by Miles, Cindy
“Jesus Lord, it’s muggy out here!” Emily said, locking the door and jogging down the steps. “Ready?”
“Yep,” Reagan said, and in moments they were making their way through Cassabaw’s small community, heading to the Windchimer Café.
“I’m so happy you’re with me this morning,” Em said beside her. “The day is beautiful. Not a single cloud in the sky,” she continued.
“Feels like it,” Reagan said with a grin. “I think I lost five pounds since we left the house.”
Emily’s tinkling laugh rang out, and before long the Jeep turned and then parked. Before Reagan could get out and close the door, her sister was there.
“Come on!” she said excitedly. “I can’t wait for you to meet the guys.”
When Emily slipped her arm through hers, Reagan paused. “Sis, no offense,” she said. “But I kind of want to get around on my own.”
“Oh, honey, I’m sorry,” Em said hastily. “I know you can. I just want to hug you all the time!” She turned Reagan’s arm loose and indeed gave her a quick hug.
Reagan laughed. “I know, I know,” she answered. “Thanks. It makes me feel less dependent. You know?”
“We’ll head around front to the veranda,” Em said, just ahead of her.
Vintage music poured from the café, accompanied by the multiple tinklings of the chimes hanging from the open veranda’s ceiling. The scent of fresh bread, pastries, bacon and ham permeated the sea-salty air, and Reagan’s stomach growled.
Which was drowned out by a group of grizzled voices all calling out at once.
“I’ve died and gone to heaven,” one rumbled with enthusiasm.
“My heart! My heart!” another one said dramatically.
“Now, if this isn’t the prettiest picture I’ve ever seen I don’t know what is,” another said.
“Come here, you two gals!” a fourth called out. “Good to see you both!”
Using her stick, Reagan made her way behind Emily, up the steps to the veranda and to the corner where four dark figures rose from their seats.
“How ya doin’, fellas?” Emily said. “Meet my gorgeous little sister, Reagan.”
“Hi,” Reagan offered.
“Sit right here,” one said. “You probably don’t remember me, but you used to help my wife, Frances, haul crabs up from the dock.”
Reagan grinned. “Barely, but I do remember. How’ve you been, Mr. Wimpy?”
One pulled a chair out for her, and she sat.
“I’ll be right back with coffee,” Emily announced, leaving her alone with the guys.
“So, lost your sight, eh?” the gruff one said. “That’s a tough one, sweetheart, but at least you got your looks. Ted Harden, US Navy, and a damned handsome devil if I do say so myself.”
“You like baseball, Reagan?” another asked. “Dub Harden, US Navy tail gunner. Nice to meet you, young lady.”
“He’s the baby of the group,” another added. “Sidney Harden, US Navy.”
Reagan smiled and nodded. “It’s an honor to meet you all. Yes, I lost my sight but can still see shadows and brightness. Love baseball. And, wow,” she remarked. “I feel like I’m sitting in a history museum. You’re all legends.”
Silence filled the air for a moment, and Reagan thought she’d offended the old group. Then they all burst out laughing.
“Did you hear that, Wimpy? It’s like we’re a bunch of old-ass fossils or something,” he said, laughing.
“No, honestly I didn’t mean it like that,” Reagan pleaded.
“Don’t let this table of riffraff get the best of you,” a new voice sounded. “Ted, you can get your eyeballs off her legs any second now.”
“Ho! Hey! Watch it, son.” Mr. Wimpy laughed. “Look at this good-lookin’ fella in a Coast Guard uniform.”
Eric Malone swept into the chair beside her. “It’s true, all of it,” he whispered in her ear.
“I’m old, not dead,” Ted grumbled. “Girl’s a dish! Ain’t no harm in checkin’ out the goods.”
They all laughed.
Emily arrived with the coffee, and the aroma steaming from the cup she set on the table rose to Reagan’s nostrils. Grasping it, she sipped it carefully, and the cream and sugar liquid was the perfect mixture. “Thanks.”
“Where’s that jarhead fiancé of yours?” Ted asked Emily.
“He’s meeting with a client today,” Emily replied. “He’s looking to restore a 1940 Ford pickup that belonged to his grandpa.”
“Good. Good to hear,” Ted answered. “Now, boy, don’t come bargin’ in on our little meeting here. Don’t you have a coast to guard?”
Again, all the old guys laughed.
They were quite the characters. Reagan could hardly believe they were all still alive. Emily had said Mr. Wimpy just turned ninety-seven on his birthday in June. He was the eldest of the brothers, followed by Ted, Sidney, then Dub. It was nothing short of amazing.
“Well,” Eric started beside her. “This is the coast, guys, and this pretty thing might need rescuing after spending any amount of time with you.”
The guys grumbled and complained, good-naturedly of course.
Eric leaned toward her. “I’ll pick you up here in a couple of hours,” he stated. “And before you open your mouth, remember your promise.”
Well, there went any plans to worm her way out of that one. She had in fact made a promise.
She’d just simply have to make sure she kept things completely friendly and platonic. Reality in perspective. And not become a rebound girl.
Eric told the group goodbye and went on his way, leaving Reagan and Emily with an aged group of World War II vets who had more stories than an encyclopedia. Emily made eggs Benedict for the whole table, with a side of crisp bacon and toast. The breeze off the Atlantic kept the chimes tinkling, the ebb and flow of the rising tide washed against the beach in a rhythmic tone, and the gulls cried as they skimmed overhead. Reagan relaxed and enjoyed her company, but soon they rose and said their goodbyes, and Em explained that they made their way to the boardwalk where a young guy picked them up in what Ted called “the Caddy”—an extra-seated golf cart—to take them back to the assisted living apartments. Only Wimpy and his wife, Frances, still lived in the same house they’d been living in since the war ended, and that was right beside the Quinns on the river.
Time passed quickly as Em and Reagan sat on the veranda, going over wedding plans and details. The whole while, though, Reagan couldn’t help but wonder just what Eric Malone had up his sleeves.
All too soon, she figured, she’d find out.
“God bless America,” Emily breathed with a hearty sigh. “That Eric Malone is too stinking cute in his uniform.” She giggled. “But he’s downright sexy in a pair of worn jeans and a black T-shirt.”
For once, Reagan thought that perhaps her handicap may be a help and not a hindrance. How strong would her resolve be if she could actually see him?
CHAPTER TEN
“LADIES,” ERIC SAID as he took the veranda steps two at a time.
Damn, Reagan Rose Quinn was pretty. Sitting there in a little pink-checkered dress and sandals, her hair pulled back, and wearing a classy pair of shades. He wondered if she had any idea how beautiful she was.
“Well, there’s my almost-brother,” Em said cheerfully. “Hey, you guys have fun doing...whatever. I’ve got to run.”
“Where?” Reagan asked.
She almost seemed a little nervous. Or maybe he was imagining it?
“I’m meeting my fiancé for a tryst, thank you very much,” Emily answered. “The details I shall forever keep secret.”
Love for his brother Matt shot out of every single pore Emily Quinn had, that was for sure. “Lucky guy, lucky guy,” he replied. “I’ll just steal your s
ister then.”
“Be my guest!” Emily exclaimed.
“Hello, I exist,” Reagan muttered.
Eric had to laugh. “Come on,” he said, and grasped her elbow.
“Ooh, I wouldn’t do that,” Em advised. “She likes to do it herself.”
Reagan shook her head and rose from her seat. “Bye, Em.”
Eric shrugged at Emily, who gave him a grin and turned to leave. “Bye, guys.”
Eric leaned closer, so that only Reagan could hear his words. “I know you can manage by yourself, Miss Independent,” he said in a low voice. “But I like having a reason to stand close and drag you along.”
Reagan then smiled, and allowed his help. “Wow. That is truly a chivalrous thing to say. Nice.”
“Thought you’d like that,” he countered. “As much as I love the Windchimer, let’s get out of here.”
Once they were on the boardwalk, Eric chanced another look at Reagan. He knew he had the full advantage of watching her without her knowing it, which was kind of a low thing to do, but he couldn’t help himself. Damn couldn’t.
He didn’t know much about women’s fashion by any means, but he was pretty sure most girls couldn’t just throw on a dress that was nothing more than a long sleeveless shirt and look that damn sexy. The material hugged her in all the right places, showing off a curvy figure, flat stomach and a pretty luscious—
“Stop staring at me, please,” she interrupted his perusal.
Busted. Well, he guessed he didn’t have as much of an advantage as he thought.
“Can’t help it, Reagan Rose. You are the prettiest girl on the beach this morning,” he said. “Well, except for this one.” He grinned and pulled them both to a stop. An elderly woman walked fast toward them, her skin browned from years in the sun. “Morning, Mrs. Weidlemeyer.”
“Mornin’, young Malone,” she answered. “Nice one, too! Who’s this?”
“It sure is,” he replied. “This is Reagan Quinn,” he replied. “Reagan, Mary Weidlemeyer. She’s been walking the Cassabaw beach ever since I can remember.”
“Hi,” Reagan answered.
“Hi, yourself,” Mrs. Weidlemeyer replied. “Darlin’, let me give you some advice. You got yourself a Malone? Hold on to him. Why, I wish I’d taken old Jep up on his offer to go to the drive-in all those years ago. Quite a dish, that one.” She gave a wave. “See you kids later.”
“A character,” Reagan commented.
“You don’t know the half of it,” Eric answered. “She calls the station once a month to rescue her cat, Colonel Johnson, from the attic.”
Reagan laughed. “The cat’s name is Colonel Johnson? And she calls the Coast Guard?”
“Step down to the parking lot,” he said. “Yep. Once a month, like clockwork. One of us runs over if we’re not busy. She lives in a cottage on the coast, just up the north side of the beach. Sure enough, there’ll be Colonel Johnson. In the attic. Asleep.”
Reagan laughed, and Eric opened his truck door for her to climb in. He ran around, hopped into the driver’s side and started the engine. He stopped and looked at her, watched her buckle her seat belt.
“You smell like flowers and coconut,” he commented. “Nice.”
Reagan laughed and shook her head. “Do you make it a habit to comment on everything you notice about people?”
He grinned. “Only the good stuff.”
She turned her face toward the window. “So, where are we going?”
“Another fun-filled day of lessons,” Eric replied, and pulled out of the parking lot. “Let’s just say we’ll be doing a lot of seeing with our hands. And—” he glanced at her and noticed how the sun fell on her face “—since I’ve got a certain amount of pull on the island, we get behind the scenes wherever we go.”
“Will there be enough room behind the scenes for you, me and your ego?”
Eric barked out a laugh. “Barely. But it’ll be worth it.”
“Hmm. One more thing,” Reagan said. “Do you have a job? I swear, you always seem to be off.”
Eric laughed. “I work shift work, darlin’. On twenty-four, off seventy-two. It’s golden, I tell ya. Absolutely golden.”
They talked as Eric made his way to the far end of the island, the part where tourists didn’t venture, and he could tell Reagan was beginning to feel more at ease around him. Passing through a narrow maritime stretch of woods, he reached their destination and parked beneath a large live oak tree that would shade the truck. He hopped out, ran around to Reagan’s side, and although she was already out of the truck, he still tucked her hand into the bend of his arm. She reached for her stick, but didn’t extend it. Instead, she just looped the one end around her wrist like she was carrying an umbrella.
“So are you going to tell me now?” she insisted.
“We are at the maritime coastal station for rescued sea life,” Eric announced as they walked. “It’s a privately funded rescue organization for wounded or sick creatures of the sea, brought in by boaters, fishermen, sometimes the Coast Guard. It’s open to the public on Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays, so today we have it all to ourselves. And the staff, of course.” He leaned close. “You’re gonna love it.”
* * *
REAGAN HAD TO ADMIT, Eric got an A for originality. And for charm. And for trying to make her realize there was so much more to life than vision.
Cooler air whooshed out of the door as Eric opened it, washing over warm skin. It also stirred around Eric, and she leaned closer and took a noticeable whiff.
“You smell like ice and pine cones,” she whispered.
He chuckled. “I didn’t know ice had a scent.”
“I see you’re pulling your Coast Guard status weight around again, Malone,” a raspy, older voice said.
“Anytime I can,” Eric agreed without shame. “Greg, this is Reagan Quinn, and we are here to see with our hands,” Eric announced bluntly. “Reagan, this is Greg James, the old sea dog who runs the place.”
A big, gruff hand grasped Reagan’s and gave it a firm shake. “Don’t let him talk you into petting the shark. No good ever come of that.”
Reagan felt the color drain a little from her face. “I’ll remember that.”
“He’s kidding,” Eric said. “Let’s go.”
Over the next hour and a half, they moved from tank to tank, and Eric described everything to Reagan in full detail. Even the little things, like a sign that might be hanging on the tank with the animal’s adopted name on it, or whether the creature was a male or female.
At one point, Eric stopped and they knelt at a small, low-lying pool. “Okay, don’t freak out,” he said. “I promise, you won’t be in any danger. Just lower your hand down into the water and wait.”
With a deep breath and a heavy exhale, Reagan did as he asked. The cool water lapped at her fingertips, then her palm, her wrist, and her heart raced in anticipation. “Eric, this better not be a shark tank.”
He chuckled, and it was warm, lighthearted. “It’s not, I swear. I’ve got my hand in, too, see?” And his fingers brushed hers. “Okay, get ready.”
Reagan held her breath, staring, peering at the large dark area she knew to be a pool of water. It was dark gray to her, and that’s all she could see. Her heart pounded in her chest.
Just then, something smooth, wet and firm brushed her hand, and she let her fingertips drag over it, and then it felt flat, and it fluttered. Then again. And again.
“Give up?” Eric said, their shoulders touching as they bent forward, their hands in the pool.
“Yes,” she said.
“Stingrays,” he answered. “Pretty cool, huh?”
“They are,” Reagan agreed, and another swam close, and she could then determine with her fingertips the wings as they fluttered, or the body as it was firm
, thicker.
“You should see your face,” Eric said, his voice soft, as though only wanting her to hear. “Like a kid on Christmas morning.”
She felt that way, too. “It’s...amazing.” She turned her face to his, hoping she didn’t look like some crazy-eyed person trying to focus on him. “Thank you.”
“But we’re not done yet,” he answered.
“Thank you anyway,” Reagan said.
“You’re welcome,” Eric replied.
They went on to every single station the rescue aquarium had to offer, and Eric insisted she touch everything. Sand dollars. Starfish, with their bony little bodies; shells; and then on to the loggerhead sea turtles, and as Reagan’s fingertips softly caressed one’s shell, she was again amazed.
Then the porpoise tanks, where they had two injured.
Eric took her by the hand and led her up the steps of the tank. “This is Carla, and she is a baby that was found with an injured flipper.” He sighed. “She was found swimming around her mother, who was nearly dead from a boat motor hit.” His hand went to the small of her back. “Lean just a little over the tank. She’s quite friendly.”
“Hi, Carla,” Reagan said, even though she didn’t think the little mammal could hear her. But the water splashed, and from the sounds of chirping, she could tell Carla had swum over for a visit. “Can I?”
“Go ahead,” Eric encouraged.
Reagan lowered her hand gently, and a smooth, rubbery nose pushed its way into her palm. Reagan had to keep from squealing. “Hey, Carla,” she crooned. “Hey, sweetie.” She couldn’t stop smiling, so thrilled she was to be in the company of such a unique creature.
Well, two unique creatures.
“Will she be okay?” Reagan asked. “Her flipper is healing?”
“It is,” Eric answered. “She’ll be set free once she’s a little older and can fend for herself.”
After a quick trip through the maritime cages, where there was a small collection of sick or injured raccoons and foxes, and one hissing possum, they left the building. Before they headed off to explore the grounds, Eric ran back to the truck, bringing a cooler, he said, of drinks and lunch.
