Coast Guard Sweetheart

by Lisa Carter

  That was the trouble, she reflected. God might be Sawyer’s strength—a mind-boggling notion considering the Coastie she’d known three years ago. As for her? She’d lost that kind of strength somewhere along the way.

  Or worse yet? Perhaps she’d never possessed that sort of strength in the first place.

  Chapter Eleven

  It bothered Sawyer that Kiptohanock’s church steeple tilted. No longer an upright beacon of hope to mariners and townsfolk. But Kiptohanock hadn’t fared as poorly as the lodge. Once the waters receded, there appeared to be minimal damage to the village. Most fishing vessels, Seth and Braeden’s boats included, were dry-docked farther inland and out of harm’s way.

  Running on a generator, the diner became a gathering spot for residents to grab a cup of coffee and a hot meal until electricity could be restored Shore-wide. Practically dead on his feet, Sawyer felt compelled to return immediately to duty watch.

  The station hummed with activity. The crew, alongside county law enforcement and volunteer fire departments, performed countless missions in the surrounding area to rescue people trapped inside their homes. But as the afternoon of the first day after Zelda drew to a close, things had slowed enough for Braeden to send Sawyer off duty.

  Instead, he gathered outside the church with the other Kiptohanock citizens at Reverend Parks’s request. To give thanks that no lives were lost in the storm. To rejoice that barring the ripped-off roof shingles and Pisa-like steeple, the church had emerged intact.

  Sawyer hung at the back of the crowd. He kept his distance from Honey and her dad near the steps of the church. She—according to Braeden—had spent the day in a cafe booth on the phone with an insurance rep. Reverend Parks moved in front of the double oak doors at the top of the steps.

  “What’re we going to do, Reverend?” A fiftysomething matron Sawyer recognized as the owner of the local outfitter shop. “I was counting on revenue from Harbor Fest this year.”

  Other heads—gray, brown, blond and red—nodded.

  “Brings the tourists in by the droves.” One of Seth’s ROMEO compatriots, shrugged. “Without them, many of us are going to find ourselves unable to survive the long stretch of winter. Financially speaking.”

  Reverend Parks lifted his hand, and the buzz of conversation on the muddy front lawn of the church faded. “Friends, I realize the situation looks dire. I know this is the worst possible time to find ourselves in this position. But we can’t lose heart. When circumstances look the darkest that is when our God shines the brightest. Perhaps all is not lost.”

  “You imagine we should still hold Harbor Fest?” The postmistress grumbled. “Look around, Reverend. Our town is a mess.”

  Seth stroked his mustache with his finger. “God hasn’t let any of us down yet, and He’s not about to start now. Kiptohanock will rally. We’ll help each other. It’s the Shore way.”

  Reverend Parks nodded. “We can’t lose our hope, friends. Not now. This could be Kiptohanock’s finest hour if we open our hearts and give God room to work in our lives and community.”

  Sawyer raised his hand. As XPO, he’d been appointed as the station’s personal representative to the village.

  Reverend Parks swung his way at the motion of his hand. “I know I speak for everyone here when I voice my deepest appreciation for what the United States Coast Guard did during the storm, Petty Officer.”

  Sawyer reddened. That wasn’t why guardsmen did what they did, although appreciation was nice. But he didn’t want to appear to be fishing for compliments. “I’m not a resident of Kiptohanock, but the station’s been discussing what could be done for this town we’ve come to love and call home. At least, our temporary home.”

  Honey swiveled and scowled at him.

  Sawyer thought it best to ignore her before he lost his train of thought. More of an adrenaline junkie, he was best suited to action. Public speaking ranked low on his list of all-time favorite jobs.

  He took a breath. “We’ve pledged our personal funds and worked out a rotation of volunteers during off duty hours to reroof the sanctuary.”

  There were murmurs of approval.

  Sawyer forged ahead through the difficult part of what he intended to say. Somehow to convey what he and the other guardsmen felt for the town and its citizens.

  “The steeple—” He cleared his throat past his unaccustomed emotion. “It stands watch like a holy sentinel, not only over the inhabitants of coastal Kiptohanock, but also over the Coast Guardsmen in its midst. And so we’d also like to assist in restoring the steeple.”

  Claps and cheers broke out. Honey crossed her arms over her chest and bit her lip.

  Reverend Parks raised his arms shoulder level. “Petty Officer, I’m overwhelmed and humbled by the Guard’s generous offer. See, brothers and sisters. I told you. God has not abandoned us.”

  Sawyer winced at the reverend’s choice of words.

  “Let us bow our heads,” the reverend called, “and give thanks to the One who kept us anchored throughout a long, terrible night and brought us once more into the light of day.”

  Seth and the other ROMEOs removed their ball caps. Sawyer likewise removed his headgear and went into an at-ease position, his feet splayed to his hips.

  “We praise You, O God,” Reverend Parks intoned. “That You have gathered us here again today out of the wind and the rain and the storms of life.”

  Sawyer added his silent thanks to God.

  “Grant us the courage to move forward despite the devastation around us. Help us to love our neighbor, in their hour of greatest need, more than we love ourselves.”

  Sawyer had made another decision, as well. Which would infuriate Honey. But it was a promise he couldn’t walk away from, no matter how much his heart told him to run again before it was too late. It was the only decision he could make and still live with himself.

  “Most of all, we pray to never lose sight of our ultimate hope in You.” Reverend Parks clasped his hands. “Amen.”

  “Amen,” the residents of Kiptohanock chorused.

  Sawyer exhaled. During the storm last night, he’d begun to hope. He stuffed his hands in his pockets. Hope for what? How stupid could he get?

  In the light of day, his optimism dimmed. There were no second chances for someone like him. He’d known that since he was a boy. And if Honey couldn’t or wouldn’t forgive him, why should God?

  All the peace and strength he’d experienced since San Diego faded. Had he been fooling himself about his new relationship with God? What would God, much less Honey, want with a messed-up sinner like him anyway?

  Sawyer edged farther back. Always on the outside looking in—story of his life. His truck overturned by the floodwaters was a total loss. Maybe he could get Reaves to give him a ride to his rented quarters at Pauline Crockett’s farm where he lived.

  He hoped—prayed if God listened to broken people like him—Miss Pauline, farther inland and on higher ground closer to Onley, had fared better. Best to slip away before— A hand clamped on his shoulder halted Sawyer in place.

  Seth Duer’s blue-green eyes narrowed. “Going somewhere, son?”

  “Uh...” He’d faced modern-day pirates and drug lords, but Seth Duer was scarier.

  Seth let loose of Sawyer to adjust the Nandua Warriors ball cap. “I can never thank you enough for being there for my baby girl and Max.”

  “Just doing my job, sir.”

  Seth cut his eyes at him. “I don’t for a moment doubt you’re a poster child for the Guard. But I also suspect duty has very little to do with anything between you and that daughter of mine.”

  “I’m no one’s poster child.” Sawyer folded his arms. “More like a foster child.”

  “And I think you underestimate yourself, though you do a great job covering your insecurity with that rodeo
bravado. Anyway, I have a favor to ask of you.”

  He cocked an eyebrow at the older man.

  “Friend of mine owns a spread farther up the neck. Stables and horses, right up your alley.”

  He wasn’t sure where Honey’s dad was going with this. “Yessir...”

  “Tree landed on his car with him inside. Bad break. Both legs. He’s going to be out of commission for a while. I know you and Braeden had this deal about transferring out this week, but wondered if you’d reconsider and see to the care and feeding of his animals while he’s in rehab.”

  “I made Hon—I mean Beatrice—a promise during the storm last night.” He braced for Seth’s hostility. “I’ve already spoken to Braeden about delaying my departure. I’d like to help restore the ground floor of the lodge. Get the Duers back in business as soon as possible. That is,” he darted his eyes at Seth. “If you have no objection.”

  “You’ll get no objection from me. It’s a generous offer. We’d be foolish to refuse. We’re gonna need every bit of manpower we can find if we hope to be up and running by Harbor Fest.”

  “Don’t know that Beatrice will agree.”

  Seth fingered his jaw. “You let me handle Honey. Only one question.”

  “What’s that, sir?”

  “You still love my daughter, don’t you?”

  Sawyer worked to retain control of his mouth. He gave Seth a curt nod. “I do. But I’m not sure a relationship with me would be in her best interests.” He hung his head.

  “No buts about it, son.” Seth grimaced. “I’ll take you out to Keller’s farm. You and I are long overdue for another little chat.”

  Crossing the parking lot, Sawyer climbed into the Silverado, which had escaped the storm’s destruction. With downed trees and power lines, Honey’s dad turned off Seaside Road and took a circuitous route.

  Finally, Seth veered off the main traffic artery and followed a dirt driveway curving into the trees. They emerged into broad, open pastureland. Sawyer noted the Dutch-roofed, red-painted stable behind a two-story Victorian on a hilly rise.

  He rolled down the window and took a deep cleansing breath. Hay and horse were his first loves before he’d taken off for the sea life of a Coastie.

  Seth’s lips curved. “I knew I was right in bringing you here if that’s the reaction this smelly old farm gives you.”

  “Not smelly, Mr. Duer.” His brow furrowed. “The best of both worlds, I figure.” He nudged his head to the thin sliver of blue beyond the house. “A sea breeze, too.”

  The older man grinned, the wrinkles caused by a lifetime of deep sea fishing rearranged themselves. “Keller’s needed help with this place for half a decade. He’s too stubborn to admit it’s too much for him. The storm’s sort of forced the issue of putting the farm on the market. I told him I had the perfect caretaker in the meantime. A bona fide cowboy.”

  “Me?” Sawyer scanned the rustic views. “It’s a grand place. A little run down. But with some spit and polish, it’d be perfect for someone who loves horses.”

  Seth gave a satisfied sigh. “I knew you were the right man to catch the vision of what this place used to be.

  “Could be again,” Sawyer corrected. “Think a rich come-here will buy it?

  Seth snorted. “Probably. Who else has that kind of money ’sides them?”

  “I hear you, sir.” He laughed. “Me and you work for a living.”

  Honey’s dad eyed him. “Me and you got more in common than you think, young man.”

  Sawyer shifted. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “That’s ’cause what I’m about to tell you I ain’t never told another human being. ’Cept my Marian, God rest her soul.”

  “Sir, I don’t know if you should—”

  “My father, Kole, was what Grandmother Duer euphemistically called a ne’er do well.”

  Sawyer dropped his eyes.

  “What the state of Virginia called a convicted criminal.” Seth pursed his lips. “He died incarcerated in the state penitentiary when I was fourteen after he stabbed a man to death over a woman in Norfolk.”

  Sawyer knotted his hands together.

  “Braeden told me how you’re afeared you inherited a criminal gene from your father. That’s nothing but a load of fish guts, son.”

  Sawyer inhaled sharply.

  “Braeden also told me how you’ve got some mistaken notion you were saving Honey from yourself by walking away. How you believe the lies that sorry son of a biscuit eater told you. That you’re no good and you don’t deserve anything good in your life.”

  Seth Duer jutted his jaw. “And I’m here to tell you that’s a lie. You’re a rescuer, son. Not a destroyer. And I’m living proof you don’t have to be what my brilliant daughter Caroline used to call a self-fulfilling prophecy.”

  The older man glanced away, his face pinched. “Too smart for her own good, my Caroline.” He sighed. “But that’s a story for another day.”

  “You don’t understand, sir.” Sawyer half turned in the seat. “My father said my mother only got addicted to heroin after I was born. That I ruined her. That because of me...”

  Sawyer gripped the armrest. “He said... She left, died on the street, because of me.”

  “And you gonna believe anything that man told you?” Seth huffed. “He beat you, didn’t he, Sawyer? When you were a boy?”

  The shame he’d known as a child crept up his neck. “I—I deserved it. I ruined his life, too, when he had to marry my mother.”

  Honey’s father caught his arm. “You didn’t deserve any of that. No child does. She should have never left you. Not with him. But I’d guess she left to get away from him. Not you. ’Cause if he was beating on you, he started first on her.”

  A memory Sawyer hadn’t recalled in a dozen years flew to the forefront of his mind. Of his mother sitting on the floor of the flophouse they called home in Tulsa. Nursing a welt to her cheek. Sobbing.

  His stomach roiled. “All the more reason, sir... I’m not good enough for Honey or your family. Suppose I became like him or my mother?”

  Sadness coated Seth Duer’s features. “Same thing I told Marian Savage. She loved me anyway.” Moisture dampened his eyes. “God, too. She told me that because of Him in me, I didn’t have to become my father.”

  The waterman blew out a breath. “Nor my mother, either. Although I’ve been less successful...” His mouth tightened. “Again, a story for another day.”

  Honey’s dad scrubbed his hand over his face as if trying to dislodge bad memories. “My point, son, is that none of us deserve anything but for the grace and mercy of God. You know what grace is? Or mercy?”

  Sawyer shook his head, his throat thick. He’d failed everyone who ever loved him.

  “Grace is getting something we don’t deserve.” Seth’s eyes bored into his. “Like with Jesus, a second chance and forgiveness.”

  Sawyer fisted his hands.

  “And mercy? Mercy is not getting what we so richly deserve. What our sins deserve. Do you hear me, son?”

  Sawyer cast his eyes to the floorboard. “I can’t really fathom a God—anybody—who could love somebody as broken as me.”

  Honey’s father smiled. “As broken as all of us. Who can truly grasp that sort of love?”

  “That’s God’s kind of love. Not human love. I hurt Honey and no matter how much I wish I could have a do-over, there are consequences.” Sawyer raked his hand over his head, sending his headgear akilter. “She’ll never trust me again. Never allow me a second chance at her heart.”

  Sawyer blinked rapidly. “Crazy to think a Martha Stewart wannabe would ever want anything to do with a washed-up cowboy like me.”

  Honey’s father patted his arm. “I happen to know you set that girl of mine’s heart aquiver every time you walk in
the room. That—not you—is what makes her so furious. With herself. God’s given you a second chance, not only with Him but with Honey, too. A second chance to prove to her your feelings are real and true.”

  If only Sawyer believed he stood a chance at winning back her respect and love.

  Honey’s father flung open the door. “Way I see it, you’ve got about two months before Harbor Fest to convince my daughter of your trustworthiness. But first? Let me introduce you to a few horses.”

  Seth’s faith in him strengthened Sawyer’s burgeoning resolve. For the first time, hope took root in his heart. Warring against his feelings of inadequacy.

  Whatever it took, whatever he had to do—Sawyer refused to give up on the best thing outside of God he’d ever known.

  If Beatrice Elizabeth Duer believed she could get rid of him so easily, she had another think coming.

  Chapter Twelve

  It was over. Honey’s dream ruined. Her dream of a forever home swept out to sea with the hurricane.

  She felt as if she’d lost her mother all over again. The ground floor was a total wreck. Like her life. Her hard work and the money she’d borrowed down the drain. She ached with a certainty that once FEMA inspected the lodge, the engineer would declare the structure unsound and that her family home would be torn down.

  Although the hurricane had downgraded to Category 2 by the time it hit the peninsula, the Duers weren’t the only ones affected by the destruction of the storm. Eastern Shore–tough, the Kiptohanockians rallied. Twenty families had been displaced by the floodwaters. But on the Eastern Shore, neighbors helped neighbors.

  Surveying the devastation the day after, sadness engulfed Honey. Overwhelmed her as surely as the waves had swallowed the first floor of the lodge on which she’d pinned her hopes. She’d never felt so alone in her life.

  In the immediate aftermath of the storm, with the Bay Bridge damaged, the only access onto the peninsula came from Maryland to the north. The governor of Virginia declared a state of emergency, clearing the way for FEMA to speed the process of recovery. The National Guard arrived to clear road debris. A long line of utility trucks from as far away as New Jersey made the journey south to restore electricity and phone service.