Barefoot at Moonrise (Barefoot Bay Timeless Book 2)

by Roxanne St Claire

  “Who are they?” Law asked, diving right in for the kill.

  “I…I don’t know. Some corporation.”

  “You don’t know the name?”

  “No.”

  “Ever notice what it says on your paycheck?” he asked.

  She looked at the other two men. “Are you guys like secret shoppers or something? They told us someone might be coming in to check on our work, and you three sure aren’t locals.”

  “Who are ‘they’?” Law demanded again. “What are they checking on?”

  “Why does it matter to you?” she asked.

  “I knew the former owner pretty well,” Law said, as if that explained the questioning. Then, as if he realized he’d derailed the ordering process, he gestured to the others. “Sorry. Order.”

  She hesitated a second, looking around the table again. “I still think y’all are the secret shoppers.”

  When she left, Law shook his head. “I don’t get how someone can take over a place and make their identity a freaking state secret.”

  “You still haven’t figured out who it is?” Mark asked. “I thought you had the name of a company.”

  “I do,” he said. “But it’s a dead end. There’s no website, no phone number, only a PO box in Miami and the staff gets contacted by some guy named Sam.”

  “Maybe the place isn’t for sale,” Ken suggested.

  “Maybe they don’t have any right to own it.” Law looked around, his expression a little sour as he offered no explanation for the cryptic comment.

  Ken turned to Mark. “So have you and Emma decided where you’re going to live?”

  “Short term, we’re staying in a bungalow up near the resort that is reserved for staff, but we’re definitely buying a house.” He shook his head. “After thirteen years of being alone and traveling every continent on this earth with nothing more than a one-bedroom in New York to crash in, I never thought I’d be saying those words again.”

  “I’m happy for you, man,” Ken said. “Emma’s an awesome woman. And if you’re looking for a house, maybe I can interest you in a fixer-upper on Mimosa Key that I spent the day demolishing. Move-in ready by fall, I guarantee it.”

  “We don’t want to wait that long, but what are you doing demolishing a fixer-upper?” Mark asked.

  “Yeah,” Law chimed in. “You’re supposed to be saving houses from burning to the ground, not tearing them apart.”

  “It’s Beth Endicott’s.”

  “Really?” Mark’s brows shot up. “Wasn’t she the one who froze you out at the reunion?”

  “Yeah, I thought she didn’t want to see you,” Law said. “That’s what you told me, what, a couple of months ago?”

  Ken hadn’t told them all that had happened at the reunion, only that he and Beth talked and that Beth ultimately said no go to seeing him again.

  “Word is she’s a loner,” Law added. “Runs her own business, takes no shit from nobody.”

  “She may run her own business and like to control her life, but…” She was pregnant with his baby. “Things have changed.”

  “How so?” Mark asked.

  “She…came and found me at the station.”

  “Nice and easy,” Law said. “I love when they don’t make you work so hard.”

  Ken shook his head, not answering as the waitress delivered their beers.

  “I asked our night manager if he knew anything about the new owners,” the young woman said to Law. “And I found something out for you.”

  Law sat up straighter. “Excellent. I hope there’s a name and phone number involved.” At her surprised look, he added, “Not yours, honey. The owners.”

  She shrugged. “No such luck. But I can tell you they have something to do with the beach.”

  Law frowned. “What does that mean?”

  “I don’t know, but they are some kind of company that sells seashells. Or maybe gas, like the Super Min sells. That’s a Shell station, right?”

  All three men stared at her.

  “Shell Oil owns this bar?” Law asked, confused. “Or a seashell company?”

  “I don’t know,” she said. “He just told me it’s a shell company.”

  “Ohhh,” the guys said in unison, understanding what she didn’t. The company was dormant, inactive, or set up as a tax shelter.

  Law thanked her, and when she was gone, he grinned. “Long on looks, short on brains. That’s all they hire at this place.” He took the cold beer and sipped, closing his eyes. “Sometimes I wish this shit were real. Now get back to Beth, Captain Cav. What changed?”

  Ken studied his own beer, deciding what to tell them. He knew he could trust his friends, but was it his secret to share?

  It was his baby.

  But her secret.

  “Everything changed,” he answered, purposely vague.

  Mark laughed. “Man, I know how that can happen. What are you going to do?”

  “Well, I know what I want to do, and I know what she wants to do, but they aren’t necessarily the same thing.” He took a swig of his beer while the other two waited, withholding their comments. “I want to make it work and…” Raise the kid together and… “Ride off into the sunset.”

  “You poor, deluded man,” Law said.

  “I like that plan,” Mark replied.

  Ken laughed, reminded of his conversation with Beth about having two parents. “This is why you need two friends instead of one.”

  “What does she want to do?” Mark asked.

  “She’s cautious. She’s been burned and has a history. Doesn’t want to necessarily have a, you know, traditional life.”

  “Who does?” Law asked.

  “Not everyone hates the idea,” Ken said. Although that small group might include the mother of his child.

  “Okay, I’m outnumbered in this crowd, but…” Law’s attention shifted toward the bar. “Hey, isn’t that Chesty Chesterfield? I’d know those knockers anywhere.”

  Ken turned to look at the woman leaning against the bar, deep in conversation with the bartender.

  “Please tell me you don’t call Libby that to her face anymore,” Ken said.

  “Not often? She earned that name with that rack, but shit.” Law locked on the woman across the bar. “When I look at that face, the only thing that comes to mind is angel. Damn, she’s hot.”

  “I misjudged her at the reunion,” Mark said.

  “I misjudged her in high school,” Law shot back, his attention back on their table. “Stood her up and evidently missed out on the best sex of my life. At least that’s what she told me. That body, though. I can’t believe she’s forty-five.”

  “I heard at the reunion that she’s a yoga instructor,” Ken said.

  Law made a low growl. “I’d like to do the downward doggie style with her.”

  Ken looked skyward. “It’s a miracle you can get a woman to go out with you.”

  “Are you kidding? Watch this.” Law inched to the side to get a better look, then lifted his finger and crooked it in her direction with a wink. “Come to Papa, little kitty,” he said under his breath.

  Ken didn’t insult Libby Chesterfield by turning to see if Law’s ridiculous technique worked. “If she comes within five feet of this table after that, I’ll buy you dinner.”

  “Three…two…one.” Law lifted his drink an inch and clinked Ken’s glass. “Hope you brought your money, son.” He broke into a sly smile as Libby sauntered up to the table.

  “Holy shit,” Ken choked, and Mark hid his surprise by taking a drink.

  “Well, look what I’ve spotted in the wilds of the Toasted Pelican,” Libby said, one hand on a hip that she notched to the side with the confidence of a woman who loved every inch of her own body and knew exactly how to work it. “A trio of rare silver foxes known for their smoldering eyes, broad shoulders, and deceptively sweet smiles.” Shiny red lips kicked up as she pointed at Mark. “Mates for life.” Then Ken. “Drawn to danger.” Then Law. “Suffers from inflated sel
f-opinion that experts believe is nature’s way of compensating for its tiny…beak.”

  Ken and Mark laughed in unison at the dig. Law’s jaw dropped a little, but nothing came out.

  “The male of the species is easily rendered speechless,” she continued, unfazed, “when females don’t immediately melt and mate.”

  Laughing so hard he had to wipe his eyes, Mark waved her to the seat next to Ken. “Join us, Libby. Dinner’s on us to make up for the tiny-beaked butthead.”

  She folded her arms, which accentuated an abundant cleavage on full display in a white V-neck that didn’t quite meet the top of sleek exercise pants. “No can do, guys. I’m off to do sun salutations and find my inner peace. This”—she ran her hand up and down in front of her generous bosom—“is my temple.”

  Law grinned. “When can I worship?”

  She angled her head and flattened him with a gaze. “My temple is closed.”

  Law, recovered now and undaunted by her teasing, leaned closer. “Then can I ask you a question first?”

  “You can ask, but the answer is going to be no. Not tonight, not next weekend, not ever, Lawless Monroe.”

  “Honestly, I have a legit question. In all seriousness.”

  “I was being serious.”

  “I saw you talking to the bartender.”

  “I said no to him, too, if it’s any consolation.”

  “I’ve been killing myself trying to track down who owns this place now that the previous owner passed away. All I’ve found so far is some shell company out of Miami. Do you know who it is?”

  She studied him for a second, then slowly shook her head. “Beats me.”

  “But you live around here and know everyone and everything.”

  She shrugged. “Sorry, can’t help you. Gotta go. Namaste, gentlemen.”

  She pivoted and walked off, shiny black hips swaying in perfect time to a long ponytail that swayed like a yellow silk pendulum. Mark and Ken turned back to the table, but Law was still staring.

  “Nama-stay a little longer next time,” he murmured.

  Mark nudged him. “If you’re seriously interested, you might try not treating her like your personal plaything.”

  “Shit,” Law mumbled, falling back against the seat. “I swear she knows who owns this place now and isn’t saying. Someone knows, damn it.” Law combed his hair back with his fingers and looked around for their waitress. “I need food. It cures all.”

  “Not this food,” Ken joked. “It makes things worse.”

  “Exactly why I need to take over and bring this place into the twenty-first century.”

  They ordered, relaxed with another beer, and let Mark fill them in on his new life with Emma. A life, Ken had to admit, that sounded damn good to him. A life he couldn’t figure out how he could have with Beth. Because even if she had his last name—which was laughable to even think about—that wouldn’t change the one she was born with.

  Chapter Nine

  It was still dark, predawn, when Beth woke on Thursday. She turned and drifted out of a heavy sleep, the same first thought she’d had every morning for nearly three weeks tumbling over.

  I’m pregnant.

  Her heart kicked with joy. And then she remembered Ken, and her heart kicked again, maybe not with joy but with…

  Expectation? Optimism? Just plain old lust?

  He’d be here in a few hours, and she wasn’t unhappy about that at all. She’d spent the day without him yesterday and had done some shopping and gone over to the mainland to look at fixtures for the bathrooms and kitchen to get some ideas.

  Oddly, she was excited to share the concepts with him. It was nice not to have to do a house alone, she admitted in her state of half awake. Turning over, she sighed into her pillow and stretched her leg across the empty expanse of the bed.

  It would be nice not to have to do a lot of things alone. Like sleep.

  Maybe he was right, she mused. Maybe she was confusing being alone with having control. Alone wasn’t all it was cracked up to be, especially when the alternative was…Ken Cavanaugh.

  Her whole body tingled and tightened at the thought.

  She’d read that a woman’s sex drive can increase in early pregnancy, and that it didn’t take much to get…stimulated. She drew in a deep breath and listened to the soft exhale.

  He stimulated her, that was for sure.

  She threw back the covers and sat up, awake enough to start the day. It was a little past six, so she got up, stopped into the bathroom, and remembered she couldn’t brush or flush until she went outside and turned the water back on.

  It was a short-term and minor inconvenience of living in a house being renovated, but when the kitchen was in such a state of tear-down, it was stupid to leave the house valve open overnight. Even keeping the sink valves closed, there could be leaks after all that sledgehammer action.

  Mmmm. Sledgehammer action. Shirtless sledgehammer action.

  Just the thought of seeing more shirtless sledgehammer action today got her rushing down the hall, picking up speed as she rounded the wall, and—

  In a flash, she slid across the kitchen floor and landed flat on her butt.

  “What the hell?” She gasped as cold water seeped into her sleep pants, the shock of it impossible to process. Was there a flood, a leak, a—

  “Oh my God.” She pressed her hand against her stomach as the real impact of the fall hit her. The baby.

  She froze for a moment, waiting for something…anything…a pain or pang or warning sign. But nothing hurt and or felt different. A flash of déjà vu pressed hard, the memory of the miscarriage from years ago remarkably fresh. That had been morning, too, a cold and damp day that she’d never forget.

  She pressed her hand against her wet pants and reminded herself that this was water, not blood, and she had to figure out where it was coming from.

  “Okay,” she whispered. “Okay. We have a flood.” She could deal with anything as long as the baby was okay.

  Finding her footing, she pushed up, swearing softly as she realized how soaked she was and how bad this situation could turn out to be.

  “I know I turned the water off,” she said, moving gingerly while mentally reviewing last night’s activities. She’d gone out after her shower and final trip to the bathroom and twisted the water valve completely clockwise. She was certain of that. She’d taken a flashlight and could see her fingers on the handle. She remembered testing it to be sure it was tight and thinking how she’d replace the old-school valve with a modern flip style.

  And now she was standing in water. Which, with the number of open outlets, even with the circuit breakers off on this side of the house, was incredibly dangerous.

  She needed light. She needed to be dry. She needed…Ken.

  That hit her almost as hard as the current disaster. She didn’t want to need anyone, but these were extenuating circumstances.

  She tiptoed out of the water and back into the hall, getting to dry tiles in a few steps. So the bulk of the damage was in the kitchen and dining room.

  She made it back to her room, still too wet to try to find a light. Instead, she got her phone and opened her contacts with a surprisingly steady hand. Ken had given her his cell phone number when he left the other night, thankfully.

  He answered on the first ring. “Beth. You okay?”

  She wanted to resent the question, but she couldn’t. Instead, she let her heart sink into the fact that he cared about her. Well, the baby. He cared about the baby.

  “I’m fine, but my kitchen flooded even though I know I turned off the water last night.”

  “Do not go into a flooded room, Beth.” Warmth evaporated as he delivered the order with tense authority. “There are compromised electrical outlets.”

  “I know. I’m in the back of the house, where it’s bone-dry.”

  “It’s best to get out of the house. I can send a local Mimosa Key fire team over.”

  “No, don’t. Just…” She swallowed. Help
me. “I’ll get out of the house, and you can…help me figure out what to do.”

  “I’ll be there in half an hour,” he said, the sound of movement clear through the phone. She could picture him in that blue shirt, vaulting up like an alarm had called him out, and the very thought made her a little weak in the knees.

  “Don’t you have to stay at the station until seven? What if you get a call?”

  “The next crew is already here,” he continued. “And I know every cop and state trooper between here and there. I’ll be there soon. Get out of the house and stay safe.”

  She ended the call, stripped out of the wet sleep pants, and changed quickly into yesterday’s cutoffs and a clean T-shirt. She had to figure out what happened to the water valve, she thought while brushing her teeth with bottled water.

  Wanting to avoid the main part of the house, she headed out the sliders to the pool, phone in hand. She rounded the back of the house and froze, stunned at what she saw.

  The old-school valve was not just turned on, it was broken off.

  Now she couldn’t even turn the water off as it flowed into the house. At least, she couldn’t unless she had a wrench and a lot more muscle. Dropping to her knees, she peered at the pipe, spying the round, rusted handle she’d battled with last night lying on the ground.

  Had she turned it so hard, she’d broken it and hadn’t realized it?

  Then why wouldn’t the valve stem be set to off? The tiny metal sticking up from the pipe was definitely turned toward the flow position, and it was so old, rusted, and beat-up that even with a wrench, she might not be able to turn it.

  Frustration rose through her as she considered going back into the house for a wrench, which was either in the flooded dining room or kitchen. It really wasn’t safe until every breaker was off on the panel, and even then…it wasn’t only Beth taking that chance anymore.

  Every decision she made affected the baby inside her, and stopping further flooding in rooms that were going to be remodeled anyway wouldn’t be worth taking a risk.

  She called a plumber, left a message. Called a house-flipper friend, left another message. Managed to get in the garage and find some crappy second-rate tools. Then she turned all power off from the outside box, even though she still wasn’t going in the house.