Barefoot by the Sea (31 page)

“Did you hear that, Ash? He said ‘Mama’!”

Without letting Lacey see, Ashley rolled her eyes. “I think he said nyum-nyum-nyum.”

Lacey took the baby, eyes bright. “I just talked to Willow from the AABC and nailed down every detail. They are so excited about the wedding.”

Another eye roll from Ashley, but Lacey saw this one. “How was school, honey?”

“Fine.” She stood. “I’m starved. What’s for dinner?”

“Dinner?” Lacey gave a dry laugh. “Tonight’s the first walk-through of Tessa’s wedding.”

Tessa almost fell back on the sofa. “Already?”

“Oh, God, are you still going to use that thing I wrote, Mom?”

Elijah let out a power scream, slapping his little hands on Lacey’s shoulder.

“I gotta feed him,” she said, turning toward the bedroom. “C’mon, Tess. Did you want to talk to me about something?”

“It’s not important,” she said, getting a quick “I told you so” secret glance from Ashley before she rounded the counter and headed to the pantry.

“Are you sure?” Lacey said, picking up the vibe. “’Cause I can chat while I feed him.”

Tessa shook her head. She’d had enough maternal envy on the heels of infertility disappointments for one day. “I have to get back and finish my sweet potatoes.”

“Well, I’ll walk out with you.” Lacey stayed close until they reached the door, then she glanced over her shoulder. “What were you talking to Ashley about?”

The opportunity was too good to pass up. “Her F in calculus and how drunk she got last weekend.”

Lacey almost fell backwards. “Wha—”

“I’m kidding.”

“Why?”

“Because you needed the shock treatment.”

She frowned, shaking her head in confusion. “What do you mean?”

She may have promised to stay mum about the boyfriend, but she hadn’t promised anything about what had caused that small crisis.

“Your daughter misses you,” Tessa said softly. “And we’ve been friends a long time, so I feel like I have a right to remind you that you have two kids, Lace. One who’s been your soul mate for a long, long time.”

Lacey paled and her shoulders fell. “I know,” she whispered, closing her eyes. “Clay said the same thing to me yesterday. There’s so much going on.”

“There’s a lot going on with her, too. Don’t let her fall through the cracks.”

“I won’t.” She leaned in to brush Tessa’s cheek. “So you came over for advice and I end up getting it.”

“I don’t need advice,” she said. “I need one of these.” She pinched Elijah’s little toes. “So anytime you want to pass him off and go shopping with your daughter, you know where to find me.”

“Oh, God, Tessa. What would I do without you?”

“Be lost.” She smiled and pulled Lacey in for a hug. “As I would be without you.”

Stepping back, Tessa took a moment to smile and sigh and face the warm sun. She had to remember that she had a family. Right here in Barefoot Bay—kids, sisters, and all the love she needed.

Tessa walked through the garden to do a quick visual assessment of the sweet-potato rows before changing into work clothes. She kicked off her low-heeled sandals and went barefoot through the leaf-covered path, longing for company to soothe the tear in her heart left by the trip to the clinic. The conversation with Ashley hadn’t really done the trick, and Lacey had been up to her eyeballs with her own issues.

On the way, Tessa peered down to the bungalows, seeing the back door to John’s place partially open.
He
wasn’t the company she needed right now, that was for sure.

Or was he?

She had decisions to make, and maybe it was time for a reset of
how
she got what she wanted in this life. Would an adoption really take years? Would she still be considered a bad risk after a decade of moving around, like she and Billy had been told they were? What should she do?

Dismay welled up as she scanned the horizon for the tractor, bubbling into confusion as she saw—nothing.

Where was her tractor? It wasn’t near the sweet potatoes, where she’d left it when she’d run off. Maybe John had driven it back to the equipment house for her. That was thoughtful.

She worked her way through the mustard and collard greens, vaguely noting that they were ready to be picked, too.

But where was the tractor and where—

She had to blink twice at the sweet-potato rows.

Make that the former sweet-potato rows. Every single yam was dug up and gone. She spun around, scanning the acres of her garden, her greenhouse, the compost bin, the equipment shed, and the storehouse.

The field looked liked she’d been working there all day and had finished everything on her list. Were the potatoes stored?

She made her way to the storehouse, opening the door slowly, squinting into the room kept dark by design. Bushels and bushels of sweets had been picked, dusted, and stored in neat rows.

Except for the potatoes on the floor. She stepped back and stared at the yams in a circle around the storehouse floor. No, not a circle. That was…

A giant heart.

“Oh.” She covered her mouth as his message hit directly where he’d aimed, right at her chest, making it swell with something so far past
affection
and
fondness
and
friendship
and
like
that it could only be…

No, it couldn’t be that. They were potatoes, and it was a sweet gesture. But not the honest, real, forever kind of thing she wanted. Most likely, that was not much more than a creative invitation to sex.

As if she needed to have him spell out his request in vegetables. She’d practically—no, she
had
—begged last night.

She stepped back, stamping the sight of that sweet-potato heart into her memory forever. Whatever he was trying to tell her, she wanted to know. Backing out of the storehouse, she closed the door, holding tight to the metal handle as if it could keep her grounded. Once she let go, she might bolt across the gardens right to his bungalow.

“Don’t get your hopes up, Tess,” she whispered to herself. “It’s just a damn heart made of potatoes.”

But her hopes soared anyway, and she should thank him. Despite the urge to run, she forced herself to walk across the garden to his bungalow. At his patio deck, she took a steadying breath and went to the open door to knock, her hand frozen mid-air when she heard his voice.

“I don’t think you get what I’m telling you, Henry.” The words, spoken harshly and in that same oddly British-tinged tone. “This isn’t a woman I can fuck with.”

She flinched, her hand still poised to knock.

“No, damn it.
No!
” He barked the last word. “I
care
about her.” He paused long enough for the statement to settle over her, letting it hit her in the same vulnerable place that the potato message had. “I mean, I really, really care about her.”

She let her hand press against her lips.
I really, really care about you, too.

“Well, I’m sorry, too.”

She wasn’t. She inched closer, refusing to think about standing and listening as an invasion of privacy. He was talking about
her
. This was the answer to her question. This would tell her exactly what he meant with his unconventional message on the storehouse floor.

“Okay, okay. I understand. I understand. I can wait a little while, but not much longer. I want to tell her. I have to tell her.”

Tell me what?
She fought the urge to call out the words, leaning closer.

“No, you listen to me for a change. I am going to marry this woman in a matter of days. And when I say those vows and put that ring on her finger, it is not going to be some fake charade that we dreamed up.”

What?
She clutched the wood of the door frame, closing her eyes, swamped by emotions.

“Well, he better be a genuine official and he sure as hell better have a legit marriage certificate, because this is going to be real.”

For however long it took for him to listen to the other person, Tessa didn’t breathe. She didn’t move or think or feel or reason. She let the words cloak her.

“I didn’t expect to fall in…” A second passed. Then another.

Love.
Love. Say it, John!

But apparently the person on the other end was talking. Tessa waited, eyes closed, willing the words to come her way.

“Of course that hasn’t changed,” he said, the sound of his footsteps accompanying the statement as he stepped into the kitchen directly into view.

She had to slam her mouth closed to keep from gasping at the sight of him in nothing but a towel, a droplet of water meandering from shower-soaked hair over one granite-carved shoulder.

“…kids mean everything to me, damn it.
Everything
.”

Kids do?
Had she heard that right?

“She doesn’t know that. How could she? I have to tell her, Henry. I have to, but it’s…” His voice grew as tight as the air trapped in her lungs. “I’ve never wanted to before this. I never thought this could happen.”

Before he saw her or heard the soft cry aching to get out of her, she dipped back, away from the door. She didn’t hear any more—she didn’t have to—because of the blood rushing through her ears, pounding in triple time to match her pulse, the deafening sound of—
happiness.

Yes, he
was
keeping something from her. How he felt about her.

But he couldn’t know that she’d overheard his confession. Something told her he wouldn’t like it, and she’d be cheated out of the moment he told her directly.

She darted over the deck and across the space that separated their bungalows, reaching her own back door in two seconds flat, already digging into her pocket for the key. She dropped her shoes, turned the lock, and—

“Tessa!”

Damn it. He’d caught her. All the options bounced through her head: Lie. Play dumb. Act as if she’d just arrived home. Or she could…

Drink in every inch of his incredible body as he followed the same path she’d taken, marching toward her bungalow, undeterred by the fact that he wore only a towel. A towel that could fall with any step.

Her whole body melted a little, a blast of heat and desire holding her perfectly still as she appreciated every muscle, every move…and the fact that it was all part of a man who truly cared for her. And the feeling was mutual.

By the time he reached her, her pulse had accelerated, her breathing was rapid, and her breasts and belly ached with the need to be pressed against him.

“Did you hear that conversation?”

“I…I…” Lying to him was impossible. Why would she even consider it? “Yes, I did.”

She could have sworn he paled.

“I mean I heard enough.”

“Enough?” There was a low-grade panic in that question. “Enough to…what?”

“Enough to ask one question.” She reached out to his face, the rough beard he’d yet to shave after his shower tickling her palm. “Why does this terrify you so much?”

He didn’t answer, his eyes rich with that same emotion she’d seen the very first night, the one that darkened his expression from time to time.

“You know what I think?” she finally whispered.

He shook his head.

“I think that you’re ready to move on and that scares the life out of you. I think you’re petrified that loving someone else means you didn’t really love the wife that you lost.”

His eyes shuttered with the direct hit. “That’s part of it.”

“And wanting children is also terrifying to you.”

“Tessa, listen to me. Listen really carefully.” He took a slow, deep breath. “I really do want children.”

She smiled. “I know.”

“I want two.” He sounded so sure of that number.

Her heart rocketed right into her throat, choking her up. “Oh, John. I’d be lucky to have one,” she whispered.

“Two, Tessa.” He reached for her, putting his hands on her shoulders, the overpowering smell of clean, fresh soap making her dizzy. Or maybe that was the look in his eyes. Or the impact of his words. Or that wave of hope she’d been riding since she saw the potatoes.

“I don’t—”

“You could have two,” he said, forcefully, coming closer. “Anything could happen, Tess.”

Yes, yes anything could. Intoxicated with optimism and the power of his certainty and his arms, she closed the space between them, rising up to kiss him.

Anything could happen.
Anything could happen.

Right then, she believed those three words with her heart, soul, and body. The same heart, soul, and body she was about to give to John Brown.

Ian could taste her hope and optimism, as savory as wine and sweet as honey. The flavors fired through him, heating his blood and sharpening his nerves, and jolting his cock into a painful erection.

What she’d heard, what she’d hadn’t, what he’d told her, what he hadn’t…it all evaporated from his brain as his hands covered her skin and his mouth inhaled her tongue.

They both wanted this. They needed this. They should have this—at least once before he slammed her with everything Henry warned him not to tell her. But his decision was made.

“Anything could happen,” she murmured, melting into him as they made their way down the hall.

“I think it’s about to.”

She flipped off his towel in the hall as he easily unbuttoned and stripped her blouse right outside the bedroom. He unzipped her skirt, helped her step out of it, and had her at the edge of the bed in nothing but a bra and panties in seconds flat.

She clutched his biceps and squeezed, moaning her appreciation as he reached around to unsnap her bra, his palms itching to close over her delicate breasts and lay her down on the bed.

As he did, she fisted his hard-on, pumping the tip until he let out a helpless groan of pleasure. The sensation was so intense it effectively wiped his brain clean.