hate for anything to happen to you.” His smoky voice caressed her ears.
Then there she was again feeling completely unbalanced.
Without another word, he put his oar in the water, turned his kayak and paddled away, leaving Jackie stumped, stymied, suspicious and more than a tad sexually attracted to a total stranger.
She didn’t like it. Not one bit.
2
The Coast Guard is the shepherd of the seas.
—Late Chief Warrant Officer Benjamin Everly
UNITED STATES COAST GUARD Station Key West was a major base in the 7th District founded in 1824. Sector Key West was a unified command consisting of two patrol boats, eight duel boats and three small boat stations. Even though it was a small unit, Sector Key West’s responsibilities encompassed 55,000 square miles of territory, including the borders of Cuba and the Bahamas.
Every time Scott walked into his father’s old headquarters, a thrill ran through him. This was where he’d first fallen head over heels for the Coast Guard. His love for his chosen career had only deepened with time. He was living his father’s legacy. You couldn’t put a price on that kind of pride.
Although now he worked out of D.C., his heart still belonged to Sector Key West.
The place always stirred memories, but today his thoughts stayed anchored on the woman in the red bikini. In his mind’s eye he kept seeing her standing in the boat, vulnerable, fierce and sexy as hell. She’d said her name was Jackie Birch but that did nothing to alleviate his curiosity.
Who was this Jackie Birch, besides a pretty woman who swam alone in the mangroves? And why did he keep wondering what she would taste like if he kissed her?
“Scott!” Marcy Dugan, the civilian public relations liaison, exclaimed. Marcy was in her mid-forties, almost as tall as Scott, with a whip-thin figure from running marathons. “It’s so good to see you.”
“Don’t I get a hug?” He held out his arms.
“Of course.” She embraced him. “It’s so good to have you home.”
His strongest memory of Marcy was at his father’s funeral ten years ago. At the graveside, she’d placed a palm against his back and whispered, “Your father was so proud of you. I know you’re going to live up to his expectations.”
He’d done his best to do just that.
“How’s Megan?” she asked.
“Flustered. She keeps second-guessing herself on every decision.”
“All brides are nervous before the wedding. There’s so much pressure.”
“She really seems happy, though.”
“Dave’s a good guy,” Marcy said, referring to Megan’s fiancé.
“I’m glad to hear he gets your stamp of approval. I haven’t had a chance to really get to know him yet.”
Marcy smiled. “You’re having a hard time letting go of your baby sister.”
“Am I that transparent?”
“Yes.” She linked her arm through his. “But that’s okay. You’ve always looked after her.”
“Except she doesn’t need me to take care of her anymore.” He was surprised to hear a wistful note in his voice.
“It’s time for you to find a wife who will appreciate your protective qualities.”
“Too bad you’re not available,” he teased.
“Flirt.”
“If you ever get tired of Carl—” he winked “—you know where to find me.”
“Hitting on my wife again, Everly?” Chief Warrant Officer Carl Dugan drawled as he came down the hall toward them. Carl had been born in Corpus Christi, Texas, and although he’d lived in Florida for most his life, he never lost his Lone Star accent. “You’re late.”
“Normally, Carl eats breakfast at 6:00 a.m. sharp,” Marcy said, slipping her arm around her husband’s waist and patting his flat belly. “He held off for breakfast with you, so he’s bit cranky.”
Carl, while good-natured, didn’t believe in excuses, so Scott didn’t offer him one. Besides, how would it sound if he said he was late because he’d been ogling a girl in a red bikini? “My apologies, sir.”
“You can stop calling me sir. You outrank me now.”
“That’s never going to happen. I was calling you sir long before I ever joined the Coast Guard.”
“Well, you’re on vacation so I guess I can let your tardiness slide,” Carl joked. “I’m hungry as a whale. How about you?”
“You know me. I can always eat.”
“See you boys later.” Marcy wriggled her fingers.
“You’re not coming with us?” Scott raised an eyebrow.
Marcy said, “I’ve got a busload of middle-school students coming by for a field trip.”
“Better you than me,” Scott said.
“You’d be great with kids. Just wait until you have little nieces and nephews running around.”
Scott put both hands over his ears. “That’s my baby sister you’re talking about.”
Marcy laughed.
The three of them left the building together. Carl stopped to kiss Marcy’s cheek before she branched off in the direction of the parking lot. “Have a good breakfast.”
Without speaking, Scott and Carl fell into lockstep. Scott didn’t have to ask. He knew they were having breakfast at the Lighthouse Restaurant just across the pier from the base. The familiar call of seagulls whinged overhead. The salty air carried on it a hint of coconut. Morning sun glistened glassy blue off the waves.
He paused on the pier to take a deep breath of home and Carl stopped, seeming to understand that Scott needed a moment. It was good to be back.
They walked into the restaurant, greeted by the clatter of dishes and the hum of voices. Most everyone in the place was Coast Guard of one fashion or the other—active duty, reservists, auxiliary or family members of Coasties. People waved and called out to them.
The hostess knew Carl by name and led them to his regular booth that looked out over the water.
On the wall behind them was a ten-year-old photograph of Carl with Scott’s father, Ben. They wore their navy blue operational dress uniforms and had their arms slung over each other’s shoulders. Looking like brothers, they grinned for the camera.
The picture
