Barefoot Season

by Susan Mallery

  She knew he was right about all of it, but hearing the words didn’t seem to make a difference.

  “You have to talk to someone,” he told her.

  “You’re not the first one with that advice. I’ve been getting it a lot.”

  “You’ve always been stubborn. Most of the time that trait helps. This time it screws you up.” For once he looked serious and determined. “You know I care about you, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then listen to me. I’ve seen this happen. You start slipping in little ways, so you compensate. Maybe you drink a little more or do drugs or drive fast. Then you slip further. Before you know it, you’re lost and now you’ve got a shitload of other problems. You using?”

  “What? Drugs? No. I’m drinking.” She grimaced. She hadn’t meant to admit that.

  “Get help. If you were going to be okay on your own, it would have happened already.”

  He had a point, just like Pauline had a point. Apparently someone somewhere was trying to send her a message. “I know. I’ll find something.”

  “Let me guess. Soon. When you get around to it. You’ll start Monday morning.”

  “Were you always this pushy?” she asked, hoping to distract him.

  “No, but you’ve never been in this much trouble. You’re cracking. It’s not going to take much to push you over the edge.”

  She expected to feel a surge of anger. Being mad would give her strength. Instead, she was overwhelmed by a sudden wave of sadness. She half expected to see the dementors from the Harry Potter books. At least a scary, floating creature sucking happiness would be an explanation. One a whole lot easier than the truth.

  “What if I don’t get better?” she asked, fighting tears. “What if I can’t?”

  Sam rolled his eyes. “Because you’re special? Get off your ass, do some work and you’ll be fine.”

  Without thinking, she stood and crossed the small space between them. Her arm drew back and her hand closed in a fist. She wasn’t sure how she was going to hurt him, but she knew pain would be involved.

  He was on his feet faster than she thought possible, grabbing her fist and turning it easily, using her force against her. Less than a second later, she was locked against his body, completely immobilized, with an arm pressing across her rib cage.

  Soft laughter filled her left ear. “You are in bad shape if you’re trying to take me on.”

  “You pissed me off.”

  “I got that.” He released her, then touched her cheek. “Get help.”

  “I will,” she said grudgingly, wondering if she was telling the truth.

  He hugged her and she hung on to him, absorbing his strength. When he released her, she looked up, prepared to thank him. Only his attention wasn’t on her. He was looking at the inn.

  No. Not looking. He was searching. She followed his gaze and saw a flash of movement. Carly was checking rooms.

  “What are you—?” She stopped talking and stared.

  She recognized the look, the slow, sexy grin, the expectation in his eyes. Damn him.

  “You’re interested in Carly?” she demanded.

  “Sure. Why not? Have you seen her?”

  “I can’t escape her,” Michelle muttered, knowing Carly was appealing. Tiny and blonde with plenty of curves and a girly air about her. She didn’t have to be told to dress right or deal with things like waking up screaming or drinking too much. “I hate her.”

  “No, you don’t.”

  “I should.”

  “She’s your business partner and your friend.”

  “Don’t confuse me with the facts. I can’t believe you want to date her.”

  His expression shifted to something close to male satisfaction. Michelle felt her mouth drop open.

  “You’re sleeping with her?” Her voice was shrill with outrage. “When? How? Yuck.”

  “It’s not a regular thing,” he admitted.

  “But you’d like it to be. She works here.”

  “And?”

  “And, well, she does. And she has a kid.”

  “I like kids.”

  “When was the last time you were around one?”

  “Is there a test?” he asked. “What’s your problem?”

  She wasn’t sure, which made it hard to answer the question. She wanted to say it wasn’t right, that he wasn’t allowed to see Carly ever again—but if she said that, Sam would only laugh.

  “Why are you upset?”

  “I’m not.”

  He looked at her, not saying anything.

  “I’m not,” she repeated. “It’s just weird. I don’t like it.”

  “Then don’t watch.”

  She shoved him. “Have I mentioned I don’t like you very much?”

  “You love me, and I love you. I always will. But that doesn’t mean you get a say in my personal life.”

  She sighed. “I know.”

  * * *

  Carly carefully sprinkled on the last edge of glitter, then waved the handmade card to let the glue dry. She was working ahead, getting the welcome cards ready in batches. The front wasn’t quite as personalized, but she made sure the note inside was. In summer, with the inn full most of the time, she couldn’t take the time to do much more.

  Forty finished cards lay on her desk. She collected the craft supplies and put them in their box, then slid the box onto the bottom shelf of the bookcase in her office.

  The desk and bookcase were hers. The rest of the space served as a secondary storage room, with boxes of paper, printer cartridges and seasonal decorations.

  At one time Carly had wanted a bigger office, something more professional, maybe with a window. But lately she’d decided she was okay with what she had. It might not be huge, but she had enough room for what she needed to be doing. In truth, she would rather be out with the guests than in here, dealing with numbers. The burning need to be in charge had faded.

  Some of that was because working with Michelle was easier than working for Brenda. Michelle had her issues—the incident with the daisies proved that—but her outbursts weren’t as unpredictable or vicious. With Brenda, Carly had been the target. With Michelle, she was just collateral damage.

  She moved her laptop onto her desk and started it. As the machine whirred and hummed, she thought about Michelle ripping out all the daisies. She supposed she should still be upset by what had happened, but she’d let it go. Michelle hated the daisies. At that moment, she’d wanted to lash out, so she’d destroyed the flowers.

  While that should be a big thing, it wasn’t. She supposed because it was completely overt. Brenda had liked to sneak around, jabbing in unexpected ways. Michelle’s blunt-force attacks weren’t the least bit subtle. There was no wondering about intent or meaning.

  Her computer finished booting up. The main screen appeared, icons scattered across a picture of Gabby holding daisies. Carly started to laugh. Okay, maybe she had gone a little flower mad with the decorating. Maybe she could tone things down a little.

  Michelle stepped into the office, tapping lightly on the open door.

  “Got a second?”

  “Sure.” Carly pointed to the narrow wooden chair across from her desk. “What’s up?”

  Michelle stared at her for a long moment. “I’m sorry about the daisies. I went a little crazy.”

  “It was impressive carnage.”

  “You’re not pissed?”

  “No. I can almost understand. Maybe there is too much of a daisy theme here. I’ll tone things down.”

  Michelle’s mouth twisted. “Don’t say that. You should be furious with me.”

  “Sorry, no. I really do understand. At least as much as I can, under the circumstances.”

  Her dark eyes narrowed. “You’re so damned annoying. Quit being nice. I’m not nice. I’m horrible and you’re still here, still watching my back. Be a jerk, for God’s sake.”

  Carly stood. “What is your problem?”

  “Nothing. Everything. I can’t…
” She swore under her breath, then pulled something out of her back pocket. She dropped it on the desk, then turned and left.

  Carly picked up the folded paper, opened it and realized it was a photo.

  “Oh, no,” she breathed, going both hot and cold. Her fingers trembled, causing the picture to shake.

  The image was simple. It showed Michelle in a lace-covered dress, a bridal bouquet in her hand. She was standing next to a tall man in a suit.

  A wedding picture, Carly thought in disbelief. And Sam was the groom.

  Twenty-Five

  Carly was able to escape the inn after lunch. Gabby wasn’t due home for a couple of hours and the first new guests generally didn’t check in until after three. She called Sam on his cell and asked him to meet her at the Coffee Shack, by the marina. He was waiting when she arrived.

  After ordering an extra pump of mocha in her latte, she joined him outside on the deck. The afternoon was gray, but nearly seventy. Cranes circled overhead, calling out. She wondered if Leonard was nearby and wished she could have wanted to have sex with him. It would have made her life a lot less complicated.

  Sam stood as she approached and held out a chair. “Finally,” he said. “I was beginning to think you were sending me a message.”

  He’d called to ask her out. She’d agreed, but with all her responsibilities at work and with Gabby, she’d been unable to figure out a day and time. Mostly because she wasn’t sure she wanted see him again. Being around him did things to her body that she didn’t like. Or maybe she liked too much. Control was important to her. Being a responsible adult and mother. Unplanned sex on her sofa hadn’t been her smartest move.

  She passed over the folded picture. He opened it and grinned.

  “I’ve seen this before,” he told her.

  “Not a surprise, considering you were there that day.” She set down her coffee and leaned toward him. “You were married to Michelle.”

  “Is that a statement or a question?”

  “A statement. You were married to her and you didn’t tell me.”

  “So?”

  “Don’t you think that’s information I would like to have?”

  “Why aren’t you yelling at Michelle? She didn’t tell you, either.”

  “I’m not yelling.” She consciously lowered her voice, then glanced around to make sure no one was close enough to hear the conversation. “Besides, I didn’t sleep with Michelle. I slept with you. She’s my boss. Can you see how knowing that might have been helpful?”

  “I guess. Sorry. I wasn’t keeping secrets. Michelle and I split three years ago. We’ve stayed friends. We’re better that way. We never should have gotten married in the first place.”

  He sounded so casual, she thought grimly. While she wanted to shriek that he’d lied to her. Technically he hadn’t, but there was a serious claim of omission here.

  “Is she mad?” he asked.

  “Let’s just say she’s not amused.”

  He frowned. “She usually doesn’t care who I sleep with.”

  “Michelle and I have a past.” There was the whole Allen issue. Did Michelle think Carly had slept with Sam to get even? The relationship wasn’t the same—a divorced husband wasn’t exactly a fiancé—but there was still a connection.

  “You should have told me,” she repeated.

  “Would that have changed the outcome?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then I’m glad I didn’t. I like you, Carly. I want to spend time with you.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Why? Because of Michelle? What does she have to do with anything?”

  “I work for her.”

  “So?”

  “She’s my friend. It’s too weird.”

  “She’s not interested in me in that way. You can’t go living your life based on something that happened years ago.”

  “I have to. I don’t want to make her uncomfortable.”

  He stood and dropped the picture on the table. “You’re making this bigger than it is. Trust me, she doesn’t care.”

  “Maybe not, but I do.”

  He looked at her for a long moment. “All right, then. I guess I’ll see you around.”

  He walked away without looking back. Carly watched him go. She knew she was making the right decision. Michelle might not appreciate it, but that was okay. Taking the moral high ground was important. Carly was tired of having to explain her actions, to justify a past she couldn’t change. Better to do the right thing to begin with.

  * * *

  Wednesday morning Michelle stood by the rear doors of the inn and watched the three couples out on the lawn. One partner was blindfolded; the other was leading the first around. Pauline had explained that the “trust exercise” brought the couple together. Michelle wanted to doubt her but she’d seen the proof that the techniques worked.

  Carly walked up to her. “What’s going on?”

  Michelle pointed to the couples. “Would you do that? Let some guy blindfold you and lead you around?”

  “Sure. Why not?”

  “I couldn’t. Men are idiots.”

  Carly laughed. “Maybe, but a blindfold is nothing. If you’re married, you’re vulnerable all the time. Your partner could kill you in your sleep.”

  “Okay, that’s twisted logic.”

  “Part of my sparkling personality. By the way, I’m not seeing Sam.” She held out the photo. “I spoke to him and said I wasn’t interested.”

  Michelle ignored the outstretched picture. “Why would you do that?”

  “Because you were married to him.”

  “I never said you should break up with him.”

  “It was implied.”

  “No, it wasn’t.”

  Carly drew in a breath. “Yeah, it was. I’m just telling you, we’re not going to be dating.”

  “As long as it’s not because of me.”

  Carly shoved the paper toward her. “Do you want this back or not?”

  “You sound annoyed.”

  “That’s because you’re seriously pissing me off. You obviously do care whether or not I’m seeing him. If you didn’t, you would have chosen another way to tell me the two of you had been married. You were going for shock value. It worked. Be happy.”

  Michelle couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt happy. These days she wasn’t feeling much of anything. A little anxiety, maybe. A lot less pain. Mostly she was numb—as if the place that made her emotions had died. She wanted to tell herself not feeling anything was an improvement, but she had a feeling it was one more step on the road to the bad place.

  “You can see him,” Michelle said slowly, realizing she meant it. “You’re right. I was going for shock value. But not because I was angry, exactly. It was a surprise. Finding out you were sleeping with him.”

  Carly flushed. “I didn’t plan it.”

  “Sam’s a sexy guy.”

  “Um, okay. But it’s over.”

  “Your choice.”

  “I should punch you.”

  Michelle smiled. “You can try.”

  “Maybe not,” Carly told her. “What with you being a trained professional and all.”

  “Exactly.” She turned away from the window. “Sam and I were only together for a couple of months. We got married spontaneously. We quickly realized we were too much alike, which makes for a great friendship but not a good marriage.”

  “Thanks for sharing,” Carly said stiffly.

  Michelle glared at her for a second. “Fine. We’ll talk work. I’m going to fire Isabella.”

  “What?”

  “She’s the one stealing.” Michelle had done her best to hide from the truth as long as she could. “We make more money when she’s not working than when she is. I’ve tried to figure out who else it is, but I can’t. Damaris is going to be crushed.”

  “I’m sorry. When are you going to let her go?”

  Michelle glanced at her watch. “Now. Before the lunch shift.”

  “I�
��ll come with you. For moral support.”