LITMIR.BIZ

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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,

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