Coast Guard Courtship

Once, just once, she wished she could pull off pretty like Lindi, or ultrafeminine like Honey. Anything less boyish and more womanly.

All she ever managed was “good ole buddy grungy crabber.” She licked her dry lips, wishing she possessed some of Honey’s lip gloss. Her eyes dropped to the floor.

Great first impression, Duer. Especially with someone so...collected? Gorgeous? Masculine?

She glanced up to find the Coastie’s gaze fixed on her hair.

Her heart hammered.

Chapter Two

“What’s with this place?”

Braeden ran a hand through his short-cropped hair. “Should’ve known you’d be another redhead.”

Her eyebrows curved. “What did you say?”

Braeden folded his arms across his chest.

Amelia jabbed her thumb toward the dock. “I take it that sailboat out there is yours?”

Biting the inside of his cheek, he nodded.

“And just what have you got against redheads?”

“I think my boat speaks for itself.” He cocked his head at the grappling hook in her hands. “Redheads are nothing but trouble, plain and simple.”

She curled her lip. “By the way, you’re welcome.”

“For what?”

“For saving your life.”

His mouth dropped open. “You didn’t...”

She pointed at the doughnut lying against the baseboard.

He tightened his lips. “Thanks for saving my life, Ms. Duer.”

“Don’t mention it.”

She inspected him from the top of his head to his regulation black shoes. And something in her face told him she found him wanting. Heat crept up his neck.

He clenched his jaw. “Someday I’ll try to return the favor.”

“Don’t bother. I won’t be in need of your help. As you can see, I’ve got my own back. Me and God.”

He uncrossed his arms and took a step back.

What was with the God talk around here?

Braeden’s eyes traveled over Amelia Duer—her clothing, her boots, her face.

Her hair.

Not a slave to fashion, he guessed, with her ragged-at-the-knee blue jeans tucked into the navy blue Wellingtons. And that gosh-awful neon yellow slicker, which clashed with her wind-tossed strawberry blonde hair. As he’d wrestled her for the grappling hook, the scent of seawater, mud marsh and...something else...brought the Florida Keys to mind.

Tall for a woman, with an athletic build. Late twenties, maybe. A sprinkle of freckles—the bane of redheads, in his considerable and unfortunate experience—dotted the bridge of her nose. Temper and redheaded attitude—he shot another glance at the grappling hook—in abundance.

If this was God’s idea of a joke, it was a bad one from his point of view. Good thing he preferred petite, feminine women.

A phone warbled a tune about burning kisses.

Her eyes rounded, and she fished through the pockets of her rain slicker.

Blushing, she extricated her cell. But flustered, her fingers fumbled. She dropped the phone on a phrase about love that couldn’t be denied. The cell skidded across the table.

“Love, huh?” He smirked and shoved the phone in her direction. “Like Romeo and Juliet?”

She ignored him, seizing hold of the cell. “Honey and her pranks.” She stabbed the talk button as the Pointer Sisters belted, “Fire—”

“Hello? This is—” She swung away. “Is Max okay?”

Braeden frowned at the concern lacing her voice.

“I’ll be right there. Thanks for calling.” Pushing the off button, she headed for the door.

Braeden caught her arm. “Is everything okay? Can I help?”

Lines of weariness carved grooves around her lovely rosebud mouth. She shook her head, the red waves coming loose, falling in soft tendrils around her face. “I’ll take care of it. I need to pick up Max at school. He’s not feeling—” Her face constricted. “I shouldn’t have let him talk me into allowing him to go to school today.”

Max?

Feeling sucker punched, he removed his hand from her arm. She had a son? A husband, too?

Duh...children and husbands usually went together, Scott.

This redhead was someone else’s headache.

Which didn’t make him feel any better.

He snapped his fingers. “Key lime pie.” She smelled like—

“Excuse me?”

He shook his head. “Nothing.”

A bleak expression in her eyes, she rubbed her temples as if she had a headache. “Dinner’s at six. I’ll see you then?”

“Eighteen hundred. I’ll be there.”

“Don’t expect haute cuisine.” She cut her eyes at him, a challenge animating her face once more. “The redheaded Duers are plain and simple folks.”

As she exited the cabin, he followed her onto the porch, watching her disappear through the cover of trees. So that was Amelia Duer. Gutsy. Tough as a sea barnacle. She’d have made a great Guardsman. He stroked his chin, admiring her strength. Able to take care of anything life threw her way.

But who took care of her?

* * *

Rounding the square, Braeden caught sight of Seth Duer standing in front of the Sandpiper. The older man stared through the plate-glass window, shielding his eyes with his hand. Glancing at his watch, Braeden figured he had enough time to find out what was up with Amelia Duer before visiting Station Kiptohanock just across the street.

Parking, Braeden exited his truck. Gravel crunched. “Mr. Duer? Sir?”

Seth Duer jerked and whipped around. “Oh.” His shoulders relaxed. “Already been to the cabin and back, huh?”

Braeden pursed his lips. “Interesting little reception committee you’ve got there in your older daughter, Mr. Duer. You might’ve warned me.” He narrowed his eyes. “Or at least warned her to expect me.”

Seth’s eyes widened. “You met ’Melia?” He rubbed his hand over his jawline stubble. “Thought she’d be on the water till lunchtime.”

“What’s going on here, Mr. Duer?” Braeden rocked onto his heels. “Does our rental agreement still stand or not?”

“Course it does.” Seth attempted a weak laugh. “You introduced yourselves to each other, I take it, son?”

Braeden grimaced. “Oh, yeah. Name, rank and serial number, right after she threatened me with a harpoon.”

Seth’s Adam’s apple bobbed. “Sorry about that. ’Melia is a mite protective. And feisty.”

“And potentially lethal to unwelcome visitors.”

Seth swung open the glass-fronted café door. “She’ll come around. She always does. Just got to give that one time.”

Not to mention a wide berth, Braeden resolved as he allowed Seth to usher him inside.

“Still early for lunch, but I probably owe you a cup of joe for your trouble this morning.”

After almost being skewered, Braeden reckoned Seth might owe him more than that. But he paused in the doorway, inhaling the hearty smells of eggs, fried potatoes and ham. Probably the good Smithfield, Virginia, ham he’d read about as he’d ambled up I-95. The continental thing people called breakfast at the roadside motel in Virginia Beach this morning seemed like hours ago.

He and Seth shuffled past green vinyl booths packed with some of the same men and women he’d met earlier at the marina.

“And here’s my baby girl.” Seth gestured toward a young blonde woman whose embroidered name on the retro 1950s waitress uniform identified her as Honey.

On second thought, maybe not so retro in Kiptohanock.

A young Guardsman leaned his elbows on the counter on either side of his coffee mug, smiling in Honey’s direction.

Beside Braeden, Seth Duer went rigid.

The Guardsman grinned at Honey Duer. “Always ready... That’s our motto...”

Seth growled. “Ready to chase every skirt in Kiptohanock, you mean.”

The Nordic-blond Coastie swung around on the stool. His eyes narrowed.

Seth hustled Braeden forward, blocking the Guardsman’s view of Honey. “This is Braeden, Honey. He’s already—”

The Guardsman elbowed Braeden aside. “Hey, I was here fir—”

Braeden went ramrod stiff and broadened his shoulders. “Boatswain’s Mate Third Class—” he scrutinized the surname on the fellow Coastie’s uniform “—Kole. Did you just shove your XPO?”

The boy’s eyes widened at the stripes on Braeden’s sleeve. “Br-Brae...” His voice cracked and his sunburned features turned a color akin to eggplant. “Executive Petty Officer Braeden Scott? I didn’t realize—”

Kole leaped to his feet and rammed the side of his hand into his forehead. “Boatswain’s Mate Third Class Petty Officer Sawyer Kole.” His blue eyes pinned a spot on the far wall above Braeden’s head.

Braeden acknowledged his salute with one of his own. “At ease, Kole.”

Kole spread-eagled his hips, both arms grasped behind his back.

“Just finished your two days on rotation, Kole?” Braeden studied his watch. “Or just getting ready to report to your watch this time of the morning?”

Kole—in his early twenties, Braeden wagered—swallowed. Hard. “Yes, Petty Officer Scott. On a long-john run for the OIC.”

“Then I suggest you discontinue making a public nuisance of yourself and get to Station Kiptohanock ASAP.” Braeden crossed his arms. “We’ll continue this conversation at the station later, and perhaps—” he blew a slow breath out from between his lips “—review CG standards for fraternization and respect for the local populace.”

Kole gave a short, emphatic nod.

“Was that an affirmative, Boatswain’s Mate? Do you read me?”

“Yes, Petty Officer Scott. Loud and clear. Permission to be dismissed?”

“Granted.”

Snatching his cap off the counter, Kole, with a sharp pivot, exited the diner with a whoosh of air and a jingle of the bell.

Braeden angled toward his new landlord. “I’m sorr—”

Honey lobbed a napkin at her father. “Did you have to embarrass Sawyer in front of his XPO, Daddy?” She picked up Kole’s abandoned fork.

Braeden stepped back.

“Now, Honey.” Seth threw up his hands. “After what your sisters went through, I’m not big on Coasties.”

Her brown eyes darkened. “Sawyer’s not like that, Daddy.”

Seth folded his arms over his chest. “They’re all like that, Honey.” He flung Braeden an apologetic look. “Begging your pardon, Braeden. No offense intended.”

“None taken, Mr. Duer.”

“Please, call me Seth.” Seth swiveled to his daughter. “Honey, you know how I feel about—”

Honey dabbed her large doe eyes with the edge of her pink ruffled apron. “You’re trying to ruin my life, aren’t you, Dad?”

Seth’s eyebrows arched. “Ruin your life? Honey...”

Guffaws bellowed from the booths.

“I’d leave it go if I were you fellows.” Seth heaved a sigh, not bothering to turn his head. “Or see how quick those motors of yours get fixed.” Which produced further hee-haws from Seth’s gray-haired peers at the corner booth.

Seth leaned over the counter. “Braeden ran into ’Melia at the cabin.”

Honey sucked in a quick breath. “How’d that go?”

Braeden scowled. “About as well as you’d expect at the end of a harpoon.”

Honey rolled her eyes. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Scott. I’d hoped we could ease in an introduction tonight between dinner and pie.”

“Braeden,” he huffed. “Since if anything happens to me, I assume you two will be the ones making my funeral arrangements.”

Honey shook her head. “Don’t you worry. Amelia will come around. May take some time, but she always gets on board eventually.”

Braeden sighed. “That’s what your father said.”

Honey grabbed a coffee mug. “I’ll give her a call.” She reached for a nearby coffeepot warming on a burner. “You’ve had an eventful morning. You need a jolt of java to tide you over.”

“No, thanks.” Braeden held up a hand. “I’m headed to the station. And your sister got a call from Max’s school. She’s headed there to pick him up.”

Seth’s hand clenched on the back on the chair Kole had vacated.

Honey’s lower lip trembled. “Was she upset?” She fingered her apron. “Of course she was upset. I mean, was she crying upset?”

Seth frowned. “’Melia doesn’t cry. Never has. Was Max okay?”

Braeden threw him a long look. “She said Max wasn’t feeling well.” His gaze swung to Honey. Something was going on here that he didn’t understand. “And no, she wasn’t crying.”

Seth nodded. “She’ll handle it, then. Got it under control. She’s not a crier.”

Honey bit her lip. “Might be better if she did.” Straightening her shoulders, Honey lifted the top of a glass cake stand filled with pastries. “If you won’t take some coffee, why don’t you help yourself to another long john, Braeden?”

The image of strawberry blonde waves of hair flashed across Braeden’s mind. The gutsy, harpoon-wielding married Duer sister, he reminded himself. As for doughnuts?

After the near-choking incident at the cabin...too soon.

Too soon for a lot of things.

Refusing, Braeden promised to be on time for dinner and hurried toward the station, where at this point, the sea appeared more predictable than life amid the Duer clan.

Chapter Three

At Station Kiptohanock, a female seaman apprentice vacated Dispatch and ushered him into the chief petty officer’s office. Braeden saluted.

Throwing down papers, the fiftysomething Thomas rose from his chair behind the utility desk and returned Braeden’s salute. “At ease, Scott.”

Braeden assumed the position, legs hip-width apart, hands clasped behind his back.

“Welcome to Station Kiptohanock.” Thomas offered his hand. “A day early for your watch rotation. I’m pleased to have you serving here as my executive petty officer.”

Braeden shook his hand. “Just wanted to stop by and say hello. Meet the duty personnel today.”

“Reviewed your record.” His new chief motioned toward a file folder. “Heard more about you through the chain of command.”

Braeden winced. “About Florida, Chief...”

Chief Thomas waved a hand. “Good things, XPO. Good things. We’re lucky to have you here at Small Boat Station Kiptohanock, where we’re tasked with search and rescue or maritime law enforcement of the recreational boating type, mainly.” He laughed. “I only hope an adrenaline junkie like yourself won’t be bored out of your wits.”

Braeden stiffened into attention once more. “I’m here to serve you, Chief, the Guard and the public.”

Thomas eyed him. “Relax, Scott. No criticism intended. Somebody at headquarters thinks highly of your skills...and your potential for command.”

Braeden scrutinized Thomas. “Permission to speak freely, Chief?”

“Granted.”

“Master Chief Davis was an old friend of my father’s. Both from the same Alaskan fishing village near Homer. After my father died, he’s made it his business to—” Braeden licked his lips, searching for the right word “—shepherd my career.”

A knock sounded.

Thomas shifted his gaze over Braeden’s shoulder. “Come.”

Kole poked his head around the door frame. At the sight of his future XPO, Kole’s face darkened. Braeden pushed back his shoulders. Thomas’s gaze darted between the two men.

“I take it you and our landlocked Oklahoma Coastie have already introduced yourselves.” Thomas rounded the desk and took a single sheet of paper from Kole. He scanned the document. “No mayday?”

Kole shook his head. “Wife reported them missing when her husband’s boat failed to arrive in Wilmington yesterday. She’s been unable to contact them by radio for several days due to the nor’easter last week.”

Braeden stepped forward. His nerve endings vibrated with the familiar rush of excitement. “Chief?”

Thomas glanced up. “A twenty-eight-foot white center-console vessel with a red stripe, the Abracadabra has done a vanishing act. Two men aboard sailed out of Cape May, New Jersey.”

Chief Thomas angled toward Kole. “Get the boat crew to increase their patrols.” He strode to a nautical map of the Eastern Shore tacked onto the office wall.

“Our range of operational territory in the Virginia Inside Passage extends from the tip of Assawoman Island south to the Great Machipongo Inlet.” Thomas tapped his finger at the Atlantic Ocean and drew an imaginary line.

Kole stood at attention. “The cutter Mako reports they spotted no sign of the Abracadabra or any debris field on their way to their home port in Cape May, Chief.”

Thomas tensed. “Has Sector Hampton Roads notified Air Station Elizabeth City, Boatswain’s Mate?”

Kole nodded. “Affirmative, Chief.”

Thomas pursed his lips. “Good. Time to call out the big guns. Dismissed, Kole.”

“Yes, Chief.” And Kole headed out toward the radio room.

The female Coastie watch stander—Darden, Braeden noted for future reference—returned to remind the chief of his appointment at the Kiptohanock marina for the annual blessing of the fleet.

“You should attend, Scott.” Thomas dismissed Darden.

Braeden pursed his lips. “Is that an order, Chief?”

Thomas favored him with a long, slow look. “No, not an order. A recommendation to get to know the locals you’ll be serving. I hear you’ll be staying at the Duer place.”

Braeden nodded.

“Good people. Friends of mine from church. I sent your details Seth’s way when I received your orders and your request for a place to dock your boat.”

“Th-thank you, sir.” Braeden flicked a glance in Thomas’s direction. The jury was still out in his mind on the Duers, one strawberry blonde in particular.

The OIC leaned against the corner of his desk. “Shore command isn’t all bad, Scott. With only a sixteen-member crew, you’ll be on the watch list, too. I usually work the seven-to-four watch. But we’ve all learned to do more with less.”

Braeden smiled. “It’s the Coastie way.”

He’d miss, though, the swell of the sea beneath the deck of the last cutter to which he’d been assigned. But Station Kiptohanock would be another step toward qualifying for officer candidate school.

Thomas nodded. “Something to be said for getting home to dinner with the wife and kids every night, though.”

Wife? Kids? Braeden kept his opinions to himself about relational entanglements.

Thomas snorted. “Besides, I hear command’s grooming you for bigger things. But there’s maybe something here they want you to learn first.”

“I promise I won’t let you or the Guard down, Chief.”

Thomas’s granite face cracked into a smile. “Fishing’s good here even off the station dock all year. Summers are busy. Winters slow. I expect the people who report to Station Kiptohanock to be able to handle responsibility and take care of themselves. You do that, Scott, and you and I will get along great. You copy that?”

Braeden straightened and went into a salute. “Copy that, Chief.”

* * *

Leaving Nandua Elementary and Highway 13, Amelia steered the Jeep toward Kiptohanock. She wished for a do-over in meeting a particular XPO. Or better yet, to avoid him altogether.

“What’s that?” Strapped in his booster seat, Max pointed toward the marina, where a group gathered on the wharf.

Sailboats, fishing vessels and catamarans bobbed in the waters off the Kiptohanock pier. Flags fluttered in the midmorning breeze. One small boat manned by Coasties harbored alongside. OIC Thomas stood near the podium, Reverend Parks at his side.

Amelia circled the town square and slowed to give Max a better look-see. “I forgot today’s when the Kiptohanock Coast Guard chief blesses the fleet—” she sniffed “—such as it is, for the start of the fishing and tourist season.”

Max wriggled underneath the booster’s harness. “I wanna see.”

She frowned at him in the rearview mirror. “Sit still, Max. You need to go home and rest. Anybody too sick to go to school—”

“I’m not sick,” he shouted. “Just tired.”

She recoiled at the decibel level. “Don’t yell at me, Max. I can hear you perfectly—”

“I don’t need to rest.” He tugged at the safety catch. “I wanna see the Coasties like my dad.”

His dad... The good-for-nothing lowlife who’d deserted her sister and baby nephew.

Amelia’s mouth hardened. “Stop twisting the seat belt, Max. We’re going home and that’s—”

Max yelled at the top of his lungs.

A sound not unlike the one she’d employed against a certain petty officer this morning. But Max’s temper tantrums were a new outgrowth of the experimental treatments he’d endured over the winter.

Or, as her dad insisted, they were his attempts to test the boundaries of Amelia’s parenting.

Although she supposed if she’d been subjected to as much pain as Max in his short life, she’d be mad, too.

Perhaps she already was, judging from the way she’d attacked an innocent Guardsman this morning. Sometimes she wanted to yell and scream and throw things like Max.

“When you yell like that—” she trained her eyes on the parking lot beside the diner “—I shut my ears.”

He stopped, a silence so profound and sudden it was as if he’d switched off a faucet.

“We could park at the diner.” She engaged the blinker, grateful for the reprieve to her nerve endings. “And watch from there.”

“I didn’t get to see the blessing last year, Mimi.”

She squinted at him in the mirror. “No, you didn’t.”

“Because we were in...” He fell silent.

Putting the Jeep in Park, she swiveled to face him.

His lip trembled. “...that Hopkins hospital place.”

She contemplated his impossibly blue eyes, so like her sister Lindi’s.

Amelia blew out a breath. “Okay, Max. We’ll—”

“Yahoo!” He fist pumped the air.

Grimacing, she suspected she’d been handled by a carrot-topped five-year-old. Slinging open her door and scrambling out, she stuck her key ring into her jeans. Amelia placed her hand on the passenger door handle as Braeden Scott reached for it, too.

* * *

“Here, let me—”

“I’ve got—”

Braeden retreated a pace. “Thought I’d help get you to the ceremony on time.”

She crossed her arms over her ribbed gray henley shirt. “I told you I don’t need your help.”

A little boy pounded on the door. He smashed his face against the glass, giving his lips and eyes the appearance of a puffer fish.

She sighed. “Max...”

Braeden laughed. “And I thought I’d introduce myself to another member of the Duer clan.”

“The crazy Duer clan.”

Her lips quirked. Soft pink lips, he also noticed.

“Be my guest.” She gestured. “Proceed at your own risk.”

Opening the door, he leaned in and unlatched the safety harness, freeing Max from its confines. With a whoosh, Max paratrooped to the ground.

She took firm control of his shoulders. “Calm down, Max.”

Her nephew squirmed, mutiny written across his face.

“This is the man I told you about, Max. He’s renting the cabin from Granddad and Aunt Honey.”

Braeden dropped on one knee to Max’s level. His tropical-blue trousers brushed the gravel. “Braeden Scott.” He extended his hand to the boy, man to man.

Max wrapped his fingers around his hand and grinned. “I’m Max Duer.”

The boy appeared small for his age. Skin and bones. Pale, with dark purple smudges etched under his eyes. Fragile...

Braeden lifted his gaze to Amelia. “Another redhead, I see.” She fisted her hands on her hips and glowered at him. Braeden gave her a winsome smile. “Why, I bet you couldn’t throw a rock in this place and not hit one.”

“My dad was a Coastie.” Max extended his index finger at Braeden’s insignia with the crossed anchors. “But not a boatswain’s mate like you. He was an electrician’s mate.”

Braeden ruffled Max’s short hair. “You know a lot about the Coast Guard for someone so young. Got our hairstyle, too.”

She pulled Max toward her. “It’s starting to grow again after—”

“I’m going to be a Coastie one day.” Max yanked free. “Like my dad.”

“Not just like your dad. He—” She bit her lip and fixed her eyes on the toes of her Wellingtons.

Something was going on Braeden didn’t understand. “Is your dad at sea?”