Coast Guard Sweetheart

by Lisa Carter

  Max peered over Braeden’s shoulder into the nursery. “What’s the new kid’s name?”

  Sawyer laughed.

  Honey play-slapped his arm. “Don’t encourage him.”

  “We’re going to call him Patrick.” Braeden’s gaze flicked to Honey. “Patrick Jordan Scott.”

  Her eyes watered. “Oh, Braeden. That’s so kind of you.”

  Jordan—for Amelia’s deceased fiancé, also Coast Guard, and Pauline Crockett’s son.

  Braeden swallowed. “Miss Pauline has been good to us. And her son loved Amelia.” A sheen gathered in his eyes. “I got the girl and an entire future with her. A small thing to do in his memory.”

  Honey tilted her head. “Not small. And I’m thinking if the baby were a girl, my dear big sis wouldn’t be suggesting you call her Carly after your former fiancée.”

  Braeden grinned and dashed the moisture from his eyes. “And rightly so. A noose I escaped just in time.” He planted a hand on Max’s shoulder. “Mimi can’t wait to see you.”

  Max jabbed his finger at the glass and Baby Scott. “Is he going to be there, too?”

  Braeden exchanged looks with Honey. “We thought maybe you’d like to spend time with us alone...before...”

  Max frowned. “I don’t think my baby likes it in there with those screaming fish faces.”

  Braeden’s eyebrows lifted. My baby? he mouthed.

  She and Sawyer shrugged.

  “I got a lot to teach the baby before I grow up.”

  “Like?” Braeden prompted.

  “Like how to find the best sea glass. Like how to cut bait for Granddad.” Max’s shoulders rose and fell. “Like how to go clamming and a hundred million trillion other fun stuff.”

  “There’ll be plenty of time for it all.” Braeden urged Max away from the window. He stopped in front of Honey and Sawyer. “Thanks, you two, for being here for all of us.”

  Sawyer smiled. “No problem.”

  Max tugged on Braeden’s shirt. “P.J. looks like you, Dad.”

  “P.J.?”

  Max nodded. “Peanut butter and jelly.”

  Braeden made a valiant attempt not to laugh. Sawyer didn’t even try to hold back. She punched him again.

  Honey took another look into the nursery. Max was right. Dark fuzz peeked from underneath the blue stocking cap. And when Patrick Jordan Scott wasn’t bawling with his eyes screwed shut, they appeared a dark navy blue, which she guessed would turn into brown like Braeden’s.

  Braeden ruffled Max’s hair. “He does. But you know how I’ve always loved redheads, son.”

  Max smiled for the first time and blew a breath between his lips. “Yeah, that’s right.”

  He took Braeden’s hand and pulled him forward. “And I’m going to be the best big brother in the world.”

  Watching them disappear into an elevator, she swiped at her eyes. But a desolation on Sawyer’s face stabbed at her heart. She touched his arm. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.” He shook her off. “I think the really blessed one is Patrick Jordan Scott. Not everyone gets a great big brother like Max.” He cleared the hoarseness from his throat.

  The way he said it...

  “Do you have a big brother, Sawyer?”

  Sawyer’s mouth tightened. “Closest I’ve ever come to a big brother is Braeden. I made a lousy big brother myself.”

  Her eyes widened. “You have a—?”

  “Did have a sister.” He grimaced. “And like everything else in my life, including you, I ruined that, too.”

  The pain in his eyes stole her breath.

  “Everything I touch, I ruin.”

  “Sawyer, that’s not—”

  “Come on.” He strode down the hallway. “I’ll make sure you get home.”

  But her father met them in the hospital lobby, and Sawyer went to wherever it was he kept himself in his off duty hours alone. Staring at his hunched shoulders as he disappeared into the darkened parking lot, she suspected he’d spent far too much of his life exactly the same—alone.

  And that thought made her heart ache to rush after him.

  It had gutted her to hear him describe in such a studied nonchalance the life he’d endured as a boy. And what he hadn’t bothered to voice—what his home life must have been like prior to coming under the care of Child Protective Services. She quaked to think of the fear and vulnerability ten-year-old Sawyer had experienced every time he was yanked from one foster home into another.

  No wonder he’d learned to live in the moment, to yearn for the eight-second thrill or the adrenaline-packed life of a Coastie. Now was all he knew, all he ever dared hope for. She hadn’t realized he’d been about the same age as she when her mother died.

  But oh, the stark differences beyond that one similarity. She’d had her dad and Amelia to carry her through. He’d had no one, only himself to rely upon. She began to understand Sawyer believed he dared not reach for more. Worse still, that he didn’t deserve more.

  “Sawyer told me about his parents.” She nudged her father toward the elevator. “Why didn’t you tell me before, Dad?” The doors whooshed open.

  Her father punched in the floor number on the keypad to the maternity wing. “It was his story to tell. The reason he walked away from you on that beach. He believed he was saving you. From himself.” The doors closed.

  “Everything he touches, he ruins... That’s what he told me, Dad.” Her voice broke. “It isn’t true.” The elevator ascended.

  “But he believes it to be true and for him, that’s his reality.”

  “Daddy...” She leaned her head against the stalwart form of her father. “He’s going to leave again. As soon as the steeple and the inn are finished. Leave me again. What should I do?”

  “What do you want to do, Honey? Do you want a future with him?” The elevator doors slid open.

  If only she were brave enough to trust. Lindi had been brave. Max had faced his leukemia with bravery.

  She followed her father out of the elevator. It had taken enormous courage for Amelia to finally let go of her fears and trust Braeden with her heart. Locating the correct room, her dad surged through the open door. He planted a quick kiss on Amelia, propped upright on pillows in the hospital bed.

  Max stretched beside his Mimi on the bed cradling Baby Patrick in his arms. And bedside, Braeden guarded them both.

  The little boy’s eyes shone. “Look at me, Aunt Honey. I’m holding my baby. And P.J. smiled at me.” He nuzzled his lips on Patrick’s forehead.

  She hung back in the doorway, gazing at Amelia’s reward for faithfulness and trust.

  There was nothing safe about loving Sawyer Kole. He was a landmine of emotional potholes. Unlike her safe, decoratively ordered world, he was messy. Potentially dangerous.

  With him, she felt as if she stood on the brink of a high cliff. And she was barely holding on. With no safety net like he’d worn on the church scaffolding.

  If she let go, if she relaxed for one minute, she’d fall off the edge. And then what? A free fall into nothingness?

  Or unimaginable joy?

  Chapter Sixteen

  By late October everything was completed at the lodge. The appliances installed. The pine floors sanded and varnished. Everything done except for the finishing touches and painting the living room. The volunteers, the Coasties and the ROMEOs moved on to helping other neighbors.

  And Sawyer stopped coming by. Though Honey never managed to catch him in the act, somehow he still managed to leave fresh ditch daises in the blue vase every day. One morning, she decided to go looking for him. But first, she took her hammer and went out to the porch for a little vandalism.

  Not finding him at the station or the church—where the last coat of paint was being applied to the
upright steeple—she ventured farther afield. Toward the Keller farm.

  Driving through the iron gates at the entrance to the property, she breathed deeply of the crisp autumn air through the open window of her dad’s truck. She gazed across the fallow fields and, to her relief, spotted Sawyer’s truck parked between the hip-roofed Dutch barn and the two-story Victorian Sears, Roebuck & Company farmhouse. Pecan trees studded the yard.

  It was pretty out here with the silver band of the channel shimmering through the tree cover. Keller and her dad had been friends for years, but she’d had no occasion to venture here since she was a girl when Mr. Keller used to open the farm for hayrides every spring. She parked in the barn’s shadow and got out.

  As she wandered into the open barn, filtered darkness engulfed her. Beams of light dappled the horse stalls. Horses snuffled. She was struck at how tidy everything was kept. The sharp tang of leather and the sweet scent of hay overlay more pungent odors. This was Sawyer’s world, and she felt a rare privilege to catch a glimpse into an aspect of himself he often kept concealed.

  Blankets hung over the side of the stalls. She peered into each at the bays and palominos. In the last stall, empty of horseflesh, she discovered where Sawyer had been sleeping in the aftermath of the storm.

  She frowned at the cot and the black duffle she recognized as Sawyer’s. Out here alone, except for the horses. Of all the stubborn, hardheaded...

  Honey wrapped her arms around her navy blue jacket. The nights of late had grown chilly. Too cold to be out here. Why couldn’t he have bunked in one of the spare rooms in the house?

  But she already knew the answer to that. He didn’t think he belonged. He didn’t think himself deserving.

  Honey turned on her heel and headed for the house. If he wasn’t in the barn, he had to be somewhere. And her diligence was rewarded when she heard a squeaking valve shutting off a flow of water inside.

  She yanked open the screen door. “Sawyer?” She stepped into the front hall.

  Footfalls echoed across the wooden floor. Sawyer’s eyes widened as he emerged from the rear of the house. “Beatrice? What are you doing here?”

  Out of uniform now, he’d changed into jeans and a long-sleeved Western-cut shirt. But water glistened in his close-cropped hair. And she figured he’d come into the house to shower.

  Sawyer stepped closer. “Is everything okay? Max? The baby? Your dad?”

  Honey fluttered her hand. “Everybody’s fine. Amelia and family are getting acquainted at Miss Pauline’s and awaiting our re-occupancy of the Duer home.”

  Sawyer’s eyes flickered to his boots. “Good.”

  Honey took a breath. “I haven’t seen you around.”

  Sawyer shuffled his feet. “Been busy. The church steeple.”

  “Which, by the way, looks fantastic.” She moistened her lips. “I need to finalize my color choices for the living room before the paint crew arrives on Tuesday. We move in on Thursday, just in time for Harbor Fest weekend.”

  An uncomfortable silence followed. This was not going the way she’d envisioned it in her head.

  She tried again. “Wanted to get your opinion since the remodel has been so much your vision.”

  That got his attention. His eyes shot to hers, and he rocked on his heels. “More your vision than mine, Beatrice.”

  “Both of our visions. I looked for you in the barn—”

  “You went in the barn?” He tensed.

  She blinked. “Well, yes. When I couldn’t find you at first—”

  “You went into the loft?” He crossed his arms over his chest.

  Honey shook her head. “I didn’t think about searching there. I headed for the house.”

  Sawyer tightened his jaw. “Good.”

  His eyes drifted away before returning to meet her gaze. “So you drove all the way out here to ask me about paint chips?”

  When he put it that way, it did seem ridiculous.

  She jutted her hip. “I guess like Grandma Duer always said, a poor excuse is better than none.”

  A smile touched his lips. “You don’t need an excuse to come see me, Beatrice.”

  “I didn’t...” She blew out an exasperated breath. “It’s not just the paint colors. Several of the railing spindles have come loose, and I wondered if you’d come by the house and fix them for me.”

  * * *

  Sawyer cocked his head. “Come loose? How—?”

  “Vandals.” She bit her lip.

  He gaped at her. “Someone vandalized the lodge? Was anything else damaged?”

  She studied her shoes. “No... Not exactly.”

  He frowned. “This sounds like a job for your deputy sheriff boyfriend, Pruitt.”

  “Charlie’s not my...” She glared at him. “This is a job for you, Sawyer. No need to involve the police.” Her mouth flattened. “Will you come or not?”

  His eyebrows rose. If he didn’t know for a fact the painting was yet to be completed, he’d have sworn the fumes had addled her brain. “Sure, but I still say—”

  “Can you come now?” She took hold of his sleeve and he allowed himself to be tugged toward the porch. The screen door banged shut behind them.

  “Pushy much, Beatrice?” His eyes darted around the pasture. “I need to take care of the horses first. I’d planned on exercising at least one of them.”

  He set off across the yard. On second thought—

  “Uh, Beatrice...” He pivoted so abruptly she plowed into his chest. Ricocheting, she stutter-stepped backward.

  If he wasn’t so intent on keeping her out of the barn, Sawyer would’ve laughed at the expression on her face.

  “Why do you always—?” She choked off the rest of what she’d been about to say.

  Because they both knew what she’d wanted to say. They both knew, because it was she who’d told him to call her Beatrice in the first place. And until she asked him—politely—to call her something else?

  Sawyer’s lips twitched. He persisted in calling her Beatrice mainly to get a rise out of her. Just cause he could. Plus, it was so much fun watching the cool, collected Beatrice “Honey” Duer go all steel gardenia on him.

  Her mouth pursed—too kissable by far—in the effort, he figured, to bite her tongue.

  “How about you wait on the porch?”

  “Why can’t I go with you?”

  Sawyer gave her attire a quick perusal. The summer-white capris exchanged for dressy jeans ’cause girly-girls like Honey didn’t wear white after Labor Day. Pearl studs adorned her earlobes. And she sported her usual high heels.

  He rolled his tongue in his cheek. “Don’t want to mess up your fancy shoes with horse poop.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “You trying to get rid of me or something? I haven’t seen you in a week.”

  “I’m touched you noticed.” He laid his hand over his heart. “Miss me, Beatrice?”

  She growled. “Don’t flatter yourself, Kole.”

  Actually, he’d missed her. No surprise there. But Harbor Fest was next weekend. And after that?

  He’d reverted to his usual modus operandi—backing off in hopes of making it hurt less in the long run when he left the Shore for good.

  But she was here now. His heart had leaped at the sound of her voice calling his name in the house. Perhaps going cold turkey with Honey wasn’t such a good idea.

  Why deny himself the pleasure of her company until he had to? Why not milk every ounce of joy while he had the chance? Soon enough, he’d leave for his next station in coastal North Carolina and never see her again.

  He winced.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.” He moved toward the barn. “If you’re going to tag along, expect to be put to work, Beatrice.”

  She gave him a
small salute. “Aye, aye, Petty Officer. Your wish is my command.”

  He snorted, sounding not unlike one of the horses. “That’ll be the day.”

  “I could ride one of the horses, too. Help you out for a change.”

  He stopped in his booted tracks. “You want to go on a trail ride? With me?”

  She tossed her hair over her shoulder. “Haven’t seen Keller’s farm in a long time. Why don’t you give me the tour?”

  He arched a brow. “At the risk of being slapped down again, you’re hardly dressed for horseback riding.”

  “I’ll manage somehow.” And to show him she could, Honey kicked off her high-heeled pumps. She wiggled her merlot-painted toes in the grass.

  “Please?” Those sunflower-brown eyes of hers bored into his. “One ride?”

  His breath jammed in his throat. One ride, when all he wished for on God’s earth was that it could be the first of many. But he’d lived long enough—and hard enough—to recognize a gift when offered. Sawyer might not be the sharpest tool in the chest, but he possessed enough sense to seize with both hands the joy of time spent in Honey’s company.

  Sawyer swallowed. “There’s only one horse needs riding right now. Vet’s got Alfalfa on restriction for a few days. Spanky and Buckwheat got a workout yesterday.”

  Her eyes enlarged. “Mr. Keller named his horses after the Little Rascals?”

  Sawyer bit back a smile. “He did.”

  “Wait.” She put her hand on her hip. “One horse? You want me to ride in the saddle with you?”

  He rubbed the stubble on his jaw and waited for her to refuse.

  She tucked a wisp of hair behind her ear. His eyes followed her hand. Awareness rippled between them.

  Honey dropped her hand to her side. “Okay...” she whispered.

  Sawyer saddled the horse in record time. Before she had a chance to change her mind. After leading Froggy into the yard, he stuck one foot into the stirrup and swung his leg over. The leather groaned as he settled into the saddle. He leaned forward over the saddle horn, inhaling the rich scents of hay and horse.

  Honey must have caught him because she smiled up at him. “This smells good to you, doesn’t it?”