Coast Guard Sweetheart. Lisa Carter
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relationship Sawyer looked forward to nurturing. There was so much this former foster kid needed to learn. Unlike the Duers, his backside had never darkened a church pew until recently.
He was eager before he shipped out again to find out more about this God Braeden and the Duers served at the small, country church in Kiptohanock. Braeden had encouraged him to meet with Reverend Parks. But in the secret places of his heart, Sawyer worried like a dog with a bone whether God could ever really love someone like him.
Sawyer shook his head to clear the troublesome thoughts as he followed Seaside Road, which paralleled the main Eastern Shore artery of Highway 13 on one side and the archipelago of shoals, spits and islands that dotted the ocean side. He turned into the long dapple-shaded Duer drive.
Thrusting open the door of his truck, he took a quick breath for courage. His sneakers crunched across the oyster-shelled path leading to the wraparound porch. Where he found the very pregnant Amelia ensconced on a white wicker chaise lounge chair, sipping a tall cool glass of sweet tea.
His mouth watered. Another thing this Oklahoma boy missed about the Eastern Shore and the South. That and Amelia Scott’s sister.
Amelia deposited her glass with a plunk onto the small table at her elbow.
His eyes narrowed.
Their last encounter—with Amelia declaring his utter unfitness to be a part of her baby sister’s life—had not gone well. And there was the harpoon incident the first time she met her future husband whom she mistook for an intruder. A case of mistaken identity, which three happily married years later, Braeden still liked to joke about.
Amelia gestured toward the pitcher. “Want some tea?”
Sawyer moistened his lower lip with his tongue, but he shook his head. “No, ma’am. Thank you, though.”
He stayed on the bottom step, ready to flee should Amelia decide to chuck the contents at him. Couldn’t be too careful with these Duer girls.
She scrunched her face, wrinkling the freckles sprinkling the bridge of her nose. “You make me feel so old when you call me ma’am. But I can’t fault your manners. Someone taught you well.”
His gaze swept across the black urns filled with fire-engine red geraniums positioned on either side of each planked step. That would’ve been the last foster mom who’d encouraged him to give rodeo a try.
“What did you come here for, Sawyer?”
His eyes darted upward. “I came for Honey.”
She laughed.
He flushed. “I—I mean I came to talk to her. To apologize before I head out in a few days.”
Amelia skewered him with a look.
He shuffled his feet.
“I think you said exactly what you meant the first time.” She reached for her glass. “And don’t be in such a rush to leave us again.”
He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his cargo shorts. “Is she in the house? Could I talk to her? Will she talk to me?”
“It’s low tide.” Amelia brought the tea glass to her lips. “She and Max went clamming.”
His heart sank. “Oh.”
“But no reason you can’t take the extra kayak and head out into the marsh to find them. With Max along, she won’t have gone far.”
He raised his eyebrow into a question mark. “With Max along, is there any point in me trying to talk to her?”
Amelia’s lips curved into a smile. “With Max along, it may save you from getting clam raked. She’ll keep it civil in front of him.” Amelia glanced toward the sky. “I hope.”
She motioned behind the house to where the lawn sloped to the Duer dock. “Go on. Time’s a-wasting. Three years a-wasting, if you get my drift.”
“I’ve never been clamming. I don’t know where to look for them.”
“Keep paddling until you find the dirtiest, muckiest patch of marsh mud and there they’ll be.”
He nodded. “Thank you, Mrs. Scott. I wanted to tell you how sorry I am for upsetting you that spring, too.” He forced himself to look into Amelia’s blue-green eyes.
The compassion—and forgiveness—he beheld there made his chest tighten.
“You also saved my life that spring, Sawyer. Pulled me out of the Kiptohanock harbor while Braeden saved Max from his own impulsiveness. And it’s Amelia. Or ’Melia to friends like you.”
His eyes widened. “After what happened... I’m surprised you’d want me as a friend. Or allow me to get within a nautical mile of Honey.”
Amelia cocked her head. “I’m glad you’re back. A new, better man, Braeden tells me. And I know Honey will be glad you’re back, too. Once she gets over being furious with you.”
He planted his feet even with his hips. “Don’t know I’ll be here long enough for that to happen. She’s plenty mad.”
“She’s also plenty in love with you, XPO Kole.”
He fought the moisture in his eyes. “I—I can’t wish for that, ’Melia. Can’t allow myself to hope. I never did deserve Honey. Still don’t.”
“It’s not about being good enough, Sawyer.”
He hunched his shoulders.
Amelia sighed. “I hope you’ll join us at church this Sunday before you leave. I wish Honey would, too. But she won’t. Hasn’t come in a long time.”
Something else to lay at his revolving door of never-ending guilt.
God help him, Sawyer had so much for which to make amends.
He turned to go.
“And Sawyer?”
He paused.
“Godspeed on this journey God has for you, my friend. Godspeed.”
Honey peered through the cord grass across the shallow drifts of the channel that separated the barrier island wildlife refuge from her home.
A gentle low tide lapped against the end of the canoe she and Max had beached on a high spot of muck and mud. Migratory birds on their yearly autumnal stopover cawed above her head. The blue-green waters waxed and waned according to the tide and the pull of the moon. Reflecting the ebb and flow of her life, too.
Uninhabited islands protected the peninsula from the fierce Atlantic currents and storms. And beyond the dunes where once a fishing village and lighthouse thrived, ocean waves churned. As did her emotions since Sawyer Kole strolled into her life again.
The soothing in and out rhythm of the tide mirrored the sum total of their relationship. Only not so soothing. More like choppy, unpredictable and treacherous.
Suddenly, Max gave a shout.
Jolting, her heart flatlined. She’d taken her eyes off him for one moment, but that’s all it took. Knee-deep in the murky water and her feet encased in layers of marsh mud, she spun a one-eighty almost toppling over when she lost her balance.
But five yards away, Max—too springy to be constrained by mere mud—bounced on the balls of his feet. He cupped his small hands around his mouth. “Aunt Honey! Look!” He gestured toward a kayak rounding the curve of the not-too-distant shoreline.
The channel sparkled like glittering diamonds in the late afternoon sun. And she’d recognize that blond towhead anywhere. After all, hadn’t it nightly haunted her dreams?
Max waved like a signalman on an aircraft carrier. “Ahoy,