Barefoot by the Sea bb-4

by Roxanne St Claire

  The boy got next to her. “She’s Emma. I’m Edward.”

  And I’m speechless. Tessa blinked and finally let her gaze settle on the man, who walked up behind them, putting his hands on their shoulders.

  “I’m Ian Browning,” he said softly, the British accent as mesmerizing as the smile on his lips.

  She couldn’t speak. Her mouth opened, but nothing would come out.

  The little girl leaned over to whisper to her brother again.

  “She wants to pick those yellow flowers,” he said, pointing at a row of hibiscus.

  “Of course,” Tessa said.

  The kids took off, each one taking a different path around her as they tore to the trees.

  She took a slow breath and stared at the man in front of her. “I don’t understand this.”

  “Neither do I.” He took a step closer, nothing but warmth and love in his eyes.

  “But…” All the questions welled up inside her. Why was he here? With his children? Openly calling himself Ian Browning and speaking in his native accent? But she couldn’t form a single question, because he was so close all she could do was look. And when he reached for her gloved hand, all she could do was let him take it and when he leaned close, all she could do was close her eyes and brace for impact.

  “I don’t understand how I could even imagine a life without you.” He breathed the words into her ear. “And now I don’t have to.”

  “John…”

  He inched back. “Ian.”

  “How is that possible?”

  A high-pitched squeal came from the kids, making them both turn to see them running wild around a lemon tree, Emma’s curls flying and Eddie’s legs whirring.

  Ian pulled her closer as he looked from the kids to her. “They’re mine.”

  She laughed. “I assumed as much.”

  He shook his head. “No, I mean they’re really mine. To keep and raise out in the open.”

  Joy flooded her, like warm rain from her head to toes. “I’m so happy for you.”

  He brushed her hair off her face with one hand, still holding her other. “Bloody hell, I missed you, woman.”

  More joy cascaded. No, not joy. Love. A straight-out, full-on, explosion of true love. “How is it that you are out here in the open air, being…you? What happened?”

  He sighed. “Lightning struck twice.”

  She shook her head, confused.

  “The Vane brothers were killed in a prison riot,” he explained. “They’re dead, the gang’s finished, and no one on this sweet earth is trying to hunt me down.”

  She took a moment to let that sink in, but it would take longer. Maybe a year. Maybe a lifetime. “Except me. I called Henry,” she admitted.

  “You did?”

  “There was no answer.”

  “Probably because he was with me and thought it was a—why did you call?”

  “Just to tell you…” Childish laughter rang again and she couldn’t help but turn and look at them. “They’re beautiful.”

  He just smiled. “I know. And you’re going to love them.”

  She already did. But, deep inside, she fought the sensation, terrified to get too hopeful. “How could everything change that easily?”

  “Nothing was easy,” he assured her. “I had Henry on my side, though, and we fought, cajoled, begged, convinced, and finally charmed our way into getting me this far.” He kissed her forehead. “I wasn’t going to live without you. Or them.”

  “Ian, look! Lemons!” The boy’s voice rose with excitement. “Can I pick one?”

  “Of course,” Tessa called back. “He’s all better?”

  “Completely.” Ian beamed at them. “They’re a little confused by the whole thing, but think I’m a new foster parent. I’m calling them the names they’ve grown up with and hoping to ease them into the truth as they get older. But now? I just want to love them.”

  “Of course.” She stole another look, her heart swelling. “How could you do anything but?”

  “Emma’s having a hard time adjusting. She’s shy and won’t talk to anyone but Edward and a few stuffed animals.”

  Sympathy swamped her. “She needs—”

  “A mother.” He took one step closer and put his hands on her shoulders. “They both do. A sweet, nurturing, tender mother who can teach them about potatoes and flowers and seashells and love.”

  Oh. She closed her eyes, full of a sensation she’d never, ever known before. Now this…this was the way she always imagined she’d feel the day she found out she was going to have a baby. Utterly at peace and in love.

  “They need to love you the way I do,” he whispered. “The way I will for the rest of my life.” He tightened his grip. “That’s why we’re here,” he said. “To get you.”

  Oh, God. “And go…somewhere?”

  “A few places, but no more hiding,” he assured her. “First, we’re going to find that white-haired mayor.”

  “Lennox?”

  He nodded. “We have a—no, sorry, I have a piece of paper to sign.”

  The marriage certificate. “You still need that?”

  “I still want that. Don’t you?”

  More than anything. She nodded.

  “Then we’re going to fly by Ottawa to finalize some custody paperwork which will ensure that Emma and Eddie are ours.”

  Ours. Her heart squeezed. “And then?”

  “A trip to London, I think.”

  “London?”

  “My parents want to meet you and, of course, see the kids. I have a few other things I’d like to do there, but mostly see the people I left behind.”

  “And then…where?” New Zealand? Timbuktu? What did it matter if they were—

  “Right here, of course. A resort in paradise, which happens to be the closest thing to heaven on earth I can imagine.”

  “Here?” She put her hands to her mouth, the earthen smell on the glove invading her head, making her dizzy with joy. “You’ll live here in Barefoot Bay?”

  “We’ll live here.” He lifted her gloved hand and very slowly pulled it off, one finger at a time. She thought he would kiss her knuckles as he had the first time they stood in this garden together, but he reached into his pocket instead.

  “To beginnings, pretty Tessa.”

  She laughed. “I’ve heard this the last time you stripped my glove off and started courting me.”

  “Not this.” In his other hand, he held a blindingly bright diamond ring, the stone catching the sun and stealing her breath. “You haven’t heard this.”

  “No,” she managed to say. “I don’t think I have.”

  He slipped the ring on her finger and closed his hand around hers. “This is real, Tessa. Real life. Real love. Marry me and let’s be a real family of four.”

  “Actually…” She looked at the ring, then him, everything blurred by joy and hope and a sense of completion as palpable as the budding life around her. Stepping back, she took his hand and placed it on her stomach. “There are five of us now.”

  He drew back, his eyes wide, his lower lip quivering in disbelief. “Tessa.” He barely whispered her name. “Are you sure?”

  She reached up and touched his cheek, the diamond on her hand as lovely as the tears in his eyes. “I’ve never been so sure of anything in my whole life.”

  “Well…how are you? Is everything good? Are you okay…I mean, is everything…”

  “I’m fine.” She laughed at the stuttering of a stunned new father. “I’m perfect.”

  He folded her into his arms, lifting her off the ground for a kiss. “You sure are, pretty Tessa. You are perfect.”

  And so, it seemed, was her life.

  Epilogue

  The Vixen of Vacation Vows

  Blog Post—August 12

  The maid of honor was a dead woman.

  The bouquet was a squirming baby.

  And the place was so littered with eye-candy, a girl could get whiplash from checking out the groomsmen.

&nbs
p; But I’m getting ahead of myself. Let me back up, loyal followers, and explain why I chose to blog about the wedding I just attended in the most dreamy spot called Barefoot Bay.

  Do you remember almost a year ago when I visited a Moroccan-inspired resort on the Gulf Coast of Florida? I had been invited for what was, admittedly, a “soft” opening, as they say. Soft? This was more like the squishy underbelly of a fat cow. Gooey like the dozen eggs I dropped in the grocery store parking lot. Limp like that guy I…never mind, you get the idea. They made some beginner’s blunders and I let them have it, V3-style. (Slice and dice with a dash of vitriol and sarcasm.) I left the Casa Blanca resort quite underwhelmed, despite the lovely ladies who run the place and their high, high hopes.

  Well, what a difference a little time makes!

  It wasn’t easy to get me to go back (there are thirteen thousand destination-wedding resorts in the world and only one Vixen to critique them for you, kittehs!) but some quite influential friends plied me with…er, twisted my arm. The lovely folks at AABC (that’s the American Association of Bridal Consultants, not the a-alphabet) convinced me to attend a wedding as a VIP guest and what an affair it was! I must share all I experienced that day for it was a wedding like no other. Well, it was like many others. Two people got married. They seemed frightfully in love. The sandy stage was draped with pearls and lace and all manner of white stuff.

  But it wasn’t the wedding setting that did me in…it was the people who peppered that place that I can’t forget.

  Casa Blanca is one of the few mom and pop resorts left on this earth…and let me warn you, I don’t mean Ma and Pa Kettle. Owner Lacey is a gorgeous ginger who not only handles a teenager and a toddler, she has a smokin’ hot “pop” who was the architect for the place. Yikes. Can you say Matthew McConaughey with a wicked drafting pencil? And the Moroccan design was a result of their mutual love of the movie Casablanca. Awww. I know, gives me a cavity, this sweetness. These two are a powerhouse couple and I see great success in their future. (The teenager’s a handful, though. Good luck with that one.)

  The owner has an executive staff made up of her BFFs who—get this—have all been gal pals since college. Do you love it, ladies? Jocelyn is the spa manager and former life coach (and Olympic-quality list maker) who is all spit and polish and perfection. She’s married to a carpenter who, I must say, could nail me anytime. (Oh, I crack myself up.) When they’re not organizing and laying, um, carpet, then they are taking care of her doddering ol’ dad who offered to knit me a scarf. A scarf? In Florida? He knit me two. Forgot about the first one, dear thing.

  And here’s something they have that I don’t recall seeing at any other destination wedding resort—a hot air balloon so the bride and groom can literally fly off into the sunset. This pristine beach is stunning from any view, but from three thousand feet in the air with the one you just “I do’d”…best photo op ever.

  Coincidentally, the wedding I attended was for the woman who owns and flies the balloon, Zoe, who could give any airhead a good name. Can you spell eccentric? Neither can I, so I’ll describe. Our blonde bride carried her newborn baby in place of a bouquet (I told you this one never met a tradition she couldn’t trample) but thankfully did not toss little Maya to any eligible bachelorettes.

  While her three besties were bridesmaids, natch, the place of the maid-of-honor was held by a photograph of her great-aunt who went to be with the angels over a year ago. Honestly, the creativity of some people! Am totes stealing that idea if I ever scare up a husband. If I do, I pray he’s tall, dark, loaded, and looks at me like I hung the moon…which, I should tell you, is exactly the doctor this bride married. I might have to hate her. Oh, and the ring bearer was the doctor’s son, a future rocket scientist named Evan who brought his dog and stole the show.

  And did I mention the food? I certainly did last year. The kitchen was definitely where the place fell short on my previous visit, but now they have a chef de cuisine (with a to-die-for English accent—tally ho, my lord!) who is married to the organic gardener, offering the all-important “farm to table” experience for the healthy elitists among you. (I know there are plenty!!)

  Can I please coo about these two for a moment? Madly in love and running after a matched set of totally adorbs five-year-olds and growing another in their personal garden of Eden. They divide and conquer with the wee boy following Daddy about in the kitchen, nattering about tomahtoes and potahtoes (he’s picked up his old man’s pronunciations). The girlie hangs with her mom, riding shotgun on a tractor and making it look like so much fun, I almost wanted to go all country and redneck and shit.

  Then that passed.

  So, am I recommending Casa Blanca at Barefoot Bay for your destination wedding? Only if you want perfection on a platter. The atmosphere is elegant, but not ostentatious. The location is tropical, but not tasteless. The food is fantastic, the villas are romantic, the people are precious, and love is in the air.

  And here’s the best part—there’s now an on-site wedding planning company called “Barefoot Brides.” Clever girls! And these aren’t your plain vanilla planners, friends. These ladies are former board members of AABC, so they know their business and their business is getting a bride down the aisle in style.

  Arielle handles decor, Gussie will dress you fine, and Willow feeds the hungry guests. I know you’ll love them.

  Full disclosure: these planners are (drinking) buddies of mine. I’ve followed them around the country as they visited resorts to recommend to their colleagues and I know a little bit about how they work. Their standards are as high as the bar tab when I’m in tow. So high that I understand they’ve made some kind of pact to never get married. You know what they say—always a wedding planner, never a bride.

  What? They don’t say that? Well, let’s see what happens next in Barefoot Bay, hmm? I understand you can’t help but kick off your shoes and fall in love. (Oh, shut up. They paid me to slip in the slogan.)

  Vow to be happy!

  Vix

  About the Author

  Roxanne St. Claire is a RITA® Award–winning author of more than thirty novels, including her bestselling Bullet Catchers and Guardian Angelinos series. Her critically acclaimed books have been published in numerous languages and recognized with multiple awards, including the National Readers’ Choice Award, the Daphne du Maurier Award, the HOLT Medallion, the Booksellers’ Best Award, and the Borders Top Pick for Romance. She currently lives on the east coast of Florida with her husband and two teenagers.

  You can learn more at:

  RoxanneStClaire.com

  Twitter @roxannestclaire

  Facebook.com/roxannestclaire

  FB2 document info

  Document ID: e15bc863-b98e-4923-86a4-1ffb0d9436f9

  Document version: 1

  Document creation date: 6.11.2013

  Created using: calibre 1.7.0, FictionBook Editor Release 2.6.6 software

  Document authors :

  About

  This file was generated by Lord KiRon's FB2EPUB converter version 1.1.5.0.

  (This book might contain copyrighted material, author of the converter bears no responsibility for it's usage)

  Этот файл создан при помощи конвертера FB2EPUB версии 1.1.5.0 написанного Lord KiRon.

  (Эта книга может содержать материал который защищен авторским правом, автор конвертера не несет ответственности за его использование)

  http://www.fb2epub.net

  https://code.google.com/p/fb2epub/

 

 

 
-filter: grayscale(100%); -ms-filter: grayscale(100%); filter: grayscale(100%); " class="sharethis-inline-share-buttons">share