Barefoot at Midnight (Barefoot Bay Timeless Book 3)

by Roxanne St Claire

  Law tensed, but Libby pressed into him. “Sam, I was with Law when this happened, and not even Donna Chesterfield herself could have acted that surprised. So let’s talk later.”

  She tapped the keyboard and ended the call, turning in the booth toward Law.

  “Thank you for the vote of faith and confidence,” he said. “I promise you’re right.”

  She searched his face, visibly fighting doubts. “You did have an actual infiltration plan, though, didn’t you?”

  “Yes,” he admitted.

  She pointed at him. “Listen to me, Law Monroe. You lie, cheat, steal, or break my heart, and I will—”

  He shut her up with a kiss, long and sweet. When they parted, he put his hands on her cheeks. “I will not lie, cheat, steal, or break your heart. That wouldn’t make me a very good…partner.”

  She eased back and searched his face, silent. “What exactly are you suggesting, Law?”

  He swallowed, closed his eyes, and took a breath. “A partnership, Libby. If this property turns out to be owned by someone else, I think it’s pretty obvious that person doesn’t care about it. They have to have a price. I have money saved, quite a bit. It might not be enough to buy it all in a cash offer, but…”

  “If I put in the rest?” she asked tentatively.

  “Then we could have the Twisted Pelican. Yoga upstairs. Gastropub downstairs. And we both win.”

  She stared at him for a long, long time. “Let me think about that.”

  It was all he could ask for right then.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Charity Grambling adjusted her glasses and looked a little like she sucked on a lemon as she stared at the papers. “Well, I can’t say these are words I utter very often, but this is news to me.”

  Law gingerly lifted the papers they’d decided to share with her. Sure, she was the town gossip and would tell the next fifty people who walked into the Super Min what they’d discovered, but that was fine. A lead to the Rice family could save them endless weeks and months in limbo if the judge didn’t buy Sam’s “common law” ownership plan.

  Libby leaned on the counter and watched Law and the old lady banter a bit, admiring how Law let her flirt but didn’t volley back. Must take a lot of self-control when a woman—even a withered old witch like Charity—was drooling all over you.

  Under that former bad boy and current hot hunk lived a true gentleman, Libby mused. Someone…she wanted to…let inside. And not just in her body, though that was always top of mind.

  No, it hadn’t gone well for her in that regard. But…in the back of Libby’s mind, the song that led them to the will played like, well, a broken record.

  I still haven’t found what I’m looking for…

  But maybe she had.

  As she listened to him tease whatever information he could out of Charity, Libby gave in to the crush on her heart and how tender it made her feel toward him. He wouldn’t hurt that tender heart, would he?

  He’d just promised her that, hadn’t he? He’d just proposed a partnership, hadn’t he?

  “I will tell you this,” Charity said, putting her hands on her hips. “That was one ugly-ass divorce, so I wouldn’t be surprised if he did hide assets. I heard she accused him of everything short of murder. Quiet but nasty, that little Rosie. Course she’s in her nineties now, so I’m like a kid next to her.” She cackled at her joke, making Libby smile and earning a red-nailed finger pointed right in her face.

  “Oh, you think it’s funny, missy. Just wait until those overblown mammaries drop to your knees and all the estrogen drains out like you sprung a leak and you get like the Sahara down south.”

  Libby just closed her eyes, shaking her head.

  “Won’t be long now,” she warned Libby. “Oh, you can snag these handsome silver foxes now, but you know what they really want is a twenty-five-year-old.”

  Next to her, she felt Law bristle and inhale for a response, but Libby put a gentle hand on his arm and refused to take the bait.

  Charity turned her attention back to Law. “But you men.” She sighed, devouring him from behind her specs. “You age so gracefully, it’s not fair.”

  Law’s muscles tensed under Libby’s hand. He was clearly losing his patience with Charity. “And you’re sure this Frank and Rosie had no kids?” he asked again.

  “Not a one. My guess is Rosie was an ice cube in the sack and too busy spending his money to procreate.”

  No kids or direct heirs? That was good, unless he had them with another wife they didn’t know about.

  “Did he remarry?” Libby asked.

  “Never heard, but I don’t think she did. Lived like a queen off her alimony.” She raised a judgmental eyebrow to Libby. “Can you imagine?”

  “All right, thanks, Charity.” Law slid a possessive, protective arm around Libby, purposefully leading her away. “We appreciate the information.”

  “Wait, wait, wait,” Charity said, making them stop. “Just wait.”

  They turned, expectant.

  The old woman took a slow, deep breath as if it pained her to say whatever she was about to say. “Rosie came in here once, years ago, after Frank was dead.”

  “And?” Law asked.

  “She said she’d moved to Atlanta. Now I know that’s a big city, but—”

  “We know that.” Law’s voice was rich with edginess. “Thanks, anyway, Charity.”

  Charity shook her head, looking with strong disapproval from one to the other. “Do you know that together you’re about ninety?”

  “Then we’re your age,” Law mumbled, but Libby stepped forward, zeroing in on the old bag.

  “What are you saying?” she demanded.

  “That you’re old for…you know.”

  Oh, she knew. What Charity wanted and would never have, if she ever did in the first place. “Are you saying we’re too old to enjoy sexual intercourse, Charity?”

  “Well, like I said, things don’t work the same.”

  Libby tsked noisily. “Hate to break it to you, Char, but nothing’s dropped, drained, or dried up on me, and I’m happy to report that Law is the most amazing lover I’ve ever had.”

  A little color rose in her old cheeks as Charity stole a lusty glance at Law. “I bet…he is.”

  “Five.” Libby held up her hand, fingers splayed.

  Charity frowned at her.

  “Five orgasms last night.” Libby wiggled her fingers to make her point, then turned to Law. “Come on, honey. We have time for six tonight. See ya, Charity!”

  She went back to the door and slid her arm around Law, who didn’t know whether to laugh or look pretty damn smug.

  “Never in my life have I seen anyone shut down Charity Grambling like that,” he said.

  “What?” She looked innocent as she took the helmet he offered. “I was being honest.”

  He fastened the strap for her, kissing her nose. “Let’s make it seven. Your place or mine?”

  Oh hell. Why fight it? She was certain, strong, and couldn’t care less what their ages added up to. Law made her feel alive in every way. “Let’s ride back to the Pelican, get some stuff for a few days, and you can follow me back to my house.”

  “Libby.” He drew back, feigning shock. “You’re inviting me to stay? Overnight? With a toothbrush and all?”

  “Only if you cook.”

  “Have to since Sam made us close the damn restaurant. In fact, when I get my stuff, I’ll get some food from the kitchen and make you a feast tonight.”

  “Good.”

  He lifted her chin. “Guess who’s gonna be dessert.”

  She leaned into him and kissed his mouth, getting additional satisfaction from knowing Charity was watching out the window. “You are, Lawless.”

  An hour later, pulling into her driveway with Law on his bike right behind her, Libby gripped the wheel and forced herself to take three cleansing breaths.

  Could she do this? Could she open her house, her heart, herself to Law and let him all t
he way in? Not just her body, which, given the way she hummed with anticipation, was a no-brainer, but it had so quickly escalated to much more.

  Now, it was her business and her dream. A partnership? The Twisted Pelican? Was this what she wanted?

  She glanced in the rearview mirror and watched him get off the bike, giving his head a shake as he took off his helmet and worked out a crick in his neck. As it did every single time she looked at him, Libby’s body reacted. Warm, tingly, needy. And they were going past physical attraction.

  But here was another man giving her…hope. No, he didn’t want her exclusively for her body, but she did have another carrot to dangle and he wanted that, too. What if all that didn’t pan out? Would this be any different? Would this man be any different from the others?

  Leaving her purse in the car, she opened the door and climbed out, needing the answers she sought before she welcomed him and made everything…vulnerable.

  She walked straight up to him and asked, “Can I trust you?”

  He drew back. “What brought that on?”

  “I don’t know. My life?”

  His shoulders dropped with a sigh, maybe resignation, maybe frustration. Then he held out his hands, palms up. “Give me your hands,” he said.

  Slowly, she obliged, slipping her fingers in his strong, callused, burned and scarred fingers. He squeezed them and held their joined hands in the air between them.

  “You can trust me. You don’t have to sleep with me or enter into business with me, but you can trust me.”

  “I want to,” she admitted.

  “Which one?”

  “All three. I want to sleep with you. I want to enter into business with you. And I want to trust you.”

  “Then what’s the problem?”

  She angled her head, surprised he didn’t know. “I don’t want to get hurt, in any way.”

  “Libby.” He pulled her into him, wrapping both arms around her while not letting go of her hands. The position made her more vulnerable because she was unable to push him away. She had to trust him. “One day at a time, as we addicts say. One day at a time.” He kissed her forehead. “And each day with you gets better.”

  She closed her eyes and felt the last walls come down around her. “Then let’s—”

  “Mom! Mom, there you are!”

  They spun around as the front door popped open and Jasmine burst out, holding her phone. “Sam’s trying to reach you,” she called. “He thought I might know why you weren’t answering your phone.”

  “I left my phone in the car.” She backed away from Law and hurried toward Jasmine, noticing she was a little breathless and her eyes were bright with…something not good. “What is it, Jasmine?”

  “The DNA test is in,” she said softly.

  “Oh.” But Libby’s blood chilled a bit, more at the way Jasmine was looking at her than the fact that she was finally going to know for sure.

  But that’s when she knew. Even before she heard Sam’s voice, she knew.

  “Yeah?” she breathed into the phone Jasmine gave her.

  “A complete and total and massive mismatch,” he said. “Not one strand of DNA in either one of our bodies matches the samples taken from that toilet article kit.”

  Balance slipped again as a whole different kind of dizzy rocked her world.

  There was only one explanation. Well, two. Either Law lied about the shaving kit or Mom lied about Jake being her father.

  Neither option made her feel very grounded at that moment.

  “Okay, then,” she said. “Well, moot point as far as the Pelican is concerned, because Jake didn’t own it, anyway.”

  “What?” Jasmine choked.

  Libby quieted her with a hand and listened to Sam drone on about a motion to…do something. But the only motion that mattered was in her head, which was light and spinning a little.

  She handed the phone to Jasmine and walked into the house, with Law on her heels.

  “Libby—”

  She turned and held up her hand. “Hey, it’s okay. He’s not my father.” Or you lied. But she refused to go back there because she believed him. “I should be used to this, right? I’m going upstairs.”

  She darted up the steps, but Law was right behind her. “Let’s talk.”

  “Okay, later.” She stopped at her room and put her hands on his chest. She sure as hell couldn’t fall into bed with him now. “But I need to be alone for a while.”

  He searched her face, ready to argue, but something stopped him. “A little while. I’ll be downstairs when you’re ready to talk about it.”

  She nodded, closing the door behind her. What was there to talk about? Who her father was?

  She didn’t trust her mother. She didn’t trust science. She didn’t trust the hairs from an old brush. She didn’t trust the courts.

  And, deep down inside, she still wasn’t one hundred percent sure she should trust Law. Was that why she turned him away when she needed him the most?

  She fell on her bed and gave in to a good, hard cry.

  * * *

  Law stood outside the half-closed bedroom door, leaning in to see that the room was dim, the shutters closed, and Libby was curled up under the covers.

  He’d given her plenty of time to deal with the news. He’d stayed out on the porch with the young woman who was not only honest, she was bright, sensitive, and knew just how much this news had rocked Libby, maybe better than anyone else on earth.

  But he was dying to talk to Libby, and went straight to her room when Jasmine left to go to her boyfriend’s house. Not just because he knew damn well that Dopp kit was Jake’s and that meant he also knew damn well that Libby was not Jake’s biological daughter.

  And not just to tell her that, in his opinion, the crazy-ass, pot-smoking actress mother was at the heart of this. Especially after Jasmine had explained a lot for him out there on that porch. Libby and Sam protected their mother, instinctively and constantly, and over the years, that had morphed into forgiving her for her mistakes and shortcomings. They all cut the woman way too much slack out of a familial love that, on some level, Law respected.

  At least they hadn’t left town or beaten the crap out of each other. Every family had dirt, but how they handled it was the real test.

  In his opinion, Donna Chesterfield probably had no idea who the father of her babies was. She probably had a drunk night, a stranger hookup, and was too ashamed to admit the truth. That kind of thing was pretty scandalous in 1971.

  But poor Libby just kept getting flung from father to father, from husband to husband, and now he wanted to tell her that he—

  “I know you’re out there, Law.”

  Now it was his turn, and damn, he didn’t want to fling her anywhere. He just wanted to hold her and make her feel whole.

  “So, can I come in?”

  She moved around in the bed, making the covers sigh. Or maybe that was her. “Yeah. No lights, though. I look like hell.”

  “As if that’s possible.” He closed the door firmly behind him and walked to the bedside, trying to see her, but she kept her face in the pillow. “Let me see the damage,” he said.

  “No. I don’t cry pretty.”

  He sat down on the bed. “Funny, neither do I.”

  Her shoulders moved with a dry laugh. “You never cry,” she murmured into her pillow.

  “That’s where you’re wrong, Lib. I cried last night.”

  She turned over and flicked some of her hair off her face and, whoa, yeah. Not a pretty crier. But despite the swollen eyes, blotchy skin, and rims of lost mascara, she was utterly beautiful. “You cried? Last night? Why?” she asked.

  “Because you made me leave.”

  She choked and sat up a little. “You did? Oh, God, I’m sorry.”

  He brushed the rest of the stray blond hairs out of her face and ran his thumb over the black smudge under her eye.

  “Maybe I didn’t cry this hard,” he said. “I didn’t weep my makeup off, but I teared u
p a little.”

  She blinked, studying his face, looking for a reason to believe him, no doubt. “Because I wouldn’t let you spend the night after we had sex? That’s not very…well, that’s not the sex-starved, hard-ass, booze-guzzling guy I once thought you were.”

  He laughed. “I’m dying for sex, my ass is hard as a rock, and I got pretty damn drunk last night.”

  “What?” Her face paled in horror. “You drank? After you left here?”

  “Chill, yoga bear, I didn’t drink. I said I got drunk.” He leaned closer, tipping her chin up. “On you.”

  “You’re a smooth talker.”

  “Actually, I’m not. I’m just being honest.” He stroked her lip, his heart aching a little from the doubt in her eyes. “Libby, you’ve had some raw deals. This business with your father, whoever he is, and two bad marriages. I know you don’t trust men. I know you feel like you never have a foundation. And I know I’m probably the last combination of ‘male’ and ‘unstable’ you want or need.”

  “True,” she grudgingly admitted.

  “But, baby, I want a chance.”

  She inhaled softly, still staring at him.

  “Just a chance,” he whispered. “Let me into your life. Your heart. Yes, your bed. And, hell, I’ll take your yoga classes. And then, we’ll see what happens. We can be friends. We can be lovers. We can be partners. Or we can be…”

  She put her finger over his mouth. “We’ve been friends for a long, long time, Law. Let’s move on to lovers.”

  “Oh yeah. Let’s.” He leaned closer and kissed her mouth, the salt from her tears breaking his heart.

  He eased her back onto the pillow and stroked every single hair from her face so he could see it. “It might have been an ugly cry, but you’re not an ugly crier.”

  “I don’t care that I look ugly,” she said, reaching up to grasp his neck. “In fact, I’m glad. That way I know it’s me you want to make love to and not the package.”

  “It’s you,” he assured her, lowering his head for another long, wet kiss. “It’s you, Libby.”

  He felt her moan under the pressure, sliding her fingers into his hair, deepening the kiss. He cupped her face, trying to keep himself from touching anything else just to show her how much it was her, and not her body, that turned him on.