Love on Lavender Island (A Lavender Island Novel Book 2)
Page 12
“That’s because someone who was supposed to be dancing with me, on Bob’s orders, wasn’t asking.”
He glanced down at her. “I can’t tell if that’s disappointment on your face or relief.”
“Depends.”
“On what?”
“On how well you dance.”
He chuckled. He was glad Bob had forced him to stay and relax with her—he hadn’t smiled as much in five years as he had in the last three hours.
“Actually, it’s probably for the best,” she said.
“Why is that?”
“I probably had too much to drink. And when I get tipsy, I’m always afraid of what I’m going to do or say.”
“This sounds interesting.” He smiled down at her.
“Blathering is what it is.”
An enormous dirt clod seemed to come out of nowhere, and she stumbled over it and grasped his forearm. He caught her and helped her right herself.
“Sorry,” she said.
She hung heavily against him, and it felt so good—the warmth of her body, the feel of her hand, the silkiness of her skin and clothes. It had been a long while since he’d walked a woman home. Or even dated anyone seriously, where you noticed things like how good they smelled, or how nice they felt leaning on you. And he was shocked to have those feelings about none other than Paige Grant—the girl with the goth eyeliner who’d maybe saved him from a fire and whose mother had completely altered his young life. But now he was looking at a sexy, grown woman who had the same spitfire energy, and he was enchanted.
She leaned over and carefully slipped off each shoe. “Anyway, what I’d really love is if you’d start answering my questions.”
He smiled at that and tried not to stare too much down her top. “Have I been skipping your questions?”
“You most certainly have.” She shook one pointy toe at him. “You’re skipping the most important ones, actually.”
“What have I skipped?”
“Samantha. Remember? I asked you after you took the splinter out. I wanted to know what happened there.”
She turned and started charging up the hill.
“Are you going to be okay without your shoes on? There’s a lot of glass on the ground here. And snakes. And scorpions.”
“I feel like I’ll fall if I keep them on.”
“Might be better than the glass and snakes and scorpions. You can lean on me.”
She looked around the ground, as if the scorpions would be right there for proof, then shivered and slipped her shoes back on. She didn’t lean on him—just forged forward—but he wished she would.
“So you’re skipping your question again,” she said.
“What was it?”
“Samantha.”
Their feet made soft crunching sounds along the dirt road for another minute before he answered. He hadn’t thought about it much himself. It was what it was: a situation he hadn’t seen coming, but now he must take responsibility. That was most of his life. Thinking about it, or talking about it, didn’t seem necessary. He just kept getting out of bed, putting one foot in front of the other, and doing what must be done.
“There’s not much to tell,” he said. “I got a call from a lawyer in Alabama about six months ago who told me Samantha Sweet had died, and that I had a daughter named Amanda. And about two days later, Amanda showed up on my doorstep with three suitcases.”
They let the crickets fill the silence while they rounded the next corner.
“How did Samantha die?” Paige asked.
“Cancer.”
“She was so young.”
Adam nodded.
“So those are the events of what happened,” she said, “but I’m wondering how you and Amanda felt about it, and why Samantha didn’t say anything about a baby all those years before.”
“I don’t have the answers there. Maybe she just didn’t want to be with me.”
The fact that Samantha had chosen to have and raise a baby by herself rather than name him as the father was something he’d been wondering about for the last six months. He must have really let her down. He’d let everyone down that summer, he knew, sometimes for events he hadn’t even been responsible for, like the fires, but Samantha’s silence when she found out she was pregnant hurt the most.
It didn’t matter how he felt, though. As far as he was concerned, he just had to fix everything.
“So, since she had cancer, Samantha probably knew she was dying?”
“I imagine so.”
“And then she told someone you were the father, so someone would take care of Amanda?”
“I suppose.”
“So she chose you, in the end?”
He hadn’t thought about it that way. But he imagined that’s what had happened. Her parents had died in a car crash years ago, he’d learned, but she still had some distant relatives in Alabama she could have sent Amanda to. So Paige was right: Samantha had, in the end, decided Adam might be a good father for their daughter, after all. A bolt of confidence rose from somewhere deep, and he watched their shoes cover the dusty ground for the next minute.
“That looks like quite a view.” She pointed.
Through a thicket of pine trees, they could see a hint of twinkle lights far below. She was right—it was called Top of the World, and it had been a popular make-out spot when he’d been a teenager.
She was halfway up the next rock before he knew it.
“Be careful,” he called. He hated how old he sounded. He wished he still had a spirit like hers.
She nimbly scaled the smooth stepping-stone rocks, then suddenly paused. Her shoes seemed to be getting in the way again, and she bent and peeled each one off, her focus still on the top of the rock. He couldn’t take his eyes off her. Until, that was, she tossed the shoes at him. Adam caught each one.
“Come up here with me,” she said.
“How much exactly did you have to drink?”
“C’mon.”
He hesitated. Climbing the Top of the World at midnight with a beautiful girl was something he’d done as a teenager, but it seemed inappropriate right now, while he had so much responsibility and so many things on his mind. But somehow, everything about Paige seemed lively and a little inappropriate. And she made him smile. And she made him forget for a few minutes that he had the weight of the world on his shoulders.
He dropped the shoes and hauled himself up within seconds, following her onto the next ledge, where she’d crept around the corner and now sat with her legs curled beneath her to take in the view.
Below them, toward the east, Nowhere Ranch unfolded—his resort, orchards, airport, and stables, laid out like a patchwork quilt, deep blue-green velvet in the moonlit darkness. To the south, the island’s harbor and Carmelita rolled out, its city lights sparkling by the sea. A few boat lights could be seen in the ocean, as well as the reflection in the night water, but then the black ripples fell off, deep and still, as if they were at the end of the earth. Way out along the horizon, across twenty-six miles of sea, the lights of LA shimmered as if it were light-years away.
“I haven’t done this in a long time,” he said, settling beside her.
The smile she sent his way felt like his night’s reward.
“You used to come here?” she asked.
“All the time.”
“What’s it called?”
“Top of the World.”
“That’s right!” She let out a breath of relief. “I couldn’t remember. I vaguely recall it, but I don’t think Ginger would let us come out this far. What did you do up here?”
“Make out.” He threw her a grin.
Her laughter bubbled into the night. “I’ll bet. How many girls did you bring up here?”
“Ah. A gentleman never brings more than one girl at a time.”
She laughed.
He’d forgotten how good it felt to laugh with a woman—someone who could make you forget the things you wanted to forget and remember the things you wanted to
remember. Someone who could remind you how beautiful city lights were from a mountaintop. Someone who could make your heart hammer a little, and confuse you about whether it was due to an uphill climb or to the fact that she looked stunning in the moonlight.
“Did you ever bring Samantha up here?” she asked, twisting her body toward him.
“Probably.”
“I was always jealous of her.”
He lifted his eyebrows.
“I’d see you whisk away with her, like from the campfire or something, and I’d always get jealous. I always wondered what you were doing.”
“Well, you were probably a little young to be wondering what we were doing.”
She laughed. “Maybe. You know, she might need to hear you talk about her mom.”
“What?”
“Does she have any idea how you felt about Samantha?”
“Are we talking about Amanda now?”
“Yeah, sorry. That’s another thing I do when I’ve had too much to drink—I change the subject a lot.”
“I’ll try to keep up.”
“Try harder, buddy. So does Amanda have any idea how you felt about Samantha?”
“No, I wouldn’t imagine . . . I barely remember myself.”
“You don’t remember how you felt about her?”
“Not really.”
She looked thoughtful about that for a second, then gazed back over the view. “Well, make something up. Kids need to know they’re wanted and loved, and if Amanda knows you didn’t even know she existed, she probably assumes you don’t want or love her. But if she learns that you sincerely cared about her mom, she might feel there could be some feeling that will trickle down to her. It’s the same thing as—ahh! Crap! What was that?”
She leaped up and started batting her hands across her hair.
He jumped up with her. “What’s wrong?”
“Was that a—crap!” She ducked again, then grabbed his arm and tugged him in the other direction. “Are there bats out here?”
“Oh. Yeah. I think there’s a cave up there on that next—”
But she’d yanked him toward her and was leaping off the rock slab as the bats swooped in their direction.
“Paige, wait! Be careful.”
She whisked herself down two more ledges in incredibly impressive moves, then pulled him into a tight crevice so they could hide until the bats passed by. She pressed her back against a rock and glanced around the ledge above their heads. “Are they still coming out?”
He poked his head around the formation. Sure enough, in the distance, about seventy of them continued their trajectory to the south. “I think the coast is clear.”
“Bats seek me out.”
“What?”
“I’m attractive to them.”
He stepped back into the crevice with her and smiled. “Well, I can see you being attractive to a variety of species, but bats?”
“Birds, too. Hummingbirds especially. And some insects.”
He lifted his eyebrow.
“They find me and dive-bomb my hair. It happens all the time. I think I’m cursed.”
“Cursed?”
“Bad things follow me around. Calamities, if you will. Birds fall out of the sky and land on my head, bats dive-bomb me, I fall out of screens, I get myself stuck in window sills and laundry chutes—that kind of thing.”
“Wait. There’s a laundry-chute story?”
“I’m serious. It’s a curse.”
“Maybe it’s a blessing.”
She rolled her eyes. “How is being dive-bombed by bats and falling out of screens a blessing?”
“Maybe it gives you a life filled with fun and adventure, and maybe people like being around you.”
She looked up at him in the sweetest way, her eyes filled with thanks and vulnerability. She stared out at the empty night for a minute and then gave him another once-over. Inexplicably her hand reached for his shirt, and she pulled him toward her, stumbling just a little. She leaned in, slightly, and tilted her chin toward him.
Did she want him to kiss her? He wanted to. He’d wanted to have his hands on her all night. He moved his arms toward her shoulders but then stopped himself.
She smiled up at him. “You want to kiss me, don’t you?”
He grinned and glanced away. “I do, yes.”
“Why aren’t you?”
He sighed. “Because you’ve told me twice now you’ve had too much to drink, and it’s an asshole move when a guy already knows that.”
She stepped closer toward him and then stumbled on a crack in the rock and fell into his arms. Damn, she has soft skin. This time he didn’t take his hands away.
“That’s very noble of you. But it’s probably smart on both our parts to leave now.” Her delicious-looking bottom lip pouted, and her voice was tinged with a strange awareness that sounded too lucid for the state she claimed to be in. “Are the bats gone?”
He leaned out. “They are.”
She nudged him toward the opening of the crevice. “Let’s get back.”
His chest fell from disappointment, but he knew it had been the right thing to do. He made sure she got down safely, then jumped down beside her as she tugged on her shoes.
“We can sing songs on the way back,” she said, pulling on the left one.
“Why would we sing songs?”
“Because that way neither of us will think about how stupid we were back there.”
He wasn’t sure exactly what she meant by that—whether it was stupid of her to almost be kissed or stupid of him to have missed his chance—but he nodded and followed her back to the dirt road, shoving his hands into his pockets.
And when she launched into a wailing chorus of “Goodnight, Irene” as soon as they started down the road, he burst out laughing.
Damn. This girl was cute.
CHAPTER 12
The dude group arrived at eight the next morning. Through sleepy eyes and a mild hangover, Paige watched them assemble in the meadow. She hoped MacGregor wouldn’t show. But she’d told Adam she’d be well out of the way by the time anyone arrived, so she scrambled out of bed to make sure she had her things packed and rushed outside to pile everything into the golf cart. She’d have to practice her asanas later.
She also wanted to clear out before she had to face Adam again.
Her eyebrows throbbed. But the worst part was remembering how much she’d flirted with him, and how much she’d revealed, and how she’d stumbled into him several times. And then . . . oh God . . . having the bats dive-bomb them, and then almost kissing him in the crevice. And then . . . did she sing all the way home?
She groaned.
This was not being smart. This was not proving to him how capable she was.
This was being foolish.
This was being weak.
This was being a disaster.
As she scurried to find Click and make her getaway, the dudes hauled large duffel bags toward their rooms, dressed in full Western gear—shiny boots, bright flannel shirts, and spotless ten-gallon hats. There were eight of them, of varying ages from thirty to sixty. Adam brought up the rear, in his more faded, natural colors, deep in conversation with an older gentleman who Paige thought might be MacGregor. Her shoulders fell.
She and her mom had never met MacGregor in person, but she was pretty sure—based on how much attention Adam was giving him—that was him. He’d shown up. Which didn’t bode well for her.
She tore her eyes away from the man who was ruining her plans and . . . well . . . from the other man who was ruining her plans. Neither had seemed to spot her. This would be a good chance to make her escape.
“Mornin’, miss,” said one of the freshly minted cowboys leading the pack.
Paige smiled and quickly resumed her packing. She just wanted to get out of there.
“Good morning from me, too,” said another.
Paige turned and gave another brief nod. She had the sense a bunch of locusts were descending.
“I’m fine, thank you.” She took the bag back.
“Are you going to be part of our riding group?”
“No. I’m just—”
“Rooms are straight ahead.” Adam had come out of nowhere and lifted the duffel bag of the urban cowboy and shoved it a little roughly at his chest. He pointed in the right direction.
The cowboy took off with his adopted new amble.
“Mornin’, Paige,” Adam mumbled, still watching the cowboy’s retreat.
Her pulse kicked into a silly rhythm at his looming nearness again, his handsome face frowning into the morning sky, his hair brushed back under his hat. She glanced at the chest and arms she’d practically thrown herself into last night and then had to turn away slightly so he wouldn’t see her blush. Should she say something about the almost-kiss? Should she apologize? Should she—
“And who’s this?” came an older man’s voice behind them.
She and Adam both tore their gazes away from each other to turn toward the voice.
“Mr. MacGregor, this is Paige Grant,” he said. “Paige, Dave MacGregor. You two might know each other—Dave, Paige and her mom, Ginger, are the owners of Helen Grant’s property across the way.”
Adam sounded so pulled together. She reached up and smoothed her hair down.
“Ah, yes, the Grants.” MacGregor reached for her hand. “Well, aren’t you pretty?”
Paige shook back. She didn’t know what being pretty had to do with anything, so she ignored that.
Adam turned and suddenly seemed to glare at MacGregor, or maybe just into the sun. He directed the man toward the rooms. “That way.”
MacGregor stared at Paige for another few seconds, then nodded to them both and loped away.
Adam stayed planted, hands on his hips, watching MacGregor leave. “How’re you doing? I wasn’t sure how your head would feel.”
“I’m good,” Paige lied.
She was a little hungover, but she didn’t want to focus on how irresponsible that had probably been. Besides, the pain medication she took was doing its job. Damage controlled. Her greater worry was what Adam might think of her flirting last night.