by Hinze, Vicki
He gave her shoulder a pat. “It’s okay, munchkin.”
Munchkin. The same endearment Bryce himself often used. Cally felt torn. Suzie wanted to do this; she fairly radiated anticipation, and Cally hated to disappoint her, but she couldn’t not disappoint her. “As much as I’d like to go, I’m going to have to pass, Hatch.”
“Aw, Cally.” Suzie let out a groan worthy of an Oscar. “Please.”
“Shoot.” Frankie stubbed the toe of her shoe in the sand.
Bryce looked perplexed. “Too many funnel cakes?”
She’d had three. She could lie. But not while looking into his gorgeous eyes and seeing his concern. “I don’t like boats.” A half-truth was better than a lie.
“Ah, geez, Cally.” Frankie motioned. “Hatch got his limp falling down a ladder on a boat, and he still likes ‘em. And Suzie has bad dreams about ’em, and she still wants to go.”
“Now, now.” Hatch put his pipe back into his mouth and squinted against the sun. “Don’t be badgering Cally. If she’s scared of boats, she’s scared of boats, and that’s that, in my estimation. Ain’t no crime, is it, Counselor?”
“No, it isn’t,” Bryce agreed.
From his expression, Bryce knew she’d not been totally honest. But he was being a gentleman, not calling her down on it. For that kindness she was grateful. And she positively hated liking that.
Hatch ruffled his stubbly whiskers with the back of his hand. “Though I have to say, we ain’t planning on taking no dip in the drink, Cally. Only on riding over to the island and building—”
“A few sand castles—a double-decker,” Cally finished for Hatch, embarrassed and not wanting to admit the real reason she didn’t want to go had nothing to do with the boat but with the water it was in. Hatch, somehow, had known that. She’d been right about him. Wise. With special gifts she couldn’t begin to fathom.
“Lyssie, please stop squirming.” Bryce shifted his weight, then cringed.
“The knee tiring out?”
“I’m afraid so.” He nodded. “Suzie, I think the ride is a little rough for Jeremy, and it’s about time for Lyssie’s nap.”
Cally took the wiggling baby from him, then settled her against her shoulder. “Are your folks going, Frankie?”
She nodded.
“Hatch, would it be too hard on you to keep an eye on Suzie without Bryce and me there?”
“’Course not.” He winked at Suzie. “Me and the upstart’ll challenge the Greens and Frankie to a castle-building contest. Maybe even a triple-decker.”
Suzie beamed up a smile at the old man and squeezed his gnarled hand until his fingertips went white, then lifted her brows expectantly at Cally.
“Well.” Cally smiled. “That’s settled, then.”
“Yippee!”
“Aw right!”
Hatch faked a grumble. “My ears’ll ring for a week.”
“Is it settled?” Bryce frowned at Cally.
“Isn’t it?” She hiked a shoulder. Oh, boy. She’d stepped over the line.
He stared at her for a long moment, then sighed. “I guess it is.”
Suzie let out a whoop. Lyssie bounced in her arms and squealed right into Cally’s left ear. Her groan was genuine.
“Kids.” Hatch harrumphed. “Ya gotta love ’em.” He linked his hands with Suzie’s and Frankie’s. “Don’t you two worry now. We’ll be back in time for Suzie to do the Highland Fling with Vic. She promised.” He winked at Cally. “I get a waltz.”
Hatch looked at Bryce, then back to Cally. “Wander along, if you’re of a mind to. Miss Millie and me will see to it Suzie gets home safe and sound.”
“Oh, will Miss Millie be going to the island, too?”
“Absolutely,” Hatch said. “Goes every festival, sure as dawn. Renews her spirit, she says. Likes the quiet, in my estimation.”
The three of them wound through the crowded parking lot to Main Street, then crossed the asphalt and walked on down to the pier behind the Co-op.
Bryce adjusted the sling around his neck, then slipped his free arm around Cally’s waist. “It’s a conspiracy, Miss Tate.”
She pivoted her head to look at him, and nearly brushed their noses. “What is, Counselor?”
He pretended to make sure they were out of earshot. Impossible considering the crowd. “I have it on good authority that the entire village is conspiring to get us alone together.”
They were. And had been since the day Cally had arrived. “Really? I hadn’t noticed.”
Bryce sent her a skeptical look. “The penalties for perjury are steep. Are you sure you wouldn’t like to reconsider your testimony?”
The challenge in his eyes didn’t tempt her half so much as the dare in his tone. Her voice dropped to husky. “Bad question to ask a courageless woman, Counselor.”
He cupped her chin in his big hand and his eyes went serious. “A woman who willingly spends the better part of her days and nights with a widower and his three small children isn’t courageless, Miss Tate. She’s golden-hearted and brave.”
“She’s lonely.” Cally spoke before she thought.
Surprise flickered in his eyes, though she’d not said anything she’d not openly admitted before. But, by unspoken agreement, they only had talked of their feelings under the cover of darkness, out in the hallway outside Suzie’s bedroom door.
Until now.
His breath fanned over her face. “I hope she’s less lonely with us than she is without us.”
Warmth oozed through Cally’s stomach. She met his gaze, so solemn, so intense. Could she do it? Tell him, openly? “She likes the racket, and the snacks, when they’re not straight health food.”
“Is that a yes?”
He needed, not wanted but needed, to know. “That’s a yes.”
“I’m glad.”
“I’m debating.”
“You’re making a big difference in our lives.” The sun kissed his hair, sheening the black strands glossy.
“Not really.”
“Really,” he insisted. “Especially with Suzie. She’s becoming a little girl again, Cally. Not nearly so serious or worried. Do you realize how much that means to me?”
“Yes, I do.” After their heart-to-heart talks, how could she not understand? “And I’m glad to see it. But Selena is Suzie’s ultimate authority. Her and Tony. Not me.”
Bryce cocked his head. “She quotes them both a thousand times a day, that’s true. But it’s worth noting that she’s never once turned to Selena for permission. Or to Mrs. Wiggins, for that matter.”
“What?” What was he talking about?
“Just now. Suzie didn’t ask me if she could go. She asked you. That’s a first. She’s always come to me.”
Boy, had she stepped over the line. Lyssie had dozed off, drooling against Cally’s neck. “Did it bother you—for Suzie to ask me?”
“Should it?”
“I don’t know.” What did he want from her? Did he think she was manipulating, insinuating herself into their lives? “I guess that depends on what you mean.”
He dug the tip of his cane into the sand-swept ground. “I don’t know what I mean.”
He truly didn’t. And if he didn’t know, then how the heck could she? “I see.” The steady breeze off the ocean had her lips dry. She licked at them. “I didn’t mean to offend you, Bryce, or to usurp your authority. Honestly, I just responded without thinking. I didn’t mean to step over the line. If that’s the problem, I’m sorry.”
He looked away.
Maybe he felt Suzie had slighted him. Or that he’d let her down. More likely the latter. “We’ve been spending a lot of time together with the kids, and I guess Suzie was just doing what felt natural to her.”
“Yeah, I guess she was.” He studied Cally’s face, blinked then blinked again. “Guess it felt natural to both of you. You responded without thinking.”
Cally inwardly groaned. Now she’d made him realize again what his children were missing in not having a
mother. And, damn it, he was right. She had done what had come naturally in answering Suzie.
Great. Just great. He’d been teasing, for the first time looking halfway relaxed, and she drags him and herself down emotionally. More proof, as if she needed it. Lousy.
“There you are.” Mrs. Wiggins joined them, swatting at her neck. “Aren’t these black flies just awful?”
“What black flies?” Bryce asked.
Cally hadn’t noticed any, either. It wasn’t even the right time of year for black flies.
Lyssie made a soft sucking sound and Cally rubbed tiny circles on her back, inhaling her sweet baby scent. Ah, there were no flies. Mrs. Wiggins was filing another protest. Though this one was a bit more subtle than her usual. She’d tired of the festivities and wanted an excuse to return to her stringent daily schedule.
She reached for Lyssie. “I’ll take her. I’m going back to the inn. Jeremy is bobbing for apples with Vic and Hattie, Mr. Richards. She’s says she’ll bring him home with her after they ride someone named Sobey’s pony.”
“All right.” Bryce gave Lyssie’s back a gentle pat.
The tenderness in his expression brushed over Cally’s heart. Watching Mrs. Wiggins and Lyssie go, Cally imagined Jeremy’s excitement. “Riding a pony. He’ll love it.”
“Most kids would.”
The man hadn’t a clue. “Bryce, Jeremy talks nonstop about horses.”
“He does?” The sling’s band had a red mark circling Bryce’s neck.
Cally adjusted it so it stopped cutting into his skin. “Nonstop.”
“I hadn’t picked up on that.”
Oh, boy. She lowered her hands to her sides. She’d done it again. Telling Bryce something he hadn’t noticed about the kids did raise the man’s hackles. She hated seeing him chewing himself up inside, telling himself he was a rotten parent. Maybe the festivities would—nope. There it was. That self-deprecating snarl. Well, hell.
“Don’t be surprised.” She squeezed his forearm. “Kids’ interests change daily. Sometimes even quicker.”
“I didn’t know that, either.”
“True, Counselor,” she said, deliberately forcing her tone light. “No way can a mere mortal keep track.”
“That’s comforting.” He stroked at his temple. “But these observations make me feel like I’m far out of the loop.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“I’m serious.” He lifted a stone, then tossed it to the ground.
“Look, Counselor. I’m the queen of lousy, so I know rotten when I see it and, when I look at you, it just ain’t there.”
“I would remind you, Miss Tate, that you’re under oath.”
“I haven’t forgotten.” Seeing doubt in his eyes bugged her. She wanted that teasing light in them again. She hated loving that teasing light. “I think you’re a wonderful parent, Bryce. I mean that sincerely.” Looping her arm through the crook in his, she gave his forearm a second, reassuring squeeze. “Miss Tate petitions for a brief recess, if counsel has no objections.”
“Counsel reserves the right to know the reason for the recess prior to issuing an opinion.”
Cally slid him a look filled with longing. “A few minutes of peace and quiet. A short walk on the cliffs should do it. If counsel’s knee isn’t too sore.”
Bryce sank his teeth into his lower lip but failed to bite back a smile. “Counsel has no objection whatsoever, Miss Tate.”
They made their way through the maze of people, crossed the street to the shore, then walked down the asphalt street a short way. “Take care, Bryce. The sand makes the road slick.”
“I noticed.” He circled her waist with his arm, tucked her close to his side.
She was about as transparent as Saran Wrap film, but the ploy had worked. He was holding her. She eased her arm around his waist, knowing she should be angry with herself. And she would be . . . later. Right now, she just felt too darn good.
The sounds of the festival faded to those of the ocean. A slatted bench facing the sea looked inviting, and Bryce truly did seem to be having a hard time walking on the slippery sand, leaning more heavily than he had been on both Cally and Collin’s cane.
“Let’s sit for a while,” she suggested. When he nodded, she let go of his arm, sat down, then patted the bench seat for him to join her.
He settled at her side, brushing their thighs, and let out a relieved sigh that proved his knee was giving him fits. Taking his weight off the cane had grains of sand scattering his shoes and faintly pattering. “You earned kudos today, Counselor.”
“What for?” He propped the cane against the end of the bench then leaned back and scanned the frothy ocean.
Cally touched a fingertip to his bare throat. “No tie.”
He looked down at his blue polo shirt, khaki slacks, and casual loafers. “Didn’t have one to match.”
“Ah.” She smacked her lips. He’d be gorgeous in an inflated space suit, or anything else, but in casual clothes, the man fairly robbed her of breath. “And here I was thinking I’d won a little victory.”
He held his gaze on the horizon, and his lips didn’t curve, but the skin near his eyes crinkled in a smile. “Victory acknowledged. You insisted, remember?”
“Yes, I do. But I didn’t think for a second you’d accommodate me.”
“Why not? It was a small request.”
A small request. Oh, how special this man truly was. How very, very special. A little shot of sheer pleasure laced with yearning then darted through her chest. “You do look more comfortable.”
“I am.” He leaned close and dropped his voice to a secretive whisper. “Confidentially, Miss Tate, I hate ties.”
“Honest?”
“Always, darling.”
She hated loving that response. “Then why wear them when you don’t have to?”
“Old habit.” He swung his gaze to her and she sensed that habit had started with pleasing Meriam and just hadn’t faded. “Incidentally, I’ve been wondering. Do you like the way I look?”
“Don’t start, Counselor. We agreed there’d be no more of this proving to me that I’m a desirable woman business.”
He stretched out an arm over the back of the bench and let his fingers draw circles on her shoulder. “For the record, I like the way you look. Very much. And I admit my memory could be faulty, but I don’t recall—”
“Oh, no you don’t. We agreed. Two nights ago, in the hallway. Somewhere around three A.M., I’d say.” She narrowed her eyes. “That was you, wasn’t it, Counselor?”
“It was.” He slid her a frown and held it so she wouldn’t miss it. “You didn’t let me finish.”
“Sorry,” she said, feeling anything but.
“I recall our conversation and agreement, Miss Tate, but I don’t recall its terms including me lying to you. In fact, I’m sure as certain it didn’t. We have a contract, promising honesty, and lying would be in direct conflict—”
“Excuse me?” And he complained about women talking in riddles?
“I agreed I’d not attempt to prove anything to you. I didn’t agree to lie to you about my genuine feelings, or about the way I react to you—i.e., your looks.”
Her heart nearly stopped. Then the fool thing raced like a runaway train. She looked away, out onto the sun-spangled water, and ordered herself to calm down. To not make too much of what he was saying. Then lifted her chin to the cool breeze. “For the record, I don’t like liking this about you, either.”
“Noted.” He rubbed a strand of her hair between his forefinger and thumb.
Gulls circled overhead and waves splashed against the rocky shore. Mist from the sea rose and gathered on her face, cooling it. She wouldn’t think about his remark, she decided. He hadn’t meant anything by it. Not really. Certainly nothing that should have her hormones sliding into overdrive. And even if he had, the man couldn’t know his own mind. He was still celibate, far from satiated, so how could he?
“Darn shame you lost kudos t
oday, Miss Tate.”
She glanced over at him. Her hair whipped over her face. She smoothed it back and cocked her head so the wind would keep the loose strands out of her eyes. “How did I do that?”
He clicked his tongue, cast her a look loaded with disappointment. “You committed perjury.”
“I did?” Had she? Lying ranked atypical, but not impossible. These days, if something cut close to the bone, she’d succumb to a white lie in self-defense. “About what?”
“The boat.”
That she hadn’t expected. More relieved than upset, and even more confused, she hiked her brows in question. “Excuse me?”
“The boat. You said you didn’t want to go to Little Island because you didn’t like boats.”
“I don’t like boats.”
He stared deeply into her eyes. “But that’s not why you didn’t want to go.”
“It wasn’t a lie.”
“Was it the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help you?”
“Geez, Counselor. Isn’t there a law against cross-examination during a peace-and-quiet recess?”
“Can you tell me the truth?”
“Is it important?” Something had changed. This wasn’t just playful banter, he was serious. But why?
“It’s important.” The laughter lingering in his eyes faded. “A man needs to know he can trust a woman’s word, just as a woman needs to know she can trust a man’s. Justice—that it works both ways, don’t you think?”
Her face flamed hot. Well, hell. Even a white lie would seem sinister after a lecture like that one. “It wasn’t the boat. I don’t know how to swim and I’m scared to death of water, okay?”
“Okay.” He smiled at her then pressed a chaste kiss to her cheek. “Thank you.”
She wanted to be angry with him for insisting she answer, but he hadn’t insisted, merely encouraged. And how could she be ticked off at a guy who looked as if he stepped off the pages of GQ, had an arm in a sling, a bruise peeking out from his beard, and a busted knee? Discarding, of course, his hinting at finding her desirable. Definitely, inadmissible evidence. She knew it was faked due to special circumstances. It had to be.