Isle of Hope

by Julie Lessman

  Limp strands of her bangs shook along with her head as she looked up, moisture puddling in her eyes. “No … b-but would you m-mind …” A muscle convulsed in her throat along with one in his heart. “I mean do you think you c-could … you know … h-hold me like you used t-to when D-Daddy and I would f-fight?”

  His pulse forgot to beat for several seconds. Would I mind?

  “You bet,” he said, voice gruff as he scooped her up and repositioned her on his lap in the chair, pulse ricocheting out of control. He wrapped the blanket around her before tucking her close, finally resting his head against hers. “So … what happened tonight?” he whispered, ignoring the aching familiarity of holding her like this once again.

  She sniffled, and a faint smile shadowed his lips, remembering all the times he’d cuddled and coddled her, this little girl he so longed to protect. She swiped at her nose with the side of her hand, and he chuckled. “Sorry, Lace, I’m fresh out of Kleenex, but this quilt is due for a wash, so have at it.”

  A congested giggle escaped, trailing into a broken sob. “He h-hates me, Jack,” she whispered, the frail hurt in her tone slashing right through him, “he always has.”

  His breathing stilled. “Your father? No, Lace, I don’t believe that.”

  “It’s t-true,” she said in a nasal stutter, clinging so tightly, her nails dug into his chest. “H-he told me s-so tonight—said I was a m-mistake …”

  “What?” He couldn’t help it—he jerked back to look in her eyes. “He said that?”

  She heaved and nodded at the same time, the motion so pitiful, he wanted to bust on Ben Carmichael till the man bled raw. “S-said Mom tricked him … got ‘knocked up’ as he s-so crudely put it, with a b-baby he wasn’t even s-sure was h-his …” Her voice trailed off into another gut-wrenching sob, and all Jack could do was crush her to his chest, eyelids sinking while he cuddled her close. He kissed her head, nuzzling her damp hair while the scent of peach shampoo took him back to a time when he had a right to hold her like this, pick up the pieces, and then kiss the hurt away …

  “He’s just an angry and bitter man, Lace, whose temper has always gotten away from him, especially with you.” He gently lifted her chin with his thumb, heart twisting at the liquid grief in her eyes. “As much as I wish you weren’t his daughter, a person would have to be deaf, dumb, and blind not to see the resemblance between you two.” He slowly caressed her eyebrow, tracing its perfect arch. “You have the same remarkable hazel eyes, flecked with gold in the sunlight that glitter like smoky emeralds whenever you’re angry or hurt. Or the oval shape of your jaw,” he whispered, her skin like silk beneath the glide of his fingers, “which leads to that same formidable chin as your father’s, the one that always promises a challenge.” Slipping a damp strand of hair over her ear, he infused a trace of a smile to chase away the sadness he saw. “Hate to say it, Lace, but except for the hair color and monumental grudge on his shoulder, you’re your father’s daughter no matter what the idiot says.”

  The faintest glimmer of a smile broke free on her beautiful face, lifting the weight of the world off of his shoulders. A harsh grunt escaped as she swiped her nose with the side of her hand. “Yeah, I know—kind of makes a bald-faced liar out of him, doesn’t it?”

  He smiled. “Especially when he calls you a mistake, because the only mistake here is his.” Jack lifted the quilt to dry the tears on her face and dab at her nose. “Because as God is my witness, Lace, if you were a mistake, then you’re the most perfect one I’ve ever seen.”

  Her head tipped to the side. “I thought you didn’t believe in God so much anymore?”

  It was his turn to grunt. “Didn’t say I didn’t believe in him, just don’t have much use for Him.” He tugged her back against his chest to deter any further talk of God. “So you really did it? Jumped off his boat? Not when it was running, I hope …”

  She settled in, legs tucked and body scrunching close. “The engine was running, but I didn’t care. I dove off the back—the same crazy dance of rebellion and anger I was so good at in my teens.” A fractured chuckle rumbled against his chest. “What can I say, I’m the Queen of Shock and Awe when it comes to Ben Carmichael, but I’ll tell you what, Jack, I would have given anything to see his face.”

  He grinned. “Me too.” He released a heavy sigh, chin propped on top of her head. “But all the hurt and anger aside, Lace, you can’t let the past—yours or your dad’s—dictate your future, and it will if you let it. Bitterness has a way of making us cold and hard, and I don’t want to see that happen to you. Ever. Because as far as I’m concerned that is one way that you are not your father’s daughter, Lacey Carmichael, and that on its own has always made me proud.”

  She issued a grunt. “Can’t take much of the credit there—you were the one who always browbeat forgiveness into my head whenever Daddy and I would fight, remember?” She lowered her voice several octaves, mimicking one of the silly platitudes he’d always spouted back then. “‘Don’t ever forget, Lacey, forgiveness is the greatest gift we can give to ourselves.’”

  He tweaked her waist, unleashing that glorious giggle he loved. “‘Browbeat? As I recall, Miss Carmichael, it was always you who came to me for advice and comfort, yes?”

  Her laughter lit up the night. “Yes, it was, Dr. O’Bryen, and it’s a good thing you didn’t go into psychiatry, I suppose, or you’d be sending me a hefty bill.”

  “Nope. I don’t charge friends,” he said quietly, the very taste of the word bittersweet.

  Sitting up, she cupped both hands to his jaw, her voice the softest of whispers. “Especially best friends, Jack, because that’s what we are. And every single day of my life, I thank God He allowed me back in your life.”

  He palmed her hand with his own, swallowing an awful lump in his throat. “I had no choice, Lace—you own a piece of my heart, and you always will.”

  “Me too,” she whispered, the husky sound drawing his gaze to her mouth, lingering on parted lips he craved to taste.

  “I missed our friendship when I was gone, Jack—your love and your comfort, yes, but most of all, your wisdom.” Ever so gently, her hand on his cheek twined with his, her touch a tender agony over all they had lost. “‘The words of the wise bring healing,’” she said softly, and he immediately recognized Proverbs 12:18, pulse stuttering that he remembered any Scripture at all.

  “That was always you, Brye, the words of the wise healing my tortured soul, staunching the flow from all the wounds Daddy and I inflicted.” More moisture pooled in her eyes as her fingers caressed the curve of his jaw. “Thank you, Jack, for all you’ve done for me in the past and for all you continue to do. I think I would be lost without you.” Nestling back into his hold, she kept her hand warm within his. “No, I know I would, because nobody’s ever been able to calm me like you.”

  “Not even Chase?” he asked, his casual tone cloaking the pride that surged in his chest.

  “Nope, not even Chase. Although he does have it over you in one area …” She peeked up with an impish smile, glimmers of the little brat she used to be twinkling in her eyes.

  His gaze narrowed. “So help me, Mike, if you say volleyball …”

  Her giggle was pure mischief. “Well, that too, I suppose, but no—I was going to say he prays with me about things like you used to do. Unless, of course, you’d consider—”

  “No!” He stood and dropped her on her feet so fast, she wobbled as much as his heart, which suddenly needed a lot more distance. She laughed so hard, the blanket dropped to the dock, revealing a soaked orange crop top plastered to luscious curves and shrunken enough to highlight a tan and toned stomach. Battling a gulp, he turned to retrieve his rod and reel, ticked off at just how easily the woman could simmer his blood.

  “Here—I’ll let Chase do the prayin’, and I’ll do the playin’, deal?” He thrust his rod and reel into her hands and strode to the storage closet for another, anxious for the smell of shrimp instead of peach-scented hair. “Game on.
”

  “Yes—prepare to die!” The bounce in her step told him he’d succeeded in diverting her attention, both from his former faith and the row with her father. She had the line cast in the water before he could get a shrimp on his hook, and fumbling to hurry, he pricked his finger. The hook immediately drew blood, only the first of many times Lacey Carmichael would make him bleed, no doubt, now that Chase was in her life. She chattered on while she popped the cork in the water like a pro, tripping his pulse with a sexy grin over her shoulder. “Lucky for you, Dr. Jock, that the only fishing Pastor Chase does is at church.”

  She reeled in and cast again, and his gaze roved white capris that molded to every curve, just like he’d hoped to do once, after Lacey became his wife. Smile thin, he joined her at dock’s edge, casting the shrimp—and his regrets—as far away as he could, sinking them both into the bottomless memory of the Skidaway River. “Yeah,” he said with a grunt when Lacey squealed over a bite. “Lucky me.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  “You’re joking, right?” Lacey gaped at Cat and Shan, knife poised over a home-baked cherry pie donated to the Camp Hope anniversary fundraiser going on all weekend. The smell of popcorn and funnel cakes competed with wood smoke and barbecue while a large crowd of orphans and adults milled and mingled on a lawn crowded with booths, games, and carnival rides. Lacey blinked, hardly able to believe she’d heard correctly. “You think Jasmine’s the bad influence?” Shock threaded her tone while she sliced the pie in eighths before shoveling pieces onto paper plates. “From what Nicki says, Jack has quite the reputation at the hospital—a player every nurse is dying to get her hooks in.”

  “Well, that much is true,” Cat said with an off-center grin, snitching a brownie from the plate Shannon was arranging at the bakery booth where all three had volunteered. All around them, children’s giggles and shrieks echoed in the warm night air, the sound as melodious as the circus music that drifted from the carousel down on the shore. “Dr. Romeo is one of his nicknames at Memorial, according to my friend Kathy, because he dates no less than three nurses at a time.”

  “Or did,” Shannon corrected, calmly swatting Cat’s hand as she attempted to filch another brownie. “Till Jasmine. And you’re on a diet, remember?”

  Cat’s eyes narrowed to slits of sapphire. “We’re in a flippin’ bakery booth, Shan—have a heart.” Her scowl instantly morphed into a blazing smile as sweet Carol Green delivered a pie she’d obviously overbaked for the fundraiser, given the charcoal crust around the edge. “Mmm, blueberry lattice, Carol, one of my favorites, thank you!” she said, sniffing the pie that no doubt smelled like charcoal too, given poor Carol’s reputation for inedible baked goods.

  “They’re all your favorites,” Shannon muttered, scooping an arm to her sister’s waist. Her smile tipped as she bumped Cat’s hip with her own. “You swore me to hold you accountable, remember? ‘One-brownie limit on pain of death?’”

  A wicked grin slid across Cat’s face as she snatched another brownie behind her sister’s back. “I wasn’t talking about my death,” she said with a chuckle, promptly popping half in her mouth.

  “I swear, Cat, you are the sidetrack queen,” Lacey said with a shake of her head, her grin matching that of her friend’s. She snapped her fingers in front of Cat’s face. “Uh, focus, please? We were talking about Jasmine and Jack?”

  A scrunch crinkled Cat’s delicate nose, making her look more like ten than twenty-five, especially with brownie crumbs at the edge of her mouth. “Now there’s a brownie deterrent if ever there was—talk about loss of appetite.”

  It was Lacey’s turn to wrinkle her nose, eyeing the cherry pie with a rumble of her stomach. “What—you don’t like Jasmine?” she asked, downing a swig of her bottled water.

  Cat answered with a grunt, tearing off a piece of plastic wrap to cover the newly cut pieces of pie. “The Queen? Oh, she’s okay I guess, just not for Jack. She’s the daughter of the head doc at Memorial and Jack’s boss, so Kathy says whatever the queen wants, she gets, if you get my drift.” Her lips swerved sideways. “And Kathy says she wants Jack—in the worst way—so I just worry she’ll break him down.”

  “Break him down?” Lacey halted, water bottle suspended at her lips. She tried to ignore the twinge in her gut that felt too much like jealousy. “You mean marriage?”

  Tucking the plastic wrap around a second piece, Cat paused to give Lacey a droll look, her shapely blonde brows arched high. “Uh … no … I mean virtue, as in Jack’s?”

  Lacey began to hack, the water she’d just sipped clogging her throat. Shannon patted her back with firm taps, concern wedging the bridge of her nose. “You all right, Lace?”

  Lacey’s ponytail bobbed frantically in response while she waited for her airway to open back up, finally emitting a raspy reply. “Yeah—fine, thanks. Went down the wrong pipe.” She nailed Cat with a piercing gaze. “Are you trying to tell me that Jack Carmichael—the bachelor catch of Isle of Hope, who’s dated scores of women and has a player reputation according to Nick—that Jack Carmichael doesn’t—” Her throat bobbed as she circled a hand, hoping Cat would get her drift so she wouldn’t have to say it aloud. No such luck. Unleashing a silent groan, Lacey dipped her head in question, face flaming brighter, no doubt, than the stupid cherry pie. “You know … get around?”

  Cat grinned, obviously pleased she could rattle her best friend. “Nope.” She repositioned several wrapped pieces of pie, her perfectionist tendencies in play as she arranged the baked goods into a perfect display. “Kathy says Jack’s reputation is all bark and no bite, and she should know.” She turned to give Lacey a pointed look. “She’s the nurse we all liked before Jack dumped her for getting too serious. Kathy claims Jack may play around, but he refuses to sleep around, a fact verified hotly by the nurse he dated before Kathy—Miss Marisa ‘Va-Va-Boom’ Brown.”

  Lacey spun to grab a plate of cookies off the back table, more heat broiling her face. She snatched one from beneath the plastic wrap and set the plate on the front counter, completely disrupting Cat’s handiwork. “I find that very hard to believe,” she mumbled, cheeks chunky with cookie. “A hunky doctor and red-blooded American male who’s ditched all prior morals and beliefs? In today’s world that all but guarantees sexual activity.”

  “No, really, Lace …” Shannon said with a blink of blue eyes that seemed more intense than usual, as if underscoring a point with more depth than her words could convey. “Jack made a pact with Cat and me that if we kept it ‘above board’ as he put it, he would too, and I believe him. He always sleeps at home and usually gets in at a pretty decent hour too.”

  “That’s because Mom’d kill him if he didn’t,” Cat quipped, tossing a loose brownie crumb into her mouth. “But Shan’s right, Lace—Jack did make a pact with us a few years back.”

  Lacey shook her head, sagging against the counter with an open-mouthed smile. “Well, I’ll be. Shades of the minister coming back to haunt, I guess.” Feeling spunky, she snitched a brownie with a wide grin. “You know, I do believe that’s the best news I’ve heard in a long, long while. Good for Jack!”

  “And bad for Jasmine,” Cat said with a waggle of brows.

  “All right, ladies, your shift is up.” Miss Myra marched up to the booth with two volunteers in tow, apparently unruffled by the humidity in her crisp, white peasant top and colored maxi. Her trademark single strand of pearls completed the ensemble. “Go get your dinner.”

  “Yes!” Cat fist-pumped the air, and Lacey grinned, herding the twins out of the booth toward the picnic tables, corralling Debbie, Davey, and Spence on the way. They found Tess and Mamaw chatting, along with several of Mamaw’s card-club friends, all waiting on them to eat barbecue.

  Davey darted toward his mother. “Mom, Mom—Lacey dunked Jack a gazillion times!”

  Lacey grinned, recalling the highlight of her day, when she and the twins doused Jack and Matt in the dunking booth.

  “Did she, now?” Tess gave him a squeez
e while her gaze met Lacey’s. “Good girl—it’s always been my opinion a boy can never have too many baths.”

  “I hate baths,” Davey muttered, shrugging his mother’s arms off to run after Spence and Debbie as the twins ushered them to the cotton candy stand nearby.

  Tess patted the seat next to her. “Sit down, Lace,” she said with a gentle smile, “how are you doing, sweetheart?”

  Lacey slipped onto the bench beside Tess, grateful for the woman who was both a mother and a good friend. The night she and her father had fought, Tess had joined her and Jack in the kitchen to finish off the apple pie from dinner. Somehow the woman had tugged the truth of Lacey’s awful evening with her dad right out, etching deep concern in Tess’s brow. The same concern Lacey now saw behind the tender look on her face.

  Lacey released a quiet sigh. “Better,” she whispered, grateful Cat and Shan had taken Debbie and the boys to get cotton candy while Nicki was chatting with Mamaw and her friends. She hadn’t told anyone else what had happened that night because it was too painful to share, but she knew she needed to soon. Both Nicki and Mamaw cared too much to keep them in the dark over how deeply her father had wounded her, but she wasn’t ready quite yet.

  This evening was the first time she’d been able to really laugh all week, other than the night Jack had worked his magic on the dock, deftly removing the initial sting of her father’s painful revelation. She’d been in a bit of a malaise since then, but tonight it had finally begun to lift. Maybe with lots of time and prayer, she might be able to consider reaching out to her father again, but one thing she knew for dead sure—it wouldn’t be anytime soon.