Barefoot at Moonrise (Barefoot Bay Timeless Book 2) (22 page)

“This is how you check out a possible place to buy?” Ken asked as he approached.

Law tipped the hat but didn’t lift his head. “Is that a dog or a hairy beer keg?”

“This is Sally. Don’t tease her about her weight. She’s sensitive.”

He sat all the way forward, then leaned over to greet Sally, who nuzzled and won him over with one look. “But she has a pretty face,” Law joked.

“And a nice personality,” Ken replied. “Plus, you said she’d be welcome in this place.”

“Outside, definitely. It’s right there.” Law pointed to a stucco building with a yellow awning and a cheesy sign reading Lighthouse Landing. Outside were tables under umbrellas and a few dogs tied up with their lunching owners.

“So this restaurant is for sale?” Ken asked.

“He hasn’t officially put it on the market yet, but we talked by phone and he’s very close. At least this owner isn’t a shell company with no person to talk to.”

“It’s a lot fancier than the Toasted Pelican,” Ken said.

“But it
isn’t
the Toasted Pelican,” he replied. “It’s like getting in bed with the wrong woman and pining for someone else. You ever do that?”

“Not today,” he said, giving Sally’s leash a tug. Today he didn’t get into bed with
any
woman because he let his damn twenty-five year old grudges get in the way.

Law eyed him suspiciously as they walked. “So it’s going well with the reunion babe?”

“Her name is Beth,” he corrected. “And it’s going okay.”

They settled at a table under the awning alongside of the restaurant. While Law chatted up a waitress, who promised to bring out the owner, Ken checked his phone. Twice.

“So what does okay mean?” Law asked after she left. “A weekly booty call or a daily plow of the field?”

Ken snorted. “No wonder you’re single.”

Law shrugged. “So which is it?”

“We’re still getting to know each other.”

“My least favorite part of the process,” Law said with a rueful smile. “Especially when you just really want to fuck and duck, you know?”

“You actually
are
a Neanderthal, aren’t you?”

Law grinned as the waitress returned with a Heineken for Ken and the ubiquitous O’Doul’s for Law. “Just calling it like I see it. But seriously, how’s the chase treating you? You happy? Relaxed? Getting laid?”

“Is none of the above an option?”

Law almost choked on his drink. “You poor bastard.”

Ken had to look away, scanning the docks. “I can’t say I’ve ever been in a situation like this.”

“Come on, she either wants you or she doesn’t. It doesn’t have to be complicated. If she does, she’ll come around. If she doesn’t, pull out your rod, add fresh bait, and stick it in new waters.”

Ken laughed lightly. “I can’t wait for the day when the right woman comes along and tames you.”

He snorted. “Let her try. So why is this one complicated?”

Ken looked down at the beer and considered his response, the need to talk about the baby with someone other than Beth strong. Not that Law could give him advice or that it would be anything he’d actually follow, but he needed to say it out loud. “There’s a past.”

“Dude, there’s always a past. That’s what makes people interesting.”

“And there’s a future,” he said before he could stop himself.

“Whoa. You’re that serious about her?” Law asked.

“I could be. I want to be. I need to be.”

His friend dropped back and snorted. “The only thing you need is a few hours in the sack and a gourmet meal. Good sex and great food cures all, you know.”

If only it were that simple. “She’s pregnant.”

Law choked again, hard this time. Then his face screwed up into an expression of comprehension and disbelief. “Damn. Did you hook up with her at the reunion?”

“I hook up with ladders,” he said. “Not women. Not that woman, anyway.”

“You did. You totally boned that night.” Law inched back, impressed. “I’m taking full credit for that, by the way. But no raincoat, Cav? Do you go into a burning building with no gear?”

“No.” He shifted uncomfortably, not really wanting to share intimate details with his unenlightened friend, but desperately needing to talk to someone. “She had her tubes tied, but apparently, pregnancy can still happen.”

“Whoa.” He picked up his beer and tapped it against Ken’s. “Way to shoot cannonballs, my friend.”

He couldn’t resist a secret smile.

“So, wow.” Law took a drink, nodding as it sank in. “You got some shit going on.” He dropped back in his chair and shook his head. “I do not envy you, son.”

An older man came up to their table, frowning as he approached. “Mr. Monroe?”

Law sat up and turned. “That’s me. Joe Canton?”

They shook hands, and Law introduced him to Ken. Then Joe took an empty seat. “I’m afraid I have bad news,” he said straightaway.

Law swore under his breath. “You’re not selling?”

“My son wants the place after all,” he said.

Law stared at him. “Your son.” His voice actually cracked with disappointment.

Ken pulled himself out of his own misery for a moment to think about Law’s and appreciate that, for all his joking, this gastro pub was important to him.

“Hey, I’m sorry,” the restaurant owner said. “He’s not the best restaurant manager in the world, but he’s my son. You know what that means.”

Law’s mighty shoulders dipped a little as if the words pressed down. “More or less,” he said vaguely. “I understand, Joe. Your decision’s made.”

Joe stood and put his hand on Law’s shoulder. “Lunch is on me. I’ll have them bring out our best burgers.”

When he left, Law let out a disgusted sigh. “Of course he gave it to his son, because
that’s what people do
.”

The words were loaded, but Ken wasn’t quite sure what they were loaded with. Bitterness, anger, frustration. “Hey, man,” Ken said. “Sorry that didn’t work out.”

He shrugged and took a swig. “It’s for the better,” he said. “It’s not the place I really want. Not the place I…” His voice trailed off.

“The Pelican?” Ken guessed.

Law just looked beyond him, gazing at the wharf, his eyes dark with the closest thing to sadness Ken had ever seen in them. “That’s where I belong,” he said softly. “And, damn it, I’m not going to give up that easily. There has to be…” He stopped as if he caught himself.

“Be what?” Ken prodded.

Law waved it off. “Forget my crap, Cav. You got way bigger problems.”

“I guess.” He angled his phone to check to see if any texts had come through.

“Brother, you have it so bad,” Law said. “Why don’t you put yourself out of your misery and tell her to marry you?”

“Or I could drag her by the hair to my cave and take what’s rightfully mine.”

“Ahh, the good old days.”

A waitress came over, smiling at Law. “Mr. Canton forgot to ask how you want your burgers done.”

Ken leaned forward. “Medium for me. My friend Tarzan wants his raw with a fire.”

Law laughed and took a deep drink after she left. “I know exactly what you should do, you know.”

“Whatever it is, it’s illegal, immoral, or outdated.”

“Make her jealous. Start seeing someone else.”

Ken looked at him, incredulous. “There isn’t anyone else.”

“Oof.” Law grunted. “My heart aches for you.”

“Haven’t you ever met anyone you wanted to spend the rest of your life with?” Ken asked. “Haven’t you ever met a woman you really couldn’t live without?”

“My friend, no such woman exists, and if she did, I’d run so fast you’d call me a cheetah instead of Tarzan.” Law pounded his sizable chest lightly. “I like that, by the way.”

“It wasn’t a compliment.”

Law pinned him with a gaze exactly the color of the Heineken bottle Ken was holding. “Look, dude. It’s simple, and you know it. Get rid of the thing that’s keeping you apart. Say you’re sorry if you have to stoop to that level.”

“I did already, but it’s deeper than that. More complicated. And it isn’t going away. If anything, it could get worse if she…” Takes that job or continues to distrust him. “Does something I’m not sure I can handle.”

“Color me intrigued, man. What is it?”

Ken literally pressed his lips together, the nondisclosure agreement that had loomed over his life for twenty-five years as clear as the day his mother signed it on behalf of the entire family. He had agreed to be silent so his mother could avoid years of litigation and take the money, the
hush
money, Ray Endicott threw at her.

Law frowned. “Why are you being weird about this?”

“I’m not being weird. I’m just…not at liberty to say.”

The waitress arrived with their food, and they didn’t speak until she was gone. During the brief time, Ken checked his phone again. The blank screen kicked his gut.

“So what do you want to do?” Law asked.

“Honestly?” Ken lifted his burger, staring at the bun, thinking how to answer that question. “I want to love her, marry her, and spend the rest of my life with her and our child. Simple and, to you, stupid. But that’s the truth.”

“Not stupid,” Law said, surprising Ken with the note of sadness in his voice. “And for a guy like you? Totally doable.”

“No, it isn’t,” he said. “There’s an obstacle that will never go away.”

“Have you told her that’s what you want?”

“Not exactly. Remember, this is the poster girl for self-sufficient women.”

“I hate that kind.”

“I love that kind,” Ken shot back.

Law put his burger down and narrowed his eyes. “Do you or do you not love this woman?”

“I could. I’m close. It’s possible.”

“Then lay it all out there. Tell her everything. Tell her it’s forever. Tell her you’ll never be happy without her.” He took a bite and grinned over his bun. “Chicks eat that shit up with a spoon.”

Some chicks might, Ken thought. But not Beth Endicott.

* * *

Long after the last fan was removed from the house, the water remediation guys had been paid, and the house was as back to normal as a semi-construction site could be, Beth’s internal war raged.

She had to know the truth.

As much as she didn’t want to read those files, she and Ken needed to throw this whole issue on the table and decide if it had the power to keep them apart. And if it didn’t, then the past really and truly had to be the past and they could move on.

But she put it off, busying herself by looking at the kitchen plans, reading email, tidying up where she could, and taking a long bubble bath in the hideous master bath tub, all the while imagining how the pretty room would look when she was done.

Slipping on flannel sleep shorts and a tank top, she ran a brush through her wet hair and stared at her closet, already visualizing walking down to the garage to get the step stool, climbing up to the bins, and digging for that envelope.

She picked up the phone and stared at the blank screen, no longer able to ignore the ache of Ken’s silence or the guilt of hers. All day he’d gone without texting or calling, on his day off when they could have spent a lot of time together if she hadn’t accused him of breaking and entering.

“I hate this,” she mumbled, pushing off the bed. “I hate games. And fights. And days without him.”

She was as much to blame as he was.

Giving in, she walked out to the kitchen, through the door to the garage, and snagged the rusty step stool leaning against the wall.

Back in her closet, she opened the squeaky steps and, careful to stay on the right-hand side of the unstable metal, she reached up and grabbed the top bin where she knew she’d put the envelope.

She brought it down to the ground and bent over to lift the lid. On top was the white envelope she’d refused to open. With a sigh, she ripped off the tape and reached in to slide out the documents. The first one was an autopsy report.

She shook her head and refused to look at the sad details.

Under it was a letter from a lawyer representing Mrs. Carole Cavanaugh and the estate of Jonathan B. Cavanaugh informing Endicott Development Corporation of their intention to file suit.

But there was no suit, Beth recalled. Was that because it was twenty-five years ago and personal injury law suits weren’t as common? There was defective machinery, so why wouldn’t they have sued?

Next was a letter from EDC to Mrs. Cavanaugh arranging a meeting to discuss details, as well as a copy of an official machinery inspection report.

The report looked legit, with long descriptions of cranes, hooks, and safety latches, and a county inspector’s seal in place.

Underneath that was a nondisclosure agreement and some paperwork finalizing the transfer of two million dollars to Carole’s account.

No wonder Ken was bitter. Dad had used his considerable cash to ward off a lawsuit that could have cost him much more than two million and probably had preyed on Carole Cavanaugh’s fears that she could lose, based on that inspection.