Barefoot in White (Barefoot Bay Brides)

  Oh, damn it all, she’d wanted that so much. And now…

  “Willow.” He stepped forward, nothing but abject pain in his eyes as he got between her and the pool. “I was about to tell you that your mother is coming, that she’s behind Misty’s wedding that isn’t a wedding at all, but that—”

  She shoved him with every ounce of strength she had. Stunned, he flailed his arms, his step faltered, and he tumbled right back into the pool with a splash.

  “Oh!” Ona stifled a laugh, hand to mouth.

  Willow looked at her. “What is it, if not a wedding?”

  “Dad and I are renewing our vows, Willow. And you and I are going to be a mother and daughter again.”

  She was aware that Nick sputtered to a stand in the pool, silent while she considered all the possible responses to that statement.

  “No, we’re not ever going to be mother and daughter again, and”—she turned to Nick—“we are never going to be lovers.”

  Without waiting for their responses, she went back inside and slammed the French door, snapping the lock. She pulled on her skirt, stepped into her shoes, and grabbed a Navy SEAL T-shirt from the back of his chair.

  It was all of him she’d take. He could have Ona and Donny and whatever shred of memories they’d made together.

  * * *

  Nick heard the front door slam like a rifle shot. Funny how he could hear things he didn’t want to hear—like the sound of a door across the house—and didn’t hear what he really needed to hear. Like, he should have listened to his conscience when it screamed, Tell her the truth.

  Instead, he’d listened to Donny Zatarain and now—

  “She’ll be back.”

  Nick swiped some water from his eyes and blinked up at the woman standing on the patio. Slender as a reed, her narrow shoulders confidently back, her ash-blond hair pulled straight off her face in a stark style that revealed virtually no wrinkles for a woman in her fifties.

  “You don’t even know her,” he shot back, climbing out of the water and grabbing his own towel this time, whipping it around himself furiously.

  “That’s at the core of this, don’t you see? I need to know her. I need her.”

  “No, no, damn it. I need her. And now she’s gone. I’ve lost her.” It was his fault, all his fault, but that didn’t stop anger from bubbling up at this woman.

  “You can manage a way to get her back.”

  He shut his eyes. “Not everyone wants to manage people, Ona. Don’t you know that’s what she hates?”

  She stared at the door where Willow had disappeared a few moments before. “What she hates is me.” The statement came out heartbreakingly pathetic, the tone enough to quell some of his fury at her.

  “And me,” he added. “I should have told her the minute I found out the truth. She thinks we’re in cahoots now. And nothing could be further from the truth.”

  “So you tell her.”

  He slumped into the nearest chair. “If I ever see her again.”

  Ona rounded the table and took a chair across from him. “You’ll see her again. This is meant to be.”

  Oh, please. “I suppose this all became apparent to you while you stepped into the great beyond and had your life transformation?”

  She smiled as if his sarcasm had no effect. “Actually, it all became apparent to me when I saw the agony in her eyes when she said good-bye to you. She’s in love. So that makes two of you, which is usually just the right number.”

  Confused emotions mixed with an adrenaline dump, burning his chest. At least he thought that’s what was burning his chest. Maybe it was…no. No.

  “I don’t believe in love.” Right? Right?

  “Your loss,” she said quietly. “Because Willow does, and she loves you.”

  “It’s lust,” he said simply. “We both feel it all the time.”

  “But you haven’t acted on it yet.”

  Her know-it-all tone was starting to irk, but he supposed she could infer that fact from what Willow had said.

  We are never going to be lovers.

  The searing in his chest grew worse at the echo of her words. He looked down at his lap, watching a droplet of water fall from his hair and get absorbed into the towel, trying to get his head around the fact that he was talking to Willow’s mother, not her friend. How much to share?

  Nothing, if Willow had a say in this.

  “It’s really not your business,” he finally replied.

  She let it go, slipping a slim leather bag off her shoulder and opening it with an officious snap. “I can’t believe how much she’s changed,” she mused, fishing through the bag. “I’ve never seen a person transform herself so completely,” she continued, fishing in the bag for something.

  “All it took was getting away from you,” he said quietly, still nursing his anger at the unexpected arrival that ruined everything.

  What would have happened if Ona hadn’t shown up? Guess he’d never know.

  “Ah, here it is.” Sliding a photo out of her bag, she placed it on the table. “How does a person go from this to”—she jutted her chin toward the French door—“that?”

  He didn’t want to look, really. Willow had told him that she’d gotten rid of any pictures from the past, so she wouldn’t want him to look at this one.

  “It’s almost impossible to believe,” Ona said, nudging the picture closer, forcing the issue.

  He glanced, disinterested. “Not if you know her,” he said. “She does whatever she sets her mind to.” He waited a beat, then stared at Ona. “And she set her mind to never seeing you again.”

  She closed her eyes, the target hit. “I don’t blame her.”

  A tendril of sympathy wrapped his chest, enough to make his gaze shift to the picture in front of him. Holy shit.

  “Is that how you remember her?” Ona asked.

  Was it? Against his will, he reached for the photograph, lifting it to get a better look. He’d expected to see a fat girl, that was all. An overweight, unhappy, lost girl who’d somehow managed to find herself in the last three years. A girl he recalled being nice to in college, first because she was a breath of fresh air, and then because she had a famous father.

  Or had he been attracted to Willow all along, from day one, but convinced himself otherwise? What if that history had been different? Where would they be today?

  Sure, the girl in the picture was heavy, but her eyes still gleamed blue, and her smile belied any unhappiness. She looked to be in her early twenties, the backdrop of the Eiffel Tower telling him exactly where this was taken.

  “She looks beautiful,” he said. “Her fire is on. Her smile is real. Her heart is right there in her eyes.” He brought it closer, absently grazing the edge of the photo with one finger. “She’s looking at the camera as if she loves the person who’s taking the picture.” She’d looked at him like that…back then and now. But not anymore, he thought glumly. He’d never see that expression again.

  “Her father took her on a tour with him to Europe,” Ona said softly. “I wasn’t there, as you can tell by the joyous look on her face.”

  He lifted his gaze to look at Ona, the last shreds of his anger fading at her sad, sad whisper. “There was a reason I didn’t tell her the truth, and it had nothing to do with a deal I struck with your husband.”

  She waited, silent, gnawing on her lower lip.

  “I thought that she needed to have some kind of reconciliation with you. I’ve gotten to know her, and she carries around a freight train of baggage where you’re concerned. She says she’s happy, but I don’t think she is. I thought that if she could start over with you, then…”

  Ona leaned forward, her eyes glistening with tears. “Help me, Nick. Help me get my daughter back.”

  “I did. And it cost me any chance I ever had with her.” But then he’d known that was going to happen when he decided to withhold the truth, hadn’t he?

  They both sat silently for a second, lost in their thoughts, the two-dimensiona
l image of a woman they both loved—

  Nick shook his head. Did he love Willow? What would he do if he lost her now?

  “Your phone is ringing,” Ona said, gesturing toward another table where he’d left it.

  Of course, he didn’t even hear it. Why was his hearing clear one second and gone the next? Pushing up, he walked to the phone.

  “It’s probably your husband returning the call.”

  “No.” She shoved her chair back and stood, too. “I never gave him the message.”

  He threw her a look as he reached his ringing phone. “Always pulling the strings, aren’t you, Ona?”

  She closed her eyes with a guilty look and lifted her hand in good-bye, slipping through the living room door as quietly as she’d arrived. Nick looked at the caller ID, hoping for one name, but seeing something he’d never expected.

  Lt. Commander Doug Seaton. He tapped the phone and put it to his ear. His good ear. “Lieutenant Hershey speaking.”

  The clipped baritone of Nick’s commanding officer was both familiar and unsettling. This was it: his fate.

  As he listened to the decision based on the hearing test he’d taken a month ago, Nick slowly sank back into the chair and tried to accept what he’d dreaded all along. Central training. Illinois. Desk job.

  Of course the Navy didn’t want to keep paying him to live at a resort and write novels, did they?

  As he listened to his crappy fate and future, he picked up the picture of Willow her mother had left behind. All he could see was the image of a woman he loved…and lost. Once more, he’d gambled on someone’s fate and made the wrong choice.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  For the second time in one day, Willow reached the harbor in record time, blinded by sweat and exhaustion, but freakishly charged to run another five miles before going home to bed. Run and sweat and refuse to think.

  That was all she was capable of tonight.

  She’d stumbled through the day, told her tale of woe to her closest friends, who’d been so supportive they hadn’t even placed bets on the situation, and then finally got into her sneakers to escape the pain that engulfed her heart. She’d long ago learned that physical pain could sometimes erase all the other kind.

  From where she stood, she could see the lights of the Victorian-style beach house where she lived, but they didn’t call to her for comfort and rest as they usually did. The girls would want to talk. Or, even worse, Nick could be there, waiting for her with his excuses and apologies and rationalizations.

  And hard, hot body that was supposed to invade hers.

  With a grunt, she adjusted her earbuds, kicked up the volume on her music, and started to run again.

  As much as she didn’t want to think about anything, one thought kept pounding at her brain with as much force as her feet on the pavement.

  She still wanted to have sex with him. Even now, when she was spitting mad and truly hurt. Her body ached for that one chance, and now she’d never have it. On top of all the upheaval and heartbreak, she’d just wanted to get laid. By Nick. And only Nick. Whoever her first lover would be, he wouldn’t be Nick, damn it.

  How could he do that to her? How could he lie so easily and pretend…

  She slammed her feet as though the pavement was his heart and she could do to it what he’d done to hers.

  Fury fueled every step, a bitter, familiar, resentment-infused anger that made Willow’s blood sing. She rounded a corner at the bottom of her street, slowing enough to make a decision whether to run home, shower, and cool off, or start the whole five-mile loop over again.

  Definitely start over—

  A man stood in the shadows of her driveway. She caught the silhouette, moving slowly. Waiting for her.

  Of course Nick would be there. He’d ambush her with kisses and sweet talk, groveling with apologies and promises. Then maybe he’d take her…to bed.

  A slow, low heat rolled through her, and it had nothing to do with how long and hard she’d run. What did that make her, other than slutty and stupid and maybe a little desperate to do it?

  It.

  That’s all sex was. A two-letter pronoun that could mean nothing, anything, or everything. It could be mind-bogglingly beautiful lovemaking that left a person’s soul soaring with joy. Or it could mean up-against-the-wall toe-curlingly hot sex.

  And, honestly, the hot wall sex was all Willow had ever wanted when she asked—both times.

  It was Nick who’d turned the whole event into something bigger and more meaningful than she’d ever had in mind. She wanted to do it. He wanted to do It. But now, nobody was doing anything except Ona, who was probably gloating that she’d orchestrated a dramatic conclusion to Willow’s one and only brush with love.

  No, no. Not love. Sex.

  Willow shook off the frustrations and jogged up the street, bracing herself for the encounter.

  “Hey.” She called out to the shadow behind the hibiscus tree. “I know you’re there.”

  He didn’t step out, probably waiting to see if she’d attack.

  “You want to know the worst part? The very worst part about all of this?”

  He still didn’t answer.

  “I’m still a freaking virgin, Nick. You dragged the whole thing out so long and now I—”

  “No way.”

  She froze the second she realized it wasn’t Nick, then letting out a low, long grunt of disbelief when she recognized the gravelly voice and slightly aged posture.

  “A virgin? At twenty-nine? You can’t possibly be my daughter, and if you are, don’t let anyone know. I’d be the laughing stock of rock ’n’ roll.”

  Oh, great. Just great. Could her day get any worse?

  Her father stepped out of the shadows, arms extended, and Willow almost gave in to the need to throw herself into the arms of the one member of her tiny family she actually missed and loved. Except…when push came to shove, he was always on her mother’s side, and no doubt that’s why he was here.

  “Hey, Daddy,” she whispered, using the little girl’s name because…because it felt right. “What are you doing here?”

  “Finding out more about you than I could have imagined. C’mere, sweet Ambrosia.”

  Oh, why not? She let herself be folded into his hug, and a rare and completely uninvited lump formed in her chest as sadness swamped her. Why had she let so many months and years pass without seeing this man?

  “I’m sweaty,” she apologized, but didn’t pull away.

  “You’re skinny,” he replied, giving a squeeze and then putting both hands on her waist. “Holy hell, woman, where did you go?”

  She finally inched back, the streetlight casting a yellow glow on his wrinkled face, but adding to the glimmer that always danced in his eyes. His hair stood up in the front, the sides nearly hitting his shoulders, a pink diamond twinkling in one ear. Her father, the world’s sweetest rock star.

  “Dad.” She took another hug of his wiry frame. “I’ve missed you.”

  “Not enough to come home.”

  A litany of old, lame excuses played in her head. I’ve been busy. You guys were traveling. I had weddings every weekend. She tossed them all aside for the truth. “I couldn’t handle it. I’m sorry.”

  He broke their embrace, but kept his hands on her shoulders, looking hard at her. “Look at you, girl. You look like a freaking model.”

  She rolled her eyes. “And you know how much I want to be one of those.”

  “How about a virgin? Do you want to be one of those?”

  “Not particularly. And, God, does the free world have to know my dark secret?”

  He gave her shoulders a squeeze. “I hope not, because, damn, that would annihilate my reputation.”

  “I know, right? What kind of self-respecting rock god raises a twenty-nine-year-old virgin?”

  “Apparently, this one.” The soft hint of pride in his voice touched her heart.

  “How’d you find me out here?”

  “I knocked on your a
partment door, and when you didn’t answer I went upstairs and met a pretty girl with pink hair.”

  “Gussie. She’s one of my business partners.”

  “What’s she trying to cover up with all that makeup?” he asked.

  She just smiled at him. “I forgot how you know people so well.”

  “Oh, I do,” he agreed. “It’s my superpower. How about we walk and talk while you cool down?”

  “Of course, but you aren’t going to change my mind about Mom.”

  “Oh, she’ll change your mind all by herself, believe me. She’ll tell you what happened while she was up there and how she met God or Saint Peter or some such nonsense and had a vision about you and woke up with a new purpose in life.”

  Willow stopped mid-step. “What?”

  “Your mother died, honey.”

  She blinked at him, unable to even process what he was saying.

  “Oh, she’ll tell you she didn’t. She has quite a story, and I swear one of these days she’s going to sell it and make another fortune.”

  “What happened to her?” A cold, numb feeling tingled in her limbs. Ona had nearly died? Or had died? “Why didn’t anyone tell me? When? What was it?”

  He gave her a sideways smile. “You sound pretty concerned for a girl who just claimed she wouldn’t ever change her mind about her mother.”

  She shook off the admonishment. “Dad, what happened to her?”

  “She drowned in the ocean during her morning swim.”

  “What?” The numbing turned icy, freezing her blood and hollowing out a hole in her chest. “I just saw her today.”

  “She’s not dead now, but she was.” He brushed back some of his long hair, the heels of his boots tapping on the pavement as they headed toward the harbor. “She was utterly flat-lined.”

  But obviously she had survived, so Willow exhaled. “Oh, Dad. How did you bear it? You must have lost your mind.”

  He snorted. “That would be putting it mildly.” Then he gave her a smile and hugged her a little. “You know, I think you’re the first person to think about me in that situation. Everyone who hears the story is all enraptured with Ona’s account of her trip through the light and the visions she saw. Oh, wait until you hear about the rainbows that wrapped around her, each color a different degree of warmth.” His tone was rich with sarcasm.