Giving her a vexed look, Max angled toward Sawyer. “You ever been clamming?”
“No.” Sawyer flicked a glance her way. “Don’t think we ever got around to—”
“We never got around to a lot of stuff, Kole.” Her mouth twisted. “Your choice, remember?”
Max scrabbled inside the canoe. “Got any more of those marsh moccasins, Aunt Honey?”
At Sawyer’s quizzical look, Max lifted his suede-clad foot above the waterline. “Aunt Honey makes these. Keeps your feet from getting cut on the clam shells.”
Honey curled her lip. “You never know what lurks in the muck. Stub a toe. Slice open a foot. And no, Max. This Coastie only wears cowboy boots, best I recall.”
Sawyer blew out a breath. “Honey... I’m sorry. You’ll never know how sorry. I only—”
“Don’t call me Honey...” She growled.
He raked a hand across his hair, leaving the sun-bleached buzz cut standing on its ends. “Sometimes you make me want to take a long walk off a short pier.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “Yeah, blame the victim.”
“I never meant for things to turn out the way they did. Though in the long run—”
“How did you mean for things to turn out then, Kole? Better in the long run for you, huh?”
“That’s not what I meant.” He heaved a breath. “If maybe we could take a drive and—”
She gave him a nice view of her back. “I’m not going anyplace with you.”
Max snorted. “Stop being a big baby, Aunt Honey. Come on, Sawyer, I’ll teach you how a proper waterman goes clamming.”
She glided her feet through the mud, the balls of her feet searching for the rounded shell.
“Just like Aunt Honey’s doing, Sawyer. Slide... And dig with your toes.”
Honey couldn’t resist a look over her shoulder.
“Slide...” Hands behind his back, Max coasted forward in a stride not unlike an Olympic speed skater. “Slide... Slide. You try it, Sawyer.”
Max stumbled and then righted himself. “Granddad says I got an eagle eye for finding clams. You gotta look for keyhole shapes in the mud. It’s the sign of clams underneath feeding.”
Crouching, he plunged his hand beneath the outgoing tide. Scrounging through the mud, seconds later Max raised his arm, a shell clutched in his hand. “Aunt Honey’s clam chowder, here we come.”
Honey sighed. “You don’t have to become one with the mud, Max. We have a spade and rake in the canoe, you know.”
“Muddier is better.” Max scooted a few inches farther. “Got another one, Aunt Honey.” He grinned. “And another one. I hit the mother lode.”
Sawyer cut his eyes at her.
Against her will, a smile tugged at her mouth. “He went gold panning on a recent trip to visit Braeden’s Alaska hometown.”
“Bring the bucket, Sawyer. Get the rake, Aunt Honey.”
She laughed. And at the sound, Sawyer’s eyes crinkled, the corners fanning out.
Ignoring the heart palpitations his eyes ignited, she slogged toward the neon yellow bait bucket resting next to Sawyer’s bare feet and the canoe.
Sawyer motioned toward the words on her T-shirt. “It’s a Shore thang that only you, Beatrice Honey Duer, could look beautiful while clamming in a tidal estuary.”
He thought she was...? She came to an abrupt stop and lost her balance. Her arms flailing—Sawyer’s eyes went big, Max shouted—she landed butt first in the muck. Sinking to her elbows.
Sawyer let out a rumbling belly laugh.
Honey glared at him. “Don’t you dare laugh, you landlubbing cowboy.” She blew a strand of hair out of her face. “Max! Get over here.”
Max hustled over, sending a tsunami of marsh water over her head. She sputtered and coughed. Extricating her hand from the mud, she swiped at a rivulet of water cascading down her nose.
Sawyer smirked.
“What?” Her gaze ping-ponged from a chortling Max to the Coastie.
“You wiped mud all over your face, Aunt Honey.”
Honey poked out her lip.
Sawyer crossed his arms over the broad muscular chest she couldn’t help noticing and rocked on his heels. “I hear women pay big money for a mud bath like this. And you got yours for free, Eastern Shore-style.”
Honey muttered something under her breath about she’d show him Eastern Shore-style. Max flung out a hand. Her tug threw Max off his feet.
“You’re too heavy, Aunt Honey.” He shot a mischievous glance Sawyer’s way. “Too many Long Johns, I reckon.”
“Max!” she yelled.
Her nephew snickered. “Too many Long Johns. Get it, Sawyer?”
Sawyer unsuccessfully attempted to keep the mirth off his face.
“Help me, Max. I can’t get up.”
Max let go of her. “She’s fallen and she can’t get up.” He made exaggerated bug on its back motions.
Sawyer extended his hand. “I’ll help you, Honey.” He flashed her a snarky smile. “I mean, Bee-ahh-triss.”
Fluttering her eyelashes at him, she wrapped both her hands around his.
And at his sudden, wary look, she yanked Sawyer forward into the marsh. Fighting to right himself without landing face first, he landed with a plop beside her. Mud particles flew in every direction, including her Shore Thang shirt.
Okay... Maybe not the best idea.
Especially when, taking his cue from the grown-ups, Max belly flopped between them. Brackish water blasted over both Honey and Sawyer.
“Max!”
“Dude!”
Cupping his hand, Sawyer funneled a wave of water in Max’s direction. Grinning, Max splashed back.
“Stop it, Max.” She struggled to pry herself from the muck. “And Sawyer, stop egging him on. Will the two of you look at what you’ve done to me?” Honey plucked a long strand of sea grass out of her hair.
Max clasped his arms around Sawyer’s neck. “We ought to do this more often, Aunt Honey.”
She grunted.
With the boy dangling off his back, Sawyer staggered to his feet. “I agree, Beatrice. Why don’t you?”
Always particular about her appearance, she wrinkled her nose at the reeking odor of marsh mud at low tide. “Because we’re going to have to hose off the canoe, not to mention us, when we get to the dock.”
“Yahoo!” Max fist-pumped the air. “No bath tonight.”
“That’s not what I said, Max.”
At the sandbar, Max slithered off Sawyer’s back like an eel.
Sawyer flicked a daub of mud off the boy’s cheek. “Try to de-sludge yourself as much as you can, Max, before getting into the canoe, okay?”
And once again venturing into the water, Sawyer offered his hand to her. “You pull off gorgeous even if you are covered in slime.”
“Trusting soul, aren’t you? Who’s to say I won’t pull you in again?”
“Who’s to say I’m not hoping