“Rubber duckies can be adopted for five dollars each. The race starts at three this afternoon.”
A gentle sea breeze blew a strand of hair against Honey’s face, caressing her cheek. Stationed at the gazebo on Kiptohanock’s square, she pointed to the black-lettered number inked on the duck’s backside. “At the end of the race, winners will be announced by their racing number. So don’t forget to cheer for your ducky. All proceeds benefit the Waterman’s Association Widows and Orphans Fund.”
She handed the bright yellow duck across the table to a couple from Ohio whose info she’d recorded on the roster. “Lucky number 143 for you. And your entry also qualifies you to take part in the Best Decorated Ducky contest.”
“You’ll find supplies to decorate your ducky over there.” She gestured toward the volunteer-manned tables positioned throughout the square. “Decorated duckies must be ready for judging by 2:00.”
Max attached a paper wristband with the ducky’s corresponding number to the wife’s hand.
Honey handed the husband the printed flyer. “You must be present to win the race and/or contest. Prizes include a half day charter fishing trip courtesy of the Now I Sea, a free day’s rental of kayaks from Kiptohanock Outfitters, a dozen Long Johns from the Sandpiper Cafe and an excursion aboard Senior Chief Scott’s personal sailboat, Seas the Day.”
“That’s my dad’s boat,” Max informed them.
Honey gave the come-heres a wide smile. “Welcome to Kiptohanock.”
She surveyed the busy waterfront and the tourists thronging the Duck Decoy Festival. Fingers crossed, Hurricane Zelda would swerve into the open Atlantic and blow itself out next week without damage to people or property. This festival brought the come-heres and locals out in full force.
Hopefully, this last weekend of summer would benefit everyone’s bottom line. The professional duck decoy carvings had been judged in the town hall this morning. And the grand prize winner won a two-night stay at the Duer Lodge.
At a sudden gust of wind, she tucked an errant tendril behind her ear. The wind had picked up—courtesy of Hurricane Zelda—and the waves in the harbor were choppy. Great for the upcoming duck race. The committee always bought the ever-upright duckies. Guaranteed to never go topsy-turvy in the water, they delivered the best show for duck race enthusiasts.
The orange-and-blue flag of the Coast Guard fast response boat appeared in the distance where the harbor widened into the channel. She’d watched the crew empty out of the station an hour earlier in response to a distress call. Careful to stay attentive for their return. Not because she’d spotted Sawyer heading the mission, but because...
She fiddled with the pearl stud at her ear. Because as a patriotic American citizen she was concerned for every member of the Guard’s well-being.
Right. She tore her gaze away—with effort—from the activity on the Coast Guard dock as the fast boat edged into the slip. As a distraction, she focused on Amelia—allowed out for good behavior today—manning one of the decoration booths. Max, bored with money transactions, spotted the little redheaded girl and headed off to terrorize her.
Despite Honey’s best intentions, her gaze wandered once more toward the station pier as Sawyer stepped over the gap and helped a Coastie secure the mooring lines to the cleats on the pier.
Stop it.
Honey shifted her gaze to the Sandpiper, where her father jawed with his ROMEO—Retired Old Men Eating Out—compatriots over lunch. Although her father was hardly old. Late fifties. And since recovering from his heart attack a few years ago, full of vim and vigor.
Sometimes too much vim and vigor. Honey’s mouth pursed, recalling the lecture she’d received following The Battle of the Long Johns.
Honey had no idea what had possessed her to act in such an unladylike, unHoneylike fashion. Actually, she did know. Sawyer Kole. And after what almost happened on the Duer dock a few days ago?
She blushed and buried her head in the rubber duck roster. Exactly why she planned to avoid the Coast Guard petty officer at all costs. She had an image to maintain. “Fool me once,” she muttered to no one in particular.
A shadow fell across the clipboard. Her eyes lifted to find her Coastie nemesis, arms crossed, smirking at her across the table. She bit back a sigh. Avoidance not so easy a feat in a town the size of Kiptohanock.
“What do you want, Kole?”
The smirk only widened. “After our recent close encounter, you really want to go there, Beatrice?”
“I’m busy.” She waved her hand toward the harbor. “Don’t you have somebody to rescue?”
“Taking in the festival ambience.” He cocked his head. “But a guardsman’s work is never done. Always prepared. Always ready. And there’s all kinds of rescues, I’ve found.”
Honey made a face. “Well, no damsel in distress here. You’d best be on your way and quit holding up the line for paying customers.”
Sawyer made an elaborate show of glancing over both shoulders. “Doesn’t appear I’m holding up anyone. Besides, I am a paying customer. Or at least, I will be.” He stuck his hand in his operational duty uniform pockets. “The Coast Guard station always contributes a ducky representative.”
Honey made sure he observed her curl her lip. “The Duers have been Kiptohanock Duck Race Champions five years in a row. Not to mention,” she flicked a look toward the tables laden with art supplies, “Best Decorated Ducky three seasons running.”
Sawyer arched his brow. “Are you challenging the Guard’s seamanship, Beatrice?”
Honey strained forward over the table. “A Duer duck will win out over you puddle pirates anytime, any race.”
Sawyer got in her face. “You want to make a personal contest between you and me that Coastie Duck outperforms Duer Duck in the race?”
His breath fanned her cheek. Her heart accelerated at an old memory of the taste of his lips on hers. Mint. Her throat constricted. But she couldn’t back down now. “You’re on.”
Sawyer extended his hand.
After the stunt she’d pulled in the marsh, she eyed his hand with trepidation. He dared her with his eyes. She took his hand, steeling herself against the goose pimples going up and down her arm from the heat of his skin.
Sawyer squeezed her fingers. “So what do I win when I win?”
“You’re not going to win, Kole. I told you that.” She tried easing out of his handclasp.
He held on, refusing to let go. “Oh, no. Not so fast, Beatrice.”
“You mean when I win, Kole.”
“How about we make this interesting? If the Guard wins, you supply the station with a week’s worth of desserts. And as for me, Girly-Girl?”
She rolled her eyes. “Stop calling me that.”
“You said not to call you baby or Honey. So Girly-Girl it is.” He continued, undeterred. “And when I win, Girly-Girl, I want an evening of your time.”
“A date?” she sputtered. “Of all the—” She growled. “Not going to happen.”
“Scared, Beatrice?
Honey yanked her hand free. “I’m not scared of you.”
“Then what’s the problem? If you’re so sure you’re going to win anyway.” He gave her that slow, devastating smile. “And if you do somehow manage to win, what would you claim as your prize?”
She narrowed her eyes. “When I win, I’ll still supply a week’s worth of desserts to my brother-in-law’s crew in appreciation for Coastie service to this nation. But you’ll...”
Honey jabbed her finger at his Coastie-clad tropical blue chest. “You’ll... You’ll...” She cast her gaze around the town square, grasping for the worst possible punishment to inflict on the oh-so-cocky Coastie.
“I’ll what?”
Honey clenched her jaw. “You’ll have to clean the toilets, make the beds and wash the laundry for a week at the lodge.”
Sawyer, to her fury, grinned.
Honey floundered. “Wearing the frock-saver of my choice...”
“I’ve been told I look good in pink,” Sawyer teased.
“Under my constant supervision...” she snarled.
Sawyer rocked on his heels. “Either way, a win-win for me. Getting to spend time with you.”
Honey pounded the table with her fist. The money box rattled. “We’ll see how perky you feel after scrubbing toilets, Kole.” She thrust the signup roster at him. “Five dollars.”
Sawyer pointed to the poster tacked to the front of the table. “I want one of those special Quack Packs to increase my chances of winning.”
Honey bared her teeth. “You’ll need every advantage you can get against the Duer Ducks.”
“Exactly how many ducks have the Duers entered into the race?”
She lifted her chin. “We lead by example, Kole. You qualify for the Quacker Package with the purchase of twenty ducks.”
“The Guard always goes above and beyond. How aboot...” His lips quirked, pausing to make sure she’d caught his Shore inflection.
Honey glared.
Sawyer pulled out a handful of cash from his cargo pants. “How about I adopt thirty ducks since this is for a worthy cause?”
Her mouth dropped as he unrolled and counted fifteen tens. “A hundred and fifty dollars?” she squeaked. “Are you crazy?”
“Nothing else to spend my money on for three years.” He shrugged. “And that date night, Beatrice Duer,” the look he gave her liquefied Honey’s insides. “I aim to win.”
Her heart pounding, she tied the wristband around his sun-darkened forearm. “Must you always be so annoying, Sawyer Kole?”
Sawyer placed both palms flat and leaned across the table, his nose inches from hers. “Must you always be so beautiful, Beatrice Duer?”
Honey made an elaborate show of stuffing the ducks into three grocery bags so he could transport them to the craft table.
“Why I believe that may be the prettiest shade of pink I’ve ever seen rising from beneath the collar of your shirt, Girly-Girl.”
Honey was beginning to understand why Amelia nearly harpooned Braeden in a case of mistaken identity. She’d like to harpoon Sawyer. No case of mistaken identity necessary. He was as annoying as the south end of a mule.
Sawyer stepped back a pace, correctly reading the expression on her face, she figured. Too bad.
“If twenty ducks is the Quacker Package,” he drawled in his husky voice. “What does that make me with thirty? The Biggest Quack of all?”
She gave him a pointed look. “Truer words were never spoken.”
He laughed. “See you at the finish line.”
Arms laden, he winked at her. “And may the best seaman ducky win, Beatrice.”
* * *
Sawyer raised the trophy high over his head. The Guard contingent cheered, as did the other participants in the Best Decorated Ducky contest. Except for Honey. Her face seemed frozen in a perpetual scowl of disapproval.
He scanned the artistically accessorized rubber ducks on display. The bride and groom ducks presented by the future newlyweds getting married at the lodge tomorrow. The princess ducks contributed by the local Girl Scouts. The Biblical ducks from the youth group at the church.
Sawyer especially liked the Jonah duck with the hand-lettered sign attached around its neck, Big Fish Beware.
Max’s need-for-speed NASCAR racing duck had tied for first place in the children’s category. Posing for the official photograph, Max and the little redheaded girl, daughter of a former Coastie commander, glowered at each other across the shared billboard-size coupon for a dozen Long John donuts.
Between calls, the crew had made short work of decorating the thirty Coastie ducks. In honor of puddle pirates everywhere, Reaves created several swashbuckling ducks. And there was the authentic, tropical blue Coastie-inspired duck with anchor insignia. Thanks to Seaman Donovan’s graphic artist abilities, that duck secured third place in the adult category. Much to Honey’s ire.
The Duer ducks—in various renderings of fisherman Seth, artist Amelia and sailboater Braeden—placed in the top ten. Sawyer loved Honey’s personalized duck—so girly-girl with the stylish blond-brown wig and fake eyelashes. A strand of fake pearls dotted the duck’s neck.
With pearl studs in the approximate location of ears, the Honey Duck was attired in an exact replica of the shirt Honey sported today. The black-and-white polka-dotted frock painted on the duck’s midsection certainly made it a standout. Earning the duck and Honey a respectable runner-up to Sawyer’s own first place winning Cowboy Duck.
He’d epoxied a tiny braided lasso to his Stetson-clad duck. And taut with chagrin, the ever-stylish Honey fumed and tapped her Keds on the pavement.
Sawyer cocked a hand around his ear. “Is that the gnashing of pearly white teeth I hear, Beatrice?”
“I’d like to gnash...” Her hair glimmering in the afternoon sunlight, she poked out her lips. “Just you wait till race time, Kole. You’ll be eating my ducky waves.”
He mock-fluttered his lashes. “Promises, promises.”
Making a rude noise, she shoved off toward the wharf.
Sawyer followed at a more leisurely pace. The ROMEOs—including Seth Duer—were working in conjunction with the Coastie Auxiliary and Watermen’s Association. They’d officiate at today’s race.
After collecting the race entry ducks in a large trash bag, Seth and the Now I Sea would anchor a quarter mile offshore at the starting point of the race. At the blast of the towboat’s foghorn, the ROMEOs would dump the plastic contestants overboard between ropes tied to two equidistant poles in the channel.
Ropes on both sides created a V-shaped funnel tied off on the pylons of the dock at the finish line. The lines had been strung through colorful swimming pool noodles to keep the wayward seafaring ducks in bounds. Other volunteers stood poised at the end of the pier with fishing nets to collect the ducks and return them to their “sponsors.”
Jaunty flags fluttered in the stiff sea breeze on board dozens of recreational vessels hugging the harbor. Kiptohanockians lined the banks of the town at water’s 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.
“You 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.”
“No way I’m letting you have an advantage over the Duer Ducks. Where you go, I go.”
“Better 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—”
“Save 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 assigned, which happened to be nearest to shore.
From the wharf, the mayor shouted through the bullhorn. “On your mark. Get ready. Get set...”
He and Honey hunched in anticipation.
“Go...” yelled the mayor.
The tugboat’s horn bellowed across the harbor, signaling the ROMEOs. Seth and his cohorts dumped the ducks into the channel. Hundreds of bright yellow plastic heads bobbed in the waves. From the shoreline, cheers and jeers arose.
“Duck number 409 takes an early lead,” the mayor cried.
Armed with walkie-talkies, the other herders kept the mayor and the crowds apprised of the ducks in contention. Equipped with purple pool noodles, the wranglers ensured the ducks didn’t get stuck in the lines or in harbor debris.
“Come on, come on.” She bounced in the seat. “Go, Lucky 576, go. Go. Go.”
Sawyer held on to the sides of the canoe. “Sit still. Or you’ll land the both of us in the drink.”
“Duck number 324 edges number 576,” the mayor announced. A roar erupted from the spectators.
Sawyer grinned. “That’s a Coastie duck.”
Honey scowled.
Sawyer smacked his lips. “I’m thinking we’ll start the evening with dancing—”
Honey grunted. “I’m thinking that’s so not happening...”
“It’s 576 and 324, beak and beak,” shouted the mayor.
The current brought the ducky horde within arm’s reach of the canoe. Sawyer reached for one of the purple noodles he’d stashed on board.
She slatted her eyes. “What are you doing?”
He stroked the water with the noodle. “I’m making sure they don’t get tangled in the floating seaweed.”
“Stop it, Kole.” She seized another noodle from between their feet. “You’re making waves to ensure Coastie Duck beats Duer Duck.”
He sent a ripple of water toward the bobbing ducks. “Like the other wranglers farther out, I’m only making sure the ducks don’t stall dead in the water before reaching the finish line.”
“You’re cheating.” She half rose. The canoe tilted.
“I’m not.” He frowned and grabbed for the sides. “Sit down, Beatrice.”
“You don’t get to tell me what to do, Kole.” She stood.
He lurched to his feet. “Sit—”
She smacked him in the chest with her noodle. Only his feet planted even with his hips kept him from toppling into the water.
“Beatrice,” he hissed. The canoe rocked. “Stop—”
“Prepare to suck seaweed, Coastie. This is so on...” Clutching the noodle, she lunged at him.
Sawyer blocked her jab. “You want it? You got it. Bring it, Duer.”
Honey thrust at him again. He parried again. “That the best you can do?”
She whacked the end of her noodle against his. The dull thud of noodle-on-noodle swordplay echoed across the marsh.
“Looks like hostilities have erupted on the sidelines, folks,” the mayor commented. Laughter broke out along the shore.
Honey charged at him. He shifted. The canoe tipped. Her arms windmilled. She cried out. He threw himself in her direction to counterbalance.
But too late. The canoe capsized, dumping them both over the side. They landed with a whale of a splash in the waist-deep water. The surge sent the ducks scurrying toward the finish line.
“Number 698 wins!” the mayor shouted.
Sawyer and Honey groaned. Not a Coastie Duck. From the look of her face, he guessed not a Duer Duck, either.
Knees bent, butt in the water, her mouth trembled. Those immaculate white linen trousers of hers weren’t so immaculate now. He sighed. How did they keep ending up in this situation? Humiliating each other in front of the whole town.
Swiping a hand over his face, he found his footing. He waited for Honey but knew better than to offer his hand this time. Water dripped from the pearls at her ears and throat. She staggered upright.
Her expression haughty—as haughty as she could be with her hair plastered to her head and water running in rivulets down her ruined clothing—she sloshed toward the bank. After retrieving the canoe, paddles and noodles, he towed the canoe in her wake.
And his gut sank further when he spotted Seth Duer and Braeden Scott waiting for them. Both men’s arms crossed, eyes flaming and brows lowered. He plodded toward his doom.
In hindsight, maybe this wasn’t the sort of creative wooing Braeden had envisioned. Sawyer had gotten Honey’s attention all right. But he reckoned in the long run no attention might prove superior to the wrong kind of attention. Especially when it involved the wrath of Honey’s father and brother-in-law.