“Yes, I’m sure.” She tapped the plans. “So how are you going to fit a life coach into all of this and what do you need from me?”
Lacey took the cue, shifting her attention to the plans. “Well, I’ll have to hire, of course. People to run the spa and treatment centers, obviously, and a fitness expert, and a few trainers. I’ll need an aesthetician and beauty specialists, and a masseuse.” Lacey sighed slowly. “It’s going to be a lot.”
“You haven’t taken on more than you can handle, have you?” Because she sounded utterly overwhelmed by the work.
“Yeah, but if I knew I had a really great spa manager, someone with incredible organization and people skills…” She leaned forward. “Maybe with a little life-coaching experience and knowledge of this community…”
The implication couldn’t be ignored. “Me? I’m…” For one flash of a second, Jocelyn imagined herself running a state-of-the-art spa, surrounded by beauty, peace, and people trying to improve themselves. It would be crisp, clean, pure—and safe. “I’m not your girl.”
“Why not?”
She tried to laugh it off. “Um, because I have a business and a life in Los Angeles.”
Lacey just lifted a brow. “You don’t love living in L.A.”
She didn’t argue that.
“And that business is in the tank at the moment.”
Deep.
“And if Zoe were here, she’d probably ask, ��What life?’ ”
Jocelyn laughed. “So true. But you need someone trained in spa management and hospitality.”
“I’m trained in hospitality, remember? I almost have a degree in it.”
“Well, then because you need someone who…” She couldn’t think of another reason, damn it. “Who lives here. Or close by.”
Lacey dropped her elbows on the table. “I got Tessa here, didn’t I?”
“Are you serious about this?”
“Why not?”
“Aren’t you going to run the spa?” Jocelyn asked.
“I’m going to run the resort, or at least hire the right management, and I’m going to run…” She leaned back and shook her head a little, a hint of sleeplessness suddenly evident under her eyes. “Owning this place is a huge job. Clay wants to be an architect, not a resort manager. I’m looking to farm out whatever I can and I want those people to be trusted friends. I want to surround myself with people I love and who’ll love my kids and husband, so I’m starting early recruitment. Would you even think—”
“Did you say kids? Plural?”
Lacey’s jaw dropped and she slapped a hand over her mouth. “Shit,” she muttered. “I did.”
For a second, they just stared at each other as a slow smile curved Lacey’s lips. “I suck at secrets.”
Jocelyn jumped up and let out a little scream. “Oh my God, Lacey!”
They hugged awkwardly over the table, nearly knocking it over, and then, laughing, they both scooted around for a proper embrace.
“Can you believe it?” Lacey squeaked, her eyes good and teary now.
“How far?”
“Six weeks.”
Jocelyn leaned back, still holding her shoulders, looking at Lacey with new eyes. That’s what was radiating off her. Not just love, but motherhood. And a damn understandable reason for exhaustion. “You want this.” It wasn’t a question.
“So bad.”
“Does Ashley know she’s going to be a sister?”
“We haven’t told a soul,” she said. “Not my parents, not Ashley, not Tessa.” She made a face. “Which is not going to be fun.”
“Why? She’ll be thrilled.”
“Doubtful. You know how badly she wanted a baby. All those years trying with Billy, and his new girlfriend gets pregnant before the ink was dry on the divorce settlement.”
Jocelyn waved that off. “Tessa loves you and she’s going to be the proudest aunt of all. Why are you waiting?”
“Just keeping it to ourselves, making sure everything’s okay. But I’m getting so used to the idea, and, God, how do you keep secrets so well?”
“It’s an art,” she said drily. “So you don’t have to worry about me. I won’t tell anyone until you’re ready.”
Lacey dropped back in her seat, still looking worried. “I guess I’m ready, once we tell Ashley. But I am starting to stress out big time about running this place and having a baby.”
“You’re going to be fine,” Jocelyn assured her. “You’ll do it the same way every working mother does. With lists and help and sleep-deprivation and wine. Wine! You had wine the other night.”
“I fake-drank.” She grinned. “My plants are pretty looped, though.”
Jocelyn laughed. “You are a sneak!”
But Lacey leaned in again, reaching a hand to Jocelyn. “My offer is legit and now you know just how much I need someone like you. Maybe not immediately, but after this baby is born, we’ll be close to opening and I want this place to run so smoothly. But I also want to be a good mom.” She touched her belly, rubbing. “So, think about it, okay? Come and run my spa for me. You’ll have plenty of time to close up your business.”
She rolled her eyes. “My business is closing for me.”
“It would be so wonderful, Joss—”
The door popped open with a resounding bang followed by an equally loud, “I’m pissed!”
Tessa bounded inside, her boots hitting the floorboards so hard the whole trailer shook.
“What’s wrong?” Jocelyn and Lacey asked in perfect unison.
Tessa waved her cell phone. “The son of a bitch did it again!” She marched across the small space and slammed the phone between them, nearly collapsing the card table. “His girlfriend is pregnant again! And he had the audacity to text me. Their first kid isn’t even a year old, they still haven’t gotten married, and now he has another one on the way.”
Jocelyn and Lacey were stone silent, both blinking like they’d been caught in headlights, but Tessa was too worked up to notice. She grabbed a folding chair and practically threw it next to the table, plopping down with a soft curse.
“How can he text me like I’m supposed to be happy for him? Who does that, anyway—texts their ex-wife when their new girlfriend is pregnant? What the hell does he think I’m made of?”
They still couldn’t quite talk. Lacey swallowed hard and Jocelyn dug for the right thing to say, coming up with nothing.
Tessa looked from one to the other, then down at the plans. “What are you two discussing, anyway?”
“M-my…” Lacey stuttered, obviously unable to come up with anything.
“Job offer,” Jocelyn supplied. “She wants me to work here.”
Tessa gasped and grinned and gave a solid clap. “A capital idea!”
And just like that, they managed to steer the conversation away from babies and onto business.
Chapter 16
Will climbed out of his truck at the Mimosa Community Credit Union a few minutes after the bank opened, the last of the stops he had to make that morning. Just as he reached for the handle of the charcoal-tinted glass door, it popped open, pushed by someone inside.
“ ’Scuse me,” he murmured, stepping to the side and nearly getting run over by Charity Grambling, who had her head down, her nose in the open end of a manila envelope.
With a soft gasp, she looked up, jerking the envelope away. Then she shot him a vile look, her features arranged in a way that screamed anger. Brows drawn, lips down, nothing but fury carved into the deep lines on her face.
Man, she’d been poorly named.
“Everything okay, Charity?”
Her dark eyes tapered as the wind lifted her frizzy carmel-colored hair, revealing a band of gray roots underneath. “No, Will. Some things are just not okay.”
He hesitated, stepping farther to the side but still holding the door for her. “Sorry to hear that,” he said, expecting her to fire a retort and stomp away.
But she just sucked in a breath so deep it made her narrow nost
rils quiver.
Oh, boy. Charity was in a mood to gossip. “Hope your day gets better,” he said quickly, trying to zip by her into the air-conditioned lobby of the credit union.
But she stood stone still, five feet two inches of granite and grit. “Where’s Jocelyn?”
The question threw him enough to make him stop. Charity may be playing the good cop this week, but he’d known this woman too long to trust her. “Is someone looking for her?” he asked, purposely not answering.
“Yes, for cryin’ out loud. I am. Where is she?”
He just shook his head.
“I need to see her. I have something for her. I promised it to her.”
She had? Curiosity tweaked, but he tamped it down. “I can give her whatever you have, Charity.”
“No way. This is eyes only. Her eyes only.”
“I won’t look at it.”
She practically hooted with disbelief. “Like I’d believe a man.”
“You can believe me.”
She shook her head. “Where is she?”
“I’m sorry, Charity. I’m sworn to secrecy and my word is good. Whatever you have, give it to me. Does it have to do with her situation?”
“I’ll say it does.” She tapped the manila envelope against her hands.
“I know everything,” he said earnestly. “I know the truth and she trusts me. Is that what you want to give her?”
She clutched the envelope tighter, scrutinizing his face like she could eyeball whether or not he was a liar.
“You can trust me.” He held out his hand.
“Have her call me and come to the store.”
“She might not,” he said. “She’s keeping a very low profile. But suit yourself. I’ll tell her I saw you.” He tried to slip by her, but she inched to the side.
“I can trust you for sure?”
“You have my word.”
She shoved the envelope into his hands. “Give this to her. And if you even think about opening it, God’ll strike you down dead. And if He doesn’t, I will.”
What the hell could it be? He didn’t make the mistake of looking remotely curious, but took the envelope with a solemn nod and tucked it under his arm. “You want her to call you or anything?”
“Just…” She drew in another breath. “Be there if she falls.”
Coming from anyone else, it would have been a cliché. Coming from Charity, who hadn’t spoken five kind words in her life, the expression damn near blew him away.
And piqued his curiosity, but he kept the envelope under his arm the whole time he made his transaction at the teller window and returned to his truck. Feeling a little like he had contraband, he set the envelope on the passenger seat with his bandanna, Gatorades, and a box of protein bars that kept him going all day. After glancing around for wayward reporters who might jump or follow him, he headed up to Barefoot Bay.
How did Charity fit into the whole Miles Thayer–Coco Kirkman scandal? What could she have? Copies of those texts he’d heard about on TV? An affidavit? The confidentiality agreement? News stories? Why the hell would Charity Grambling have anything like that?
Why would she tell him to be there if Jocelyn falls?
As if he needed someone to suggest that. But maybe there was more news about to break and—
As he came around the bend near the bay, he slammed on the brakes, screeching to a stop a few feet from a roadblock of bright-orange drums and two DOT trucks.
Everything on the passenger seat went sailing forward, the Gatorades thumping, the protein bars flying, and Charity’s envelope shooting to the floor.
Shit, he’d totally forgotten the transportation inspection was today.
Clay and another man stepped out from behind the truck and waved.
“Hang on, Will,” Clay called. “We’ll get you through in a second.”
Will waved back, holding the brake with his left foot and reaching down to the floor to retrieve the lost bars and juice.
And the contents of the envelope, which had slipped out and lay on the floor.
Pictures.
Will froze halfway to the floor, absolutely unable to keep his gaze from going where he’d given his word it wouldn’t go. But his gaze had a will of its own and he glanced at pictures of—
He blinked, his head buzzing at the image that scarred his brain.
Pictures of Jocelyn.
Nothing on earth—no promise, no word of honor, no guarantee that he wouldn’t look—could stop him from staring at the sight. His breath stopped, his heart leaped into overdrive, and he picked up a photograph with a shaky hand.
He stared at it, only half aware that his throat had closed up and out of his mouth came an inhuman whimper of pain.
He jumped when Clay pounded on the hood of the truck. “Hey, wake up, Palmer. You can go through now.”
Trying to swallow, trying to breath, he just stared at Clay, not sure if he could drive or even keep himself from opening the door and puking his guts out.
Clay banged again and made a grand gesture for Will to drive.
Somehow, he did, still holding a picture that changed everything.
Damn it all, she couldn’t even concentrate on a simple garland pose. Jocelyn’s heels sank into the wet sand the same way the conversation she’d just had with Lacey pressed into her heart.
Lacey was pregnant; that was, quite honestly, not a surprise. From the moment Lacey and Clay had stopped fighting the battle and given in to their feelings, Lacey had wanted to beat the biological clock and squeeze in another child. Even with a fifteen-year-old from her long-ago college love affair, Lacey had always wanted a second child.
But that wasn’t what made Jocelyn’s slow rise to a chair pose so unsteady.
The equilibrium problems came from deep inside her gut, the origin of all balance. Because way in her innermost core, Jocelyn was actually considering Lacey’s offer. Lacey needed her and she needed—
“Hey!”
The single word, shot like a bullet across the beach, knocked her right on her ass. Landing in the sand, she turned to see Will marching across the beach, the first flutter of happiness instantly erased by the sense that something was very, very wrong.
He carried a paper or card of some kind in one hand, his arms swinging as though he could propel himself forward faster. His face was dark with a scowl, his muscles bunched, his jaw set.
Was Guy hurt?
She pushed up, brushing sand from her yoga pants, not sure why Guy would be her first thought or why that thought would tighten her stomach with worry.
Something was wrong.
At a distance of about twenty feet, she could practically see Will’s nostrils flare.
“What’s the matter?” she asked, her words carrying over the breeze but eliciting no response as he marched off the remaining space and stopped right in front of her.
“Will?” She tried and failed to read his expression.
He took a slow breath, his chest rising and falling as he stared at her, the silence so unnerving she bit her lip and took a step backwards.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” The question was low and husky, almost drowned out by the squawk of a gull.
“Tell you…” Her gaze fell to the large envelope he was holding. And her heart stopped.
“I ran into Charity at the credit union,” he said.
Oh, no. No.
“She gave me something for you.”
Finally, she dragged her gaze from the envelope to his face, simply unable to put words to the tornado of emotions twisting through her. “And you looked at it.”
“Not intentionally. But I saw—” He closed his eyes, a shudder rolling through him. “Why didn’t I know this? Why didn’t you come to me? Why?”
She took another step back, the impact of the words—and him knowing the truth—too much for her to handle.
“He gave you a black eye.”
Agony stretched across her chest, pressing so hard she couldn’t breathe.
> “He beat you.” His voice cracked and he swallowed, his Adam’s apple quivering. “He left marks all… over… you.”
She shivered, running he hands over goose-bump-covered arms, blood rushing so noisily through her head she couldn’t hear her own thoughts.
“And you never told me.” The last sentence was spoken on a sigh, all the anger gone, only sadness there.
She finally exhaled. “You’d have gotten yourself killed or ended up in jail. It would have cost you everything.”
“Who cares? He beat you because of me.”
No, he beat her because he was a heartless animal. “You shouldn’t have looked at those.”
“Kind of a moot point now, Jocelyn. You should have told me. You should have come to me, not Charity Grambling.”
“I didn’t go to Charity. She picked me up on the street.”
He grunted like she’d punched him. “You left that night and didn’t walk fifty feet to me?”
“So you could do what? Ruin your life and your dreams and your career?”
“Jocelyn.” He could barely say her name. “He deserved to die.”
Stepping closer, she reached for the envelope. “But he wouldn’t have. And you might have. Give it to me.”
He just gripped it tighter. “He could have killed you.”
“He almost did.” She snagged the envelope from his hands, the paper still warm from his touch. “Now you know why I never contacted you.”
He tunneled his fingers in his hair, dragging them through like he could yank out the facts. “God, I hate him.”
“Welcome to my world.”
He opened his mouth to say something, then closed it. Jocelyn looked down at the envelope, part of her almost wanting to open it, but she couldn’t stand to see those images again. She wasn’t even sure why she’d asked Charity to give them to her, except for the joy of burning them.
And now they were burned into Will’s brain. Where she’d never, ever wanted them.
“This can’t come as a surprise to you,” she said softly, tucking the pictures under her arm.
“I didn’t think he’d actually hit you. Fuck, why didn’t he hit me? I was the one on top of you when he found us.”
Barefoot in the Rain Page 17