Free Coast Guard Sweetheart by Lisa Carter Page B

edge. Come-heres and been-heres settled backsides, feet dangling, across the length of the seawall rimming the waterfront of the fishing village.
    Max waved to Sawyer just as the little redheaded girl ground a cloud of pink-swirled cotton candy into his face. With a whoop, he set off in hot pursuit, vowing vengeance. Braeden and the girl’s father moved to intervene. Sitting in a lawn chair with feet propped up, Amelia threatened to snatch a nautical knot in Max if he didn’t stop provoking the little girl. Which prompted outraged howls of protest from injured-party Max.
    â€œYou had it coming, Max!” screamed the incensed little redhead.
    Commander Weston Clark wrenched his daughter away from doing further harm to Max. Who, likewise, struggled to be free of Braeden’s restraining stronghold.
    Sawyer smiled. What a family. Never a boring moment around them. He’d have given anything in the world to have the crazy, totally wonderful family Honey took for granted.
    Sawyer’s gaze went skyward, always attuned to the steeple piercing the Eastern Shore sky. How I love it here.
    His gaze drifted toward Honey, standing by the volunteer duck wranglers easing into kayaks on the bank. How I love her.
    And yet today, he’d decided to take a page straight out of Max’s playbook. Going with the philosophy that annoying attention was better than no attention at all. What he hoped Braeden would consider “creative.”
    Yep, Sawyer grimaced, he was a sad, pathetic man. But anything was better than being ignored. Which seemed to be Honey’s favorite modus operandi this afternoon.
    The walkie-talkie crackled in the mayor’s hand. “Ladies and gentlemen duck herders, let me remind you that no attempt to free or interfere with any duck is permitted unless deemed necessary by duck race officials.” The mayor gestured toward the water’s edge. “Please take your positions.”
    Sawyer sauntered toward a waiting canoe as other volunteers wrestled their kayaks into the water. One of their responsibilities was to relay play-by-play action to the mayor for rebroadcast, boosting the competitive spirit of the race. He pushed the canoe into the water.
    A barefoot Honey waded in behind him. “Where do you think you’re going, Kole?”
    Sawyer kept a firm hand on the canoe, holding it against the pull of the tide. “With my cowboy expertise, I’m a natural for duck wrangling.”
    Honey jutted her jaw. “You’re a natural to ensure a Coastie duck wins the race, you mean.”
    Sawyer pretended to wince. “Don’t you trust me?”
    Ankle-deep in the surf, she planted her hands on her hips. “I wouldn’t trust you as far as I could throw you.”
    He placed a hand over his heart. “I’m crushed.”
    â€œNo way I’m letting you have an advantage over the Duer Ducks. Where you go, I go.”
    â€œBetter be careful what you say, Beatrice.” He cocked his head. “That sounds kind of matrimonial to me.”
    She mumbled something under her breath he figured wasn’t complimentary.
    He swept his arm across the expanse of the canoe. “If you’re determined to be my conscience, then be my guest. This puddle pirate never refuses an extra pair of strong arms to row.”
    Tossing her hair over her shoulder, she stepped into the canoe. He steadied the wobbling boat, making sure she stayed dry while finding her seat. Shoving the watercraft farther off the bank, in one smooth motion he leaped aboard taking the seat behind her.
    She glanced over her shoulder and balanced the paddle across her knees. “Ready?”
    His mouth curved. “A Coastie is always—”
    â€œSave it, Kole.”
    Honey dipped the end of the paddle and propelled the canoe forward, through the harbor toward the tidal estuary. And he, with a few periodic dips of his paddle, kept the canoe floating within the zone he’d been