Barefoot at Midnight (Barefoot Bay Timeless Book 3)

  He shook his head once. “I won’t speak about my client. And while your history is, uh, unique—”

  “And true!” she shot back.

  “That may be,” he conceded. “The fact is, Mr. Monroe signed a crystal-clear contract. He just said so himself. The terms are straightforward, and the price was obviously a factor. However, if anyone who is a biological heir of Frank Rice’s is in any way associated with the business, the contract is void and the restaurant will be torn down.”

  “How the hell would I know who’s his heir?” Law demanded.

  “Not to mention that’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard spoken in a courthouse,” Sam said, pushing the document back down the table. “I will tear that agreement, and you, to shreds, sir.”

  “That will take time,” Sanderson replied.

  “We have it,” Sam volleyed.

  “Not really. Look at clause four, point one, line three. The business transfer must take place in fourteen days or is null and void. No court in the county will hear this in fourteen days.”

  “Why?” Law demanded. “What difference does any of this make to her?”

  “She hates me,” her mother replied. “I don’t blame her, but she hates me, and she hates Libby and Sam even more. She doesn’t want any of us to be happy, since she’s not. She knew you two were together.” She gestured to Libby and Law. “I’d bet any amount of money that she knew and did this whole thing on purpose.”

  Sanderson snickered. “Quite ambitious for a woman a few years away from one hundred.”

  “Rosalind Rice is a destroyer!” Donna cried out, clearly high on her own performance now. “She lives to destroy other people’s happiness. I put nothing past her.”

  Except you slept with her husband. And what did that say about both her parents?

  Libby squirmed in pain, but her mother pointed at Law. “And I put nothing past you, Mr. Monroe, including being in cahoots with that horrible woman. From the minute you walked into this, you’ve been pulling surprises out of thin air and pretending they were just coincidences. You found a picture that only Rosie could have had, since it was taken with her camera. I know, I was there. You wormed your way into the business, and now you’re sleeping with my daughter.”

  Jasmine choked softly. “Kettle. Pot. Black.”

  Law’s gaze narrowed at the woman as his jaw locked. “You are wrong.”

  “Prove it,” Sam said. “How did you orchestrate this chance meeting this morning?”

  Law startled at the new attack from a different side of the table. “She came into the restaurant. I was upstairs getting this suit.”

  “You didn’t know for the past week that you stayed at Libby’s house that you’d need a suit?” Libby’s mother demanded. “You don’t lock the door when the business is closed? You happened to have this meeting in the one open hour between the expiration of the agreement and the hearing?”

  “Stop it!” Libby jumped to her feet, whipping around to her mother. “Stop trying to wreck my life.”

  “I’m not, Libby. I’m trying to protect you from exactly the kind of agony I endured.”

  She slammed her hands on the table, fire in her blood as it boiled over. “I’m not sleeping with another woman’s husband. I’m not lying to my kids for their entire life. I’m not putting half the blame on a dead man who professed to love you and the other half on a man who…who…” She finally turned to Law. “Who professed to love me.”

  For a moment, the entire room was dead silent, and Libby realized she was waiting for Law to jump over that table and confirm that he did, indeed, love her.

  But he just stared at her, silent. Too silent.

  “I need answers, too, Law,” she added, her voice softer now. “Why didn’t you get the suit ahead of time? We talked about it. How did she get in? She doesn’t have a key. And you sit down and sign a contract without so much as a phone call to me?” She heard her voice rise and crack, but she managed not to break down.

  He just looked at her. “You honestly doubt me?”

  Did she? She didn’t want to. She wanted to believe him, but…something deep inside her wouldn’t let go and trust. Probably some hideous gene she inherited from her father the adulterer and mother the homewrecker.

  “Never mind,” he said before she could answer. “You know what? Save yourselves a lot of trouble.” He bent over the table and snagged the document he’d brought, lifting it to his face and staring at Libby over the top. “I’m out a dollar and my pride.” He tore the paper right down the middle, opened his fingers, and let the two sides flutter to the floor. “I quit.”

  He left, and everyone in the room talked at once. Sam threw legal terms. Mom whipped out I-told-you-so’s. Jasmine reached to console Libby. And that old bag of wind Sanderson actually took out a cell phone to call his client.

  But Libby stared at the door, frozen.

  “Mom!” Jasmine elbowed her. “You’re going to let him go? He’s the best thing that’s ever happened to you.”

  She turned to her daughter, trying to find a word, an explanation, anything to counter the truth. But there was none. He was the best thing to ever happen to her. She jumped up from her chair and rounded the table, only to have her top snagged by her mother.

  “You’re going to run after him? He couldn’t even provide a lie to get him out of this. We confronted him and he ran. He can’t be trusted.”

  She looked from her mother to her daughter. Two other generations of Chesterfield women. Which one should she listen to? There wasn’t any doubt.

  “You know who can’t be trusted, Mom? You.” Libby pointed at her. “You’re the liar, you’re the one who changes history, and you’re the one who let one mistake screw up her entire life. Act your way out of this one. I have a relationship to save.”

  She tore out the door and hissed a curse as the elevator doors clunked to a close. No, no. She wasn’t going to lose him.

  Turning, she spied the stairs, shoved the door open, ran down, and practically flung herself into the lobby just in time to see him walking out the front entry.

  She bolted and shouldered the glass door as he reached the top step of the courthouse.

  “Law!”

  He stopped but didn’t turn.

  “Please.” She fought for a breath, trying to hold herself back from running to him and throwing her arms around him. “Please.”

  Finally, he turned, smacking her in the heart at the misery—and tears—in his eyes.

  “I believe you,” she said on a ragged whisper.

  “But you didn’t. There was that moment that you didn’t.” He could barely say the words.

  “I was in shock. I was trying to process everything and—”

  “You thought I might be lying. You thought you couldn’t trust me. You thought I wasn’t worth you or us or all our plans.”

  “For one second, Law.”

  He shook his head, hurt all over his face. “One second too long.”

  Her jaw dropped. “Is that fair?”

  Taking a deep breath, he looked over her shoulder at the courthouse. “Damn, Jake was right about lawyers. But he wasn’t right about your mother.” He gave a dry laugh. “He dodged a bullet there.”

  Libby drew back, breaking inside. “Law, please. You can’t just…quit.”

  He looked at the ground for a moment, giving her a second to drink in the fact that he did find a suit and tie—and looked insanely good in both—so it wasn’t like he’d had time to run off and have a secret meeting. Why did she doubt him?

  “I can’t live on the knife’s edge of trust,” he finally said, meeting her gaze. “We made love this morning. In my opinion, we sealed…this thing. I told you I love you. I can count on one hand the number of people who’ve heard me say that, and I’d still have a few digits left over.”

  “Law, I’m really sorry. I mean, I found out about this guy being my father and it hit me so hard, I…” The excuse sounded lame, so she let the words trail off. br />
  “The first thing, Libby. The very first thing that happens, and you don’t trust me.”

  She swallowed, knowing he was right.

  “I don’t want to take the easy way out, but I sure as hell don’t want to live a life where I have to prove myself all the time. I suck at that, frankly. Either you trust me one hundred and ten percent, or you don’t.”

  “I do.”

  He angled his head. “Not when it mattered. Not when I needed you most.”

  Her heart folded in half. “Law.”

  “Look, I’d put my money on Sam. He’ll work out some deal with that old bag, or she’ll die, or something will happen. And you should have your place and your dream.”

  “But…” You are my dream. The look in his eyes kept her from admitting that. The cool, distant, already gone look. She’d seen it before and knew what it meant. “What about your dream? The gastropub? The…” Life we could have together.

  He shrugged. “Wasn’t Jake’s to give me. It was your father’s business all along. And, in some weird way, your mother is absolutely right. That guy owed you something, since you are his and he wouldn’t take responsibility for you. So get your brother to work his magic and you get…Balance.”

  She stared at him, the pain in her chest almost unbearable.

  He pulled her keys out of his pocket and held them out. “I’ll get an Uber home.”

  Hope marched up her spine, making her straighten. “Home? Will you be there when I get back?”

  He smiled and shook his head. “I didn’t mean your home. I mean back to my bike, which will take me wherever I’m going next.”

  “Which is…”

  He shrugged. “Arizona, I guess.”

  “Law…no.”

  “Hey.” He reached out and gave her cheek a stroke. “You’ll be fine. And I’ll…see you at the next reunion or something.”

  The words twisted and sliced, making her close her eyes at the pain.

  When she opened them, he was halfway down the steps and headed across the parking lot. He stopped long enough to take off his suit jacket, flip it over his shoulder, and stride like a man of confidence and strength on to the next phase of his life.

  While once again, Libby was left standing on courtroom steps, unsteady, alone, and picking up the pieces of her heart.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  A full moon at midnight spilled light over the dozens of islands and canals on the northeast corner of Barefoot Bay. Law lay flat on his back across the dock, his face turned toward the moonlight, his chest rising and falling with the kind of full-bodied breaths he’d learned from Libby.

  Oh, there he went again. Back to Libby. Where he’d been this whole long, hard, hot day.

  He’d imposed on Ken for the truck again, got his meager belongings from his friend’s garage, and packed his clothes, chef’s coat, and knives in a duffel bag he swung over the back of his bike. Then he shot an email to the Ritz telling them he’d be there in a few days and…got as far as Beckett’s dock.

  How different would his life have been if he hadn’t gotten on that skiff with his brother that day? How different if Beckett hadn’t been drunk, or if Law had been paying attention, or if he hadn’t left?

  He waited for the usual kick of guilt and a dunking in self-hatred, but it didn’t come. Libby had changed that, somehow. She’d shown him his worth…until she didn’t.

  Hey, who could blame her? He should have called and told her what he’d done. No, he shouldn’t have even signed the paper without telling her and having her sign, too. Hell, if the two of them had sat down with Rosie, they might have changed the old lady’s mind about Frank’s biological heirs.

  Maybe it wasn’t too late…

  He turned his head to stare up at the moon, the ache gnawing as it always did at this hour. The need to numb the pain. The need to hide from the sound of his father’s voice. The need to cook something amazing. The need for Libby.

  And there he was, back to her again.

  Addiction was a powerful thing. It made a body ache in the most palpable way, a physical hurt, a hole in the chest, a need that only one thing can fill.

  He’d gone and gotten addicted to Libby Chesterfield. He let out a sigh and closed his eyes, hearing her voice, feeling her touch, reliving her declaration of love.

  But a sound drowned out his imagination—a distant engine heralding a car not so far away. He hoped it would drive right by and not stop when whoever was in it saw a motorcycle parked at the end of the dock. Wouldn’t be the first time some do-gooder got nosy and wanted to be sure everything was okay.

  Because everything was not okay.

  The engine grew louder, along with the faint screech of music from a car radio, which had to be stupidly loud if he could hear it this far away. Kids, no doubt. Looking for fun, for trouble, for booze.

  The noise grew increasingly louder, making him turn in anticipation of a car that must be a half mile down the road, but was still ruining the peace of the night by blasting hard rock. In a few seconds, headlights bathed the whole area in halogen white as the car came around the corner and the music cut through the night air.

  Damn stupid…wait. Oh God, wait. That wasn’t just any music. So that mustn’t be just any driver.

  It had to be her.

  His heart squeezed, and he pushed up a few inches, squinting at the beams of light that blinded him with a direct glare.

  The engine quieted, but that only intensified the music. The opening notes to a song he immediately recognized echoed over the still waters and through the humid air.

  She cut the lights and suddenly there was nothing but moon shadows and the bleeding notes of an electric guitar. And the sound of a car door slamming.

  Libby.

  The storm is on the inside…deep within my heart.

  Oh hell, it sure was.

  Every time I look at you I’m just torn apart.

  The last line wasn’t just Eddie James on vocals. A figure came around the front of the SUV, long, blond hair catching some of the light, the voice he’d just been hearing in his head singing along.

  “Baby, you’re a force of nature, I just got to say.”

  She reached the first wood plank, and he could finally see her face. Her eyes were clear and direct. Her lips moved with the next line.

  “’Cause every time you kiss me…” She took a few slow steps to the beat, her long legs bare except for cutoff shorts.

  He met her halfway. “I am blown away,” he finished, whispering the words that caught in his throat.

  The next verse started, but they stood stone-still, about two feet apart.

  She tilted her head up, cocked a brow, and held out her hand. “I came to dance with you.”

  All the fight melted away. All the numbness he’d been seeking turned to a sparking, hot sensation of…Libby. Nothing in him, not one molecule of man in his whole body, wanted to live one day without her.

  And she came to him. Knew he’d be here. For some reason, that did him in. He took her hand and eased her a step closer. “Watch out for the belt buckle, Lib.”

  “That’s not what I want from you.” She let out a sigh as she slid her hands around his neck. “Sing to me.”

  “That’s what you came for?”

  She put her head on his shoulder and started to sway. “Sing, Law.”

  Pressing his hands against her back, he picked up the next line.

  “The wind is whipping outside and the rain is falling down…”

  He could feel her smile against him. At his terrible voice? Or just because she was as happy as he was?

  “Lightning streaks across the sky and…”

  “Bees are underground,” she filled in.

  “Those damn bees,” he whispered.

  “Always stinging us.”

  “Trying to ruin everything by buzzing nonsense in our heads,” he added.

  “Planting little bee seeds of distrust.”

  He laughed softly. “When all we want
is the honey.”

  She stilled in his arms and looked up at him. “Lawson Monroe, I love you.”

  He blinked at the unexpected statement, letting the impact of it warm him.

  “And that means,” she continued in a whisper, “that I trust you. I made a mistake, and might make more, but I can’t do this without you. I don’t want to. I love you, Law. Don’t leave.” She swallowed and grasped his neck a little tighter. “Please.”

  He wasn’t leaving. He knew it deep in his gut when he walked across that courthouse parking lot. He knew it when he threw himself down on this dock. And he knew it when she walked toward him tonight.

  He wasn’t leaving. He wasn’t quitting Libby.

  “Please,” she whispered again when he didn’t answer.

  “You’re right,” he said softly. “Leaving would be taking the easy way out. I need to stay here and…learn song lyrics and…twist my body into yoga poses and…make you comfort food and…”

  “Run a restaurant.”

  “If we had one.”

  She relaxed a little in his arms. “We do. I bought one today, as a matter of fact. Except I just want the upstairs and need a partner and chef for the downstairs.”

  A frown pulled as he gauged her expression to see if she was joking or not. Not. Definitely not. “How?”

  “Never, ever underestimate the power of my mother’s acting skills.”

  “They are impressive,” he said.

  “Honestly, she wasn’t acting when you were there. That’s the real story. But she gave Meryl Streep a run for her money when she talked to Rosie.”

  “What? They talked?”

  She inched away, another laugh in her eyes. “It turns out there was even more fine print in that contract than Sam, of course, dug out. Rosie wanted an apology.”

  “She did?”

  “Clause…something, paragraph three, line six. It was buried in legalese, but when Sanderson got her on the phone, she admitted that’s what she wanted. Heartfelt repentance.”

  “And your mother apologized to her?” Damn, he wished he’d stayed for that. “For sleeping with her husband?”