Barefoot at Moonrise (Barefoot Bay Timeless Book 2) Page 7

  Behind him, the crew slid into place, with Hanrahan at the wheel. Ken reached for the radio mic to report their movement. For a second, nothing came out of his mouth. Nothing registered except the impossible reality of…

  A baby. His baby. His and Beth’s.

  “Captain, why are you smiling?”

  “Love this job, Irish,” he said, right before he pressed the talk button. “I freaking love this job.”

  Chapter Six

  Beth’s ears were still ringing long after the deafening loudspeaker went quiet and the two engines screamed out of the garage. Now there was only silence.

  Even Sally had followed her master out, leaving Beth alone.

  The low-grade hum of life was suddenly gone, with only the aroma of something Italian in the air. She sat stone still, staring at the empty chair where, less than two minutes ago, she’d delivered life-altering news to a man who…

  I care like nothing I’ve ever cared about in my whole life.

  She dropped back, letting that reaction sink in. Well, what had she expected? A man who’d say, Not my problem, babe? Of course not.

  Even though she’d spent only one short night with him and six months over two dozen years ago, she knew that honor and integrity ran through every vein in Ken Cavanaugh’s body.

  Those qualities were sure on display here. She closed her eyes and conjured up the man who’d stolen her breath when he’d come around the corner and walked toward her like he wanted to claim her.

  His uniform was so…oh hell. Call it a cliché because it was, but that uniform was hot. Who knew a blue shirt could look so good with that salt-and-pepper hair and suntanned skin? And all those bars and insignias on his collar and muscles in his shoulders could make her as dizzy as the day she’d nearly keeled over in the Super Min.

  When that alarm rang, he shot up like a soldier, marched off to his war, didn’t even hesitate to go running into a burning house or face down whatever life-threatening crisis that box was screaming about.

  A possible house fire. The announcement blaring through the loudspeakers still reverberated through Beth’s bones.

  Ken hadn’t even flinched.

  She closed her eyes as the ringing stopped in her ears and she could think again. She’d done so well compartmentalizing Ken after she’d last seen him. Except for a few long and achy nights when she gave in and remembered every sizzling detail of making love to him, she’d succeeded in not falling into the hole of longing.

  And then, two weeks ago, when her life tilted sideways and she found out she was pregnant, her thoughts about Ken changed completely. All that mattered was her baby…and the fact that it was his baby, too. She’d known how he’d react: possessive, happy, maybe a little proud. And of course he’d want—

  “Hello?”

  Beth whipped around as an older woman in a stiff blue shirt not unlike the one Ken wore stepped into the doorway of the office.

  “Oh, sorry,” Beth said, pushing up. “I guess I should leave.” Or should she? Did Ken’s warning of we’re not done here mean the conversation would continue between fire calls? She had no idea. “I was talking to—”

  “Captain Cav, I know. Every person in the station knows.” The woman added an easy smile that crinkled a soft sixtysomething face. “Now you can tell me everything so when they get back, I can curry favors for a week by doling out the truth, or what I want them to think is the truth.” She came into the office, extending her hand. “I’m Pookie McPherson, assistant to the chief.”

  Beth shook her hand. “Pookie?”

  “Don’t be fooled by the cute name or my thinning hair. I’m tougher than all of these studs put together, and they know it or they wouldn’t cry on my ample bosom regularly.” She patted that bosom, her hand landing over the fire station insignia sewn into a blue chambray shirt. “So, who are you?” she asked.

  “Oh, I’m sorry.” Telling a man he was about to be a father had thrown basic manners out the window. “Bethany Endicott.”

  “Oh, I know that. I mean who are you as it relates to Captain Cavanaugh?”

  She let out a soft laugh at this new level of bluntness. “I’m an…acquaintance.”

  “Ahh.” She nodded and reached into the pocket of her khaki pants, pulling out a folded piece of paper and flipping it open. “How long have you been seeing him?” she asked.

  “Oh, I’m not…” Good God. “No. We knew each other in high school. What is that?” Beth asked, gesturing to the paper.

  “A betting pool. High school, huh? So you hooked up with him at that reunion he was at a few weeks ago?”

  Forget blunt. This was an interrogation. “We reacquainted ourselves there, if you must know.”

  “Oh, I must.” She snapped the paper open and did another once-over. “He’s my favorite, that’s why.”

  “I see.”

  “I mean, I love them all, even some of the rookies who have the common sense of a doughnut. But Captain Cav? He’s…special.” There was a subtle warning in her voice, as if Beth didn’t know that.

  But she unequivocally did. “He is.”

  “I don’t just mean TD and H, which is kind of the norm for the men around here.”

  TD and…? Oh. Tall, dark, and handsome.

  “They all look damn good without their shirts on,” Pookie continued. “Don’t think because I don’t have a single drop of estrogen left in me that I don’t look, ’cause, honey, I do. Captain Cav’s particularly nice shirtless. Even better than some of the young ones, you know?”

  “I know.”

  She inched closer. “You do, do you?” Pookie gave a little smirk of victory and fluttered the paper. “So his dry spell is over? Can I put good money on it and win?”

  Beth laughed again, more from disbelief than anything. “Is the Spanish Inquisition also the norm around here?”

  “When one of my boys is involved, yes.”

  “Ken is hardly a boy.”

  “As you apparently well know.” She waved a hand, as if pushing away whatever Beth would come back with, not that there was anything.

  Beth glanced at her handbag, longing for escape, but Ken’s parting shot still echoed in her head.

  “How long do you think he’ll be?” she asked.

  “Could be a while at this one.”

  “Is it really a house fire?”

  Pookie shrugged. “Caller smelled smoke but didn’t see flames. Could be a fire, could be a faulty wire in the AC unit, could be a false alarm, could be a raging inferno and somebody doesn’t come back.”

  Beth gasped. “Really?”

  The other woman fired a get real look at her, then narrowed her gray eyes. “Firefighting is dangerous. Are you aware of that? Do you want to be involved with someone who risks his or her life to save others? Because being a firefighter’s spouse is no easy job.”

  Her jaw dropped. “I’m not going to marry him.”

  “Really?” She seemed unfazed. “Because after one look at you, I not only put twenty bucks on the end of the dry spell, I also started a new pool. My money is on the ‘serious relationship with possible name change involved’ block.”

  Beth blinked at her. “Name change?”

  “Oh, you’re one of those who has to keep her name, huh? Fine. But the square still works. There are four to bet on.” She held up her fingers and started counting. “One-night stand, short-term fling, casual dating that ends in six months, and serious-slash-possible wife.” She looked Beth up and down two times quickly. “You’re nobody’s one-night stand.”

  Beth lifted a brow. “You might have bet wrong on that, Pookie.” Turning, she lifted her bag from the chair and slipped it on her shoulder. “But thanks for the vote of confidence.”

  She smiled and stepped to the side. “I didn’t mean to scare you off, Miss Endicott.”

  “I’m not scared.” She gave the woman a smile. “But I hope you didn’t put a lot of money on your bet.”

  “Ten bucks. Always ten. And I never lose the relation
ship pools. Never.” She leaned a little closer. “Of course, don’t ask me about the Super Bowl. I get annihilated every year. Now, Moonshine, he put twenty bucks on short-term fling.”

  “Moonshine?”

  “Dalton Conway. He’s from Kentucky. Good firefighter but not a great judge of character. Because Captain Cav wouldn’t have brought a fling into his office. Not when Sally’s here. That Cara or Carrie creature who kept hunting him down? Would not let her near Sally. That’s how I knew about you.”

  He had made a big deal out of her meeting his dog. “No offense, Pookie, but you really don’t know…about me.” Like the fact that I’m carrying Captain Cav’s baby. Wonder if anyone had bet on that. Talk about a long shot on the odds.

  “If you say so. But I will.” Pookie put a friendly arm on Beth’s back and led her out. “That’s kind of what I do.”

  As they turned the corner into the now empty garage, Sally lumbered over to Beth, nuzzling her leg.

  “Told ya,” Pookie said.

  “Would you let Captain Cavanaugh know that he can call me? Here’s my card.”

  Pookie took the card and examined it carefully, no doubt off to run a Google search. “I will. I’m sure we’ll see you again soon. Bye!” Pookie pivoted and went back into the station, leaving Beth to look down to meet big brown affectionate eyes in a cute face with a barrel of a belly.

  “Lay down, Sally.” She reached down and rubbed the dog’s head and started walking away, but Sally stayed right next to her until the edge of the firehouse property. Then she lowered her girth to the ground and watched Beth leave.

  * * *

  The shift was freaking interminable, with two more callouts, that training session he hadn’t been fully prepared to teach, and constant interruptions that made Ken want to punch someone. He needed time to think, and got very little of it, clocking out at seven the next morning, desperate to see Beth. He’d showered and changed at the station, handed Sally off to the next crew, and didn’t even bother going home.

  He’d used the only free time he had to call in a favor to a friend in dispatch down in Collier County. His buddy had access to every record in the county, including the addresses that had recently closed and changed ownership.

  It hadn’t been difficult to find her address. Sure, he had a cell phone number on a business card, but he’d rather show up and talk in person. A few weeks ago, he’d have considered that stalking and killed the idea before it fully formed. But the baby changed the game, and he wasn’t going to quietly step away or give her money or sign some stupid document. This was his kid, damn it.

  He drove through the residential neighborhood, recognizing the signs of money coming in, signs that could actually be seen all over this island, mostly thanks to the resort in Barefoot Bay. Some of these houses, circa 1970 and 1980, were already repainted, remodeled, and redone. Cracked concrete driveways had been paved with upscale bricks and cheap shingle roofs changed out to statement-making barrel tile. Weed-thick lawns were manicured and trimmed with regal queen palms.

  Beth was in the right business at the right time, that was for sure.

  As he approached the house, the first thing he saw was a large green Dumpster in the driveway, and his heart rate kicked up. She wouldn’t demo a house pregnant, would she?

  Oh hell, who was he kidding? Miss Independent might do anything.

  He parked his truck on the street and climbed out, peering at the house his dispatcher had sent him to. One story, maybe twenty-five hundred square feet tops, plain as dirt.

  As he got closer, he heard music coming through the screen door. Not any old music—this sounded like a full fifty-piece orchestra hitting the crescendo of something screechy and classical.

  Who listened to stuff like that?

  He checked the notes on this phone again, making sure he had the right address. Yep. This was 185 Mangrove Trail, recently purchased by Bethany Eleanor Endicott.

  That was his girl. Well, not technically. Not…yet.

  He reached the front door, making a face as the music reverberated, lifting his hand to knock but stopping himself at the sight of Beth. She stood in profile in the dining room, staring at something ahead, but hidden behind a wall, one hand on her stomach. She wore a simple white T-shirt tied in a knot at her waist, showing a good two inches of skin above extremely short jean cutoffs and legs that went on for days.

  Everything in him stirred, like any time he looked at her.

  She was talking—well, her mouth was moving—the music was so loud he couldn’t hear anything.

  He tapped on the door, but she didn’t hear him, tipping her head and continuing her mouth-moving. She pointed at something in what he assumed was the kitchen and noticed a sledgehammer leaning against the wall.

  Suddenly, the music stopped, allowing him to hear her.

  “We could certainly put the sink there, cupcake.”

  Cupcake? Who the hell was she talking to?

  “But that would depend on the cabinet guys—” She turned, as if she sensed someone at the door, shading her eyes to see what he imagined was his silhouette with the morning sun backlighting him. “Oh, thank God, you’re here.”

  “Didn’t think you’d be so happy to see me.”

  She stopped dead in her tracks. “Ken?”

  “You were expecting someone else?”

  Her shoulders sank as she took a few steps to the door. “The world’s most unreliable subcontractor.”

  “Who likes Mozart?”

  “It was Bach, but no, that’s for…” She opened the screen door to let him in, and he could see some color rise to her cheeks. “For the baby,” she murmured. “It’s supposed to build brain cells or something.”

  An unfamiliar feeling washed over him, so new he couldn’t even name it. A sense of…anticipation? Joy? Pride? A sudden urge to call something cupcake?

  Her eyes narrowed in distrust. “Wait, what are you doing here? How did you find my house?”

  “Firefighter connections.”

  Still looking at him, she tucked her fingers into the pockets of her denim shorts. “You could have called.”

  “I wanted to see you.”

  She inhaled slowly and nodded. “Okay…well, here I am. And here’s my house. It’s kitchen demo day.”

  He narrowed his eyes in warning, and they dropped to her stomach. “Please tell me you are not—”

  “I am not,” she assured him. “But it’s killing me to wait for the sub who is.”

  He glanced around, seeing an incredible amount of orderliness for a house about to be wrecked. In the corner of the dining room there was a makeshift kitchen with a hot plate, a dorm-size fridge with plastic gallons of water on top, and a few dishes on a single plastic rack. Clearly labeled boxes lined a wall. On a drape-covered dining table a selection of tools was spread neatly, like a chef might line up knives before preparing a big meal.

  “There’s a method to your madness, I see.”

  “Of course there is. The water’s off in the whole house—for now, anyway—all the circuits to the kitchen are off at the breaker box, everything is emptied and prepped, and the base screws and upper fasteners are out. I’ve done everything I can except what I normally do.”

  “Demolish.”

  “The best part, but I have to be safe.”

  “Good…” He almost said girl but thought better of it. “Call,” he finished.

  She shook her head slowly. “It pains me, especially because the doctor said normal physical activity is fine.”

  “Lifting a sledgehammer is not normal physical activity.”

  “No, I realize that. But…” She peered beyond him to the open door. “The sub was supposed to be here over an hour ago and I’m getting impatient.”

  “Then it’s a good thing I’m here.” He stepped deeper into the house, surveying the space.

  “Oh, you don’t have to—”

  “Can it.” He flicked at the sleeves of his T-shirt, already dressed for work. “Which
cabinet is first?”

  “Ken.”

  “What?”

  “You didn’t come over here to demo a kitchen. We need to finish our conversation.”

  “We can finish it while we work. And by work, I mean you tell me what to do while you sit there and not play that god-awful music. Oh, and tell me you have a working coffeepot, because I got off a twenty-four-hour shift less than an hour ago and didn’t catch more than three hours’ sleep.”

  Because someone came into the station yesterday and told me she was pregnant.

  “I…I can’t…”

  “You can’t do the demo, the sub is a no-show, and I’m here to help. Coffee?”

  She walked toward the dining area. “Just what I need—another man to tell me what to do,” she said under her breath, lifting a coffeemaker from the floor to place it on the table.

  “Maybe you didn’t hear me. I said, you tell me what to do and I do it.”

  She bent down to plug in the coffeemaker, her ponytail falling in a way that covered her expression. “Okay. Sorry. I’m frustrated.”

  “And pregnant.”

  She looked up, a few strands of hair escaping the elastic and falling over her eye. “Which doesn’t change anything except my ability to pry cabinets off the wall.”

  “Doesn’t it change your mood?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know yet. I’ve been in a perpetual bad mood since I called this sub yesterday. I knew it was a mistake, but everyone else is booked for months.”

  “Well, I’m here.” He grabbed a breaker bar from the table and a pair of clear goggles and headed into the galley kitchen. “These cabinets and the wall behind?”

  “Yes, but not the wall yet.” She pointed at the first cabinet. “Start with that bank, beginning at the farthest to the left. Be sure to check for screws and cut carefully through any caulking.”

  He glanced at her. “You saving the cabinets for the garage?”

  “No, they’re trash.”

  “You’re not donating them or planning to do anything with them?”