Barefoot at Moonrise (Barefoot Bay Timeless Book 2) (17 page)

“I don’t know. I guess I’ll see what he says. I’m definitely not ready to share the baby news. I’m not out of my first trimester yet and haven’t heard a heartbeat. I have to be sure this pregnancy is viable. I have to be.”

He stepped onto the boat, making the vessel rock. “I’ll go with you to the meeting if you want.”

Her jaw loosened. “Ken. I know you…no. You can’t do that. You can’t go to EDC offices. I would never put you through that.”

“I’m going to have to see him sometime,” he said. “When the baby’s born, birthday parties, family…things.”

How was that all going to work? She put her hand on her stomach, no answers in sight. Except that whatever happened and however it worked, it had to be good for the baby.

“Well, let’s wait on that. His message had a distinctly businesslike tone. He may want to talk about something other than us…or you. In fact, that’s far more likely, knowing my dad. He’ll slip the insidious instructions on how I should live my life in after he asks my opinion on something or tries to convince me to take over the business again.”

His head snapped up. “You wouldn’t.”

His sharp tone and the dangerous look in his eyes surprised her. “I…wasn’t planning to.” But she bristled at his reaction. “But if I wanted to, I would.”

“Beth, I have my limits.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

He threw a tool on the deck with a thud. “It means you can’t run the company that…you can’t run that company.”

Was he serious? “You can’t tell me not to do that.”

“Do you want to?” It sounded as if even asking the question scared him, as if he couldn’t handle the answer.

“I haven’t wanted to because I happen to love what I do for a living.” She looked down and tugged at a loose thread on her cutoffs. “But things have changed.”

“No shit.”

She looked hard at him. “I have to consider this child’s security,” she said. “EDC is a good, healthy business that guarantees a substantial and steady income.”

She could see his shoulders tense and his jaw tighten. “I have a steady income,” he said. “Maybe it’s not as great as the owner of a big development corporation, but I can provide for our child.”

“But…I…” She exhaled. “I can’t depend on that.”

“Why the hell not?”

“Because this isn’t a normal relationship, Ken. There are no guarantees. There’s no way to know what could happen in the future. I have to be sure my child has everything she needs.”

He cringed, more likely at the sentiment than the gender, angrily scooping up the tools he’d been using.

“So you think a firefighter can’t provide for a child in the manner you’re used to?”

“I haven’t thought about it,” she said, hoping the honesty in that came through. “I’m still figuring out how we might make this work, not our finances. But, yes, I’ve thought about my future now that I’m not alone.”

He moved a seat cushion on the boat and lifted the bench below it to store the tools. “Because I can and I will take care of our child.”

“I think it makes sense to consider all my options.”

“Running EDC is not one of them.”

Resentment punched her hard enough to make her stand. “Please don’t tell me what to do.”

He turned to face her, blinking at her tone. “I just mean—”

She pointed at him. “Don’t tell me what to do,” she repeated.

For a long moment, they stared each other down, the sun as hot as the silent clash of wills, bearing down on them. Finally, Ken sighed and brushed his hand over his hair. “How about I
suggest
we take a boat ride now?”

Sally pushed up with interest immediately. Her stub of a tail ticktocked rhythmically, and she gave one noisy bark.

“Those are her two favorite words.” Ken laughed. “Boat ride.”

But Beth stayed right where she was on the dock, frozen after the conversation.

Ken held out his hand to help her on board the boat. “Come on. It’ll lower your blood pressure.”

“You know…” She turned, fighting the urge to take a stand by saying no, making him go alone, and punishing him for saying the very things he knew would raise that blood pressure.

Things that made her face the fact that this baby tied them together in a way that he actually
did
have a right to hold an opinion about how she lived her life.

He still hadn’t lowered his hand. “Man, you’re thinking hard.”

She sighed and closed her fingers around his. “I thought I had it all figured out, this life of mine. And now…everything’s changed.”

He guided her onto the boat deck, holding her hand as she got her footing. “That’s how life is,” he said, turning from her to grab Sally by the belly and hoist her girth onto the boat with a grunt. He placed her on the deck easily, bending over to scratch her head. “There you go, Chunky Monkey.”

Beth watched the exchange, aware of the soft sigh she let out, making Ken look up at her.

“What is it?” he asked.

“You’re going to be a good father.”

He straightened, smiling. “I’m going to be exactly like my dad, the best father in the world.”

Her heart hitched again, and a surprising sting burned behind her eyes. “Oh, Kenny.”

“Only you,” he joked softly, taking a step closer, making the boat rock. He reached over to touch her face, to graze his knuckles along her jaw, silent. “Can get away with that nickname.”

“What are we going to do?” she whispered.

“We’re going to talk things through and get to know everything about each other. And we’re going to make joint decisions when they affect our child. We’re going to work on your house together, keep you safe and healthy, and then we’re going to have a baby.”

She waited for another stab of resentment, ready to react at his list of things
they
were going to do. Except, there was no resentment. Because he was right.

She closed her hand over his, turning to press a kiss on his palm. “I’m sorry I jumped down your throat,” she said.

“I’m sorry I tried to run your life.”

She smiled up at him. “You make everything sound easy, you know that?”

“What do I keep telling you? Nothing is impossible. That’s going to be our motto, baby. Nothing is impossible.”

He stepped closer, lowered his head, and kissed her. The boat rocked again, but Beth held on, stayed steady, and kissed him right back. The kiss felt solid and sure, despite the way the world and water swayed under her feet. His lips were warm, his hands strong, and at that moment, Beth started to believe that maybe nothing
was
impossible.

Chapter Twelve

Beth woke to an empty house, sensing even before she was fully awake that Ken and Sally had left already. She turned in the double bed, waiting for her first morning thought.

I’m pregnant.

And another thought, which made her smile.
Nothing is impossible.

What do you know? They had a motto.

The sunset cruise had been a visual overload of the beauty of southwest Florida on a warm May night. By mutual agreement, they avoided land-mine subjects and talked very little, the sound of the engine and the rock of the waves lulling their problems away for a few hours.

It had been dark by the time they got back, and she could tell Ken was exhausted, and facing a twenty-four-hour shift that started—she glanced at the clock at her bedside—half an hour ago. She’d slept in the guest room, and she appreciated that he didn’t even suggest otherwise. And now he’d be gone until this time tomorrow, which gave Beth a full day of the time and space she swore she craved.

But, damn it, she missed him already.

And based on the sweet note he left next to the coffeemaker, with a K-Cup of decaf coffee and a clean mug waiting for her, he’d miss her, too, and promised to call or text. Holding the note, her gaze drifted out to the blue morning water, taking in the sunrise that seemed to hold more promise and hope than anything she’d ever seen.

Could it be that easy? Could they start a life together…backward?

She touched her belly and whispered their motto, saying a silent prayer that he was right. She was nearly eight weeks now. Four more and she’d be home free.

Although, she’d been almost fourteen weeks the last time.

She closed her eyes and tried to push the memory away, not wanting to think about the stab of pain, the blood, the broken sensation of utter loss…and the decision that had followed.

She put her hand on the counter, bracing herself as the unwanted memories flooded back, frightening her with the possibility that history—and her stupid
incompetent
uterus—could repeat itself.

And every minute that passed with Ken Cavanaugh, that possible loss would hurt even more. She really enjoyed being with him, but she knew that the only reason she was in this house was because of the baby inside of her.

What would happen after this child was born?

What would happen if it wasn’t?

On a sigh, she shook off the what-ifs, took a shower, and forced herself to think about the day ahead, which would include the meeting at EDC. Would Landon be there? Would Josie? She suddenly realized she had zilch in her tote bag that was suitable to wear for a meeting at the corporate offices.

So, on her way to her father’s office, Beth took a detour to check on her house and change.

Inside, the rooms were cool and as noisy as an airfield, with the seven industrial fans the water damage guys had left running in the dining room and kitchen. Everything appeared to be dry, but wrecked.

The kitchen, in particular, hung in that horrendous state of half demo, most of the cabinets gone and the holes under missing countertops gaping and dark.

All she wanted to do was finish and sell.

Yet, here she was, dressing for a serious meeting that might mean taking over a serious company and running some serious business. And she’d told Ken the truth about it last night: As much as she wanted that kind of stability and security for her child’s future, running a multimillion-dollar, many-faceted business didn’t hold as much appeal as ripping a house down to its studs and starting over. She even liked buying and selling property. But the heavy business end? The big developments, the financial wrangling, any non-residential real estate was not her cup of tea at all.

She walked down the hall to her bedroom, frowning at the sight of the open door. She never closed the door normally, but the water damage guys had recommended she close every door inside the house to facilitate the drying out, so she’d shut the door to the second bedroom and the office and the hall bathroom.

And her room.

But it was open, and the other doors were closed.

She had been the last person to leave the house yesterday; she was certain. Or was she certain?

She’d been certain about the water valve, too, so maybe she had pregnancy brain.

Walking slowly and trying to ignore the slight chill that raised the hair on the back of her neck, she stepped into her bedroom and sucked in a breath at the sight of the sheer curtain fluttering.

She rushed to the sliding door and swore softly when she found it unlocked and open an inch. Had she left it that way? It had been a crazy morning with all those firefighters traipsing around. Yes, she could have stupidly left it that way and left her bedroom door open even though she distinctly remembered walking down the hall to close it.

Had she checked the slider then? She pressed her fingers to her temple and cursed softly. The pregnancy hormones were attacking her brain. That was the only explanation.

But if she had closed and locked the slider…then someone had been in this house after she’d left.

Her heart thumped as she turned slowly to examine the room, which looked utterly untouched. No drawers open, the jewelry box on her dresser still closed and, under examination, still holding the few pieces of good jewelry she owned.

Biting her lip with a little trepidation, she whipped open the closet, half expecting to find a dead body in there.

Nothing but her clothes, shoes, and, way up on the top shelf, her storage boxes. But… “Wait a second.”

She flipped on the light and stared at the shelf that held three clear plastic bins of important papers she didn’t want to keep in storage somewhere.

Something was different.

They were stacked…in the wrong order.

She peered at the bins, a crystal-clear memory of the last time she’d had them down. A month ago, maybe, after getting some bank paperwork. But she’d glanced at them a hundred times and could have sworn—would have sworn—they were in a different order.

She distinctly remembered bringing the storage bins down, because the step stool had been wobbly and she almost fell getting them, but she wasn’t sure which bin held work stuff and which held personal.

Would someone actually break into her house and rifle through her papers and photos and…what else was in there? Closing documents on this house, a divorce decree, and….she gasped softly.

The paperwork on John Cavanaugh’s fatal accident on EDC property.