Lisa Carter - Falling For The Single Dad

“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.”