Finders Keepers (A Carrington Family Novel Book 1)

by Sarah Monzon

  Trent knew. He’d been living that all his life.

  Marissa sniffed, and he imagined her wiping at her eyes. “It still hurts, but I’ve since been able to see the blessing that came from the miscarriage.”

  Blessing? The word chafed more than a wool sweater. “How can you say that?” Although his voice came out harsher than he’d intended, so be it. Losing someone you loved could never be a blessing.

  “Because of the miscarriage, I found God.”

  God again. Really? “God took your child. Maybe my child too. You didn’t do anything to deserve that.”

  “Bad things happen to good people. And it hurts. But we can’t blame God.”

  Trent’s jaw tightened. He very well could blame God.

  “There’s sin in this world, and death and loss are consequences of that sin. But you know what? Every pain we feel? God feels it too. Every tear we cry? God sheds it too. He hurts with us, because He loves us.” Her voice grew soft. “I felt Him, Trent. When I was all alone, my shoulders shaking from grief, I felt His arms wrap around me and His peace embrace me, and I knew. I wasn’t alone. He was with me.”

  Trent deflated like a flat tire, and he sank to the ground, his back resting against kitchen cabinets. He pulled his knees up, laid his arms across them, and hid his head in the crook of his elbow.

  “Can I pray for you?”

  “I don’t—”

  “Father, I want to put Trent in Your hands. Open his eyes to see Your mercies and his heart to Your peace. Be real to him, Jesus. Let him feel Your presence and be filled with Your grace.”

  As Marissa prayed, a strange breeze stirred in Trent’s kitchen. He lifted his head and looked around. Odd. All the windows and doors were shut. The wind moved about the room, as if taking on an entity. It caressed his face and seeped into his skin all the way down to his bones. His blood warmed and surged, and his chest swelled until he thought he’d burst.

  Then all was still.

  Trent lifted his face to the ceiling. God?

  A blanket of peace covered him. It was too much. He let his head fall, and he cried.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Summer woke early Wednesday morning and turned over in the hotel bed. The sliding glass doors to the balcony allowed for a spectacular view—the sun cresting the horizon, painting the sky in vibrant warmth of yellow and orange.

  This was it. Everything hinged on today. All her career dreams would either be made or broken by what she discovered under the ocean’s surface. Praying was new to her, but she bowed her head and folded her hands over the white duvet covering the lower half of her body.

  “God, I know we aren’t too well acquainted yet, but I read last night in the Bible I found in the bedside table that all good gifts come from you. Could you, perhaps, send me a gift today? This really means a lot to me. Thank you. Amen.”

  Not the most eloquent of prayers, but she’d remembered the amen at the end. Summer grinned as she recalled a prayer she’d read as a teenager from one of her favorite books, Anne of Green Gables. When Anne had ended her first prayer, she’d signed off with yours respectfully, much to the consternation of Marilla Cuthbert. At least Summer was one step ahead of Anne Shirley.

  Her phone vibrated on the nightstand. A text from Jonathan. Up yet?

  Thumbs moved in a response. Yep. I’ll meet you in the lobby in 10 minutes.

  She tapped out of the conversation and quickly scanned her screen. No other calls or texts. Where was Trent? She thought she would’ve heard from him by now. He’d made such a big deal about this being a discovery of a lifetime that she figured he’d have hightailed it out here as soon as he heard her messages.

  Was he otherwise occupied? Perhaps by a tall blonde or an exotic brunette? Her stomach soured as she pictured him with a woman on each side, his arms draped across their shoulders.

  She pounded her forehead a couple of times with the heel of her palm to dislodge the image. So what if that was the case? It wasn’t like they were an item. He was free to pursue anyone he so desired. Of course he did say he was going to prove her wrong about his character. She sniffed. Well, he was off to a great start. Hadn’t been there when she’d called. Wasn’t here now when she needed him.

  Stop.

  Needed him? She needed him about as much as she needed brain surgery.

  Maybe it was a good thing he wasn’t there. Everything seemed to get confusing when he was around. This way she could focus on what was important—getting the best shots for Tabitha Michaels. No hindrances, no distractions. While she was down there, she’d check out the ship, maybe take some photos for Trent so he could inspect them and see if it was worth his while to go back on his own and scope things out. They’d be even then, and their business together would be over.

  She could move on with her life. Maybe meet a steady, one-woman guy and get her heart back in order.

  Speaking of order, sitting around musing all morning wasn’t part of the agenda. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and rummaged through her suitcase for her swimsuit and wet suit. The black neoprene was easy to find, but she had to almost dump the entire contents of her suitcase to find the small green material that was her bikini. She sat on the edge of the bed and bunched the legs of the wet suit up, then stuck her foot through the hole. Tugging, pulling, contorting, she felt like a sausage shoved into a casing. A bead of sweat gathered on her hairline by the time she had the suit on her legs and up over her hips. She allowed it to hang and then fastened her bikini top between her shoulder blades. A quick braid down her back, and she grabbed the hotel card key. She slung her camera bag and a small duffel over her shoulder and headed down to the lobby.

  Jonathan was waiting for her in one of the wingback chairs adjacent to the front desk.

  She did a double take because he was without his glasses—a rare occurrence. “Ready to go?”

  “Aren’t you going to see if Trent arrived last night?”

  She followed his finger and looked at the short woman behind the Carrera marble countertop. Should she check to see if he made it in?

  You don’t need him, remember?

  She turned her head back to Jonathan. “If he’d come, then he should have called. Let’s go.”

  Choosing to ignore his raised eyebrows, she marched toward the door.

  “Something I should know about?”

  She glanced over her shoulder as the automatic doors opened. “Nope.”

  “Reeeally.”

  The way he drew out the word irritated more than a mosquito bite. She jerked to a stop and turned to face him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  He shrugged and squinted against the early morning sun.

  Summer punched her hands to her hips. “Say what you have to say, Jonathan.”

  “I just find it interesting that there’s trouble in paradise already, that’s all.”

  Having a tiff with her best friend wasn’t on the agenda for the day either. “Look, I don’t know what you think is going on between Trent and me, but it looks like you’ve got the wrong idea.”

  “Reeeally.”

  She poked him in the chest. “Stop saying that.”

  “I reeeally don’t want to.” A grin split his face.

  Summer felt her own lips lift against her will. “You’re exasperating. Now let’s go.”

  They climbed into the rental car, with Jonathan behind the wheel. He turned left out of the hotel and headed toward the marina. A George Strait song played on the radio, and Summer found herself tapping her foot along to the beat.

  Jonathan reached out and turned the dial of the radio, silencing the twang. He rubbed his hands along the steering wheel a few times and then glanced upward and muttered under his breath, “Why am I going to do this?” He sighed before gripping the wheel hard. “Look, I'm going to set aside my feelings for a moment and talk to you like a friend.”

  “Oookay.” She adjusted the AC vents. Wet suits weren’t exactly light and airy.

  “What
are your real thoughts about Trent?” He glanced her way and then back at the road.

  My real thoughts? There were too many to sort out, and every time she tried, she’d been left with a headache. “He’s an egotistical, flirtatious, thrill seeker who thinks all women will swoon when he flashes a crocked grin.” But he’s also persistent and patient and seems to see me for who I really am.

  “And?”

  “And he drives me completely insane because he never takes no for an answer and always manages to get what he wants.” But somehow I find that I enjoy myself in his company and in the end am grateful that he fought so hard to get his way—when his way was to spend time with me.

  “And?”

  She let out a long breath. It didn’t look like Jonathan was going to let up until he unearthed the whole truth. “And I can’t stop thinking about him no matter how hard I try.”

  How would he respond to that? It wasn’t too long ago he’d bared his own heart to her. She chanced a look at him and watched as his jaw hardened.

  “But?”

  She was surprised he was able to get the word out through clenched teeth.

  The linchpin but. “But I know it will only lead to heartache, so I’ve been trying to deny my attraction to him.”

  “You know? Psychic now, are we?” The sarcasm at least softened part of his scowl.

  An unladylike snort blew out her nose. “I don’t have to be a psychic to see it coming. You know the kind of guy he is.”

  He looked quickly at her. “So you don’t think he’s serious about you?”

  Her shoulders lifted. “He says he is. Sometimes I think so too. He even invited me to meet his family over Fourth of July.”

  “But?”

  She looked out the window and watched as the palm trees whizzed by. “A leopard doesn't change his spots.”

  The car slowed, and Jonathan turned into the marina. He parked, then turned and rested his arm against the back of the seat. “I wish I could give you some kind of advice, but I can’t.” He scrubbed a hand down his face. “We’ve been friends for a long time, and I’ve loved you almost as long. I thought I could be that friend who could listen to your guy problems, but I was wrong. At least I can’t now, not yet anyway.”

  She hung her head. “I’m so sorry.”

  He chucked her chin with a closed fist. “I’m the one who asked, right? So see? Not your fault.” He pulled the key out of the ignition. “Now let’s go find you the picture of a lifetime.”

  They walked toward the building off the side of the dock. A red painted sign with Boat Rental in large white letters stood tall along the roof. The door jingled when they entered, and the smell of fish bait assaulted Summer. She moved her camera and duffel bags to her other shoulder.

  “Can I help you folks?” An older gentleman emerged from behind the counter. His skin was beyond tanned and more leathered than cowhide. Large hibiscus flowers colored his shirt—which was only half buttoned—and tufts of curly white hair poked from his chest.

  Summer cleared her throat. “We reserved a boat and diving equipment for two under the name Arnet.”

  The man smacked his hands together. “Right and deedy. I’ve already loaded the equipment onto the boat. You guys will be taking out my twenty-five-foot Boston Whaler. Woo-ee, she’s a beaut and will treat you folks real good.” He turned and perused a pegboard lined with keys. “Aha, here we are.” He grabbed a pair from the second row, with an orange foam buoy keychain attached.

  They followed the man out the door and down the floating dock, which gently rose and fell with each wake of a passing boat. They passed a menagerie of different vessels ranging from inflatable rigid hull open boats to towering grand yachts. Finally they stopped next to a midsized cruiser with twin engines and a green canopy casting shade over the central steering console. Two mounds of gear rested in the rear of the boat.

  Summer turned toward the rental guy. “I’m going to check the equipment first, if you don’t mind.”

  He held out a hand. “Be my guest.”

  Jonathan knelt on the dock and reached for the boat’s railing, pulling it flush with the wharf. She smiled her thanks and climbed aboard, setting her bags on the ship’s deck.

  The boat swayed, and she used the railing to keep her balance as she made her way to the bow. Thankfully, everything seemed to be placed in an organized manner. Two buoyancy compensators along with four tanks were easy to spot. Two sets of fins, with masks and snorkels lying on top. Regulators, pressure gauges, weight belts. Everything looked like it was there. She quickly checked the tanks. Pressure and volume—all good. She looked to the guys on the wharf and gave them a thumbs-up.

  “All righty. I have your credit card and your destination coordinates on file. We’ll square up as soon as you bring her back in.” The rental guy gave her a salute. “Have fun out there.”

  “Thank you,” she said to his retreating back. She turned her gaze to Jonathan. “Why don’t you do the buddy check before we head out? I don’t want to take any chances and have to come back to shore because of faulty equipment.”

  Jonathan climbed aboard and started inspecting the gear. “Looks good to me. Ready to go?”

  Anticipation surged through her veins like electrical currents through a wire. She bounced from one foot to the other. Yeah, she was ready. Born ready, as they said. These were going to be the best pictures of her life and she’d show everyone at Our World that she deserved a spot among their prestigious photographers.

  Except…

  A gray cloud of doubt rained down and short-circuited her optimism. Wouldn’t she have seen a ship down there last time she’d been in the water? There hadn’t been anything. She was sure. How could anyone miss a large sunken vessel? Everything hinged on this expedition—all of her dreams.

  What about Trent’s dreams?

  No one could deny that a conscience had a voice. A sinking feeling pulled her down, and she swallowed against the bile in the back of her throat. Had Benedict Arnold felt this rotten before he turned traitor against the early colonists?

  She gave herself a mental slap in the face. Stop being so dramatic. You’re not being a traitor. You called him a dozen times, and he never answered or responded. You can’t put your dream on hold because of him.

  Good point. She had made every effort, even going so far as to call his mom, so it wasn’t like she was excluding him on purpose. Tabitha Michaels had only given her three days. She couldn’t sit around and wait for him and watch her dreams dissolve into thin air just because he couldn’t be bothered to pick up a phone.

  “Summer?” Jonathan gently shook her shoulder.

  “Hmm?”

  “I asked if you were ready to go.”

  “Oh. Yes. Let’s go.”

  Jonathan climbed out of the Whaler, then bent to untie the thick ropes from the cleat hitch on the dock.

  “Wait! Summer, wait!” called a voice near the shore called, and Summer turned and squinted. The boats in the water rocked back and forth, and a particular mast from a neighboring yacht swayed into her line of vision. She bent sideways at the hip to see around the offending obstruction and sucked in her breath.

  Trent jogged along the two-foot-wide floating walkway, fire in his eyes. He came alongside the boat and hopped down onto the deck.

  When Summer had initially met Trent Carrington, her first thought had been striking. That description still fit as he loomed over her, his face near inches from hers. Short blond stubble shadowed the lower portion of his face but couldn’t hide the strong set of his jaw—which ticked at the moment. His hair had been pulled back from his face in a man-bun at the base of his neck, letting her witness fully the depth of emotion in his sky-blue eyes. Emotion so strong that it evoked fear in her. For whatever other reason was there for her to quiver?

  “I thought we had a deal.”

  She swallowed past the lump in her throat. “You didn’t return any of my calls.” Her voice cracked.

  Drat. She’d have t
o do better.

  “So you were going to go without me?”

  Weak excuses marched through her head, but none of them made her feel any better or would help defuse the situation. “Tabitha Michaels only gave me three days.”

  He swore under his breath and turned away from her. He took three steps, muttering so low she couldn’t make out any of his words. Finally he stopped and dropped into the helm seat, rubbing his fingers across his forehead. “I’ve been calling you all morning, but you never answered.”

  Strange. She bent to the duffel at her feet and unzipped it. Her phone lay on her dive booties, backside up, safe in the Otterbox and Ziploc she’d put it in that morning to protect it against liquid threats. She turned the phone over and pressed the Home button. Six missed calls and voice mails. Just as many waiting texts. The thing hadn’t been turned off vibrate mode from the night before.

  She looked up at Trent, an apology on her tongue.

  He’d assumed his normal pose—feet crossed at the ankles, fingers clasped and resting behind his head, a lopsided grin playing upon his face. Any vestiges of anger or hurt had disappeared—in their places resided calm confidence and nonchalance.

  “I recall someone once asking me why I have a phone if I never use it.”

  Her own words used against her. “I’m sorry. I—”

  He unhooked his ankles and leaned forward until his elbows rested on his knees. “All’s well that ends well, right?”

  “That’s awfully generous of you.”

  One eye closed in a wink. “What can I say? I’m a generous guy.”

  Summer rolled her eyes, then tossed her phone back into her duffel and zipped it up. She looked at him, one hand going to her cocked hip. “Why didn’t you use your phone yesterday? I must have called a dozen times, and you never once answered or called back until this morning. What were you up to?”