She had left the sandy area and wandered back to where the sea oats grew wild when she heard something that sounded like a child weeping. She passed it off as bird sounds, thinking that maybe one was fussing at her for getting too close to a nest. She picked up another nice-size shell that she could use as a ring holder on her dresser and then heard the noise again.
“That’s not a bird,” she whispered.
“Daaadddy, I’m scared.”
This time Sarah was positive that she had heard words, not just sobbing.
“Hello?” she called out. “Where are you? Are you hurt?”
A little girl stepped out from behind a clump of sea oats. The ocean breeze blew the strands of hair that had escaped from her thick black braids across her face, and her big brown eyes were filled with both fear and relief.
“I want my da... ddy,” she moaned, drawing out the last word into a whine that had several syllables. Then she crossed the distance and threw her arms around Sarah’s legs. “Help me find my daddy.”
“Angela!” a deep voice yelled from somewhere behind Sarah. “Angela, where are you?”
“Daddy! You found my daddy!” the little girl squealed and peeked around Sarah’s legs. “I’m right here.”
The man raced across the sand and through the clumps of grass as if the devil himself were licking his heels. He dropped down beside Sarah and wrapped Angela up in his arms. “I was so worried, baby girl. I told you not to leave my side.”
“I saw a lizard, and I chased it,” Angela said and pointed up at Sarah. “She found me, and then you came.”
“Thank you.” The man stood with his daughter still in his arms. “I’m Brock Stephens.”
The guy looked to be part Hispanic with his dark hair and brown eyes—just like his daughter’s. His bright smile warmed Sarah’s heart.
“Pleased to meet you. I’m Sarah Dalton,” Sarah said. “And this must be Angela.”
“Yes, I am, and today is my birthday. I am five years old,” the child said. “Daddy, can we take her home? She saved me and it’s my birthday, and I want to keep her.”
“Sorry, sweetheart. I have to stay here for a few more days, but I’ll walk back with y’all to the beach area. She sure has a big vocabulary for her age,” Sarah said, muffling a laugh. Angela reminded her of Audrey when she was five years old.
“She has always talked big for her age—but then, it’s just been me and her since she was a year old,” Brock said. “Right now, we’d betterget back to the shuttle. It leaves in ten minutes, and we’ve got a plane to catch back to Texas this evening.”
“Where in Texas?” Sarah picked up her tote bag and walked beside him. Maybe if he lived close to Devine, their paths would cross, and she could see that precious child again. That idea put a warm feeling in her heart and a smile on her face.
“Little town west of San Antonio named Castroville,” he answered, and bent to pick up a bag filled to the brim with shells. “You probably haven’t heard of it.”
“I thought I heard a familiar accent,” Sarah said with a smile. “My family and I run a little doughnut shop in Devine, not far from Castroville.”
“Small world,” Brock said and winked. “Thanks again for saving Angela.”
“Can we go see her doughnut shop when we get home?” Angela begged.
“If you bring her to the shop, the doughnuts are on me,” Sarah promised, crossing her fingers like she did when she was a little girl.
“Maybe we will, and you can pick out one pretty shell to take to Miz Sarah for saving you,” Brock said and then he waded out to the shuttle.
“Wave at me until I’m gone,” Angela yelled as she and Brock boarded the boat.
Sarah didn’t even consider not doing what the little girl asked. She stood right there on the beach in the sun and waved until the boat looked like nothing but a dot out there in the water. She coveted that child more than she had ever wanted anything in her life, and she wondered if her father—Brock didn’t have the letterLin his name, which was a good sign—would bring her to visit.
“Get a hold of yourself,” she muttered as the boat disappeared altogether.
Macy tilted her head to get more sun on her face as Julie maneuvered the boat away from the island. She couldn’t help but think about Darla Jo and Neal—he would never be Edward to Macy—somewhere out there on an island. Did they gather shells with their sons, or were they already bored with the whole idea of settling down and being a family? Was the thrill of the con what made them happy?
Beezy nudged her on the shoulder. “Does leaving the island make you sad? Are you jealous of Grace and Travis?”
Macy lowered her chin. “Yes, a little, and no, not at all. I was thinking about Darla Jo and Neal. Do you think they’ll be happy without the excitement of their con games?”
