Coast Guard Sweetheart

by Lisa Carter

  His hands flexed around the wheel. “I take care of myself.”

  She nudged her chin at the bandage. “And not doing a great job. Come inside the house. I brought you a plate of food.”

  He pushed back his shoulders. “Just give me the plate.”

  She wagged her finger at him. “Not happening, Kole. You’ll scarf it down in between shoveling horse manure or cleaning tack. Not healthy. You need to take a break.”

  “I told you I’m fine. Got to keep moving. If I stop moving—”

  “You fall asleep in your truck.”

  Sawyer flushed.

  Honey planted her hands on her hips. “You’re dead on your feet and no good to anyone if you don’t get some rest. So get out of the vehicle, Coastie. Don’t make me go all steel magnolia on you. I promise, you wouldn’t like it.”

  “Steel gardenia in your case.” His eyes teased. “Don’t sell yourself short, Beatrice. I think maybe I would.”

  Honey’s knees buckled at the unrepentant buccaneer grin he shot her way. And she made a quick grab for the support of the truck door. Gardenias... So he’d noticed. Her “little” landscaping project had evolved into lots of old-fashioned shrubs—gardenias, lilacs and hydrangeas.

  And she’d developed more than a little fondness for ditch daisies.

  With her heart jackhammering, she reminded herself of her mission objective. “We can do this the easy way or the hard way. Your choice.” An echo of his words to her on the day of the storm.

  She cocked her head. “But one way or the other, cowboy, you’re coming inside the house and eating the food.”

  His lips curved. “You gonna force feed me, Beatrice?”

  She placed her foot on the truck’s running board. “Whatever it takes. Besides, there’s a few painting ideas I want to run by you.”

  “More on the Honey Do-er list?” Mock-groaning, he let go of the wheel. “So you want a design consult?”

  Actually, not so much. The trick, she’d decided long ago in dealing with the male species, was knowing when and how much steel versus gardenia to apply. She switched to a more cajoling tone.

  “I’d also prefer not to eat alone.” She looked down and then up at him out of the corner of her eyes. “Keep me company while I eat, Sawyer?”

  He raked his hand over his Coastie cut. “I—I didn’t realize you hadn’t eaten...”

  She caught his hand, his palm warm against hers. Indulging in the tiny frisson of pleasure his touch wrought. Even with his off duty construction attire of jeans and T-shirt, Honey was still so Coastie-susceptible.

  Okay...maybe not so much Coastie-susceptible as Sawyer-susceptible.

  As Sawyer gave her hand a squeeze and swung his legs out of the truck, she stepped aside to give him room. To her chagrin, he let go of her hand.

  He swept his arm toward the rebuilt screened porch. “Lead on, O fearless Duer.”

  She sniffed. “Like you once told me, better be careful what you wish for, Kole.”

  “Bossy much, Beatrice?”

  She arched a look at him over her shoulder. “I’m not bossy, Coastie. I’ve got leadership skills.”

  Wrenching open the screen door, Sawyer’s laughter made her grin. Wouldn’t do to let him know that, though.

  * * *

  Inside the kitchen, Sawyer watched her unwrap the foil off a paper plate. She’d placed the ditch daisies he’d left—like the pitiful, lovesick XPO he was—in an antique blue bottle vase, he noted. She moved the flowery rays of sunshine to the kitchen windowsill overlooking the marsh.

  “There.” Honey angled. “It’ll catch the last rays of light.”

  She handed him a plastic fork. “You’ll have to eat standing up.”

  He leaned against the newly installed countertop. “Where’s yours?”

  She shrugged. “We can share.”

  It was hard being this close to her every day. Working alongside Honey, yet never being able to—Sawyer jabbed the fork into the pile of mashed potatoes.

  He closed his eyes and moved his lips in a quick prayer. He opened them to find her watching him this time, her arms crossed. Dropping his gaze, he shoveled the potatoes into his mouth.

  Sawyer’s mouth watered, and he realized he couldn’t remember the last time he ate. Probably those Long Johns Reaves brought to the station that morning. And before that?

  Half a plate later, Sawyer froze, the fork suspended midway to his mouth. “I forgot to share.” He put down the fork. “Sorry.” He pushed the plate across the plastic-swathed granite toward Honey.

  A smile quirked her lips. “I’m not. You were hungry. I like watching a man enjoy his food.”

  “I always enjoy your food, Hon—” He caught himself. “Beatrice.”

  Her smile dimmed. She shoved the plate back at him. “Go ahead and finish it.”

  “But you—”

  “I’m not as hungry as I thought. I’ll grab something at Miss Pauline’s.”

  His brows knit, but he grabbed the biscuit and took a bite. She whirled in a slow three-sixty, taking in the reconstructed commercial kitchen. At her happiness, a satisfaction filled long empty places inside him.

  She’d decided on a French country design—off-white cabinets, a yellow-and-blue-tiled backsplash, and touches of warm reds. She dreamed. He implemented.

  Which, in his dreams, was how it ought always to be between him and Honey.

  “It’s going to be better than it was before thanks to you, Sawyer.”

  He concentrated on taking the next bite. And chewing some more. He made a deliberate effort to swallow. “I promised you I’d give you your home back and I meant it.”

  “What was your home like, Sawyer?”

  He choked. Coughed. And stalled. “Oklahoma. You know that. Rodeo and barns. Now the Guard.”

  “I meant your home as a boy.”

  He dropped the biscuit. He so did not want to go there. Not with her.

  She fingered the strand of pearls at her throat. “You’ve never told me about your parents. What were they like?”

  He concentrated on placing the fork across the width of the plate just so.

  “Sawyer... Talk to me.”

  At her hushed tone, he glanced up.

  Her face gentled. “Please...”

  Shuffling his feet on the yet to be varnished hardwood pine, he wiped his hands along the side of his jeans. Might as well get this over with. In a few weeks, with the remodel of the church and inn complete, it wouldn’t matter if she knew.

  “My mother died on the streets from a drug overdose. My father died in prison for an armed bank robbery gone wrong.”

  Her eyes widened.

  “Great gene pool, huh?” Curling his lip, he stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Never had a real family. The Larsens were the closest, court-ordered guardians I ever got.”

  Honey inserted her arm through the crook of his elbow. “So you modeled yourself after them. Became a guardian of the sea.”

  Something pinged in his chest. Funny how Honey Duer got him. Sometimes better than he understood himself. And her sweetness, so like the old Honey, threatened to undo the careful barricades he’d erected around his heart.

  He played off her words, allowing his shoulder to rise and fall. “Sounds much more noble than what I actually thought as an eighteen-year-old recruit after graduating from the system with nowhere else to go.”

  It hurt his heart to contemplate what she must think of him. But being Honey, she once again surprised him.

  “So they abandoned you? Kicked you out? How long were you with them?” Her brown eyes flashed. “How old were you when you were placed the first time?”

  “Ten.” He frowned at the intensity in her gaze, confused by the anger in her voice. “I was with the
Larsens only during high school.”

  Was she angry with him? Angry with the Larsens? Why was she angry at all?

  “The Larsens are good people. But there were other kids, a long line, waiting for the same chance they’d given me. It’s the way the system works. They’ve tried to stay in touch. Phone calls, cards, but—”

  “But you let them in too far, regretted it and rebuilt your walls. Kind of a pattern with you, isn’t it? Leave before they leave you.”

  A beat of silence.

  Sawyer stared at her. “I guess it is.”

  Her eyes softened. “Lessening the chances of being hurt. Not allowing yourself to be vulnerable. Has this strategy worked?”

  “Until I met you...” He gulped past the boulder clogging his throat. “Yeah, it did.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Honey’s heart accelerated at his words. Her eyes drifted to the blue vase of ditch daises on the windowsill. If what he’d said was true, she and Sawyer weren’t that different in the way they coped with life’s wounds.

  Except she coped alone. And Sawyer had found a God who’d promised to never forsake him.

  Her strategy involved keeping everyone at arm’s length behind the veneer of her invincible hospitality. The always in control Hostess with the Mostest. And her strategy had worked so well. Until a certain cowboy Coastie sailed back into her life.

  She bit her lip. “What was the verse you were reading in the truck?”

  He avoided her gaze. “You mean before I fell asleep?”

  “It appeared well-worn to that spot in your Bible.”

  Sawyer propped his elbows on the countertop and hunched over the plate. “Sometimes I forget that verse is meant for me, too. So I have to read it over and over. I get enormous peace from that verse.”

  Hoping he’d trust her with another piece of his heart, she held her breath. Baby steps. Patience. Neither of them—God help them both—were the trusting sort.

  He scrunched the aluminum foil into a ball. “It’s from Romans.”

  She exhaled.

  He took a jump shot into the oversized construction trashcan. “‘Therefore there is no condemnation for those in Christ Jesus.’”

  Condemnation. Her chest tightened. Is that what he felt from her? She’d no right to judge Sawyer. She was only just beginning to understand the challenges he’d faced in his life.

  Her cell phone rang. She fished it out of her jean pocket and read the text. “Oh, no.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “It’s from Braeden. Amelia’s in labor again. They’re at Riverside.”

  Sawyer frowned. “Is it still too early? Are she and the baby okay?”

  “It’s Max Braeden’s worried about. I need to go to Riverside and take care of Max while Braeden’s with Amelia. Dad’s stuck in Salisbury on a supply run with one of the ROMEOs.”

  Sawyer tossed the paper plate and plastic utensils in the trashcan. “I’ll drive you.”

  “You don’t have—”

  “Max and I are buddies.” The hinges of the screen door squeaked as he held it for Honey. “Besides, I want to be there for him—and for you.”

  “Thank you.” Her mouth trembled. “I don’t feel quite up to making the trek alone anyway.”

  She waited in his truck while he did a quick check to make sure the doors were secure. He slid behind the wheel. “Don’t worry. Max will be okay.” He steered the Chevy toward the hospital at Nassawadox.

  Honey gripped the armrest. “The hospital holds bad memories for Max. It’s where he endured so much pain during the fight to save his life from the leukemia.”

  “We’ll both be there for him.”

  She massaged her throbbing temples. “This baby has brought out insecurities in Max none of us suspected. He thinks once the baby arrives, Braeden and Amelia won’t love him anymore. Silly, I know, but—”

  “Not so silly.” Sawyer’s mouth flattened. “He feels alone and he’s scared. He needs to know he’s deeply loved.”

  Sawyer’s eyes cut across the cab to her and then onto the road. “I know about feeling scared and alone.”

  Honey looked at him for a long moment. Seeing him. Feeling the deep, understated hurts in his soul.

  “I’m guessing you would,” she whispered.

  * * *

  The bright florescent lights and pungent antiseptic smells hit Honey as soon as the hospital doors slid open. They found Max in the care of a nurse in the waiting room. Hunkered in an armchair, his feet dangled, not quite long enough to touch the floor.

  Sawyer strode forward. “Max.”

  The little boy shot out of the chair. Bypassing Honey, he flew in a straight trajectory to Sawyer.

  Sawyer went down on one knee and opened his arms. With a small cry, Max’s arms went around Sawyer’s neck. Sawyer enfolded the child in his embrace.

  Honey brushed her hand across Max’s cheek. Max loosened his hold on Sawyer and dragged her into the circle of their embrace. “It’s going to be okay.” She rubbed Max’s back. “We’re here now.”

  “I want my Mimi,” Max whispered. “’Spose the baby kills her like I...?” He buried his face in Sawyer’s shirt.

  “That’s not true, Max.” She cradled the crown of Max’s head. “Is that what this has been about?”

  Sawyer lugged the three of them over to the sofa. “You didn’t kill your mother. That’s not what happened.”

  “You don’t know, Sawyer,” Max sobbed. “You weren’t there.”

  She touched his cheek. “But I was, Max. I was here in this very room the day you were born.”

  Max lifted his head. His eyes, like twin blueberries, swam with tears. “You were here?”

  Honey nodded. “It was a drunk driver who killed your mom. Never you. Because Lindi loved you so much, she hung on so she could give you life. You are Lindi’s last, most precious gift to us. She loved you. Mimi loves you. We all love you. And nothing and no one will ever change who you are to us.”

  Sawyer caught Max’s chin between his thumb and forefinger. “Remember what you said the day after the storm? God made a way for Mimi to be your forever mom and for Braeden to become your dad. God’s love is like that, too. His love doesn’t decrease with every person born. It becomes more. And so it will be with Braeden and Mimi. I’ve learned if you open your heart, the love you give will flow right back to you. Even stronger.”

  Opening your heart. That was the trick, wasn’t it? Trusting. Believing in a love like that. Whether in the love of God or in the love of an erstwhile Coastie.

  The anger was far safer. She couldn’t risk anything more. Not and retain control of her emotions. As long as she had her family, her house and her business, she’d be fine. She so didn’t need the complication of a Coastie in her life.

  A nurse entered the waiting area distracting Honey. “It’s a boy.”

  They rose as one.

  “And my sister? Is she okay?”

  Max slid from Sawyer’s arms. “Mimi?”

  The nurse gestured to the hallway. “Mother and child are doing great. If you’d like a sneak peek at the baby, they’re bringing him into the nursery for a few minutes while your sister is settled into a permanent room.”

  She squatted to Max’s level. “You can visit your Mimi soon.” The nurse patted Max’s cheek. “What a great big brother you’re going to be.”

  Honey took Max’s hand. The three of them followed the nurse down the long corridor to a glass-banked window. Bassinets lined the nursery. Filled with tiny, squirming, squalling, puckered, red-faced infants.

  Pink or blue caps. Family names identified the bundles of joy. Colonna. Turner. Scott.

  Max crinkled his nose. Although the noise was muted through the glass, the cacophony on the other side was almo
st visceral. “He looks loud.”

  Her lips twitched. “Then you’ll be a matched pair. ’Cause you’re loud, too, Max.”

  Max studied the baby. “Why’s he wrapped up like a burrito?”

  Sawyer laughed.

  “Hey, Max.”

  They turned at the sound of the little redheaded girl’s voice. Honey tensed. Whenever these two crossed paths, there were fireworks. She and Sawyer exchanged dubious glances.

  The little girl sidled next to Max and pressed her nose against the glass. “Which one is yours?”

  Max pointed.

  Shoulder-to-shoulder with him, the little girl sighed. “You’re so lucky.” A wistful note entered in her voice. “I wish I had a baby.”

  Max turned his head from his contemplation of the baby and stared at her.

  She kept her eyes riveted on the brawling mass of tiny humanity on the other side of the glass. “You’re going to be the best big brother ever.”

  Max’s shoulders broadened. “Yes.” His chest puffed out. “I am.”

  “Izzie...” Weston Clark hurried along the corridor. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

  The little girl—Isabelle Clark—huddled closer to the window.

  He glanced apologetically at Honey. “I’m so sorry, Miss Duer. I hope Izzie hasn’t been intrusive. I was visiting a neighbor on the next ward over and she got away from me.”

  She patted Izzie’s shoulder. “No problem. She and Max were just visiting his new baby brother.”

  Weston Clark’s eyes darted around the white-walled hallway as if expecting structural breaches. Sawyer went into regulation stance. “Commander Clark, sir.”

  Clark shook his head. “Not in the service any more, Petty Officer. No need for protocol. I’m a Kiptohanock citizen now.” He glanced at his daughter. “And Izzie’s father full-time.” He held out his hand. “Time to go home, Izzie.”

  Izzie molded her lips to the glass and blew a kiss at the babies, leaving a wet imprint of her mouth. “Bye, Max,” she whispered and slipped her hand into her father’s.

  Max waved. “Bye, Izzie.”

  Braeden passed the Clarks and caught Max in his arms. “Hey, son. I’ve missed you.”