Coast Guard Sweetheart (7 page)

Jaunty flags fluttered in the stiff sea breeze on board dozens of recreational vessels hugging the harbor. Kiptohanockians lined the banks of the town at water's edge. Come-heres and been-heres settled backsides, feet dangling, across the length of the seawall rimming the waterfront of the fishing village.

Max waved to Sawyer just as the little redheaded girl ground a cloud of pink-swirled cotton candy into his face. With a whoop, he set off in hot pursuit, vowing vengeance. Braeden and the girl's father moved to intervene. Sitting in a lawn chair with feet propped up, Amelia threatened to snatch a nautical knot in Max if he didn't stop provoking the little girl. Which prompted outraged howls of protest from injured-party Max.

“You had it coming, Max!” screamed the incensed little redhead.

Commander Weston Clark wrenched his daughter away from doing further harm to Max. Who, likewise, struggled to be free of Braeden's restraining stronghold.

Sawyer smiled. What a family. Never a boring moment around them. He'd have given anything in the world to have the crazy, totally wonderful family Honey took for granted.

Sawyer's gaze went skyward, always attuned to the steeple piercing the Eastern Shore sky.
How
I love it here.

His gaze drifted toward Honey, standing by the volunteer duck wranglers easing into kayaks on the bank.
How I love her.

And yet today, he'd decided to take a page straight out of Max's playbook. Going with the philosophy that annoying attention was better than no attention at all. What he hoped Braeden would consider “creative.”

Yep, Sawyer grimaced, he was a sad, pathetic man. But anything was better than being ignored. Which seemed to be Honey's favorite modus operandi this afternoon.

The walkie-talkie crackled in the mayor's hand. “Ladies and gentlemen duck herders, let me remind you that no attempt to free or interfere with any duck is permitted unless deemed necessary by duck race officials.” The mayor gestured toward the water's edge. “Please take your positions.”

Sawyer sauntered toward a waiting canoe as other volunteers wrestled their kayaks into the water. One of their responsibilities was to relay play-by-play action to the mayor for rebroadcast, boosting the competitive spirit of the race. He pushed the canoe into the water.

A barefoot Honey waded in behind him. “Where do you think you're going, Kole?”

Sawyer kept a firm hand on the canoe, holding it against the pull of the tide. “With my cowboy expertise, I'm a natural for duck wrangling.”

Honey jutted her jaw. “You're a natural to ensure a Coastie duck wins the race, you mean.”

Sawyer pretended to wince. “Don't you trust me?”

Ankle-deep in the surf, she planted her hands on her hips. “I wouldn't trust you as far as I could throw you.”

He placed a hand over his heart. “I'm crushed.”

“No way I'm letting you have an advantage over the Duer Ducks. Where you go, I go.”

“Better be careful what you say, Beatrice.” He cocked his head. “That sounds kind of matrimonial to me.”

She mumbled something under her breath he figured wasn't complimentary.

He swept his arm across the expanse of the canoe. “If you're determined to be my conscience, then be my guest. This puddle pirate never refuses an extra pair of strong arms to row.”

Tossing her hair over her shoulder, she stepped into the canoe. He steadied the wobbling boat, making sure she stayed dry while finding her seat. Shoving the watercraft farther off the bank, in one smooth motion he leaped aboard taking the seat behind her.

She glanced over her shoulder and balanced the paddle across her knees. “Ready?”

His mouth curved. “A Coastie is always—”

“Save it, Kole.”

Honey dipped the end of the paddle and propelled the canoe forward, through the harbor toward the tidal estuary. And he, with a few periodic dips of his paddle, kept the canoe floating within the zone he'd been assigned, which happened to be nearest to shore.

From the wharf, the mayor shouted through the bullhorn. “On your mark. Get ready. Get set...”

He and Honey hunched in anticipation.

“Go...” yelled the mayor.

The tugboat's horn bellowed across the harbor, signaling the ROMEOs. Seth and his cohorts dumped the ducks into the channel. Hundreds of bright yellow plastic heads bobbed in the waves. From the shoreline, cheers and jeers arose.

“Duck number 409 takes an early lead,” the mayor cried.

Armed with walkie-talkies, the other herders kept the mayor and the crowds apprised of the ducks in contention. Equipped with purple pool noodles, the wranglers ensured the ducks didn't get stuck in the lines or in harbor debris.

“Come on, come on.” She bounced in the seat. “Go, Lucky 576, go. Go. Go.”

Sawyer held on to the sides of the canoe. “Sit still. Or you'll land the both of us in the drink.”

“Duck number 324 edges number 576,” the mayor announced. A roar erupted from the spectators.

Sawyer grinned. “That's a Coastie duck.”

Honey scowled.

Sawyer smacked his lips. “I'm thinking we'll start the evening with dancing—”

Honey grunted. “I'm thinking that's so not happening...”

“It's 576 and 324, beak and beak,” shouted the mayor.

The current brought the ducky horde within arm's reach of the canoe. Sawyer reached for one of the purple noodles he'd stashed on board.

She slatted her eyes. “What are you doing?”

He stroked the water with the noodle. “I'm making sure they don't get tangled in the floating seaweed.”

“Stop it, Kole.” She seized another noodle from between their feet. “You're making waves to ensure Coastie Duck beats Duer Duck.”

He sent a ripple of water toward the bobbing ducks. “Like the other wranglers farther out, I'm only making sure the ducks don't stall dead in the water before reaching the finish line.”

“You're cheating.” She half rose. The canoe tilted.

“I'm not.” He frowned and grabbed for the sides. “Sit down, Beatrice.”

“You don't get to tell me what to do, Kole.” She stood.

He lurched to his feet. “Sit—”

She smacked him in the chest with her noodle. Only his feet planted even with his hips kept him from toppling into the water.

“Beatrice,” he hissed. The canoe rocked. “Stop—”

“Prepare to suck seaweed, Coastie. This is so on...” Clutching the noodle, she lunged at him.

Sawyer blocked her jab. “You want it? You got it. Bring it, Duer.”

Honey thrust at him again. He parried again. “That the best you can do?”

She whacked the end of her noodle against his. The dull thud of noodle-on-noodle swordplay echoed across the marsh.

“Looks like hostilities have erupted on the sidelines, folks,” the mayor commented. Laughter broke out along the shore.

Honey charged at him. He shifted. The canoe tipped. Her arms windmilled. She cried out. He threw himself in her direction to counterbalance.

But too late. The canoe capsized, dumping them both over the side. They landed with a whale of a splash in the waist-deep water. The surge sent the ducks scurrying toward the finish line.

“Number 698 wins!” the mayor shouted.

Sawyer and Honey groaned. Not a Coastie Duck. From the look of her face, he guessed not a Duer Duck, either.

Knees bent, butt in the water, her mouth trembled. Those immaculate white linen trousers of hers weren't so immaculate now. He sighed. How did they keep ending up in this situation? Humiliating each other in front of the whole town.

Swiping a hand over his face, he found his footing. He waited for Honey but knew better than to offer his hand this time. Water dripped from the pearls at her ears and throat. She staggered upright.

Her expression haughty—as haughty as she could be with her hair plastered to her head and water running in rivulets down her ruined clothing—she sloshed toward the bank. After retrieving the canoe, paddles and noodles, he towed the canoe in her wake.

And his gut sank further when he spotted Seth Duer and Braeden Scott waiting for them. Both men's arms crossed, eyes flaming and brows lowered. He plodded toward his doom.

In hindsight, maybe this wasn't the sort of creative wooing Braeden had envisioned. Sawyer had gotten Honey's attention all right. But he reckoned in the long run no attention might prove superior to the wrong kind of attention. Especially when it involved the wrath of Honey's father and brother-in-law.

Chapter Seven

“Y
ou either get that girl of your'n under control or...”

Honey's father jerked his chin at his fellow ROMEOs. “Or what?”

The grizzled watermen and retired Coastie auxiliaries lowered their gazes.

Honey darted an angry glance at Sawyer's retreating back. Conveniently for him, he and Braeden had been called to the station with an update on Hurricane Zelda.

Leaving her in the lurch—once again—to face the wrath of the Kiptohanock citizens. How did she get herself into these embarrassing situations with Sawyer?

“Thanks to her,” a crusty boat captain jabbed his gnarled thumb in Honey's direction. “First time in the history of the Decoy Festival, a come-here has won the rubber duck race.”

She hung her head. A come-here vacationing at one of the resorts near Cape Charles had won. The title lost for Kiptohanock residents till next year. The Duer family's winning streak broken. Surrounded by irate Kiptohanockians, she shifted on the weathered gray planks of the dock.

“That Coastie boy was simply defending himself, the way I see it,” Dixie at the diner threw in for good measure.

Honey glared at her former—emphasis on the former—waitress friend.

If it wasn't for the Long Johns, Honey vowed, she'd get the Corner Bakery in Onancock to supply the lodge's pastries from here on out. She sighed. Those Long Johns had been the start of the trouble with her and Sawyer.

Why, oh why, every time she saw him did she feel an overwhelming urge to whack him? It was either that or... She swallowed.

Her father ground his teeth. “I'm well aware who's to blame for this latest fiasco.” He cleared his gravelly throat. “And I promise you, it will be dealt with.”

“Talk about cowboy Coasties?” He snagged hold of her sleeve. “Somebody's been needing to knock you off your proverbial high horse of haughty for a while now.” He tugged her toward his waiting Silverado.

“After the way that Coastie acted—”

“The boy was doing the best he knew how at the time to protect you from himself.”

She stopped in her tracks. “What does that mean?”

“Why don't you ask him?” Her father propelled her toward the parking lot. “Though first, I suggest you have a soul-searching chat with your Creator.”

Their antics had resulted in disqualifying the Coastie and Duer ducks for behavior unbecoming to waterfowl.

“And you will personally apologize to every member of the Coast Guard station once this weather crisis is over. Then—”

“Isn't that enough?”

Her father flung open the passenger door. “Since Sawyer's personal duck bested yours by a beak, you will honor your commitment to supply pastries to the station house and...”

She threw herself into the suede-upholstered seat.

“And fulfill the terms of your agreement with Sawyer.”

Her eyes widened. “You want me to go out with that guy?”

Slamming the door closed, her father glowered through the open window. “I warned you, Honey. If you'd just talk to him, let him explain—”

“Nothing to explain except he's a...a...” Her lips twisted. “Mom taught me not to say words that adequately describe Sawyer Kole.”

Seth Duer stalked around to the driver's side. “Your mother would be ashamed—as am I—at the way you're behaving. You're not the only one who's suffered pain. Ever ask the boy about where he grew up? And with whom?”

Honey pivoted in the seat. “What're you talking about? If you're trying to justify his past behavior with some sob story about—”

“Storm's a-coming. I've got a boat to dry-dock.” Seth cranked the engine. “And you've got a wedding to orchestrate tomorrow. But after that, baby girl, you've got a date with destiny. A destiny by the name of Sawyer Kole. And one way or the other—easy way or the hard way, take your pick—you're going to settle this thing that's been tearing you apart for over three years.”

Honey pursed her lips. “I have no idea what you're talking about. I've barely thought of him in three years.”

Seth thrust the gearshift into drive. “Whatever you say, baby girl. But talk to him you will. If nothing else,” he headed out of Kiptohanock toward Seaside Road. “You can thank him for his service.”

He laughed. The sound without mirth. “Sounds like a long, awkward night to me. But your choice, baby girl. Your choice. You want to stop being treated like a baby? Then grow up, darlin'. Time to grow up.”

* * *

“Think the seawall will hold, Chief?”

Wednesday morning, Sawyer took a gander out the station window as concerned Kiptohanock citizens made emergency preparations for the incoming storm.

Lining the seawall assembly-style, the ROMEOs filled sandbags against the storm surge, which would accompany the Category 4 storm barreling up the eastern seaboard.

Braeden took a sip from his coffee mug. “Floyd, Irene, Superstorm Sandy. The Eastern Shore is used to hurricanes and what's usually worse, the flooding. Our problem will be convincing residents to evacuate to higher ground if landfall becomes imminent. They're so used to riding out these storms, their bravery can be misplaced in the event of a worst case scenario.”

Hammering filled the air as business owners boarded over windows. The Sandpiper waitresses and owner busied themselves tying down the awning and anything with the potential to become a storm-propelled missile during the high winds sure to come. Reverend Parks staked chicken wire around the church to prevent debris from battering Kiptohanock's small sanctuary.

Dragging his eyes from the white steeple, Sawyer angled, a smile twitching his lips. “So you're saying they'll be stubborn.”

Braeden shrugged. “Not a news flash, I know.”

“I also want to apologize again about what happened last weekend at the duck race, Chief.”

Braeden sighed. “For the record, I'm aware Honey instigated the noodle war. My sister-in-law is nothing if not stubborn. We'll have our work cut out for us convincing the rest of them to leave, too. And then as soon as the winds die down, rescuing the ones who took the chance and lost.”

Sawyer scrutinized the plans littering Braeden's desk. “We've done everything we can to prepare before the storm hits. The crew's on alert. We've trained for this. They won't let you down, Chief.”

Hurricane Zelda had blazed a path of destruction across the Pamlico Sound of North Carolina before zeroing in on coastal Virginia. Norfolk was prepared for a direct hit, but a cold front nudged Zelda farther east in a direct line toward the Delmarva.

“We'll coordinate our efforts as always with state and local responders. Our mission will be two-fold.”

Sawyer nodded. “Protecting people from the sea.”

“People come first, but also minimizing the damage to the sea, either manmade or from a force of nature. Environmental concerns always accompany these natural disasters.”

“You're thinking about the Katrina rescues, Chief?”

Braeden's lips thinned. “Wasn't old enough to be a guardsman then.” He passed a hand over his face as if to scrub away tragic images. “But the Guard was instrumental in saving over thirty-thousand. Possibly our finest hour.”

“Finest...” Sawyer grinned. “Yet.”

Braeden's mouth quirked. “I'm praying our station never faces anything of that magnitude here in Kiptohanock. And praying the storm downgrades.”

“I'll be praying, too.” Sawyer cast his eyes skyward to the steeple. “Praying for all of us to survive this current fury.”

Watchstander Reaves poked her head inside Braeden's office. “Your wife's on the phone, Senior Chief.”

“Thanks.” Braeden grabbed the phone and punched On. “Amelia—” He frowned. “What's wrong?”

Sawyer moved forward at the strange note in his voice.

“You're sure?” Braeden's hand white-knuckled the receiver. “They've closed the Bay Bridge Tunnel to traffic due to wind gusts. The hospital here—” A moan echoed.

Braeden's eyes enlarged. “Amelia? Are you all right? Where's your dad?”

Sawyer's heart ratcheted.

“I—I can't leave.” Braeden closed his eyes. “All hands are on duty for the duration.” A muscle ticked in his jaw.

Sawyer clenched his hands at his sides. Baby Scott couldn't be making his or her entrance at the opening salvo of the worst hurricane to hit the Shore in a generation.

“I'm glad your dad is with you. He'll take you to Riverside. Call me when you get there. Keep me updated.” Braeden moistened his lips. “I want to know everything. I wish I could be there...”

Braeden heaved a breath. “I know you understand, but I still wish...” His eyes cut to Sawyer.

Sawyer stepped away into the outer office to give him privacy, but Braeden beckoned for Sawyer to remain.

“I love you, Shore Girl. I'll be praying.” Braeden clamped his lips together. “I know you'll be praying for us, too. Bye for now.” His hand shook as he replaced the phone into the receiver.

Sawyer's stomach knotted. “Chief?”

But as the chief's training kicked in, Sawyer watched the panic recede from Braeden's eyes and calm leadership take its place.

“She's gone into labor. Full moon tonight, you know.” Braeden squared his jaw. “Will make the storm surge worse, too.”

“But Amelia's okay?”

“She's in pain and scared. It's too early. Two months too early. The baby...” With studied deliberation, Braeden stacked the scattered papers into a neat pile. “Seth's taking her to Riverside. Can't get to the specialist in Norfolk now. Seth doesn't think they'll make it in time up Highway 13 to Salisbury, either, not with the evacuation traffic.”

“You should be there, Chief.”

Braeden's mouth tightened. “I have a duty to this station and to Kiptohanock.”

If it were Honey—Sawyer gritted his teeth. Honey hated him. Rightly so after he'd made the worst decision of his life and walked away from her.

She'd never carry Sawyer's baby. There'd never be a child. And he only had himself to blame.

“I'm here for you, Chief. I'll man the station. You go—”

Braeden swept his hand across the desk and sent the papers flying. “I'm needed here and you know it.”

“What I know is that you're needed at Riverside. With your wife and your baby.”

“Amelia understands. We went through the same separation during a typhoon while stationed in Hawaii. And of course, Max decided in the middle of my deployment to require a tonsillectomy.” He gave Sawyer a crooked grin.

“Of course, he did, Chief. Sounds exactly like something Max would do.”

Braeden laughed. More of a bark really. But a laugh nonetheless.

“And God took care of him just fine, I bet. Amelia Duer Scott is a good Coastie wife. God will take care of her and Baby Scott, too.”

“She is a good Coastie wife.” Some of the tension eased from Braeden's shoulders. “She puts up with me, doesn't she?”

“Affirmative, Chief.” Sawyer gave Braeden a look to let him know he was kidding.

“Right.” Braeden regathered the papers. “Back to the hurricane.”

Sawyer bent and scooped a few pages, which had fluttered to the floor. “And Honey? She went with them?”

Braeden took the papers from him. “Battening the Duer hatches. Seth told her to evacuate with Max to higher ground. Most of Kiptohanock is relocating to Nandua Middle School. The portmaster has declared Condition Yankee and closed all ports from North Carolina to Maryland. It's going to be a long day.”

And it was. With advance winds approaching sixty miles per hour, the station stayed busy rescuing watermen and families who'd not heeded the evacuation directions of the emergency management team.

Between distress calls, Reaves monitored NOAA's weather updates. Sheets of rain fell from the pewter sky over Kiptohanock. Churning waves had obliterated the barrier islands from view.

The tide ran ankle deep along Kiptohanock's main street. Everyone with any sense had holed up on higher ground at the evacuation center. Better fled than dead, Sawyer reckoned.

He pointed to the computer monitor. “High tide looks to coincide with landfall.”

Braeden blew out a breath. “Flood stage will reach seven to eight feet at Kiptohanock. Higher in more low-lying areas.”

Sawyer grimaced. “Like the Duer Lodge.”

The phone rang.

Braeden poured himself his tenth cup of coffee. “Honey's going to be devastated.”

“Chief?” Reaves cradled the station phone in her hand. “It's your father-in-law at the hospital.”

Braeden shoved the mug at Sawyer and grabbed the phone. “Seth?”

Sawyer, Reaves and the other station crew not currently deployed on search and rescue held their collective breath.

Braeden nodded as if Seth Duer could see him through the phone. “Tell her to hang on. I'll be there as soon as this storm blows over and the situation is stabilized.” He clicked off.

“Chief?” Sawyer, as second in command, spoke for them all.

Braeden gave them the first smile he'd sported since the station went on alert and Amelia went into labor. “They stopped the contractions for now. Mother and baby are doing okay. Tough as a sea barnacle, that girl.”

Sawyer slapped Braeden on the back. “Baby Scott, too. What else would you expect with such a tough Alaskan and Eastern Shore gene pool, huh?”

Radio static from Sector Hampton Roads drew Reaves. Responding, she raised her eyebrows. “We got another one, Chief. Woman and baby near Oyster trapped by rising water. Climbed out the window onto the roof. Her trailer's almost submerged. No time to call the Jayhawks, even if the helos from Elizabeth City could get into the air.”

Sawyer started toward his locker to retrieve his storm gear. “I'll suit up, Chief.”

“No,” Braeden straightened. “You've been out on the last two calls with no break in between. I'll command the next SAR. Amelia's as situated as she's likely to get. It'll be good to burn off some excess energy and make sure nothing happens to somebody else's baby.”