Barefoot in the Sun Page 11

  So, Oliver Bradbury, what a coincidence, huh? He’s an oncologist, you know. Guess what, Pasha, he’s agreed to see you and—

  “Did you have sex with him?”

  The cup slipped out of her hand, clunking onto the tile countertop. “Gee, Pasha, were you in on the bets my friends were placing? Apparently the odds are in my favor for getting laid.”

  She didn’t laugh. “I know it’s been a long time since you’ve been with a man, Zoe, and that one always had a way of, you know, getting you going.”

  There were some downsides to being this close to another person. “He doesn’t ‘get me going’ anymore.”

  See, Zoe, you can lie to your Aunt Pasha after all.

  Pasha snorted as if she could hear that inner voice of Zoe’s loud and clear. She often could.

  “Pasha, I didn’t have sex with him.” Not…technically.

  “But you did kiss him.”

  Zoe carefully poured the coffee and scooped up an overload of sugar. “First of all, I fail to see what difference that would make in the scheme of things and I really fail to see how you could jump to that conclusion from the fact that he dropped by with his son to see Lacey and Clay.”

  “I think it was a little more than that.”

  On her way to the fridge for milk, Zoe leaned over the empty cup in front of Pasha. “Tea leaves talking this morning, Pasha?”

  “No, Tessa was. She stopped over while you were still sleeping.”

  Zoe yanked the fridge door open with way more force than it called for. “So you were in on the gambling.”

  “She mentioned to me that you two disappeared for a couple of hours.”

  Was it that long? Felt like ten minutes. “I showed him Bay Laurel because he’s—”

  “Moving in there.” Pasha flipped the page of the paper as if she were reading it.

  Zoe laughed because, really, what else could she do? “I don’t know why you’d bother with the Mimosa Gazette when you have the Tessa Times.” She stirred the coffee until it frothed a little, tapped the spoon on the cup, the dinging sound announcing the next round.

  “But here’s something you don’t know, Pasha, and you’re going to be so happy to hear that—”

  “He still loves you.”

  She practically sank into the other chair. “And Tessa knows this how?”

  “Oh, Tessa doesn’t have a clue.” Pasha gave her a shaky smile, wide enough to show that she not only hadn’t bothered with makeup or hair, she also hadn’t put her bridge in that morning, leaving little gaping holes in her back teeth. “That I did get from the tea. But she mentioned he’s divorced.”

  Zoe sighed, another laugh escaping. “And he has a son.”

  “I heard.”

  Of course she had. “Did Tessa tell you how uptight and serious he is? That he never met a rule he wouldn’t follow, dots every i and crosses every t, and then takes anyone to task if they may have missed a detail?”

  “Zoe, those were all character traits he had before and you adored him.” She dragged out the word as though it were so…precious.

  “What’s not to adore?” she asked, lifting the cup to sip.

  “He’s a fine piece of ass, if I recall.”

  She almost spewed her coffee. “I created a monster with you.”

  Pasha gave a careless shrug and lifted her invisible brows. “He’s good for you.”

  “You think I should get back together with him?” He was the one who wanted to turn you in. And he still does.

  Pasha looked down at the newspaper, tapping a finger. “I thought you’d be interested in this advertisement for Sylver Sky.” She inched the paper closer.

  Zoe didn’t look. “Answer me, Pasha.”

  “That’s the name of a hot air balloon company in Fort Myers.”

  Zoe gave the black-and-white ad a cursory glance. “Nice.”

  “Maybe they’re hiring.” Pasha’s eyes twinkled, maybe not as bright as they’d been for the past twenty years, but Zoe could still read that message.

  “You’d live here?”

  Pasha leaned back, crossing her arms. “I’d die here.”

  The words hit like a fast, unexpected slap. “You’re not going to die.”

  “Darling girl, if I did, you’d be free.”

  “You’re not going to die, Pasha!” Vaulting to her feet, she almost knocked the chair back. “And don’t you even think that’s some kind of ticket to my…my…”

  “Happiness.”

  “Pasha!” She fell to her knees in front of the older woman, dropping her head on the bony lap she loved so much, wrapping her arms around Pasha’s narrow middle. “Don’t even say that. Ever, ever, ever.” A lump formed in her throat just thinking that Pasha would even think her dying would make Zoe happy.

  “I always thought there was a kind of magic in the air when you two were together.” She threaded her fingers into Zoe’s hair, looking down with a smile that only accentuated the deep, deep crevices of her paper-thin skin.

  Was it possible she didn’t remember that Oliver knew their secret? No, she knew. But maybe she thought if she were so sick that she—

  “And Tessa told me that that magic is still there,” Pasha continued.

  “What didn’t Tessa tell you?” Like did she mention that Oliver was an oncologist?

  Slowly, Zoe inched away, returning to her feet, steadying herself for the conversation she couldn’t delay any longer.

  “She told me that Oliver’s little boy is cute and your hair was soaked when you came back. Did you go swimming with him?”

  Zoe smiled and took a seat at the kitchen table. “Yes. And we kissed. And we—”

  Pasha placed her fingertips over her ears and sang, “I can’t hear you.”

  But Zoe reached across and gently took Pasha’s hands down and held them. “You have to hear this.”

  At her tone, Pasha looked at Zoe.

  “We talked about you.”

  Pasha’s eyes shuttered. “I’m sure you did.”

  “Not…that,” Zoe said quickly. “We talked about how he can treat your condition and never report your name to any agency or insurance company or anyone.” Just the lawyer he wanted Zoe to see. But she hadn’t actually agreed to that, and with the way blood was visibly draining from Pasha’s face, she wasn’t going to mention a lawyer now.

  “Do you understand what I’m saying, Aunt Pasha?”

  She didn’t even blink.

  “He’s an oncologist and that’s a doctor that—”

  “I know what an oncologist is,” she said sharply, drawing her hands free of Zoe’s. “And he’s not treating me.”

  “Pasha, he’s a very good doctor, in high demand, with a clinic that specializes in advanced, experimental treatment. He can figure out what’s wrong with you and fix you.” Zoe’s voice cracked with the sheer will of trying to get Pasha to see the wisdom of this. “He’s the answer to our prayers.”

  “He is,” she agreed. “But I wasn’t praying for a doctor, I was praying for your happiness.”

  “You being healthy would make me happy.”

  “Not as happy as love.”

  Zoe grunted softly. “Pasha! This is your life we’re talking about. We need to know what’s wrong and how to—”

  “I know what’s wrong with me. I have cancer.”

  She’d never said the word before. After the one time in Sedona when the doctor suggested the diagnosis, Pasha had refused to say the word cancer. And now it rolled off her tongue like her middle name.

  “Then he’s the perfect doctor for you since that’s his specialty.”

  “I don’t want to see a doctor.”

  “Did you not just admit that you have cancer?” It felt strange to say that out loud, because she’d been following Pasha’s lead and letting the C-word be the silent elephant in their living room. Now Dumbo was lifting his trunk and spraying them.

  “I did. I do.” She angled her head and smiled, looking frightfully old without her makeup or jewe
lry or full set of teeth. “That’s what Mother Nature gave me, and that’s how Mother Nature’s taking me. Unless I, you know, help her along a little.”

  “Pasha! Over my dead body!”

  “No, child, over mine.” She inched the newspaper closer. “Maybe you should talk to these folks at the balloon company. Get a job here in town.” She gave the most unsubtle nod. “Settle down.”

  Zoe bristled. “I don’t settle down.”

  “And we both know why.”

  What was she saying? “You think my life is going to get better if you die, Pasha?”

  Pasha leaned forward. “You gave him up once before for me.”

  “I gave him up for the wrong reasons,” she said. “I thought he couldn’t handle how we’d lived, but what he couldn’t handle was the news on his phone.”

  Pasha didn’t even hear her; she shook her head, waiting for a chance to speak. “I will not come between you two again. Your life will be so much better when I’m gone.”

  “Well, you’re wrong.” Zoe stood so fast her coffee splashed onto the newspaper, soaking the balloon company ad. “My life would not get better if you die. In fact, my life would suck if you die!”

  “Zoe, you know as well as I do that my very existence is what’s holding you back from being with Oliver.”

  “Are you crazy?” She grabbed the cup and walked to the sink, an acrid mix of coffee and anger and fear on her tongue. “There are so many things wrong with that statement I don’t even know where to start. Your very existence is why I’m alive, Pasha. I’d have killed myself by thirteen if you hadn’t saved me.”

  “You’d have survived.”

  She spun around, fire in her belly. “I’d have been raped sixteen ways from Sunday!”

  Pasha flinched.

  “And you are not holding me back from being with Oliver,” Zoe said. “I’m doing that all by myself, thank you very much.”

  “Doesn’t sound like you held back too much in the pool yesterday.”

  “Actually, I held…a little. You know what stopped me?”

  “I hope it was your strong moral compass.”

  Zoe snorted. “Nothing so admirable.”

  “You didn’t have a condom?”

  “Pasha.” She laughed softly. “How can you even think of dying? I need you to crack me up. And, no, that wasn’t the problem, although I didn’t even think about it.”

  “Well, you better. What stopped you?”

  Zoe finished rinsing the cup and set it on the drainer, wondering how honest she should be. Normally, she’d tell Pasha everything. They had no secrets.

  “Fear.”

  “Of what? Falling in love? You need to fall in love, Zoe. It’s time. You’re in your thirties. You need a home, a child or six, and a husband.”

  “I’m afraid.” She looked out the window over the sink, her gaze focused on the very bright green of a queen palm frond swaying in the Gulf breeze. “I’m afraid I don’t know how to stay.”

  “Another thing you can blame on me.”

  “I’m not blaming anything on you.” She turned and walked to Pasha, her heart swelling with affection. “You sacrificed everything for me. Everything.”

  “And that’s why you left him and went to Colorado with me.”

  “That’s why I’ve done everything for the last twenty-five years. Do you think I will ever forget that you threw your life in a suitcase and ran into the night when I told you what happened? All you did to keep me safe? To educate me and love me and put me before everything else?”

  The words seemed to pain Pasha and she hissed in a noisy breath, her lips puckering as she did so, her hand automatically rising to her chest—where the cancer was.

  Tell her what he wants you to do.

  Normally, Zoe fought to ignore that voice in her head. But right now something clicked and the instructions made sense. “Pasha,” Zoe whispered. “If we could settle here and never run again, then I would be happy. Together, with you healthy. That’s how I could be happy.”

  “That’s…impossible.”

  Zoe crouched again, taking Pasha’s withered hands. “Not if we clear your name.”

  Pasha whipped out of Zoe’s grip with lightning speed. “No!” Pasha pushed her chair back, looking from side to side like a trapped animal, desperate for escape. “Don’t ever suggest that again.”

  Zoe stood, reaching for Pasha as she tried to pass. “It’s been almost twenty-five years, and—”

  Pasha’s dark eyes narrowed. “You know the law.”

  “We can get around that—”

  “No.” Pasha wrestled away from Zoe and marched toward the hall.

  “Pasha, please.” Zoe followed, easily catching up in two steps. “You aren’t being reasonable. With a good lawyer, we could—”

  “Stop it!” Pasha spun, her eyes filled and her color high despite her lack of makeup. “The answer is no. No. No!”

  Frustration seized Zoe, wrapping around her throat. “Pasha, why can’t we even try?”

  “You can’t try something like that, Zoe. The police, the newspapers…” She shook her head and put her hand over her chest. “I don’t think I could take it.”

  Of course she couldn’t. Zoe almost melted with self-loathing. How could she do this to Pasha? So she could have “something real” with Oliver? She would not hurt this woman who had saved her, raised her, and loved her.

  Pasha was the only person who ever had loved Zoe unconditionally. Even Oliver’s offer had come with stipulations, hadn’t it?

  “Okay.” Zoe stepped back, holding her hands up in surrender. “I’m sorry I brought it up.”

  “Me, too.” Pasha headed into her bedroom just as Zoe realized she hadn’t done the one thing she had to do this morning: convince Pasha to see Oliver.

  She swore under her breath as her phone buzzed with another text. Oliver, no doubt. What should she tell him? Was she going over to the villa today?

  Of course she was. Because she was going to save Pasha’s life—and not so she could spend the rest of it in jail. “Pasha?”

  She didn’t look up from an open drawer, where she was deeply involved in choosing her underwear for the day. “Hmm?”

  “Can you go out with me today?”

  She sighed. “I don’t know. Where do you want to go?”

  How could she convince her? She’d never say yes, not in this mood. Not when she was determined to die instead of getting legal help. Pasha Tamarin was a five-foot-tall, ninety-five-pound brick wall when she wanted to be.

  But Zoe could climb that wall. “I thought we might go check out that hot air balloon operation. Maybe, you know, put an application in.”

  Pasha smiled. “I’d like that.”

  “All right. But I have to make one quick stop first on the way.”

  “That’s fine, honey.”

  No, it wouldn’t be. But she’d climb over that wall, too.

  Chapter Eight

  Oliver heard the Jeep from the kitchen, the low growl of the engine starting a matching rumble of anticipation in his gut. Already. It had taken two days to get stupid over Zoe.

  And not only the hormones, adrenaline, and pheromones kind of stupid. That other kind—the illogical kind that made him agree to things that made no sense, like living on the same property, having her help him with Evan, taking care of her aunt, and getting close to naked the first time they were alone together.

  But that wasn’t stupid. That was inevitable.

  And so was pain, heartache, and a few holes punched in the wall. This was, after all, Zoe Tamarin.

  Evan’s rapid footsteps pounded overhead. “Dad!” He tore down the stairs so fast he couldn’t possibly have been holding on to the banister. “Dad!”

  “Be careful on those—”

  “She’s here!” He swung into the kitchen, one hand on the doorjamb, his dark eyes lit from the inside, his little face flushed.

  So Zoe had that same inexplicable, stupid effect on him. “I heard her car,” Ol
iver said.

  “It’s actually a Jeep Rubicon,” Evan told him, clearly proud of that knowledge. “Topless.”

  “Convertible.” Topless was something else altogether. Although, with Zoe…

  “There’s an old lady in the car with her.”

  “That’s her great-aunt.” So she’d managed to get her here. The few texts they’d exchanged that morning had warned him that Pasha was lukewarm on the idea of seeing him. He wasn’t sure if it was because Oliver knew her history, or because she wasn’t keen on seeing a doctor in general.

  Either way, he’d promised Zoe he’d let the visit be casual. Hell, he’d have promised her the moon to get her over here again. And not just because he needed to use her oversized vehicle to get some stuff from storage, although he was looking forward to taking a drive with her.

  “Let’s go greet our guests,” he said, folding a towel and placing it on the counter before gesturing for Evan to lead the way.

  But his son didn’t move, which seemed odd considering how overjoyed he was to see her.

  “Move it,” Oliver said, prodding Evan’s shoulder. “She’s liable to change her mind.”

  Evan didn’t take the nudge, looking hard at Oliver instead.

  “What’s the matter, son?”

  “Do you, like, like her, Dad?”

  Ah, the downside of a genius IQ. It was impossible to get anything by this kid. “Of course I like like her. I think she’s going to make a great sitter for you when I’m at work and—”

  Evan scowled, reminding Oliver that his son was not as easily pacified as most eight-year-olds. “You know what I mean.”

  “Yes, I know what you mean.” He searched his son’s face, not exactly sure where to go with this—which seemed to be the story of their relationship. “Is that a problem for you?”

  He lifted one shoulder. “Well, since Mom’s gone to France with…” He rolled his eyes. “Mark Asslowe.”

  “It’s Bass…” He laughed softly. “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that.”

  Adele had kept her relationship with the pharmaceutical CEO under wraps until the divorce was officially final, so Oliver had no idea how much his son knew about the man his mother was dating. Obviously enough to give Mark Basslowe an accurate nickname.