Barefoot in the Rain

by Roxanne St Claire

  She dropped her head on his shoulder, the sheer bliss of it weakening her knees. “You don’t want to be on my list, Will.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong. We’re in this together now. Fifteen years to make up for, and I’m going to do that. I am.” He tilted her chin up, stealing the strength of his shoulder but replacing it with the power of his eyes. “I am.”

  Deep down inside her, everything boiled and brewed and bubbled up, threatening… everything. Her legs nearly buckled under her and, sensing that, he backed her right into the bed and eased her down.

  Oh, God. Was this it?

  Every kiss was so hot his mouth burned her skin, one hand on her bra, the other sliding over her belly to touch her.

  She let out a soft cry, pushing him with her arms while she pulled him with her legs.

  What the hell was wrong with her? “Stop, Will, stop.”

  He did, instantly. Lifting his head to look into her eyes, his hand frozen on top of her breast. “You don’t want to?”

  Oh, yes, she did. She wanted to with every white-hot nerve in her body. But she—how could she tell him the truth?

  Hadn’t he had enough life-changing revelations? “Tell me what you’re thinking, Joss. Just tell me. We’re starting over, square one, new game, first inning. Tell me what you’re thinking.”

  How could she? “I’m really, really scared.” Of what was inevitable: sex. Every time, those old fears bubbled up, memories of that night when they’d been so close to losing control. And what it had cost her. “I’m scared of that feeling of not being in control.”

  “Tell me something I don’t know.”

  Maybe she should. Maybe she should just tell him that because of that night—

  From her dresser, the soft ring of her cell phone saved her from any confessions. She nudged him off her, getting a moan of frustration when she left his arms to get the phone.

  “Hey, Zoe, what’s up?” she asked after glancing at the caller ID.

  “I’m at your dad’s house.” It wasn’t the words but the utter lack of humor in Zoe’s voice that made Jocelyn straighten and listen, placing her hand on the dresser for a little support.

  “You are?”

  “Tessa had to go to work and I was, you know, just thinking about the old dude after all the fun I had babysitting yesterday, so I thought I’d check on him.”

  “That was thoughtful.” Which seemed to be what Guy elicited from everyone these days. “And?”

  “You need to get down here, Joss.”

  She tried to swallow, but it wasn’t easy. “Why?”

  “Just get here. Fast.”

  “Okay. I’ll be there soon.” She tapped the screen and turned to Will, a thousand possible ways to go with this at war in her brain.

  Something was wrong with Guy. How would Will react to that? The way he reacted to everything: emotionally. She couldn’t deal with that now. She couldn’t control that now. Or ever.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  “That was Zoe.” She slipped by him to grab something to wear from the closet. “She… needs me.”

  “Is she okay?” He blocked her, reaching to her face. “You look so pale.”

  “Yeah, fine. She’s just Zoe. Everything’s a crisis. It’s nothing. She’s a drama queen, but I’m going down to, um, to Tessa’s to see her. So…”

  “So I should get lost.”

  She smiled. “Not in so many words.”

  “Then use real words and tell me what you want.”

  All she ever wanted: space, solitude, and security. Except—she glanced to the messy bedspread, imagining what had almost happened there.

  Space, solitude, security—and, now, sex.

  She wanted that so much she didn’t trust herself to be alone with Will. “I just need some time and space,” she said vaguely.

  “I’ll give you a little,” he agreed, reaching for her waist to pull her into him. “And I’ll give you a warning.”

  Her eyes widened at the tone in his voice.

  “We’re just getting started, Jocelyn Bloom. I screwed up, bad. But I have fifteen years to make up for and I’m going to. No matter what it takes, I’m going to make it up to you and I’m going to be your goddamn action item at the top of your goddamn list. And you know what the theme is going to be?”

  Sex? Healing? Love? “What?”

  “Everything.” He pulled her into him and ground out the word. “I want it all.”

  She just blinked at him. “I’ve never given anyone… my all.”

  “There’s a first time for everything.” He trailed his finger down her throat until he landed on the soft swell of breast over her heart. “I’m going to crack that shell, Joss. I am. I’m the one.”

  She could have fainted the words hit her so hard.

  “Will, I’m afraid.”

  “Of what?”

  Of everything. “You crack the shell, you break my heart.”

  “I won’t,” he swore, his voice strained with the power of his promise. “I won’t.”

  She just dropped her head to his chest, wanting to believe him so much it hurt. But that would mean letting go of all her control, and she just wasn’t sure she could survive that.

  Chapter 18

  Jocelyn’s heart stopped when she turned onto Sea Breeze, the sight before her so completely surreal she had to brake and blink to accept what she was seeing.

  Guy was halfway across the street, dragging their old aluminum rowboat behind him. And Zoe was helping.

  “What are you doing?” Jocelyn asked as she climbed out of the car.

  “Oh, shit,” Guy said, dropping the rope. “Now we’re busted.”

  Jocelyn slammed the car door and marched closer, dividing her attention between Guy, who looked a bit sheepish, and Zoe, who hooked a hand on her hip and flattened him with an I-told-you-so look.

  “Where are you going with that thing?” Jocelyn demanded, not even sure how they’d gotten it down from the garage loft.

  “We’re hiding it,” Guy said.

  “Where? Why?”

  He looked at Zoe for help, but she just waved an innocent hand at him. “It’s your gig, hot stuff. You do the ’fessing up.”

  “We’re hiding it in the river,” Guy finally said, shuffling on old sneakers. It was the first time Jocelyn had seen him out of bedroom slippers. “You probably don’t know this, but there’s one behind those houses,” he added.

  It wasn’t exactly a river, but a series of crisscrossing canals that cut into the western border of Pleasure Pointe. The waterways were dotted with tiny mangrove hammocks generously referred to as “islands” even though they were little more than mounds of muck and home to gators and snakes. Locals kayaked and fished in there, just as Guy had many years ago.

  In that boat.

  “I know what’s back there,” she said, shifting her attention to the boat just as a sudden and unexpected memory surged up. A snapshot, really, of a moment in that rowboat, holding a paddle, smiling up at Mom, who held a camera, laughing, calling out Say Happy Birthday, Jossie.

  She put her hand to her mouth as the impact washed over her senses, so crisp and clear she could practically smell the brackish water and feel the warm wood of a paddle in her hand.

  “Why are you doing this?” She directed the question to Zoe, who really should know better.

  “So you don’t sell it in the yard sale,” Zoe said, obviously parroting Guy.

  When Jocelyn opened her mouth to respond, her father held up his hand. “Don’t try to gift me, girlie, there’s is nothing you can buy me that will equal what this boat means to me.”

  “It means something to you?” How was that possible? He had no memory of, let alone attachment to, this boat.

  “Darn right it does.”

  “What?” Jocelyn got close enough to see two bright spots of color on his cheeks, along with a light sheen of perspiration from the exertion. “What does it mean to you, Guy?”

  He took a deep b
reath, his eyes darting back and forth the way they did when he was trying to mine for a memory and came up with nothing. He finally gave a look of sheer desperation to Zoe. “Help me out, Blondie. You know I’m not good with details.”

  Zoe wiped a stray curl from her face, her skin also pink, either from sun or strain or mischievousness. “He was pretty dead set on the idea.” She pushed up her sunglasses to add a look. “I guess stubbornness is hereditary,” she said, a little too softly for Guy to catch.

  “Well stupid isn’t, and this is just—” Frustration zinged at the mere sight of the damn boat, little more than a tin canoe with boards and oars. But still, it had been their boat. “But you can’t just take this to the canal and leave it there.”

  “Why not?” They asked in perfect unison and, worse, perfect harmony.

  “It’ll get stolen,” Jocelyn said.

  Zoe snorted. “Have you looked closely at this vessel?”

  In the sunlight, the thirty-year-old aluminum looked more like aged pewter, all the shine it ever had long gone. The three wooden “pews” across the middle were faded and chipped, and the old marine numbers along one side were illegible now.

  “No one’ll take it, Missy.” Guy reached down to pick up the rope and hoist it again, the aluminum hull making a scraping sound on the asphalt.

  “You’re supposed to carry it,” Jocelyn said, automatically reaching toward the boat to stem the damage and stop the painful screech.

  “It weighs ninety-seven pounds!” he said.

  How did he remember that and not his own daughter? “I’ll help you.” She grabbed the side. “It’s supposed to be carried upside down, overhead. Three of us can do it. Let’s get it back in the garage.”

  “No!” he barked, making Jocelyn jump.

  “Guy—”

  “Missy,” he whined. “Let’s just take it for a ride on the river. Please?” He sounded more like six than sixty-four. “I want to show my new friend the islands and all the wildlife.”

  Jocelyn looked at Zoe for some backup.

  “Well,” Zoe said, “we do have it all the way out here and it’s a really pretty day.”

  Not that kind of backup. “No, we’re taking it back—”

  “Jocelyn!”

  “Missy!”

  Again with the unison and harmony. Whatever had made her think putting these two together was a good idea?

  “Really, Joss,” Zoe added. “Why not?”

  “Because…” She stepped in front of Zoe, her back to Guy, lowering her voice to make her point through gritted teeth. “You said there was some kind of emergency.”

  “There was, but I solved it.”

  “By dragging a canoe across the street?”

  “It calmed him down. When I got there, he was in his closet crying like a baby and blubbering about a canoe. The only way I could talk him off the ledge was if he showed it to me. Once we saw it…” She shrugged. “Well, shoot, I like boat rides. I thought it would be fun.”

  “What about this is fun?”

  “Holy hell, Joss, lighten up. He’s got nothing. He’s lonely and bored. Let’s take him out on the water. What can it hurt?”

  “It could hurt…” Me. “Without sunscreen.”

  Zoe tilted her head. “Say what?”

  How could she tell Zoe that a trip down those canals in this rowboat could hurt Jocelyn’s heart, and her head, and force her to unlock boxes of lovely memories and perfect afternoons that should never, ever be set loose?

  It was bad enough that the only version of Guy that Zoe knew was a sweet old man who loved needlepoint and reruns of home-improvement shows. If she knew there was actually a time when he was—

  Daddy.

  “I’m melting,” Zoe singsonged.

  “It’s nice and cool in the canals,” Guy said. “Shady, too.”

  “I…” Jocelyn looked from one to the other, then down at the ancient boat.

  She really ought to be able to go out there, take a nice little relaxing row, and move the hell on. Wasn’t that what she’d tell a client? Physician, heal thyself.

  “Okay,” she said softly, bending down to get a grip on the boat. “Go get the paddles, Zoe. Can’t exactly go up a creek without one, right?”

  Zoe threw an arm around Jocelyn’s neck while Guy shouted, “Hooray!”

  “Good girl,” Zoe whispered in Jocelyn’s ear.

  Jocelyn pulled away and gave her a withering look. “This was so not on my to-do list today.”

  “Ah, spontaneity.” Zoe looked up at the sky. “My work here is done.”

  “Like hell it is,” Jocelyn said. “You’re paddling.”

  The subcontractor meeting was coming to an end and Will had no idea what they’d discussed for the last hour. Clay had run the weekly meeting, as always, and since most of the time-line discussions were about the main building, Will had zoned out.

  Because all he could think about were those pictures. And the way Jocelyn had felt in his arms, how much she still got to him, all these years later. He was torn, confused, hurt, and, most of all, so full of anger and hate that he wanted to punch a wall instead of build one.

  “Are you, Will?”

  He did a double take at Clay’s question, clueless how to answer.

  “The marble inlay for Bay Laurel’s master bath. Are you laying it next week?”

  Was he? Who the fuck knew what he was doing next week? Of if there’d be any laying involved. “I’ll let you know,” he said.

  Clay gave a dry laugh. “That’d be good, Will, since I’m running the show.”

  “Sorry,” Will said, turning to leave the trailer. “Lot on my mind.”

  “No kidding. Come on.” Clay gave him a nudge. “I’ll walk over to Bay Laurel and check out your progress.”

  “I’m almost done,” he said. “No need to check.”

  Clay smiled. “I think we need to talk.”

  Okay. Either he was getting shit-canned from this job or Clay had something on his mind. Someone on his mind.

  They walked in silence around the other workers, taking the path to Bay Laurel, the largest villa on the property.

  “So how’s it going with Jocelyn here?”

  That hadn’t taken long. “Fine.”

  “You two go way back, I understand.”

  Will threw him a sideways look. “Yep.”

  “And now she’s planning to put her father in a home.”

  Which would be too good for him. “That’s the word on the street, which, obviously, you’re getting.”

  Clay laughed. “Lacey tells me everything.”

  A surprising little twinge of jealousy pinched his chest. “Must be nice,” he said, giving voice to it.

  “We went way past nice a long time ago.” At the villa, Will went inside first, while Clay lingered on the front porch to look up at the second-story soffits that had been hung by the roof sub last week.

  “I’m down to the baseboards,” Will said, grateful he’d taken out all his frustrations on the dead blows that morning. “A few finishing boards, some putty on the nails, and we’re done.”

  Clay let out a low, appreciative whistle as he stepped over the threshold, a grin growing as he looked around. “Damn. That’s nice wood. Worth every penny.”

  The dark grains gleamed in the afternoon light, even with the slight dusting of wood shavings. “Might be the nicest floor I’ve ever seen,” Will agreed.

  Clay crouched down to examine a seam and the invisible nailing while Will waited for the verdict. “Might be the nicest floor job I’ve ever seen.”

  Will nodded his thanks. “So I’m not fired.”

  Laughing, Clay pushed up. “Why the hell would I fire you?”

  Will scratched his head and looked at the floor. “Because I don’t have a clue what went on in that meeting,” he admitted. “And my head’s not in the game.”

  Clay crossed his arms and walked along the side of the room, appearing to study the floor, but Will knew he was thinking. “First o
f all, do you have any idea what I’d have to go through to find someone of your caliber to come out to this island and work?”

  “Thanks, man.”

  “I mean it. I wake up in a cold sweat worrying about you getting a call from some baseball team, and then where would I be?”

  Will shrugged, not sure how to answer that one.

  “But I have noticed you’ve got a lot going on the past few days. Our schedule’s good, if you need some time off.”

  “I’m okay,” he said. “I’ll let you know if I need it.”

  Clay gave him a long look. “What happened in the car this morning?”

  Shit. Clay had seen him the very minute he had found the pictures. “Nothing.”

  “Nothing? You looked like you saw a ghost and damn near ran over the DOT inspector’s boots.”

  “Did I?” He made a face. “Hope we passed anyway.”

  Clay laughed softly, propping on a stool Will used when he sawed. “You really weren’t paying attention in that meeting. Yeah, we passed, and I chalked your driving up to morning fog. But do you know how many times you spoke in our sub meeting?”

  “I’m more worried about what I said.”

  “No need. Because you didn’t say a word, but that’s the thing about you, Will. You don’t have to.”

  Will met Clay’s sharp blue gaze, quite used to the younger man’s longer hair, earring, and tattoo. Clay might not look like a hard-core professional, but he was one. And wise beyond his barely thirty-one years.

  “What are you saying?” Will asked.

  “Not saying anything, just offering an ear. I know you’ve got some things going on with Jocelyn and her dad. Thought maybe you’d want to talk.”

  Did he? Did he want to tell Clay about Jocelyn being beaten? Hell, no. About her keeping it from him and him wearing blinders to protect himself? Not particularly.

  But feelings bubbled up, and the words that had tormented him all day were right at the surface. “I just found out that the one time in my life I should have done something even if it cost me everything, I did nothing.” He cleared his throat, looking away. “Now I have to do something and it might be too late.” He paused, the echo of his vague confession hanging in the air. “Did that make sense?”