Barefoot at Midnight (Barefoot Bay Timeless Book 3)

by Roxanne St Claire

  “Let’s move into our first cat-cow,” she said, not taking her eyes off him as she took her next breath.

  He winked at her, misplacing his hands, his butt in the air, his muscles bulging under the T-shirt. Okay, he looked great, but his form was atrocious.

  She continued a steady, slow delivery of instructions, keeping her voice modulated and calm. Important because, on the inside, she suddenly felt anything but modulated and calm.

  “Heart forward, pelvis tilted, and slowly exhale to cat. Remember to breathe with each movement.” She got up to walk out of his line of vision by pretending to adjust the shoulders of an older woman at the other end of the line but stealing a look at him.

  Instead of arching his back and then rounding it slowly with the beat of long breaths, he moved his back up and down with jerky speed like some kind of spastic hunchback. Biting her lip, she worked her way down the line of students.

  Law looked over his shoulder and raised his eyebrows like he needed help, but she ignored him. So he lifted his head and looked over the cats and cows being done between them, his green eyes twinkling even this far away.

  No chance of inner peace today.

  He cocked his head in invitation, and she shook her head ever so slightly as she returned to her mat, because her poor students had done nine cat-cows by now.

  “Curl your toes, lift your bottom, and here’s our first down dog.”

  She purposely faced away from him so that when she folded into an upside-down V, she could look through her legs and keep an eye on him.

  His dog was an abject mess, with bent arms—gorgeous, ripped, ink-decorated arms, but they were bent. His feet were too close together, and his back was bowed like a rookie gym rat who didn’t understand the pose at all.

  Libby rose to walk through the students again. “This is your first dog, so pedal your legs and get warmed up before you straighten.”

  The woman next to Law was a rookie, too, and kept glancing at him to see if she was doing it right. Jeez, now they were both wrong.

  Training and habit took her right over there, between them.

  “May I touch you?” she said to the woman.

  “Of course.”

  Libby pressed on the small of her back, whispering instructions so as not to bother the other students.

  “You may touch me, too,” Law said, smiling up at her. “Unless my form is textbook.”

  “If that were a textbook on function over form, you could be the cover.”

  He laughed as she continued her instructions. And didn’t touch him because she’d never have the balance to get through the standing poses.

  “Let’s move to a plank.” She demonstrated hers and glanced down at Law. And damn near fell on her face.

  His whole body stretched out over the Casa Blanca-provided mat in a classic execution of power and strength. His muscles bulged, his back spread, and the curve of his rear end demanded intense scrutiny, which she gave it.

  “That’s…perfect.” And then some.

  He gave her a smug look, and she just shook her head because he was about to get creamed.

  “Time for our vinyasa,” she said, assuming the same pose to demonstrate. “Hover over the mat to chaturanga, knees, chest, chin, then a gentle cobra.”

  She glanced over to see Law effortlessly move through the flow, following her every move. Damn it. Was there nothing the man couldn’t do? Once again, his look was pure cockiness.

  No, this would not do.

  Taking a breath, she started a sun salutation, moving through each pose with just a little more speed than usual. Then balanced it with a kripalu moon series that challenged many students. He struggled with the utkata konasana, but then, he was no goddess and the pose was easier for women.

  All of his standing poses were okay, she noticed. Better than okay. So she pushed harder until she found his weakness. Eagle. Bird of paradise. Anything that required standing on one leg made him tip, but he didn’t stop trying, which was endearing. And hilarious. And, somehow, still incredibly hot.

  By the time they got to hip openers, she was covered in sweat, and her students were wiped out.

  All but one, who wouldn’t quit no matter how much difficulty he had moving that thick thigh into a pelican pose. And when it came time to a wheel, he just lay on his mat and watched her do the backbend with a gaze that…well, wasn’t exactly how a student was supposed to gaze at his yoga instructor.

  They all needed a nice long savasana, but even during that final relaxation, Libby’s heart pumped and her breathing suffered.

  A few moments after the last namaste, the students rose, thanked her, rolled up their mats, and chatted about the day ahead. She talked to them and said good-bye, and all the while, Law stayed cross-legged on his mat, waiting for her.

  When the last of them left, she went back to her mat, sat down, and matched his pose, facing him. “So what did you think?”

  “Easy.”

  She snorted. “Not a single bird pose was easy for you.”

  He lifted mighty shoulders, and she could see the sweat darkening the T-shirt. So, not that easy. “You call that a workout? Bunch of pretzel twists, balancing acts, and what’s with the nap at the end?”

  She used her hand to shade her eyes since she faced east and the sun was well over the palm trees now. “Savasana,” she said, using the Sanskrit word. “Final relaxation. It’s critical to a good yoga class.”

  “That one guy was snoring.”

  “A compliment to the instructor.” She pressed her hands into the mat, narrowing her eyes. “What exactly are you doing here?”

  He got on his hands and knees and slowly crawled over the sand to her, managing to be both predatory and silly. “Have coffee with me,” he whispered when he was less than a foot away.

  “Why would I do that, Lawless?”

  He crawled one inch closer, so near to her that she could count his eyelashes and see the tiny flecks of gold the sun brought out in his green eyes. So near she could smell the heat on him and see every salt-and-pepper whisker in a beard that had grown even thicker overnight. So near she wanted to lean over and kiss that beautiful mouth.

  “Three letters, yoga bear.”

  “S-E-X?”

  “D-N-A.”

  She sucked in a breath. “What?”

  “I got it, you want it, let’s find it.”

  “Really? You want to get it now?”

  “Let’s start with a cup of coffee.”

  “Start with coffee,” she repeated, mocking him. “Then what? Finish with another dip in the gulf? And why would you help me? How would I know it’s real?”

  He laughed a little. “Do you have trust issues with everyone, or is it just me?”

  She let out a sigh of resignation and fell backward on the mat. He crawled right next to her, hovering over her, looking down in a way that made her want to wrap her arms around his neck and yank him on top of her.

  “Everyone,” she finally said. “And especially you.”

  He smiled and let his gaze skim her face, chest, and settle back up by looking into her eyes. “You were having more trouble in that class than I was.”

  “Only breathing.”

  “Because I make you breathless?”

  “Yes,” she admitted. “And you need to stop that right this minute.”

  He smiled like he had no intention of stopping any such thing. “Then have coffee with me and catch your breath.”

  As if she seriously considered saying no.

  Chapter Seven

  After they got coffee in the lobby, Libby suggested they walk back to the beach the long way, so they could pass by Chrysalis, the store where her daughter worked, but Jasmine hadn’t come in yet.

  So they wandered through the expansive Moroccan-themed lobby of the resort and talked about the last time they’d been here together, at the all-class reunion.

  “Are you still in touch with the other two men from the planning committee?” she asked, thinking
of the trio of fortysomething bachelors who had all the women whispering about “silver foxes” that week.

  “Saw Ken this morning,” he said.

  She felt her brows raise in surprise. “This morning? Before sunrise?”

  He just smiled as he pulled open the heavy glass door to one of the outside decks. “He told me that Mark and Emma are getting married right here in early October.”

  “Really? That’s awesome. I’d heard they’re engaged for real now and booked the resort for the wedding. Are you going?”

  “Of course. And get this, Ken and Beth are getting married the night before, same place.”

  “What?” She whipped around, stunned by this news. “I didn’t know they were that serious, though I heard they were dating.”

  “We’ve blown past dating. Baby boy Cav is due in four and a half months.”

  “So she’s four and half months pregnant?”

  “If that adds up to nine.”

  “But…” She did a quick calculation on a mental calendar, then her jaw dropped with the realization of when that conception had to have occurred. “They barely talked to each other at the reunion.”

  “I don’t think she got pregnant from talking.”

  She laughed lightly, but something pressed on her heart…something she didn’t understand and really didn’t like. She wasn’t jealous of Bethany Endicott or Emma DeWitt, who both found love through the high school reunion. She was just…wistful.

  But Libby Chesterfield wasn’t built for love, she reminded herself. She was built for sex, and every man she’d ever been with—including the two who married and divorced her—had made sure she knew that.

  “Why the big sigh?” he asked.

  Had she sighed? “Just so glad to see some happy ever afters come out of the Timeless reunion.”

  “And with the over-forty set, too,” he mused, gesturing toward a table tucked into a private area of the deck and surrounded by bright purple bougainvillea. “What about you, Libby? How is it possible you can stay single?”

  “I guess it’s a case of been there, done that, have the alimony to prove it doesn’t work. And you? How many times have you walked down the aisle and then met with a lawyer over the years?”

  “Never.”

  She wasn’t sure if this news surprised her or not. “You’ve never been married, Law?”

  “Nope. Not even close. I don’t need alimony to prove it doesn’t work.”

  “You can get all cynical without any help, thank you very much.”

  “You got it,” he said, pulling a chair out for her. “I just look at me and my life and know that stuff doesn’t work.”

  She studied him as he sat down at the small wooden table in the seat across from her. He looked even more attractive in sunlight than he had in moonlight. Rougher and sweatier and sexier, he was a man who called his own shots and didn’t second-guess them.

  She believed that if he planned to never marry, he never would. “You’re not the marrying type?” she asked.

  “I’m not…a connector,” he replied after giving the word some consideration. “I have a few friends, some distant relatives, the occasional work buddy.”

  “What about women?”

  “That’s the occasional work buddy.”

  She almost curled her lip. “That doesn’t sound very satisfying.”

  “Neither does two ex-husbands.”

  She lifted her coffee in a mock toast. “Touché. I walked right into that one.”

  After a moment and a sip of coffee, he said, “I think a good marriage is modeled for you, to be honest. My parents did not have one.” He put the cup down and eyed her intently, the unspoken question hanging in the air.

  What about her parents? One of whom had been MIA for her entire life.

  “My mother was probably not the best role model, either,” she finally said. “But it was never dull with her, I’ll tell you that.”

  “If we have the same Donna in mind, I can tell you that Jake loved her. Enough that he remembered her and talked about her many, many years later.”

  “Loved?” She snorted softly. “He was twenty-nine and getting some action from a local girl almost ten years his junior. I’m pretty sure the L-word wasn’t tossed around, at least not with any seriousness.”

  “But if this is the same woman—and it seems likely it is—he told me he never met another girl who even came close to her. And, yes, he called her a girl.”

  “She was twenty at the time,” she said. “Qualifies as a girl.”

  “And, for the record, he certainly didn’t know you and your brother were his,” Law said. “He would have told me that. He would have…” He closed his eyes. “He would have loved that.”

  She tipped her head and gave him a look that she hoped communicated just how naïve he sounded. “You better reach up and take your pal Jake off the pedestal you’ve stuck him on, Law. Or let me tell you what my mother has told me and he’ll topple right over and crack into a million pieces…just like Donna Chesterfield’s heart when the father of her babies acted like he didn’t know her name when she got knocked up.”

  “Knocked up.” He sounded like the phrase was completely foreign, or at least it was where his precious Jake was concerned.

  “Yeah, someone didn’t wear a raincoat, but in their defense, it was 1970, and I’m sure your saintly friend promised to pull out in time.”

  He inched back, holding his hands up. “Stop.” He looked beyond her at the water, thinking but silent for a moment. “Why didn’t you or your brother confront him about this when he was still alive? Why wait until after he’s gone and can’t defend himself?”

  “Because we never knew Jake Peterson existed, beyond some guy who owned a restaurant we’d never walked into in high school.”

  “Then who did you think was your father?”

  Libby took a breath and exhaled before she started her story. It was never easy talking about her mother, and with what was at stake here? She had to be very careful not to say too much. She really shouldn’t even have this conversation until she cleared it with Sam, but Law had shown up and seemed…reasonable.

  She could take a chance and give him some of the history.

  “Growing up, I thought my father was the man married to my mother, like a normal kid. Mike Chesterfield was mistaken for my grandfather a lot because he was much older than my mother. He died when I was eight, and she never remarried and never mentioned the name Jake Peterson until almost a year ago.”

  He looked at her, skeptical. “She told you after Jake died? How? Why?”

  She remembered the night Mom had sat Libby and Sam at her kitchen table to tell them news that rocked both their worlds. Again.

  “Like I mentioned, we renovated my grandparents’ house in Barefoot Bay, and we all used it as a weekend getaway when we needed a break from Miami. About a year or so ago, my daughter, Jasmine, and I had been over here for a long weekend, and on the way out of town, we grabbed a local newspaper at the Super Min. That paper was still in my car the next time I picked up my mother. I had to run into a store for a minute, and when I came out, she was reading an article about the death of a local business proprietor.”

  She closed her eyes and remembered the sight of her mother, deadly white and unable to speak. “I figured someone she knew had died, because she was pretty upset.”

  “And she told you right then? Just pointed to the paper and said, ‘This Jake Peterson guy was your father’?”

  “No,” she said. “In fact, she didn’t say a word.” Her mother sometimes sat a little to the left of lunacy, but not that time. “A few days later, she wanted Sam and me to come to her house in Miami Beach. I knew as soon as we sat down that it had to do with our real dad.”

  “Even though you thought Mike Chesterfield was your dad.”

  She sighed and took a sip of the coffee, wanting to pour out the truth, but knowing when he heard what her mother had done, he’d doubt everything she said.

 
; But he was offering to help with the DNA, so didn’t he deserve the truth? Plus, what else could she tell him except what had actually happened?

  “I did think Mike was my dad, until I was fourteen.”

  “Then what?”

  Then hell broke loose. “We were living in Vegas, our fourth move in six years after Mike died. The great-aunt who’d taken care of my mother when she was pregnant passed away, and we all went back to Indianapolis for her funeral. One of my older cousins pulled me aside and asked me if my mother had told us the truth yet about our real father.”

  “Jeez. That had to be a shocker to a kid.”

  “You have no idea.” She closed her eyes and remembered how hard that had hit her at fourteen. Forget losing balance. Libby had fallen flat on her face, and it hurt. Bad.

  “It was like he died all over again that day. My mother told us that Mike married her when we were a year old and adopted us and had birth certificates made with his name. They made the decision not to tell us he wasn’t our birth father because Mike loved us and didn’t want that to separate us from him. But that day, when I was fourteen, Mom told us…a different story.”

  He looked hard at her, the doubt she didn’t want to see already building like storms in his eyes. “But not about Jake.”

  “She told us that she’d gotten pregnant by a soldier who was in Florida on leave during the Vietnam War and that she wasn’t sure of his last name, but she thought he must have died, because he never came back for her. It was, actually, the story she told her parents and great-aunt, and the one they all believed. Still, today, they believe that. No one knows about Jake but Sam and me. And the judge.”

  He lifted one incredibly dubious brow. “Sounds like your mother has some imagination. And maybe a few issues.”

  She took a slow breath, feeling like one of Sam’s witnesses on the stand, uncertain of what to say to that because…her mother wasn’t a liar, but she wasn’t always rolling around in a great big pile of truth every day, either. One never knew what was real and what was an act with Donna Chesterfield. It was part of her charm.