Coast Guard Sweetheart (15 page)

“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

B
y 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?”

Kicking one boot free of the stirrup, he extended his hand. “Yup. Put your foot there and I'll haul you the rest of the way.”

“Haul?” She grunted as he heaved her upward. “You make me sound so...less than elegant.”

Sawyer edged back on the mare, making room. “Ready?”

Her eyes glinted. “
Semper paratus
, Coastie. Always.”

Sawyer held her steady, and positioned her in front of him. She teetered, almost unseating them both. “Easy there, Girly-Girl.”

Honey grabbed for the saddle horn. “I'd forgotten what a long way it is to fall.”

Sawyer wrapped his arms around her, taking the reins. He clicked his tongue against his teeth. Froggy rocked into motion. She gasped.

He tightened his hold around her waist. “I'd never let you fall.” His mouth brushed against her hair. “And if you did fall, I'd catch you, I promise.”

Sawyer breathed in the signature fragrance of her hair. Gardenias, the only scent in his opinion that topped horses and hay. Bypassing the rundown corral, he steered the horse toward the rim of trees.

At the easy rhythm of the horse, she gradually relaxed her stiff posture and leaned into him for support. His heart went into overdrive.

“It's beautiful here.”

Sawyer pulled the reins taut and rested Froggy at the top of an incline with grand views of the farm on one side and the tidal creek beyond the sloping bank. “I wish there'd been a place like this for me and Cotton when we were kids.” He clamped his lips together at his inadvertent admission.

Honey twisted in the saddle. “Cotton? Is that your sister?”

Sawyer heaved a sigh. “My little sister. Towheaded—so I called her Cotton.”

Honey's mouth quirked. “You do love the nicknames, don't you, Coastie?”

At her choice of words, he laughed. “Appears I'm not the only one.”

She smiled. “Would you tell me about your sister? Please?”

Holding the reins loosely, he struggled for an even tone before he found the courage to speak. “She had sky blue eyes.”

“Like yours.” Honey touched his cheek with her hand.

Sawyer nestled for a moment in the warmth of her palm. “Hers were a tad darker, I think. She was sweet and quiet.” He frowned. “Too quiet. So as not to draw Dad's anger when he was on one of his drunks.”

“What happened to her, Sawyer?”

Angling out of reach of her hand, he faced the water. “I don't know. I was ten when my dad was arrested for armed robbery and went to prison. Cotton was five. Mom left us when she was three. I'm not sure Cotton remembered her.” He shrugged. “Probably better that way. There's a lot of things I wish I could forget.”

“Why were you separated?”

He really didn't want to have this conversation with her. He'd spent the greater portion of his life trying to put it behind him. Not dwelling on situations that couldn't be fixed.

Sideways in the saddle, she rested her cheek against the fabric of his shirt and twined her arms around his torso. “You don't have to tell me if you don't want to. But after what you said at the hospital, I wondered. It hurts me how much you hurt as a boy.”

And he found himself telling Honey what he'd never told another soul. How Child Protective Services took them from the hovel they'd called home when their father went to jail. How after a temporary emergency foster placement, he and his sister were separated.