Seduction on the Sand (The Billionaires of Barefoot Bay #2) (17 page)

Isabella cried out and rolled onto her side, laying out her leg to make room. Suddenly, she jerked sideways and yelped.

Intervention time.

Frankie yanked on gloves and squeezed the jelly all over her hands, the whole time whispering and calming a very unhappy and uncomfortable doe. Outside, the dogs kicked up their barks, as if they knew something was wrong, but she blocked it all out as she reached for the doe’s leg, sucking in a breath when a stream of blood trickled out. “Oh my God.”

Should she call the vet and leave her alone? Or go in there and—

“Frankie!”
 

She jerked up at the sound of her name.

“Where are you?”

Becker. Thank God. Right now, she’d take help from Satan himself. “In the back. The birthing stall. Isabella’s in trouble!”

She heard his boots hit the shelter floor, hating herself for how much she’d gotten used to that sound, and learned to love it.

“What’s wrong?” He was next to her in an instant, the strength and security of him almost bowling her over as he reached out instinctively for the doe.

“No, wash your hands. Get gloves. No, no. Call the vet.”

And then he was gone, taking her orders as Isabella screamed bloody murder.

“Where’s your cell?” Becker asked from behind her. “Is the vet’s number on it?”

“Yes, yes. My pocket.” She reached her back pocket, finally looking at him for the first time. Holy mother, he looked like hell.
 

“Here, give me the phone,” he said. “What’s the name?”

Isabella bayed again. “Wait, wait. I need to find out if she’s breech. Can you hold her legs open?”

He was on his knees, gloved hands reaching out with a surprising amount of tenderness, his face next to Frankie’s. “Like that?” he asked.

Why did her damn heart slip around like that? She hated him. He’d screwed her—or tried to. “Yes. Let me reach in there.” She looked up at him, expecting a curled lip of disgust, but he looked at Isabella with sympathy, touching her gently.

After a moment, she found the back end of the kid. “She’s breech. I have to turn the kid.”

“You want me to call the vet?”

She shook her head. “We can do this.” She’d meant
I
can do this, but there he was, next to her, a partner, a friend, a lover... “An asshole who tried to steal my land.”

“Now, Frankie?”
 

She almost laughed, except Isabella was howling with pain. “Sorry. Later.” She pushed and prodded, sweat trickling over her face as she made careful, slow moves that wouldn’t tear the placenta.
 

The whole time, Elliott held Isabella’s legs. He talked to her and stroked her sweetly and, damn, if he didn’t calm the doe down between contractions and give Frankie a chance to turn the kid.

Suddenly, a yellow bubble appeared.

“What’s that?” he asked in horror.

Now she did laugh. “That’s the placenta. And inside there, look...” A tiny brown foot came out first, then the face of a very pretty goat. “There’s our first kid.”

Both of them were silent as Isabella pushed quietly, the wee baby sliding out with its gooey overcoat.
 

“And maybe not our last.”

The way he said it...whoa. She didn’t dare look at him, didn’t dare give away how that got to her. “Most times there are two,” she said. “But there could be three or four or five. You ready, cowboy?”

The rest of a little brown goat plopped onto the hay, making both of them suck in a simultaneous breath.
 

“Would you look at that?” Elliott whispered, awe and a crack in his voice. “Even a goat birth is a miracle.”

She finally found the strength to look at him again, inches away, his expression all dark and tortured and pained. He returned the gaze, the two of them inches away but worlds apart.

“Frankie,” he whispered. “Is there any possible way you’ll accept a simple apology?”

She managed a smile. “No.” Then she turned back to Isabella. “But it looks like we’ve got another. And this one’s coming out just as it should.”

Isabella seemed to calm after she had a chance to greet her new baby girl with mama licks, and then she relaxed for the next delivery.

Frankie gathered her towels and gently cleaned the kid and got her ready for the tiny warm bed she’d prepared.
 
For now, though, she let the baby stay near her mama.

Elliott cleared his throat against the silence. “I guess you’ll never believe me if I tell you I was going to withdraw my offer.”

She patted the tiny kid’s head. “You’d guess right, then.”

He sighed. “Well, I was.”

Without answering, she laid a hand on Isabella’s leg, feeling it tense for the second delivery. She shouldn’t ask questions. She shouldn’t give an inch, because this was Elliott Becker, and he’d charm and flirt and tease and lie his way to forgiveness that she had no intention of giving.

“So why didn’t you tell me?” she asked, apparently unable to hear the rational voice in her head.

 
“I was going to, once I’d...undone my mistake.” He leaned closer, but she refused to look. “That’s why I didn’t...why we didn’t...”

“We did enough,” she finished for him. Enough for her to feel like they’d had sex and she’d offered him her body...and all the time, he’d known he was trying to steal her land. “Enough for me to be hurt.”

“I’m sor—”

She held up her hand and looked at him. “No amount of groveling in the world will allow me to trust you again.”

He closed his eyes as if the words had been a direct hit.

“I know this isn’t going to change things, Frankie, but—”

“Then don’t say it. Just...” She shook her head. “You really don’t need to be here.”

“I need to explain a few things to you.”

She exhaled slowly, peering down to see the next kid just starting to make an appearance.

“My friends, Nate and Zeke, we’re joining forces to build a baseball stadium and start a minor-league team here.”

Very slowly, she turned her head, the words flowing over her like a bucket of ice. “You wanted to build a baseball stadium on Nonno’s Dolce Vita?” Surely he heard the dismay in her voice.

“Actually, the stadium’s going to be over there, farther west. This land was for the”—he swallowed hard—“parking lot and access road.”

She actually laughed because, how the hell else should she react to that? “Why not the men’s room, while you’re so busy demeaning my precious legacy of land?”

“But we could change that,” he said quickly. “I’ve been thinking about a way to change that.”

“By finding some other piece of land on some other island that’s owned by some other unsuspecting, lonely, stupid, easily manipulated female?”

He just stared at her. “You’re lonely, Frankie?”

Damn it. “No, I’m not,” she ground out. “And notice how you didn’t correct ‘stupid’?”
 

“Because I know you’re not stupid, but if you are lonely...” He reached for her, and she jerked away as if his hand were made of fire. His beautiful, large, sexy hand that she wanted...

Oh, Lord, have the kid already, Isabella!

“What if we worked the farm into the stadium?”
 

She blinked at the tiny baby in front of her, barely able to process the question. “Like a seventh-inning stretch and goat parade? What the hell, Becker?”

“I’m serious.” He got a little closer, his dark eyes flashing like they did when he had some brilliant, grandiose, ridiculous idea that always ended up being...perfect. “We could have your whole idea for a stone house and a little store, maybe a petting zoo for the kids.”

She frowned at him. “You’re nuts, you know that?”

“Not if the team were called the Barefoot Bay Bucks. Then the goats would be mascots. It’s amazing, don’t you think?”

“Certifiable.” She shook her head and pointed to Isabella. “Shhh. Here comes another one.”

Just as slowly, but with much less drama, a little brown and white face emerged, protected by a shiny bubble. Isabella bleated with relief as the shoulders came through, then the backside. The kid plopped onto the hay with a soft thud.

“Would you look at that?” Elliott whispered. “We had a boy.”

She gave a sad smile. “I might be able to keep one.”

“Keep this one,” Elliott said, putting his arm around her. “Let him be the Barefoot Bay Buck mascot. We can call him—”

“Stop.” She cut him off with a harsh look and a sharp bark. “Don’t do this anymore!”

“Do what?”

“Make me fantasize and imagine and dream and
want
. You’re not real, Elliott A. Becker. You’re not genuine. You’re a fake. You’re working me and toying with me and making me fall for you and then, wham, you’ll be gone when the next investment or opportunity or lucky money-making scheme comes your way.”

He still stared at her, a world of hurt in his eyes. “No, I won’t, Frankie.”

She turned away. “You will. Like everyone else, you’ll...disappear.” Like her parents. Like Nonno. Like any hope of having someone stay forever.

“Only if you want me to.”

“I do!” she cried, hating the crack in her voice. “I want you to disappear.
Now
.”

Without a word, he pushed up, the only sound the soft whimper of Isabella’s relief and the rustle of hay under his feet. She didn’t turn to watch him go, but listened to his footsteps through the shelter, the barks of her dogs, and goodbye nays from the girls.

She stayed very still, petting Isabella and the brand new babies, while the sound of his car engine started, then grew quiet as he left her.

Ozzie came prancing over, barking his displeasure.

“I know, Oz.” She kept him away from the stall with one hand, but looked into his sad brown eyes. “I liked him, too.” Too much.

Ozzie made a soft harrumph and flattened on the hay, every bit as broken and bereft as Frankie.

Chapter Twelve

Twenty-one.

There were now twenty-one little cotton balls lined up along Frankie’s soap-making counter. Three weeks’ worth of fragrant messages.

But nothing else.

Agnes and Lucretia flanked her, their pygmy bodies pressed up against Frankie’s knees as she neatly sealed the last of the soap bars for the meeting with Jocelyn that would start in less than an hour. Behind her, the doeling and buckling romped, still a little wobbly and high-pitched, alternating between crazy and exhausted every minute of the day.

She’d named the girl Daisy because of the flower-like white splotch on her forehead. And the buck? She hadn’t named him yet. Still unsure if she could keep two of them here because of the complicated logistics of two bucks on the same little farm, she refused to let herself fall for him by giving him a name.
 

She just thought of him as Becker’s boy, and that made her think of Becker, and that made her...not completely sad but damn close.
 

She picked up the cotton ball that had arrived today, hand-delivered by special messenger, who brought one every day when Frankie finished the morning milking. Each one arrived in a plastic box with nothing but a tiny piece of paper bearing a few words.
 

So now she had twenty-one obscure, impossible messages from Elliott Becker. Was he trying to tell her something or just help her with the soap fragrances he knew she was creating for Casa Blanca?

Hard to say, but with every new arrival, her heart softened ever so slightly. She picked up the one that had arrived today and sniffed it.
 

The first few had come with names that recapped so much of their time together. The good parts, when they were falling hard and fast.
First Kiss. Intimate Moments. Moonlight Madness. Secret Whispers.

The following week, his messages reflected the state of her heart with uncanny accuracy.
Tender Ache. Empty Arms. Lonely Days. Sleepless Nights.

What was he trying to tell her with the complex fragrances and cryptic messages? Each one confused and intrigued and delighted her. No phone calls. No texts. No letters or flowers or emails or postcards.

Just glorious fragrances and mystifying messages.

And this week, the tone had changed again. Now, instead of angst, she got...
Sweet Anticipation. Hopeful Heart. Counting Hours
. And, then, today’s, the most perplexing of them all.

Coming Home.

Home? Her heart raced, but she calmed herself with a slow, deep inhale of the sweetest fragrance he’d sent to date. A marvel of vanilla and oak blend, like nothing she’d ever made before.

Maybe he was sending messages, maybe he was trying to help out, maybe he was the world’s most creative groveler. She didn’t care. The fragrances and names were a gift she gladly accepted. She’d re-created every one up until today’s, producing a total of twenty new fragrances and beautifully packaged sets of soap she’d wrapped and ribboned and turned into a celebration of romance. Jocelyn would love these, use these, and sell these like crazy.