Coast Guard Courtship

Max jutted his jaw. “He died. But I’m going to be just like him. Or maybe a rescue swimmer.”

Amelia plucked at Max’s arm. “Come on, Max. Aren’t you in a rush to see the blessing of the fleet?” She lugged him toward the crowded dock.

Braeden fell in beside her. “At my last duty assignment, I got to drive the response boat as a coxswain.” He peered out over the water, pensive. “Kind of miss the action and being a part of rescuing those in need. Now it looks as though I’ll be stuck with administrative work most of the time, one of the downsides to higher rank.”

Max stopped in his tracks. Amelia ran aground into him. Max’s big eyes shone. “Could you teach me how to be a rescue swimmer, Mr. Scott? Mimi sometimes lets me help her drive the boat as her coxswain. But I really want to learn to dive.”

She shook her head. “Max...”

“Call me Braeden, Max.” He shrugged. “Aren’t you too young to be thinking about that? You’ve got plenty of time.”

Amelia flinched as if he’d struck her. Her mouth quivered. “Max doesn’t even know how to swim yet.” She cupped the crown of his head.

Max threw off her hand. “’Cause you won’t let me learn.” His eyes blazed.

“We’ve talked about that. You’re not strong enough. Maybe next year...”

Max scowled.

She softened her tone. “Besides, the water’s too cold this time of year.”

“I’m not a baby,” Max growled.

Braeden furrowed his brows and tried to defuse the situation. “I’m sure your mother knows—”

Max stamped his foot. “She’s not my mother. My real mother’s dead, too.”

Hurt flickered across Amelia’s features.

Max’s nostrils flared. “She’s my aunt Mimi and she’s not the boss of me. I’m not a baby anymore.”

She snatched at his sleeve as heads rotated in their direction. “We’ll talk about this later at home.”

Max jerked out of her grasp and huddled next to Braeden. “I want to go to the ceremony with Braeden, not you, Mimi.” He didn’t bother to lower his voice.

Braeden raised his brows at Amelia, seeking her direction as to his next move. She gave a tiny shake of her head. Tears welled in her eyes. “Let’s not make a scene. Please, Max?”

An unfamiliar tenderness threatened to swamp Braeden’s carefully constructed indifference.

Max stared Amelia down.

Her shoulders slumped. “We’d better go closer so Max can see better.”

She slid Braeden an uncertain sidelong glance. “If you’re sure you don’t mind...or not too busy.”

Braeden’s pulse ratcheted a notch. “It’s okay. No problem.”

Amelia gazed at him with those big blue-green eyes of hers. “I’m sorry to be so much trouble on your first day.”

Braeden focused for a long moment on her eyes and processed the information he’d acquired via Max. Not his mother. Probably, therefore, judging by her lack of rings, not married.

He tamped down an irrational surge of joy.

Not that Braeden was in the market for a woman. Especially a redheaded one.

“Here, Max.” Grasping him by his upper arms, Braeden heaved the little boy atop his shoulders. Max entwined his legs around Braeden’s torso. “Best seat in the house, champ.”

Max grinned and gave him a thumbs-up.

Chief Thomas took his place behind the podium. “Today we gather to bless these boats. We ask a blessing for those who work on them, for those who fish from these waters providing food to our country. For those who utilize these waters for recreation and pleasure.”

His arm swept across the expanse toward the Coast Guard boat. “And to bless those who protect our nation and its citizens. I’m honored to be here today,” Thomas intoned, “representing the United States Coast Guard.” Thomas’s cap visor gleamed in the sunlight. “My prayer for each of you is for fair winds...”

“And following seas,” the crowd finished.

Braeden squared his shoulders.

A devout man, this OIC. Reminded Braeden of his father. And Master Chief Davis.

Braeden fidgeted. His arm brushed against Amelia’s shoulder and his heartbeat accelerated. Unsettled, he shoved his hands into his pockets.

He needed to put a cork in his unexpected attraction to the strawberry blonde. After all, he didn’t do relationships. And this woman came loaded with complications.

A fortysomething man—“Reverend Parks,” Amelia whispered—ambled to the podium. His voice boomed across the water.

“They’re praying,” Max whispered in a volume only slightly softer than a foghorn. “Everybody, bow your head.”

Braeden darted his eyes at Amelia. His lips twitched. She covered her mouth with her hand before lowering her lashes.

“We pray, O Lord, for every seafarer. Grant them Your strength and protection. Keep each safe as they face the perils of the sea.”

For the first time in a long while, Braeden closed his eyes in prayer.

The reverend continued, “God of unfathomable love, as boundless as the deep Your spirit hovered over at the dawn of time, hear our prayer. Protect them from the dangers of the wind and the rain. Bring each soul safely home to the true harbor of Your peace. And may the saving power of our Lord guide and protect them, for Christ’s sake. Amen.”

“Amen,” murmured Amelia, her hands clasped.

“Amen,” extolled the Kiptohanock residents.

Blond, gray, brunette—Braeden sighed—and redheads bowed in prayer together.

Safe harbor? Was there such a thing? Here in Kiptohanock?

“Amen,” he whispered.

His first prayer since his father’s sudden death. Braeden pondered what, exactly, God had in store for him in this tiny village on the shores of the Atlantic.

Chapter Four

The ceremony ended with the tolling of the old ship’s bell mounted on the edge of the wharf. The bell rang out over the water across the assorted vessels in the harbor. One toll for each Kiptohanock waterman lost at sea.

Amelia shuddered.

Too many lost over the years. Friends of her dad’s, former schoolmates. Sons, brothers, fathers, grandpas. As the sounds floated skyward beyond the white-steepled church, she positioned herself to avoid facing sweet Pauline Crockett. Amelia dug her nails into the palms of her hands, remembering their shared loss.

Braeden gave her a sharp look. “Your family makes its living from the water, too?”

“Dad taught us to respect it. To never turn our backs on it or take it for granted. He equipped us to fight for survival when pitted against it when we must. To be prepared for its changing face.”

Amelia gestured toward the vessels anchored in the marina. “But every year the fleet grows smaller and the living gets harder to wrest from its depths. The crabs are overfished. The oysters infected.”

She made a face. “And don’t get the watermen started on the government regulations. In today’s world, a true waterman must diversify. So I run the charter fishing trips since Dad got sick. He does part-time work for the boat repair shop.”

Braeden quirked an eyebrow. “And Honey runs her B and B.”

Her lips curled a fraction. “I suppose when you put it that way...” She patted Max’s knee, perched atop Braeden’s shoulders.

Broad shoulders. Able to carry heavy loads.

She shook her head at her fanciful thoughts. “Look, Max. The chief’s tossing the memorial wreath into the harbor.”

Max nodded. “For everybody lost at sea, like my dad.”

Not like his dad. But she’d never say that to Max. Let the child keep what illusions he possessed as long as he could.

Braeden lowered Max to the ground when the ceremony concluded. The crowd dispersed. She spotted her dad shooting the breeze with his buddies, many of them serving as auxiliary volunteer support to Station Kiptohanock. Amelia tensed as the Kole boy waved to Honey from the CG boat at anchor in the harbor.

Max tugged at Braeden’s hand. “Let’s watch the boats go by.”

Amelia caught Max’s arm. “Braeden probably has things to do.”

Max opened his palms. “Please, Mimi. Please.”

Braeden adjusted his cap. “I really don’t have anywhere to be until I report for watch tomorrow.”

Two pairs of imploring eyes—bright blue and chocolate brown—shifted her way.

Amelia’s high-minded resolve to avoid the XPO weakened. “Oh, all right. But only for a minute.”

They shouldered past the clumps of chatting people milling about on the pier. Getting an earful from a come-here—anyone from elsewhere other than the Eastern Shore—her dad backpedaled as Amelia approached. She pivoted toward Honey, who ducked her head and disappeared into the café.

Cowards. She’d give them an earful and a piece of her temper for hatching this plot to rent out the cabin. They’d left her out of the loop and made her look like a fool in front of the XPO.

Amelia sighed.

Okay, she’d accomplished that feat under her own steam.

Max occupied himself by saluting as the flotilla of recreational and commercial fishing vessels chugged away toward the open water.

Braeden looped his thumbs in his duty belt. “I take it you knew nothing about the cabin rental. I’m sorry I scared you.”

“I’m sorry I almost skewered you.” She surveyed the sparkling water. “Money’s been tight since Dad’s heart attack. Honey had to drop out of college and come home. And with Max...” She cleared her throat. “They probably believed they were helping the Duer bottom line.”

He leaned toward her, his gaze intent. “But this is going to add to your workload, isn’t it?” His probing awareness penetrated down to the depths of her heart.

She flushed.

When he looked at her like that...

She wished she’d taken Honey’s advice last week and had her hair styled. Big waste of money. For as often as not, she stuffed her hair inside a cap and let the sun and the wind have their way.

“You already run the family fishing business—”

“What’s left of it these days.”

“And operate a charter boat during tourist season by yourself?”

She nodded.

Braeden’s cheeks lifted, turning his eyes into half-moons. “I’m impressed. You’re a woman of many talents.”

Max plucked at her sleeve. “It’s not too cold, Mimi. Braeden and I could—”

“No, Max. It is too cold.” She wrapped her arms around herself, wishing she’d brought a jacket. The wind off the water was cool. She should’ve been more vigilant.

Out of habit, she darted a glance at the horizon. Red sky this morning. “Sailor take warning. Wind’s picking up.”

Braeden removed his cap and plopped it on Max’s head. “USCG,” he read aloud. “Station Kiptohanock. Would you take care of it for me until lunch, bud?”

Max grinned. “Sure, Braeden. I’ll take real good care of it.” He trotted toward the end of the dock.

Braeden sniffed the air. His nose twitched, resembling a bird dog’s. “Smells like chowder.”

She relaxed. “The volunteer fire department’s serving clam chowder and crab cakes to raise money for the Watermen Association.”

“Want to get Max a bowl?” He dropped his eyes to the weathered pier and shuffled his feet. “Maybe get some for yourself, too?” The back of his neck reddened. “Save me from eating my first Shore meal alone. My treat.”

A gust of wind carried his words. She imagined the gawking stares and resulting speculation around the lunch counter at the Sandpiper about the new XPO treating the old maid Duer sister to lunch.

Was this his attempt to make up for scaring the daylights out of her? She didn’t usually merit attention of the male persuasion.

Probably only being nice to the kid’s poor fishy aunt Mimi.

Shouting, Max made a futile grab as the wind snatched Braeden’s cap off his head. The cap sailed into the air before plummeting into the choppy waters of the harbor.

Her stomach knotted. “Max, not so close to the edge.”

“I’m not a baby, Mimi.” He scowled as the cap drifted farther out of reach. “I promised Braeden.”

His brows drawn together, Braeden took a step, hand outstretched. “It’s okay, champ. No worries. I can get another—”

Dodging his hand, Max took a running leap. “It’s not too cold. I’ll show you.”

She and Braeden realized his intent a second too late.

Fear stabbed her heart. “Max, don’t.”

Drawing up his knees in midair, Max landed like a cannonball in the blue-green waters. The top of his copper-colored hair disappeared beneath the waves.

She screamed. Heads jerked in her direction. Chief Thomas and the reverend came at a run.

Coughing, Max surged to the surface. His hands beat the water. His fingers strained for the cap. “Mimi!”

Sputtering on seawater, he disappeared from sight.

Without hesitation, Braeden dived into the water. With long, broad strokes, his arms ate up the distance separating him from Max. Kole tossed a life preserver off the side of the response boat.

Unable to stand by and do nothing, Amelia vaulted in to assist. As she sank, the shock of the freezing-cold water sucked the breath from her lungs. Her father cried out her name.

Oh, God, don’t let my father try to save me.

In his weakened condition, they’d both drown.

Weighted by her Wellingtons, she struggled to maintain buoyancy. She reached for the life ring, but the boots acted as an anchor and pulled her downward. Fighting a riptide, she flailed at the water. The light receded, sounds muffled and the darkness deepened.

A body splashed, hurtling downward, on her left. Foaming bubbles obscured her view, but strong arms encircled her and yanked her sunward. Rotating her on her back, someone hauled her toward the pier. Treading water, her rescuer placed her hands on the rungs of the dock ladder.

“M-max...” Her teeth chattered.

“XPO’s got him.” In jumping off the CG patrol boat, Sawyer Kole had lost his own cap. “Can you climb the ladder?”

His ash-blond hair lay flattened and slick against his skull. “We need to get out of the way.” Kole hoisted her leg into position on the rung.

Amelia swayed.

Hands reached from above. She gripped the rung above her head, gasping to regain her breath and replenish her spent store of strength. Between Kole, Thomas and her father, they managed to raise her dockside. Her knees buckled. She collapsed.

Amelia rolled onto her side. “Where’s Max?”

On his knees, Seth cushioned her in his arms. “Amelia, are you all right?” His face contorted at the effort to hold his raw emotions in check.

She pushed onto her elbows as Braeden’s head topped the ladder with Max clutched in a one-armed grip against his chest. Kole gathered Max as Braeden ascended the remaining rungs.

Kole deposited Max onto the warped dock boards.

Water streaming off his uniform, Braeden shouldered Kole aside to kneel beside Max. He immediately began a series of chest compressions alternating with puffs of breath.

Amelia scooted closer. Sharp splinters of wood pierced her jeans. “Max...” She stroked his lifeless cheek.

Honey rushed out of the diner. Seth hooked Honey around the waist. “Wake up, Max,” Honey pleaded.

A sob caught in Amelia’s throat. “Don’t leave me, Max.”

Please, God, no. Not him, too.

A gurgle.

Max’s body spasmed. Braeden propped his head sideways as a fountain of water issued from Max’s mouth.

She reached for him. “Max!”

The little boy’s body convulsed as he gagged, hacking seawater.

“Mimi...” he whimpered, stretching out his hand.

Relief washed over her. Thank You, God. Thank You. Silent tears cascaded down her cheeks.

Amelia’s arms itched to hold him closer, but unable to do more, she twined her fingers into his. Braeden elevated Max to a sitting position. Inching nearer, Max strained toward her.

“Don’t cry, Mimi. Don’t cry. I’m sorry. I won’t ever do that again.” Max cradled her face in his small, cold hands.

Amelia blanketed her arms around his shivering frame. “What would I have done if I’d lost you, Max?” she whispered into his hair.

“You won’t ever get shed of me, Mimi. I promise.” Max nestled into her warmth. “I’m as pesky as a sandbur and as hard to shake.”

Choking on a laugh, she raised her eyes to Braeden. “God brought you here today. Thank you, Mr. Scott.” Her jaw clenched. “Maybe your boat’s name is right. We do seem to be causing you a lot of trouble.”

An interesting look flashed across Braeden’s face. “No trouble.”

His eyes slid away and he dashed beads of water off his hair. He curled his fingers into a fist against his muscled thigh.

Seth extended his hand toward the dripping Sawyer Kole, still poised beside the ladder. “We owe you a debt of gratitude as well, young man.”

The twentysomething Coastie contemplated Seth for a second, as if unsure of his sincerity. Blinking, he shook Seth’s hand. “No problem. Always rea—” He cut his eyes over to Honey.

Amelia didn’t miss the look they exchanged.

Honey’s smile could’ve melted glacial ice caps.

And something went through Amelia. A sudden longing for something she’d not perceived lacking in her life before.

Thomas motioned toward the arriving EMTs. “We need to get him checked out at Riverside, Miss Duer.”

Max’s arms tightened around her. “No, Mimi,” he whispered. “Not there. Not again.”

She clutched Max against her chest. “I—I don’t know if he...if I...” She couldn’t stop her lips from trembling.

“Maybe getting the boy home would be best, Chief.” Compassion melted Braeden’s eyes. “I’ve got first-aid responder training, too. I can watch for any adverse signs, and if later we need to...”

Her heart eased. “I’ve had oyster stew in the Crock-Pot all morning.” She gave Braeden a quick appraisal. “Are you sure, Mr. Scott?”

“It’s Braeden.” His eyes locked on hers. “And I’m glad to help.” He extended a hand to help Amelia to her feet. “Besides, I believe a bowl of your oyster stew has my name on it.”

* * *

At the cabin, Braeden peeled off his operational-duty uniform and changed into the more casual jeans he favored off duty. Opening his laptop, he shot off a quick email inquiry to Chief Thomas.

In the time it took Braeden to put on a gray USCG sweatshirt, the computer pinged with a new message from Thomas. At the chief’s suggestion, Braeden put in a call to Reverend Parks, who then routed him to an auxiliary volunteer, retired to bayside Onancock. Accidentally sending his shoes skittering underneath the walnut armoire, Braeden discovered a brown portfolio case stashed in the far corner.

He positioned the case across the white chenille bedspread. Inside, he found a treasure trove of pen-and-ink sketches, a photograph clipped to the bottom left corner of each depiction. On the right corner, a signature was scrawled—“Mimi.”

Grunting, he sank into the wing-back chair next to the nightstand and held each picture toward the light. Birds mostly, including the once-endangered osprey. Sea turtles. A haunting picture of an abandoned seaside village delineated in charcoal.

His breath seized at the sight of a small canvas portrait of a younger Max—he’d recognize that pug nose anywhere. Max crouched near the water’s edge. The water lapped at the toes of his sneakers. His hand rested on the stern of a toy sailboat, as if in the act of launching the boat into deeper waters.

Braeden studied Amelia’s carefully rendered strokes, especially the pastel of Max. Each illustration provided a tiny glimpse into her soul.

He blew out a breath. The case resting in his lap, he gazed through the tree cover at the tiny band of water. “Definitely a woman of many talents.”

Who’d probably never intended for anyone to find these sketches. Maybe why she’d so fiercely attacked her intruder this morning.

* * *

Braeden arrived at the main house with the portfolio case in hand. He let himself in through the screened porch. The aroma of simmering stew floated through the air.

“Amelia?”

He edged through the door frame. Best not to surprise that one. She might come at him this time with—

Braeden grinned.

The mind boggled at the idea of Amelia Duer with sharp kitchen weapons. He strolled into the living room and stopped in front of a photograph on the mantel over the fireplace. The stairs creaked.

“Oh, hey.” Amelia descended from the second floor. “I finally persuaded Max to take a much-needed nap.”

He glanced up. And his mouth went dry.

This Duer sister cleaned up well.

Her hair, still wet from the shower, flowed around her face. He admired the fit of her jeans and the glow her three-quarter-sleeved lilac blouse cast on her freshly scrubbed face.

She ought to wear lilac more often.

Braeden handed the case to her.

Amelia’s face clouded. “You opened it?”

He waited for a redheaded explosion. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude. I was curious. I didn’t realize it belonged to you. They’re good.” He stuffed his hands into his jeans pockets. “I mean, you’re good. Are you self-taught or did you have training? Do you show at any galleries on the Shore?”

She pressed the case to her chest. “I’m not good enough for galleries.”

“I think you underestimate yourself.”

She shook her head. “A few art classes in high school, but I’m mostly self-taught. My mom gave me a few lessons, too, before...” Her gaze traveled to the picture on the mantel. “I’d been accepted into the Savannah School of Design—”

He whistled. “Impressive.”

“But then...” She moistened her lips. “That’s why it’s so important Honey finish her education.”

He pointed to the image of the lovely auburn-haired woman on the flat-bottomed scow the Virginia watermen favored for oystering and clamming in the shallow tidal waters. “Your mom?”

Amelia squirreled the case behind the piano. “That’s us ten years ago.” She ticked off the names. “Dad, Mom, Lindi—who is Max’s mother and the eldest Duer sister—the pretty one.”

She gestured to another sister forever captured in time, a replica of their auburn-haired mother. “Caroline—”

A college student, Braeden surmised from the Virginia Tech hoodie.

“The smart one.”

He frowned at Amelia.

“You’ve met Honey. She was in elementary school when Mom died of ovarian cancer.”

Braeden winced. A slow, painful death.

“Honey’s the baby, and there’s me.” She veered toward the kitchen. “I’ll dish out the stew.”

Braeden caught hold of her wrist. “Which are you?”

She tilted her head. “I showed you. Between Caroline and Honey.”

Braeden ran his thumb over her cheek.

Her blue-green eyes widened.

As deep and fathomless as the Great Machipongo Inlet.

Deep enough for a man to drown?

He lifted her chin between his thumb and forefinger. “Which are you? The talented one? The strong one?”

She quivered and stepped out of his reach. “Just Amelia. I’m just me.”

The one who’d made a career of sacrificing everything for her family.

Something tore inside his chest. Braeden hunched his shoulders.

Amelia Duer. His exact emotional polar opposite. Since his dad’s death and his fiancée’s betrayal, he’d made a career out of not getting involved with anyone outside the line of duty.

Especially not with redheads like Carly.

Or Amelia Duer.

She called from the kitchen. “Coffee or sweet tea?”

“Tea, please.” He followed her into the cheery yellow-and-white-tiled kitchen. “I get enough coffee when I’m on watch to float a battleship. Can I help?”

She signaled toward a drawer. “Spoons.”

Amelia ladled the stew into blue crockery bowls, steam rising. “As far as the tea goes, since you hail from Alaska, I think it only fair to remind you that you’re in the South.” She placed the bowl on top of a yellow place mat.

“How’d you know I was born in Alaska?”

Amelia’s mouth opened in an O. Closing it with a snap, she gripped the handle of a glass pitcher.