Coast Guard Sweetheart (6 page)

Chapter Six

“R
ubber duckies can be adopted for five dollars each. The race starts at three this afternoon.”

A gentle sea breeze blew a strand of hair against Honey's face, caressing her cheek. Stationed at the gazebo on Kiptohanock's square, she pointed to the black-lettered number inked on the duck's backside. “At the end of the race, winners will be announced by their racing number. So don't forget to cheer for your ducky. All proceeds benefit the Waterman's Association Widows and Orphans Fund.”

She handed the bright yellow duck across the table to a couple from Ohio whose info she'd recorded on the roster. “Lucky number 143 for you. And your entry also qualifies you to take part in the Best Decorated Ducky contest.”

“You'll find supplies to decorate your ducky over there.” She gestured toward the volunteer-manned tables positioned throughout the square. “Decorated duckies must be ready for judging by 2:00.”

Max attached a paper wristband with the ducky's corresponding number to the wife's hand.

Honey handed the husband the printed flyer. “You must be present to win the race and/or contest. Prizes include a half day charter fishing trip courtesy of the
Now I Sea
, a free day's rental of kayaks from Kiptohanock Outfitters, a dozen Long Johns from the Sandpiper Cafe and an excursion aboard Senior Chief Scott's personal sailboat,
Seas the Day
.”

“That's my dad's boat,” Max informed them.

Honey gave the come-heres a wide smile. “Welcome to Kiptohanock.”

She surveyed the busy waterfront and the tourists thronging the Duck Decoy Festival. Fingers crossed, Hurricane Zelda would swerve into the open Atlantic and blow itself out next week without damage to people or property. This festival brought the come-heres and locals out in full force.

Hopefully, this last weekend of summer would benefit everyone's bottom line. The professional duck decoy carvings had been judged in the town hall this morning. And the grand prize winner won a two-night stay at the Duer Lodge.

At a sudden gust of wind, she tucked an errant tendril behind her ear. The wind had picked up—courtesy of Hurricane Zelda—and the waves in the harbor were choppy. Great for the upcoming duck race. The committee always bought the ever-upright duckies. Guaranteed to never go topsy-turvy in the water, they delivered the best show for duck race enthusiasts.

The orange-and-blue flag of the Coast Guard fast response boat appeared in the distance where the harbor widened into the channel. She'd watched the crew empty out of the station an hour earlier in response to a distress call. Careful to stay attentive for their return. Not because she'd spotted Sawyer heading the mission, but because...

She fiddled with the pearl stud at her ear. Because as a patriotic American citizen she was concerned for every member of the Guard's well-being.

Right.
She tore her gaze away—with effort—from the activity on the Coast Guard dock as the fast boat edged into the slip. As a distraction, she focused on Amelia—allowed out for good behavior today—manning one of the decoration booths. Max, bored with money transactions, spotted the little redheaded girl and headed off to terrorize her.

Despite Honey's best intentions, her gaze wandered once more toward the station pier as Sawyer stepped over the gap and helped a Coastie secure the mooring lines to the cleats on the pier.

Stop it.

Honey shifted her gaze to the Sandpiper, where her father jawed with his ROMEO—Retired Old Men Eating Out—compatriots over lunch. Although her father was hardly old. Late fifties. And since recovering from his heart attack a few years ago, full of vim and vigor.

Sometimes too much vim and vigor. Honey's mouth pursed, recalling the lecture she'd received following The Battle of the Long Johns.

Honey had no idea what had possessed her to act in such an unladylike, unHoneylike fashion. Actually, she did know. Sawyer Kole. And after what almost happened on the Duer dock a few days ago?

She blushed and buried her head in the rubber duck roster. Exactly why she planned to avoid the Coast Guard petty officer at all costs. She had an image to maintain. “Fool me once,” she muttered to no one in particular.

A shadow fell across the clipboard. Her eyes lifted to find her Coastie nemesis, arms crossed, smirking at her across the table. She bit back a sigh. Avoidance not so easy a feat in a town the size of Kiptohanock.

“What do you want, Kole?”

The smirk only widened. “After our recent close encounter, you really want to go there, Beatrice?”

“I'm busy.” She waved her hand toward the harbor. “Don't you have somebody to rescue?”

“Taking in the festival ambience.” He cocked his head. “But a guardsman's work is never done. Always prepared. Always ready. And there's all kinds of rescues, I've found.”

Honey made a face. “Well, no damsel in distress here. You'd best be on your way and quit holding up the line for paying customers.”

Sawyer made an elaborate show of glancing over both shoulders. “Doesn't appear I'm holding up anyone. Besides, I am a paying customer. Or at least, I will be.” He stuck his hand in his operational duty uniform pockets. “The Coast Guard station always contributes a ducky representative.”

Honey made sure he observed her curl her lip. “The Duers have been Kiptohanock Duck Race Champions five years in a row. Not to mention,” she flicked a look toward the tables laden with art supplies, “Best Decorated Ducky three seasons running.”

Sawyer arched his brow. “Are you challenging the Guard's seamanship, Beatrice?”

Honey strained forward over the table. “A Duer duck will win out over you puddle pirates anytime, any race.”

Sawyer got in her face. “You want to make a personal contest between you and me that Coastie Duck outperforms Duer Duck in the race?”

His breath fanned her cheek. Her heart accelerated at an old memory of the taste of his lips on hers. Mint. Her throat constricted. But she couldn't back down now. “You're on.”

Sawyer extended his hand.

After the stunt she'd pulled in the marsh, she eyed his hand with trepidation. He dared her with his eyes. She took his hand, steeling herself against the goose pimples going up and down her arm from the heat of his skin.

Sawyer squeezed her fingers. “So what do I win when I win?”

“You're not going to win, Kole. I told you that.” She tried easing out of his handclasp.

He held on, refusing to let go. “Oh, no. Not so fast, Beatrice.”

“You mean when
I
win, Kole.”

“How about we make this interesting? If the Guard wins, you supply the station with a week's worth of desserts. And as for me, Girly-Girl?”

She rolled her eyes. “Stop calling me that.”

“You said not to call you
baby
or Honey. So Girly-Girl it is.” He continued, undeterred. “And when I win, Girly-Girl, I want an evening of your time.”

“A date?” she sputtered. “Of all the—” She growled. “Not going to happen.”

“Scared, Beatrice?

Honey yanked her hand free. “I'm not scared of you.”

“Then what's the problem? If you're so sure you're going to win anyway.” He gave her that slow, devastating smile. “And if you do somehow manage to win, what would you claim as your prize?”

She narrowed her eyes. “
When
I win, I'll still supply a week's worth of desserts to my brother-in-law's crew in appreciation for Coastie service to this nation. But you'll...”

Honey jabbed her finger at his Coastie-clad tropical blue chest. “You'll... You'll...” She cast her gaze around the town square, grasping for the worst possible punishment to inflict on the oh-so-cocky Coastie.

“I'll what?”

Honey clenched her jaw. “You'll have to clean the toilets, make the beds and wash the laundry for a week at the lodge.”

Sawyer, to her fury, grinned.

Honey floundered. “Wearing the frock-saver of my choice...”

“I've been told I look good in pink,” Sawyer teased.

“Under my constant supervision...” she snarled.

Sawyer rocked on his heels. “Either way, a win-win for me. Getting to spend time with you.”

Honey pounded the table with her fist. The money box rattled. “We'll see how perky you feel after scrubbing toilets, Kole.” She thrust the signup roster at him. “Five dollars.”

Sawyer pointed to the poster tacked to the front of the table. “I want one of those special Quack Packs to increase my chances of winning.”

Honey bared her teeth. “You'll need every advantage you can get against the Duer Ducks.”

“Exactly how many ducks have the Duers entered into the race?”

She lifted her chin. “We lead by example, Kole. You qualify for the Quacker Package with the purchase of twenty ducks.”

“The Guard always goes above and beyond. How aboot...” His lips quirked, pausing to make sure she'd caught his Shore inflection.

Honey glared.

Sawyer pulled out a handful of cash from his cargo pants. “How about I adopt thirty ducks since this is for a worthy cause?”

Her mouth dropped as he unrolled and counted fifteen tens. “A hundred and fifty dollars?” she squeaked. “Are you crazy?”

“Nothing else to spend my money on for three years.” He shrugged. “And that date night, Beatrice Duer,” the look he gave her liquefied Honey's insides. “I aim to win.”

Her heart pounding, she tied the wristband around his sun-darkened forearm. “Must you always be so annoying, Sawyer Kole?”

Sawyer placed both palms flat and leaned across the table, his nose inches from hers. “Must you always be so beautiful, Beatrice Duer?”

Honey made an elaborate show of stuffing the ducks into three grocery bags so he could transport them to the craft table.

“Why I believe that may be the prettiest shade of pink I've ever seen rising from beneath the collar of your shirt, Girly-Girl.”

Honey was beginning to understand why Amelia nearly harpooned Braeden in a case of mistaken identity. She'd like to harpoon Sawyer. No case of mistaken identity necessary. He was as annoying as the south end of a mule.

Sawyer stepped back a pace, correctly reading the expression on her face, she figured. Too bad.

“If twenty ducks is the Quacker Package,” he drawled in his husky voice. “What does that make me with thirty? The Biggest Quack of all?”

She gave him a pointed look. “Truer words were never spoken.”

He laughed. “See you at the finish line.”

Arms laden, he winked at her. “And may the best seaman ducky win, Beatrice.”

* * *

Sawyer raised the trophy high over his head. The Guard contingent cheered, as did the other participants in the Best Decorated Ducky contest. Except for Honey. Her face seemed frozen in a perpetual scowl of disapproval.

He scanned the artistically accessorized rubber ducks on display. The bride and groom ducks presented by the future newlyweds getting married at the lodge tomorrow. The princess ducks contributed by the local Girl Scouts. The Biblical ducks from the youth group at the church.

Sawyer especially liked the Jonah duck with the hand-lettered sign attached around its neck, Big Fish Beware.

Max's need-for-speed NASCAR racing duck had tied for first place in the children's category. Posing for the official photograph, Max and the little redheaded girl, daughter of a former Coastie commander, glowered at each other across the shared billboard-size coupon for a dozen Long John donuts.

Between calls, the crew had made short work of decorating the thirty Coastie ducks. In honor of puddle pirates everywhere, Reaves created several swashbuckling ducks. And there was the authentic, tropical blue Coastie-inspired duck with anchor insignia. Thanks to Seaman Donovan's graphic artist abilities, that duck secured third place in the adult category. Much to Honey's ire.

The Duer ducks—in various renderings of fisherman Seth, artist Amelia and sailboater Braeden—placed in the top ten. Sawyer loved Honey's personalized duck—so girly-girl with the stylish blond-brown wig and fake eyelashes. A strand of fake pearls dotted the duck's neck.

With pearl studs in the approximate location of ears, the Honey Duck was attired in an exact replica of the shirt Honey sported today. The black-and-white polka-dotted frock painted on the duck's midsection certainly made it a standout. Earning the duck and Honey a respectable runner-up to Sawyer's own first place winning Cowboy Duck.

He'd epoxied a tiny braided lasso to his Stetson-clad duck. And taut with chagrin, the ever-stylish Honey fumed and tapped her Keds on the pavement.

Sawyer cocked a hand around his ear. “Is that the gnashing of pearly white teeth I hear, Beatrice?”

“I'd like to gnash...” Her hair glimmering in the afternoon sunlight, she poked out her lips. “Just you wait till race time, Kole. You'll be eating my ducky waves.”

He mock-fluttered his lashes. “Promises, promises.”

Making a rude noise, she shoved off toward the wharf.

Sawyer followed at a more leisurely pace. The ROMEOs—including Seth Duer—were working in conjunction with the Coastie Auxiliary and Watermen's Association. They'd officiate at today's race.

After collecting the race entry ducks in a large trash bag, Seth and the
Now I Sea
would anchor a quarter mile offshore at the starting point of the race. At the blast of the towboat's foghorn, the ROMEOs would dump the plastic contestants overboard between ropes tied to two equidistant poles in the channel.

Ropes on both sides created a V-shaped funnel tied off on the pylons of the dock at the finish line. The lines had been strung through colorful swimming pool noodles to keep the wayward seafaring ducks in bounds. Other volunteers stood poised at the end of the pier with fishing nets to collect the ducks and return them to their “sponsors.”