by Sarah Monzon
Bill studied him, mulling it over, and Adam sent up a tiny plea toward heaven. Just one word. Please. Problem was, he didn’t know if he was asking God to influence Bill to take Curtis Haywood’s case or reject it.
“I like you, Carrington. I really do. But pro bono on a case like this?” He shook his head. “The polls say I don’t need PR that bad.” His hand with the phone rose, his thumbs flying again. “Sorry,” he called over his shoulder.
Adam felt both disappointment and relief. He’d have to find another good lawyer who’d take on the case, but Curtis Haywood was probably better off without Bill Mabrey anyway.
Glancing at his wristwatch, he picked up his pace and headed back to his car, stopping off at a dollar store to pick up a few things before driving to the Arroyo residence.
Olivia was already outside when he pulled up to the drive. He had to practically sprint around the car to make it to the passenger’s side to beat her at opening the door.
She placed a hand on her hip. “Really?”
He winked. “Get used to it. My mama raised a gentleman.”
She shook her head but smiled as she slid into the seat and buckled up.
He put the car in reverse and pulled out of the drive, pointing the car toward the highway. After making a left turn, he rested his hand palm side up on the center console. He could easily reach over and take her hand, but he needed to be sure this was something she wanted too. That he hadn’t been too forward, led where she didn’t want to follow.
Warm fingers grazed his palm, sending delicious chills up his arm. Her hand lay atop his, palm to palm, digit to digit. His gaze flicked down. How could such a light touch have such a moving effect on him? Her hand was small compared to his. Her fingers shorter by an inch. Delicate. Soft. Capable. She rotated her wrist and let her fingers slip into the space between his own, and he curled his around her hand.
“Remind me to thank your mama.”
He did not want to talk or think about his mama right now.
“For raising such a gentleman.”
He lifted her hand and kissed the back of it. He really should stop. Kissing her so much, that is. But ever since the first moment his lips met hers, they didn’t want to be anywhere else but on her. He cast her a wicked grin. Okay, so maybe Anita Carrington hadn’t raised such a gentleman after all.
They crossed a bridge over the intercoastal waterways, and Olivia sat up straighter. “Are we going to the beach? You should have told me. I’d have changed into a bathing suit.”
A gentleman, Adam. He shut down all avenues his brain wanted to jump to. Unlike some arguments, he could control himself when a woman showed a little skin. And in the Florida heat where the only reprieve from soaring summer temperatures was to jump into a pool or the ocean, swimsuits weren’t only practical, they were necessary. Only, maybe not today.
He looked out the side window and watched as the fronds of a coconut palm blew in the wind. Perfect. “We’ll come back to swim another day.”
She tilted her head. “Okay, beach but no swimming. A romantic stroll, perhaps?”
“Add that to our to-do list.”
“We have a to-do list? That sounds…like work.”
He laughed. “A list of things we want to do together. Is that better?”
“Hmmm….” Her lips pushed to the side. “What else would be on this list?”
“Kissing needs to go on the very top, if you ask me.” He glanced over to find her face reddening. He really shouldn’t take such pleasure in making her blush. “Your turn to pick something.”
She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’ve always wanted to go on one of those canoe trips at night when the bioluminescent algae is in bloom.”
“Done. Add it to the list.” He parked the car and gave her a threatening look. “Don’t you dare open that door.”
She grinned. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
“Good.”
He walked around the car and opened her door, then fished out the dollar-store bag from the back.
“What’s that?”
He sealed his lips and started humming a tune from Mary Poppins. Picking up her hand, he led her down the steps covered in loose sand and onto the beach. The white granules crunched under his feet and made walking difficult.
When they reached the hard-packed sand where the tide had recently been playing a game of tag, he stopped. Water pushed up onto the shore by their feet, the ends of the waves white and foamy. Beyond the sand bar in the distance, the beginning of waves built, and the water near their toes receded to be replaced a second later with the flow of more water.
The ocean sang in its peaceful cadence, the roar of a crash followed by the soft shushing. A seagull cawed overhead, and Adam breathed in the salty sea air. He let the familiar feel of sand between his toes, sun on his skin chased by a gentle breeze, and the consistent ebb and flow of the ocean drain the stress from his muscles. He’d been at the courthouse less than twenty minutes, and even that small amount of time had twisted him up in knots.
“Wait. I know that song.” Olivia sang a few bars. “We’re going to fly kites?”
Adam took another deep breath. “I was eleven when Amber was born. She was sickly as a baby. Very colicky, and she cried all the time. Mom and Dad were exhausted from tag-team rocking and bouncing her. Trent, Michael, and I got to the point where we couldn’t handle all the racket her little lungs made.” He screwed up his face. “She’s cute and quiet now, but you wouldn’t believe how loud she could scream back then.”
Olivia laughed when he shuddered dramatically.
“Anyway, we had to get out of the house, so we’d ride our bikes to an open space and fly kites.” He shrugged, though he wasn’t sure why. Kites might have sounded like a dumb first date, but he’d wanted to share something meaningful and personal with her.
“So I take it you’re pretty good at this kite-flying thing.” She laid a soft hand on his arm, but her eyes held that twinkle he loved so much. In one touch she assured him she understood why he’d chosen this activity while also lightening the mood.
“I could give Dick Van Dyke a run for his money.”
“Those are big words.”
“And no idle boasting.”
She sat down in the sand and leaned back on her elbows. “Okay, let’s see it.”
“Oh, no. You’re flying one too.”
She lowered her eyes, then peered up at him through her lashes. “What if I don’t know how?”
She was teasing him, the minx. Well, two could play that game. “I’ll teach you.” He reached into the bag and pulled out the first kite.
She looked at it and laughed. “Elsa?”
He put on an unrepentant expression. “It was either that or Cinderella, and I didn’t think you were the waiting-around-for-prince-charming type of princess.”
“No? But I’m the born-with-powers-I-can’t-control princess?”
He winked. “You’ve already cast a spell on me.”
She rolled her eyes, but her smile tipped wider. “And what do you have? I might want to trade.”
He pulled out the other kite.
She laughed. “Spider-Man. Nice choice. But remember—with great power comes great responsibility.” Her face froze.
Concern pinched his ribs. “You okay?”
Her mouth lifted in another smile, but this one looked less genuine, more forced. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”
He wanted to ask again, make sure she was really all right, but she waved him away and assembled her kite, letting out the string. “So how do I do this thing?”
Elsa lay facedown in the sand at their feet. “First you need to pick the kite up and put your back to the wind.”
Olivia picked up the kite and turned her back to him. “Now what?”
“Now let the line out, and the wind will do the rest.”
She unraveled the string from around the handle faster than you could say supercalifragilisticexpialidocious, and the kite fell
to the ground. “Oops.” She looked at him over her shoulder, her lips puckered. “Maybe you should get over here and help me.”
He took a few steps forward, her back inches from his chest. This felt a little like when Kevin Costner helped Rene Russo’s golf swing in Tin Cup. Wrapping his arms loosely around her, he gently gripped her left wrist and rewound some of the string with his other hand. She leaned back a fraction, enough that the material of his loose T-shirt now tickled his chest and abs but not enough that she touched him. His breath fanned along the hair loose at her shoulders, mesmerizing him with their small movements.
The breeze kicked up, and her hair blew back and across his cheek. It smelled of orange blossoms—fresh, life, and new beginnings. Blood pounded in his ears, but with a light touch he released her wrist and gathered her hair, pulling it across the back of her neck and laying it over the opposite shoulder. The elegant lines of her neck exposed, he exhaled, digging into that self-control he’d so recently claimed he had, lest he allow his lips to caress the tender spot just below her earlobe.
Pulling his gaze away, he reeled in the kite string until he hooked a finger over the bridle point. He lowered his head until it came abreast of hers. “You want to let the string out slowly as the wind picks it up.” He curved his right hand over hers, allowing the kite to slowly pull the string through their fingers. “Good. Now when it’s about this far away, pull on the line just a little so that it will climb up. There you go. You’ve got it.”
He stepped back to let her fly Elsa on her own, but as soon as he let go, the ice princess plummeted to the ground.
Olivia turned around to face him. “I think I might need another lesson.”
Adam looked down at the kite, then back up at Olivia, noticing the laughter she tried to suppress behind an innocent look.
He planted his hands on his hips, but laughed. “You little sneak. You can get that kite in the air all on your own, can’t you?”
She tossed him a saucy grin. “Maybe. But what would be the fun in that?”
What fun indeed. He caught her around the middle, his fingers poking her ribs, and she howled in laughter. He’d met his match in this woman. She kept him on his toes, challenged him, and lit a spark of hope inside his soul. Maybe he didn’t deserve her, deserve it. Happiness. But he’d take the grace—the unmerited kindness—as he continued to work to be worthy of such goodness once again.
Chapter 26
Florida, 1826
Asa paced in front of the fire, his large frame wound tight. “I knew this was gonna happen. Knew they’d let people starve rather than hold up their end of the bargain.” He wiped his nose with the back of his hand. “Treat their horses better than they treat us, that’s what.” His feet stopped, and he met Winnie’s gaze where she formed corn cakes to bake on the fire’s coals. “We should escape while we can. To Mexico. Now. Before those who’re still fightin’ for our return to slavery, not to mention the removal of all the Indians from this land, grow stronger.”
“Otter’s only two years old,” Isaac argued. He too cast glances at Winnie, but where her father’s eyes were wild and hard, her brother’s held concern and determination. “A trip to Mexico is too much for him. Winnie too.”
Winnie laid the spheres of dough along the hot coals, holding her tongue. She looked over at Nokosi, who’d yet to voice his opinion on the matter. He bent over his work, a stone of flint—one he’d found along a rocky riverbed—in one hand and a hammerstone in the other. The flint had a white layer over the top, and he held it to a smooth rock that lay on the ground between his feet. He readjusted his grip on the oblong rock that he used as a hammerstone before he smashed it along the surface of the flint, splintering off flakes.
Winnie had watched him knap many times and had gotten good at predicting what tool or weapon he fashioned from the core of the flint stone. He was at the beginning of the process, but due to shape and size, her husband had the beginnings of an axe-head in his hands. It would be days of hard work, chipping away at the stone to create something workable, then concentrating his strikes to refine and create a sharpened edge before binding it to a prepared wooden handle and smoothing out the surface by rubbing it with the hammerstone.
Nokosi exhaled and laid aside his tools. He turned his attention to the small boy asleep on a blanket by his side before he lifted his eyes. “The reservation is a hard place. The land has suffered for lack of water and does not produce enough to fill everyone’s bellies. Our people were made promises, but instead they are dying, returning to Mother Earth for want of food.” He stood. “Our brothers who made the pact with the whites at Moultrie Creek have not endured as we have, since they were allowed to keep their villages along the Apalachicola River. Our voice must be heard, and if Neamatha and the other four mekkos will not speak, then I will. I will meet with the man at Fort Brooke. Hold them to their promise.”
Asa crossed his beefy arms over his barrel chest, but Isaac stepped forward. “I’ll go with you.”
“It is good.” Nokosi nodded and held out a hand to Winnie. “Make provisions, wife. We ride at sunrise.”
Winnie stood and shook out her skirts. She didn’t need to ask if the we included her and their son. Ever since he’d rescued her from the slave patroller, Nokosi had kept her and Otter close. In truth, she was glad he wouldn’t leave them behind.
While she didn’t relish the idea of trekking through the marsh to Fort Brooke, the idea of being separated from her husband sliced her heart. Per the treaty, some Seminoles had handed over their slaves, but others had not. Those bent on retrieving and stealing back the property they thought they’d lost were using any means available to them. It had never been safe for those whose skin did not match her own, but the danger had multiplied as more settlers headed south into the new territory that had so recently been held by Spanish rule.
Using a stick, Winnie pulled the cornmeal cakes from the coals. They, along with some dried meat and fresh berries she’d picked earlier in the day, would serve to sustain them on their journey. She wrapped up the bread and placed them in a sack along with the other foodstuffs.
Otter stirred on the blanket, his large eyes blinking open. He sat up and rubbed at his eyes, then spotted her. Pushing up onto his feet, he ran to her and raised his hands. At this age, he should be speaking, but other than a few grunts, he communicated through gestures and expressions.
She swooped down and picked him up, settling him on her hip. Part of her feared something was wrong with her son. The other kids his age were stringing words together, and he had yet to say his first. Nokosi assured her that Otter would talk when he was ready and that when he did, his words would set the world on fire.
Winnie kissed her son’s temple and gently moved his hand that grabbed at her breast. The time to wean had come, but he’d been fighting her hard on the matter, her little angel becoming downright demanding. She picked up a red-ripe strawberry and offered it to him. “It’s good. Try it.” She placed it to his lips. When she thought he’d push it away like he’d done every other time, his mouth parted, and his teeth slid into the fruit’s flesh. He looked at her, eyes wide, and grabbed the berry, shoving the rest into his mouth. Winnie laughed and offered him another as she continued to collect things they’d need for their trip.
She wrapped a light poncho around her shoulders, the predawn air holding a hint of chill the sun would chase away the moment it crested the horizon. Otter snuggled deeper into the sling she’d placed him in, his body too big to be held this way any longer. When he fully awakened, he’d be pushing against the material’s confines and she’d have to let him out, but for now she relished his warmth tucked against her chest.
Nokosi and Isaac emerged from the trees, each leading a horse. Winnie had to swallow her trepidation at the size of the beasts. She almost offered to walk the whole journey but knew to do so would not only show weakness but slow them all down. Besides, she’d faced things more terrifying than these four-legged beasts.
Nokosi handed off the rope in his hand to Isaac and reached down to pull the sack holding their essentials over his head. At his hip dangled a tomahawk, the only visible weapon, though she was sure there were more on his person. The string of a bow slashed across Isaac’s chest, a quiverful of arrows at his back.
Otter twisted in the sling, his fists pushing against her belly. Soft sounds of protest drifted up to her before he pulled himself to sitting. Nokosi stepped to her side, a hand to their son’s head before he looked into her eyes. “He is no longer a babe.” Shifting his gaze, he nodded to Isaac. “He will ride with his pawa.”
Winnie swallowed but nodded.
Returning the black-and-white horse’s rope to Nokosi, Isaac swung up and onto the back of the one whose color resembled prairie grass in much need of rain. He reached his arm down. “I’ll take care of him.”
Winnie kissed Otter’s cheek before handing him up. “I know you will.”
Isaac situated the toddler in front of him, Otter grabbing great fistfuls of honey-colored mane and squealing in delight.
Before she knew what was happening, large hands encircled her waist and lifted her into the air and onto the other horse’s back. In a graceful leap, Nokosi settled behind her, one hand in control of the reins while the other splayed across her stomach.
“Relax.” He breathed the word, the hot air coming from his mouth dancing across her ear. A ripple ran down her spine. Married these years and still he had this effect on her. May it never change.
She allowed her muscles to unclench and sway with the movement of the horse, her back to rest against Nokosi’s broad chest. Maybe traveling on horseback was better than trekking on foot.
“What do you think the man at Fort Brooke will say? Do?”
“I do not know.”
The long night of preparation soon wore on Winnie, and she drifted off to sleep. When she awoke, she wasn’t sure how much time had passed, only that they slowed. By the time she blinked the sleep away, they had stopped. In the distance she noticed crude structures made from felled trees stacked upon each other, the red, white, and blue flag flapping from a tall pole in front. Tents pitched and lined in military precision. A few soldiers standing guard.