“You’re slowing down, Uncle Ryan,” Piper called over her shoulder as she jogged backwards on the hard-packed sand near the waterline. Misty loped along beside her, tongue hanging out but tail wagging enthusiastically. “I thought you were in the military. Doesn’t that mean you have to keep in shape?”
“I am in shape,” Ryan protested, willing his burning lungs to cooperate. His side ached where the shrapnel injury was still healing, but he wasn’t about to admit that to his ten-year-old niece. “I could easily do another five miles if we didn’t have to get back. Your grandfather would start to worry about us if we were gone too long.”
Piper grinned at that, her dark ponytail swinging as she turned back around to face forward. “Well then, if you still have some miles left in you, how about picking up the speed? Misty and I will race you to Sunrise House.”
Ryan groaned. “Okay, okay. You win. I’m not as fit as you are.” He tried to inject some dignity into his defeat. “I’m also older than you are, and?—”
Misty’s low growl cut him off mid-sentence.
The German Shepherd had stopped in her tracks, her body going rigid with attention. Her ears were forward, focused on something ahead of them on the beach. Ryan followed her gaze and spotted a figure sitting on the sand about thirty yards away.
The person wore the biggest beach hat Ryan had ever seen in his life. The kind of enormous floppy thing that looked like it belonged in an old Hollywood movie. They appeared to be sketching or writing something, their attention focused on the water stretching out before them.
Just then, a gust of wind picked up, carrying the salt spray from the waves. The enormous hat lifted right off the person’s head, tumbling across the sand. The figure scrambled up, reaching for it, but the wind had other ideas. Papers flew from the notebook she had, scattering across the beach like startled birds.
“No. No!” The voice was definitely female, high-pitched, and panicked. She ran after the hat and papers, her movements frantic. “Please, no!”
As she turned, Ryan recognized her. Clara. The nature writer from the cottage at the corner.
“You think we should go help her?” Piper asked, already changing course to head in Clara’s direction.
Ryan had reservations. There was just something about the nosy woman that he didn’t like. She asked too many questions, showed up at odd times, and her cheerfulness felt forced. Buthe’d been raised right, and leaving someone struggling on the beach wasn’t something the Brandon family did.
He sighed and nodded. “Yeah, come on.”
The next minute, the three of them were chasing down Clara’s scattered belongings. Ryan snagged the hat as it tried to make a break for the dunes. Piper caught several pages that were attempting to escape into the surf. Misty, not entirely sure what the game was but willing to participate, bounded after a page that had made it nearly to the water’s edge.
“I got it!” Piper called triumphantly, holding up one of the pages. Her eyes widened as she looked at it more closely. “Wow, did you draw this?”
Ryan walked over, holding the captured hat and several more papers that his eyes had automatically scanned as he gathered them. Bird sketches. Notes about migration patterns. Detailed observations about plumage and behavior. All legitimate nature writing material.
The sketch Piper held was of a seabird, rendered in careful pencil strokes. It was good, Ryan had to admit. Really good, actually. The level of detail was impressive, capturing not just the bird’s physical features but somehow suggesting its movement and personality.
“I did,” Clara said, a little shyly. She clutched the papers Ryan handed her like they were precious treasures. “It’s not my best work. My hand is still bothering me.” She gestured vaguely toward her bandaged wrist.
“It’s good,” Ryan agreed with Piper, handing Clara her enormous hat. “Here’s your hat and some of your notes.”
“Thank you so much,” Clara gushed, her voice breathless. “I can’t tell you how grateful I am. These notes are for my book, and if I’d lost them...” She trailed off, shaking her head at the imagined catastrophe.
Ryan noticed that Misty kept a slight distance from Clara, positioning herself closer to Piper than to the other woman. Even the dog had reservations about her, it seemed. And if a dog didn’t like someone, that usually meant something.
He immediately felt bad for the thought. He was being rude and judgmental. Clara had done nothing wrong except be a little overly friendly and ask a few too many questions. That didn’t make her a bad person.
He shook off the uncharitable thoughts and stepped back slightly, giving Clara space as she organized her rescued papers.
“You are my hero,” Clara said, and her eyes met Ryan’s with a look he didn’t like at all. It was a look he’d seen on many women’s faces over the years, a particular kind of admiration that always made him uncomfortable. The kind that suggested they saw him as more than just a helpful stranger. His walls came up immediately, and he put more space between them. Clara Stark was not the attention he was looking for.
“I think Piper is your hero,” Ryan redirected, gesturing toward his niece. “She was the one who rushed to help you first. I just tagged along.”
“Yes, you both are my heroes,” Clara said, turning to smile at Piper. But Ryan noticed that the smile wasn’t as warm as the one she’d given him. It was polite and appropriate, but lacked the same intensity. “You must be so proud to have a brave uncle like Ryan.”
Now Piper was giving Clara a weird look. His niece took a step back, and Misty immediately moved to position herself between Piper and Clara. The dog’s body language was clear. She was protecting her girl.
“Yes, I am very proud of my uncle,” Piper told Clara politely. Then she glanced at Ryan, her expression clearly sayingcan we go now?“We’d better get going. Grandpa has breakfast waiting for us.”
“Oh, please give your grandfather my regards,” Clara told them, organizing her papers into a neat stack. She held up her bandaged hand and wrist. “I hope he’s feeling better. I’m also still healing from my fall. That’s why my pictures aren’t as good as they usually are.”
“Rest usually makes it heal faster,” Ryan advised, already turning away. “Take care of yourself.”
