Coast Guard Sweetheart

by Lisa Carter

  The silence between them lengthened as he kept the headlights pointed toward Kiptohanock.

  She cleared her throat. “I didn’t see you earlier at the inn. You must have been busy today.”

  He wound his hands tighter around the steering wheel. “You’re seeing me now.”

  She smiled. “You’re right. Where are we going?”

  He kept his eyes fastened on the asphalt, the lights bouncing off one side of the forested Seaside Road to the other. “It’s a surprise. You don’t have to know everything. Relax.”

  “That’s asking a lot from a control freak like me.” She slid across the seat, her hip touching his. “Will I like the surprise?”

  His lips curved at the tremulous little girl sound in her voice. The nearness of the grown-up Honey, however, did funny things to his nerve endings. “I think you will. I hope you will.”

  Turning into the Duer drive, he heard her breath catch. Her face transformed at the sight of the string of lights dotting the wraparound porch. The house glowed in the blue velvet dusk of the Eastern Shore twilight. Bell-shaped lanterns lit the oyster shell path from the driveway to the front steps.

  “When did—? How?” She touched her hand to her throat. “You and Dad.”

  “This afternoon.” Seeing the rapt look on her face, Sawyer swallowed hard. It meant everything giving Honey her dream. “No easy feat keeping you away from here long enough to install everything.”

  “Your dad insisted he’d complete the finishing touches so I could go to Keller’s and shower—lucky for you. Seth arrived at Mrs. Crockett’s only seconds before me. You’re not an easy girl to surprise, Beatrice. Did we?” Sawyer cut his eyes at her, unnerved by her silence. “Surprise you?”

  Her eyes welled. “Oh, yes. You’re full of surprises.”

  “Well, come on then.” He threw open the truck door. “The real surprise is inside.”

  Instead of waiting for him to come round to the passenger side, she scooted out behind him. Enjoying her anticipation, he drew her to the porch. With a dramatic flourish, he threw open the refurbished oak door and thoroughly delighted in her gasp of pleasure.

  “Oh, Sawyer.” She hurried inside. “It’s like a Currier and Ives lithograph. Thank you.”

  Per Sawyer’s exact instructions, Seth had done him proud. Dozens of candles were scattered across every available surface in the great room. The votives lent an old-fashioned warmth, luminescent in hurricane globes.

  She flitted from one side of the room to the other. His hands stuffed in his pockets, Sawyer remained in the doorway, letting her make her own discoveries. Enjoying her exploration of her restored family home.

  The sea glass and driftwood decor she’d collected over the years from the barrier islands once more adorned the Queen Anne table in front of the bay window. Seth’s checkerboard crowned the piecrust table. She ran a loving hand over the knotted pine beadboard walls.

  “I can’t believe you were able to...” She caught sight of the mantel. “Oh, Sawyer. What did you do?” Two tears rolled down her cheeks.

  “Hey, now.” He moved forward. “No tears. This is supposed to be a happy occasion.”

  “This is me happy.” On her tiptoes, she threw her arms around him.

  Grunting at the force of her embrace, he staggered, but his arms tightened around her. “If this is happy, I’d hate to see you unhappy,” he whispered into the gardenia fragrance of her hair brushing his cheek.

  She grabbed his hand and tugged him toward the fireplace. She scanned the Duer family portrait remounted above the mantel. Taken, she’d told him once, when everything and everyone had been safe in her childhood world.

  “Before Caroline went away,” Honey whispered as if to herself. “Before the cancer took Mom and Daddy fell into the darkness. Before Lindi...”

  Sawyer, however, couldn’t tear his eyes away from Honey. And he thought his heart might burst from loving her. If nothing else, he’d managed to do this one thing right. To give Honey back her home and, in a small way, her family.

  Her eyes fell to the mantel. She let go of his hand and trailed her fingers along the grooves he’d etched into the wood. “How did you manage to find the exact—?” She swung around. “There’s no way you could buy an exact replica of a nineteenth-century handcrafted mantel. You carved this yourself, didn’t you?”

  Once again, she threw her arms around him, almost knocking Sawyer off his feet. “When did you sleep? No wonder you fell asleep every time you got still. How did you manage to hide this until now? Oh, Sawyer...”

  He grinned into her hair. “I repeat, you’re not an easy person to surprise, Beatrice. Always got to have your nose in everybody’s business.”

  She pulled back a few inches and play-slapped his arm. “Keller’s barn loft. That’s why you went all funny when I showed up there. You’re something else, you know that? Something else.”

  He examined her face. “Something good? Or something bad?”

  She fingered the ditch daisy lying between the hurricane lamps at either end of the mantel. “I...I...” She stopped smiling.

  His heart lurched.

  Uncertainty clouded her features. She searched his face for assurances he couldn’t give her. “Maybe we—”

  “We’ll always be friends.”

  Her eyes glistened. “Right.” She glanced away. “The best kind of friends,” she whispered.

  Friends... Not what he longed for. More than he deserved.

  If he had any sense at all, he’d walk her out to the truck, forego what he’d planned and drive her back to her family. But Sawyer had never possessed much good sense when it came to Honey Duer. Tonight had the potential to break his heart even further.

  Yet he couldn’t leave things as they were between them. As they should be between them. Not without once... Just one more time...

  Because tonight... Sawyer had only tonight. And God help him, tonight needed to be enough to last him a lifetime.

  He moved toward the heirloom Victrola and cranked it. He winced as the scratchy melody from before the First World War floated to the eaves of the high-ceilinged room. Her eyes widened.

  “Let Me Call You Sweetheart” seemed presumptuous at this point. But he’d spoken truly when he’d told her a few weeks ago he’d take what he could get. She was right about him.

  He was a self-admitted adrenaline junkie, a man of action. Uncomfortable with words. He’d chosen this song once Seth showed him the box of 78s. Chosen this song to express what he himself could not.

  And facing long weeks of loneliness ahead, he wanted to always remember her as she was now in the glow of the candlelight, her face shining.

  “I made you a promise and I keep my promises.” He took a deep breath. “Dance with me, Beatrice?”

  She twisted the pearls at her throat.

  “One dance.” He swallowed. “Before I ship out next week.”

  * * *

  “You’re leaving next week?” she whispered.

  “Station Emerald Isle.”

  What was glaringly obvious to Honey at this moment was that he’d only asked her to dance. Not go with him.

  She couldn’t deny the truth of her feelings for him any longer. Her gaze landed on the flower. She muffled the tiny sob that rose in her throat. Sawyer knew her in the deep places she barely admitted to herself.

  Why hadn’t she told him how she felt? But something—pride?—held her back. She’d been about to tell him, but fear got the best of her.

  He’d never said he loved her. Never told her the things she longed to hear from him. Was everything he’d done for her over the past few months merely him keeping a promise or making amends?

  Pain sliced through Honey. Why didn’t Sawyer tell her what was in his heart? Perhaps, though, he was telling her. In his own w
ay, he was telling her good-bye.

  Sawyer held out his hand. Conflicting emotions rippled across his face. Sadness. Joy. A fierce vulnerability. His gaze traveled to her mouth. And lingered.

  Her heart beating faster than the 3/4 time of the waltz, she took his hand. Her eyes locked onto his. And his eyes went opaque, a smoky blue.

  With her hand clasped in his and his other arm around her waist, Sawyer maintained a careful distance between their bodies. She placed her free hand on the broad length of his shoulder.

  Elbow up and carriage erect, he never took his eyes off her face. His hold never wavered as he led Honey in the waltz.

  Let me call you sweetheart, I’m in love with you, warbled a long-dead singer.

  A muscle ticked in his cheek. Sawyer tightened his jaw.

  Let me hear you whisper that you love me, too...

  The music and the words flowed over her like gentle rain.

  Keep the love light glowing in your eyes so true—

  His chest rose and fell as if he were having difficulty drawing breath.

  Let me call you sweetheart, I’m in love with you.

  The music faded. The singer’s voice died away. But Sawyer didn’t let go. As if as reluctant as she for this dance to end. For their time to end.

  Round and round the turntable, the needle scratched.

  And then Sawyer stopped.

  Sawyer removed his arm from her waist. It took him longer to relinquish her hand. “Thank you, Beatrice.” He stepped back.

  Her heart pounded. “Must we stop?” Her words were fraught with more than she dared ask.

  Sawyer moved away and lifted the needle from the gramophone. Going from candle to candle, he extinguished the light. “It’s for the best.”

  “Best for whom?”

  He paused, his hand cupped around the rim of the hurricane globe. “Best for you.”

  She seized the flower wilting on the mantel. “Stop assuming you know what’s best for me.”

  He straightened. Only the moonlight broke the darkness of the room. His eyes flicked over her face. “Time to go to dinner.”

  “I’m suddenly not hungry.”

  Sawyer held out his hand. “Then I’ll take you home.”

  Honey lifted her chin. “I thought that’s where we were.”

  Sawyer’s mouth quivered before he gained mastery over it. “A guy like me doesn’t have a home, Beatrice. You ought to know that about me by now.”

  He dropped his hand. “Can we just go now...please?”

  Without another word, she shouldered past him out onto the porch. As she waited for him to secure the door, she wanted to weep. For herself. For him.

  But most of all, for them. For who they could’ve been together.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Sector Hampton Roads radioed the Station Kiptohanock watchstander the following afternoon. A few miles offshore one of the barrier islands, an engine room fire had erupted onboard a cargo ship. The watch duty crew headed for the fast boat tied to the station dock. Sawyer was halfway out the door when Braeden stopped him.

  “Do not under any circumstances set foot on that vessel, XPO.”

  “But twelve souls are listed on the crew list.” Sawyer scanned the information sheet he’d been handed. “The Cartagena is carrying almost 20,000 tons of flammable chemicals. Mainly methyl tertiary...” Sawyer squinted at the words. “Butyl ether and iso...buta...nol.”

  Braeden crossed his arms over his chest. “We don’t have the proper protective gear, nor do you have the training to deal with that kind of ‘tetra-methyl-kill-you’ cargo, Sawyer.”

  “Chief—”

  Braeden’s jaw tightened. “The Atlantic Strike Team helo out of Elizabeth City will be en route to the burning ship. Fires are what they do. They’ve got the specialized equipment and training. Let the AST do what they do best.”

  Sawyer bristled. “We’ve got the makings of an ecological disaster. Suppose—”

  “With that type of cargo, if you set one foot on that tanker you’ll be court-martialed per regulation.” Braeden jabbed a finger in Sawyer’s chest. “You just need to do your job. And your job is to bring the crew—the tanker’s and ours—back to Kiptohanock.”

  Sawyer scowled.

  Braeden got in his face. “You roger that, Petty Officer Kole?”

  Sawyer went into a rigid salute, feet clamped together. “Roger that, Chief.”

  On board the response boat, Sawyer shouldered aside the bos’n mate and took the wheel himself. He needed to do something with his hands. Anything to keep his mind busy.

  It’d been a restless night, replaying the image of Honey’s face over and over again in his head. In two days, Kiptohanock would celebrate Harbor Fest. In four, he’d be pointing the nose of his truck toward Highway 13, the Bay Bridge Tunnel and the Outer Banks of North Carolina.

  Sawyer maneuvered past the other watercraft bobbing in the harbor until he cleared the marina. Shifting into higher gear, he spared one last look over his shoulder at the shoreline where the white steeple of the church pierced the azure blue of the November sky.

  Going full throttle in the inlet, he steered the boat past the barrier islands and out toward the open sea. When he gunned it, Wiggins grinned at Sawyer and widened his stance to accommodate the roll and swell of the waves.

  His heart heavy, Sawyer nonetheless smiled in return. “You know the only difference between a buccaneer and a Coastie, BMC First Class Wiggins?” he repeated in an echo of Braeden Scott’s words to him once upon a time.

  Wiggins’s brow furrowed. “No, Boats, I don’t. What is the difference between buccaneers and Coasties?”

  Sawyer’s lips curved into a smile. Boats—the Coastie term of affection for boat-driving guardsmen.

  “Nothing, Wiggins.” He inhaled a hearty draught of sea air. “There is no difference at all between a buccaneer and a Coastie.”

  Wiggins’s chest rumbled. The other guardsmen barked with laughter.

  Sawyer’s shoulders lifted and fell. “Old joke, Coasties. An old joke.”

  The laughter died when they spotted the cargo ship. Crew members waved from the tilted deck. None of them wore lifejackets. Several of the men’s faces were burned.

  Listing starboard, the stern lay submerged in water. Smoke billowed from below deck. Flames licked midship. Gusty winds and choppy waves rocked the tanker, hampering Sawyer’s effort to bring the response boat alongside.

  “We’ve got to transfer those men off the ship.” Sawyer edged the boat as close as he dared and cut back the engine. “But one spark and we could be blown to kingdom come.”

  Seaman Apprentice Marshall nodded. “Watchstander reports the Strike Team’s inbound, XPO.”

  “Affirmative.” Sawyer glanced around at the men and women. “Now, let’s do our thing.”

  His crew knew their jobs. Handing the controls over to the bosun’s mate, Sawyer helped transfer the men off the tanker’s deck to the fast boat. Utilizing the Spanish he’d learned with the Latin American task force, he quickly ascertained all crew members were present and accounted for. Except the captain.

  The first mate’s eyes darted toward the bulkheads. The crew had managed to seal the containers in number three and four holds, he told Sawyer. They’d attempted to smother the blaze with carbon dioxide. But the captain remained behind to seal off the most combustive of the containers in hold five.

  Sawyer imagined the barrier islands and the wildlife coated in petroleum and worse. He envisioned the leaking chemicals ebbing toward Kiptohanock, destroying the seaside beauty of the Eastern Shore and killing its marine life. He grimaced, helpless to prevent the larger tragedy.

  The captain lurched onto the main deck. The deck roiled beneath his feet. A ripple effect brought the response boa
t within inches of the cargo ship. There was a collective gasp from the tanker’s shivering crew. The bosun’s mate barely managed to avoid colliding into the side of the burning tanker and into disaster.

  “The captain’s going to have to jump for it.” Sawyer exchanged a glance with Wiggins. “Then you get us away from this ship ASAP.”

  “We’re too far for him to make it. I can’t get the boat any closer, XPO, not in these conditions.”

  Sawyer took stock of the worsening weather. “Steady as she goes, BMC. Try to maintain a distance of at least two or three feet. Hold her as steady as you can for as long as you can.”

  “Affirmative.”

  Sawyer bellowed through the horn and explained to the captain what needed to happen next.

  But resisting Sawyer’s attempts to hurry him off the sinking vessel, the captain warned in broken English of fire and of the chemical cargo that must be secured.

  Waiting on the rail, the CG crew members urged the man to jump. Sawyer kept an eye on the timing of the swells. “Uno...” he yelled. He held up his hand and ticked off his fingers for the captain’s benefit. “Dos...”

  The tanker shuddered. The panicked captain didn’t wait for the count to reach three. He leaped. With a splash, the captain went into the water. He disappeared from sight.

  “Where is he?” Marshall shouted. “I can’t find him.”

  Life ring ready to throw, Perez paced the deck. “Keep looking.”

  “How long can we search, XPO?” Wiggins gripped the wheel. “The ship’s going to blow any moment.”

  Sawyer kept his eyes trained on the spot where he’d last seen the captain. “Take the boat out of harm’s way, Wiggins. I’m not giving up on him.”

  “With all due respect—”

  “That’s an order, BMC. Do it now.”

  Sawyer dived over the side. He plunged beneath the swells and swam the distance separating him from the captain’s last location. But when he came up for air, he found no one. The oily film on the water stung his eyes. He swiped his hand across his burning eyes.

  Then from the interior of the ship came a deafening boom. The echoing shock wave resounded across the water. Sawyer jolted. Searing heat blasted his face.