Falling For The Single Dad

“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 (#ulink_b45338e6-a508-5086-83ef-d919a35730b8)

“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.