Coast Guard Sweetheart Read online

  Sawyer moved forward at the strange note in his voice.

  “You’re sure?” Braeden’s hand white-knuckled the receiver. “They’ve closed the Bay Bridge Tunnel to traffic due to wind gusts. The hospital here—” A moan echoed.

  Braeden’s eyes enlarged. “Amelia? Are you all right? Where’s your dad?”

  Sawyer’s heart ratcheted.

  “I—I can’t leave.” Braeden closed his eyes. “All hands are on duty for the duration.” A muscle ticked in his jaw.

  Sawyer clenched his hands at his sides. Baby Scott couldn’t be making his or her entrance at the opening salvo of the worst hurricane to hit the Shore in a generation.

  “I’m glad your dad is with you. He’ll take you to Riverside. Call me when you get there. Keep me updated.” Braeden moistened his lips. “I want to know everything. I wish I could be there...”

  Braeden heaved a breath. “I know you understand, but I still wish...” His eyes cut to Sawyer.

  Sawyer stepped away into the outer office to give him privacy, but Braeden beckoned for Sawyer to remain.

  “I love you, Shore Girl. I’ll be praying.” Braeden clamped his lips together. “I know you’ll be praying for us, too. Bye for now.” His hand shook as he replaced the phone into the receiver.

  Sawyer’s stomach knotted. “Chief?”

  But as the chief’s training kicked in, Sawyer watched the panic recede from Braeden’s eyes and calm leadership take its place.

  “She’s gone into labor. Full moon tonight, you know.” Braeden squared his jaw. “Will make the storm surge worse, too.”

  “But Amelia’s okay?”

  “She’s in pain and scared. It’s too early. Two months too early. The baby...” With studied deliberation, Braeden stacked the scattered papers into a neat pile. “Seth’s taking her to Riverside. Can’t get to the specialist in Norfolk now. Seth doesn’t think they’ll make it in time up Highway 13 to Salisbury, either, not with the evacuation traffic.”

  “You should be there, Chief.”

  Braeden’s mouth tightened. “I have a duty to this station and to Kiptohanock.”

  If it were Honey—Sawyer gritted his teeth. Honey hated him. Rightly so after he’d made the worst decision of his life and walked away from her.

  She’d never carry Sawyer’s baby. There’d never be a child. And he only had himself to blame.

  “I’m here for you, Chief. I’ll man the station. You go—”

  Braeden swept his hand across the desk and sent the papers flying. “I’m needed here and you know it.”

  “What I know is that you’re needed at Riverside. With your wife and your baby.”

  “Amelia understands. We went through the same separation during a typhoon while stationed in Hawaii. And of course, Max decided in the middle of my deployment to require a tonsillectomy.” He gave Sawyer a crooked grin.

  “Of course, he did, Chief. Sounds exactly like something Max would do.”

  Braeden laughed. More of a bark really. But a laugh nonetheless.

  “And God took care of him just fine, I bet. Amelia Duer Scott is a good Coastie wife. God will take care of her and Baby Scott, too.”

  “She is a good Coastie wife.” Some of the tension eased from Braeden’s shoulders. “She puts up with me, doesn’t she?”

  “Affirmative, Chief.” Sawyer gave Braeden a look to let him know he was kidding.

  “Right.” Braeden regathered the papers. “Back to the hurricane.”

  Sawyer bent and scooped a few pages, which had fluttered to the floor. “And Honey? She went with them?”

  Braeden took the papers from him. “Battening the Duer hatches. Seth told her to evacuate with Max to higher ground. Most of Kiptohanock is relocating to Nandua Middle School. The portmaster has declared Condition Yankee and closed all ports from North Carolina to Maryland. It’s going to be a long day.”

  And it was. With advance winds approaching sixty miles per hour, the station stayed busy rescuing watermen and families who’d not heeded the evacuation directions of the emergency management team.

  Between distress calls, Reaves monitored NOAA’s weather updates. Sheets of rain fell from the pewter sky over Kiptohanock. Churning waves had obliterated the barrier islands from view.

  The tide ran ankle deep along Kiptohanock’s main street. Everyone with any sense had holed up on higher ground at the evacuation center. Better fled than dead, Sawyer reckoned.

  He pointed to the computer monitor. “High tide looks to coincide with landfall.”

  Braeden blew out a breath. “Flood stage will reach seven to eight feet at Kiptohanock. Higher in more low-lying areas.”

  Sawyer grimaced. “Like the Duer Lodge.”

  The phone rang.

  Braeden poured himself his tenth cup of coffee. “Honey’s going to be devastated.”

  “Chief?” Reaves cradled the station phone in her hand. “It’s your father-in-law at the hospital.”

  Braeden shoved the mug at Sawyer and grabbed the phone. “Seth?”

  Sawyer, Reaves and the other station crew not currently deployed on search and rescue held their collective breath.

  Braeden nodded as if Seth Duer could see him through the phone. “Tell her to hang on. I’ll be there as soon as this storm blows over and the situation is stabilized.” He clicked off.

  “Chief?” Sawyer, as second in command, spoke for them all.

  Braeden gave them the first smile he’d sported since the station went on alert and Amelia went into labor. “They stopped the contractions for now. Mother and baby are doing okay. Tough as a sea barnacle, that girl.”

  Sawyer slapped Braeden on the back. “Baby Scott, too. What else would you expect with such a tough Alaskan and Eastern Shore gene pool, huh?”

  Radio static from Sector Hampton Roads drew Reaves. Responding, she raised her eyebrows. “We got another one, Chief. Woman and baby near Oyster trapped by rising water. Climbed out the window onto the roof. Her trailer’s almost submerged. No time to call the Jayhawks, even if the helos from Elizabeth City could get into the air.”

  Sawyer started toward his locker to retrieve his storm gear. “I’ll suit up, Chief.”

  “No,” Braeden straightened. “You’ve been out on the last two calls with no break in between. I’ll command the next SAR. Amelia’s as situated as she’s likely to get. It’ll be good to burn off some excess energy and make sure nothing happens to somebody else’s baby.”

  Braeden and the response team had only been deployed ten minutes when Seth Duer called again.

  Sawyer intercepted the call. “Mr. Duer, sir?”

  “Honey and that blasted house...”

  Sawyer frowned. “What’s wrong with Honey? Is she all right?”

  “I drove to the middle school but no Honey. No Max. She promised me as soon as she stowed the outside equipment, she’d leave.”

  Sawyer’s breath hitched. “You mean she’s still at the house? The water’s got to be five feet above the shoreline already there.” He gripped the phone.

  Honey’s father growled. “She promised me... It’s not like her to endanger Max.”

  Sawyer pushed down the fear rising in his gut. “I’ll take care of it, Mr. Duer. I give you my word. I’ll drive over there and bring her back if I have to hogtie her to do it.”

  “I knew you’d be the man for the job,” Seth chuckled, but Sawyer caught the underlying worry in his voice.

  Sawyer bit his lip so hard he tasted the metallic tang of his own blood. “I’ll call you with a report as soon as we return, sir.”

  “Appreciate that, son. And Sawyer?”

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Take care of yourself, too.”

  Donning his boots and rain slicker, Sawyer trudged toward the rapidly
disappearing station parking lot. The weather worsening, time was of the essence. His fury at Honey’s stubbornness grew at the same exponential pace as the storm.

  The usual fifteen-minute journey on a cloudless day took thirty. At the top of the Duer driveway, he was forced to pull off onto the shoulder of the road.

  He’d have to walk from here. Stepping out of the vehicle, he shielded his face from the stinging pellets of water. In shin-deep water, he strained against the increasing force of the wind.

  Around the curve of the bent double trees, he spotted the three-story Victorian at last. Although lights shone from within, the house lay completely surrounded by the inlet. Water lapped at the porch steps. If they delayed any longer, Sawyer figured they’d have to swim for it.

  Sawyer slogged up the steps, pulling himself upward by sheer brute strength along the railing. Reaching the wide wraparound porch, Sawyer pounded on the door in no mood for any of Honey’s histrionics. “Open the door, Beatrice!”

  His fist battered the doorframe. “I know you’re in there. And you’ve got five seconds before I’m kicking this door in and coming after you. One...” His boot leveled a blow against the bottom of the door.

  “Two...” He pressed his mouth against the glass-paned sidelight of the oak door. “Three...” The door vibrated with another thud from his boot.

  Sawyer raised his fist again. “Four—”

  “How dare you?” She swung the door wide, leaving Sawyer’s hand raised in midair. “What do you think you’re doing? This is an antique, you cowboy barbarian.”

  The wind caught the door, wrenching it from her grasp. The door crashed against the interior wall. She scowled.

  He scowled. “How dare you, Beatrice Elizabeth Duer?”

  She arched her brows. “How dare I what?”

  He was about done with her snooty high-handedness. “How dare you endanger your life and Coast Guard personnel, whose resources are already stretched thin, because of your frivolous—”

  “Frivolous?” Her bellow probably echoed all the way to Delaware. “If I’m so frivolous, why don’t you go help somebody who really needs what you have to offer.” She jabbed her finger into his slicker. “’Cause I don’t need your help, Kole. I’ve got everything under control.”

  He leaned across the threshold into her face. “It looks like you got everything under control as you stand ankle-deep in water, Duer.”

  “All the more reason to stay.” She planted her hands on her hips. “Unlike you, I don’t walk away and abandon what’s important. I need to move everything to the second floor. I’ve got a lot invested in this lodge. Not to mention it’s my home.” Her lips quivered momentarily.

  Sawyer hardened his heart. “It’s not worth your life.”

  Honey rolled her eyes. “Dramatic much, Kole?”

  Sawyer advanced. “That’s your department if I remember correctly.”

  Backpedaling, she folded her arms across her denim shirt. “I’ve lived through a dozen storms in my lifetime already. A real Shoreman isn’t scared of a little wind and rain.”

  “A real Shoreman ought to have enough sense to come out of the rain, especially hurricane-force rain. This storm isn’t like the others. Your father called. I’m here to take you to safety.”

  Honey actually snorted—as unladylike a gesture as he’d ever seen from the Hostess with the Mostest. “I’m not going anywhere with you. Being with you, I learned the hard way, doesn’t equal safety. Not by a long shot.”

  She hefted a crate of blue pottery and placed it on the stair landing. “But if you’re bound and determined to be useful, why don’t you grab Daddy’s armchair and hoist it up here.”

  “We’re leaving, Beatrice. Now.”

  She descended the stairs and lifted another box full of checker pieces and beach rickrack.

  “You can do this the easy way or the hard way, Beatrice. Your choice.”

  She spun, her boots making eddying swirls in the water. “When has anything with you been my choice?”

  He fought to keep his temper under control. “I don’t have time to hash this out with you right now. I’m trying to save your life!” The last part ended with a roar.

  She drew back. “I’m not leaving. And you can’t make me, Petty Officer Kole.” She tipped her chin in defiance.

  In two strides, he crossed the living room and plucked the box from her arms. “Watch me.” Setting it on the first stair, he grabbed hold of Honey.

  Seizing her waist, he slung her over his shoulder. She landed with a whoosh of air on her stomach. She pounded his back and sputtered indignant threats of reprisal. He clamped an arm around her dangling jean legs as she tried to squirm free.

  “Let go of me.” She pounded her fists on his shoulder blades.

  He winced but continued toward the entrance.

  “I hate you.”

  He slogged forward. “Old news, Beatrice.”

  She yelled at the top of her lungs.

  He ignored her. She grabbed hold of the doorframe and hung on. Water had breached the top of the porch.

  “Let go, Beatrice. Or I’m going to dump you on your fair derriere right into the Machipongo and let you dog paddle your way to my truck. But one way or the other, you and Max are leaving here.”

  She stilled. “Max? What are you talking about? He went with Dad and Amelia to the hospital hours ago.” She released her hold on the door.

  He allowed Honey to slide with a small splash toward the floor. His chest tightened. “Your father said Max stayed here with you. When’s the last time you saw him?”

  “Max was upset about Amelia being in pain. And about the baby coming. He went looking for the dogs and—” She clapped her hand over her mouth.

  “What?”

  “I haven’t seen Blackie and Ajax in hours, either.”

  “Animals sense when these things are coming. They tend to burrow somewhere till the worst is over.”

  Her face went pale. “You don’t think he’s out there—” she choked off a sob “—searching for them?” She squeezed his arm. “Sawyer, what are we going to do?”

  We.

  His heart slammed against his rib cage. The first time since he’d returned she’d said his name.

  Max’s life was at stake. And he wouldn’t let her down. Not this time.

  “We’re going to find him.” He locked gazes with her brimming brown eyes. “I promise.”

  Chapter Eight

  Honey blinked back tears. Sawyer called 911 on his handheld radio. Then, he called Reaves at the station.

  “They’ve closed rescue operations till the storm dies down. They can’t risk any more lives at this point. They said they’d try to come out once the storm moves off-Shore. But until then...”

  She huddled against the railing. “We’re on our own.”

  “Braeden’s team isn’t back from Oyster yet. The storm’s gotten worse fast. They’ve probably had to take shelter where they could find it.”

  “We’ve got to find Max.”

  Sawyer tightened his jaw. “I’ll find Max. No way I’m letting you out in this storm. The wind would knock you clean over.”

  Honey enfolded her raincoat closer around her body. “I’m tougher than I look. You need me.”

  Sawyer’s sky blue eyes flickered.

  Her cheeks burned. “You need my help, I mean.”

  Sawyer turned away. “I need you to stay here. I can’t rescue Max and you, too. Max will be cold and hungry. Best thing you could do is what you do best.”

  Honey lifted her chin. “What is it exactly you think I do best? I’m more than just some girly-girl.”

  “Nothing wrong with being a girly-girl. I like girly-girls.” Sawyer faced the raw fury of the storm. “Fact is, you strengthen and comfort
. You give hope.”

  He pointed to the tree line. “Maybe Max and the dogs holed up in Braeden’s old cabin. I’ll check there first.”

  She caught his arm. “Be careful.”

  He nodded. “Go back inside, out of the wind and rain.” He didn’t wait to see if she obeyed.

  Which she didn’t. She held her breath, afraid the rescuer might need rescuing. Although she hadn’t the slightest idea what she could do if worse came to worst.

  Under the shelter of the porch, scant though it was, she watched him struggle against the current across what had once been the Duer lawn. Bending almost double, he plowed his way toward the woods and disappeared from view. The minutes ticked by. Her anxiety grew.

  Where was Sawyer? How had Max gotten left behind in the shuffle of evacuation? Shame smote her conscience. If she hadn’t been so obsessed over saving the inn none of this would have happened.

  If anything happened to Max... She clasped her hands under her chin. And if anything happened to Sawyer—

  God, please. Help Sawyer find Max. Keep Sawyer and Max safe.

  Her first prayer in how long? She squeezed her eyelids shut. Please, God. Please...

  She sighted a patch of yellow through the trees. She strained forward to see better. His arms wrapped across his chest, Sawyer edged closer in the waist-high water, shielding something—someone—with his body.

  A flash of red. Max’s mop of carrot curls lay flattened against his skull. Sawyer slipped and stumbled. She gasped. Sawyer recovered and, lips clamped together, persevered toward the porch.

  She dashed forward, arms open, to take Max from him. “Max? Is he—?”

  Max lifted his head at the sound of his name. His freckles shone in sharp relief against his pale face. “Aunt H-Honey...”

  “I got him, Beatrice. I’ll take him inside—”

  “No,” Max squirmed. “Blackie and Ajax, they’re still trapped. You got to help ’em, Sawyer.”

  She tried prying Max’s arms from around Sawyer’s neck. He clung to the guardsman like a limpet on stone. “Max, come inside. We need to get you warm. Let go of Sawyer.”

  “Please,” Max burrowed his face into Sawyer’s shoulder. “Please.”