Barefoot at Moonrise (Barefoot Bay Timeless Book 2) Page 5

  She heard him harrumph while she poured ice water and found him up and examining a window when she returned. “Double pane,” he says. “You don’t have to replace these.”

  “But I will because the frames are hideous.” She handed him the water.

  “Then you’ve changed an egress and you’ll have to pull a permit.”

  “Not if I don’t restructure the window.” She grinned at him. “I’m not a rookie, Dad.”

  “No, you’re not.” He took a sip, then returned to the sofa, putting the glass down. “Which is why…”

  When his voice trailed off, she guessed the real reason he was here, and without Josie, too. They’d danced around the possibility of her taking over his business a few times since he had the stent surgery, and she’d tried to make it clear, without hurting his feelings, that she didn’t want the job.

  Was that what he had in that envelope? A contract? An offer? A press release announcing his plans? “Why what?” she prodded, following him to sit again.

  He sighed. “I know you said running EDC is not your thing. But I still think you could make a go of it.”

  “I thought you were leaning toward giving the business to Landon,” she said, hoping that was true. She didn’t want to reject the offer out of hand, but she didn’t want to completely change the life she’d built on her own, either.

  “Landon doesn’t see homes,” he said. “He sees parcels of land. He doesn’t see one big company. He sees divisions that can be sold off for profit so he can pay for Rebecca’s champagne taste and college for all their kids. He doesn’t see the history of the name Endicott on this island.”

  His father had been one of the founders, and Ray had built the name to a household level on Mimosa Key. True enough, Landon McDowell had been close to eighteen when his mother married Beth’s father, and he’d never changed his name to Endicott and Ray had never “adopted” him.

  “Landon sees dollar signs,” he said with clear disappointment in his voice.

  Landon and Rebecca did live high on the hog, but her stepbrother’s business acumen would be a boon to EDC. At least, that’s what she’d been telling her father. She didn’t want to be CEO of his company—because she knew damn well her father would never really stop making all the important decisions. And the unimportant ones.

  “Then write the contract so he can’t change things,” Beth told him. “Put it in the fine print that he has to carry on your business in one piece and continue the development of this island and property on the mainland with the same respect you’ve shown the environment and the same dedication to success and quality.”

  He threw up his hands. “See? You get it, Beth. He doesn’t.”

  “He’s very smart and a successful businessman.”

  “Not that successful,” he snorted, pushing to a stand. “And, damn it, he’s not really my son, and not my firstborn. But Josie, obviously, feels differently.”

  Beth sipped her water, the habit of not discussing Josie deeply ingrained since she was young. Josie had always felt differently about the family. She acted like the laws of primogeniture ruled the Endicott family, and despite the fact that he was a stepson, Landon McDowell was the oldest and qualified as the firstborn.

  Beth had shared a special relationship with her father, fueled by that always-present desire to make him happy and somehow make up for the fact that her birth took the life of a woman he loved.

  But as she got older—and after a marriage to another controlling man—she realized she had to make decisions for herself, not her dad. So, she didn’t really mind the fact that Landon was “favored” in so many things. It pissed off RJ, though, as he got older and realized the unfairness of his situation.

  “I don’t suppose you’d consider giving some of your business to your other son?” she asked.

  Dad huffed out a breath. “The one who wrecked his car and needed money to buy a new one?”

  “That was last year, Dad.”

  “It was the third time, Beth.” He shook his head. “RJ has to grow up.”

  “You need to give him a chance to do that.”

  “He’s not learning on my business.”

  As she suspected, it would always be his business. Which was precisely why she didn’t want it. She didn’t want to be under that thumb. Under anyone’s thumb.

  “You know, this is the kind of thing that tears families apart,” she said, standing up to join him and make her point. “I don’t want anything to happen to you and Josie.”

  “Nothing’s going to happen with Josie.”

  “But you know how she is about Landon. She’s made you happy for many, many years, Dad, and I am willing to bet everything I have that she’ll make you happy for many more. Don’t make a decision that could impact your marriage.”

  He turned to her, his eyes surprisingly misty. “You have a good heart, Beth, you know that? Like Ellie.”

  The reminder of her mother twisted that good heart and squeezed out that old guilt.

  “And a good head for business,” he added. “So do me a favor and keep thinking about it, okay?”

  “All right. I’ll think.” She pressed her temples, fighting the headache that always started when she felt like she was disappointing her dad. She had to remember her days of people-pleasing—and Dad-pleasing—were over. “But I’m beat now. I was out late last night.”

  “I heard.”

  She drew back at the unmistakable implication in his voice. “You did?”

  He slowly walked back to the sofa and picked up the envelope, which she’d forgotten all about. “Some people at brunch today were talking about the Mimosa High reunion last night.” He lifted his brows. “Apparently, someone told Josie the sun was up when you were leaving. And not alone.”

  How could she forget how small a town this was? What if he’d heard exactly who it was who’d escorted her on that walk of shame? Would he remember Ken? Of course he would—he’d remember Johnny Cavanaugh, the only employee who’d ever died as a result of an accident while working for EDC.

  Dad tipped his head, as though thinking about what he was going to say. “You should be very careful being seen at seven in the morning wearing the same clothes you wore the night before.”

  And there it was. The real reason he’d come over, which had nothing to do with his business or who he’d give it to. To tell her what to do, and what not to do. And, possibly, who with.

  “You do realize I’m forty and don’t exactly need your permission to stay out all night.”

  “This isn’t about my permission, Beth.” He looked down at the envelope. “Do you remember the, uh, incident with John Cavanaugh?”

  The question caught her off guard. So he did know who she was with, and immediately took that association back to the…incident? Is that how he categorized a death at an EDC job site? “Of course I remember.”

  “Then you know why I would be concerned about you speaking with his son.”

  “Not exactly,” she said. “You do recall that a long time ago, he was my boyfriend.”

  “But his father was killed on my site.”

  She swallowed. “It’s history, Dad.”

  “And I’d like it to stay that way.”

  What was he implying? “You think he’d dredge that up for some reason?”

  “I don’t know,” he said simply. “I don’t know what his ulterior motive is with you.”

  Irritation rocked her. “His ulterior motive?” It might have been to get her in bed. It might have been to date her, but that…wasn’t going to happen. “I don’t think he has one,” she said. “But it doesn’t matter. I’m not going to see him again.”

  “That’s good.”

  Was it? It sure didn’t feel good. It felt sad.

  “I don’t know the man,” Dad continued. “But I do know he’s held a grudge against us for a long time, despite the settlement on the case, despite the fact that we had irrefutable proof that all the machinery on site had been inspected within thirty
days of the accident.”

  She shivered at the memory of what happened to Ken’s father when a huge generator fell on him and crushed the life out of him. She’d never known the amount of the “settlement”—only that there’d been rumors of “hush money,” despite the fact that Ray Endicott was quoted in the press as calling it a “gift” for the grieving family, since there was no proof of negligence on the part of EDC.

  “He may still hold that grudge,” Dad said.

  “And that’s why you’re here? To warn me off seeing him again? You think he can hurt EDC?”

  “No, that’s not what I’m saying at all. I’m just saying that there is more to the story, and it’s…complicated.”

  Complicated? Yeah, it usually was when people’s lives were ripped apart with grief and death and blame.

  Dad held the envelope out. “This is a copy of every pertinent document regarding that case. Some of this is highly confidential.”

  “Why? Does it implicate EDC?” she asked.

  He closed his eyes, clearly not wanting to answer that. “Read it and do with it what you will. Except share it with Ken Cavanaugh. That, you cannot do.”

  Another stab of fury made her stand even straighter. “You can’t come in here and tell me what I can and cannot do, Dad.” She tried to keep her voice slow and steady and not let him know the conversation was getting to her.

  “You’ll understand after you read it.”

  Except she wasn’t going to read it.

  He extended the envelope over the coffee table. “Take it, read it, and learn the facts. Then talk to me, please. Please.” He stepped closer. “But don’t talk to him about any of it.”

  “Then why are you giving this to me?”

  “So you know the whole story, but, be warned, if Ken Cavanaugh talks about the incident, he’s breaking a nondisclosure agreement his mother signed on behalf of the whole family.”

  “A nondisclosure agreement? Why would they need to be silenced?” Had they been paid hush money?

  “Read the papers, Beth.” He dropped the envelope on the table and nodded toward the door. “And let me know if you plan to see him again.”

  She resisted the urge to remind him of her age and independence again. “You don’t have to worry about that,” she said. “We have no intention of ever seeing each other again.”

  “Because of…” He gestured toward the envelope. “That?”

  Why lie? “Among other things.”

  He gave her a hug. “That’s probably a smart decision, Bethany.”

  Nothing felt smart about it right now.

  When Dad left, she picked up the envelope and flipped it over, tempted to open it and read. But to what end? She wasn’t going to see Ken again.

  Tossing it onto a pile of work papers that needed to be stored, she headed to the master bath and forced herself to think of how she’d renovate this little room…all by herself.

  Which was how she’d set her life up to be lived, right?

  * * *

  The feeling of loneliness never really left and, in fact, seemed to morph into something completely different over the next month or so. Exhaustion. No matter how much sleep Beth got, she wanted more, and this morning had been particularly awful because she’d started emptying the kitchen in preparation for the demolition and had forgotten to turn on the mini-fridge. The milk had soured overnight, and pouring it into her coffee had made her wretch.

  Not tomorrow, she vowed. She needed coffee, so on the way home from a meeting with a designer on the mainland, Beth pulled into the convenience store that sat at the heart of Mimosa Key.

  Inside, the bell rang, like a reminder to Beth that she should have gone to Publix in Naples instead. Charity Grambling, the weathered, ancient owner, sat on her perch behind the counter with all the authority of a federal judge, specs lowered, National Enquirer opened, opinion at the ready.

  “Hi, Charity.”

  “We have concealer for those circles under your eyes down in cosmetics.”

  She almost laughed, but nodded her thanks instead. “Just milk today. Vitamin D ought to do the trick.”

  “It’ll take more than that. The house-flipping business keeping you awake at night?” Charity asked, closing her reading material as if her new customer was so much more interesting than the lives of the Kardashians.

  “Nope, it’s all going fine.” She didn’t have the energy to argue with the old windbag tonight.

  “Too bad. I was hoping we could get those handsome Property Brothers down here to help you.”

  “Yeah, that’s…” She paused as she was about to turn down the last aisle, the milk she had her eye on suddenly swaying in the cooler. She put her hand to her temple, but the wave of dizziness increased rather than went away.

  “Anything’s better than that redneck Chip on Fixer Upper!” Charity’s voice floated through the store, but Beth barely heard it because her ears were ringing.

  What was wrong with her?

  A virus? An allergic reaction to Charity’s opinions?

  She took a deep breath and waited for the dizziness to pass, but it was compounded by a sudden bout of nausea. Her stomach rolled. Her head felt light. Her tongue thickened and, holy God in heaven, she was going to throw up.

  Right in the middle of the Super Min.

  “Charity…I…” She reached for the nearest display, her hand smashing on candies and gum.

  “What’s the matter?”

  She tried to answer but couldn’t. She heard Charity’s footsteps and tried to look over, but bile rose in her stomach and she fought to keep from heaving.

  “There’s the bathroom.” Charity shoved her toward a ladies’ room she honestly hadn’t even known was back there, forcing Beth through the door.

  Inside, she stumbled to the first stall, barely making it in time.

  After she threw up, she managed to straighten and lean against the stall wall. When did she pick up this bug?

  She wet a towel and pressed it to her cheeks, stealing a look at her pale face and dark circles. Maybe she should buy that concealer, after all.

  A few minutes later, she came out, the bout of sickness finally gone. “Thank you,” she said to Charity, who waited right outside the door, the closest thing to concern Beth had ever seen in the old woman’s eyes.

  “Don’t forget your milk,” Charity said.

  The thought of milk turned her stomach. “I don’t really want any now.”

  “Then how about you buy this?” She stuffed a small box into Beth’s hand as the bell rang and another customer walked in. Charity pivoted and marched back to the cash register as Beth looked down at the box.

  Suddenly, she remembered the last time she was dizzy and had thrown up.

  Chapter Five

  “This is going to be cold, Mrs. Endicott.”

  Beth braced herself. “It’s Miss or, I guess, Ms. Ms. Endicott. I mean, not that it matters, but it’s…not Mrs. Just…Beth. Okay?”

  “Okay.” The sweet technician named Shelley smiled and held the tube of gel a little higher. “You’ve been shaking since we walked in here, Beth. Relax.”

  Beth stared at her. Relax? Was she out of her mind? “I can’t,” Beth admitted. “Truth be told, I’ve been shaking for two weeks, since I first…suspected. I mean, this was not supposed to happen.”

  Shelley smiled like she’d heard that line before. “Sometimes the best things in life are surprises.”

  Well, this would be the world’s biggest surprise. “I don’t know if it’s on my chart, but I had my tubes tied.”

  “Oh.” Her eyes widened. “Certainly unexpected, then.”

  That was one way of putting it. “I kept ignoring every sign,” she admitted. “I was late. A little dizzy.” She cringed when Shelley smeared the gel over her stomach, which was still completely flat. “I was exhausted,” she continued.

  “What finally clued you in?” the other woman asked as she settled on a stool and reached for the ultrasound wand.

/>   “I started counting days…in disbelief. Then I took the test. Well, tests.”

  Shelley laughed. “Everyone thinks the first one’s wrong.”

  “I had my tubes tied,” she repeated with emphasis.

  “Pregnancy is possible after a tubal ligation,” she said. “I had another one in here a few weeks ago. Rare, but not unheard of.”

  “Was her baby…okay?” Beth asked, the question looming over everything.

  She didn’t answer, her focus on her monitor. “Oh, I see something.”

  “You do?” Her voice cracked. “Is it…in the right place?”

  She looked from the screen to Beth. “It’s—”

  A tap on the door stopped her. “It’s Dr. Moore,” a woman’s voice called from outside. “May I come in, Shelley?”

  “Yes, Doctor,” the technician answered.

  The door inched open, and the kind, bright blue eyes of Beth’s ob-gyn met hers. “I didn’t want to wait for the report,” Dr. Moore said with a reassuring smile.

  Beth looked at the technician expectantly, holding her breath, her heart pounding so hard she was surprised the ultrasound didn’t pick up the thumping.

  The doubt, the despair, the days of disbelief had dragged on while she waited to reach the seven-week point to determine if this baby was ectopic or not, since that was the risk with post-tubal pregnancies.

  “The baby is right where it’s supposed to be.” Shelley sounded positively triumphant, and Beth made a little mew sound in response.

  “I see that,” Dr. Moore said, taking a few steps closer and adding a tender touch to Beth’s shoulder. “Your worst worry can now be put to rest. Like I told you when you first came in here, not all post-tubal pregnancies are ectopic, but it is our biggest concern.”

  “And what about my…uterus?”

  Dr. Moore lifted the chart from the side of the table and looked at it again. “I wasn’t your doctor when you had your miscarriage, Beth, so I can’t really concur or argue his diagnosis of an incompetent uterus. But I will say I’ve seen far less competent ones deliver many healthy babies.”