by Shirley Jump
"Say what women normally say."
"Which is?"
"Okay." He smiled. The fear still shone in her eyes. She was afraid of being hurt, that he knew, but there was something else, something he couldn't put his finger on. "Then I'll ask you to dinner and we'll take it from there."
"No." She shook her head, stepped back a pace. "I know how it'll go. We'll go out, we'll have a wonderful time—"
"Nothing wrong with that."
"And maybe you'll even think you've fallen in love with me. Maybe I'll think the same. We'll date a while, make plans for a future. Then you'll come to your senses."
"Come to my senses?" Brad chuckled. "That's what I'm doing right now."
She shook her head. "Men like you, men in general, don't marry a woman like me. Not for the typical reasons. I'm the trophy wife. The kind you dress up and take to cocktail parties. I'm not the kind you picture feeding babies at two in the morning and driving the kids to soccer games."
"And is that their fault? Or yours?"
She crossed to the front of the boat, following behind a group of passengers getting off. He slipped in behind her. For a few minutes, neither of them said anything as they left the boat, went down the pier and into Locumbia, up to the row of shops that greeted tourists with open doors and colorful merchandise.
"What did you mean by that?" Parris said finally. "How can that be my fault?"
"Maybe you give off non-soccer-mom vibes."
"I am who I am, Brad. I don't try to be anything else." She pushed on a handle and entered the first store.
Beside her, Brad arched a brow.
"What?"
"Maybe you're the one who's afraid. Afraid of the soccer games and the two-in-the-morning feedings. And so you don't send out those vibes. In fact, you don't send out any vibes at all. Every time I get close to you, you run."
Still doing a good job of avoiding his eyes, Parris crossed to a rack of tuxedo jackets. "You know, it doesn't matter. I don't believe in all that anyway."
"All what?"
"That happily-ever-after stuff. It doesn't happen to anyone."
"Anyone? Or just you?"
She picked up a black jacket and pressed it to his chest. "I think this style would be the best for you. Tails, of course, would be out of the question. More for a wedding than a meeting. But this rounded lapel cut is a little more modern and—"
He lowered the hanger. "Parris."
She swallowed and swiveled away. "Of course, the right shirt will make all the difference. I think collarless would be nice. Maybe even a wing collar with a Euro Tie. That would be different. Help you stand out in the crowd."
"Don't ignore me, Parris."
But she did, crossing to a row of shirts and choosing the first white one she saw. "This would be great under that jacket," she prattled on, "with some cuff links, and—"
He spun her toward him. "Parris, what I'm trying to say quite clumsily is that I'm falling in love with you."
The hangers in her hands clattered to the floor. Her emerald eyes were wide, shimmering in the overhead lights. "You don't mean that."
"I don't lie, Parris."
"You barely know me."
"I've spent more time with you in the past few days than I have with anyone else I know, except Jerry. And he's not my type." Brad grinned.
Parris yanked the shirt and tux off the floor, pressed them in his hands and pointed toward the dressing room. "You'd better try this on."
"Parris—"
"Brad, we made a deal. I'm just keeping up my end of the bargain. You don't need to butter me up anymore." Then she turned away and started a conversation with a salesman before Brad could convince her otherwise.
Damn. He didn't just need a style makeover. He needed the Dating Police to help him before he messed up this relationship even more.
As soon as the dressing room door shut behind Brad, Parris allowed herself to breathe. Had he just said he was in love with her? The thought rocketed through her, coupled with hope and doubt, intertwining around the words like determined spiders weaving alternating webs.
She meandered around the shop, touching the silver racks, her mind moving faster than her feet. She'd heard those same words once before, from Garrett.
And he hadn't meant them when it came down to the moment of truth.
Could Brad be different?
She glanced toward the closed door. He was the wrong kind of man. He made her question things, question herself.
He required her to give. To think. To become more than she was. More than she'd ever been before. Could she do that?
And could she take the risk that he'd meant the words he said?
She had to say something when he came out of that room. She couldn't go on ignoring his statement. The store only had so many clothes she could throw at him before she actually had to prepare a response.
I think I'm falling in love with you.
With Parris the debutante? Or Parris who'd looked at sand crabs and glow-in-the-dark algae with him under a dreamy, starlit sky?
Dreams. That's all they were, she reminded herself. Dreams were not grounded in reality. If there was anything Parris was good at, it was dealing with the here and now. And in the here and now they were on a resort island that seemed infested with some kind of romance bug. It would pass, when she returned to the mainland and Brad returned to his senses.
Then why did her heart feel like a cinder block?
Her cell phone chirped. She fished it out of her handbag and flipped it open. "Parris, get to the mainland hospital now," Jackie shouted. "Dad's been flown over there with chest pains."
Parris was gone. Brad came out of the dressing room, expecting to see her, but found the store empty except for an eager salesman ready to help him break in his charge account.
She'd left. If it hadn't been clear before that she didn't reciprocate his feelings, it sure as hell was now.
"Sir?" One of the salesmen approached him. "The lady told me to tell you she was sorry, but she had to go. You were in the very last dressing room or she would have gone in there herself to give you the message."
"I'll bet." Brad scowled. Then he caught himself and apologized. "Thanks for the message." Such as it was.
"She seemed quite worried, sir. Even tried to charge into the dressing room herself, but we don't allow that sort of thing in here. Perhaps something happened?"
"Yeah, something did." He'd made a huge mistake, that's what.
"Do you like the tuxedo? It does look quite nice on you." The salesman motioned toward the mirror.
Brad pivoted and looked at his reflection. He hated to admit it, but Parris Hammond had been right about one thing. She knew what looked good on him. Too bad she wasn't as good about what was best for his heart.
"Will you quit fussing over me? I'm not worth all this worry," Jeffrey Hammond said. "You girls need to get back to the island and work on your tans or something."
Parris perched on the edge of his bed. "Dad, I'm not going anywhere until I'm sure you're okay."
"I'm fine, baby. It was a touch of angina and a lot of heartburn. Probably had too much Tabasco on my eggs."
Jackie chuckled. "You and your spicy foods. I told you they'd get you in trouble."
"Now when have I ever worried about what kind of trouble I'd get into?" Against the stark white of the bed linens, her father looked older, grayer. Parris realized how little time their odd family had ever spent together. Too many years had been spent in bitter recriminations.
She didn't want it to be that way any longer. She'd enjoyed working with Jackie, even though the first few weeks had been bumpy. They may not have been a huge success with their business, but they'd found a way to work together and developed a friendship. It was a start.
"You always were trouble," Parris said, smiling as she took her father's hand. "You were a bad influence on us."
"I was, wasn't I?" Jeffrey's smile turned to a sober line. "I didn't mean to be, you know. I'm just not good at permanence."
Out of the corner of her eye, Parris saw Jackie bite back a response. The divorces hadn't gone well for either of their mothers. As much as each of them loved their father, they'd both readily admit he had all the marital commitment of a guppy.
"If I were you girls, I'd think marriage was a terrible thing," her father went on. "I'd probably think most men are like me. Run out on you when you least expect it, moving on to something younger and blonder."
"Dad, we—" Jackie started.
"No, don't sugarcoat it. I'm getting old here. Had a near-death experience over my scrambled eggs. Don't interrupt me. I may take it all back when the morphine wears off." He smiled. "You know what makes men run?"
"Hormones?" Parris joked.
"Fear. Well, maybe a bit of hormones, too. But mostly they're afraid they aren't good enough for the women they picked. Both your mothers—" he reached for Jackie's hand on the opposite side and gave it a squeeze "—were good women. I didn't deserve them and they certainly didn't ask for what I gave them. Inside this big old body is the heart of a mouse."
"You? I always thought you were a lion. My father, who could take on the world."
"In business, you better not mess with me. But in here—" he released her hand to pat his chest "—I'm the biggest wimp this side of the Mississippi, especially when it comes to commitment."
"How come you're saying all this now?" Jackie asked, taking a seat on the opposite side. "Why not years ago, when we needed to hear it?"
Jeffrey swallowed. "You know why I gave you girls that business?"
They shook their heads.
"I was in the courthouse one day, signing the papers for my fourth divorce and realized I was alone again. I went back to my empty apartment and my empty life and well, hell, I felt sorry for myself." He grabbed Parris's hand again. "You two were the only good things that came out of any of my marriages. My ex-wives all hate me, and rightly so, but to you girls, I've always been Dad, even if I was only there on holidays and birthdays."
Parris put her palm atop their joined hands. "We're family. For better or worse."
Jeffrey's blue eyes misted a little. "Yeah, we are. And that's what I wanted more of. So I tried to get it, with the only thing I knew. A business."
"You kind of threw us to the sharks, Dad," Jackie said. "We didn't know what we were doing at first."
"But you pulled it off. You girls were amazing. I was so proud. I told everyone those were my daughters."
Across the bed, Parris met Jackie's eyes and the sisters shared a grin. They'd done it, despite the last-minute problems. The auction, Jackie had told her earlier, had raised twenty thousand dollars more than they'd hoped.
"What I'm trying to say is that you two are all I have. I don't want to lose that. And I don't want you and your sister to lose each other, either."
Parris smiled, her vision clouded by tears. "You're saying we're stuck together, huh?"
"Like it or not."
Jackie smiled. "I can live with that. Parris isn't so bad."
"Hey!" Parris gave her sister a light jab. "This is a tender moment here."
Jackie rubbed at her arm, feigning pain. "Not anymore, it isn't." Then she laughed, and the sound of her happiness was echoed twice over.
Chapter Eleven
When Brad got back to the mainland late that day, he'd managed to complete everything on Parris's schedule. He'd even seen the stylist who'd fussed over every hair on his head as if it was a work of art. For a man who spent two seconds a day on his hair, it had been a weird experience.
One he hoped he didn't have to repeat anytime soon.
The charge card was well broken in and he had a tux, shoes and two new pairs of pants and non-tie-requiring shirts in the garment bag over his shoulder when he stepped off the boat. Parris had made notes on his copy of the schedule about outfits she wanted to see him in, even attaching a few photos from magazines, which had made shopping on his own easier.
He hadn't enjoyed the experience, but it hadn't been as painful as he'd expected either.
He scanned the shoreline as the ferry approached the dock for the resort. She wasn't there. She hadn't been in any of the stores, hadn't been at the hair salon, had never returned to meet up with him.
He'd screwed up. Scared her off. That falling-in-love statement had been the equivalent of dropping an outboard motor at full speed into tranquil waters. It wreaked absolute havoc and scared off every living creature within hearing distance.
After disembarking, he hesitated at the end of the dock. Go back to his apartment and start working on his presentation or…
Head up to the resort, find Parris and try to yank that motor out of muddied waters. She owed him an explanation for running out on him, especially after he'd suffered through a hair mask.
The lobby was busy, filled with auction attendees checking out and new guests checking in, creating a flurry in the forest-green-and-cream space. "Mr. Smith! I almost didn't recognize you, what with the new haircut and without your beard." Morton Kingman crossed to him and extended his hand.
"Nice to see you again," Brad said, shaking the other man's large hand. He nearly had to shield his eyes from the bright turquoise-and-lime-green suit Mortie wore today. Clearly Parris wasn't doing his shopping for him. "Are you checking out?"
"Heading to Europe for a bit. Before that summer heat gets to me." He released Brad's hand and gave him a clap on the shoulder. "You know, I've been thinking about my offer to put in a good word with the committee for you. And I wanted to withdraw it."
"Withdraw?" Brad blinked. "I wasn't intending to take you up on it, but I'm curious about why you changed your mind."
"I know you have your ethics and all that," Mortie said. "I respect that about you. But, I also know how these committees work. They want flashy stuff they can parade in front of the alumni. Now I happen to think your work is fascinating. I've been doing a little reading on the Architeuthis myself."
"You have?"
"Yep. I think it's one of the greatest animals that ever lived. Not one of the prettiest," Mortie laughed, "but a pretty incredible one. You find any evidence of them?"
"Well, I don't want to get my hopes up because the DNA results won't be back for a day or two, but—"
"Yes?" Mortie's eyes were as wide as a child's on Christmas morning.
"Well, I think I found a tissue sample from one when I was diving last week."
"That's incredible! They do exist here after all." Mortie shook his head. "Amazing. What I'd give to go out and see you do your thing someday."
"I'm afraid it's not very exciting, Mr. Kingman. A lot of sitting around and waiting for luck to find us or for the camera to find a miracle."
"I disagree. And so does Miss Hammond. She said watching the Rover in the sea was exciting. She mentioned you wanted to do something with cameras on sperm whales."
Brad shrugged. "That's my dream. But for that you need funding. Lots of it. And there are lots of scientists competing for the same dollars."
"That's very true." Mortie tapped a finger on his chin, assessing Brad. "But none of them are competing for my dollars."
"Your dollars? What do you mean?"
"I'd like to be your benefactor. On one condition. You take me out sometime, let me see that camera in action. I've always wanted to get closer to the sea. And you get right in there. Hands, feet, everything."
"Sir, that's a very generous offer. Too generous. I couldn't—"
"Oh yes, you could. Just say yes. I have a foundation. I'll make it a grant, renewable each year, if you keep finding great things. Make you work for your money." Mortie winked. "How's that sound?"
"Wonderful!" Brad bit back the excitement, the ideas churning inside him. "But…don't you want me to show you my research with a formal presentation and paper first?"
"Nope. I talked to Parris Hammond at the auction. Saw her face light up when she told me about that whaleboat ride. She said she fell in love with the ocean that day." Mortie smiled. "I susp
ect she fell in love with more than that."
A funny feeling twisted through Brad. Hope. Maybe Parris hadn't run out because she didn't return his feelings. Maybe there had been some other reason. And maybe there was a future for them.
"Besides, you don't need to put on a suit to convince me you're smart and on to something. The report would be nice—it'll keep the foundation's board in touch with what I'm doing. Throw one in the mail when you get a chance." Mortie clapped him on the shoulder again. "In the meantime, go catch one of those giant squids. And the little sea filly talking to your mother over there."
"Sir, I can't thank you enough."
"You don't need to. You feed my fascination with the sea. That's enough. Humor me once in a while and talk my ear off about what you do."
Brad grinned. "It'll be my pleasure."
"You're quite the young man, you know that? Bet your mother is proud as all hell of you."
Brad shifted the bag on his shoulder. "I'm not exactly doing the career she'd have chosen for me."
"Ah, she'll come around. You gotta understand, she's a dog person." With that, Mortie nodded and walked away, tossing a "good luck" over his shoulder as he did.
Brad circled around to the front desk. He paused when he heard Parris's voice coming from a few feet away. He pivoted and saw her past the clump of foliage in the lobby, talking with his mother, as Mortie had said. He started toward her, then stopped when he caught a snippet of their conversation.
"I'm thrilled the auction went so well, Miss Hammond," his mother was saying. "But now I'm more interested in the other project I spoke with you about."
"Other project?" Parris asked.
"My son. I heard from Ms. Montrose that you and my son went shopping today for his wardrobe. Might I assume these are business clothes?"
"I helped him, yes, but not for what you think."
"I really want you to…encourage him to rethink his career choices. You and I both know he's smarter than this fish thing he does."
"Brad is happy with his work."
"But I'm not. If you can bring him around, I'll make it worth your while."
Brad saw Parris straighten her spine. Her cheeks flushed crimson. "Mrs. Smith, I'm sure you're making a generous offer and I'd be crazy to turn it down considering my business is new and struggling. But I learned something today—in fact, I learned something from your son. Doing what you love and being with the people you care about is more important than money."