Coast Guard Sweetheart (18 page)

Chapter Twenty

A
s the fiery sunset faded to dusk, her sister found Honey in front of the altar.

“Where are Baby Patrick and Max?” Honey whispered.

Amelia hugged Honey. “With Miss Pauline.”

Darkness descended across Kiptohanock. Reverend Parks arrived and lit the candles on the altar. She winced as the light from the tapers flickered across the sea blue walls of the sanctuary. Because she remembered other candles. Another night. Last night.

The reverend was joined by his wife, the Sandpiper Cafe owner and Honey's waitress friend, Dixie. Others, too, like Mrs. Francis, the troop leader. The town postmistress. The soon-to-retire librarian, Mrs. Beal. And Mr. Keller, newly released from rehab.

Praying. Singing hymns. Comforting each other.

It was the way of the Kiptohanock faithful. Humbled, she was struck with how much larger her true family was, more than she'd imagined. And she was grateful.

But the hours ticked by with no word of Sawyer. She breathed in the scent of wax and the leather of the Bible she'd clutched to her chest during the long night. The candles burned low on the altar.

Yet as the darkness of the night surrendered to the first streaks of dawn, she heard the bell.

Slumped against the side of a pew, Honey jolted. Amelia seized her hand. Heads turned.

Throwing off Amelia's arm, she staggered to her feet. Squinting at the glare of the sunrise, she dashed out of the church. Behind her, a steady stream of prayer warriors followed close on her heels.

One of her dad's ROMEO friends rocked the mounted bell from side to side. The clapper clanged against the metal. Catching sight of Honey, Seaman Apprentice Reaves on the adjacent dock gestured toward the open channel.

Where a small flotilla of vessels—Coast Guard, fishing and recreational—chugged into the harbor. Honey identified Braeden at the helm of a response boat. Her dad manned the wheel of the
Now I Sea
.

Please... Please bring Sawyer back... Please.

She raced toward the Coast Guard dock. She stopped a few yards away, her eyes floating toward the morning sky. Red sky last night, sailor's delight.

Let him be okay...

And if he wasn't? She lifted her face toward the steeple. Either way, in the end, they'd both be okay.

Wiggins, a bandage swathing his forehead, leaped to catch the mooring line Dawkins tossed. Braeden cut the engine. The station-side Coasties went into action. Honey strained on her tiptoes to see, but their height blocked her view of the interior of the boat.

Hands knotted, she held her breath. Time went into slow motion. A surreal quality fogged her vision. At the sudden caw of seagulls, her eyes shot skyward before dropping toward the end of the pier.

Then...

A straw-colored head emerged from the boat cabin. Cut high and cropped close on the sides in the Coastie buzz. Braeden's arm around him on one side. Wiggins surged forward to support him on the other side.

She dug her fingernails into her palms. Her eyes stung. She blinked the moisture away. “Sawyer!”

His head lifted. His face blackened with smoke, those sky blue eyes of his burned bright.

She ran the length of the pier. Tears rolling down her cheeks, she crossed the remaining distance separating them. He was alive.
Thank You, God.
Sawyer was alive.

Honey flung herself at him, knocking Braeden's arm from around Sawyer. The restraining hand of Wiggins on Sawyer's back only just prevented them from falling into the Kiptohanock drink.

“Whoa there,” Braeden reared. “Give him a chance to—”

“Are you hurt?” She gripped Sawyer's shoulders. “I love you.” She brushed a kiss across his cracked lips.

His mouth opened, but no sound emerged.

“Are you bleeding anywhere?” Her gaze flitted from the top of his wind-blown hair down his torso. “I love you.” She kissed the corner of his mouth.

He stared at her.

“Is anything broken?” She scanned his torn uniform for injuries. She cupped his cheek. “I love you.” She kissed him again.

His forehead creased.

“I'm so sorry, Sawyer.” She smoothed his collar into place. “Will you forgive me for not telling you before how much I love you?” She plucked at his upturned sleeve, straightening it.

Sawyer's wood-roughened hands captured her restless fingers and pressed them against his chest. “Beatrice...” his voice rasped.

Her eyes flew to his. “God and I talked last night.” Her mouth quivered. “And I've decided every time you say my name—” She bit her lip, working to steady her voice.

She swallowed and tried again.

“I've decided every time for the rest of your life when you say my name the right way, I'm going to kiss you.”

She opened her palms flat against his uniform. His heart thrummed against her hands. A slow smile curved his lips.

Her heart pitter-pattered. As her knees threatened to give way, she was glad Sawyer had hold of her. So not fair what his smile did to her insides.

“Is that right?” His blue eyes sparked. “Beatrice isn't going to cut it anymore?”

She shook her head.

“Would you let me call you sweetheart?”

Her pulse and her heart tangoed. “That one I might take under advisement.”

Sawyer brought her captured hand to his mouth and brushed his lips across her palm. “So you want me to call you Honey?”

Honey gave him a quick kiss.

Sawyer let go of her hands and wrapped his arms around her.

Honey inched back to better see his face. “You're not the only one who can keep a promise.”

Sawyer's hold tightened around her waist. “I can see that.” A muscle beat a furious tempo in his exposed throat. “Honey...”

Both hands gripping his collar, she kissed him once more. “I love you, Sawyer.” She eased onto her heels.

His lips quirked. “Have it your own way.” He cocked his head. “You always do. And I love you, too.” Sawyer widened his stance. “Honey...”

Biting off a laugh, her mouth found his again. And she showed him how she intended to honor her promise. Always.

Chapter Twenty-One

“P
etty Officer First Class Sawyer Ramsay Kole, do you take this woman, Beatrice Elizabeth Duer, to be your lawfully wedded wife to have and to hold from this day forward... In sickness and in health... Forsaking all others cleave only unto her... So long as you both shall live?”

At the altar of the Kiptohanock church on this glorious, if brisk, day in late November, Sawyer squeezed Honey's hand. “I do.”

If Sawyer lived to be a hundred years old, he'd never forget the sight of Honey on her father's arm in a white confection of lace and satin. And the look in her eyes... Her eyes filled only with him.

Him, Sawyer Kole, the throwaway kid, one-time Oklahoma cowboy. Only worthy of this life and Honey's love because of God's mercy and grace.

And when his gaze dropped from her face to the bouquet in her hands? Sawyer thought his heart might stop. From love for this woman. For the promise in her eyes. For the joy set before them both.

She carried in her arms a bouquet of ditch flowers. Brown-eyed Susans.

Reverend Parks repeated the vows for Honey. And underneath the bouquet, Honey squeezed his fingers back. “I do.”

“The ring?” Reverend Parks looked over Sawyer's shoulder. First at Max with his satin cushion of fake entwined rings tied in a nautical knot, and then at Braeden, Sawyer's best man. Envisioning rings rolling under the organ, courtesy of Max—whose true middle name was mayhem—matron of honor Amelia had insisted on Max playing a symbolic role in the nuptials.

Max cocked his head at the bridal couple and made as if to toss the pillow into the choir loft. Honey inhaled. Sawyer narrowed his eyes. With Braeden fishing the ring out of his pocket, Amelia glared and shook her head. Seth clamped a hand on Max's shoulder.

Rolling his tongue in his cheek, Max flitted his eyes toward Izzie beside her father, Weston Clark, in the front pew. Izzie stuck her tongue out at Max. And Max, with a triumphant smirk at the wedding party, lowered his arm. Slowly...

Never a dull moment with the Duer crowd. Sawyer grinned. And he wouldn't have it any other way,
thank You, God.

The rings were exchanged. The unity candle lit. Reverend Parks prayed.

“You may kiss your bride.”

With much relish, Sawyer did.

“May I present to you, Petty Officer First Class and Mrs. Sawyer Kole.”

With her hand nestled into the crook of his elbow, they faced the congregation amidst much cheers and clapping.

Armistice signed. Ending the battle for Kiptohanock and Honey Duer Kole's heart for good.

* * *

They emerged from the white clapboard church between a line of Coasties, beneath a hail of flower petals to a horse and buggy Mr. Keller had loaned them for the occasion. Draped—thanks to Wiggins and company—with streamers of toilet paper. Honey's nose crinkled, but she laughed at the sight of the hand-lettered sign affixed to the rear of the buggy: My Heart Belongs to a Coastie.

Helping her inside, Sawyer bundled her skirts into the carriage, careful to keep the fabric free of the shaving cream. Entering from the other side, Sawyer gathered the reins.

Sawyer took one final look at the white steeple piercing the skyline above tiny Kiptohanock.

Slapping the reins, he clicked his tongue under his teeth, signaling the horses. Honey waved at those who'd gathered to honor them on their wedding day. Those who loved them the most. And the best. Not the least of whom God, who'd loved both Sawyer and Honey. So well and for so long.

To God, be the praise.

* * *

Did she know how to throw a party or what?

Clusters of Kiptohanockians thronged the lodge. Strings of light festooned the eaves of the house like electric gingerbread trim. Candles glowed from within. There was the sound of punch glasses clinking. Voices raised in conversation. Miss Pauline cuddled Baby Patrick. And confined to Max's bedroom upstairs, Ajax and Blackie whined, to no avail, to be let out for the fun.

From the porch, Honey peered inside the interior. In the family room, Amelia had her forearm wrapped around Max's neck. Weston Clark wrenched Izzie backward by the sash of her hunter green silk party dress.

Honey blew out a breath. She wasn't going to worry about what had gone down inside the inn. Not tonight. She'd fix whatever was damaged tomorrow. Or better yet, get Sawyer to fix it after the honeymoon.

Lips curving, her gaze wandered the length of the wraparound porch. Surrounded by a mixed bunch of off duty Coasties and ROMEOs, her dad's arm was draped across Sawyer's shoulders. And she could tell how much her new husband basked in the blatant approval in her father's eyes. If she didn't know better, she'd swear Sawyer married her just to become the son Seth Duer never had.

She hugged herself in the chilly late autumn air as laughter erupted. Her father wound down yet another fish story. Followed by Braeden's tale of Sawyer's efforts on behalf of the captain, who'd somehow been found alive by the helo from Air Station Elizabeth City. Braeden had put Sawyer's name in consideration for a commendation.

The secondary blast had knocked Sawyer momentarily unconscious but had also propelled him free of the burning water. With his life vest keeping him afloat, Sawyer had clung to a buoyant piece of debris until the Herc spotted him floating among the wreckage. Other than a few bruised ribs and a concussion, Sawyer was okay.

She swallowed. Better than okay and thanks be to God, here with her. Honey was so blessed, and she didn't intend to waste a minute of her second chance for happiness.

She'd come out to the porch to retrieve her groom for the cutting of the nautical anchor-topped wedding cake. Honey held off for one more moment, though, enjoying Sawyer's pleasure amidst his Coastie comrades and his newfound male relations.

But with that special sixth sense he always possessed with her, Sawyer lifted his head, catching her eye. And when he looked at her like that? She sighed. Not much could beat a man in full dress blues. Especially, her man. Her heart fluttered.

He strode forward, parting the cluster of men like a line cut through the water. Her feet went into motion of their own volition, like a fish on the other end of a hook.

Meeting at the steps, Sawyer took off his cap and placed it at a jaunty angle atop her head. The medals pressed against Honey's bare back as he engulfed her in the safe harbor of his embrace and brushed his lips against her hair.

“This shindig over yet, Honey?” he whispered. His breath blew one of the tendrils above her ear.

She kissed him.

She'd been ready to tie the matrimonial knot the day after Sawyer's rescue. Sawyer, however, was afraid she would later regret not having the wedding of her dreams. So he insisted they wait. Two weeks only, she countered, and not a day longer.

Thanks to the best bunch of girlfriends ever, Honey had the wedding of her dreams. More importantly, she had the man of her dreams. A team effort—Debbie put together the beautiful music, Miss Betty the gorgeous dress, Wanda the hair and nails, and Kathy the reception at the inn. Her good friend Cindy and Amelia made sure the little touches reflected Honey and Sawyer's joint Eastern Shore Coast Guard personalities.

Between his saved leave days, Sawyer had ample time for a honeymoon. He'd also decided not to re-up, but to finish out the last few months of his tour and return permanently to Kiptohanock to help Honey run the inn. But the lodge had stopped being Honey's priority. Sawyer was.

Station Emerald Isle would get them both—Mr. and Mrs. Sawyer Kole. Just before the wedding, however, soon-to-be new brother-in-law Senior Chief Scott sailed to the rescue. He worked it so Sawyer could put in his final months of duty at Station Kiptohanock.

Hobbling across the porch with the help of his cane, Mr. Keller found them on the steps, gazing at the myriad of stars. He cleared his throat and grinned. “Congratulations.”

She and Sawyer darted their eyes at each other and smiled.

“Got a proposition for you two. I'm too old to manage the farm and the horses. I haven't been able to get out of my head what you shared with me about your childhood, Sawyer.”

Sawyer's brow furrowed.

Mr. Keller nodded. “The dream you shared with me... How you wished a place like my farm had existed for you and your sister. As a place for separated foster siblings to reunite for a week of summer camp.”

Honey caught hold of Sawyer's hand.

Mr. Keller sighed. “Fact is, I've got more money than I'll ever spend. I've lived a self-absorbed life. Taking more than I've given. And it's time—long past time—for me to leave something beyond myself when I go to my reward.”

Sawyer frowned. “I don't understand, sir. What is it you're proposing?”

Mr. Keller leaned both hands on the cane. “I'm proposing to build a set of cabins on the property. Fill out the necessary paperwork and get licensed with Social Services.”

The old man rubbed his grizzled chin. “I haven't been sitting on my hands the whole time I was in rehab, son. I've done the math and already got the paperwork started with county agencies. I figure maybe by June we could be up and running. Offer equestrian and recreational boating activities to a different set of Accomack foster children each week of summer.”

Sawyer squeezed Honey's fingers. “That sounds wonderful, Mr. Keller. For the children to be able to reunite at least for one week with their siblings...”

Mr. Keller pursed his mouth. “I'm also thinking we'll need to hire staff, experts in their field. Counselors to deal with the deeper issues. Not only give them the best of the Eastern Shore, but provide life skills, too.” He angled toward the party inside the house. “Never had kids of my own, you see.”

“Keller's Kids Camp.” Honey smiled. “You'll transform lives. A work of eternal significance.”

Mr. Keller's eyes widened. “I hadn't given the whole idea a name.” He shuffled his feet on the weathered planks of the porch.

“She's right.” Sawyer swallowed. “A work of eternal significance in these throwaway kids lives.”

Mr. Keller lifted his chin. “Ain't nobody gonna be a throwaway on my watch.”

Honey tilted her head. “You said, ‘we'll' make a difference. What do you mean, Mr. Keller?”

Mr. Keller angled toward Sawyer. “I know this woman of yours runs an inn, but I'd like you to consider becoming the director of this venture I'm proposing. I'd supply the startup money and property. You'd supply the brains and brawn for the day-to-day operation.”

Sawyer gasped. “Me?”

“Of course, you.” Mr. Keller shot a look at Honey. “We've got our work cut out for us, young lady, to bolster this lad's flagging self-confidence.”

Sawyer swiveled toward her. “But Honey, summer is your busiest season.”

“This is your dream. And because it's your dream, Sawyer Kole, it's my dream, too.” She ran the pad of her thumb across his high cheekbone. “You gave me back my dream. Now it's your turn. We'll make it work, I promise you.”

“What do you say, young feller?”

Sawyer gazed deep and long into her eyes. “Are you sure?” he whispered. “It's too late for my sister and me, but if other kids could...” He blinked back the moisture.

Honey hugged his arm. “Horses. The sea. And foster kids. What could be better? Tell the man you'll do it.”

Sawyer stuck out his hand. “If you're sure, Mr. Keller, I gladly accept. It'll cost a fortune to create and maintain...”

Mr. Keller grasped his hand. “You let me worry about that. Best use I'll ever make of all that money my grandpappy earned.”

They shook on it.

“It's a deal then.” Mr. Keller moved toward the front door. “I'm going to whet my whistle, but I'll be in touch with further details.”

He paused on the threshold, his head cocked. “But not until the honeymoon's over.” He winked at them before disappearing into the house.

Sawyer pulled Honey into an embrace. “Honeymoon's never going to be over, is it, Mrs. Kole?” He grimaced at the overflowing lodge. “That is if we can ever get it officially started.”

Honey laughed.

But a few hours later, she waved the last of the guests and her family goodbye. Their honeymoon night would be spent alone at the lodge before she and Sawyer drove to a quaint bed and breakfast on an isolated North Carolina barrier island via ferry. Market research, Honey had teased.

Sawyer arched his brow and let her know what he thought of her plan. With his lips.

A perfect night, she took one last look at the stars above the roofline of the porch. A perfect wedding. And the real adventure only just beginning.

The sound of an old-fashioned melody wafted from the interior of the house. Her breath hitching, Honey put her hand to the strand of pearls at her throat.

“Mrs. Kole.”

She turned, the train of her dress swirling around her legs. Out of his uniform coat, Sawyer had rolled the sleeves of his shirt, exposing the strong, corded muscles of his forearms. Hands in his pockets, he propped against the frame of the door.

The music flowed from the Victrola, floating onto the porch.

Straightening, Sawyer held out his hand. Emotions rippled across his face. Joy. Such love. A fierce vulnerability. His gaze traveled to her mouth. And lingered.

Her heart beating faster than the 3/4 time of the waltz, she took his hand. Her eyes locked onto his. And his eyes went opaque, a smoky blue.

With her hand clasped in his and his other arm around her waist, she placed her free hand on the broad length of his shoulder.

Elbow up and carriage erect, he never took his eyes off her face. His hold never wavered as he led Honey in the waltz.

“Let me call you, sweetheart...” he crooned in that lovely baritone of his. “I'm in love with you...” Something flickered in his eyes. “Let me hear you whisper that you love me, too...”