by Lisa Carter
After grabbing a bottle of water, he threw his head back and chugged.
This “working each other out of our system” wasn’t working exactly as she’d envisioned. “Braeden said he found a generator.”
He swallowed and swiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “From a fellow Coastie up Delaware way. The Coastie network is broad and vast.”
She traced a circle in the dust-covered floor with the toe of her now-grimy flats. She’d know to come better dressed tomorrow. Stud finding yesterday had proven more fun and less dirty than attacking drywall today.
Her cheeks flushed at the memory of Sawyer kissing her. Friends, she reminded her pounding heart. “What about after we dry everything out?”
“Now that the Bay Bridge is open again, I’ve put a call in to a Coastie friend of mine who’s a licensed electrician across the Bay. He’ll replace the wiring and outlets in the walls.”
“And what do we do about the HVAC system?” She batted her lashes. “Betcha didn’t know I knew that word, did you?”
Sawyer rubbed the kinks out of his neck. “You never fail to surprise me, Beatrice.”
Honey fisted her hands against the urge to touch him. “Truer words, I expect, were never spoken.”
Sawyer laughed and relaxed his stance. But just as suddenly, his face shuttered, and he moved away. “I’d better go. You, too. It’ll be dark soon.”
Honey blinked. He was leaving already? Before she thought, she caught hold of his hand. “The church ladies have opened the fellowship hall to everyone for dinner. Grapevine says Miss Jean made her famous chicken casserole.” She threw him a long look. “You should come.”
Sawyer raised his brow at her fingers wound in his. “Do you want me to come?”
Honey let go. “Max would love to spend time with you.”
“Would he be the only one who enjoys spending time with me?”
“What do you call what we’ve been doing all afternoon?”
“Making amends?” Breaking eye contact, he scrubbed his hand over his face. “Anyway, I got stuff to do. See you tomorrow?”
Stuff? What kind of stuff?
Frowning, she pursed her lips. “I’ll be here.”
His mouth curved. “Well, if demolishing drywall with you is the best I can do, I guess I’ll take it.” He gathered and notched the tool belt around his waist.
Out on the porch, he locked and secured the new door. Then Sawyer escorted her to her dad’s truck and made sure the engine turned over before heading toward his new Chevy. He gave her a small wave as he slid behind the wheel.
Honey sighed as their trucks parted ways at the top of the Duer drive on Seaside Road. Glancing in the rearview mirror, she watched his taillights disappear in the direction of Onley. She deflated in the seat.
Tomorrow felt like a long, long time from now.
And it hadn’t escaped her notice that he’d left another fresh bouquet of brown-eyed Susans on the mantel for her.
* * *
Over the next two weeks, Sawyer showed Honey how to insulate the exterior walls. He installed the subflooring himself. And he supervised Seth, the ROMEOs and other church volunteers in rehanging the drywall on the ground floor. But he waited till Honey took Amelia for an obstetrician appointment one afternoon before ripping away the damaged mantel and removing it from the premises.
The remodel was slowly but surely taking shape as September rolled into October. Nearing completion. Every day looking more and more like Honey’s beloved home. Although this friend thing was slowly but surely killing him. When he longed for so much more.
Friends... He reminded himself at least six times an hour. Friends was a whole lot better than the nothing he’d had of Honey for the past three years. And for someone like him, it was better than he deserved or could reasonably expect.
He also made time for a trip to a lumber yard near Salisbury, Maryland. On the way he visited Mr. Keller in the rehab facility, too, who gave him permission to use some carving tools he’d found in the barn loft.
Mr. Keller, wheelchair bound with both legs casted, was lonely. Sawyer could tell the energetic senior citizen with the thick Eastern Shore brogue enjoyed their visit. Childless, the old man regaled Sawyer with tales of times on the farm nestled next to the sea when the Kellers raised horses the prize of many a Northern steel magnate. He found himself telling Mr. Keller about his childhood and the bronco circuit. Sawyer made it a habit to drop by and chat every other day.
Sawyer also surprised Honey with a toolkit of her own. With a quick upward sweep of her lashes, she opened the lid and examined the contents. He could tell she wanted to smile, but wouldn’t allow herself.
“What’s this for?”
“Figured you’d earned the right to your own tools, Beatrice.”
He’d pleased her, but she’d never admit that out loud, least of all to him.
She hefted the screwdriver in her hand. “How come you know so much about construction, Sawyer?”
“Hidden talents. There’s more to this Coastie than just a pretty face.”
She rolled her eyes. As he’d meant her to. “Let me rephrase. Where did a bronco-busting, puddle pirate, speed demon adrenaline junkie learn construction?”
He smiled, arms folded, and rocked on his heels.
She wagged the tool in his face. “Would you get serious and answer my question? I’m trying to have an adult conversation with you, Kole.”
He dropped his arms and returned to remeasuring the length of the window for the trim he needed to cut outside on the miter saw he’d set up in the yard. “My last foster dad was a contractor by trade. We were expected to help when school let out for the summer.”
“Free labor?”
“Something like that. Pop Larsen wanted to make sure we learned a trade.” He couldn’t resist the chance to make her laugh. “Anyway, I’ve been told I’m good with my hands.”
Her lips twitched as if she fought the urge to break into a smile. “Arrogant much, Kole?”
He could also tell he was wearing away her indifference—which was far worse than her resistance in his opinion.
Sawyer grinned at her. “Resistance is futile, baby.”
“Don’t call me that. I’m not your baby nor anyone else’s.” She tightened the ponytail on the nape of her neck. “Once this remodel is done, we can finally get back to our real lives.”
“Be careful what you wish for, Beatrice.”
With a derisive lift of her eyebrow, she moved to the dining room where her dad had installed the new baseboards.
Sawyer got a kick out of seeing her jeans get holes in the knees from hard work and not from a New York designer. She was determined to prove she was more than just a pretty face. But he’d known that about her immediately when they crossed paths three years ago at the Sandpiper where she’d waitressed.
Now at the lodge, he stayed on the lookout every time she attempted a task on the remodel. Making sure it wasn’t too heavy or hazardous. Stepping in to shift the load when she tackled more than she could handle.
He had to be smart about it, though. Not make it seem as if he was hovering or rushing to her rescue. She would hate that and resent him even more. But he kept a watchful eye on her at the construction site nonetheless.
Because remodel or not, he would’ve done that anyway. Every time she got in his range of vision, his antennae went on high alert, and his pulse kicked up a notch. The Honey effect, he called it.
She returned the next day with the side of her toolbox covered in spangled letters reading Handy Honey. And if anyone could put shine and sparkle into a dull, metallic toolkit, Honey was the one for the job.
* * *
With the mantel gone, Honey contemplated the fresh bouquet of wildflowers deposited by Sawyer on the seat of her dad’s truck. Dad kept promis
ing a trip to the mill to pick out a replacement, but so far finishing touches were the last things on everyone’s minds.
Except perhaps for Sawyer. Who never failed to bring brown-eyed Susans to the worksite. Every day, another bouquet. She sighed. Only Sawyer would attempt to woo her—if that’s what this was—with ditch flowers and a toolbox.
Was it working? Maybe...
They were supposed to be friends only. But the more time she worked alongside Sawyer Kole, the less friendly she felt. Instead, she felt... She gritted her teeth. Not going there.
She didn’t know where Sawyer got his energy. She didn’t know when he slept, either. As far as she could determine, his days were spent on shift at the station or organizing a team of volunteers from a North Carolina sister church who’d driven to the Delmarva Peninsula this weekend to lend a hand in the repositioning of the steeple.
She parked outside the Sandpiper, leaving the truck for her dad when he returned from an early morning fishing expedition. A few of his die-hard customers had returned for the excellent deep-sea fall fishing. Unfortunately, they were staying at a chain motel on the highway, not the Duer Lodge, which wasn’t yet open for business.
Honey glanced around the bustling square on this mid-October day. The American and Coast Guard flags were aflutter atop the twin poles at the Coastie station. She shaded her hand over her eyes, gazing out across the harbor toward the barrier islands.
It was a gusty day. Dad, a seasoned waterman, would know to take it easy. But with the stiff wind, the repositioning of the steeple scheduled for today would have to wait.
Braeden promised to give her a ride back to Pauline’s when he got off duty. She glanced at the time on her cell phone. Still a half hour. She’d finished the landscaping project around the lodge earlier than she’d imagined. Come summer, the air would be heady with the smell of gardenias.
Might as well get a Long John and a coffee while she waited. The bells over the cafe door jingled as she strode inside. Waving to a few patrons she’d known since she was a child, she ordered from the counter. Dixie poured her a cup of coffee. Carrying the mug, Honey snagged a booth overlooking the village green.
Sipping the aromatic coffee, her gaze riveted to the activity centered around the church. The roof had been reshingled early in the aftermath of the storm by the same North Carolina men’s ministry who’d returned this Saturday to correct the tilt of the steeple. Too bad they’d made the trip north for nothing, thanks to the weather.
No surprise it was Sawyer who snared her attention first and foremost among the throng of volunteer workers.
He clamped the strap of a hardhat underneath his chin. Another worker helped him step into and adjust a safety harness. She frowned. What was he—?
She set the porcelain mug with a thud onto the tabletop as she watched Sawyer’s climb to the top of the church scaffolding. Her eyes darted to the flagpole across the square as a brisk wind snapped the fabric taut before her gaze cut to Sawyer. Losing his footing, his handhold on the iron bars slipped.
He fell and swung out over nothingness.
She sucked in oxygen, her heart in her throat. But the crane supporting the safety harness held. Dangling, Sawyer readjusted his grip, regained his footing and commenced with the repair work.
Her breath came in short, rapid gasps. “Of all the stupid... What are you trying to prove, Kole?” She clenched her teeth. “Anything for a thrill, eh?”
“Is that why you think Sawyer’s working so hard?”
She jerked at Braeden’s voice at the end of the booth. She rested her hands palm down on the table. “I think he craves danger the way some people crave drugs.”
Braeden burrowed his brow. “He’s working two days on, and on his two days off, he’s either at the Keller farm or your house. Weekends he works at the church.”
He slid into the booth across from her. “Want me to tell you why I think Sawyer’s pushing himself so hard?”
She pursed her lips. “Why do I feel you’re going to tell me anyway?”
“I think Sawyer drives himself because he’s trying to prove something to himself. And most of all, to you.”
Her eyebrows rose. “To me?”
Braeden’s eyes flitted toward the sound of the crane poised over the steeple. “Sawyer didn’t abandon you that night on the beach in Ocean City. He waited in the shadows of the convenience store across the street until someone came for you. He reckoned you’d call Amelia. Only he didn’t know I’d come, too, and confront him.”
“He stayed?” She tried to wrap her mind around this new piece of information. “Why? What did he say to you, Braeden?”
Braeden’s gaze dropped to the paper placemat. “Sawyer’s been told his whole life he’s a screw-up. He realized his life was on the wrong path. And he cared enough for you he didn’t want to take you down with him.”
Her mouth tightened. “He told me I wasn’t the kind of girl he wanted.”
“Sawyer didn’t want to ruin your life.” Braeden sighed. “I’ll grant you his methods were brutal, but effective. He believed then it was only a matter of time before he ended up like his birth parents, and he loved you enough to cut you loose.”
Honey shook her head. “Love me? He told you he loved me?” She made a face. “Funny how he’s never said those words to me. I’m not sure that man knows the meaning of love.”
Braeden’s mouth hardened. “He was thinking about your happiness, not his. Took guts and courage to walk away from you. A sacrificial love that put his heart on the right path to eventually find God. He’s become a fine young man who I’m proud to serve with.” Braeden’s eyes bored into her. “But more than that, I’m honored to call him my friend.”
Friend... She was about sick of that word. “Why are you only telling me this now?”
Braeden leaned against the cracked vinyl upholstery. “I’m praying at last you’ve room in your heart to listen. To hear the truth. I think he’s found peace for the first time in his life. A joy that can only come from God.”
“How nice for him.” She gripped the handle of the mug. “Glad to know one of us is happy.”
A muscle ticked in Braeden’s jaw. “The church is the heart of Kiptohanock, a place Sawyer holds dear. Possibly the first real place Sawyer’s ever considered home. His happiness right now comes in using his skills to re-erect the steeple.”
She knotted her fingers in her lap. “If he doesn’t get himself killed first.”
“As for the lodge?” Braeden glanced out the window again. “The lodge is your dearest dream, Honey. And for Sawyer, his greatest happiness lies in making you happy. Giving you back the home you love.”
Braeden let out a gust of air. “Can’t you see it, Honey? See his heart? Must you have the words in order to believe? He’s not an eloquent man, not comfortable with words. He’s showing you his love in a thousand different ways through his actions.”
I’m good with my hands... That much he’d said to her a month ago. Was it true what Braeden supposed?
Chemistry she and Sawyer had in spades, but beyond that? They’d need far more than sparks to make it work between them if they wanted a chance for real, lasting love.
And the most fundamental of love’s building blocks—trust. Chemistry was one thing. Trust was something entirely different.
Fool me once...
She fought the tears welling in her eyes.
“Here’s a better question for you to ponder, Honey, instead of passing judgment.” Braeden edged out of the booth. “Ever stop to wonder who takes care of Sawyer? Or if besides God, anyone ever did?”
Chapter Fourteen
Two days later, Honey eased the truck door open, trying not to startle Sawyer.
Head reclined against the seat, he didn’t stir, a testimony to how tired he really was. She winced at th
e sight of the bandage wrapped around his forearm where he’d burned himself on a SAR mission earlier that afternoon. Sawyer wasn’t careless. He was exhausted.
And just because she could, she allowed herself the luxury of studying his features.
Shadows smudged the skin beneath his closed lids. Grooves of weariness etched the corners of his mouth. There were deep hollows beneath his sharp cheekbones.
A brown leather Bible lay open on the seat beside him. She wondered what he’d been reading. And if it gave him the peace Braeden claimed Sawyer now possessed.
Peace... Honey was sinking—drowning—beneath a load of bitterness. An anger that had begun with the death of her mother, stoked by Caroline’s inexplicable desertion and punctuated by Lindi’s death.
As for Sawyer’s complete and utter rejection? The icing on the cake. But his motivation? Perhaps not what she’d believed three years ago. There were a lot of things she was starting to reconsider.
She let out a small, hopeless sigh. If she had her druthers, she’d stand here all day and look at him. But this time, the rescuer needed a little rescuing of his own. And she was just the woman for the job.
“Wake up, Sawyer,” she whispered. “Wake up.”
He blinked and jerked upright. His hands grabbed for the wheel.
She touched his sleeve. “It’s okay. You fell asleep in the truck. It’s just me.”
His eyes flickered from her to the dusky glow of approaching nightfall above the tree line. “There’s no ‘just you’ about it, Beatrice.”
Sawyer swallowed and reached for the key hanging in the ignition. “I didn’t mean to hold you up. I better get going and check on Keller’s horses.”
“Wait...” She caught his arm. “You need to eat something first. Between the station, the steeple and the house, you’re working too hard.”
“The whole town’s working hard to restore what was lost in time for Harbor Fest. Don’t worry about me. I’m fine.”
“You don’t look fine. You look tired. Like you haven’t had a decent meal in days. You’re so busy taking care of everyone else, but who takes care of you?”
