Seth’s eyebrows arched. “Ruin your life? Honey...”
Guffaws bellowed from the booths.
“I’d leave it go if I were you fellows.” Seth heaved a sigh, not bothering to turn his head. “Or see how quick those motors of yours get fixed.” Which produced further hee-haws from Seth’s gray-haired peers at the corner booth.
Seth leaned over the counter. “Braeden ran into ’Melia at the cabin.”
Honey sucked in a quick breath. “How’d that go?”
Braeden scowled. “About as well as you’d expect at the end of a harpoon.”
Honey rolled her eyes. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Scott. I’d hoped we could ease in an introduction tonight between dinner and pie.”
“Braeden,” he huffed. “Since if anything happens to me, I assume you two will be the ones making my funeral arrangements.”
Honey shook her head. “Don’t you worry. Amelia will come around. May take some time, but she always gets on board eventually.”
Braeden sighed. “That’s what your father said.”
Honey grabbed a coffee mug. “I’ll give her a call.” She reached for a nearby coffeepot warming on a burner. “You’ve had an eventful morning. You need a jolt of java to tide you over.”
“No, thanks.” Braeden held up a hand. “I’m headed to the station. And your sister got a call from Max’s school. She’s headed there to pick him up.”
Seth’s hand clenched on the back on the chair Kole had vacated.
Honey’s lower lip trembled. “Was she upset?” She fingered her apron. “Of course she was upset. I mean, was she crying upset?”
Seth frowned. “’Melia doesn’t cry. Never has. Was Max okay?”
Braeden threw him a long look. “She said Max wasn’t feeling well.” His gaze swung to Honey. Something was going on here that he didn’t understand. “And no, she wasn’t crying.”
Seth nodded. “She’ll handle it, then. Got it under control. She’s not a crier.”
Honey bit her lip. “Might be better if she did.” Straightening her shoulders, Honey lifted the top of a glass cake stand filled with pastries. “If you won’t take some coffee, why don’t you help yourself to another long john, Braeden?”
The image of strawberry blonde waves of hair flashed across Braeden’s mind. The gutsy, harpoon-wielding married Duer sister, he reminded himself. As for doughnuts?
After the near-choking incident at the cabin...too soon.
Too soon for a lot of things.
Refusing, Braeden promised to be on time for dinner and hurried toward the station, where at this point, the sea appeared more predictable than life amid the Duer clan.
At Station Kiptohanock, a female seaman apprentice vacated Dispatch and ushered him into the chief petty officer’s office. Braeden saluted.
Throwing down papers, the fiftysomething Thomas rose from his chair behind the utility desk and returned Braeden’s salute. “At ease, Scott.”
Braeden assumed the position, legs hip-width apart, hands clasped behind his back.
“Welcome to Station Kiptohanock.” Thomas offered his hand. “A day early for your watch rotation. I’m pleased to have you serving here as my executive petty officer.”
Braeden shook his hand. “Just wanted to stop by and say hello. Meet the duty personnel today.”
“Reviewed your record.” His new chief motioned toward a file folder. “Heard more about you through the chain of command.”
Braeden winced. “About Florida, Chief...”
Chief Thomas waved a hand. “Good things, XPO. Good things. We’re lucky to have you here at Small Boat Station Kiptohanock, where we’re tasked with search and rescue or maritime law enforcement of the recreational boating type, mainly.” He laughed. “I only hope an adrenaline junkie like yourself won’t be bored out of your wits.”
Braeden stiffened into attention once more. “I’m here to serve you, Chief, the Guard and the public.”
Thomas eyed him. “Relax, Scott. No criticism intended. Somebody at headquarters thinks highly of your skills...and your potential for command.”
Braeden scrutinized Thomas. “Permission to speak freely, Chief?”
“Granted.”
“Master Chief Davis was an old friend of my father’s. Both from the same Alaskan fishing village near Homer. After my father died, he’s made it his business to—” Braeden licked his lips, searching for the right word “—shepherd my career.”
A knock sounded.
Thomas shifted his gaze over Braeden’s shoulder. “Come.”
Kole poked his head around the door frame. At the sight of his future XPO, Kole’s face darkened. Braeden pushed back his shoulders. Thomas’s gaze darted between the two men.
“I take it you and our landlocked Oklahoma Coastie have already introduced yourselves.” Thomas rounded the desk and took a single sheet of paper from Kole. He scanned the document. “No mayday?”
Kole shook his head. “Wife reported them missing when her husband’s boat failed to arrive in Wilmington yesterday. She’s been unable to contact them by radio for several days due to the nor’easter last week.”
Braeden stepped forward. His nerve endings vibrated with the familiar rush of excitement. “Chief?”
Thomas glanced up. “A twenty-eight-foot white center-console vessel with a red stripe, the Abracadabra has done a vanishing act. Two men aboard sailed out of Cape May, New Jersey.”
Chief Thomas angled toward Kole. “Get the boat crew to increase their patrols.” He strode to a nautical map of the Eastern Shore tacked onto the office wall.
“Our range of operational territory in the Virginia Inside Passage extends from the tip of Assawoman Island south to the Great Machipongo Inlet.” Thomas tapped his finger at the Atlantic Ocean and drew an imaginary line.
Kole stood at attention. “The cutter Mako reports they spotted no sign of the Abracadabra or any debris field on their way to their home port in Cape May, Chief.”
Thomas tensed. “Has Sector Hampton Roads notified Air Station Elizabeth City, Boatswain’s Mate?”
Kole nodded. “Affirmative, Chief.”
Thomas pursed his lips. “Good. Time to call out the big guns. Dismissed, Kole.”
“Yes, Chief.” And Kole headed out toward the radio room.
The female Coastie watch stander—Darden, Braeden noted for future reference—returned to remind the chief of his appointment at the Kiptohanock marina for the annual blessing of the fleet.
“You should attend, Scott.” Thomas dismissed Darden.
Braeden pursed his lips. “Is that an order, Chief?”
Thomas favored him with a long, slow look. “No, not an order. A recommendation to get to know the locals you’ll be serving. I hear you’ll be staying at the Duer place.”
Braeden nodded.
“Good people. Friends of mine from church. I sent your details Seth’s way when I received your orders and your request for a place to dock your boat.”
“Th-thank you, sir.” Braeden