Coast Guard Sweetheart (12 page)

Chapter Thirteen

B
y the time she arrived at the lodge the next day, Honey had regained control of her mixed-up, messed-up emotions. Sort of.

Taking a deep breath, she plodded past the churned mud that used to be the lawn and stopped at the sight of a blue Chevy pickup backed to the porch, tailgate down. She jolted as ripping sounds overrode the raucous cry of the seagulls swooping over the sunlit, diamond-studded tidal creek. Piles of drywall littered the yard.

Inside the house, hammer raised, Sawyer paused when her shadow fell across the threshold. But he kept the hardened muscles of his back to her. “Grab a sledgehammer from the toolbox, Beatrice.”

Expecting him to object to her continued participation, she'd prepared a speech. She itched to tell him off, but he'd stolen her thunder. “How'd you know it was me?”

His mouth did that curious, one-sided smile thing. “I always know when it's you.”

She sashayed to the toolbox and brandished a hammer. “Okay. What do I do now?”

His eyes flitted from her black flats to her leggings to her pink blouse and tank top. “You're not really dressed for construction, Beatrice.”

She lifted her chin. “Just because you remodel doesn't mean you can't do it with style. And I've been thinking.” Honey ignored his groan. “We've been going about this the wrong way.”

“Going about what?”

She fluttered her hand. “This thing between you and me.”

His lips flattened. “I thought we put that to rest yesterday with the kiss that wasn't as great as you remembered.”

She flushed. “I didn't say that.”

He sighed. “What do you mean then?”

“I think instead of avoiding each other, we should go with the idea of more, not less, time spent together.”

He cocked his head. “On the theory of yours that we'll get each other out of our systems?”

“Exactly.”

“Let me see if I can get this through my thick, Coastie skull. You hate my guts, but now you want to spend more time with me?” He crossed his arms across his chest. “Seriously?”

Honey had a hard time keeping her gaze from following the ripple of his muscle. She swallowed. “Seriously.” She worried her lower lip with her teeth. “And I don't hate you. You said you hoped we could be friends.”

If anything, his mouth thinned further.

His silence unnerved her.

“I—I hope we can be friends, too.” She took a step closer. “And friends spend time together, right? No harm, no foul.”

He studied her. She twisted the pearl strand at her throat. He blew out a breath and unfolded his arms.

“Whatever you want, Beatrice. Have it your way.” He flicked his eyes at her. “You always do anyway. Let's get to work.”

She nodded, gulping past the inexplicable fear he'd refuse her olive branch. Friends... She could do friends.

Couldn't she?

He pointed his hammer at the watermark above the light switch. “Everything must be ripped out to that line.” He rolled his tongue in his cheek. “Shouldn't be too difficult. Just imagine the wall is my head and give it a good whack.” He smashed the wall with his hammer to demonstrate.

She winced, but feet spread hip-width in a girly-girl version of the regulation stance the guard had perfected, she braced. Raising the hammer above her head and using every ounce of her strength, she drove the hammer into the wall.

Honey staggered as the hammer bit through the soggy wall with far more force than necessary. Her arms vibrated. She glared at him over her shoulder. “Don't you dare laugh at me, Coastie.”

Sawyer kept his face blank. But his shoulders quivered suspiciously. “I wouldn't dream of laughing. I'm more stunned than anything. Beatrice and a hammer? Who'd have thunk?” He shook his head. “But for safety's sake, I think I'll move out of range for my own protection.”

Honey heaved the hammer with both hands above her head like she was employing the anvil at the Wachapreague Fireman's Carnival. “Might be the best decision you could make.” She angled toward another section of the living room. “For your own safety.”

“You're the boss.”

She sniffed. “Most sensible thing I've ever heard come out of your mouth, cowboy.” She grunted, striking at the drywall.

Within an hour, her arms ached with fatigue. He relieved her of the hammer and suggested she speed the process along by hauling drywall chunks to the growing pile outside. She suspected he'd invented the job to go easy on her. But after several backbreaking trips lugging drywall outdoors, she decided he hadn't done her any favors. By afternoon's end, they'd cleared everything from the living room and kitchen.

“Won't take long to remove the sections in the dining room.” He leaned over, resting his hands on his knees. “After that, we'll have to dry everything out with industrial fans.”

Sawyer straightened and stretched. At the glimpse of his muscles flexing, she had a hard time remembering to breathe.

After grabbing a bottle of water, he threw his head back and chugged.

This “working each other out of our system” wasn't working exactly as she'd envisioned. “Braeden said he found a generator.”

He swallowed and swiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “From a fellow Coastie up Delaware way. The Coastie network is broad and vast.”

She traced a circle in the dust-covered floor with the toe of her now-grimy flats. She'd know to come better dressed tomorrow. Stud finding yesterday had proven more fun and less dirty than attacking drywall today.

Her cheeks flushed at the memory of Sawyer kissing her. Friends, she reminded her pounding heart. “What about after we dry everything out?”

“Now that the Bay Bridge is open again, I've put a call in to a Coastie friend of mine who's a licensed electrician across the Bay. He'll replace the wiring and outlets in the walls.”

“And what do we do about the HVAC system?” She batted her lashes. “Betcha didn't know I knew that word, did you?”

Sawyer rubbed the kinks out of his neck. “You never fail to surprise me, Beatrice.”

Honey fisted her hands against the urge to touch him. “Truer words, I expect, were never spoken.”

Sawyer laughed and relaxed his stance. But just as suddenly, his face shuttered, and he moved away. “I'd better go. You, too. It'll be dark soon.”

Honey blinked. He was leaving already? Before she thought, she caught hold of his hand. “The church ladies have opened the fellowship hall to everyone for dinner. Grapevine says Miss Jean made her famous chicken casserole.” She threw him a long look. “You should come.”

Sawyer raised his brow at her fingers wound in his. “Do
you
want me to come?”

Honey let go. “Max would love to spend time with you.”

“Would he be the only one who enjoys spending time with me?”

“What do you call what we've been doing all afternoon?”

“Making amends?” Breaking eye contact, he scrubbed his hand over his face. “Anyway, I got stuff to do. See you tomorrow?”

Stuff? What kind of stuff?

Frowning, she pursed her lips. “I'll be here.”

His mouth curved. “Well, if demolishing drywall with you is the best I can do, I guess I'll take it.” He gathered and notched the tool belt around his waist.

Out on the porch, he locked and secured the new door. Then Sawyer escorted her to her dad's truck and made sure the engine turned over before heading toward his new Chevy. He gave her a small wave as he slid behind the wheel.

Honey sighed as their trucks parted ways at the top of the Duer drive on Seaside Road. Glancing in the rearview mirror, she watched his taillights disappear in the direction of Onley. She deflated in the seat.

Tomorrow felt like a long, long time from now.

And it hadn't escaped her notice that he'd left another fresh bouquet of brown-eyed Susans on the mantel for her.

* * *

Over the next two weeks, Sawyer showed Honey how to insulate the exterior walls. He installed the subflooring himself. And he supervised Seth, the ROMEOs and other church volunteers in rehanging the drywall on the ground floor. But he waited till Honey took Amelia for an obstetrician appointment one afternoon before ripping away the damaged mantel and removing it from the premises.

The remodel was slowly but surely taking shape as September rolled into October. Nearing completion. Every day looking more and more like Honey's beloved home. Although this friend thing was slowly but surely killing him. When he longed for so much more.

Friends... He reminded himself at least six times an hour. Friends was a whole lot better than the nothing he'd had of Honey for the past three years. And for someone like him, it was better than he deserved or could reasonably expect.

He also made time for a trip to a lumber yard near Salisbury, Maryland. On the way he visited Mr. Keller in the rehab facility, too, who gave him permission to use some carving tools he'd found in the barn loft.

Mr. Keller, wheelchair bound with both legs casted, was lonely. Sawyer could tell the energetic senior citizen with the thick Eastern Shore brogue enjoyed their visit. Childless, the old man regaled Sawyer with tales of times on the farm nestled next to the sea when the Kellers raised horses the prize of many a Northern steel magnate. He found himself telling Mr. Keller about his childhood and the bronco circuit. Sawyer made it a habit to drop by and chat every other day.

Sawyer also surprised Honey with a toolkit of her own. With a quick upward sweep of her lashes, she opened the lid and examined the contents. He could tell she wanted to smile, but wouldn't allow herself.

“What's this for?”

“Figured you'd earned the right to your own tools, Beatrice.”

He'd pleased her, but she'd never admit that out loud, least of all to him.

She hefted the screwdriver in her hand. “How come you know so much about construction, Sawyer?”

“Hidden talents. There's more to this Coastie than just a pretty face.”

She rolled her eyes. As he'd meant her to. “Let me rephrase. Where did a bronco-busting, puddle pirate, speed demon adrenaline junkie learn construction?”

He smiled, arms folded, and rocked on his heels.

She wagged the tool in his face. “Would you get serious and answer my question? I'm trying to have an adult conversation with you, Kole.”

He dropped his arms and returned to remeasuring the length of the window for the trim he needed to cut outside on the miter saw he'd set up in the yard. “My last foster dad was a contractor by trade. We were expected to help when school let out for the summer.”

“Free labor?”

“Something like that. Pop Larsen wanted to make sure we learned a trade.” He couldn't resist the chance to make her laugh. “Anyway, I've been told I'm good with my hands.”

Her lips twitched as if she fought the urge to break into a smile. “Arrogant much, Kole?”

He could also tell he was wearing away her indifference—which was far worse than her resistance in his opinion.

Sawyer grinned at her. “Resistance is futile, baby.”

“Don't call me that. I'm not your baby nor anyone else's.” She tightened the ponytail on the nape of her neck. “Once this remodel is done, we can finally get back to our real lives.”

“Be careful what you wish for, Beatrice.”

With a derisive lift of her eyebrow, she moved to the dining room where her dad had installed the new baseboards.

Sawyer got a kick out of seeing her jeans get holes in the knees from hard work and not from a New York designer. She was determined to prove she was more than just a pretty face. But he'd known that about her immediately when they crossed paths three years ago at the Sandpiper where she'd waitressed.

Now at the lodge, he stayed on the lookout every time she attempted a task on the remodel. Making sure it wasn't too heavy or hazardous. Stepping in to shift the load when she tackled more than she could handle.

He had to be smart about it, though. Not make it seem as if he was hovering or rushing to her rescue. She would hate that and resent him even more. But he kept a watchful eye on her at the construction site nonetheless.

Because remodel or not, he would've done that anyway. Every time she got in his range of vision, his antennae went on high alert, and his pulse kicked up a notch. The Honey effect, he called it.

She returned the next day with the side of her toolbox covered in spangled letters reading Handy Honey. And if anyone could put shine and sparkle into a dull, metallic toolkit, Honey was the one for the job.

* * *

With the mantel gone, Honey contemplated the fresh bouquet of wildflowers deposited by Sawyer on the seat of her dad's truck. Dad kept promising a trip to the mill to pick out a replacement, but so far finishing touches were the last things on everyone's minds.

Except perhaps for Sawyer. Who never failed to bring brown-eyed Susans to the worksite. Every day, another bouquet. She sighed. Only Sawyer would attempt to woo her—if that's what this was—with ditch flowers and a toolbox.

Was it working? Maybe...

They were supposed to be friends only. But the more time she worked alongside Sawyer Kole, the less friendly she felt. Instead, she felt... She gritted her teeth.
Not going there
.

She didn't know where Sawyer got his energy. She didn't know when he slept, either. As far as she could determine, his days were spent on shift at the station or organizing a team of volunteers from a North Carolina sister church who'd driven to the Delmarva Peninsula this weekend to lend a hand in the repositioning of the steeple.

She parked outside the Sandpiper, leaving the truck for her dad when he returned from an early morning fishing expedition. A few of his die-hard customers had returned for the excellent deep-sea fall fishing. Unfortunately, they were staying at a chain motel on the highway, not the Duer Lodge, which wasn't yet open for business.