The Summer's End

Carson tapped her cheek in feigned wonder. “I can’t imagine.”

Harper sat back in her chair. “Really?”

“And”—Carson laid down a discard—“he asked me if you were seeing anybody.”

Harper’s grin widened.

Dora narrowed her eyes. “Are you sure you aren’t canoodling?”

The women burst out laughing again.

“I just love that word,” Harper said, her mood shooting skyward. “But I’m not even sure what it means.” She discarded.

Mamaw picked up the card. “It means to fondle and kiss.”

Harper balked. “No, ma’am, we are definitely not canoodling. Unfortunately.”

“Yet,” added Carson.

“Well, I just love the blue you chose for the walls.” Dora discarded. “It’s just the right shade. Kind of a haint blue. It will be gorgeous against the creamy-white cabinets.”

Harper basked in the compliment. “Thank you, partner.” She picked up a card. “What is haint blue?”

“That’s the blue the Gullah-Geechee paint on their porch ceilings to protect it and chase away negativity,” replied Dora. “It’s meant to keep the evil spirits out.”

“Amen to that,” muttered Carson.

“More lowcountry lore to learn,” Harper said.

“Why bother doing the kitchen now?” asked Carson.

Mamaw spoke up. “Because this house deserves it.”

“And it’ll improve resale,” Dora added.

“Mamaw, that reminds me.” Harper forced her tone light after Carson’s comment. “I’d like to get some new knobs and pulls for the cabinets. Do you mind if I change them?”

“Not at all, dear. But before you go shopping, take a look-see up in the attic. I have a bunch of old knobs and door handles and all kinds of whatnots up there. All collected from family houses over the years. God only knows all what’s up there.” Mamaw smiled wryly. “Help yourself to whatever you find. I don’t know if they’re any good, but—” She was interrupted by the sound of tires skidding to a halt in the gravel driveway, followed by a car door slamming. “What in heaven’s name . . . ?”

Mamaw, who sat closest to the window, pushed back the curtain and peered out. “Lord, Carson, here comes Blake. And he’s barreling in like a hurricane!”

Carson dropped her cards on the table and stood up, eyes wide.

The doorbell rang, followed by three impatient knocks. While Mamaw and the other two women straightened in their chairs, Carson hurried to the front hall. She opened the door and Blake rushed in, swooping up Carson in his arms. He swung her around a few times, grinning like a fool. Mamaw, Harper, and Dora set down their cards, the game forgotten.

“Blake!” Carson laughed into his face as he swirled her. “Put me down!”

Blake gently set her feet on the floor but kept his hold on her arms. He was grinning from ear to ear in triumph. “We found her!”

Carson stared back, uncomprehending. “Found who?”

“Delphine!”

“What?”

“I found her in the database.”

Carson’s heart leaped to her throat. “Oh, Blake!” Impulsively she leaned forward to plant a kiss on his lips.

Blake leaned back but kept his arms around Carson. “It was that little hole you found in the tail fluke.” He rushed his words. “I spent the last two days poring over thousands of photographs and I found it. I couldn’t believe it. When I blew the photo up, I saw the scar on her rostrum, too. It’s a match. Delphine is definitely from our community. Baby, she’s one of ours!”

Carson’s voice was choked. “I knew it. So Delphine can be released into the Cove?”

He nodded and lowered his forehead to hers. “Yes.”

Carson wrapped her arms around Blake and buried her face in his neck. Inside, her heart was spinning with joy. She wanted to shout out, dance, jump up and down. But all she could do was weep.

Delphine was coming home.

Chapter Eight

The following morning, Harper sipped coffee in the kitchen and prayed to the gods of caffeine that the liquid she was pouring into her system would soon take hold. She’d spent another long night up writing and was feeling utterly spent. Musing over a chapter she had pounded out at a particularly late hour the night before, Harper didn’t even hear Taylor come in. She jumped as he shut the door behind him. A gust of wind sent the papers and droplets of rain flying.

“It’s a day for ducks,” she told him as he removed his rain jacket. He wore shorts and a white T-shirt splattered with different colors of paint. The short sleeves were frayed and so worn he’d rolled up the edges over his biceps. She took his jacket, shaking raindrops onto the floor.

“Yep. I don’t mind bad weather.” He slipped out of his shoes. “Out on the boat, you learn to deal.”

He looked up and Harper’s heart skipped a beat. Rivulets of water dripped from his hair down his face, making his green eyes shine even brighter against his tan.

Harper rushed to a drawer, pulled out a kitchen towel, and handed it to him. Their fingers brushed when he took it and she felt a rush.

“Thanks.” Taylor wiped his face, then tossed the towel on the counter.

Harper glanced around, as much to take her eyes off him as to take the room’s measure. The cabinets had been primed, and the cabinet doors were neatly stacked against the walls. Blue painter’s tape bordered the cabinets on the walls and floor. Here and there, sample swatches of different shades of blue paint splattered the walls.

“Everything’s so organized.”

“I’m a Marine. We’re trained to run a tight ship,” he said, half-serious, half in jest.

Harper was glad they’d broached the subject she was curious about. “When did you leave the Marines?”

“You never leave the Marines. Once a Marine, always a Marine.”

“Oh.” She’d heard the pride in his voice. “So, you’re still in the Marine Corps?”

“I got out four years ago.”

“Were you in Afghanistan?”

“Yes.”

“Is the war the reason you joined the Marines?”

“That’s not so simple to answer. I graduated from the Citadel and the war was escalating. It was a no-brainer to go in with my classmates. I wore the ring.”