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Coast Guard Sweetheart
Lisa Carter


Second Chance SailorWhen Coast Guard officer Sawyer Kole is stationed again in Kiptohanock, Virginia, he's ready to prove to Honey Duer that he's a changed man—and the right man for her. But it's not smooth sailing when a hurricane blows their way.To save the family inn she's restored to perfection, Honey will ride out the storm. But can she handle the turbulence of seeing Sawyer again? Years ago he walked away, taking her dreams of love. Now as Hurricane Zelda barrels down, Honey may have no choice but to trust Sawyer to save her life and—just maybe—her heart.







Second Chance Sailor

When coast guard officer Sawyer Kole is stationed again in Kiptohanock, Virginia, he’s ready to prove to Honey Duer that he’s a changed man—and the right man for her. But it’s not smooth sailing when a hurricane blows their way. To save the family inn she’s restored to perfection, Honey will ride out the storm. But can she handle the turbulence of seeing Sawyer again? Years ago he walked away, taking her dreams of love. Now as Hurricane Zelda barrels down, Honey may have no choice but to trust Sawyer to save her life and—just maybe—her heart.


Sawyer had to save her.

Straining through the water and the hurricane winds, he reached her Victorian and pounded his fist on the door. “Open this door, Honey, or I’ll kick it in.” His boot leveled a blow against the door.

She opened it, but the wind wrenched it from her grasp. “I don’t need your help.” She jabbed her finger into his slicker. “’Cause unlike you, I don’t walk away and abandon what’s important.”

He ignored her veiled reference to their past. “I’m here to take you to safety.”

“Being with you, as I’ve learned, doesn’t equal safety.”

He fought to keep his temper under control. “There’s no time for this now. The water’s rising.”

She tipped her chin in defiance. “I’m not leaving. And you can’t make me.”

“Watch me.” In two strides he reached her and, seizing her waist, slung her over his shoulder.

“Let go of me!” She pounded his back.

As he slogged through the water, he thought of one thing: it wasn’t the way he’d planned it, but at least she was back in his arms.


LISA CARTER and her family make their home in North Carolina. In addition to her Love Inspired novels, she writes romantic suspense for Abingdon Press. When she isn’t writing, Lisa enjoys traveling to romantic locales, teaching writing workshops and researching her next exotic adventure. She has strong opinions on barbecue and ACC basketball. She loves to hear from readers. Connect with Lisa at lisacarterauthor.com (http://www.lisacarterauthor.com).




Coast Guard Sweetheart

Lisa Carter





www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


Some went down to the sea in ships, doing business on the great waters; they saw the deeds of the Lord, His wondrous works in the deep. For He commanded and raised the stormy wind, which lifted up the waves of the sea.

—Psalms 107:23–25


Dedicated to Jean and Billy Davis

Thanks for sharing your heart, home and family with me over these many years. You have been

a tremendous blessing in my life. I love you both.

Mr. Billy—Thank you for helping David dig up the ditch lilies one summer day for us to bring home to North Carolina, allowing me to enjoy a piece of the Eastern Shore every time the lilies bloom in my garden.

Miss Jean—I loved those marsh moccasins you made for us to wear. What a fun time we had that first summer and since—living life, doing ministry together, shopping… Thank you for investing your life in untold numbers of young people and in me.


Acknowledgments (#ulink_36220afa-954f-54ab-b140-c22d736d0875)

Eastern Shore friends—Rest assured all fictional hurricane damage was confined to fictional Kiptohanock.

Many thanks to retired United States Coast Guard Captain Jim Umberger for answering my questions about SAR operations. Any errors are my own.

Thanks also to the United States Coast Guard for your dedication and sacrifice. Blessings to you who serve on CG vessels and at CG stations. Thank you for your service.


Contents

Cover (#ue4358e39-487e-5235-83cb-e179cd2423b8)

Back Cover Text (#u287ddca8-5065-5b98-adc5-9be6173e98fc)

Introduction (#u75b5595e-552f-515c-b87c-22517c97272a)

About the Author (#u461fa243-b223-5dc4-b0eb-1b1cec247604)

Title Page (#u5e5cdffc-535b-5d43-adf1-2fc7b60e0324)

Bible Verse (#u4c22a06e-269d-5653-b439-eeb672c46894)

Dedication (#uc979420a-9295-5120-933c-e07d96f61ab5)

Acknowledgments (#ue3f7444d-26bd-5c82-83eb-469719394492)

Chapter One (#u8d5ce9e9-cb4c-5b42-bd2a-ee3689183365)

Chapter Two (#u0493bc24-f28e-5ec8-b539-723e8a1cd4ac)

Chapter Three (#u2e26bbe2-4e05-50c7-84ec-8bc88260dd4d)

Chapter Four (#u3e5bfae5-319a-5a6b-b745-c0c25c5413f5)

Chapter Five (#u269084fe-6bf7-59f0-b14b-96487b2bf9fa)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)

Dear Reader (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


Chapter One (#ulink_feda67c2-76c7-58a3-b62e-1cd5f7588d76)

“What are you doing here, Sawyer Kole?”

Honey Duer’s heart stuttered. Irrational gladness surged through her nerve endings until she tamped her feelings down to that secret place where she contained everything concerning the Coast Guard petty officer. Perched on a stool at the Sandpiper Cafe counter, he stiffened at the sound of her voice.

Kiptohanock life ebbed and flowed around them. The hearty scent of eggs and bacon permeated the diner. Weather-beaten watermen packed the green vinyl booths and sopped their buttermilk biscuits in redeye gravy while trading fish stories.

Placing his palms flat against the counter, Sawyer rose and faced her. He let his arms drop to his side.

Much against her will, Honey’s gaze locked onto Sawyer’s hands—strong, work-roughened and capable. A distant memory flashed of those hands cupping one of Blackie’s pups.

The clinking of glasses and murmur of voices in the crowded diner faded into a distant, droning buzz as the image of Sawyer’s face that long ago Kiptohanock spring welled in her mind. He’d cradled the black Labrador puppies, the lines fanning out from his eyes as he smiled. At her.

Her stomach knotted. And with her reverie broken, she found his crystal blue gaze fixed on her. In his eyes, she beheld pain, regret, sadness. And a question?

She recalled her crusty waterman father’s oft-quoted saying, “Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.”

Honey quelled the traitorous feelings Sawyer’s presence evoked. She’d believed—hoped—after three long years, she’d be immune. But apparently not.

She’d learned the hard way not to trust a Coastie. Especially not this one. So with deliberate effort, she schooled her features and reined in her pulse.

The summer tourist season remained at fever pitch with the upcoming Labor Day weekend and Duck Decoy Festival. And with the Duer family’s century-old lodge booked to the rafters, she didn’t need this—or him—distracting her.

“Why are you here, Kole?”

Eyelids drooping, he put the stool between them. “Reassigned back to the Shore. Thought the chief would’ve warned you.”

Honey propped her hands on her hips—mainly to give her hands something to do. Anything but allow her hands to shake and betray their utter unreliability. “The chief? Braeden Scott knew you were here?”

Of course as Officer in Charge her brother-in-law knew. Which meant her big sister Amelia knew, too. She growled low in her throat. “How long, Kole? How long have you been skulking around Kiptohanock without me knowing?”

“A week.”

Sawyer’s eyes, the blue of a winter sky over the blue-green waters of the Delmarva Peninsula, darted toward her again. “I was told you didn’t work at the cafe anymore. That you wouldn’t be hard to...” His gaze slid away to the diner’s plate glass window overlooking the cupola-topped gazebo on the square.

And she extinguished the tiny spark of hope that had surfaced upon spotting his broad uniformed shoulders hunched over a cup of coffee and a plate of Long Johns. As if time had rewound back to that spring when she’d dared to dream, to hope...

She grimaced.

When he left her looking like a fool in front of the fishing hamlet of Kiptohanock, Virginia.

And the startling fact that hope somehow persisted—despite her best efforts to eradicate it—angered Honey. Angered her more than the gall of this here-today, gone-tomorrow Coastie, who had the nerve to show up in her town at her cafe again.

The anger, with three long years to simmer, boiled in her veins. ’Cause Sawyer Kole hadn’t come looking for her. He’d come thinking to avoid her.

Eating Long Johns and drinking coffee at her counter as if nothing had changed. Some things never did change. Some men never did, either.

Like how you couldn’t trust a Coastie as far as you could throw him.

“Honey, I—” His mouth pulled downward.

The anger percolated in her gut, rising. Someone tugged at her hand.

She glanced down to find her eight-year-old nephew, Max. With whom she’d come searching for a midmorning treat once the inn’s guests cleared out after breakfast. Max—whom she’d completely forgotten in her sudden awareness of Sawyer.

“Is that the Coastie who made you cry, Aunt Honey?”

She flinched at the foghorn decibel of Max’s voice.

Conversation ground to an abrupt silence.

Sawyer’s face constricted and he swallowed. Hard.

“I’m sorry, Honey.” Sawyer pivoted on his heel toward the exit.

Her nostrils flared. That was it? After all this time, that was all he had to say for himself?

If he thought he was going to walk away from her again, Sawyer Kole had another thought coming. No longer able to contain the molten lava of three years of unanswered questions, her anger erupted and exploded.

“That’d be Beatrice Duer to you, Coastie.”

She reached across the counter and seized the uneaten Long John on his plate. She hurled the cinnamon donut across the room where it collided with a shower of powdery sugar against the back of Sawyer Kole’s hard head.

The dozen or so cafe patrons, including Max, gave a collective gasp.

Sawyer whipped around. The disbelief on his features almost made her laugh.

Almost. ’Cause laughing wasn’t something she’d done much since that bittersweet spring.

“Honey...” Her waitress friend, Dixie, lowered a platter of fresh baked Long Johns to the countertop. “Before you go off half-cocked...”

Sawyer just...stared at her. Which only made Honey crazier. She snatched another Long John off Dixie’s tray.

This time, he made a gesture with his hand like a stop sign. “Honey...” His mouth tightened.

Honey raised her arm in an arc over her head. “I told you to call me Beatrice. Be-a-trice. Better yet, don’t call me anything at all.” She drew back.

Sawyer’s eyes widened. “You wouldn’t...”

Honey lobbed the donut at him.

Zapping him square between the eyes, the Long John bounced and landed at his regulation black shoes on the cafe’s linoleum floor.

“Hah!” She jutted her chin. “I just did.”

Max nudged her with his elbow. “Mimi says it’s not nice to throw things, Aunt Honey.”

“He deserves it.” She palpitated another Long John. “This one, too.”

And she flung the donut in Sawyer’s direction again. But her aim was a trifle off. The Long John only grazed his tropical blue Coastie uniform, leaving a trail of sugar across his chest.

His rugged profile remained stoic. The arctic blue of his eyes smoldered. But otherwise, no reaction.

Maddened, she palmed another pastry, which she let fly in a curveball worthy of the Kiptohanock church league champions. “And another. And—”

It ricocheted off his jaw.

A muscle ticked in his cheek. But he said nothing. Only opened his stance to hip’s width and folded his hands behind his back. He lifted his face as if bracing for the next onslaught. Preparing to take whatever she pitched his way.

“Tough guy, huh? I’ll show you—”

Max laughed. “This looks like a fun game, Aunt Honey.”

Grabbing a Long John for himself, he propelled it across the length of the cafe. It landed with a plop into the cereal bowl of a redheaded girl from his Sunday school class. She screamed as the milk cascaded over the rim and onto her Girl Scout uniform.

Honey made a futile grab for her nephew as he appropriated two fistfuls of fried dough. “Max! Don’t—”

But too late.

The little girl yanked a Long John off a fellow scout’s plate and chucked it toward Max. But instead of Max, it hit a grungy waterman in the nose.

“Hey!” The boat captain jumped to his feet. His reactionary winged donut walloped the troop leader, Mrs. Francis, upside the head.

Mrs. Francis rose with battle fury in her eyes. “How dare you, you crazy ole—”

“Boys against girls!” Max scrambled atop Sawyer’s vacated stool. Using the stool as a shield, with machine-gun rapid fire, he launched the doughy projectiles at the rest of the Girl Scouts.

Who returned fire with targeted accuracy.

Max retreated toward a table of his granddad’s contemporaries. Who, when the barrage sailed their way, responded with a volley of catapulted sugar and cinnamon. Ducking behind the padded booths, Mrs. Francis, the Kiptohanock postmistress and the town librarian, directed the Girl Scouts’ cannon assault.

“Score!” Max fist-pumped as another donut grenade connected with the little redheaded girl.

Her answering shot left Max with a mouthful of pastry. Spitting and coughing, Max retreated behind the counter.

Donuts a-flying, Sawyer and Honey gaped at the ensuing melee taking place around them. An island of calm in the midst of mayhem.

“Your turn, Aunt Honey.”

She dodged too late as the Long John smacked her in the forehead.

Max clenched another pastry in his right hand. “Bull’s—”

“Don’t do it, Max... Drop it...” Sawyer stepped in front of her and scooped a mangled Long John off the floor. “Don’t you dare hit your aunt Honey again, Max.”

Max chuckled and took aim. As did Sawyer. Peeping through her fingers, she covered her face with her hands.

The bells jingled as the door whooshed open.

“Executive Petty Officer Kole! What is going on in here? You will cease and desist immediately.”

Sawyer groaned at the sight of his boss, Senior Chief Braeden Scott, framed in the doorway of the cafe.

“Max Duer Scott! Honey!”

Honey lowered her hands. Her older sister, Amelia, glared. Max dropped the donut and shuffled his feet.

The surreptitious thud of twenty other donuts hit the floor as the townspeople came to their senses and surveyed the sugary wreckage of Kiptohanock’s favorite hangout.

“Storm’s a-coming.” Seth Duer, her father, crossed his arms across his flannel plaid shirt. “But what in the name of fried oysters is going on in here?”

* * *

“What were you thinking, Kole?” Sawyer’s superior—and Honey’s brother-in-law—stared at him. “We’ve got a tropical depression barreling up the East Coast and you’ve started a war in Kiptohanock?”

“I’m sorry, Chief.” Sawyer scanned the deserted and wrecked diner. “I accidentally ran into Honey and we sort of...collided.”

“Do you think this is a laughing matter, Executive Petty Officer Kole? Do you think this is any way for the second in command at Station Kiptohanock to treat the local populace? Represent the United States Coast Guard? Provide an example to the station crew?”

Sawyer wiped the emerging smile off his face. He went into a rigid salute, feet clamped together. “No. Not at all, Chief Scott.”

Braeden glowered. “I should hope not, BMC Kole. Or I might have to rethink requesting your reassignment here on the Delmarva Peninsula.”

“Permission to speak freely, Chief?”

Braeden narrowed his eyes. “Ankle deep in powdered sugar, I’d speak carefully if I were you, Kole.”

Sawyer cut his eyes around his thirtysomething commander toward the kitchen where the chief’s pregnant wife, Amelia, reamed out a much-subdued Honey. A firm hand clamped on her orphaned nephew and adopted son, Amelia kept Max affixed in place. Fixed like a bug on a pin until his turn for her strawberry blonde wrath.

“This was a bad idea, me being reassigned to the Eastern Shore again, Chief.”

Braeden’s eyebrow arched. “Oh, really?”

Sawyer nodded. “I thought after what happened three years ago...after our last conversation that night...” He slumped. “That you understood... It was better for everyone, especially Honey, for me to never—”

“What I understand, XPO, is that you acquitted yourself extremely well at your last duty station in California. You are an asset to any boat station, especially this one.” Braeden skewered him with a look. “And let me remind you the Coast Guard does not exist for the benefit of the Coastie but the other way around.”

Sawyer went into regulation stance again. “Yes, Chief.”

Braeden took a deep breath. “However in this case... In the weird—albeit endearing—way of southern families, when Amelia and I got married, the Duers adopted everyone on my side of the marriage, too. Including my father’s best friend, Master Chief Davis. And I promise you the Master Chief no more enjoyed watching Honey go from depressed Honey to angry Honey to cynical Honey—”

“I’m guessing we’re back at the angry Honey phase.” Frowning, Sawyer took a quick, surreptitious look across the cafe.

“Exactly. So one word in the Master Chief’s ear and it was no problem getting you reassigned here. Time to work out the unresolved issues chaining the both of you to the past. Nothing worse than might-have-beens. This way—barring a few damaged donuts—better for both of you in the end. Get each other out of your systems.”

Braeden’s clipped voice gouged at Sawyer’s heart. “Or not, as the case may be. Time to let nature—or donuts—take their course.”

“So now we know.” Sawyer gulped. “She hates me.”

“That what you took from this?” Braeden gestured. “Don’t know if I’d agree.” Braeden’s lips twitched as he surveyed the culinary disaster zone. “I already hear this skirmish is going down in the annals of Kiptohanock lore as The Battle of the Long Johns.”

Sawyer smothered a groan. “I’m sorry, Chief. Really sorry. I promise you it won’t happen again. I’ll perform my duty watches and otherwise keep my distance.”

In the corner, the hitherto silent Seth Duer cleared his throat. “That strategy kind of defeats the purpose, don’t you think?” The man’s bristly mustache twitched.

Sawyer cast his eyes toward the snowy floor.

Honey’s dad had never been one of his biggest fans. And rightly so as subsequent events that spring proved. Sawyer was nothing, as his own father routinely declared twenty-odd years ago, if not a self-fulfilling screw-up.

Worthless. Good for nothing. Ruined everyone’s life.

Amelia—one hand around the back of Max’s scrawny neck and the other squeezing the tender underflesh of Honey’s arm—hauled the pair of miscreants toward them.

“Ow, ’Melia.” Honey wrested free. “Let go. You’re—” Her forward momentum carried her to within an arm’s reach of Sawyer.

Honey teetered in her powder-slathered heels. Her eyes flicked toward Sawyer and then to her toes. She clenched and unclenched her hands at her sides.

Sawyer’s heart pounded at her proximity.

Beatrice “Honey” Duer was the loveliest woman he’d ever known. As beautiful in her kindness and generosity as her beautiful honey-colored hair and chestnut brown eyes. Seeing her again, despite the circumstances, was both a pleasure and a stabbing ache he’d never quite managed to rid himself of.

He’d never understood until face-to-face now with Honey how one person could inspire within him—all at the same moment—such joy and pain.

This newly embittered, enraged Honey was entirely Sawyer’s own fault. A product of his previous misjudgment in allowing the twentysomething Shore girl to get close to him that spring. His father’s words—though the man was long dead in a state penitentiary—reverberated in his mind.

Whatever—and whomever—Sawyer touched, he ruined.

Sawyer straightened. “I take full responsibility for what happened here, Chief. My mess. I’ll clean it up.”

Honey’s eyes flickered to his.

Sawyer looked away and focused over her shoulder to the mounted wall map. With his eye, he mentally traced the outline of the Delmarva Peninsula. Delaware. Maryland. Virginia.

His Coast Guard family and his career were the only things he’d ever succeeded at.

Sawyer kept his posture tall and his feet pointed toward Braeden. “I also want to compensate the Sandpiper owner for lost revenue and supplies, Chief.”

Honey bristled.

Sawyer sneaked a glance her way before resuming his perusal of the framed map.

The Atlantic Ocean. The Chesapeake Bay. Highway 13. Chincoteague. Onley. Nassawadox. Willis Wharf. Kiptohanock nestling on the Great Machipongo Inlet.

His Coast Guard family and career were also the only things in his life he’d not ruined or self-sabotaged. Until now.

Sawyer steeled himself. “I understand you’ll have to file an official reprimand in my service record. And if I’m demoted and transferred—”

Honey’s breath hitched. “Wait. This wasn’t his fault.” She caught hold of Braeden’s sleeve. “I started it. Not him. I’m to blame. He shouldn’t be punished for defending himself.”

Sawyer angled. “You don’t have to...”

Her face clouded. “Actually, he was defending me. I’ll reimburse Dixie and the owner for lost wages. I’ll clean—”

“You’re all going to clean up this mess, baby girl.” The jean-clad Seth unwound from where he leaned against a booth. “You, Guardsman Kole here and—” He harpooned Max with his hand and reeled him closer. “And my grandson, Max, too.”

Mutiny written across his features, Max squirmed. “But I’m s’posed to go with Mimi and Dad for Mimi’s doctor visit.”

The very pregnant Amelia sidled next to her husband, Braeden. “Granddad’s right, Max. Every action has consequences. Time for you to own yours.”

“But—but...”

“No buts.” Braeden bent to Max’s level. “A good Coastie learns to accept responsibility for his actions.”

He speared Sawyer with a look. “You’ve got major damage control to take care of here, Kole. Not to mention prepare for a late season storm threatening landfall anywhere between Delaware and Charleston, South Carolina, over the next few days.”

Sawyer nodded. “Affirmative, Chief. The cafe will be shipshape by the time you and the missus return this afternoon.”

“I’m counting on it.” Braeden straightened to his full height. “I know I can also count on you and Honey to supervise my boy, Max, until I return. Giving him an example of what integrity looks like.”

Seth moved toward the door. “I’ve got a short charter this morning, but I expect a full report from you, XPO Kole, when I return midday. Me and you are going to have a chat. Long overdue, in fact. You roger that?”

“Daddy... This has nothing to do with you.” Honey frowned. “Why are you always trying to ruin my life?”

Sawyer went ramrod stiff at the echo of his own thoughts. “Roger, Mr. Duer. I’ll be waiting for you on the harbor dock.”

Honey’s father exchanged glances with Braeden and Amelia. “I’m not trying to ruin your life, baby girl. Can’t nobody do that to you but you.”

Flushing, Honey drew a circle in the confectioner’s sugar with the toe of her shoe.

Heading out, Seth settled his ball cap firmly about his graying head and adjusted the brim. “Something you ought to ponder as you’re cleaning up this mess the two of you made.”


Chapter Two (#ulink_94962fbb-1a02-5374-8ba7-47c2ba498a6f)

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.”


Chapter Three (#ulink_2641ed8e-f9b0-57c5-973e-e199020de8bc)

“What were you thinking, Honey?” her sister scolded. “Though that’s the problem, I expect. One look at Sawyer Kole and you stopped thinking. Just reacted.”

Honey fluffed the pillow behind Amelia’s head. “Yeah. I saw red.”

Amelia smirked. “Red like a Valentine heart.”

“Kole should be so lucky.”

Honey made an effort to wrest her mind from the recent unpleasantness. “Anyway, I’m thrilled you, Max and Braeden are Shoreside. It may not be Hawaii, but it’s good to finally have you home.”

Amelia patted a spot beside her on the bed. “The past two years have been incredible with Braeden assigned to the Pacific fleet.” She winked. “Great place for a honeymoon, too.”

Honey eased next to her sister. “Don’t go getting any ideas. Sawyer and I are so not happening. And don’t think the doctor putting you on bed rest this last month of your pregnancy is going to save you from the Wrath of Honey after what you, Braeden and Dad pulled. Y’all got him reassigned. Thanks a lot. Exactly what I didn’t need.”

“Just trying to achieve closure for you, baby sis. With Sawyer or not, time for you to move on toward everything God has for your future.” Amelia arched an eyebrow. “I remember you once laid that line on me when I dithered over whether to trust Braeden.”

Honey stood abruptly, moving to the window. A gentle sea breeze rustled the shade trees that studded the front lawn of the Duer Lodge. “I also told you Braeden’s the picture in the dictionary beside gentleman and trustworthy.”

She fingered the lacy curtain and peered down the length of the white picket fence lining the edge of the tidal creek property. “Trust me when I tell you, Sawyer Kole is neither of those qualities.”

Honey twisted the pearl on her earlobe. Mom’s pearl earrings. That and this house were her last links to the mother she’d lost when only a little older than Max.

“I know he hurt you, Honey. I’d never make light of the pain you’ve suffered, but perhaps he had his reasons, which seemed right to him at the time.”

Honey whirled. “Reasons? That’s what Sawyer said.” She clenched her fist. “What reason could there possibly be for torpedoing the future I was stupid enough to...?” She paced Amelia’s childhood bedroom. “That arrogant, no-good cowboy—”

Amelia ignored her and retrieved the sketchpad and pencil she’d left on the nightstand. “Before you go all judgmental, you might want to consider Sawyer might have wounds of his own you know nothing about.”

Honey halted. “You know something, don’t you?”

Chewing the inside of her cheek, Amelia buried her head in her sketches.

“You know what made him break off the relationship... You’ve got to tell me.” Honey flopped on the bed. “Amelia, look at me.” She grabbed for Amelia’s arm.

The pencil swerved in Amelia’s hand.

“Honey...” Amelia groaned. “I’m on a deadline. My publisher expects these Hawaiian rainforest birds finished, bed rest and romantic crisis or not.”

Amelia ripped off the ruined drawing. “And no, I’m not going to tell you what I know. It’s Sawyer’s story to tell. If you’d give him a chance—”

“Give him another go at my heart? I think not. I’d sooner be oyster roasted.” Honey flung out her hands. “Clam baked. Crab deviled.”

“Stop with the food analogies. You’re making me hungry.” Amelia skimmed her fingertips over her basketball-size belly. “Baby, too. And I’m already the size of a beached whale.”

Honey’s lips quirked. “An attractive beached whale, though.”

“Love you, too, sister.” But Amelia smiled.

Honey folded her arms over her pink It’s a Shore Thang T-shirt. “Speaking of the baby, you and Braeden need to talk to Max. He’s not dealing so well with ‘Baby Makes Four.’”

She relayed her conversation with Max at the Sandpiper.

Amelia’s gaze roamed to her wedding photo on the bureau. “I thought we dealt with his insecurity before we left Hawaii. He loved it there, but he was so happy to come home to his old room and see you and Dad.”

Honey picked up the picture frame. “Glad to see his dog, Blackie, you mean. Dad and I missed you, too.” She studied the photo of Amelia’s gorgeous barrier island wedding.

“Such a happy day. Three years ago this Labor Day.”

“Now a different kind of labor day awaits.”

Amelia mock-groaned and reached for the pillow behind her back.

Honey laughed and skipped out of range. “And school starts as usual the day after, but I’ve promised Max we’ll go clamming in between visitors this weekend. Dad will keep him busy as first mate on the fishing charters, too.”

“May not be many charters.” Amelia cut her eyes toward the window. “Sky’s still blue, but Dad says his bones tell him a storm’s coming.”

Honey massaged her forehead. “Please, no. Not before the Labor Day weekend. It’s summer’s last hurrah and I can’t afford any cancellations.”

She shifted from one fuchsia polka dot flip-flop to the other. “Maybe the storm will weaken once it leaves the Caribbean. Better yet, give the Shore a wide berth and blow itself far, far out to sea.”

Amelia shrugged. “If an Eastern Shoreman like Dad thinks it’s coming...”

“It’s coming,” Honey moaned.

“Which means Braeden and the station crew will be busy preparing for the worst case scenario. You know their motto, Always Ready.”

“Coasties.” Honey set the photo with a firm thud onto the pine bureau. “You’ve gone soft with marriage and a new baby, ’Melia.”

Amelia sent a pointed look in Honey’s direction. “And you’ve gone cynical and bitter.”

Honey tossed her hair over her shoulder. “Courtesy of a Coastie and the pain of unrequited love.”

“You sure it’s unrequited?”

Honey batted her eyes. “Pretty sure since he’s the one who left me crying on the beach.”

“What happened to the Duer sister who dreamed of reopening the Duer Lodge? Who single-handedly restored this old house? Who juggles finicky tourists, placates jittery brides and also manages to keep dear ole Dad on the straight and narrow with his heart medication?”

Honey spun on her heel. “I’ll tell you what happened to her. Sawyer Kole happened to her. Plus a stagnant economy. Tourism in the tank. The yet unpaid debt on the remodel. I’m not bitter. I’m a realist.”

“I liked the old Honey better.”

Honey fought to keep her lips from trembling. Actually, so did she. But she’d never admit that to Amelia or anyone else. She’d poured all her passion and all her drive into making the inn an Eastern Shore vacation and wedding destination.

Talk about black holes? She felt as if she’d fallen into one ever since Sawyer walked out of her life. And truth be told, she didn’t know how to free herself from the whirling maelstrom of doubt and sadness in which she found herself trapped.

“So you don’t believe in second chances, Honey? In forgiveness?”

“Why should I? Not like Lindi ever got a second chance before getting creamed by the drunk driver. Or Mom before the cancer killed her.”

Amelia sucked in a breath. “Honey... I never knew you felt that way.”

“Yeah, that was the old Honey. Smile though your heart is breaking. But you know my new motto, There’s Nothing Life Throws at You That Sweet Tea And the Duer Lodge Can’t Cure.”

“Maybe you should give forgiveness a try.”

“Maybe God should have given Mom and Lindi another chance.”

Amelia’s mouth quivered. “That’s what this is about, isn’t it? You’re mad at God.”

“Oh, I’m not just mad at God. I’m mad at myself. I’m mad for trusting that cowboy Coastie in the first place. Believing we could ever have a life together.”

She jutted her chin. “Well, I’ve made a life. A life for myself right here on the Shore. A life without Sawyer Kole. I’ve created an oasis of calm and elegance and class where no one can ever hurt me again.”

Amelia caught hold of her hand. “Sounds like a lonely life. I’m sorry Braeden got reassigned so soon after we were married. I’m sorry I wasn’t here for you.”

“Don’t ever be sorry for your happily-ever-after, big sis.” She gently extricated herself from Amelia’s grasp. “You deserve every happiness in the world.”

“So do you, baby sis.”

Honey leaned and gave her sister a quick kiss on the cheek. “I’m not that baby you and Dad have to watch out for anymore, ’Melia. I’m grown up now, and I can take care of myself. This inn proves it.”

“You don’t have to prove anything to me or Dad, Honey.”

“Prove it to myself then. And this town. Especially after the way I acted the fool despite your warnings about here today, gone tomorrow Coasties. You were kind to never say ‘I told you so.’ Some of the older village ladies weren’t so kind, believe me.”

“Is that why you haven’t been to church in a year? You know how those town ladies talk. Too much time on their hands. Besides, we grew up worshipping there. It’s always been such a safe haven, a sanctuary of peace.”

“A safe haven for you maybe. Not for me.” Honey pushed back her shoulders. “This house is my sanctuary.”

“Oh, Honey...”

“It’s true. Only safe haven I need. And anyway, Sunday morning breakfasts are a big deal. Part of the advertised package. A long, leisurely time for guests to relax before checking out and returning to their stressful off-Shore lives.”

Amelia frowned. “I’m not going to stop praying for you. And for your happily-ever-after, too.”

“Pray away. Though I’d appreciate it more if you and God could get this storm to take a detour away from the Eastern Shore and my bottom line. Not everybody is lucky enough to have a Max and Braeden in their life.”

“Not lucky, Honey. Blessed.”

“Whatever. Speaking of Max, time for me to pick him up at Mr. Billy’s house. He was excited about feeding the baby goats, but I promised Max as soon as I got you settled we’d spend the rest of the afternoon clamming in the tidal marsh.”

After leaving her sister, Honey did a quick check of the guest bedrooms in the Victorian inn. Fresh towels hung from the en suite bathrooms she’d installed at tremendous cost. She’d already changed the sumptuous bed linens before leaving for the Sandpiper this morning.

She’d have a full house this weekend if the storm didn’t scare the tourists away. And the big wedding scheduled on the lawn for Sunday should be fine. Although the bride from off-Shore with her last-minute demands might make Honey lose her carefully wrought reputation for no-hitch weddings, not to mention her mind. But with the deep-pocketed father of the bride renting out the entire property—inn, cabin and dock—for the day, Honey could afford to give his diva daughter some leeway.

Her current guests were no doubt busy kayaking through the Inner Passage off Kiptohanock. Birding, boating and doing a hundred other Eastern Shore activities she and the Accomack County Tourist Board had worked so hard to highlight. So far, so good. This season had been a tremendous success and blessing—she grimaced.

Amelia, get out of my head.

With registration complete for the day and her guests otherwise occupied till breakfast the next morning, the rest of the day belonged to Honey. She had yeast rolls rising in the commercial-grade kitchen and a load of laundry going in the front-loading washer on the back screened porch. Off limits to non-Duers.

She trailed her hand down the graceful, curving bannister as she did a look-see of the downstairs common area. Guests found her dad’s piecrust table checkerboard folksy. The sea glass and driftwood decor she’d collected from the barrier island charming and beachy. The knotted pine interior rustic and homey.

Homey Honey. That was her.

She straightened an errant sofa cushion, which had gone catabiased—to use one of Dad’s favorite Eastern Shore expressions. And as usual, whenever in the remodeled family room, her gaze drifted to the one thing she refused to change. The Duer family portrait taken on the lawn overlooking the inlet. Taken when everything had been safe in her childhood world.

Before Caroline went off to college and never returned. Before Mom succumbed to cancer. Before Dad lost himself to a decade of grief. Before her oldest sister, Lindi—like Honey—unwisely loved a Coastie and in the process paid for it with her life.

Other than Honey’s nonexistent love life, things were better now. With Amelia happily married, Max healthy and whole, and her dad once more in business with his oldest love, the sea, Honey had the time to make her fondest dream a reality—bringing the Duer Lodge back to life. Home to seven generations of Duers, Virginia watermen one and all.

During the last century, Northern steel magnates roughed it at the Duer’s fisherman lodge while her ancestors oystered and served as hunting guides in the winter. Crabbed and ran charters in the summer. The lodge’s heyday—and the steamers from Wachapreague to New York City—had long ago passed into history. But with Honey’s hand on the proverbial rudder?

What had once been lost would finally be regained.

She bit her lip.

If only everything else in her life could be so easily restored.

* * *

Sawyer drove around the Kiptohanock village square, occupied by the cupola-topped gazebo.

Not much had changed in the seaside hamlet. The post office and bait shop. The white-steepled clapboard church. The CG station. Boat repair business. Victorian homes meandered off side lanes.

But he’d not understood until he left this place behind three years ago how much the village and its hardy fishing folk had seeped into his heart.

Especially Honey.

By his own choice, he’d believed himself cut off from her forever. And he’d worked hard—on and off duty—to forget her. To no avail.

The emptiness remained no matter what he did. California girls had not proven—like Honey’s favorite song declared—to be the best in the world for him. He’d stopped hanging out with the guys when off watch. Because nothing stopped the ache in his chest when he thought of the doe-eyed girl he’d left behind on the Eastern Shore of Virginia.

Nothing and no one—until that last tragic search and rescue off the coast of San Diego. At the end of his strength—mental, physical and spiritual—he’d reached in a last desperate attempt for the God the Duers served. And in the reaching—he’d been found.

And in turn found peace. Sufficient to wash away the sadness and the fears. More than enough for any situation he faced.

It had been the picture of the white-steepled church hugging the shoreline of coastal Kiptohanock that came to his mind amidst the uncertainty and fear of that mission gone wrong. The steeple—rising like a beacon of hope above the tree line as the boats came into harbor—which he remembered when pitted against the elements in a life and death struggle. The image kept him tethered to life in those horrible hours in the Pacific when he struggled to survive.

The steeple—a lifeline of hope and mercy. A lifeline that led afterward to a relationship with the Creator of the vast and deep.

A relationship Sawyer looked forward to nurturing. There was so much this former foster kid needed to learn. Unlike the Duers, his backside had never darkened a church pew until recently.

He was eager before he shipped out again to find out more about this God Braeden and the Duers served at the small, country church in Kiptohanock. Braeden had encouraged him to meet with Reverend Parks. But in the secret places of his heart, Sawyer worried like a dog with a bone whether God could ever really love someone like him.

Sawyer shook his head to clear the troublesome thoughts as he followed Seaside Road, which paralleled the main Eastern Shore artery of Highway 13 on one side and the archipelago of shoals, spits and islands that dotted the ocean side. He turned into the long dapple-shaded Duer drive.

Thrusting open the door of his truck, he took a quick breath for courage. His sneakers crunched across the oyster-shelled path leading to the wraparound porch. Where he found the very pregnant Amelia ensconced on a white wicker chaise lounge chair, sipping a tall cool glass of sweet tea.

His mouth watered. Another thing this Oklahoma boy missed about the Eastern Shore and the South. That and Amelia Scott’s sister.

Amelia deposited her glass with a plunk onto the small table at her elbow.

His eyes narrowed.

Their last encounter—with Amelia declaring his utter unfitness to be a part of her baby sister’s life—had not gone well. And there was the harpoon incident the first time she met her future husband whom she mistook for an intruder. A case of mistaken identity, which three happily married years later, Braeden still liked to joke about.

Amelia gestured toward the pitcher. “Want some tea?”

Sawyer moistened his lower lip with his tongue, but he shook his head. “No, ma’am. Thank you, though.”

He stayed on the bottom step, ready to flee should Amelia decide to chuck the contents at him. Couldn’t be too careful with these Duer girls.

She scrunched her face, wrinkling the freckles sprinkling the bridge of her nose. “You make me feel so old when you call me ma’am. But I can’t fault your manners. Someone taught you well.”

His gaze swept across the black urns filled with fire-engine red geraniums positioned on either side of each planked step. That would’ve been the last foster mom who’d encouraged him to give rodeo a try.

“What did you come here for, Sawyer?”

His eyes darted upward. “I came for Honey.”

She laughed.

He flushed. “I—I mean I came to talk to her. To apologize before I head out in a few days.”

Amelia skewered him with a look.

He shuffled his feet.

“I think you said exactly what you meant the first time.” She reached for her glass. “And don’t be in such a rush to leave us again.”

He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his cargo shorts. “Is she in the house? Could I talk to her? Will she talk to me?”

“It’s low tide.” Amelia brought the tea glass to her lips. “She and Max went clamming.”

His heart sank. “Oh.”

“But no reason you can’t take the extra kayak and head out into the marsh to find them. With Max along, she won’t have gone far.”

He raised his eyebrow into a question mark. “With Max along, is there any point in me trying to talk to her?”

Amelia’s lips curved into a smile. “With Max along, it may save you from getting clam raked. She’ll keep it civil in front of him.” Amelia glanced toward the sky. “I hope.”

She motioned behind the house to where the lawn sloped to the Duer dock. “Go on. Time’s a-wasting. Three years a-wasting, if you get my drift.”

“I’ve never been clamming. I don’t know where to look for them.”

“Keep paddling until you find the dirtiest, muckiest patch of marsh mud and there they’ll be.”

He nodded. “Thank you, Mrs. Scott. I wanted to tell you how sorry I am for upsetting you that spring, too.” He forced himself to look into Amelia’s blue-green eyes.

The compassion—and forgiveness—he beheld there made his chest tighten.

“You also saved my life that spring, Sawyer. Pulled me out of the Kiptohanock harbor while Braeden saved Max from his own impulsiveness. And it’s Amelia. Or ’Melia to friends like you.”

His eyes widened. “After what happened... I’m surprised you’d want me as a friend. Or allow me to get within a nautical mile of Honey.”

Amelia cocked her head. “I’m glad you’re back. A new, better man, Braeden tells me. And I know Honey will be glad you’re back, too. Once she gets over being furious with you.”

He planted his feet even with his hips. “Don’t know I’ll be here long enough for that to happen. She’s plenty mad.”

“She’s also plenty in love with you, XPO Kole.”

He fought the moisture in his eyes. “I—I can’t wish for that, ’Melia. Can’t allow myself to hope. I never did deserve Honey. Still don’t.”

“It’s not about being good enough, Sawyer.”

He hunched his shoulders.

Amelia sighed. “I hope you’ll join us at church this Sunday before you leave. I wish Honey would, too. But she won’t. Hasn’t come in a long time.”

Something else to lay at his revolving door of never-ending guilt.

God help him, Sawyer had so much for which to make amends.

He turned to go.

“And Sawyer?”

He paused.

“Godspeed on this journey God has for you, my friend. Godspeed.”


Chapter Four (#ulink_269ae4b5-c82a-5121-935f-da25f92caa93)

Honey 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.


Chapter Five (#ulink_8d79543f-eb8d-5bbb-b715-db27b1b5eca4)

Labor Day weekend was always busy for the small boat station, even without a hurricane bearing down on the Eastern Shore.

Sawyer had spent the past twenty-four hours on patrol, boarding and citing a plethora of recreational boats on this last official weekend of summer. Citations included reckless endangerment due to excessive speed in the harbor and/or alcohol, which didn’t mix with driving a boat any more than it did with driving a vehicle. Too many vessels also lacked mandatory safety equipment—like life jackets—on board.

Midday Saturday word came of a collision out in the channel beyond the Kiptohanock marina. Sawyer and his crew launched the twenty-four-foot Special Purpose Shallow Water craft and arrived on the scene ten minutes after the call. They found two mangled Jet Skis dead in the water.

A charter captain Sawyer recognized from the Sandpiper had witnessed the accident and called it in. The captain and several other good Samaritans who’d stopped to offer assistance dog-paddled in the water near the wreckage tending to the injured. Sawyer came alongside with the rescue boat.

“One Jet Ski carried a single rider.” The captain kept a firm grip on an unconscious man in his early twenties floating on his back. “The other ski contained two. A male and female.”

The crew pulled the more injured man from the water immediately. Reaves went to work on the unresponsive jet skier. Sawyer and Wiggins secured the remaining two college-aged kids on board. The female clutched her arm like a broken bird wing to her chest.

“Make sure EMS is waiting on the dock,” Sawyer instructed. “Reaves?”

On her knees bending over the first victim, she shook her head. “He’s breathing. I put a neck brace on him, but I suspect some degree of head injury. We need to get him to shore like yesterday.”

“Roger that.” With all souls accounted for and safely aboard, Sawyer hit the throttle and chugged the boat toward Kiptohanock.

The waves were choppy, though the incoming storm was still well out to sea somewhere off the Carolina coast. Like him, the crew felt the tension, their nerve endings thrumming at the palpable change in the air. Urgency mounted in Sawyer’s chest to get the injured to shore while not jarring any more than necessary the unconscious man, who might also have spinal injuries.




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