Barefoot in the Sand (Barefoot Bay)

by Roxanne St Claire

  “There won’t be a next girl.” Confidence oozed from every word. “I’m all he needs and all he wants and all he will ever have to have.”

  He braced for Marie’s cutting reply, but there was nothing but silence. And footsteps to the door, fast enough for him to realize she was running. To him.

  “Clay!” Lacey called, pushing the door so hard he had to jump back to keep from getting nailed. “Clay! Oh. You’re here.”

  “I’m here.”

  “You heard.”

  “Every word.”

  “And…”

  He reached for her, pride and love and something he couldn’t even name welling up inside of him.

  Completion. That was what it was. Like the final stroke on a drawing that was just waiting for completion. He could see the whole picture ahead and, man, it looked good.

  “And I think you are right about everything,” he said. “Especially the part about how you are all I need and all I want and all I ever have to have.”

  Lacey leaned into Clay. “You know what I want to do now, Clay?”

  He lifted an eyebrow. “Thank me properly?”

  “After that, I’d like to make some of your drawings come to life. And I don’t mean the floor plans.”

  He reached down to kiss her. “Told you, Strawberry. If I can see it clear enough to draw it, I can make it happen. Let’s make it happen… together.”

  “I like that.”

  He grinned. “I like you.”

  “I—”

  He put his hand over her mouth. “Let me say it first. I love you.”

  Epilogue

  Six Months Later

  “Why is everyone whispering?” Lacey approached Zoe and Jocelyn a few minutes after the formal groundbreaking ceremony had ended.

  They both shut up instantly.

  “Secrets,” Lacey said, shaking her head. “Why must we have any secrets? We’re best friends.”

  “No secrets,” Jocelyn said. “We’re just talking about what a lovely ceremony it was.”

  “Especially the part where you and Clay did the first big dig.” Zoe mimed scooping dirt. “Because nothing says romance like a shovel.”

  “Who said anything about romance?” Tessa joined them, her fingers wrapped around a small cluster of bright pink mimosa flowers that she’d insisted on planting months ago in honor of the island’s name.

  “Can’t say much else when Lacey and Clay are together,” Jocelyn said. “You two are the definition of bliss.”

  “Speaking of bliss, this afternoon kind of reminds me of a wedding.” Zoe slid her arm around Lacey to turn her toward the beach, but Lacey caught Jocelyn and Tessa’s sharp look of warning.

  “It’s okay, guys,” Lacey assured them. “When it happens, it happens. We’ll know when it’s the right time. We have a resort to build, you know.”

  Again they shared a look that could only be interpreted as—what? Pity? Understanding? Concern?

  “You guys, stop,” Lacey insisted. “Clay and I don’t need a piece of paper. We’ve never needed that, not even to build Casa Blanca together. It’s always been sealed with a kiss.”

  Which really should be enough when a person is this much in love, right?

  “Here, Lace,” Tessa said, handing her the flowers. “A gift for you to celebrate this glorious day of new beginnings.”

  She took the bouquet and smiled, surprised when tears stung her lids. She wasn’t disappointed that Clay hadn’t proposed yet, was she? No, these were tears of joy and anticipation. They had so much ahead.

  “And just look at those two,” Jocelyn said, indicating Clay and Lacey’s father deep in conversation at the water’s edge, silhouetted against the first golden streaks of a magnificent sunset.

  “They’re like father and son,” Lacey mused. They’d formed a strong bond almost instantly and, for the first time since he’d retired from dentistry, her father seemed truly happy. Even her mother…

  Well, she was coming around. She’d joined the party today, at least. And Ashley, now halfway through her first year of high school, had managed to forge much better friendships and an improved attitude. Right now she was talking excitedly to Clay’s sister, no doubt telling her all about the upcoming spring-break trip to the Caribbean to go snorkeling with her father.

  David had been true to his word: He’d invested heavily in Casa Blanca. No word on when he’d be back to visit, but Ashley seemed content with their regular texting and Facebook exchanges, and the promise of at least one adventurous vacation with him a year.

  “Hey, Lace.” Zoe gestured toward the water. “Your hotter half is waving you down to the beach.”

  As her father walked up the sand, Clay stayed in the shallow waves giving Lacey a two-fingered come-hither beckoning. “Like I could resist that. See ya,” she said, using the flowers to wave over her shoulder.

  “Shoes off,” he called, already barefoot himself.

  She kicked off her sandals and headed into the warm water, letting the froth bubble around her ankles. Clay reached out to her and she slipped into his arms, the warm water of Barefoot Bay tickling her toes just as his first sweet kiss landed on her mouth.

  “We did it, Strawberry.”

  “We sure did.” She leaned back, secure in his arms, giving in to the sheer bliss of being held by him. He bent over and kissed her neck, getting some crowd reaction.

  “We’re drawing attention, Clay.”

  “Get used to it. We’re going to draw a lot more.” He smiled at her, a sly, sneaking smile that crinkled his eyes and kind of crushed her chest. “You know, Lacey, your dad reminded me we’ve forgotten an awfully big step in this project.”

  “We have?” She frowned. “What is it?”

  “Our contract.”

  “A business contract?” She laughed at the idea, mostly because the notion seemed ridiculous when they’d done this much without one. Or maybe she laughed because, for one crazy second, she thought he might mean another kind of contract.

  “I don’t think it’s smart to go much farther along without one, and your dad agrees.”

  “Of course. He wants to protect me.”

  He curled his arm around her shoulder as if protecting her was his job, pulling her into him so she had to put her arm around his waist as they turned to the sunset, their backs to the beach. “You have to admit a contract makes sense.”

  “If it’s important to you…” She let her voice trail off as her eyes drank in the peachy pool of sunlight over the horizon and the violet-tinged sky above it. Beautiful. But she’d rather look up at the man she loved. “I don’t think we need one.”

  “I do. This is a huge commitment, years of work, lots of decisions to make, people who will depend on us to stick together when times get tough, and, of course, there are always complicated legal issues to iron out in case of a dispute.”

  “I never want to have a dispute.” She put her head on his shoulder, trying to just drink up the peacefulness of the moment.

  “Just in case, I think it would be smart to have a formal, binding, stamped-by-the-mayor kind of contract that says this partnership is permanent.”

  She squinted up at him, blinking against the late afternoon sunshine that washed him in gold. “Let’s just seal it with a kiss, Clay, and agree to trust each other.”

  He stared at her. “A kiss?”

  “Is just a kiss.” She stood on her tiptoes to peck his cheek. “That’s what our song says.”

  He turned so she hit his mouth and suddenly it wasn’t a peck at all, but slower, longer, deeper, and warmer. “Unless it’s a kiss like that.”

  “I’ll say,” she agreed. “That was pretty binding.”

  “But not good enough.” He angled them both toward the sunset again, the sand squishing in between her toes. “I want legal.”

  “Okay. On Monday you call the lawyers.”

  “I don’t want to wait until Monday. We have everyone we need here right now.”

  “Here for…” Dee
p inside, in the part of her chest that always ached a little when she looked at him, something twisted. “Here for us to sign a contract?”

  “If that’s what you want to call it.” Very slowly, he eased her around, away from the sunset, toward the beach.

  Every single person there gathered in a tight group, facing them. Except for Zoe, Tessa, and Jocelyn, who stood off to the side in a row.

  “What’s going on, Clay?”

  “One more ceremony today,” he said.

  Then the crowd parted down the middle, as if choreographed, and Ashley stepped into the open area, more mimosa flowers in her hands. She looked at Lacey, smiled, and slowly began to walk toward the water, dropping the pink stems as she did.

  Tears blurred her vision and a lump formed in her throat. “Clay. Is this…”

  “This is it, Lacey.”

  She let out a little breath of air, suddenly strangled with happiness. “Now?”

  “No chance to make a single excuse why we can’t.”

  “As if I’d even dream of that.”

  Laughing, he stroked her windblown hair off her face, then held her cheeks. “That’s why I didn’t propose.”

  “Better do it fast.”

  He got down on one knee, earning a big cheer from the crowd.

  “Lacey Armstrong, this beach is where I found you and fell in love with you and built a life with you. So this is where I want to make you my wife, the best friend and forever lover I will cherish, honor, adore, and love for all the days and nights we have together. Will you marry me?”

  “Yes, Clay Walker. I will marry you right here and now. I love you, too.”

  Behind her, Zoe squealed just as Ashley reached them.

  “Congratulations, Mom. I love you.” She kissed Lacey and hugged Clay. “Welcome to the family, Clay.”

  She stepped to the side to join the girls, all three with tears that matched Lacey’s and smiles that rivaled the beauty of the sunset.

  Lacey’s parents came next, and, miracle of miracles, her mother was smiling. And Dad was bawling like a baby.

  Last was Mayor Lennox, carrying a single piece of paper.

  Their contract. Their future.

  “Please join hands,” the mayor said.

  Lacey looked down at her mimosa bouquet, then turned to her friends. Which one of them should get this? Should the bouquet go to Zoe, whose mischievous grin almost hid her long-ago heartache, or Tessa, with her nurturing spirit that couldn’t be fulfilled in the garden no matter how hard she tried? Or Jocelyn, who tried to control everything by turning her back on the past?

  She wished a lifetime of love for all three of her best friends, but only one could take the bouquet.

  “Just a minute,” Lacey whispered to Clay. “I need to give these to someone.”

  Turning, she hesitated, still trying to decide.

  “Just throw them,” he said. “Let the wind decide.”

  She tossed the bouquet toward the women. Tessa froze and Zoe reached out with a squeal, but the breeze caught the flowers and took them straight to Jocelyn. She snagged the stems right before they hit the sand, getting a huge cheer from the crowd as she held the flowers with tentative fingers.

  “You’re next,” Lacey mouthed, then sidled closer to Clay.

  As the mayor started the second official ceremony of the day, Lacey took a slow, deep inhalation of the salt air of Barefoot Bay. The tangy scent reminded her of the morning of the hurricane, when hope and anticipation and change had beckoned her.

  And then love found her.

  She joined hands with the man she loved and hung on for dear life. Because life, as it turned out, really was dear.

  To her clients, life-coach Jocelyn Bloom had it all. Only Will Palmer, the boy who grew up next door, had a bird’s-eye-view of the ugly truth.

  When they meet again, can he help her heal the past?

  Barefoot in the Rain

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  Something was different at Casa Blanca. Will could practically smell a change in the salty air of Barefoot Bay the minute he climbed out of his truck in front of the resort’s construction trailer. To the west, the Gulf of Mexico was dead calm, the cobalt swells barely lit by dawn’s fiery rays peeking over the foliage along the east. The construction parking lot was empty, of course, and the structures stood silent in various degrees of completion.

  Still, the air pressed, heavy with… change. Funny how he could sense that. Like when the wind would pick up in the outfield, a signal that the game’s momentum was about to shift.

  Scanning the main building, he noticed a few additions since he’d last been to the job site. Clay and Lacey Walker ran a tight schedule, determined to get the high-end resort up and running within the year, so it was no surprise that the subs had been hard at work on Friday while he’d driven to Tampa to pick up the flooring for one of the villas.

  There were definitely more roof tiles on the main structure, the creamy barrels adding to the many textures of Clay’s Moroccan-inspired architecture. And the window contractor had been busy, too, leaving at least a dozen giant sheets of plate glass propped along the side and front of the curved entry, ready to be installed when the roof was completed.

  But the main building of Casa Blanca was of no real interest to Will. His work centered on the six private villas that the resort’s most well-heeled guests would rent. He’d spent most of the last year building those smaller structures, including all of the finishing carpentry in Rockrose, the first completed villa at the north end of the main path.

  He peered through the palm fronds and elephant ear leaves that had grown so lush since a hurricane stripped the trees over a year ago, studying the unpaved road that led to the villas. Deep, fresh wheel grooves cut through the dew-dampened dirt. Had someone driven up there on a Sunday?

  Even if there had been a sub here on a Sunday—which was really unlikely—the construction crew was primarily focused on Bay Laurel, the villa closest to where he stood now, and the destination of the African wood flooring he’d loaded in his truck.

  Why would someone drive up the path? He paused at the passenger door, pulling it open to grab the cup of coffee he’d picked up at the Super Min on his way to the site. As he unwedged the cup from the holder, a drop of hot black coffee splashed through the plastic top, dribbling onto the seat.

  Well, not the seat. Onto the newspaper he’d dropped there. And not exactly a newspaper either, unless the National Enquirer qualified.

  The headline blared and taunted him.

  Coco Kirkman Says: My Life Coach Stole My Husband!

  Why the hell did he buy that paper anyway? To revel in Jocelyn Bloom’s misery? To get the dirt on a woman he once thought was perfect?

  Oh, shit, why not face facts? He bought the tabloid on the off chance there’d be a picture of Jocelyn inside. And there was.

  Holding the coffee in his right hand, he used the other to lift the front page to see the blurry shot of a woman with long dark hair, big brown eyes, and features so familiar he didn’t need some paparazzi’s wide-angle lens to capture them.

  That face lived in his imagination. And since he’d seen her on TV last Thursday night, dead center in a Hollywood scandal, thoughts of Jocelyn had haunted every waking moment.

  Like that was much different from every other day.

  Maybe work would distract him. He nudged the door closed with his hip, finishing his coffee, still intrigued by the tire prints in the path. Following them, he strode along what would be the resort’s most scenic walkway, canopied by green and lined with exotic flowers.

  He passed some of the villas, mentally reviewing each construction schedule, but his thoughts stopped the instant he rounded the foliage that blocked Rockrose, the only fully finished villa.

  That’s what was different.

  He squinted into the sun that backlit the vanilla cream structure, highlighting the fact the French doors along the side were wide open, the sheer curtain Lacey had
installed fluttering like a ghost. There was no breeze, so someone had to have the overhead fan on in there.

  Shit. Vandals? Squatters? Maybe Lacey’s teenage daughter or one of her friends taking advantage of the place?

  There was no other explanation. Rockrose had been given a CO two weeks ago. But a certificate of occupancy didn’t mean actual occupancy, and Lacey kept the secluded villa locked tight so that none of the construction workers traipsed through or decided to use the facilities.

  He took a few steps closer, instinctively flexing his muscles, ready to fight for the turf of a building that somehow had become “his.”

  He took cover behind an oleander bush, slipping around to get a better view into the bedroom. He could see the sheer film of netting Lacey had hung from the bed’s canopy, the decor capturing the essence of North African romance.

  If anyone defiled one inch of that villa, there’d be hell to pay. Especially Rockrose. He’d laid the marble in the bath, shaved the oak wood in the ceiling, and personally carved the columns on the fireplace mantel. The whole job had given him more satisfaction than picking off a runner trying to steal second.

  Irritation pushed him closer to the wood deck. If some stupid kid had—

  The filmy gauze around the bed quivered, then suddenly whisked open. Holy Mother Mary, someone was sleeping in that bed. He bounded closer, sucking in a breath to yell when one long, bare, shapely leg emerged from the clouds of white.

  His voice trapped in his throat and his steps slammed to a stop. The sun beamed on pale skin, spotlighting pink-tipped toes that flexed and stretched like a ballerina preparing to hit the barre.

  The other leg slid into view, followed by an audible yawn and sigh that drifted over the tropical air to make the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He took a few stealthy steps, wanting to keep the advantage of surprise but, hell, he didn’t want to miss what came out of that bed next.

  The feet touched the floor and a woman emerged from the netting, naked from head to toe, a sleep mask covering most of her face. Not that he’d have looked at her face.