Barefoot at Moonrise (Barefoot Bay Timeless Book 2) (13 page)

And Law was right. With the money coming onto the island faster than ever before, the upscale concept Law had in mind for the local landmark—especially with his considerable culinary skills—would be a boon to the little town.

But now, the Toasted Pelican was a bust. Inside, the bar was mostly empty and the dinner tables not even half full.

“Hey, Cav!” Law was in a booth in the back of the bar, holding up a bottle of O’Doul’s in invitation. He flashed Ken his easy smile and ran a hand through the hair he’d recently cut short.

Ken wandered over and slid in, giving his friend’s hand a shake.

“Man, you do look dead.” Law’s dark green gaze moved up and down over Ken. “And filthy.”

“I was house renovating, so I do look the part.”

Law made a face. “Get a brew, then. And make it stronger than my usual.”

His usual was always a non-alc beer. Law didn’t talk much about the fact that he didn’t touch booze, but he made no bones about the love-hate relationship with the stuff, and that he’d been stone cold sober for ten years.

Ken looked around and immediately caught sight of Mark Solomon walking into the bar area. At forty-eight, Mark was the oldest of their trio. A professional adventurer who’d made a killing when he sold his Internet company, Mark strode toward them with an air of authority and confidence. But there was something different about the widower Ken had met when the three of them realized they were the only Y chromosomes on the planning committee. Something…lighter.

Emma had made him whole and happy, Ken thought with a surprising twist of envy.

Mark approached the table, greeting the men with a smile and handshake. “Reunion-planning committee 2.0,” he joked, sliding in next to Law.

“You can have my left nut before you get me to sign up for that again,” Law said.

“Keep your nuts away from me,” Mark told him. “Anyway, we’re off the hook. The annual reunion now falls under the responsibility of the vice president of marketing for Casa Blanca Resort & Spa, who, as you know, is my fiancée. She can handpick her own team next year, and I have a lot of influence over her. We won’t be on next year’s committee.” He added a smile. “Although that extra week at the resort sure worked out well for me.”

“So it’s all final and official now?” Ken asked. “Emma’s taking the job in marketing for the resort, and you’re both moving down here?”

“And getting married on the beach at Barefoot Bay,” Mark added with a very satisfied smile. “We’ve already met with the wedding planners and, get this, one of them is the daughter of Donny Zatarain.”

“The lead singer of Z-Train?” Law asked, clearly impressed. “Is he going to play the wedding?”

“No, but even better, she thinks she can get Eddie James and The Lost Boys. Emma’s favorite 80’s band.”

“They’re still alive?” Ken asked.

Mark cut him with a look. “Eddie James is a year older than I am, young man. They’re thinking about a reunion and might do this favor as a test run. And I will get my wife to be her dream band.” He slipped into a smile. “I want to make that woman happy.”

“Damn,” Ken said, unable to keep a note of longing from his voice.

“Damn,” Law echoed, only his sounded like Mark just got a death sentence.

Mark laughed at the two reactions. “You’re right,” he said to Ken. “Law, you’re pathetic.”

“All right, all right. You’re happy.” Law signaled the waitress, a twentysomething surfer blonde who was already on her way over. “Let’s celebrate.”

“What’ll it be, gentlemen?”

Law leaned toward her, no doubt about to deliver a one-liner about a real man. “How do you like working here…” His gaze dropped. “Shelby?”

She gave him a dubious look. “Uh, s’okay.”

“You like the management?”

She nodded slowly, not at all sure how to take the unexpected interrogation.

“Who are they?” Law asked, diving right in for the kill.

“I…I don’t know. Some corporation.”

“You don’t know the name?”

“No.”

“Ever notice what it says on your paycheck?” he asked.

She looked at the other two men. “Are you guys like secret shoppers or something? They told us someone might be coming in to check on our work, and you three sure aren’t locals.”

“Who are ‘they’?” Law demanded again. “What are they checking on?”

“Why does it matter to you?” she asked.

“I knew the former owner pretty well,” Law said, as if that explained the questioning. Then, as if he realized he’d derailed the ordering process, he gestured to the others. “Sorry. Order.”

She hesitated a second, looking around the table again. “I still think y’all are the secret shoppers.”

When she left, Law shook his head. “I don’t get how someone can take over a place and make their identity a freaking state secret.”

“You still haven’t figured out who it is?” Mark asked. “I thought you had the name of a company.”

“I do,” he said. “But it’s a dead end. There’s no website, no phone number, only a PO box in Miami and the staff gets contacted by some guy named Sam.”

“Maybe the place isn’t for sale,” Ken suggested.

“Maybe they don’t have any right to own it.” Law looked around, his expression a little sour as he offered no explanation for the cryptic comment.

Ken turned to Mark. “So have you and Emma decided where you’re going to live?”

“Short term, we’re staying in a bungalow up near the resort that is reserved for staff, but we’re definitely buying a house.” He shook his head. “After thirteen years of being alone and traveling every continent on this earth with nothing more than a one-bedroom in New York to crash in, I never thought I’d be saying those words again.”

“I’m happy for you, man,” Ken said. “Emma’s an awesome woman. And if you’re looking for a house, maybe I can interest you in a fixer-upper on Mimosa Key that I spent the day demolishing. Move-in ready by fall, I guarantee it.”

“We don’t want to wait that long, but what are you doing demolishing a fixer-upper?” Mark asked.

“Yeah,” Law chimed in. “You’re supposed to be saving houses from burning to the ground, not tearing them apart.”

“It’s Beth Endicott’s.”

“Really?” Mark’s brows shot up. “Wasn’t she the one who froze you out at the reunion?”

“Yeah, I thought she didn’t want to see you,” Law said. “That’s what you told me, what, a couple of months ago?”

Ken hadn’t told them all that had happened at the reunion, only that he and Beth talked and that Beth ultimately said no go to seeing him again.

“Word is she’s a loner,” Law added. “Runs her own business, takes no shit from nobody.”

“She may run her own business and like to control her life, but…” She was pregnant with his baby. “Things have changed.”

“How so?” Mark asked.

“She…came and found me at the station.”

“Nice and easy,” Law said. “I love when they don’t make you work so hard.”

Ken shook his head, not answering as the waitress delivered their beers.

“I asked our night manager if he knew anything about the new owners,” the young woman said to Law. “And I found something out for you.”

Law sat up straighter. “Excellent. I hope there’s a name and phone number involved.” At her surprised look, he added, “Not yours, honey. The owners.”

She shrugged. “No such luck. But I can tell you they have something to do with the beach.”

Law frowned. “What does that mean?”

“I don’t know, but they are some kind of company that sells seashells. Or maybe gas, like the Super Min sells. That’s a Shell station, right?”

All three men stared at her.

“Shell Oil owns this bar?” Law asked, confused. “Or a seashell company?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “He just told me it’s a shell company.”

“Ohhh,” the guys said in unison, understanding what she didn’t. The company was dormant, inactive, or set up as a tax shelter.

Law thanked her, and when she was gone, he grinned. “Long on looks, short on brains. That’s all they hire at this place.” He took the cold beer and sipped, closing his eyes. “Sometimes I wish this shit were real. Now get back to Beth, Captain Cav. What changed?”

Ken studied his own beer, deciding what to tell them. He knew he could trust his friends, but was it his secret to share?

It was his baby.

But her secret.

“Everything changed,” he answered, purposely vague.

Mark laughed. “Man, I know how that can happen. What are you going to do?”

“Well, I know what I want to do, and I know what she wants to do, but they aren’t necessarily the same thing.” He took a swig of his beer while the other two waited, withholding their comments. “I want to make it work and…”
Raise the kid together and…
“Ride off into the sunset.”

“You poor, deluded man,” Law said.

“I like that plan,” Mark replied.

Ken laughed, reminded of his conversation with Beth about having two parents. “This is why you need two friends instead of one.”

“What does she want to do?” Mark asked.

“She’s cautious. She’s been burned and has a history. Doesn’t want to necessarily have a, you know, traditional life.”

“Who does?” Law asked.

“Not everyone hates the idea,” Ken said. Although that small group might include the mother of his child.

“Okay, I’m outnumbered in this crowd, but…” Law’s attention shifted toward the bar. “Hey, isn’t that Chesty Chesterfield? I’d know those knockers anywhere.”

Ken turned to look at the woman leaning against the bar, deep in conversation with the bartender.

“Please tell me you don’t call Libby that to her face anymore,” Ken said.

“Not often? She earned that name with that rack, but shit.” Law locked on the woman across the bar. “When I look at that face, the only thing that comes to mind is angel. Damn, she’s hot.”

“I misjudged her at the reunion,” Mark said.

“I misjudged her in high school,” Law shot back, his attention back on their table. “Stood her up and evidently missed out on the best sex of my life. At least that’s what she told me. That body, though. I can’t believe she’s forty-five.”

“I heard at the reunion that she’s a yoga instructor,” Ken said.

Law made a low growl. “I’d like to do the downward doggie style with her.”

Ken looked skyward. “It’s a miracle you can get a woman to go out with you.”

“Are you kidding? Watch this.” Law inched to the side to get a better look, then lifted his finger and crooked it in her direction with a wink. “Come to Papa, little kitty,” he said under his breath.

Ken didn’t insult Libby Chesterfield by turning to see if Law’s ridiculous technique worked. “If she comes within five feet of this table after that, I’ll buy you dinner.”

“Three…two…one.” Law lifted his drink an inch and clinked Ken’s glass. “Hope you brought your money, son.” He broke into a sly smile as Libby sauntered up to the table.

“Holy shit,” Ken choked, and Mark hid his surprise by taking a drink.

“Well, look what I’ve spotted in the wilds of the Toasted Pelican,” Libby said, one hand on a hip that she notched to the side with the confidence of a woman who loved every inch of her own body and knew exactly how to work it. “A trio of rare silver foxes known for their smoldering eyes, broad shoulders, and deceptively sweet smiles.” Shiny red lips kicked up as she pointed at Mark. “Mates for life.” Then Ken. “Drawn to danger.” Then Law. “Suffers from inflated self-opinion that experts believe is nature’s way of compensating for its tiny…beak.”

Ken and Mark laughed in unison at the dig. Law’s jaw dropped a little, but nothing came out.

“The male of the species is easily rendered speechless,” she continued, unfazed, “when females don’t immediately melt and mate.”

Laughing so hard he had to wipe his eyes, Mark waved her to the seat next to Ken. “Join us, Libby. Dinner’s on us to make up for the tiny-beaked butthead.”

She folded her arms, which accentuated an abundant cleavage on full display in a white V-neck that didn’t quite meet the top of sleek exercise pants. “No can do, guys. I’m off to do sun salutations and find my inner peace. This”—she ran her hand up and down in front of her generous bosom—“is my temple.”

Law grinned. “When can I worship?”

She angled her head and flattened him with a gaze. “My temple is closed.”

Law, recovered now and undaunted by her teasing, leaned closer. “Then can I ask you a question first?”

“You can ask, but the answer is going to be no. Not tonight, not next weekend, not ever, Lawless Monroe.”

“Honestly, I have a legit question. In all seriousness.”

“I
was
being serious.”

“I saw you talking to the bartender.”

“I said no to him, too, if it’s any consolation.”

“I’ve been killing myself trying to track down who owns this place now that the previous owner passed away. All I’ve found so far is some shell company out of Miami. Do you know who it is?”