LITMIR.BIZ

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And somehow Caroline found the both of them ensconced in a comfy leather armchair.

      “My name’s Izzie.” The little girl extended her hand, adult-like. “For Isabelle.”

      Caroline shook her hand. “I’m Caroline.”

      The little girl curled into her side while Caroline read the short depictions and flipped the pages of a picture book about turtles.

      Halfway through, Caroline glanced up to find twin pools of blue fixed on a tendril of Caroline’s hair. Which had come loose from the practical chignon she’d wound on the nape of her neck for her early-morning aquarium meeting across the bay.

      With a tentative touch, Izzie fingered the strand of Caroline’s hair, a thoughtful expression on her small face. “I wish my hair was as pretty as yours.”

      At the child’s plaintive words, Caroline laid the book across her slacks. Izzie’s hair was a mess. Did her father never take the time to brush it?

      “My hair was about the same auburn shade of red as yours when I was your age. It darkened when I got older.”

      She feathered a springy coil behind Izzie’s petal-shaped ear. “I always wanted beautiful, curly hair like yours. Mine is straighter than most sticks.” And she poked Izzy in her belly with her index finger to demonstrate.

      Caroline’s breath hitched. Where had that come from? You didn’t go around touching children. Especially children who didn’t belong to you. Further proof she was no good with children.

      But Izzie doubled over and laughed. “You’re funny, Caroline.”

      Since when?

      Lindi had been the pretty Duer girl. Amelia the tomboy and Honey the sweet one. Caroline had been known as the brainy sister.

      Izzie flipped the book right side up. Her finger jabbed the page. “That’s where you stopped. Finish...” She snuggled closer, practically in Caroline’s lap. “Please...”

      What parent left a child alone this long, even in a library? Somebody should’ve taught Izzie about stranger danger. According to the evening news, child abductions were on the rise. Not to mention serial killers.

      Though unless things had dramatically changed since Caroline was a girl on the Delmarva Peninsula, those crimes rarely occurred on the isolated strip of land separating the Chesapeake Bay from the Atlantic Ocean.

      But she couldn’t deny a frisson of pleasure as the top of Izzie’s red head scraped her chin. She inhaled the little girl scents of sea air, coconut oil and sunshine clinging to Izzie. Caroline propped the book so they could both see better.

      Not such a bad way to spend a May morning. Anything to stall the coming confrontation she dreaded with her family. Put off the inevitable with her sisters and dad.

      Because despite having returned to her Eastern Shore birthplace, Caroline feared she’d never truly be able to go home again. Not after what she’d done.

      * * *

      Weston Clark hunched over the blueprints spread over the table at the Sandpiper Café. His friend, and the former executive petty officer at the United States Coast Guard Station Kiptohanock, Sawyer Kole ran his finger across the etchings Weston had created in what would become Weston and Izzie’s new home.

      After buying the decommissioned lighthouse and keeper’s station from the Coast Guard and after six months of remodeling, he—not to mention nine-year-old Izzie—was anxious to move into the new quarters. He’d promised Izzie one of the two rooms in the tower.

      “Don’t worry, Wes.” Sawyer rested his forearms across the renderings. “It’s going to be fabulous.” He smiled. “With the ocean on one side. And the tidal marsh on the other.”

      Weston sighed. “It’s a money pit is what it is.”

      Considering some lighthouses sold at public auction around the United States in the million-dollar range, he’d bought the property situated on a neck of Virginia land at a bargain price. This spit of land and the lightkeeper’s station held special meaning for him.

      His grandfather had been one of the last of the light-savers. History come full circle, preserving Izzie’s heritage and finally establishing the home Izzie’s mother had longed for. The home he’d been too self-absorbed and rootless in his upwardly mobile Coast Guard career to provide. Until too late.

      Weston swallowed against the unexpected rush of feeling. It surprised him sometimes how grief engulfed him without warning like a rogue wave.

      He checked his watch. Izzie would still be occupied at the Saturday story hour. He took a sip from his coffee mug. “How’s Honey?”

      Sawyer’s arctic blue eyes lit at the mention of his bride of six months. Weston tamped down a prick of envy at his friend’s happiness. A hard-won happiness the onetime foster kid truly deserved. Unlike Weston.

      “Honey’s good.” Sawyer’s lips curved as if he was reliving an especially sweet remembrance. “We’re good.”

      An aching emptiness consumed him. At thirty-six, Weston believed that kind of joy had passed him by forever. Everything that happened between him and Jessica was his own fault.

      Sawyer fiddled with the Shore-famous Long John doughnut on his plate. “I promise I’ll finish the lighthouse remodeling well in advance of the foster kids camp.”

      “Everybody seaside knows you have the work ethic of ten men, but don’t put so much pressure on yourself. Izz and I are making do in the lightkeeper’s quarters.”

      Weston warmed his hands around the mug. “A few months—give or take—won’t matter. I understand Keller’s Kids Camp needs to be your priority.”

      He’d been on a cutter during most of Jessica’s pregnancy with Izzie. But he’d never allow Izzie to suffer again. Not because of him.

      Weston cleared his throat. “Is the baby doing okay?”

      Sawyer placed his arm across the back of the seat. “Honey swears the kid is practicing for the rodeo in utero.”

      The ex-cowboy Coastie had only recently completed his enlistment and returned to civilian life to oversee the kids camp where siblings separated by the foster system could reconnect for one week a year. Sawyer also helped his wife run the Duer Fisherman’s Lodge.

      “Any gender news to share? Or aren’t you telling?”

      Sawyer rolled his eyes. “Are you kidding me? Honey had to know. There was a nursery to decorate. Baby registries to fill out.”

      “Izzie got her invite to the baby shower last week. She’s killing me wanting to go shopping.” Weston grinned.

      “Appreciate the warning.” Sawyer laughed. “We’re having a girl.”

      Weston reached across the booth and play-punched his friend’s arm. “Way to go, Coastie.”

      “Ex-Coasties.” But Sawyer smiled.

      Wes glanced at his watch. The hands hadn’t moved an inch. He tapped the watch face with his finger. Nothing. “Oh, no...” Panicked, he grabbed his cell off the table to check the time. Weston shoved out of the booth.

      Sawyer rolled the blueprints. “What’s wrong?”

      Weston fumbled in his jeans for his wallet. “My watch stopped.”

      Sawyer motioned him toward the exit. “I got this today. Your turn next time. Another thing I’ve learned from my beautiful wife—never keep a lady waiting.”

      “Thanks. See you later.”

      With no time to stop and chat, Weston gave the ROMEOs in the adjacent booth a quick wave. The Retired Older Men Eating Out—grizzled Shore watermen and the volunteer Coastie auxiliaries—catcalled as he swung the glass-fronted door wide. The overhead bells clanged.

      “Hot

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