Barefoot Bay: When You Touch Me (Kindle Worlds Novella) (12 page)

Sam cursed his stupidity and stubbornness under his breath as the ocean water lapped over him and Evan rubbed the salty liquid into his scarred flesh. This was actually soothing. His tension melted as the sun and water bathed him in its warmth. He had been an absolute ass and had refused Jillian at every turn. As good as he felt now, how much better would it have been with Jillian’s touch? How much better would life in general be with Jillian’s hands on him morning, noon and night?

He had to see her again before he left Mimosa Key. An apology was necessary. He had to see if they could possibly have a future together because now he believed – in her and what he had callously called her voodoo. He also believed in her assessment of his emotional state.

Sam had been afraid to admit he struggled with PTSD. Those four letters scared people. Hell, they scared him. But fears could be conquered. He desperately wanted to conquer this one.

And he knew who he wanted to help him accomplish that.

Until this point, he had viewed seeking help as a sign of weakness. Now he understood that the real weakness was ignoring his symptoms and denying the problem. Real strength would be demonstrated by asking for help. He wanted more than anything for Jillian to be part of the team that helped him recover. More importantly, he wanted Jillian to be part of his life forever. She already had captured his heart. Now he had to convince her he was ready to live up to the scarred tattoo on his back. He had to convince her he was ready to truly try.

One problem stood in his way, though. Her life was here on Mimosa Key, and there was nothing for him, or her, back in his hometown in North Carolina.

If Jillian would agree to resume their relationship and work with him to conquer the four-lettered demon, he would shovel damned sand to remain on Mimosa Key and be near her. Maybe she would hire him to work in the store she had inherited. Hadn’t she said her aunt was retiring and moving away? He had worked at Barber’s Hardware Store when he was in high school, so he had some retail experience. And surely the store had a computer so his IT experience in the Army would….

Come by my office if you get a chance and let’s talk.

The conversation with the head of Casa Blanca security surfaced. If McBain Security would hire him, he would have the means to stay on Mimosa Key. And if Jillian would give him a second chance, he would have a real reason to stay.

Sam focused on those possibilities throughout the remainder of his session with Evan. Once they were finished, Evan told him to report to the spa’s reception desk to complete some forms. It sounded all too much like an Army discharge. Forms, forms and more forms. But perhaps Jillian would be there and he could convince her to have dinner with him. He could explain everything over steak and lobster and a good bottle of wine.

He showered and changed at the villa, then walked to the spa. Jocelyn Palmer sat behind the reception desk with a dark-haired infant in her lap sucking on its thumb.

“Cute kid,” Sam commented. “Is it yours?”

Jocelyn nodded. “My nanny brings the baby here for feedings.” She cradled the child against her chest lovingly and kissed the top of its head. “And you feel better now that your tummy is full, don’t you sweetie.” The baby grinned and patted Jocelyn’s face with a slobbery hand.

Sam remembered Jillian’s full breasts and a vision of her with a nursing baby slammed into his consciousness before he could stop it.

First things first, Hartman.

She had to agree to see him again. And he had to convince Luke McBain to hire him. Those two hurdles stood in front of him, but he wouldn’t give up. Not until he had truly tried.

“Evan said you needed to see me,” Sam said, getting back on track.

“It’s just a final evaluation report we like all our guests to fill out. I understand you had some challenges with your first therapist, but I hope you can feel free to be honest and fair in your responses.”

“I will be. Honestly, everything was my fault. I hope you know that and don’t penalize her for it. If she’s available I’d like to speak with her and apologize for my attitude and behavior.”

Jocelyn smiled knowingly. “She’s off until Monday. Her sister came home yesterday, and she’s taking time to be with her and to consider…some other things.”

Sam knew what the other things were. Lara had made that clear. He completed the evaluation form, gave the resort and its staff glowing marks and then returned to his villa to hatch a plan to win back Jillian and convince Luke McBain to give him a job. It was all or nothing.

* * *

Mid-morning the following day, he revved the engine of his rental car and sped to town. In ten minutes he was pulling into the Mimosa Memories parking lot, having stopped at the Super Min to ask for directions. Jillian might be concerned about that Charity person spreading rumors, but he wanted the whole island – the whole world – to know how he felt about Jillian Logan. A bell jangled over the front door when he entered the shop, and the sharp aroma of incense filled his nostrils. He glanced around and took in the explosion of color in the wide variety of merchandise.

A dark-haired woman in her early twenties approached him. Her gait was marginally unstable, and she had a bright pink cane in her right hand to steady herself.

“Welcome to Mimosa Memories. Can I help you look for anything in particular?”

Sam hesitated briefly, then said, “I’m looking for Jillian Logan. I understand she and her little sister own this store. Do you know where I could find either of them?”

“I’m the
little
sister.” She eyed him suspiciously.

Sam gave the woman an appraising look. It wasn’t the look of a man romantically interested in a woman, but rather that of a man who had entertained an entirely different mental picture – a picture which had just been erased and re-painted.

“You’re Becca? You’re all grown up.”

“Yeah. That happens with us humans,” she said, her voice laced with a hint of sarcasm. “Do I know you?”

Sam shook his head. “No. I’m Sam Hartman. I know your sister—”

“Oh yeah. The spa. You’re Mr. I-Hate-the-Sand.”

Sam’s eyebrows lifted. “She told you about me?”

Becca shrugged. “She might have mentioned you.”

“Do you know where I can find her?”

Becca didn’t move and her expression grew serious.

“I really need to talk to her.”

Becca remained motionless.

Jillian had completely underestimated her sister, as had he. “I have to explain,” he said, his voice faltering. “To…apologize.”

Becca shifted her weight from one foot to the other and narrowed her eyes. He could almost see the cogs turning in her head as she considered what to do.

“She’s at home,” Becca said, finally breaking her silence. “She’s scrubbing bathroom grout with a toothbrush for some crazy reason.”

Sam could hear the accusation in her voice.

“If you hurt her, you’ll regret it. I might be the
little
sister, but I carry a big stick. Literally.” She lifted her cane to make her point. “Let me get a piece of paper and I’ll write down directions to the house.”

When Sam knocked on the front door of the sixties-style bungalow minutes later, an older woman wearing a long, flowing dress answered the door. He asked for Jillian and the woman, invited him into the small living room.

“Jillian!” she called toward the back of the house. “You have a gentleman caller.” The woman raked Sam with her gaze, not bothering to hide her obvious appraisal of him. Sam rubbed the back of his neck and shifted his weight from side to side. “You have an interesting aura, you know.” She reached out one hand and traced an outline of him in the air. “Deep red shows survival instincts and yellow-green indicates passion. Both of those are very strong. But the dark blue tells me you’re afraid to say what’s on your mind. Let the first two colors take control. Tell her how you feel, son.”

No doubt, this was Jillian’s Aunt Daffy. Sam shoved his hands into his pockets, unsure how to respond. Crazy as it sounded, the woman was right, at least about his passion and his fear of expressing his feelings.

“Jillian?” the woman called again.

Just then Jillian appeared, dressed in cut-off denim shorts and a black tank top that hugged her curves. Her feet were bare but her hands were covered by bright purple rubber gloves with ruffled polka dot cuffs. She wielded a worn toothbrush in her right hand and a spray bottle in the other.

“She wasn’t kidding,” Sam muttered.

Jillian stood quietly. She refused to make eye contact and Sam felt like he had been punched. The silence between them grew awkward.

“You know, I just remembered something. I need to return a library book,” the woman interjected. “Or something.” She grabbed her purse from a table by the front door. “See you kids later.” Moments later they heard her VW’s horn toot as she drove away.

Aunt Daffy’s excuses were as nutty as she was. And Jillian would have countered it with an excuse of her own except she had already done a good enough job of making a fool of herself.

“I thought you’d be gone by now.”

“Nice to see you too, Jillian. You can’t wait for me to leave?”

“That’s not what I meant.” She curled her toes against the wood floor beneath her. Her emotions were a confusing mix of excitement and apprehension. “Would you like some coffee?” she asked, stalling for time. Time to allow her to calm herself and not react to him foolishly.

She motioned to the kitchen and Sam followed. She set the bottle and toothbrush by the sink and removed the ridiculous rubber gloves. Tired of battling the ancient percolator, Jillian had driven to the mainland earlier in the week and purchased a new coffee maker along with a variety of coffees. She held up several of the small cups. “What’s your poison? Dark roast? Doughnut blend? Decaf?”

“I think I’m going to need high test,” Sam answered.

After brewing two cups of dark roast, she set the steaming mugs on the kitchen table, motioned for him to sit and took a spot opposite him.

“Here’s sugar.” She pushed a flamingo-decorated sugar bowl toward him. “I have half and half in the—”

Sam placed his hand over hers and stilled it. “I want to talk to you,” he said quietly. “I need to talk to you. Before I leave, I have to apologize and thank you as well. I know I was a jerk. And I realize now I’ve been in deep denial about having PTSD, too. That’s the roughest part.”

She rubbed her thumb against his palm. “You don’t have to talk about it.”

“But I do. It’s sort of like being an addict. The first step is admitting you have a problem. This…thing I have. I have to admit I’m weak, and then I have to try to be strong to overcome it and sometimes….” He paused and took a sip of coffee as if to fortify himself. “Sometimes, hell, most of the time, I try to be strong and then I feel like two different people.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, wishing she could say more to ease his obvious anguish.

“I’m the one who is sorry. I discounted what you did for me – the massage, the Reiki. But when you touched me, I did feel something. Something physical and emotional. You touched parts of me inside that have been trying to hide. And they need to come out of the dark so they can heal.”

“I’m glad I could help.”

“I also hope you’ll reconsider leaving Casa Blanca.” He held up his hand when she attempted to interrupt. “I can’t reveal my sources, but I know. Don’t let my shit storm be the end of your career there. You didn’t fail. I did. I screwed everything up.”

“And you’re trying to unscrew it. That’s good.”

Sam grinned wickedly. “Partly,” he said. “There are parts I’d like to well…screw back up.”

Jillian felt the blush begin at the base of her neck and travel upward.

“I have lots of reasons for leaving Casa Blanca,” she said, getting the conversation off his innuendo-filled statement. “My sister needs me to help her. This is not all about you, you know.”

“I met your sister a little while ago, and she looks pretty self-sufficient to me. You told me I had survivor guilt over the bombing, and you’re right. I’ve been awake too many nights wondering why the hell I lived and others didn’t. But I wonder if maybe you don’t have some survivor guilt too about your sister.

“You were healthy and she wasn’t. You got an education and began a career that took you away from home. Don’t most parents want their children to grow wings and fly?”

“But I flew away and never came back.”

“You came back this time because you were needed. Becca is all grown up. And I think she’d like you to let her show you just how capable she is. She can’t do that if you’re hovering over her like…like….”

“Like our mother.” Jillian completed his sentence. He was right.

“You have to let her go just like any parent. That’s what your sister needs from you most. She needs you to be the one who lets her spread her wings and fly. You called me out about my tattoo and asked me if I’d really tried to work through my problems. I know it’s risky to say this, but you have to really try to let Becca choose her own path and live it. Just like you have to live yours.”