the sea appeared more predictable than life amid the Duer clan.
