Bungalow Nights (Beach House No. 9)

by Christie Ridgway

  He’d said he no longer felt loyalty to the ex. As if he didn’t still love her.

  Layla was having a hard time believing a word of it.

  Without daring to breathe, she took another step back, but the movement must have caught the eye of the woman on the other side of the door. Tilting her head, she met Layla’s gaze and stretched out slim fingers. “I’m Vance’s mother, Katie Smith.”

  Her son turned to glare at Layla as she moved forward to shake hands. Well, what else could she do? “Layla Parker,” she murmured, then sent Vance a swift glance. “Uh, excuse me. I was just on my way to—”

  “Surely you have a few minutes to chat,” Mrs. Smith said, propelling herself past her son. “You can show me around this pretty bungalow.”

  Behind her, Vance groaned. “It’s rooms and a view.”

  His mother tucked her arm in Layla’s elbow and steered her farther into the house. “I’d love to see them.”

  “Don’t bother resisting,” Vance called out, trailing behind. “She’s a bulldozer. Mom, three minutes, and then I’m calling you a cab.”

  Ignoring her son’s remark, she came to a halt in the sunny living room. “Oh,” she said, staring out at the ocean. “It’s beautiful.” Wearing a smile, she swung around to face Vance. Her gaze dropped to his injured arms again, and this time her cheery expression died. She put her face in her hands.

  Layla’s heart twisted. Even Vance softened a little. In two strides he was at his mother’s side. Pulling her against him, he gave her a rough pat on her shoulder. “I’m okay, got it? Perfectly fine.”

  One more quick squeeze, then he moved her away. “Let me get you a glass of water,” he said, disappearing in the direction of the kitchen.

  Katie Smith turned to Layla, her expression still distressed. “Is he really all right?” she asked, her voice low.

  What was she supposed to say to that? Physically, he was on the mend. But that rift with his brother, and maybe his father—I’ve disappointed him, she’d overheard Vance say—clearly ate at him. Her lesson had been learned last night, however. The answers to her questions had only served to reveal the complexity of the problem...one that wasn’t hers to solve.

  “It’s not my place to get involved.” With relief, she saw Vance come back in the room, bearing a tall glass. “I’ll leave you two alone now.”

  “No,” Vance said quickly. “Don’t run off.”

  Her gaze leaped to his and she couldn’t miss the entreaty in his eyes. Great. It didn’t take a genius to realize that now that his mother had made her way into the house, he wanted to use Layla as a buffer. But when she’d played that role during Fitz’s visit, she’d ended up being claimed as Vance’s girlfriend. Surely he didn’t want his mother to get the idea that—

  “Please,” Katie Smith said now. “I want a chance to get to know the woman in my son’s life.”

  She already had the idea.

  “Bigmouthed Fitz,” Vance muttered.

  Taking a seat on the couch, the mother addressed her son. “I can’t tell you how happy I was to hear you’ve moved on. After the situation with Blythe—”

  “Layla doesn’t want to hear us discuss that old business, Mom.”

  Meaning he didn’t want to dwell on that old business, Layla decided. For herself, she vacillated between a desire to not think about the ex and a desire to scratch the woman’s eyes out if she ever had the chance to meet her.

  Katie placed her glass on the table beside the couch. “What does it matter? If you have someone new in your heart—”

  “What will it take to have you drop this?” Vance interrupted.

  “A ride home,” his mother promptly answered. “I promise to steer clear of any topic you like if you’ll drive me there.”

  A muscle in Vance’s jaw ticked. “Why?”

  “I need to see your feet on the ranch’s soil,” she said.

  Her honest emotion hit Layla’s chest dead center again. She shot a glance at Vance and saw him wince. He was going to give in and Layla hoped it worked out well for him.

  “All right,” he said, grudgingly. But as Layla moved in the direction of her bedroom, his fingers snagged the sleeve of her shirt. “You’re coming, too.”

  “Me?” she asked, dismayed.

  “Yes,” he said, gaze intent. “I don’t go anywhere without my girl.”

  “Coward,” she murmured.

  “Katie can put the fear in me,” he agreed, whispering.

  So with a sigh, Layla acquiesced. Still, she was determined to keep herself separate from Smith family business during the hour ride southeast. They left the beaches behind for the inland mountains, where the temperatures weren’t moderated by the ocean breeze. Though the interior of Vance’s Jeep was air-conditioned, the window glass was hot to the touch.

  Vance deflected his mother’s probing by telling her she’d only get two pieces of Layla’s personal information that he himself provided. One, that she baked and sold cupcakes in her own gourmet foot truck, and two, that she’d met Vance through a mutual army acquaintance. Layla did add that she’d never visited Vance’s home territory, the region of California known for horses, citrus and avocados, because upon exiting the freeway it felt as if she’d entered another world.

  Here, roads wound over and around hillsides planted with orchards of oranges and tangerines or covered with lush groves of tall thick trees with low-hanging branches and dark green leaves. Creek beds ran alongside the pavement and sometimes the roadway itself ran through the creeks. Mostly dry now, they still provided enough water to sustain beautiful oaks, their leaves creating a canopy overhead. Every so often a side road would branch off, and she saw signs for horse breeders and another for a gourd farm.

  As they took one of the smaller roads, Katie pointed out items of interest—a llama against a fence, a handful of horses and riders cresting a hill—and Vance lapsed into a heavy silence. His mother had taken the backseat, so Layla slid him a sidelong glance from the passenger side.

  If he felt her regard, he didn’t betray it with a flicker of expression. His face could have been carved in stone and his lips were pressed firmly together. They stayed that way until he slowed the car around yet another bend—this one more hairpin than the others. Then he glanced in the rearview mirror at his mother and uttered a single word. “Dad?”

  “Not expected back until dinner. But, Vance—”

  “You made a promise,” he said, pulling into a gated driveway.

  Katie went silent, and Layla found she couldn’t speak, either, her voice stolen by the beauty around her. Wrought-iron gates stood open and up the paved driveway were two massive mission-style homes arranged around a spacious courtyard with a tall fountain in the center. Behind the buildings, a hill rose, covered in those thick-foliaged trees. To the left of one of the two dwellings was an expansive spread of land shaded by a grove of tall oaks. In the distance beyond them was another, smaller dwelling similarly styled to the other buildings. Though they’d passed other homes of different sizes and styles along the way, the Smith compound stood alone in its lush setting.

  To get a better look, Layla pushed the button to unroll her window, and a blast of warm air, scented with leaves and cool water, rushed into the car. “It smells so...green. It’s beautiful here.” She glanced back at Katie Smith, noting the woman’s attention was focused on her son’s profile.

  Layla whipped her head toward Vance, and for all her vows to not get involved in his family business, she was still struck by the naked longing on his face as he gazed upon his childhood home.

  * * *

  VANCE BLAMED IT ON LAYLA. He’d intended to keep the car running upon reaching the compound. With his foot on the brake, he’d pause just long enough to let his mother hop out and then they’d be making the return trip to Crescent Cove. But the first person out of the car had been Colonel Parker’s pretty daughter and his mother had encouraged her to explore the grounds.

  Hell. He couldn’t let her wander without
an escort, could he?

  She trailed her fingers in the water showering from the courtyard’s fountain, then teasingly flicked drops in his direction. “You actually grew up here?” she asked. “It’s paradise.”

  He shrugged, glancing around. No sign of any other Smiths, thank God. His father and uncle could be anywhere, from the grove located behind the house to any of the others they owned in the area. Fitz was likely at his office in the packing house a few miles away. Baxter kept to his high-rise city offices, where he managed the numbers side of Smith & Sons Foods. Neither one of the younger men was much interested in getting his hands dirty, so they hired an independent consultant for grove management.

  A waste of money in Vance’s mind, and something his grandfather would have frowned upon....

  His train of thought derailed as he saw Layla bend over to pick up something at her feet. She wore cuffed shorts that rode up in the back, high enough to make his mouth go dry. It wasn’t accidental, he decided. She was out to make him nuts with that display of long, smooth legs.

  “What are you doing?” he demanded.

  She straightened, a piece of paper in her hand. Frowning, she stared at him over his shoulder. “Excuse me for objecting to litter in this lovely place.”

  Looking around, he realized that while his mind had been preoccupied, she’d wandered away from the compound and that he’d trailed her to the stand of massive oaks that had been their childhood go-to place for games of hide-and-seek, cops and robbers, astronauts and aliens. For a moment he saw their ghosts: Fitz and Baxter and Vance, their skinny boy bodies darting from tree to tree. Long-ago laughter echoed in his ears, causing sudden pain to pierce his chest.

  Still frowning, Layla came closer. “Are you all right?”

  He didn’t want her to read his mood, so he ducked his head and snatched what appeared to be a flyer from her hand. “What’s this?”

  Bold lettering spelled out PICNIC DAY across the top.

  Another pang stabbed him. His fingers crumpled the paper, but Layla pried it free before he could turn it into a ball.

  “‘A Smith family tradition. Thirtieth annual celebration,’” she read aloud. “‘Food, dancing, fun for everyone.’”

  “It’s a yearly summer thing,” Vance said. “They open the ranch to the public, give tours, sell stuff like barbecue and corn on the cob, bring in some ponies for the kids.”

  “The date’s coming up,” Layla said.

  “Yeah,” he agreed, then strode away from her as if he could distance himself from those memories, too. Didn’t work for shit, because he could see his grandfather in his mind’s eye, a spare and straight Clint Eastwood look-alike, welcoming visitors with a smile and a slice of buttery avocado on a long toothpick.

  Vance, his shadow from the time he could toddle, standing at his elbow, feeling all cock of the walk as one of the successful Smith family. Never seeing ahead to a time when he’d lose his promised future among them.

  “I don’t think I’ve ever been this close to an avocado tree,” Layla said, a little breathless, he thought, from trying to keep up with him.

  Again, Vance had to glance around to ascertain exactly where he was. They were standing at the edge of the grove that was closest to the family compound. Without being aware of it, he’d picked his way across the now-dry creek that ran behind the houses. The trees began right there, an old growth that reached up and over a low mountain.

  Layla took a step forward and peered into the deep shade caused by the leaves. The trees were planted between fifteen and thirty feet apart, but their spreading branches created a roof overhead and swung low to the ground. The pebble-skinned fruit were plentiful and about the size of a woman’s fist, ready for harvest at any time. They only ripened once picked.

  “I bet you could get lost in there,” she said, taking a step into the shadows.

  “Or caught by spiders and trussed up for their next meal.”

  It was more shriek than squeal that erupted from her mouth and the next thing he knew, he had a warm and very pretty woman cuddled against his chest. Her fingers clutched his T-shirt. “Tell me you lie.”

  His mouth twitching, he shook his head. “Well, they might have trouble capturing a grown woman, but I brought some girls here when I was a teenager who swore they just escaped with their lives.”

  Without putting a breath of air between them, she shot him a look. “Oh, I understand your ploy now. Scare the ladies into your arms.”

  He slid one around her waist without a twinge of guilt. She felt that good against him and being here, back at this place that had once been everything to him, had made him feel just lousy enough to need the distraction. He breathed in the scent of her hair as she turned her head, gazing into the grove again with cautious eyes.

  “Still,” she said, “the idea of great big spiders could put me off guacamole forever.”

  “Oh, don’t deny yourself one of life’s great treats,” Vance said.

  A smile curved her lips. “I admit it’s a weakness of mine.”

  That mouth of hers could be his, Vance thought. “You know, avocados were once known as the fertility fruit. Decent women refused to eat them.”

  Her dark eyebrows came together. “Uh-oh. I’ve been indulging for years. What does that make me?”

  Tempting. Delicious. Irresistible.

  Maybe she read the words on his face, because she stepped back, putting a breeze-worth of distance between them. “I don’t know how you could leave this place,” she said, turning in a circle to take in the oaks, the avocados, the sprawling houses in the distance.

  “I didn’t leave,” Vance said without thinking. “They threw me out.”

  Layla spun toward him, her mouth dropping. “No.”

  “No,” he conceded. “It didn’t exactly go like that.” But the result had been the same. The spoiled young prince banished from the kingdom.

  “How did it go, exactly?”

  He tilted his head, staring up at the blue sky. “My grandfather bought a small grove as a young man—this grove right here—and kept buying more land as he prospered. Avocados weren’t as popular then as now. He also grew tangerines and oranges—we still do—and the smell of their blossoms is as much a part of my childhood springtimes as the pollywogs swimming in the creek.”

  “Sounds wonderful.”

  “Was,” Vance agreed. “And I always assumed I’d be part of the Smith ranch just like my dad and his brother. My grandfather taught me everything he knew about growing our products and I assumed I’d go into that end of the business. Bax was a business guy—he always says he might as well be counting pencils as pieces of fruit—and Fitz...Fitz just likes being in charge.”

  Mentioning his brother made him restless again, so Vance began walking once more, heading back in the direction they’d come. Layla dogged his heels. “So, what happened?” she asked. “Why are you on the battlefield instead of in these fields?”

  He grimaced. “Short answer—at twenty-three, after my grandfather died, I demanded my place in the business. My dad refused to allow me in.”

  “What’s the long answer?”

  His smile held no humor. “Long answer is that I was too reckless to trust. I was the anti-Fitz as a kid—liked recess instead of reading, sports instead of studying. Then adolescence arrived and I perfected that position, becoming the absolute best at playing, partying and generally screwing around.”

  They’d made it back to his car. Layla leaned against the side and he followed suit. “Lots of kids take a while to find their place,” she said.

  “I lost my place.” He tried shrugging off the deep anger welling inside of him. He was never sure who he was angrier at—himself or the rest of the Smiths. “But my grandfather had made me a promise. I expected that my father would honor that. When I realized he wouldn’t...I joined the army.”

  “Vance...” Biting her lip, Layla looked over. Her warm fingers found his beneath the cast, and she squeezed. “I’m sorry.”

>   Embarrassed, he disentangled their hands and stepped away to study his rear tire. “Jesus, I’m sorry for spilling my stupid sob story that way. You’ll think I’m...” He didn’t know what. A fuck-up? A whiner?

  “You’re my hero,” she said.

  He sent her a sharp glance. “What?”

  “Vance.” She smiled, and it was as sad as heartbreak. “You are, you know that, right?”

  “No.” He was the black sheep. Trouble. The man who had failed to bring her father home. “Don’t say such a thing.”

  “You saved me from the spiders, though. I really was about to walk inside there.”

  Her obvious conversational bypass relieved him, bringing out a reluctant grin. “All right. I guess I should get a medal for that.” He looked around, noticing that it was afternoon now and he didn’t want to chance running into his father. “Let’s go.”

  “I need to say goodbye to your mother first.”

  He nodded. “That will get you your own commendation.”

  Layla tilted her head, and he tried not to notice the sweet curve of her cheek. “For the girlfriend thing,” he clarified. “Thanks for going along with that. It gets Mom off my back...and makes her happier, too.”

  With her own nod, Layla turned toward the house where he’d grown up. When had he last sat down in there for a family meal? Suddenly, he didn’t want to count the years. With jerky movements, he let himself into the driver’s seat.

  C’mon, Layla, he thought. I want out of here.

  The place evoked too many memories, too many regrets, too many disappointments. All of them hurt so damn much. Back at the beach he’d be able to breathe without pain again.

  The front door to the house opened and Layla and his mother both stepped out. Yeah, he supposed he needed to say his own goodbye. The look on his mom’s face when she’d seen his cast and brace at Beach House No. 9 was only another memory he wished he could erase.

  Layla climbed into the passenger seat as his mom came around to his window. “’Bye,” he said to her, surprised by the gruffness of his voice. “I’ll try to remember to give you a call before I return—”