Barefoot in the Sun (Barefoot Bay)

by Roxanne St Claire

  “Listen.” She took a slow breath in, knowing she had to tell him the truth. “I don’t want to make any more promises I can’t keep.”

  His brows furrowed. “What are you saying?”

  “I can’t,” she admitted on a soft cry. “I can’t…do…this.”

  The agony on his face fell to something different, raw disappointment and disbelief. “You don’t trust me?”

  She put her hands to her mouth as if she could hold back the words, but she couldn’t. They had to be said. “I don’t trust me. I don’t trust my history, my life.”

  “Change history,” he insisted. “Fix your life.”

  “It’s so much easier for you to—”

  “No, it’s not, Zoe!” He closed the space between them, putting his hands on her shoulders as if he could cement her into the sand and force her to see it his way. “I’ve lost people, too. My mother, my marriage, and you. Twice, it seems,” he said with a dry laugh. “Nothing is inevitable. You don’t have to assume the worst will happen.”

  She closed her eyes and all she could see was Pasha’s pale face, her fading eyes, her last words. We’ll call you Zoe. It means “new life.”

  When the hell was she going to get one of those? “I thought you were going to fix me,” she whispered.

  “I thought I was, too.” Very slowly, he opened his fingers and lifted his hands, his palms suspended over her shoulders, but not touching, as if he were letting go to see if she’d…run away. “Once, a long time ago, you took me up in a balloon. Do you remember?”

  She gave him a look. “You know I do.”

  “Do you remember why you took me up there?”

  To confess the truth. “I wanted to tell you about my life.”

  “You took me up there to face my fears. That’s what you said.”

  The moment drifted back; they’d been in his car, with a blindfold. She nodded, remembering.

  “I’ve faced mine, Zoe. And it’s time for you to face your own.”

  She took a breath, ready to shoot one more arrow, but she had nothing left. He was right.

  “If and when you do,” he said quietly, taking one more step back as Lacey’s voice floated toward them, calling Zoe’s name, “I hope you remember that I love you.”

  “I know you do.”

  He reached out one hand and brushed his thumb along her jaw. “I wish that were enough.”

  She sighed. “So do I.”

  But, after one more touch of his thumb, he walked away, leaving Zoe ice cold in the burning sun.

  Oliver woke later than usual the next morning with a dry mouth, an empty gut, and a sense that there was something he needed to do, but he couldn’t remember what it was.

  Oh, yeah, save a woman’s life.

  The hot sear of failure slipped through his veins. Fuck. Fuck.

  Was that all? No, he had to get over the loss of the only woman he’d ever loved—for a second time.

  A different pain gripped him, the thud of defeat. Zoe. All that laughter, all that love, all that Zoe.

  Anything else? Yep. He had to meet with Raj and the team to try and figure out if they could have done anything differently.

  What a complete mess. Nothing was right in his life. Nothing except Evan.

  He blinked into the morning light, listening for sounds of life in the little villa. But it was very quiet. Grabbing a pair of shorts, Oliver headed out of his room, checking out the first floor for signs that he’d been around already. But there were no telltale cereal crumbs on the table, no half glass of juice in the sink.

  Oliver walked to the steps and was partway up before the complete silence made him freeze. No soft hum of a television, no digital melody of a video game, no sound.

  An old fear pressed on him, almost strong enough to send him right back down the stairs. He gave the feeling exactly two heartbeats before he physically shook it off and bounded up the last three stairs in one giant step.

  “Evan.” He bolted through the doorway and froze at the sight of an empty, unmade bed.

  The sound of a distant voice from the beach pulled his attention, a child’s voice, a happy voice. Snapping the shutters open, he squinted toward the sand, letting out a soft grunt of relief at the sight of Evan running full speed down the beach, a very large dog hot on his heels.

  What the hell?

  He didn’t hesitate; he was back downstairs and out the front door before he could process how Evan had even gotten out of the house without making enough noise to wake him.

  “Dad! Come and meet our new dog!” Evan tore toward him, barely keeping up with a large dog that Oliver guessed was a retriever of some kind, definitely not the same dog they’d applied to receive the other day but never got because of Pasha’s death.

  “Evan, did you just leave without waking me?”

  “Sorry, Dad, but this guy was barking outside of our door. Didn’t you hear him?”

  The dog came to a stop in front of Oliver, looking up with complete trust in his sweet brown eyes as he sat obediently, panting softly. “No, I didn’t hear a thing.”

  “Can I keep him, Dad?”

  “I’m sure he belongs to someone.” Oliver looked up and down the deserted beach, spying a couple in the distance he recognized as a travel agent and her husband who were staying in one of the other villas, but no one else.

  “He doesn’t have a collar on,” Evan said, as if that made him fair game. “I think Pasha sent him from heaven.”

  Oliver stood straight and looked at his son. “Don’t start dreaming about keeping him, Evan. We’ll get you a dog as soon as the shelter opens this morning. If the dog at the shelter is gone, then we’ll be approved for another, I promise.”

  “She sent this one.”

  “Evan, please, don’t be—”

  “She told me she’d be sure that I got a dog if it was the last thing she did.” He dug his little fingers in the thick blonde coat. “Maybe it was.”

  Oliver put his hand on Evan’s shoulder and the dog barked, nuzzling into both of them. Oliver wasn’t the only one feeling sorry for himself, and Zoe certainly wasn’t the only one grieving Pasha’s loss. He had to remember that.

  “Son, that’s a nice thought and it sounds a lot like something Pasha would do, but just in case this guy belongs to someone, I don’t want you to get your heart set on keeping him.”

  “She said I’d know my dog when I found him because we’d have a special connection. Watch this, Dad. Sit, boy.”

  The dog stayed where it was.

  “See?” He grinned. “Now watch this. Speak!”

  The dog barked twice, getting an excited laugh from Evan.

  “But, Ev—”

  “Laugh!”

  “Dogs can’t—”

  The dog leaped up on its hind legs, faced the sky, and made the most hideous howl Oliver ever heard.

  Evan squealed with equally loud laughter. “Who else could find a dog who could do that but Aunt Pasha?”

  Oliver couldn’t help chuckling, too. The dog was ridiculously cute, and obviously well trained. He looked around again, certain he’d find the owner, but the only other person he saw was Clay Walker, heading toward them on an electric golf cart.

  “He’ll know whose dog it is,” Oliver said as he waved for Clay to stop. When he did, Oliver jogged over to him. “Any idea who owns this fellow, Clay?”

  Clay climbed out of the cart and came over, shaking Oliver’s hand and checking out the dog. “None of our guests have dogs now, and no one on staff owns him.” The dog went right to Clay and sat down again, practically begging to be petted. “Friendly, isn’t he?”

  “Can I keep him?” Evan asked.

  The two men shared a look.

  “Can you ask around the resort?” Oliver suggested. “And I can check in town to see if anyone is missing a dog.”

  “Then can we keep him?” Evan asked.

  “We’ll find his owner, son.”

  “Until we do, he’s mine. Roll over, boy!” />
  The dog obliged, instantly on his back.

  Clay chuckled softly. “Uh, I don’t think that’s a boy, buddy.”

  Evan’s jaw dropped in surprise, then he shrugged. “Whatever. Maybe Pasha wanted me to have a girl. Run, girl!” Evan took off and the dog followed.

  “He thinks Pasha somehow managed to send him a dog,” Oliver explained. “I hate to see him get disappointed when we find the owner. I’ll have to take Evan to the shelter as soon as we find out where this one belongs.”

  Clay nodded in understanding. “Hey, I’m really sorry about Pasha.”

  “Yeah, it was tough.”

  “She doesn’t blame you, you know.” At Oliver’s surprised look, Clay added, “Zoe spent the night at our place.”

  Ah, so that was who had comforted her when he couldn’t. He tamped down the knot that came with that thought, the one that had twisted in his gut all night long.

  “Zoe knows the heart attack was unrelated to the treatment,” Oliver agreed. “But it would be natural for her to place blame.”

  “Actually she’s not. She’s sad, of course, but so many things about her aunt’s past have been cleared now. We’re waiting for some word from Slade Garrison, who’s up in Ohio now.” Clay turned to watch Evan and the dog romp on the beach. “Listening to her reminisce about her aunt last night, I realized something I’d never known about her.”

  Oliver waited, wondering what of the many, many surprising things about Zoe had struck the other man. Her capacity to love? Her basically joyous nature? Her unshakable faith that somehow life would all work out?

  Because those were just some of the many things about Zoe that Oliver…

  No. He had to stop loving her. Except that would be like asking the wind to stop blowing, the sun to stop shining, and Oliver to stop breathing.

  “For a person who never really seems to settle down, she’s remarkably grounded,” Clay said.

  “Yeah.” Maybe that was why Oliver felt so unsteady without her in his life.

  “In fact, she had some great ideas for the resort,” Clay continued. “The four of them were up most of the night making plans.”

  Plans for where she’d live next, where she’d go, where her spirit would take her, no doubt. But then he did have doubt, and he had to ask. “What kind of plans?”

  “The wedding package that Lacey wants to create for the resort. Zoe had some amazing ideas, and if we can swing some of them, we could turn Casa Blanca into one of the top destination-wedding resorts in the country. I didn’t even know there was such a thing,” he added with a laugh. “That’s where I’m going now, as a matter of fact.”

  “A wedding?”

  “A meeting. Apparently a whole parcel of land up on the east side of Barefoot Bay is going up for sale, and I want to see if we can get part of it for the resort. But we can’t bite off the whole thing. I’m hoping someone will want a few acres and Lacey and I can buy the rest to expand. If her wedding-destination idea takes off, we’re actually going to need more rooms to accommodate bigger parties and…” Clay waved an apology. “Hell, I’m sorry, doc. You got enough on your mind today. I’ll let you know if we find out who owns the dog.”

  “Thanks, Clay. Good luck with the meeting.”

  Clay put a hand on Oliver’s shoulder. “Good luck with Zoe.”

  He inched back. “I don’t think luck’s going to do it for us, man. There’s too much…” Wrong. “Going on.”

  Clay nodded. “Hey, you never know. Stranger things have happened, and I’m living proof. Zoe is nothing if not unpredictable.”

  But could Oliver hold on to that hope again? Or should he just get on with his life? And his life was—

  “Dad, I taught her to shake paws!”

  His life was Evan. Just like last time.

  “Don’t get too attached,” Oliver said, walking toward his son. “I don’t want your heart broken when…she’s gone.”

  But Evan laughed. “She’s not going anywhere.”

  Oliver guessed Evan would have to learn the hard way, like he had.

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  The morning of Pasha’s service, Zoe dressed in white. Because she felt lighter than she had in days, and it was a bajillion degrees outside.

  Plus, Pasha would want white. No black, no tears, no agony, no regrets. Oh, there was a hole in Zoe’s heart, no doubt about it. A couple of them, in fact. But she kept stuffing those holes with hope to stop any bleeding, and that seemed to do the trick for now.

  Death was final and sad, but so utterly inevitable. No matter how hard Zoe had been trying to stave off the unavoidable consequences of cancer and old age, no matter how she’d begged, borrowed, and stolen extra hours and days, no matter how much she willed Oliver to play God with Pasha’s life, nothing could change what was meant to be.

  She was learning to accept that, and she’d gone a few hours without crying each day. Instead, she took solace in certain melodies of the wind, in the sight of a butterfly, and even in a random splatter of tea leaves. Pasha was everywhere, or at least her memory was, and Zoe would stay connected to her forever.

  But she would have to go on with her life, different as it might be now.

  Last night, Zoe had finally slept in her own bungalow again, trying to think of the little place as her “home.” Could it be? Lacey had said she could live there permanently if Zoe really decided to move to Mimosa Key, work for Sylver Skies, and help build the destination-wedding business.

  But, deep inside, Zoe hadn’t decided anything yet. First, she had to gather with her friends on the beach and celebrate the life of a woman who’d left a mark on all of them. Then she’d make a decision about staying or not.

  She’d never had the option to make that decision on her own before, and the feeling was more than a little heady. It made her dizzy.

  She listened for that voice in her head to bark an order or two, but it had been unusually quiet this week.

  Stepping back from the mirror, Zoe checked out her understated sundress and fluffed her hair. Maybe it was too understated. This was Pasha’s funeral, after all. That called for outrageous silver earrings.

  Automatically, she went to the door, almost ready to call out to Pasha and ask to borrow some hoops. A now-familiar pain twisted in her chest. That’s what she’d miss: the everyday companionship of her very best friend. Tears threatened, but she blinked them away.

  Zoe had other friends, and they wanted her to stay here permanently. For the first time in her life, Zoe was actually considering that, but there were complications.

  Complications named Oliver.

  He’d left her alone, of course, as she’d expected him to.

  But now what?

  He’d made it clear the door was open, but did she have what it took to walk through? The pain of losing Pasha was still fresh enough that the idea of taking that chance, of connecting to one more person she might ultimately lose, was still enough to keep her from even thinking about Oliver.

  First she had to hold this ceremony for Pasha. For that, Pasha would want her to look good, and that required those giant earrings Pasha loved so much.

  Swallowing any trepidation, she walked across the hall into Pasha’s room, entering it for the first time since she’d died. Actually, the first time since Pasha had run off and ended up in the hospital.

  Well, she’d have to come in here sometime, right? She couldn’t put it off forever.

  The soft scent of talcum lingered in the air, along with an eerie quiet that seemed so unfamiliar. Zoe stood completely still next to the bed and waited for chills or heartache or even a whisper of air over her skin.

  But there were no ghosts in this room. No spirits of fortune-tellers. No Pasha. Zoe started to close her eyes against a wave of grief, but just as she did she spotted an envelope.

  Zoe frowned at the rectangular paper on the dresser, halfway under Pasha’s jewelry box as if it had been tossed there. Had Pasha left a farewell note?

  Now Zoe got chi
lls and heartache.

  The letter lay facedown, making Zoe scared to turn it over and see Pasha’s right-leaning distinct handwriting. A letter would make her cry, for sure. A weepy missive from Pasha would wipe away all those solemn oaths about accepting death and being strong and looking forward. Something like that would surely gouge at those holes in her heart, and today, of all days, she wanted those holes firmly shut.

  Then she noticed that the paper was yellowed with age, the corners softened like they’d been folded away forever.

  Picking up the envelope, she turned it over and stared at the front, at a different handwriting than she’d been expecting, addressed to Ms. Zoe Tamarin.

  Holy God, no.

  In the upper left corner—oh, no.

  Zoe’s legs buckled, forcing her to back up and fall on the bed. She held the letter with trembling hands.

  I left a letter in that box anyway. I saw the postman toss the letter in the trash when I left. I wanted to tell you…

  This was Oliver’s letter. How long had Pasha held on to this? The answer was in the postmark, of course. Nine years.

  Why? Why?

  That answer had died with Pasha. A new feeling welled up inside her, rough and raw. Anger. Zoe ran her finger over the back, certain the seal was the original. No one had ever read this letter.

  Another wave of anger took hold, different than she’d been feeling as she went through what Jocelyn called her stages of grief. This was pure fury in all its glory.

  “How dare you!” she screamed out, slapping the letter on the bed. “How could you not give me this?”

  Then Zoe remembered Pasha’s cryptic words as the alarms had been blaring in the hospital room during the chaotic last second of her life.

  It was wrong to keep it, but I was scared you’d go back to him and we’d get caught.

  Yes, Pasha, it was wrong.

  Once again, fear had held Pasha back. And Pasha’s fear had kept Zoe from knowing what Oliver had written in this letter. And fear was keeping Zoe from…everything she wanted.

  Don’t…let…fear…stop…you.

  Zoe sat straight up at the sound of a voice. It was the first time she’d heard it in days.