by Lisa Carter
Recovery, like Honey’s dream, would be a slow process. The village settled into a long haul of rebuilding.
Making a personal visit to the Delmarva Peninsula by helicopter from Richmond that first day, the governor promised he’d do everything in his power to help the locals file their insurance claims for reimbursement. But residents knew only those with deep pockets could afford to begin the rebuilding process without the insurance checks.
Some didn’t even have flood coverage. She’d been round and round with their adjustor arguing over whether the damage to the inn resulted from the hurricane winds or the tidal surge which followed. Either way, the dickering could take weeks if not months. Time she didn’t have if she wanted the inn back up and running. If that was even a possibility.
The day after the storm, a structural engineer declared the inn sound, but unlivable, until the downstairs had been restored. Sawyer relinquished the second floor efficiency he rented at Pauline Crockett’s farmhouse and insisted the Duer family take up temporary residence.
She’d seen little of Sawyer. Out of sight, out of mind. Only the first part of that equation holding true. Where he spent his nights, she hadn’t a clue. Their so-called date had been put on indefinite hold. Which was exactly the way she preferred things, she tried to convince herself.
Then out of the blue on Day Three post-Zelda, the Eastern Shore Bank in Onancock called to say they’d received money for the Duer account. She couldn’t believe the insurance had settled so fast.
“God is good,” her dad reminded her.
So they began making plans for the renovation. But the Duers, like their neighbors, would have to get in line for a reputable contractor to tackle the remodel. Former high school boyfriend and now sheriff’s deputy, Charlie Pruitt, arrested a dozen scam artist contractors who arrived in droves to feed on the misery of beleaguered homeowners.
Seventy-two hours after the storm, Honey parked her father’s truck at the muddy remnants of the circle drive to give her old home a thorough assessment and compile a punch list of jobs to be completed.
“A Honey Do-er list,” her father joked.
Portions of the wraparound porch had been ripped away by the tide. It would be one of the first items on the checklist so workers could access the interior.
Careful to test each splintered board, she climbed to the open entrance. Once over the threshold, the wreckage took her breath. She wrinkled her nose at the pungent smells of mold and mildew, which in the humid air left by the storm, flourished unchecked.
Her eyes cut to the destroyed hand-carved mantel. No amount of twenty-first-century know-how could fix that. She moaned, the sound echoing off the twelve-foot ceiling.
“Why, God?” Honey stalked over to the fireplace. “Why did you allow this to happen?”
She pounded her fist on the dented and mangled mantelpiece. “Why did you take my mother and Lindi?” She rested her forehead against the battered wood. “Why does everyone always leave me?”
Behind Honey, a plank creaked. “Like me, you mean?”
She whirled, her heart thundering.
It was Sawyer, in a grubby baseball shirt, jeans and tool belt slung around his narrow waist who filled the gaping entrance. In his hand, he clutched a bunch of the yellow daisies with brown centers, which grew wild along Shore ditch banks in autumn.
She put a hand to her mouth. How much of that embarrassing stroll through her soul’s darkest corners had he overheard? She gestured at the flowers. “Where’d you find those?”
A soft smile curved his lips. Lips that once kissed hers. On a beach in the moonlight—she snatched her thoughts away from that precipice.
He strode forward in his work boots. “These somehow managed to survive the salt water and wind. They’ve also become my favorite flower in the past few years.”
“Why’s that?”
He laid them lengthwise across the gouged surface of the mantel. “Because they remind me of you. Brown-eyed Susans, we call ’em in Oklahoma. With your blond hair and brown eyes, that’s what my foster mother would’ve called you, too.” He ducked his head.
Foster mother? Sawyer grew up in a foster home? She blinked. Why hadn’t she known that about him? Something so fundamental...
That long ago spring they’d talked of many things. Okay—mainly she talked. Of her frustrations with Amelia’s demands she return off-Shore to finish a college degree Honey didn’t want. Of her father babying her. Of the family home and vacation destination she wanted to create.
Her. Her. Her.
Only now, she realized how self-absorbed she’d been—still was, to hear her dad tell it. Sawyer had listened. Drawing out of Honey her hopes and dreams and fears. Of himself, he’d shared little.
Cracking funny jokes about his adventures at Basic. Humorous anecdotes about the inadvertent mayhem caused by clueless recreational boaters he encountered at Kiptohanock.
She’d thought she knew the essential things about Sawyer. That he loved horses and the sea. The color blue and long walks on the beach under the stars. She’d believed him sweet, funny and most of all, completely trustworthy and sincere.
Watching him interact with his Coastie colleagues, she recognized early he put on a front for the world. She’d been too immature to question why he’d felt the need to do so. Instead, she’d been flattered that to her—of all the people in the world—he’d given glimpses of his heart and the real Sawyer Kole underneath the Coastie cowboy bravado.
At least that’s what she believed until he’d abandoned her on a beach in Ocean City. Was there more to the story—Sawyer’s story—than what she imagined she knew? In hindsight, there were a lot of questions she should’ve asked him then.
“Why did you bring them here?” She cleared her throat.
Avoiding her eyes, he busied himself unloading his tools. “Your dad and Braeden told me they finished dragging everything out of the first floor yesterday. They plan to begin demolition this weekend on Braeden’s off days. But with my shift over, I figured I’d give them a head start this afternoon.”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
He removed a crowbar from a tool chest. “Amelia said you were dropping by tomorrow.” He coughed. “I brought them for you. I knew seeing the place this way would gut you.”
She stared at him. A muscle jerked in his throat. His gaze swung to hers and back to the floorboards.
“Thank you, Sawyer,” she whispered. “That was very thoughtful of you.”
His mouth tightened. He strode with purpose toward the wall against which once the sofa had rested. “You probably should leave so you don’t have to see this.” He knelt and inserted the pry bar between the wall and the baseboard.
“Wait.” She hurried over, catching his arm. “What are you doing?”
“Starting with the baseboards and trim, I’ve got to rip out the dry wall. Everything down to the studs, joists and wiring. Which will need to be rewired by a professional. But otherwise, I promised you I’d give you back your home, Beatrice, and that’s exactly what I intend to do.”
He nudged his chin toward the open door. “Best be on your way.”
She planted her hand on her hip. “Are you trying to get rid of me? I’ll have you know I didn’t intend to just ‘drop by.’ I intend, despite what you think of my girly-girl self, to be completely involved in restoring my home to its full beauty.”
Rising, his eyes glinted. “Nothing wrong with your girly-girl self, I keep telling you, Beatrice.” He broadened his shoulders. “I’m right glad you’re a girl.”
Sawyer grinned. “And beautiful, too. If you’re determined to help, while I’m ripping out the baseboards you can locate and mark the screws and nails with this stud finder.”
He reached over to a toolbox beside the sawhorse and extracted a palm-size device. Aiming
it at a section of the wall, he swept the machine upward and sideways. He stopped at the sound of a ping.
Extracting a pencil from his pocket, he marked the spot. “Easy. See?” He handed the device to her.
Giving him a look, she scanned the beam over the next section and was rewarded with additional beeps. After marking the studs, she smiled at him over her shoulder. “A stud finder, you say?”
Eyes narrowing at her tone, he rocked on his heels and folded his arms across his chest. “Yeah... So?”
She ran the beam from his head to his steel-plated work boots. “Hate to disillusion you, but as I suspected, no studs here.”
His eyebrows arched and those dimples she’d loved widened, bracketing his mouth. He lunged. “Give me that thing.”
She danced away, raising the gadget high above her head, dodging out of his reach.
“Bee-ahh-triss...”
Laughing, she turned on her heel and darted for the stairs.
Giving chase, his arm caught her around the waist. Her back pressed against his chest, they wrestled for the stud finder. They stumbled into the railing.
“Are all cowboys as annoying as you, Sawyer?”
“Are all the Duer girls as aggravating as you, Beatrice?” he grunted. “Give it up, Girly-Girl.”
Encircled by his arms and trapped against the staircase, she cocked her head. “I’ll surrender the stud finder...” She moistened her lips. “For a kiss.”
With a quick, indrawn breath, he let go of her. “I thought you hated me.”
She clutched the device to her chest. “Maybe, like you said, it’s time to revisit this thing between us. Probably wasn’t as great or big a thing as we imagined. Get it out of our systems once and for all and finally move on.”
He took a step backward, and she immediately missed his warmth. “Let me get this straight. You want me to kiss you?”
She laid the stud finder between the rungs on the stair step. “I do.”
Honey lifted her chin and moved closer. “For old time’s sake. Give it your best shot, Kole.” She fondled the pearl stud on her earlobe.
A skittish look in his eyes, he knotted his hands against the sides of the jeans that fit him oh so right. But he didn’t move. Made no attempt to come near or to touch her. He gazed at her, two...three...five seconds.
Doubt assailed her. What had gotten into her? Suppose he didn’t want to...?
His Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat and in a sudden move, he took hold of her forearms. He lowered his head. Her lips parted, and she edged upward on the tips of her toes.
Sawyer’s mouth hovered millimeters from her own. Her heart hammered. Her arms drifted and locked around his neck.
What was he waiting for? If he didn’t go ahead and kiss her, she was going to fall over.
An electric bolt went through her the moment his lips touched hers.
The rough calluses of his palms cupped her face. His mouth broke free, his eyes holding her with his gaze, something powerful passing between them.
A catch in her breath, she kissed him back. Too soon—for Honey’s preference—he released her. She leaned against the newel post, grateful for its support. She was glad to note he seemed to be having as much trouble recovering his breath as she.
She grasped for the threads of her composure. She mustn’t let him see how he’d rattled her. “See? Just as I suspected.”
He stilled, then with great deliberation passed his hand over his Coastie buzz cut. “I guess you showed me,” he rasped.
Oh yeah, she’d shown him. Shown him how much she despised him.
Honey forced out a hollow laugh. “Just a walk down memory lane. Keeping it fun. Gotta keep the past in the past, though.”
The bleakness in his eyes chilled her. “Right. What future could there have ever been between a messed-up cowboy Coastie and the Eastern Shore’s Sweetheart?”
“Mission accomplished.” Her mouth trembled. “And nobody calls me sweetheart.”
Sawyer hooded his eyes, but not before she spotted the hurt there. Hurt she’d placed there. “Despite what you believe, Beatrice, I don’t play games.”
He staggered toward the door. “I’m going out to the truck to bring in some supplies.” He hesitated at the entrance. “I hope we can still be friends.”
Why did that leave her feeling empty?
Mission accomplished, all right. Instead of excising the Coastie from her life, the opposite had occurred. How was she going to keep her heart intact working alongside Sawyer to rebuild the inn? ’Cause kissing Sawyer Kole had proven to be as great as she’d remembered.
She sank onto the bottom step of the stairs. Truth be told, more so.
Chapter Thirteen
By the time she arrived at the lodge the next day, Honey had regained control of her mixed-up, messed-up emotions. Sort of.
Taking a deep breath, she plodded past the churned mud that used to be the lawn and stopped at the sight of a blue Chevy pickup backed to the porch, tailgate down. She jolted as ripping sounds overrode the raucous cry of the seagulls swooping over the sunlit, diamond-studded tidal creek. Piles of drywall littered the yard.
Inside the house, hammer raised, Sawyer paused when her shadow fell across the threshold. But he kept the hardened muscles of his back to her. “Grab a sledgehammer from the toolbox, Beatrice.”
Expecting him to object to her continued participation, she’d prepared a speech. She itched to tell him off, but he’d stolen her thunder. “How’d you know it was me?”
His mouth did that curious, one-sided smile thing. “I always know when it’s you.”
She sashayed to the toolbox and brandished a hammer. “Okay. What do I do now?”
His eyes flitted from her black flats to her leggings to her pink blouse and tank top. “You’re not really dressed for construction, Beatrice.”
She lifted her chin. “Just because you remodel doesn’t mean you can’t do it with style. And I’ve been thinking.” Honey ignored his groan. “We’ve been going about this the wrong way.”
“Going about what?”
She fluttered her hand. “This thing between you and me.”
His lips flattened. “I thought we put that to rest yesterday with the kiss that wasn’t as great as you remembered.”
She flushed. “I didn’t say that.”
He sighed. “What do you mean then?”
“I think instead of avoiding each other, we should go with the idea of more, not less, time spent together.”
He cocked his head. “On the theory of yours that we’ll get each other out of our systems?”
“Exactly.”
“Let me see if I can get this through my thick, Coastie skull. You hate my guts, but now you want to spend more time with me?” He crossed his arms across his chest. “Seriously?”
Honey had a hard time keeping her gaze from following the ripple of his muscle. She swallowed. “Seriously.” She worried her lower lip with her teeth. “And I don’t hate you. You said you hoped we could be friends.”
If anything, his mouth thinned further.
His silence unnerved her.
“I—I hope we can be friends, too.” She took a step closer. “And friends spend time together, right? No harm, no foul.”
He studied her. She twisted the pearl strand at her throat. He blew out a breath and unfolded his arms.
“Whatever you want, Beatrice. Have it your way.” He flicked his eyes at her. “You always do anyway. Let’s get to work.”
She nodded, gulping past the inexplicable fear he’d refuse her olive branch. Friends... She could do friends.
Couldn’t she?
He pointed his hammer at the watermark above the light switch. “Everything must be ripped out to that line.” He rolled hi
s tongue in his cheek. “Shouldn’t be too difficult. Just imagine the wall is my head and give it a good whack.” He smashed the wall with his hammer to demonstrate.
She winced, but feet spread hip-width in a girly-girl version of the regulation stance the guard had perfected, she braced. Raising the hammer above her head and using every ounce of her strength, she drove the hammer into the wall.
Honey staggered as the hammer bit through the soggy wall with far more force than necessary. Her arms vibrated. She glared at him over her shoulder. “Don’t you dare laugh at me, Coastie.”
Sawyer kept his face blank. But his shoulders quivered suspiciously. “I wouldn’t dream of laughing. I’m more stunned than anything. Beatrice and a hammer? Who’d have thunk?” He shook his head. “But for safety’s sake, I think I’ll move out of range for my own protection.”
Honey heaved the hammer with both hands above her head like she was employing the anvil at the Wachapreague Fireman’s Carnival. “Might be the best decision you could make.” She angled toward another section of the living room. “For your own safety.”
“You’re the boss.”
She sniffed. “Most sensible thing I’ve ever heard come out of your mouth, cowboy.” She grunted, striking at the drywall.
Within an hour, her arms ached with fatigue. He relieved her of the hammer and suggested she speed the process along by hauling drywall chunks to the growing pile outside. She suspected he’d invented the job to go easy on her. But after several backbreaking trips lugging drywall outdoors, she decided he hadn’t done her any favors. By afternoon’s end, they’d cleared everything from the living room and kitchen.
“Won’t take long to remove the sections in the dining room.” He leaned over, resting his hands on his knees. “After that, we’ll have to dry everything out with industrial fans.”
Sawyer straightened and stretched. At the glimpse of his muscles flexing, she had a hard time remembering to breathe.