by Lisa Carter
She winced. “Don’t say that, Weston.”
He berated himself for again saying the wrong thing. Pushing her. “Don’t shut us out, Caroline. Don’t shut me out or yourself from the possibilities of what-if.”
“There’s plenty of obstacles still ahead for the marine center. Including the Watermen’s Association endorsement.” She grimaced. “Which means Seth Duer.”
“You don’t have to do this alone, Caroline. Reverend Parks is a powerful ally in the community.” Time to dial it back a notch. “Not to mention yours truly.”
He pretended to shine his knuckle on his shirt. “Not that I like to brag.”
She shook her head. “Brag? You?”
“You and I make a convincing team…”
She snagged the pink booties. “I like these. My treat. They’ll go so well with the dress you picked out for Izzie to give.”
He groaned. “I’ve unleashed a shopping monster.”
“That’s why you should be careful what you wish for.” She headed toward the front of the store. “And for the record, turtle eggs are all I’m qualified to mother.”
Izzie’s heart wouldn’t agree. And frankly, neither did his. But with the clock ticking on the summer pilot program, he only had six weeks give or take to convince the turtle lady otherwise.
Chapter Nine
“Turtle watch tool kit? Check.”
Caroline hefted the repurposed fishing tackle box filled with syringes, latex gloves, needles, tags and applicators. “Turtle-monitoring data sheets?”
Izzie held the clipboard aloft. “Check.”
“GPS to record nesting locations?”
Max brandished the handheld device. “Check, Turtle Lady.”
She bit back a smile. “Cooler with crushed ice to chill blood samples?”
Amelia raised her hand. “That would be me.”
“Stakes, flags, measuring tape and spade?”
Her father shook the duffel bag clenched in his hand. “All here,” Seth growled. “Is this really necessary?”
Some of Caroline’s enthusiasm waned. Honey and Amelia had maneuvered him into participating in the turtle walk. She’d divided the seaside beaches among the grad students. Her team would patrol the barrier island beach across the tidal marsh from the Duer Lodge.
And under the students’ leadership, the gratifyingly large numbers of Kiptohanock volunteers—thanks to Reverend Parks—would cover the beaches June through Labor Day on a rotating basis to mark nesting locations.
Caroline reminded herself she should be thankful her dad was here at all. But the night was young. Plenty of time for him to get on her last nerve and vice versa.
She returned to the checklist. “Laundry bag?”
Honey laughed. “As always, that would be me.”
She was the main reason their father had finally agreed to come. With Sawyer working on last-minute camp details and Braeden on Patrick duty, Seth was strong-armed into watching over Honey.
Caroline was used to Honey working her wiles on their father. It amused her to no end, however, that although he’d at first refused Amelia’s and Honey’s attempts, he’d been unable to say no to Sawyer’s quiet request. Seth Duer had a real soft spot for Honey’s ex-Coastie.
“Don’t forget about me.” Weston’s voice rang out over the crashing surf.
As if she could.
“What exactly did you bring to the party, Commander Clark?”
His teeth flashed even and white in the darkness of the night. Caroline knew she amused him every time she called him commander.
“I brought the essentials of life, Dr. Duer.”
“Which are?”
“Coffee.” He removed the black backpack from his shoulder. “Energy bars and water in case sometime between midnight and 1:00 a.m. we need a snack break.” He grinned at her again.
“Good thinking, Commander Clark.”
Honey had the nerve to giggle.
Caroline ignored her sister. “Turtle watch party present and accounted for. Remember, no cell phones or other kinds of lighting. Turtles get easily confused and could head inland by mistake or right back out to sea instead of laying their eggs on the beach.”
She surveyed her motley crew of family members and friends. This, she hoped, would be the first of many summers to come for newly inaugurated Kiptohanock turtle patrols. The success of the future rescue center depended on a community taking ownership. And nothing bred ownership better than an up-close and personal encounter with one of the majestic creatures.
The circle of life for real. And that especially applied to her curmudgeon father, whose endorsement she’d need with the all-important Watermen’s Association meeting next week.
“Everyone can now switch on your red headlamp.” Caroline demonstrated. There was a flurry of clicks and a pinkish red glow spotlighted the sand.
“Some nights we can expect three to four nesting females. Other nights?” She shrugged. “Nothing.”
Her father scraped at his beard stubble. “Sounds like a long night to me. For nothing.”
She prayed for patience. Reminded herself self-control was a fruit of the Spirit. And ignored him.
Caroline led the way across the beach. “Keep your eyes peeled for turtle tracks.” She paused now and then to give tidbits of information.
“Sea turtles spend ninety-nine percent of their lives in the ocean. Female turtles only come ashore to lay eggs. The males never come ashore. Scientists know little of the behavior of male turtles.”
“Could be said of humans, too.” Her dad plodded through the sand. “Except we’d be talkin’ the female of our species.”
Under her breath, Caroline counted to ten. Ignore him.
She faced forward. “Only one egg in a thousand will produce an adult turtle. Gender is determined by temperature. Warmer waters produce females. Cooler temps result in males.”
Weston attached himself to her elbow, matching her stride for stride. “So you’re saying in Turtle World, it’s basically hot chicks and cool dudes.”
Max snickered.
She only just stopped herself from laughing. “That’s certainly one way to look at it, Commander Clark.”
He leaned close, for her ears only. “You’re not fooling anyone with the Commander business.”
She pursed her lips. “Sea turtles face two primary obstacles. First, coastal erosion with the loss of beachfront as sea levels rise and—”
Caroline rocked to a standstill. The group halted behind her. There, two hundred feet ahead in the sand. “Stay here,” she whispered over her shoulder. “I see something. Let me check it out first.”
Holding her breath, she crept up behind a dark shape. Thank You, God. She’d never have lived it down with her grizzly bear father if she’d wasted his time and his sleep. She hurried back to the waiting group.
Izzie bounced in her flip-flops on the sand. “Is it another turtle mama?”
“A leatherback. We’ll move in for a closer look. But go quietly.” Caroline touched her index finger to her lips. “We must speak softly so we don’t interrupt the female’s work.”
Excitement bubbled inside Caroline. A perfect night. No wind and only the sound of the breaking waves. She gazed around at the expectant faces. Izzie and Max were about to explode from anticipation. Even her dad forgot to paint his features with indifference at the prospect of the egg laying.
Finally, she’d get to share what she loved the most with those she loved the most. She glanced at Weston. With the hard lines of his chest outlined in the untucked polo shirt, his rolled up jeans and bare feet, he seemed as attuned to Shore life as any local.
And yet there was so much more to Weston Clark than met the eye. Fluttery pleasure brushed her heart like the feathery wings of a dragonfly at the prospect of sharing this experience with him.
*
Weston loved seeing Caroline in her turtle lady element. The cool, detached veterinarian replaced by this extremely knowledgeable beach girl scienti
st. He’d seen her in action speaking to community groups in her classy business attire and in her lab coat and surgical scrubs at the marine hospital. But beautiful as she was, nothing, in his opinion, compared to Caroline in her well-worn jeans, Save the Earth One Turtle at a Time T-shirt and flip-flops.
He glanced at his daughter. Izzie wasn’t the only one who’d caught hold of Caroline’s excitement. The turtle lady’s joy was contagious.
Loud sighs emanated from the massive sea turtle. Using her front and rear flippers, the turtle made the sand fly as she excavated a nesting pit.
Caroline had fallen to her knees in the sand beside the leatherback. Weston and the others clustered around the turtle he estimated to weigh close to eight hundred pounds. Donning latex gloves, Caroline crawled around on her hands and knees doing a cursory examination.
“So this is what a turtle lady does?” Seth’s gruff voice had lost some of its sharpness.
Enlisting Amelia and Weston’s help with measuring the turtle, Caroline gazed at her father on the other side of the turtle’s carapace. “I spend my nights coated in sand.”
She blew out a breath and dislodged the swarm of beach gnats worrying her eyes and nose. “Glamorous, isn’t it?”
Her father harrumphed, a sound somewhere between agreement and admiration.
“Is it okay to bother the turtle mama?” Izzie whispered in reverent awe.
Caroline smiled. “It’s fine. Turtles go into a type of trance while laying eggs.”
With gauze she’d swabbed in antiseptic, she prepped the turtle’s left flipper for blood collection. “We don’t know for sure, but we believe leatherbacks can live up to sixty years.” Caroline injected something the size of a grain of rice encapsulated in glass into the turtle’s right shoulder muscle. “These are PIT tags.”
At Weston’s upraised brow, Caroline translated. “Passive Integrated Transponder tags.” She ran a handheld scanner over the location of the tag. “We receive a low-energy radio signal by which we track and map their migratory habits, adding to our field of knowledge.”
Seth shuffled his boots in the sand. “Caroline?”
A pulse throbbed at the base of her long, slim neck. “Yes, Dad?”
“I think you ought to know this location on the beach will be well below the high tide line come July.”
She stared at him. “Thank you, Dad. That’s very helpful to know. We’ll need to relocate the nest once the turtle mama is done.” She smiled. “You may have saved a hundred eggs from washing out to sea.”
Her father pursed his lips and ran his gaze over the foaming waves behind them. “No problem.” A smile wobbled beneath his bristly mustache. “You’re welcome.”
For a split second, Caroline cut her eyes to Weston. Then she turned her attention to her sea creature patient. And Weston wanted to cheer for the tentative beginning she’d made with her dad.
Caroline lifted one of the rear flippers so everyone could peer inside the nest cavity. “I’ll need that laundry bag now, Honey.”
She and Honey tucked the cloth bag into the nest hole just as two billiard-ball-sized eggs plopped inside. Honey’s eyes, like the way he imagined his own, were wide.
“This will give you a whole new perspective on your own future childbirth experience, eh, little sister?” Amelia teased.
“Max,” Caroline instructed. “You and Izzie are in charge of keeping count on the data sheet.”
Over the next hour, soft plunks and plops accompanied the turtle’s labored breathing in the egg-laying process. When smaller misshapen eggs emerged, Caroline explained they were yolkless eggs. “False eggs, which indicate the laying is coming to an end.”
The turtle suddenly shifted, using its front flippers to pivot.
Gathering the laundry bag, Caroline fell back onto her haunches. “She’s covering.” She peeled off her gloves.
“Final count.” Max’s eyes gleamed. “One hundred and thirty-two eggs.” He clicked the pen against the clipboard. “Sixty yolks and seventy-two…” He looked at Caroline.
“Seventy-two fertile eggs.” She ruffled her nephew’s carrot-topped hair. “Great job, Max.”
The turtle spent an additional forty-five minutes throwing, pushing and packing down the sand on top of the cavity to camouflage the nest. Weston reckoned the nest would be hard to spot once the tide washed away the tirelike tread of the turtle mama on her return to the ocean.
“Seems a shame, doesn’t it?” Seth rubbed his jaw. “For the turtle mama to work so hard when her eggs aren’t there anymore.”
Izzie crouched nearby. “Why is the turtle mama crying, Caroline?”
“They’re not tears. It’s mucus, Ladybug.”
Max’s head snapped up. “I read in a book that some people believe the turtle is crying. Crying because she won’t ever see her babies again.”
Izzie gasped.
Caroline dropped to the ground beside Weston’s daughter. Sitting cross-legged in the sand, she pulled Izzie into her lap. “Turtle mamas can’t survive in this environment for sixty days, Ladybug. They have to leave.”
“They don’t want to leave?” Izzie wrapped her arms around Caroline’s waist. “But they have to, right?”
Max huddled into Amelia. “My first mother died…”
Seth placed his arm around Honey’s shoulder. “Mamas never want to leave their babies, kids.” Sadness passed across his face. “Took me almost a lifetime to understand it’s not because of anything we did.” His eyes bored into Caroline’s. “Whether we’re talking cancer or something else.”
A look passed between Caroline and her father.
Weston sank down beside Izzie. “The turtle mamas have to be where God meant for them to be, Monkey Girl—in the water.”
Caroline let go as Izzie crawled into his lap. They watched silently as the turtle mother, having spun completely round, plodded to the sea. The waves crested over the turtle mama’s shell. And then she was gone.
Izzie sniffed back a sob and buried her face in his neck.
Caroline scrambled to her feet. “One other thing I forgot to mention, Izz. Mother turtles pass a genetic signature to their turtle daughters. And those daughters will return year after year as egg-bearing adults to the same beach where they were born. Isn’t that wonderful?”
Izzie lifted her head. “I—I guess so. So the turtle daughters always come home. Kinda like a turtle family beach reunion?”
Caroline’s gaze slanted toward her father. “Exactly…”
“Eventually…” Seth agreed. But he smiled at his daughter.
And Weston’s heart nearly exploded at the look that transformed Caroline’s face.
Fighting the moisture dotting her eyes, Caroline hauled the egg sack to higher ground. “This high enough, Dad?”
Seth cleared his throat. “Reckon that might do.”
“A stake will mark the spot.” Her mouth curved. “Now who’s ready to dig?”
Chapter Ten
“Car-o-line…?”
She clutched the cell phone to her ear. “Izzie, what’s wrong?”
“Daddy burned the c-cookies…” Sobbing hard, Izzie hiccuped.
“I’m sure it was an accident. He didn’t mean—”
“You don’t understand,” Izzie wailed. “Now I don’t have anything to bring. Church ladies are s-supposed to bring something to the baby shower.”
A fresh round of sobbing. “I’m a church lady, too.” Further crying commenced.
“Izzie?” No response. “Isabelle.” Caroline used her sternest professorial voice. “Let me talk to your daddy.”
More hiccuping. “H-he can’t come to the phone right now. He’s running up and down the stairs in the lighthouse.”
“Why in the world is he doing that?”
“Because he’s mad at himself, he said.” Izzie hiccuped. “And so he won’t cuss.”
Caroline held the phone away from her mouth so she could laugh.
“Izz—?” She regained control of herself.
“You listen to me. You tell your daddy to bring you to the cabin. We’ll whip up something before the party starts. How’s that?”
The waterworks ceased as abruptly as the wind in the eerie calm in the eye of a hurricane.
“Really?” Izzie’s voice quivered.
“You’d be doing me a favor. I’d completely forgotten about bringing hors d’oeuvres to the baby shower.”
“We don’t have to bring those oar-things. Just food.”
Caroline smiled into the receiver. “Good to know, Ladybug. You’ve saved me from a Southern faux pas.”
Izzie sighed. “I don’t know exactly what that is, but I think Daddy made me try it once, and I didn’t like it.”
Tears of merriment rolled down Caroline’s cheeks in her effort to preserve Izzie’s dignity.
“I think you’re absolutely right, Ladybug. No faux pas for us. But I have a great recipe we can make together. I’ll text your dad the ingredients if you guys can stop at the grocery store on the way.”
“Roger that, Caroline.”
Caroline imagined the redheaded little girl saluting her in the smoky haze of the cottage kitchen. “See you soon.”
“Thanks, Turtle Lady.”
As Izzie clicked off, Caroline laid her forehead on the countertop, free to give in to her mirth.
Thirty minutes later at the sound of knocking, she opened the cabin door to father and daughter on the porch. Izzie waved. A grocery bag in each hand, Weston just looked sheepish. And endearing.
Caroline ushered them inside. Izzie—being Izzie—strode toward the kitchen like she owned the place.
“Is that a new cologne you’re sporting, Weston?” Caroline sniffed the fabric of his shirt as he lumbered past. “I’ve got to say it’s certainly a new scent for you.”
She cocked her head and tapped her finger on her chin. “Smoky with hints of spice and overtones of…” She made a show of enlarging her pupils. “Oatmeal?”
“Ha-ha.” But a smile played at the edges of his lips.
“Recipe gone wrong? Don’t worry. It could happen to anyone.” She stopped in her tracks for dramatic effect. “Oh, wait. This only seems to happen to you, doesn’t it, Commander Clark?”
