Barefoot at Moonrise (Barefoot Bay Timeless Book 2) Page 4

  She honestly couldn’t remember a night of sex so…perfect.

  Would a man like Ken be satisfied with just being lovers? Would he understand that she could never offer him much more, at least not that offspring he wanted? Would he believe her if she told him she clung to her hard-won independence with both hands and all her teeth?

  And there was still the matter of her father. Ken’s jaw still tensed at the mention of Ray Endicott. She may have forgiven him for the things he said the night they broke up when they were kids, but he’d never forgive her for being the daughter of the man he clearly still blamed for his father’s death.

  They hadn’t gone to court after the accident, though, she recalled. Mrs. Cavanaugh had taken a generous settlement and moved. Ken had graduated and gone to the Navy. And no one in her family ever mentioned the incident again.

  Under her head, she felt him stir.

  “Hey.” She whispered the word, looking up at him.

  He smiled, sleep in his midnight eyes, sex in that smile. “Hey back.”

  “It’s morning.”

  “It is,” he confirmed, nestling her even deeper into him. “What are we going to do today?”

  Today? This went into today?

  “Checkout’s at eleven,” he said. “So how about brunch? A day at the beach? It’s Sunday, and I don’t have to be at work until…” He thought for a minute. “Oh, hell, Wednesday at seven a.m. We have three days and nights with nothing but…” He rubbed her stomach and thumbed under her breast. “Us.”

  “Us?” There wasn’t an…us.

  “You know, me and you and a dog named…Sally. Wait till you meet my Sally, Beth. She’s probably not what you’re expecting, but—”

  “You want me to meet your dog?”

  “She’s at the station today. I leave her there when I’m not around, but, yeah…” His voice trailed off as he no doubt felt her tense.

  They couldn’t go beyond this morning, not one single bit. One apology and a few orgasms—okay, maybe more than a few—didn’t change what hung between them.

  “I, uh, don’t have any clothes except the ones you took off me last night,” she said, already rooting around for excuses.

  “We can sneak you out, get you home, change, and…play.”

  She withdrew an inch, and even looking away, she could feel his gaze searching her face, trying to read her thoughts.

  “Too fast?” he asked. “Too much? Too soon?”

  All of the above. But she didn’t really know how to tell him that. “Maybe.”

  “Look, you know I’m not a beat-around-the-bush kind of guy.”

  “I do remember that.”

  “So why would I start now?” He turned her to face him, lining up their naked bodies, nothing but warmth and skin in the bed. “We’re good together, Beth.”

  Every alarm bell in Beth’s freedom-loving head started blaring, along with a few others that should ring in his, but he didn’t know her personal situation. She’d have to tell him.

  “So let’s be together,” he finished. When she didn’t answer, he laughed. “It’s English. Means to date, get close, spend my days off hanging out.”

  It would be nice…until it wasn’t. “I don’t think so,” she said, dragging out each word.

  He backed off a little. “Okay, forget the hanging out on my days off. Except for today. Today’s not too much to ask, is it?”

  Very slowly, she shook her head. “I’m sorry, Ken.”

  His eyes closed like she’d kicked him. “You don’t, by any chance, have a good reason, do you? Because if you don’t, I’m going to think something absurd, like that wasn’t the best sex in my long-term memory.”

  “It was,” she agreed. “But it was, you know, sex.”

  He tipped his head with a smile. “There’s more where that came from.”

  And that would be amazing and wonderful, but it would never stop there with them. She’d lose her freedom, and he’d have to give up exactly what he said he wanted from life. And there was the little matter of Ken’s thinly covered distaste for her father. In the end, neither one of them would be happy.

  She swallowed, really not wanting to have this conversation but knowing she had to. “I can’t date you, Ken.”

  “You can’t, or you won’t?” he asked.

  “I…shouldn’t.”

  “Shouldn’t? Why not? Is there something you’re not telling me?” A look of horror darkened his face. “Someone you’re not telling me about?”

  “No, no, absolutely not.” She didn’t want him to think that, not even for a second. She gathered up the comforter and stood, covering herself completely as she rooted for the right words.

  “Then what is it?”

  She crushed the comforter in white-knuckled fingers. “I think I misled you.”

  He exhaled a puff of frustrated air. “Look, I’m not suggesting we get our lives all tangled up, make mutual friends, and move in together.” He reached for her, but she inched away, knowing one touch would lead to another, then another, then she’d be back in that bed, postponing the inevitable with more great sex.

  “Beth, all I’m asking for is a little time. It would be nice to have dinner, maybe go out on my boat. And…” He added a smile. “I would love for you to meet my dog.”

  She laughed softly. “The dog. That’s pretty serious.”

  As if encouraged by her humor, he leaned closer. “Tell me why not, Beth.”

  “I have reasons,” she finally said. “Very real and unchangeable reasons.”

  “In other words, don’t try to argue you out of them?”

  She nodded.

  “Okay. Hit me. Reason number one.”

  The easiest one. The obvious one. Would that be enough? “I like being single. I’ve never been happier than since my divorce.”

  “You’re not lonely?” he asked.

  Only some nights, but he didn’t need to have that door opened even a crack. “I told you I like making my own decisions.”

  “And I told you I like your independent streak.”

  “It’s not a streak, Ken. It’s not like some temporary color on my hair that I could change if I want to.”

  “I have no desire to change that or make decisions for you,” he assured her. “Give me a chance to show you that. To show you I’m…different from whoever pushed you around in the past.”

  She hadn’t said much about her ex and, honestly, neither had he. They were divorced, and divorce was never pretty, so she assumed his had been as unpleasant as hers. Their exes had no place in this room or in their bed.

  Except, one of them was about to show up.

  “What’s your other reason?” he asked, as if there were only two.

  She looked away and gnawed on her lower lip. “I have…baggage,” she finally said.

  “Who doesn’t? At our age, if we didn’t have baggage, we wouldn’t have lived. We can unpack it together.” He reached to give her a reassuring touch. “Very slowly, piece by piece, with no pressure.”

  After a moment, she met his gaze, wishing this reason wasn’t so final. But it was. “I don’t know how else to say this, but I can’t give you what you want.”

  “I think you’re wrong, and can’t possibly know what I want, but couldn’t we take some time and find out?”

  “I’m not wrong. I can’t give you what you want. I can’t even try.” Her voice cracked, the old pain resurfacing.

  “What do you think that is?”

  “It’s not a matter of what I think. It’s what you said. You want a family. Kids. I can’t do that.”

  She saw the flicker of a reaction in his eyes, but he stayed quiet, waiting for more, giving her the space she’d need to tell him why, which of course she had to now.

  She wet her lips and corralled her thoughts. Time ticked by, and he waited silently, but tense, as if he knew that whatever fire he’d accidentally stoked, one of them was about to get burned with this confession.

  “When I was married,”
she said quietly, “I got pregnant and had a miscarriage. It was fairly late into the pregnancy, about a week after the three-month point, so I’d relaxed and was…” She closed her eyes and remembered the bliss of those days. “So happy.”

  “Oh, Beth,” he breathed her name on a sad sigh, reaching for her. This time, she let him hold her hand.

  “It happens, of course, but I took it very hard. Very. And so did Justin, my ex-husband.”

  “I’m so sorry.” He squeezed her hand.

  “My doctor at the time told us that my uterus was incompetent or weak.” She spat the words that always tasted horrible to her. “Pregnancy for me would always be…problematic.”

  “Problematic,” he repeated. “Does that mean imposs—”

  “I got my tubes tied,” she said, cutting him off.

  This time there was no flicker in his eyes. They flashed, darkened, and registered a little disappointment.

  “Justin talked me into it for my own good,” she said quickly. “A year later, he filed for divorce.”

  “What?”

  “Now he’s remarried and has one kid of his own and two stepchildren.”

  He looked suitably stunned. “Whoa. That’s…harsh.”

  “Yeah. Harsh.” It went way past harsh, but she didn’t want to sound bitter. She’d agreed to the plan. At the time, in her grief and fear that it could happen again, a tubal ligation made sense. Until Justin left her and started the family he’d always wanted. That was something she’d never endure again.

  “When that divorce was final, I swore my days of doing what other people wanted were over. I do what I want, when I want to, and I don’t have to be accountable to anyone or disappoint them when I’m not.” For Beth, it was the safest way to live.

  He shifted, as if considering all that. “I think you might have making your own decisions mixed up with being alone,” he finally said. “I don’t think the only way to make decisions yourself is to have no one special in your life.”

  “Well, it is for me,” she said.

  “And,” he continued, undeterred, “if you or the person you are with wants to have kids, there are plenty of ways other than the usual.”

  “I know that, but it’s not for me, not at this point in my life.” She stepped back, dragging the comforter along for coverage and, well, comfort. “I have a ton to do today, so I think the best thing is to let me get out before any of the reunion partiers wake up.”

  “Seriously?” He choked the word. “So that’s it? This is over?”

  “Well, we can kiss good-bye and have especially fond memories about that night of the high school reunion.” And if it was, then she could escape without even discussing the third reason. The one she couldn’t believe he didn’t think of first.

  “No exchange of phone numbers so I can at least pester you with funny texts and the occasional drunk dial?”

  “It’s not a good idea.” She dropped the bedding and turned to go to the bathroom, getting exactly five steps before he caught up with her.

  “Just a damn minute, Bethany.” He turned her around, and when she dropped her gaze from the intensity of his, it landed on a fully naked man who stole her balance. “You can’t have kids. Fine. But I’m asking for a date, not a family.”

  “But, Ken, I—”

  “And you like your independence, which, as you may or may not recall, I stated was a huge turn-on for me.”

  Then it was time for him to dismiss reason number three, which he couldn’t.

  “But my name is still Endicott.”

  He stared at her, silent, as she expected.

  “I might not work for my dad, but I’m always going to be his daughter.” She swallowed against the emotion that swelled her throat. “And while I believe you are truly sorry for the things you said to me twenty-five years ago, you will always blame him for your father’s death. And if you date me, you’ll see him eventually. He’s very much part of my life.”

  He didn’t argue. He just bore her through with a long look that made her think it was his own soul he was examining, not hers. Time ticked and the room was silent but for the squawk of a gull on the beach and the soft splash of water on sand.

  Finally, he exhaled slowly. “Yes,” he whispered. “I do still blame him.”

  She knew it. “So why are we even having this conversation?” she asked. “Nothing’s changed in twenty-five years, Ken. We are crazy about each other. In another world or another time, we’d date and probably struggle with a few things, but fundamentally, we’d be great together.” Her voice cracked with a sob, but she didn’t care. “But I can’t change who I am, and you can’t change who you hate.”

  He opened his mouth to argue, then shut it again. “When you’re dressed and ready to go, I’ll walk you to your car.”

  That was when she knew it was truly over and done with between them. Her head knew it was the right thing to do, but she wasn’t sure her heart would ever understand.

  Chapter Four

  That evening, Beth wandered from room to room, trying to visualize the changes she’d make in the mid-century ranch that needed a lot of TLC—and money—but all she was able to see was the look on Ken Cavanaugh’s face when they said good-bye.

  He had walked her to her car, held her hand in the lobby—which was so not deserted, even at that early hour—and kissed her on the mouth in the parking lot.

  A long, lazy, wish-for-more kiss that she’d relived a hundred times since then.

  “Anybody home?”

  Beth turned from the kitchen at the man’s voice, startling a little at how much she’d hoped it would be that man, but let out a soft sigh when she realized who it was.

  The other man who’d ruined her morning. Not that she for one minute blamed her father for the accident that killed Johnny Cavanaugh. A machine malfunctioned and a tragedy ensued. But she saw things differently than Ken.

  “Dad?” She couldn’t keep the surprise out of her voice. He rarely visited her unannounced, and he hadn’t yet been to this new house, since she’d moved in only recently.

  Frowning, she wandered to the front to find her father outside the screen door, examining the handle. “This is locked, but really, Beth, you should close your front door and be more secure. Anyone could slice this screen and walk in on you.”

  “And give up the breeze? Besides, it’s Pleasure Pointe, Dad. We don’t have crime here.” She unlatched the lock and opened the door to let him in, looking beyond him, expecting to see Josie.

  “Are you alone?”

  “I am.”

  She frowned, gesturing for him to enter. “Is something wrong?”

  “Does something have to be wrong for me to visit my own daughter?”

  Unannounced on a Sunday night without his wife? It was a little odd, to say the least.

  He looked even thinner than the last time she’d seen him, Beth noticed, and a little hunched over, definitely wearing every one of his sixty-nine years since his recent stent surgery. Not an old man, by any stretch, but no longer vibrant.

  “What a dump,” he said, glancing around.

  “I know, right?”

  He beamed at her. “I’m proud of you for picking a good dump.”

  Beth laughed, knowing glowing praise from her father when she heard it. “Just how I like ’em, Dad. Comps are high in the neighborhood.”

  “You’re welcome for that,” he replied with a wink.

  She nodded her appreciation for what he continually did to the value of real estate on Mimosa Key. “And I can redo this place for thirty thousand.”

  He gave her a look. “Thirty?”

  “If I do the work myself,” she said.

  “You didn’t get a contractor yet?”

  “I might not need one. I have a plan that I think I can file as an owner operator and not have to pull county permits.”

  He surveyed the place some more. “Kitchen needs work.”

  “It does, and I can rip down a kitchen and put up a new one.” Mostl
y. “I can demo a tile floor and lay hardwood. I’ll use subs for the hardest parts, but if I do it for thirty thousand, I’ll get seventy-five more than I paid.”

  “But it’ll take six months.”

  Actually, nine or ten, she thought. Each flip was slow, and time was truly money in her business. But it was her business, and she loved that.

  He turned and grinned at her. “You’ll make this place nice, Beth. I know you will.”

  “Thanks, Dad.”

  He sat on the edge of a white leather sofa that looked out of place here, but it had staged nicely in the house she’d flipped a few miles from here. Only then did she notice the oversized white envelope that he set next to him. He looked around again, nodding. “Yes, excellent choice for a house flip.”

  “Thanks,” she said, sitting across from him. “If real estate has Ray Endicott’s stamp of approval, I’m golden.”

  “You don’t need my stamp of approval, Beth.” He leaned forward with a sly smile. “Most of the time, you don’t even want it.”

  “I’m trying to make it on my own,” she reminded him. “It’s your control I don’t like, but I do appreciate your approval.”

  “You have the instinct,” he said. “You have the touch. While I…” He closed his eyes and puffed out a sigh. “Better take up golf. With a cart.”

  So he was getting more and more serious about this retirement business. “That’s not a bad life, you know.”

  He narrowed his blue eyes behind bifocals. “I love my job and am not ready to give it up. But Jo thinks I’m going to keel over any minute and we’ll be sorry if we didn’t enjoy our ‘golden years’ together.”

  “Maybe she’s right,” she said. “You know, nobody ever looked up from their deathbed and wished for more time at the office.”

  “Says my workaholic daughter.”

  “I’m not a few months from seventy, though,” she said, standing. “You want something to drink?”

  “I want people to stop talking about me dying,” he said gruffly. “And I also want a dry martini with two olives, but I’ll take water.”

  She walked around the awkward wall that separated the kitchen from the living area, already wishing for the open concept she’d mapped out. “No one’s talking about you dying, Dad. We’re talking about you living life to the fullest in the many years you have left.”