Coast Guard Sweetheart. Lisa Carter

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СКАЧАТЬ 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, Coastie!”

      Sawyer pointed the nose of the kayak toward the mud bank. Sloshing forward through the ankle-deep mud, Max surged forward to meet him.

      Honey remained rooted in place. Unable—as in life—to either move forward or backward. Trapped in the mire that was Before Sawyer Kole, and the bleakness of her life After Sawyer Kole.

      She shaded her hand over her eyes as Sawyer leaped sure-footed over the side of the kayak where Mighty Max rushed to help Sawyer drag the kayak to higher ground.

      She let out an exasperated sigh. “What are you doing here?”

      Like the shy, awkward boy Max had never been, Sawyer jammed his hands into his pockets. “I came looking for you.”

      “That ship sailed a long time ago, Kole.”

      He dropped his gaze.

      “Why are you really here?”

      “I wanted to talk. Ask for your forgive—”

      “Save it for someone who cares, Kole. I’m working on forgiveness. Don’t push it. Or me.”

      Her nephew propped his fists on his hips, Super Max-style. “Aunt Honey... Be nice.”

      She winced, recalling Max’s earlier assessment of her at the diner. Earlier and accurate—at least every time Sawyer Kole got too close.

      Giving her a vexed look, Max angled toward Sawyer. “You ever been clamming?”

      “No.” Sawyer flicked a glance her way. “Don’t think we ever got around to—”

      “We never got around to a lot of stuff, Kole.” Her mouth twisted. “Your choice, remember?”

      Max scrabbled inside the canoe. “Got any more of those marsh moccasins, Aunt Honey?”

      At Sawyer’s quizzical look, Max lifted his suede-clad foot above the waterline. “Aunt Honey makes these. Keeps your feet from getting cut on the clam shells.”

      Honey curled her lip. “You never know what lurks in the muck. Stub a toe. Slice open a foot. And no, Max. This Coastie only wears cowboy boots, best I recall.”

      Sawyer blew out a breath. “Honey... I’m sorry. You’ll never know how sorry. I only—”

      “Don’t call me Honey...” She growled.

      He raked a hand across his hair, leaving the sun-bleached buzz cut standing on its ends. “Sometimes you make me want to take a long walk off a short pier.”

      She narrowed her eyes at him. “Yeah, blame the victim.”

      “I never meant for things to turn out the way they did. Though in the long run—”

      “How did you mean for things to turn out then, Kole? Better in the long run for you, huh?”

      “That’s not what I meant.” He heaved a breath. “If maybe we could take a drive and—”

      She gave him a nice view of her back. “I’m not going anyplace with you.”

      Max snorted. “Stop being a big baby, Aunt Honey. Come on, Sawyer, I’ll teach you how a proper waterman goes clamming.”

      She glided her feet through the mud, the balls of her feet searching for the rounded shell.

      “Just like Aunt Honey’s doing, Sawyer. Slide... And dig with your toes.”

      Honey couldn’t resist a look over her shoulder.

      “Slide...” Hands behind his back, Max coasted forward in a stride not unlike an Olympic speed skater. “Slide... Slide. You try it, Sawyer.”

      Max stumbled and then righted himself. “Granddad says I got an eagle eye for finding clams. You gotta look for keyhole shapes in the mud. It’s the sign of clams underneath feeding.”

      Crouching, he plunged his hand beneath the outgoing tide. Scrounging through the mud, seconds later Max raised his arm, a shell clutched in his hand. “Aunt Honey’s clam chowder, here we come.”

      Honey sighed. “You don’t have to become one with the mud, Max. We have a spade and rake in the canoe, you know.”

      “Muddier is better.” Max scooted a few inches farther. “Got another one, Aunt Honey.” He grinned. “And another one. I hit the mother lode.”

      Sawyer cut his eyes at her.

      Against her will, a smile tugged at her mouth. “He went gold panning on a recent trip to visit Braeden’s Alaska hometown.”

      “Bring the bucket, Sawyer. Get the rake, Aunt Honey.”

      She laughed. And at the sound, Sawyer’s eyes crinkled, the corners fanning out.

      Ignoring the heart palpitations his eyes ignited, she slogged toward the neon yellow bait bucket resting next to Sawyer’s bare feet and the canoe.

      Sawyer motioned toward the words on her T-shirt. “It’s a Shore thang that only you, Beatrice Honey Duer, could look beautiful while clamming in a tidal estuary.”

      He thought she was...? She came to an abrupt stop and lost her balance. Her arms flailing—Sawyer’s eyes went big, Max shouted—she landed butt first in the muck. Sinking to her elbows.

      Sawyer let out a rumbling belly laugh.

      Honey glared at him. “Don’t you dare laugh, you landlubbing cowboy.” She blew a strand of hair out of her face. “Max! Get over here.”

      Max hustled over, sending a tsunami of marsh water over her head. She sputtered and coughed. Extricating her hand from the mud, she swiped at a rivulet of water cascading down her nose.

      Sawyer smirked.

      “What?” Her gaze ping-ponged from a chortling Max to the Coastie.

      “You wiped mud all over your face, Aunt Honey.”

      Honey poked out her lip.

      Sawyer crossed his arms over the broad muscular chest СКАЧАТЬ