Finding Her Way Home

After fifteen years away, Dr. Caroline Duer is nervous about returning to her hometown. The veterinarian might be able to save stranded sea turtles, but she can’t convince her dad of her good intentions. And when Caroline meets darling Izzie Clark, she encounters similar suspicion from the young girl’s father. Former coast guard commander Weston Clark had his life upended by Izzie’s mother. He won’t go through the same pain again. But Izzie isn’t the only one tumbling head over heels for the enigmatic Caroline. And if she can release the pain of the past, she just might be the missing piece Weston and his daughter have been searching for.

“Caroline could take me shopping.”

He reddened. “Izzie, I’m sure the lady vet is busy. She probably has much more—”

“I’d love to take Izzie shopping.” Caroline gave him a defiant look. “Why don’t you bring her to the animal rescue center later this week—say Thursday—about four o’clock?”

Izzie bounced on the balls of her feet. “Yay!”

“You don’t need to—”

“And you’re welcome.” Caroline slipped behind the wheel.

His lips quirked. “Like you said yesterday, I’m sure I would’ve managed somehow, but...” He rolled his tongue in his cheek.

“Is that your idea of a thank-you?” She laughed. “Not much of a people person, are you?”

Weston leaned his elbows against the car window. “Will you allow me to fix dinner after you and Izzie return from your shopping expedition? I could give you a tour of our home-slash-work-in-progress.”

She smiled at him. “I’d like that. Till then?”

Till then. His mouth went dry. Had he lost what little mind he still possessed? What had he done?

LISA CARTER and her family make their home in North Carolina. In addition to her Love Inspired novels, she writes romantic suspense for Abingdon Press. When she isn’t writing, Lisa enjoys traveling to romantic locales, teaching writing workshops and researching her next exotic adventure. She has strong opinions on barbecue and ACC basketball. She loves to hear from readers. Connect with Lisa at lisacarterauthor.com.

Falling for the Single Dad

Lisa Carter

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Let us hold unswervingly to the hope we profess, for he who promised is faithful.

—Hebrews 10:23

Dedicated to David and Peggy Riley

You advised me long ago to read a psalm a day, and you were right. Thanks for your friendship and support. You two make a great team. Yours is a special gift, a noble legacy—to shine the Light. Your example of godly leadership has been a beacon of light and truth to me throughout the years.

Acknowledgments

Thanks to Kathy Davis for her quick, on-the-scene guidance regarding the exact layout of the bridge, the tunnels and the pier at the Chesapeake Grill at the exact minute I was trying to write that scene. Any errors are, of course, my own.

The Virginia Institute of Marine Science (VIMS) is real. Its three-part mission is “to conduct interdisciplinary research in coastal ocean and estuarine science, educate students and citizens, and provide advisory service to policy makers, industry, and the public.” I’ve taken a few liberties with the actual facility layout. And currently, no marine rescue/rehabilitation/conservation center exists on the Virginia portion of the Delmarva Peninsula. But wouldn’t it be fun if such a place did?

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

About the Author

Title Page

Bible Verse

Dedication

Acknowledgments

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Epilogue

Dear Reader

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

“Excuse me? Excuse...meeee...?”

Startled, Caroline Duer gazed to the left, then right, before coming to rest on the heart-shaped face of a little girl tugging on her sleeve. “Were you talking to me?”

The child’s shoulder-length tangle of red hair bobbed as she nodded. “Would you help me find a book?”

Her enormous blue eyes inspected Caroline for a second. And as if an afterthought, she added, “Please.”

Caroline’s eyes skittered around the Kiptohanock Library. “Um...”

Moments before, a librarian had been reading to a cluster of children on the big green rug. Obviously, one of her charges had wandered.

“I don’t see her right now, but...”

Where was a librarian when you needed one?

“Uh...” Caroline wasn’t good with children. Sea creatures, yes. Little girls, no.

This was what happened when you put off what needed to be done. You got roped into over-your-head situations.

“I’m not—”

“But I said the special word.” The little girl cocked her head and waited.

Special word? What in the name of fried flounder was a special word? A secret children’s language to which Caroline wasn’t privy? “I’m sorry, dear...”

The little girl scowled.

“Dear” must not be a special word. Where was the librarian? Caroline cut her eyes over to the child.

The little redhead planted her fist on her hip. And jutted it. “I need you.”

Just Caroline’s luck. A tyke with attitude.

The little girl needed her? A clear case of mistaken identity, but it had been a long time since anyone needed her. In fact, the last time she’d been needed, she’d failed everyone so completely.

She was perhaps the worst person on earth anyone needed to need. Caroline swallowed. Where was the librarian? Better yet, where was this child’s mother?

Even Caroline understood children required a lot of time. More time than she as a thirty-five-year-old marine veterinarian was willing to pencil into her schedule. If you couldn’t spare the time, don’t have ’em. She drummed her restless fingers on the wooden surface of the librarian’s desk.

“I want books like that.” The little girl pointed at the illustrated Eastern Shore bird-watcher’s field guide in Caroline’s hand. “Books about turtles and dolphins, too.”

Caroline glanced from the book to the little girl. “This is a book my sister, Amelia, illustrated. Illustrated means—”

“She drew the pictures.” The little girl fluttered her hand as if shooing sand fleas. “I know all about that.”

Caroline’s lips twitched. Okay, the redhead was a smart little girl.

“Are you going to check it out?”

“I don’t live around here.” Caroline’s gaze darted out the window overlooking the Kiptohanock square. “Not anymore. I don’t have a library card.”

The little girl dug a plastic card out of the pocket of her jeans. “I do.” She held up the card. “I’ve had my own library card since I learned to read when I was four. My daddy says I’m a reading machine.”

Caroline stifled a laugh. The same could’ve been said of her as a child, too. She passed the book into the little girl’s custody.

The redhead grinned at Caroline. “Thanks.”

Caroline shifted to move past her. “You’re welcome.”

“Aren’t you going to help me find the book on turtles?”

Caroline studied the expectant little face. “You’re not going to leave me alone till I do, are you?”

The little girl smiled. Tiny lines feathered the corners of her eyes. An indication she was a happy child? Caroline hoped so.

“All right. Come on, then.” Racking her brain for what she remembered of the Dewey Decimal System, Caroline headed into the stacks. The little girl followed close on her heels.

Ten minutes later, Caroline’s arms bulged with picture books and the surprisingly adult volume on aquatic life the child herself selected. Caroline marched toward the checkout station. Still, no sign of the librarian.

She bit back an inward sigh. “You’ll have to wait—”

The little girl lugged Caroline toward a pint-size monitor. “Self-checkout. I do it every week after story time. I’ll show you.”

Caroline plopped the books onto the counter. The child scanned her card under a red-eyed laser beam. A beep sounded every time she ran the bar code on the back cover underneath the beam. A final printout scrolled out of the printer, and the child tore it free with a flourish. “This way you don’t have to wait in line.”

What line? The library appeared deserted. Not so different from Caroline’s childhood. She had whiled away many pleasant hours here in the library while Lindi dated, Amelia went fishing and Honey played house. Caroline figured old Mrs. Beal had probably long since retired.

“Good.” Caroline slung the strap of her purse over her shoulder. “Happy read—”

“Wait.” The child caught her arm and halted Caroline’s bid for freedom. “Maybe we could read one of the books before you leave.”

Caroline pursed her lips. “Don’t you have somewhere you have to be?”

The child shook her head.

A sense of panic mounted. Caroline wasn’t good with children. “Won’t your mother be looking for you?”

“My mother’s dead.”

“Oh...” Caroline’s heart thudded. “So is mine,” she whispered.

The child entwined her arm through the crook in Caroline’s elbow. “Just for a minute.” Her face scrunched. “Please...”

Caroline bit her lip. “The special word?”

The child nodded.

Caroline caved. “Okay...”

The child let out a whoop and then slapped a hand over her mouth. She giggled. Caroline giggled, too.

Finger against her lips, the little girl pulled her toward the sitting area near the entrance. 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 date, Commander?”

“Don’t let us keep you.”

“Give ’er a kiss from us.”

He ignored them and charged across the village square toward the brick Victorian, which housed Kiptohanock’s local library. His heart pounded. Izzie would be worried.

It was just Izzie and him. They counted on each other. They depended on each other. Each other was all they had. And he’d let her down.

Weston raced up the broad-planked steps of the library. Izzie wasn’t a crier, but imagining twin rivulets flowing down her cheeks, he felt his gut clench. Frantic, he twisted open the brass knob on the stout oak door and dashed across the threshold inside. He froze at the sight that met his eyes.

His little girl snuggled in the arms of one of the most beautiful women he’d ever seen in his life. Head bent over a picture book, the woman softly read aloud to his daughter.

Weston took a moment to calm the staccato beating of his heart. To settle his fear. And to be honest, to enjoy the scene before him the way you would take pleasure in an exquisite painting.

The woman’s elegant, long-sleeved white silk blouse was overdressed for the casual fishing hamlet. As were the navy trousers and sling-back pumps in a place where the preferred attire was flip-flops and shorts. A bun at the nape of her slim neck, tendrils of reddish brown hair framed the woman’s oval face.

“Mahogany.” With the woodworking he’d done of late, he should know. Her hair was the color of mahogany.

He hadn’t realized he’d spoken aloud until the woman’s gaze lifted.

Izzie scooted out of the armchair. “Daddy!”

The woman’s eyes narrowed. Lustrous, chocolate eyes. He remembered the women at church talking about the new librarian Kiptohanock hired after old Mrs. Beal retired. But she was unlike any librarian he remembered from his boyhood days in Richmond.

The woman frowned. He’d been staring, mouth open. He closed his mouth with a snap and flushed.

Izzie flung herself at him, clasping him around the knees. He staggered and wrapped his arms around her torso as much to steady himself as to drag his eyes away from the new librarian.

“Where were you, Daddy? I’ve been waiting...”

The woman’s lips tightened.

“I’m sorry, little lady.” He kissed the top of Izzie’s curly hair. “My watch stopped. I was at the Sandpiper going over the last of the remodeling plans, and I lost track of time.”

The woman rose. Five foot sevenish to his six-foot height, he estimated. Folding her arms across her chest, she tapped one slim foot against the hardwood floor. Disapproval radiated from her set features.

“Izzie’s father, I presume?”

Not a great first impression. He grimaced. Since when did he care about impressing a woman? Especially one so...so sophisticated. Because that had turned out so well for him before.

“She’s been waiting a long time.” The woman gestured at the now-deserted library. “All the other children went home with their mothers ages ago.”

He winced. “As I said, I’m sorry.”

The woman raised her chin. “Anything could’ve happened to the child. A father shouldn’t be too busy to take care of his family.”

Anger surged at the woman’s arrogant assumptions. He bit off the harsh retort that rose to his lips. The desire to put the new librarian in her place.

Beautiful, maybe. Unfriendly, for sure. Strange, a woman like her would choose the public-pleasing profession of a librarian. ’Cause this woman had the social skills of a barracuda.

With his anything-but-stellar track record in the romance department, this was why he kept it just him and Izzie. Were all women as hard-hearted as Jessica? Or was it his misfortune to only run into those types?

“I’m sorry to have inconvenienced you...” He allowed his gaze to rake her face and the armchair full of books. A look he hadn’t utilized since he commanded Coasties before Jessica’s death prompted his abrupt career change. “Don’t let us keep you from your shelving.”

The woman’s eyes enlarged. “I’m not—” An interesting blush stained her cheeks.

Izzie tried to climb up his legs. Bending, he scooped his daughter into his arms. She was getting heavy. Too big to hold.

But he’d hold Izzie close as long as he could. Because besides Izzie and a run-down lighthouse, what else did he have in his life?

Izzie captured his face between her small, warm palms and wrenched his attention from less pleasant thoughts. “She’s Caroline. We had fun.”

At her words, the woman—Caroline Whoever—uncoiled a notch.

He reminded himself he’d been in the wrong. Not her job to babysit his child. He took a deep breath. “I apologize again. I’m doing the best I can.”

That hadn’t been enough for Jessica, though. And in Caroline’s equally cool appraisal of him, he felt his every deficiency flayed bare.

His lips twisted. He’d never been enough for anyone.

Izzie squeezed her legs around his waist and hung her arms around his neck.

Except maybe Izzie.

Izzie lunged, and he almost dropped her. “My books, Daddy.”

Caroline What’s-Her-Name blinked. “Oh.” She snagged hold of the seen-better-days library bag Izzie dragged along on every outing.

Weston took the bulging bag and sagged beneath its weight. “Leave any for the other children?”

His daughter giggled. “Daddy and I will see you next week, Caroline.”

“I’m not...” Caroline’s face did a fair imitation of Izzie sucking lemon rinds.

He gave the librarian a nice view of their backs. See her next week? He’d sit on the library porch while Izzie enjoyed story time if it meant avoiding another less-than-pleasant encounter with the stone-cold Caroline.

Who had the face of a Renaissance Madonna and the disposition of a killer shark.

Chapter Two

When she’d looked up from the pages of the book and found his smoldering blue eyes fixed upon her, Caroline’s heart leaped in spite of herself.

Midthirties, she guessed. From his sweatshirt and his dark brown military buzz—close cut on the sides—probably an active duty or one-time Guardsman. A ’come here, not native-born to the Shore.

Through the library window, she watched the ruggedly handsome man tuck Izzie into the green Chevy Colorado parked beside the diner across the square. His broad shoulders under the gray Coast Guard Academy sweatshirt bunched as he leaned to fasten Izzie’s seat belt.

Notwithstanding Caroline’s fifteen-year absence from Accomack County, she didn’t recognize him. She heaved a sigh. She didn’t think she would’ve forgotten him had they previously met. Her gaze flicked toward the now-empty chair.

She’d enjoyed cuddling with Izzie. Who would’ve foreseen that? Not Caroline or anyone who knew her, she guessed.

Definitely not mother material. But no more stalling.

Caroline glanced at the mounted wall clock behind the librarian’s desk. Guests typically left the Duer Lodge midmorning in pursuit of their day’s activities.

She’d scheduled a lunch meeting with her longtime colleague at the Virginia Institute of Marine Science to finalize their grant-funded summer pilot program. If things went as well as she expected at the family homestead—which was to say, not well—she had someplace else to be.

Caroline turned her head toward the babble of voices at the top of the ornate staircase. Kiptohanock’s real librarian emerged on the landing with a sixty-something matron Caroline—unfortunately—did recognize.

“Caroline Victoria Duer.”

She squeezed her eyes shut. Escape so close and yet so far.

“Is that you? After all this time?”

A lot of water under that proverbial bridge, but some things—like some people—didn’t change. Including Mrs. Davenport, otherwise known as the Kiptohanock Grapevine.

Mrs. Davenport, plumper after fifteen years, descended the staircase like a bygone movie queen. “As I live and breathe, Seth Duer’s second oldest come home at last.”

Other Kiptohanock bookworms popped out from between the stacks across the hall to get a look. The twenty-something librarian’s eyes blinked behind her fashionable horn-rimmed glasses.

Time, like sand in an hourglass, had run out for Caroline.

If she didn’t beat the village blabbermouth to the punch, her father and sisters would learn of her arrival before she could get to the house. She couldn’t hide any longer.

“Yes, indeed, Mrs. Davenport.” She wrenched open the oak-paneled door. “The black sheep has come home at last.”

* * *

Caroline drove around the square. Past the Sandpiper Café. The post office. The Coast Guard station. Recreational and commercial fishing vessels bobbed in the harbor. Fair-weather flags fluttered in the breeze. Beyond the inlet, barrier islands emptied into the vastness of the Atlantic.

The white clapboard church hugged the shoreline. Its steeple pierced the azure sky. Leafed-out trees canopied the side lanes, where the gingerbread-trimmed Victorian homes fanned out from the center of the town square like spokes on a wheel.

Driving out of town, she averted her gaze from the cemetery on a high slope overlooking the marina. She’d finally found the courage to face her father and sisters. She didn’t know if she had the courage to face the graves. Maybe she’d never have enough courage to face them.

Leaving the coastal village behind, she headed down Seaside Road, which connected the oceanside villages. Her heart pounding in her ears, she pulled off the secondary road into the Duer driveway. A simple sign at the turnoff read Duer Fisherman’s Lodge.

Caroline stopped at the top of the driveway. Her hands white-knuckled the wheel. She paused to reorient herself with her childhood home. To prepare for the changes the devastating hurricane eight months ago had wrought. But on the surface, everything appeared the same.

She scanned the white, two-story Victorian with the wraparound porch. The picket fence still rimmed the shade-studded perimeter of the yard. The silvery surface of the tidal creek glimmered behind the house. She released her death grip on the wheel.

Home to seven generations of proud Duer watermen, including her father, Seth Duer, possibly the proudest of all. In the last century during the days of gilded grandeur, Northern steel magnates had “roughed” it at the Duer fishing lodge. Her ancestors had served as hunting guides in winter, oystered, crabbed and run charters in summer. But those days, like the steamers traveling the waters between New York City and Wachapreague, had long since passed.

She took a deep breath and released the brake. The car coasted toward the circle drive. The grand old lady, freshly painted and restored from the ravages of the storm, appeared better than ever under her youngest sister’s watchful restoration. Caroline parked and switched off the engine.

Restoration... Her fondest hope.

She whispered a quick prayer and got out of the car as a tall, Nordic blond man in jeans and T-shirt stepped around the corner of the house from the direction of the old cabin. A phone shrilled inside. Then stopped.

He advanced, hand outstretched. “I didn’t realize more guests were arriving today. I’m—”

“Sawyer Kole. Honey’s husband.”

He dropped his hand, confusion written across his craggy features. As if recognition teased on the fringes of his memory. The front door squeaked on its hinges.

Sawyer Kole’s eyes went glacial at the same moment Honey gasped, “Caroline.”

Caroline’s gaze flitted to the honey-blonde woman poised on the porch steps. Whom she’d last beheld when Honey wasn’t much bigger than Izzie. Now a lovely woman in her midtwenties and soon to be a mother. Caroline’s eyes fell to her youngest sister’s rounded abdomen. Caroline thought of little redheaded Izzie, and something stirred in her heart.

With great deliberation, Sawyer moved between them. Blocking Caroline’s view of her sister. Protecting his wife. From her.

Voices drifted from the dock at the edge of the tidal creek. A carrot-haired boy, maybe Izzie’s age, ran ahead. The strawberry-blonde woman, Caroline’s younger sister Amelia, bounced a dark-haired baby on her hip as she strode up the incline from the water.

Catching sight of her, Seth Duer, their father, came to a dead stop. As fit as she remembered, though his hair beneath the Nandua Warriors ball cap and his thick mustache were more salt than pepper. His gray eyebrows bristled.

Oyster shells crunched beneath the little boy’s sneakers. “Hey, Aunt Honey!” He waved. “Mimi, Granddad and I showed my baby how to bait a line.”

The expression on her father’s grizzled face froze Caroline to the marrow of her bones.

Amelia squeezed their father’s elbow. “Daddy.” The baby squirmed in her arms.

Seth and Marian Duer’s third-born daughter. The tomboy son Seth had never had, but longed for. Renowned illustrator. Married to Braeden Scott, senior chief at Station Kiptohanock.

Amelia’s face had shuttered with neither pleasure nor foreboding. Unable to get a read on her sister, Caroline glanced at the redheaded boy. Max. An old ache resurfaced.

Her older sister’s boy. Born moments before Lindi died after a head-on collision with a drunk driver on Highway 13. Adopted and raised by Amelia, Max’s beloved “Mimi.” And Amelia was now also the mother of the toddler in her arms, Patrick Scott.

The silence roared between them until Max in his innocence broke it.

“Who’s that, Mimi?” His eyes were so like Lindi’s. “She looks like the other sister in the picture above the fireplace. The one you told me not to mention around Granddad.”

Caroline flinched.

Seth’s blue-green eyes, the color of Amelia’s, too, flashed. “Don’t worry about learning her name. She probably won’t be around long enough for you to get used to using it.”

Caroline and Honey had inherited their mother’s dark brown eyes. Caroline frowned at the thought of her mother and pushed yet another memory out of her mind.

Amelia shifted the baby to a more comfortable position. “First, let’s see why she’s here.”

“Please...” Caroline whispered.

Her father snorted. Then the tough, old codger scrubbed his face with a hand hard with calluses. “Come to rub our noses in her highfalutin jet-set lifestyle.”

She lifted her chin. “You don’t know anything about my life.”

“Whose fault is that, girl?”

He’d yet to say her name, Caroline couldn’t help noticing. As if he wanted no part of her. Her insides quivered. She wrapped her hand around the cuff of her left sleeve.

Seth crossed his arms over his plaid shirt. “There’s two kinds of people born on the Shore, Max, my boy. Best you learn now how to identify them both.”

Caroline gritted her teeth.

“Those who don’t ever want to leave...”

She knew if she didn’t get out of here in the next few minutes, she was going to implode into a million, trillion pieces.

“And those, like my runaway daughter.” Seth speared her with a look. “Who can’t wait to leave and who never return.”

“Until now, Dad. Caroline’s come home.” Always the peacemaker, her sister Honey. Far more than Caroline deserved from the baby sister she’d abandoned.

Caroline examined the set expressions on her family’s faces. What had she expected? What else did she deserve?

“She never returned after her mother died,” Seth growled. “Not for her sister’s funeral. Not during Max’s chemo. Not after the storm almost leveled our home.” He clenched his fist against his jeans. “Not for a wedding. Or a birthday. Not even a postcard, much less a phone call.”

And Caroline suddenly understood that nothing she could ever say would erase the damage she’d inflicted. Nor wash away the hurt of the past. This... This illadvised, ludicrous attempt at reconciliation was for naught. She spun on her heel.

“Don’t go,” Honey called.

“Let ’er go,” Seth grunted. “Let ’er run away like before. It’s what she does best.”

“Daddy... Stop it,” barked Amelia.

Caroline wrested the car door open and flung herself into the driver’s seat. Whereas she’d found mercy and forgiveness in God, with her family there’d be none of either. She jerked the gear into Drive.

In a blur, she fishtailed onto Seaside Road. She pointed the car south and drove until the shaking of her hands wouldn’t allow her to drive any farther. She pulled over on the other side of the Quinby bridge and parked.

Her shoulders ached with tension. Spots swam before her eyes. She leaned her head on the headrest, and struggled to draw a breath as her throat closed.

This had been a mistake. A terrible, perhaps unredeemable, mistake. She felt the waves of the darkness she’d spent years clawing her way out of encroaching. Like an inexorable tide, ever closer. A headache throbbed at her temples.

Her breathing came in short, rapid bursts. Hand on her chest, she laid her forehead across the steering wheel. Willing the anxiety to subside and the blackness to erode.

But the waves mounted and towered like a tsunami. Cresting, waiting to consume her whole. To drag her under for good this time into the riptide of blackness.

God. Oh, God. Oh, God.

Where was her purse? She fumbled for the tote bag in the passenger seat. The pills. It’d been so long since she’d relied on them.

She hadn’t suffered an anxiety attack in several years. But with her so-called reunion facing her this morning, surely she’d had the foresight to tuck them inside her purse in case of an emergency.

Digging around through the detritus that filled her life, she came up empty. She slammed her hands on the wheel. Of all the days not to...

She breathed in through her mouth and exhaled through her nose in an exercise she’d learned from the counselor. And she repeated the Scriptures she’d memorized at the suggestion of a friend, a marine biologist working in the Bahamas.

Until the dizziness passed. Until her vision cleared. Until the pain in her lungs subsided.

Dripping with sweat, she took a few steadying breaths before shifting gears. Lesson learned. Despite the size of Kiptohanock, she’d avoid contact with her family.

One summer. The two-month pilot program. She’d lie low. Something she was good at.

And like Thomas Wolfe had said, you couldn’t ever go home again. Or at least, not her.

* * *

“Daddy! Come quick! Daddy!”

Weston dropped the hammer and raced out of the former lightkeeper’s cottage. He ran toward the beach, where the incoming tide lapped against the shoreline. Where he’d left his nine-year-old daughter alone... The librarian pegged him rightly. He was a terrible father.

“Isabelle!”

Panting, he plowed his way to the top of the dune. “Answer me.” The fronds of sea oats danced—taunting him—in the afternoon breeze.

On the beach below, she windmilled her arms to get his attention. He willed his heart to return to a semblance of normal. She’d gotten his attention, all right. He scrambled down the dune toward his daughter.

She clutched the straw hat on her head. “Look, Daddy.” With her free hand, she gestured to a set of tracks stippling the sand from the base of the dunes to where they disappeared around the neck of the beach. “Turtle tracks.”

Izzie bounced in her flip-flops, a redheaded pogo stick. “Maybe turtle eggs on our beach, too.” She clapped her hands together. The hat went flying.

He sighed, and watched it blow out to sea.

“We could have babies. Just like Max.”

His gaze flickered to his daughter. “If there are eggs, they won’t belong to us. Best thing we can do is leave them and their turtle mama alone.”

Izzie’s face fell.

He tickled her ribs. “Even Max will tell you to give new mamas a wide berth. They’re touchy. And ornery.”

“Was Mama touchy and ornery with me?”

“N-not when you were the most beautiful, wonderful baby who was ever born.” He nuzzled her cheek with the stubble of his jaw.

“Daddy.” She giggled and pushed his shoulder. “You are so prickly.”

He caught Izzie in his arms and gave her a bear hug. “Like a porcupine.”

Laughing, Izzie wriggled free. “I’m gonna follow the tracks to the water.” She disappeared beyond the curve of the dune before he could formulate, much less express, a warning.

One day she wouldn’t be so easily diverted from the rest of the story. And he could never tell Izzie the whole truth.

Behind the dune, Izzie screamed. He jolted, his heart palpitating once more.

“Daddy! Hurry...”

Parenting—not unlike certain Coastie jobs—ought to come with hazard pay. Breaking into a loping run, he jogged around the point.

He found Izzie at the edge of the surf, where the waves curled and skittered over her bare toes like a watery sand crab. She crouched beside a prehistoric-looking sea turtle. A metallic hook jutted from the creature’s neck.

“Izzie, get back.” He waved his arm. “Injured animals are dangerous.”

“The turtle mama.” Izzie sank to her knees. “She’s hurt.”

He came closer. The olive-gray carapace on the turtle’s back was gouged and dented.

“She’s just lying in the sand, Daddy.” Izzie’s eyes swam with tears. “I don’t think she can make it back to her babies without our help.”

How to explain this? “Turtles spend their lives in the ocean. Females only come ashore to lay eggs and then they leave.”

Izzie glared at him. “They leave their babies?” Her voice rose. “Mamas aren’t supposed to leave their babies.”

“No, they aren’t,” he whispered. And he wondered what questions about her own mother he’d field later from Izzie.

“It’s the turtle way, Izz.” He ran his gaze over this relative to the dinosaur. “If this turtle didn’t make it into the water by dawn, she’s been baking in the sun for hours.”

He lifted his ball cap, crimped the brim and settled it on his head again. “It doesn’t look good for her, Izz.”

“Please... Help her, Daddy.” In her face, the unspoken belief her daddy could fix everything.

If only that were so.

He pulled Izzie to a safer distance as the turtle’s flippers thrashed in the sand. He’d seen this before when he was stationed in Florida. One of the turtle’s flippers was mangled, probably from a boat’s propeller.

“We’ve got to save her, Daddy.” Izzie tugged on his arm. “Save her so she can take care of her babies.”

“Izzie.” He squatted to his daughter’s level. “Things like this happen. We have to let nature take its course. Mothers...” He gazed over the whitecaps. Izzie knew this better than anyone.

He cleared his throat and tried again. “Mothers die, Isabelle.”

“No.” Izzie jerked free. “You’ve got to do something, Daddy. Don’t let her die, too.”

His breath caught. Was that what his daughter believed? That he’d let her mother die?

But upon reflection of his many failures as a husband, perhaps he had. He stared at Izzie, this tiny replica of him and Jessica. And his heart hurt.

“No guarantees.” But reaching a decision, he fished the cell out of his cargo shorts. “I’m an engineer, not a marine animal specialist, Izz. But I know where to find one.”

“Thank you, Daddy.”

How could he not try to save the turtle mother? Especially since it was his fault Izzie’s mother died.

Chapter Three

“It’s a critical time, Caroline. Peak season is approaching. I’m glad your team will be joining us seaside.”

Caroline smiled at Dr. Roland Teague, a fellow marine scientist. They’d walked from the nearby Virginia Institute of Marine Science facility—VIMS—in Wachapreague to the Island House for a lunchtime meeting. Situated over the inlet on pylons, the bank of windows in the restaurant overlooked the tidal marsh.

She’d known Roland since her undergrad days at Virginia Tech. The fifty-something scientist had been a friend and professional mentor ever since. Clad in an outlandishly tropical shirt, Bermuda shorts and boat shoes, Roland hadn’t changed much over the years. Except for the streaks of silver in his thinning Jimmy Buffet–style mane.

Catching her staring, Roland laughed. “What’s gray, stays.”

She laughed as he’d meant her to. “How’s Danielle?” She owed Roland and his wife more than she could ever repay. They’d been a blessing in an otherwise very dark time in her life.

“Busy with the end-of-quarter classes at the community college. She said to tell you hello. She wants you to come over for dinner soon.” Roland paused to take a deep swig of sweet tea. “I’m excited about this plan you’ve spearheaded with the aquarium board of directors in Virginia Beach.”

After what had happened this morning with her father, she was no longer so sure that her personal involvement in the sea turtle project had been a good idea.

Roland set his glass on the tabletop with a dull ping. “Last year, we found sixteen nests on the Eastern Shore, though we’re on the extreme northern limits of their nesting grounds. This year biologists are predicting record high numbers. We’re overdue on the Shore for a rescue center of our own.”

She swirled the batter-fried hush puppy in the small tub of butter. “Nesting is up along the entire coastline of the southeastern United States. We’re not sure why. Maybe climate change and warmer weather has raised water temperatures.”

“That’s why your expertise is so invaluable to us here. You’ve got an impressive résumé. Everything from the Caribbean and Central America to coordinating one of North Carolina’s Outer Banks stranding teams.”

An expert in aquaculture, he winked. “Not to mention you’re a hometown girl and have an ‘in’ with the locals.”

Caroline refrained from disabusing him of that notion. On her last research assignment in Virginia Beach, she’d pushed the idea of creating a rehabilitation center staffed by a few professionals and manned by interns in the high season to educate the local populace and serve as another Eastern Shore tourist draw.

She’d spent long hours with a planning committee formulating a cost-effective strategy. If the center was successful, she hoped the aquatic veterinary hospital would also eliminate the need to transport injured marine animals to treatment centers farther away. The animals most often did not survive transport. A hospital on the Eastern Shore would mean the difference between life and death.

“The center will bring much needed jobs on the Shore,” Roland added.

She thought of her father and his stubborn refusal to accede gracefully to any change. “I hope Kiptohanock and the other coastal villages will catch our vision. If they decide to balk...” She bit off the end of the hush puppy.

“That’s why the board sent you. You’re our public relations secret weapon. With ‘small-town girl makes good’ as our leading advocate, what can go wrong?”

She traced the condensation on her tea glass with her finger. What could go wrong indeed? Without the backing of influential locals—like Seth Duer—the proposed center would die a quick death in the face of resistance to change and a deep-seated distrust of outsiders.

The Eastern Shore was isolated by nature. And the Eastern Shore population preferred it that way.

She grimaced. “No pressure there, Roland.”

He popped a hush puppy into his mouth. He chewed and swallowed. “I have all the faith in the world in you, Caroline.”

Glad somebody did. If she didn’t believe so strongly in this program... If God hadn’t clearly shown her it was time to go home and make amends, she’d... She’d be on a beach off the turquoise waters of St. Kitts.

“It’s all hands on deck at this time of year. Sometimes we get ten calls a day from home owners, the Guard, game wardens and watermen.”

She nodded. “Thanks for offering us access to your laboratory here during the pilot program. My graduate students will arrive later today.”

“They’ll bunk in the dormitory with my summer interns.” He speared a sea scallop with his fork. “I guess with family here, you’ll be living with them and not on the economy as the Coasties say.”

She was saved from making an embarrassing admission when Roland’s cell, clamped to his belt, beeped.

“Teague here.” His eyes widened. “Where?” He drummed his fingers on the tabletop. “I’ll send her right away.”

She tilted her head as he ended the call.

“You’ve got your first case.” He grinned. “It was the marine animal hotline. There’s a turtle stranded on a nearby beach.”

“What species?”

He pocketed his phone. “Home owner didn’t say. Probably wouldn’t know a loggerhead from a leatherback anyway.”

“Where did you say the turtle’s beached?”

“Out on the Neck by the old lighthouse.”

She scraped back her chair. “I haven’t been out that far in years. Does the access road still connect the barrier island to the peninsula? Or was it washed out in the hurricane last year?”

“I’ll text you the precise coordinates. But the causeway is still intact. In great shape, actually, since a new owner bought the lighthouse from the Coast Guard. He’s in the process of renovating the entire structure.”

She rolled her eyes. “Another ’come here?”

He pushed his plate aside. “Speaking as a ’come here myself, don’t sell us short too quickly. Go and do your thing. Saving the turtle plus winning the hearts and minds of our Shore neighbors.”

She grabbed the bill. “Roger that.” And gave him a mock salute. “I’m on my way.”

* * *

Weston watched the gunmetal-gray RAV4 round the point. He finished cutting the board for the crown molding and dusted his hands across his cargo shorts. The SUV sped down the causeway to the neck of land upon which the lighthouse and keeper’s cottage had been built over a hundred years ago.

Removing his work gloves, he cut his eyes at Izzie. She perched at the top of the dune, per his explicit instructions, awaiting the aquatic veterinarian the stranding hotline had promised to send.

The vehicle slid to a halt beside his Colorado. The door swung open, and a reddish brown head emerged from the car. Reddish brown...

He squinted, not believing his eyes. What was the librarian doing here? Maybe she’d driven the vet out to their remote location. Weston scanned the RAV4 for other signs of life.

“Caroline!” Izzie clambered down the dune and flung herself at the librarian.

Who’d exchanged her business attire for rolled jeans and a Hawaiian motif T-shirt with the outline of a sea turtle and the word Honu. She’d threaded her lustrous hair through the back of a ball cap labeled Kiptohanock Marine Animal Rescue Center. Caroline looked as surprised as he felt.

He placed one hand on his hip. “You’re not a librarian.”

A smile lifted one corner of her full lips. “No.” She hugged Izzie. “I’m not.”

“You’re a veterinarian?”

She disengaged Izzie’s stranglehold around her waist. “You seem to be having a hard time wrapping your head around that. You don’t think girls are smart enough to be vets?”

“Daddy says girls are smart enough to be anything they want to be. Smarter than boys more often than not.”

“Oh, really?” Caroline quirked her eyebrow. “Good to know.”

Her eyes flitted to the lightkeeper’s cottage behind him and upward to where the lighthouse towered. “So you’re the ’come here who bought this derelict relic of our Eastern Shore maritime history.”

Weston crossed his arms over his chest. “Not so derelict anymore, thanks to hours of labor.”

“Glad to see you’re not one of those who come to play but never invest in the local economy.”

He widened his stance, his feet even with his hips. A habit he’d never outgrown from his Coastie days. Born of keeping his balance on board the cutter amid surging seas. “We’re here to stay. I’ve put in my own labor to make sure this place becomes our year-round home.”

Izzie bounced on the balls of her feet. “Daddy and Sawyer are almost finished with my room.”

“Sawyer?” Caroline’s eyes sharpened. “Sawyer Kole?”

“You know him?”

She glanced away. “Not well.” Her gaze returned to him. “And you’d be the former Coastie who bought this place. Commander Clark.”

“It’s Weston. I’m not in the Guard anymore.”

His daughter grinned. “He’s my full-time daddy now.”

Those melted chocolate eyes of hers flicked to where his left hand rested at his side. And his heart did a quick jerk.

“Come on, Caroline.” Izzie tugged at her arm. “The turtle mama’s hurt, and I think I’ve found her eggs.”

The lady vet hung back. “Turtle mama?”

Izzie, unable to remain motionless, surged ahead.

He shrugged. “Maybe I’ve got a budding aquatic vet, too.”

When she reached inside her vehicle, he noticed the five rows of beaded and metallic bracelets encircling one slim wrist. Caroline retrieved what resembled a tackle box. He tore his gaze away as the lady vet headed after Izzie.

He trudged through the sand beside her. “You work with turtles a lot?”

She plowed through the sand in her flip-flops. “I’m a turtle specialist, actually.”

Full of nervous energy, Izzie came back for them. “Y’all are so slow... Come on, everybody.”

He smiled. “Monkeys like you tire us old people out long before lunch.”

The vet paused to catch her breath at the crest of the dune. She peered at the dark blob on the sand below. “Is that a—?”

She stumbled down the dune toward the beach. Izzie charged after her.

He shuffled his way toward them at a more sedate pace. “Is that a what?”

Placing the tackle box on the sand, Caroline opened the lid and extracted a pair of latex gloves. “It’s a Kemp’s ridley.”

“Is that good?”

Her forehead creased. “Kemp’s ridleys are the most endangered sea turtles. The rarest of them all.”

Izzie crowded closer to inspect what he surmised was the marine veterinarian’s version of a doctor’s black bag.

“Let her work, sweetheart. Give the turtle lady room.”

Caroline gave him a curious look before she dropped to her knees.

He leaned forward. “I should’ve brought a beach towel so you wouldn’t get sand on your clothes.”

Above the briny sea air, the tantalizing whiff of the lady vet’s exotic perfume allured his senses. Jasmine? he wondered, remembering one CG assignment on Oahu.

Caroline touched the torn right-front flipper. “No worries. Sand is an occupational hazard of my job.” Her mouth tightened as she probed the depth of the hook protruding from the turtle’s esophagus. “I’ll need to transport the turtle for surgery.”

“You’ve got to make her better.” Izzie clasped her hands under her chin. “So she can take care of her babies.”

Caroline rose and brushed the sand from the knees of her jeans. “You didn’t uncover the eggs, did you?”

Izzie shook her head.

“Good.” Caroline’s gaze swept the beach and came to rest on the tire-like treads in the sand. “Most Kemp’s ridleys are born on a narrow strip of beach in Rancho Nuevo, Mexico. Juveniles forage the eastern seaboard as far north as Massachusetts for food. They especially love the shallow waters of the Chesapeake.”

Eyes on the tracks, she headed for the base of the dune. Izzie and Weston followed. When the tracks stopped, so did Caroline.

She pointed toward the disturbed area in the sand. “Most times the turtles camouflage the nest so well we can’t find it unless we catch them in the middle of laying eggs. But our turtle—probably from her injuries—didn’t do her usual thorough job. Lucky for us.”

Izzie found Caroline’s hand. “I’ll take care of Turtle Mama’s eggs till she can get better and come back.”

Caroline frowned. “All seven of the sea turtle species lay their eggs on the beach where they themselves were hatched and then they head out to sea again. They don’t stick around to make sure the eggs hatch, Izzie.”

“But something could dig ’em up and eat the babies. They could get lost after they hatch and never find their mama. We’ve got to protect ’em.”

Caroline looked over Izzie’s head at him.

Weston cleared his throat. “We need to let nature take its course. Not interfere, Izzie. They’ll hatch or they won’t, with or without us.”

“No, Daddy.” Izzie jutted her hip. “God put those turtle babies on our beach for us to help them.”

“I’m going to need your help, Izzie, in lots of ways.” She fingered the stack of bracelets on her wrist. “It’s extremely rare for a Kemp’s ridley to lay eggs anywhere other than Mexico. To my knowledge, this may only be the second case we’ve discovered. The first documented nest was found across the bay in 2008.”

He caught the excitement in her voice. “So this is a big deal? We’re making history.”

Caroline smiled.

His stomach turned over as those melted chocolate eyes of hers melted him.

“It is a big deal. A very big deal.”

Caroline squeezed Izzie’s hand. “We’re going to need to put stakes around the nest and markers. Because Kemp’s ridleys are so endangered, it’s important that we monitor the nest for the next few months of incubation to ensure that the hatchlings have the best chance of survival.”

She moistened her lips. “I’m afraid I may wear out my welcome on your beach before it’s over.”

He broadened his shoulders. “You won’t wear out your welcome with us, I promise.”

“It’s so exciting, isn’t it?” Izzie threw her arms around Caroline’s waist.

Caroline staggered, but hugged Izzie back. The turtle lady, he decided, was good with children. Or at least, with his child.

“I can’t wait to tell Max.”

Caroline’s smile faltered. She let go of Izzie. “The fewer people trampling the beach, the better chance the eggs have for hatching. We’ll need to erect a wire cage to fend off raccoons and foxes.”

“By we, you mean me?”

The smile returned to her lips.

His breath stutter-stepped. It could become addictive bringing a smile to the turtle lady’s face. He also decided maybe his initial impression of Caroline had been off base. Perhaps she was more bark than bite.

“If you wouldn’t mind...”

Mind? He blinked. It took him a second to refocus. Oh, right. She was talking about the cage.

“What about me, Caroline? What can I do?”

She smoothed Izzie’s hair. “I’ll need your dad’s help in loading the turtle into the kiddy pool in my car. But then it’s going to take a gazillion gallons of water to fill the pool enough to transport the turtle. And that’s where you come in.”

Izzie quivered from her sand-encrusted toes to the top of her unruly red hair. “I can do that. I’m good at filling buckets. Will Turtle Mama be okay?”

Caroline made eye contact with his daughter. “I’m going to have to do surgery to remove the hook and repair her flipper, but there are no guarantees, Izz.”

“Like in life,” he interjected.

Caroline’s lips thinned. “Exactly.”

She moved her car as close as she could to the beach without damaging the fragile dune biosphere. With a great deal of effort—mostly his and Caroline’s—they managed to shift the turtle from the beach and into the SUV. Izzie darted ahead of them and returned, looping them as they shouldered the hundred-pound turtle over the dune.

Teeth gritted, he muscled the primeval creature into the kiddy pool in the back of the vet’s vehicle. “You do this on a regular basis by yourself?” he grunted.

“Usually the grad students help. Good thing Kemp’s ridleys are the smaller sized among sea turtles or we couldn’t have managed on our own.”

After parking the SUV once again near the cottage, the lithe Caroline handed several empty plastic buckets to Izzie. “Would you be so kind as to fill these for me, Izz?”

He folded his arms across his T-shirt. “And you’re welcome.”

She tilted her head. “For what?”

He propped his hip against the open tailgate and nudged his chin at the turtle in the pool.

“Oh...” She shrugged. “I’m sure I would’ve somehow managed without you, but—”

“Is that your idea of a thank you?” He grinned. “Not really a people person, are you?”

She blushed a lovely shade of rose. “I’m better with animals. I spend most of my time with them. People are too...”

“Complicated?”

Her gaze shot to his. “More entangling than a fisherman’s net.”

Message sent and received. Like a warning shot fired across the bow. This woman wasn’t looking for relationships.

Good thing he wasn’t either. In his case, the burned child dreaded the fire. He found himself—against his better judgment—curious about what lay behind the beautiful vet’s aversion to relationships, though.

Not any of my business.

Izzie hurried from the house. One bucket clasped in both hands, she sloshed water over the rim and onto her bare toes.

The turtle lady might not be his business, but Izzie was. He’d never seen Izzie attach herself to anyone like this female veterinarian. And frankly, the idea of Izzie forming an attachment to the prickly vet disturbed Weston.

On a profound level, to a degree, Weston wasn’t sure he wanted to explore. He had Izzie’s well-being to consider. It was her fragile heart he was thinking about.

Wasn’t it?

Proud as if she’d single-handedly saved the free world, Izzie transferred the now half-empty bucket to the vet.

She smiled at his daughter. “Thank you, Izzie. You’re such a big help.”

Izzie took off at a run. “I’ll bring the other bucket, Caroline,” she called over her shoulder.

He straightened. “Let me—”

“I got it, Daddy. I’m not a baby.” His daughter never broke her stride.

Caroline poured the contents over the turtle’s carapace and into the pool.

“Will you take the turtle to the aquarium across the bay to Virginia Beach or up to Ocean City in Maryland?”

“Neither.” Caroline gave the turtle’s shell a small pat. “Fortunately for this injured lady, we’re headed to the new aquatic rehab center I’m establishing in Wachapreague for the summer.”

Izzie sloshed forward in time to hear Caroline’s last remarks. “Yay! You’ll be here the whole summer?” Bucket clutched at chest level, she bounced on her toes.

He and Caroline stepped back. But not soon enough. Water doused the tailgate and puddled at his and Caroline’s feet.

Weston seized the bucket before further damage ensued. “Izzie... Be careful.”

Izzie’s lower lip quivered. “I’m sorry. I was trying to help.”

“You are the best helper I’ve had in ages.” Caroline placed her palm on Izzie’s head for a millisecond before taking the bucket from him. “A little water never hurt anyone. Kind of refreshing in this early heat wave.”

Izzie danced on the tips of her toes again. “So you’ll be here the whole summer?”

Caroline concentrated on filling the kiddy pool. “Most of it.”

Weston’s stomach did a curious, roiling dive. A sliver of stupid anticipation coupled with a whole lot of fear. Not his business, he reminded himself.

“How’s Turtle Mama?” Izzie scrambled onto the bed of the truck. The truck rocked. Caroline wobbled.

“Careful, Monkey Girl...” His hand cupped Caroline’s elbow to steady her.

The lady vet’s eyes cut from his hand to his face. He reddened and let go of her.

“I realize we haven’t been formally introduced, but did you just call me a monkey?” Her lips curved into a smile. “Or should I assume that term of endearment was directed at Izzie?”

He decided the turtle lady had a nice smile. Nice sense of humor, too.

Weston’s hand tingled from the touch of her skin on his. If this was his reaction to the less-than-sociable lady vet, he needed to get out more.

Izzie laughed. “Silly Daddy calls me his monkey all the time.”

His Adam’s apple bobbed. He nodded like an idiot. And flushed again.

Maybe the church ladies were right. Way past time for some female companionship. Nothing wrong with a friend from the opposite gender.

Izzie scooped a handful of water. “What’s going to happen to Turtle Mama?” She allowed it to trickle through her fingers onto the turtle.

The turtle lady gave Izzie what he guessed to be a highly redacted version of the surgical procedure.

“Can I watch?”

“I’m afraid not.” Caroline’s brow puckered. “We try, like at the people hospital, to keep everything as sterile—I mean germ free—as possible. Have you ever visited a people hospital before?”

His daughter squeezed Caroline’s fingers and hopped from the bed of the truck. “Last fall when Max’s baby was born. Babies are so sweet.” Izzie sighed.

Weston tweaked the end of Izzie’s nose. “Babies are also smelly and loud and take your favorite toys.”

“You know Max Scott?” Caroline’s mouth pulled downward. “Of course you know the Duers, if you know Sawyer Kole. Everybody knows everybody in good ol’ Kiptohanock.”

Her lips twisted. “You can’t flush a toilet at one end without the other end knowing.”

Izzie snuggled under her father’s arm. “Max and I are sorta friends.”

Weston grabbed Izzie into a headlock. “Sort of doesn’t quite capture it.”

He ruffled Izzie’s red mane. “Try compadre in mischief. Best buddy in mayhem. Bonnie to Max’s Clyde. When they’re not aggravating the tar out of each other, that is.”

Izzie laughed and broke free.

Caroline reached toward Izzie’s tousled hair. “You messed up her—” She dropped her hand. “Not my business.”

No, it wasn’t. Izzie’s hair and his parenting style—which he was all too aware lacked a feminine touch—was none of the lady vet’s business.

She shoved the turtle pool farther into the truck and slammed the tailgate with a bang.

Izzie plucked at Caroline’s shirt. “But how will I know if Turtle Mama is okay?”

As if she couldn’t help herself, Caroline brushed a stray ringlet out of Izzie’s face. “I’ll give you a call later and let you know how Turtle Mama—I mean the turtle—is doing. Okay?”

Her words were directed at Izzie, but she glanced at him. “I’ll get your cell number from Roland.”

“Roland?”

“Dr. Teague at VIMS.”

Weston shifted. “I’m assuming you’re a doctor, too.”

She dropped her gaze and stared at her coral-painted toes. “I don’t use the title much. Most people just call me Caroline.”

Why did this feel like he was pulling line on a hammerhead shark? “Caroline... What?”

Her gaze skipped to the top of the lighthouse before returning to him. “It’s Duer. Caroline Duer.”

Weston rocked on his heels. “Seth Duer’s absentee daughter?” His heart raced. “The daughter who abandoned her family for her career.”

Could he pick ’em or what? He scowled. Yet another instance of epic misjudgment on his part. Good thing he’d found out before it was too late. Too late for Izzie. And for him?

Tensing, he pulled Izzie closer and put distance between them and Caroline. The gesture wasn’t lost on the intelligent lady vet.

She swallowed. “I see my reputation precedes me.”

Then her face blanked like a hurricane shutter nailed over a window. “And yes. I’m that Caroline Duer.”

Chapter Four

Recalling Weston Clark’s fierce scowl, Caroline felt tears burning her eyelids the entire journey from the Neck to VIMS. Izzie tugged on heartstrings Caroline didn’t know she possessed. And Caroline had been getting along so nicely with Izzie’s handsome ex–Coast Guard father, too, until—

Until she told him her name.

“What can’t be cured, must be endured.” A saying of her father’s, which had become a self-fulfilling prophecy for Caroline’s life thus far.

At the sloshing sounds from the back of the SUV, Caroline monitored the Kemp’s ridley from the rearview mirror. She sighed as she bypassed Kiptohanock for Wachapreague. She might not be able to bring about reconciliation with her family, but she could make a difference in the endangered turtle’s life and with the other sea creatures she’d have a chance to save over the course of the summer.

She was pleased to find her interns moved into the dormitory when she arrived at the makeshift surgical center. She’d need their assistance to help Izzie’s turtle mama.

Caroline bit her lip. In her experience, it was best not to get too attached to the animals. Much less attached to humans, who were unpredictable and unreliable. When and if the female was deemed sea-ready, the turtle would be tagged for tracking and released into the open ocean once more.

Hours later, Caroline emerged from surgery and wiped the sweat off her brow with her hand. Her students would settle the Kemp’s ridley into the tank and monitor the turtle’s vital signs.

She’d managed to save all but a small portion of one of the turtle’s flippers. Barring infection, she was optimistic as to the turtle’s chances of survival and eventual release into the turtle’s natural habitat. Which, of course, was the ultimate goal of the pilot program.

Behind the westerly horizon of the trees, the setting sun cast a molten glow upon the water in the harbor. Still in scrubs, she paused on the steps of the institute to take in the view of an Eastern Shore sunset. Her stomach growled. Lunch at the Island House with Roland had been hours ago.

After she’d been on her feet for hours in surgery, dinner was her next priority. Perhaps she’d try the Sage Diner, a longtime Shore favorite, near the motel on Highway 13. It probably wouldn’t be a problem getting a table, since the tourist season hadn’t properly begun yet.

She was startled to find her sisters waiting for her in the institute parking lot.

Amelia gazed at her across the roof of the RAV4. “We need to talk, Caroline.”

Caroline’s bracelets jangled as her fist tightened around the key. “I think Daddy pretty much said everything there was to say.”

Honey came around the car. “Daddy is like an old sea dog. His bark is worse than his bite.”

“She’s right.” Amelia nodded. “Anger is easier for him to acknowledge than the hurt.”

“Hurt I caused.” Caroline gulped. “Anger I deserve.”

“Daddy will move beyond both if you give him time.” Honey touched her arm. “I’m sure of it.”

Caroline shuffled her flip-flops in the gravel. “You’re more confident of that than I am.”

“I’m sure enough for both of us.” Honey gave Caroline a small smile. “It’s good to see you. I’ve missed you.”

A lump the size of a boulder lodged in Caroline’s throat. “I missed you, too, baby sis.” She turned her face into the wind blowing off the water. “More than you’ll ever know.”

“We all missed you, Caroline.”

Caroline angled at the pensive note in Amelia’s voice.

“I hope you’ll stick around long enough to work through this thing with Daddy. He’s not been the same since you left.”

Caroline chewed the inside of her mouth. “I’m sorry for hurting all of you. But when Mom died, I had to leave. I can’t explain why—I don’t expect you to understand—but I just had to go.”

“I heard this afternoon about the pilot program. Everyone in Kiptohanock is speculating on where the permanent marine center will be located.” Amelia joined them on the other side of the car. “It’s a good thing you’re doing. And if anybody can make it happen, it will be you.”

Caroline sighed. “Thanks for the vote of confidence. Something else I don’t deserve after abandoning the family.”

Amelia caught hold of her hand. “Some of us know what you did, Caroline.”

She stiffened. “You do?” A throbbing low in her skull began to ache.

Honey tilted her head. “When the hurricane last September nearly destroyed the inn and the loan to rebuild came through so quickly, Amelia, Braeden and I made inquiries at the bank.”

Oh, that. Caroline willed her heart to settle.

“While others had to wait much longer for federal funds, we were able to begin rebuilding immediately.” Amelia squeezed her hand. “It was you who put up the money. I don’t know how you did it, but it was you who saved the house and put us back in business.”

Honey’s mouth quivered. “You saved my dream and something far more precious, time to rebuild my relationship with Sawyer so we could have our happily-ever-after.”

Tears stung Caroline’s eyes, but she shook her head. “You’re making it more than it was. Money was the least—”

“Not the least,” Amelia insisted. “Exactly what we needed when we needed it the most.”

Caroline shrugged. “Everything except myself.”

“You gave us what you could, which is why Amelia and I added your name to the title to the house.”

Caroline shook her head. “I never meant for you to do that. I lost my right to call the house my home a long time ago. I only wanted to help, not lay claim to anything.”

Honey’s arm went around Caroline, fixing Caroline in place between her sisters. As if they were both determined she wouldn’t run away again. Little did they realize, she was done running. Staying and facing the fallout of her actions was part of her healing. Essential to becoming whole once more.

“It’s a done deal. The Duer Fisherman’s Lodge is as it should have always been—owned and operated by the family. Braeden, Amelia, Patrick and Max Scott. Sawyer, me...” Honey patted her rounded belly. “And Baby Kole. Seth and Caroline Duer.”

Amelia jutted her jaw. “We’re laying claim to you. The house belongs to you as much as any of us. And we insist you stay in the unoccupied cabin during your summer program.”

“I already have a reservation at the motel in Onley.”

Honey brushed her hair off her shoulder. “Dexter Willett and I go back to high school. We trade clients when one or the other’s accommodations are full. So I called him and canceled your reservation.”

Caroline crossed her arms. “You did what, Beatrice Elizabeth Duer?”

Honey laughed. “Not even Sawyer gets to call me that. And it’s Kole now, Caroline Victoria Duer. Thanks in large part to you.”

A smile tugged at the corner of Amelia’s lips. “We’re not taking no for an answer.”

Caroline blew out a breath. “Daddy is not going to like it.”

Honey wound a strand of hair around her index finger. “You let me handle Daddy. He’ll come around.” She fluttered her lashes. “I’ve had time in the years since we last met to work on that whole steel gardenia thing.”

Caroline’s lips twitched. “I’ll just bet you have.”

Back in the day, Lindi, Caroline and Amelia had often moaned about how Honey could wind their father around her infant pinkie. Not to mention the Honey Effect, as Mom once called it, upon the entire male population of baby sister’s kindergarten class.

Caroline and Amelia exchanged amused looks. And for the first time, she felt a stirring of hope and the small beginnings of the sisterly camaraderie they’d shared. Until she threw everything away.

But enough with the regrets. The past was the past. Her sisters were offering her forgiveness and a way to move beyond the hurt.

“I’m sorry I missed your prom and graduations.” Caroline rubbed one hand against the bracelets. “Your weddings and the babies, too.”

“You’re here now.” Amelia grasped Caroline’s chin between her thumb and forefinger. “You and Daddy need to make amends for both your sakes.”

Her blue-green eyes, so like their father’s, bored into Caroline. “And perhaps one day, when you’ve had time to get to know us again, you’ll feel safe enough to trust us with the why of your leaving.”

“I know I have a funny way of showing it, but I love you two,” Caroline whispered. “My leaving was meant to save you from worse pain.”

Honey wrapped her arms around Caroline. “That’s almost exactly what Sawyer said to me once when I told him how you left without an explanation.”

Amelia draped her arm across Caroline’s shoulder. “I’m glad you’re home.”

For the first time in over a decade, instead of feeling trapped, Caroline felt rooted and restored.

Honey patted Caroline’s arm. “I left Sawyer in charge of finishing dinner. That cowboy of mine has many wonderful qualities, but cooking isn’t one of them. If you don’t relish my corn pudding burned to a crisp, we’d best be heading home.”

“Burning dinner won’t improve dear Dad’s disposition, either,” Amelia noted.

“Whatever you say.” Caroline adjusted the strap of her purse on her arm. “I guess I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.”

* * *

“I want to go see Caroline and Turtle Mama.”

Weston flipped the clam fritter in the frying pan. Maybe if he pretended to be busy, Izzie would let this whole thing with the beautiful aquatic vet go.

Perched on a kitchen stool in the lightkeeper’s quarters, Izzie kicked the island with her sneakered foot. Bam. Bam. Bam. “Daddy?”

Bam. Bam. Bam.

“Fritters are almost ready, Izz. Can you set the table?”

Bam. Bam. Bam. He grimaced.

“Daddy...”

The dull thuds continued. Relentless as a jackhammer, she was going to drive him crazy. Which, he acknowledged, was probably the point in her dogged barrage on the wooden counter. To drive him crazy or make him take her to Wachapreague.

Bam. Bam. Bam.

He adjusted the heat on the gas range and wiped his hands on the dish towel slung across his shoulder. “Stop with the drumbeat. I told you Dr. Duer called and said the turtle came through surgery as well as could be expected. We’ll check on the turtle’s status again in the morning. It’s time for dinner.”

“Why can’t we go see Turtle Mama after dinner?”

Izzie’s pluck and hardheadedness would be assets in the workforce one day. He took a deep breath. Provided a deeply patient boss interpreted those qualities as persistence and initiative.

“We can’t go because...” He also reminded himself he was the one with the Coast Guard Academy degree. Surely he could outwit a fourth grader.

She cocked her head at him.

“Because...” His rationale slipped like sand between his fingers.

He glanced out the window and inspiration struck. “Because we have to cordon off the nest of eggs.”

“Oh, yeah. We’re on guard duty tonight.”

His heart sank. Not where he’d been headed with this. He’d had a long day and—

“But we can go check on Turtle Mama tomorrow morning before church, can’t we, Daddy?” Those blueberry eyes of hers warred with his common sense.

“Dr. Duer probably has other patients, Izz. We don’t want to get in her way.”

“She said I’m the best helper she’s had in a long time. I don’t bother her.” A tiny frown puckered Izzie’s brow. “Do you think I’m a bother?”

Weston dropped his elbows on the counter and took her hands between his own. “No, Izzie. I think you’re wonderful.” He gave her a quick kiss on her forehead.

She giggled. “I love you, Daddy.” She smiled at him. Tiny lines radiated out from the corner of her eyes.

“I love you, too, Izz.”

“So we can visit Turtle Mama tomorrow?”

Who could say no to that face? Not him, that was for sure. Not about something so obviously important to her as Turtle Mama.

His chest tightened. He hoped it was the turtle who was important to his daughter and not Dr. Caroline Duer. “I guess we can stop by.”

Weston let go of his daughter’s hands. “But I don’t want you to get too attached to the turtle or the vet. When Turtle Mama gets better, she’s going back to where she belongs.”

“I know, Daddy.” Izzie slid off the stool. “And the vet’s name is Caroline.” She busied herself setting out the napkins and silverware.

“The vet will only be here through the summer.” Dr. Duer’s earlier courtesy call had been abrupt, brief and impersonal.

He’d also made a few phone calls to a few of the older men in the CG Auxiliary who’d known the Duers and the prodigal Caroline for decades. “I don’t want you getting your feelings hurt. She’s a busy woman and by all accounts, not maternal—which means—”

“I know what maternal means.” Izzie sniffed. “I think she’d make someone a nice mommy.”

Eyes averted, she gave far more attention to facing the knives in just the right direction than knives deserved. “I think Caroline would make me a nice mommy,” she whispered.

Weston reared. “Where in the world did you get that idea? I’m not looking for—”

“Don’t you think Caroline is pretty, Daddy?” Izzie cocked her head and studied him.

His thoughts about Caroline Duer shouldn’t be said out loud. Not to his daughter. Like how the sight of Caroline Duer did funny things to him.

Nor how he’d found out the hard way beauty was only skin deep. That there were far more essential qualities to be prized.

“She likes me, Daddy. I can tell. I think if you’d be nice to her, she’d like you, too.”

He stalled. “I do think she’s very pretty,” he conceded. “But it takes more than pretty to make a family.” Or a mother.

Weston turned to the range to flip the fritters. “We don’t have anything in common.”

“You have me. You’d both have me.”

He winced. If only that had been enough before. He’d never willingly put himself or his daughter through that kind of pain again. Help me, God. What do I say to her?

“Don’t you want me to have a mommy again, Daddy?”

He closed his eyes and leaned against the sink.

“Don’t you want to have a wife to love us again?”

What he’d not understood was how lonely his daughter was for a mother. He’d hoped and prayed he would be enough. His gut clenched. Yet again, he wasn’t enough for anyone. How could he explain he was trying to save Izzie from further pain?

He swallowed against the bile rising in his throat. “I think a mommy and a wife would be a good thing, baby. Someday. But not Dr. Duer.”

Izzie narrowed her eyes. “Who, then? And someday starts tomorrow, Daddy.”

This daughter of his was way too smart to be nine. Way too smart to be his.

Had the time come for him to rouse himself from his comfortable cocoon and return to the dating world? He glanced at his daughter. If for nothing else, then for Izzie’s sake. She deserved a mother’s love.

Weston flopped the dish towel over Izzie’s head. “Right you are. First thing after breakfast tomorrow, we’ll head over to VIMS to check on Turtle Mama. And I’ll see what I can do about getting a date.”

“It’d be fun to go with someone to the Wachapreague Fireman’s Carnival in a few weeks.” Izzie dragged the towel off her head. Her hair—Caroline Duer was right about that at least—was a mess. “But not a date with Caroline?”

He shook his head. “Not with Caroline. We could never be more than friends, Monkey Girl.”

And friends was stretching it. There were hidden depths to the aquatic vet. Jagged reefs submerged beneath her surface waiting to shipwreck the unwary. Caroline Duer wasn’t safe. To neither his daughter’s heart nor his.

“Daddy!” she yelled. “The fritters are on fire!”

Too late, he shut off the temperature gauge. He clanged a lid onto the frying pan and smothered the flames.

A silence filled the air. As did the acrid fumes of burned seafood. Izzie’s stomach rumbled. He appreciated her not making a big deal out of his latest parenting fiasco.

She took the keys off the nail beside the door. “Fried chicken from the Exmore Diner, Daddy?”

He appreciated her not saying “again.” No two ways about it. His Izzie was a trouper.

Weston took the dangling keys from her hand. “Sorry about this, Izz.”

“No worries, Daddy.” She smiled. “I like restaurant food.”

Chapter Five

Dinner at the Lodge with the family was a fiasco, and not because the food had burned. Which it didn’t, thanks to the combined efforts of Amelia’s and Honey’s husbands.

Her father didn’t have much to say. Not to anyone, much less to Caroline. He shoveled the food into his mouth, murmured his thanks and barreled out of the house toward the dock claiming he needed to check the boat.

She jolted as the screen door off the kitchen slammed shut against the frame. Placing her napkin beside her plate, she half rose. “This was a mistake. I should go.”

“No...”

“Please stay...”

At the simultaneous protest of her sisters, Caroline dropped back into the chair. The floorboards creaked overhead as the inn’s lone guest settled in for the evening.

Braeden and Sawyer exchanged a look.

“Actually.” Braeden, the dark-haired senior chief at Station Kiptohanock, wiped his mouth with his napkin. “Dinner went better than I expected. It’s important to stay the course.”

“I agree.” Sawyer scraped his chair across the pine floor and stood. “The Duer sisters aren’t the only stubborn members of this family.” He reached for a serving platter to clear the table. “Apples don’t fall far from trees for a reason.”

Braeden laughed. “Ain’t that the truth? Birds of a feather.”

Honey cut her eyes at Amelia. “I think we’ve been insulted.”

Amelia sniffed, but Caroline noted the sparkle in her eyes when she locked gazes with her husband. “I know we’ve been insulted.”

Caroline’s heart pinged. No one would ever look at her that way. She hugged her arms around herself. Which was only right, considering her past.

Max lined the peas on his plate in a row of military precision. “What does that stuff mean? Birds and apples?”

Braeden ruffled his son’s carrot-top curls. “It means that people with similar character and interests tend to hang out together.” He moved to help Sawyer clear the table.

Max crouched in his chair, his gaze at eye level with the edge of the plate. “No duh, Dad. ’Cause family sticks together. Is an idiom the same as an idiot?”

“In my case, Max...” Caroline handed Sawyer the empty bread basket. “It probably should be.”

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