Finders Keepers (A Carrington Family Novel Book 1)

by Sarah Monzon

  The muscle in his jaw twitched before his rock facade softened. He jammed a hand through his hair, leaving it sticking up near the front. “I’m not mad. I want you to be happy…I just wish…I just wish you could be happy with me.” He cast a glance back toward the boat before settling his regard to her. “If he can make you happy…”

  “Promise we’re still friends?”

  A sad smile bowed his lips. “We’ll always be friends. But friendships aren’t static, and ours can never go back, no matter how much you want it to.”

  She reached up on tiptoes and flung her arms around his neck. As if by sheer willpower she had the ability to make their friendship all it had been, she hung on. Would he still be the prankster who put whoopee cushions on her chair to make her laugh when she was too stressed out? Still dare her to do crazy things like stuff twenty marshmallows in her mouth and sing the national anthem? Still be her roller-coaster buddy?

  A groan rumbled at the back of his throat. “You’re killing me.”

  She lowered back on flat feet, and he chucked her chin like an older brother would to a kid sister. “I’ll see ya back at home.”

  His flip-flops slapped his heels with each step he took away from her. Some of the heaviness in her middle lifted, and she took a full breath.

  Trent stepped up beside her, her duffel bag and camera case slung over his shoulder. “Everything okay?”

  Not yet, but… “It will be.”

  He put a hand to the small of her back, and they started walking toward the marina’s office. “Hope so. I know I gave him a hard time, but he’s really not so bad.”

  “Pretty great, actually.” A couple beats passed in silence, then she stopped, brows bunched low on her forehead as she looked at him. “Why did you give him a hard time?”

  One side of his mouth hiked up his face. “Isn’t it obvious?”

  Realization dawned in a duh moment. “Me?”

  The other side of his mouth matched the first. “Bingo.”

  Heat rushed to her face, and it wasn’t due to the tropical sun. She set her feet back in motion, Trent keeping stride beside her. A peek from the corner of her eye showed he still grinned ear to ear. If he weren’t carrying all her equipment and things, she’d give in to the temptation to shove him off the side of the dock.

  Air-conditioning inside the office cooled her heated skin. The same gentleman who’d rented them the boat that morning stood behind the counter, watching a small portable television. He turned the knob when he noticed them approaching.

  “Have a fun time?”

  Trent placed the boat key on the counter. “Yes, thank you.”

  Summer stepped up and laid her hands on the Formica. “We left all the equipment stowed on the boat. I hope that’s all right.”

  “No problem a’tall.”

  She ran a finger along a faux vein in the countertop. “So we’re all set?”

  He nodded. “If there’s nothing else I can do for you folks. I hope you come back real soon.”

  “Thank you very much. Have a nice day.”

  The man smiled, then turned the knob on his television, and the screen came to life.

  She walked through the front door but halted right outside. Half a dozen cars filled the parking lot. “Which one is yours?”

  Trent pointed to a small hatchback a couple spaces over. “It’s unlocked. I left the keys in the glove box if you want to crank it up and turn on the AC while I put your stuff in the trunk.”

  “Not afraid someone would steal it?”

  He looked down at his wet suit. “More like no place to put the key.”

  Her eyes followed his line of sight. Tight neoprene hugged his body like a second skin, outlining the strength of muscled arms and well-sculpted legs. She swallowed against a mouth suddenly gone dry and quickly ducked inside the car. The glove box popped open when she pulled the handle, the key and fob on a single ring on top of some paperwork. She leaned over the center console and turned the ignition.

  Trent slid into the driver’s seat and pulled the seat belt across his chest. “Back to the hotel?”

  “Yeah. I want to get these pictures uploaded to my computer and start working on edits. Tabitha Michaels didn’t give me a specific time tomorrow for the deadline, but I want them waiting in her inbox by the time she gets to the office.”

  He put the car into gear and pulled out of the parking lot and onto the road. “Sounds like a plan. Mind if I join you? I want to do some research regarding the ship and the necklace.”

  “Sure, as long as you aren’t too distracting.” Especially considering the last time he’d invaded her space while she’d been editing, he’d insisted on taking her out for coffee.

  Laughter filled the car. “Distracting, huh? I can only promise not to intentionally distract you.”

  “And unintentionally?”

  “All I know is, I find it maddeningly hard to concentrate when I’m around you.” He shrugged and flicked a quick glance at her. “I was just kind of hoping my presence brought you a bit of diversion as well.”

  Not a line. No hook, no sinker. Although the first part sounded like it. However, the hitch in his voice betrayed vulnerability, while the small moment their gazes met she’d witnessed sincerity in their depths. And those were two things she never thought she’d see in a guy like Trent Carrington—vulnerability and sincerity. Leastwise not where women were concerned. Did that mean she’d been wrong about him? Not likely, since his past spoke for itself. But maybe he had changed, or at least was changing. Even possible? Leopards didn’t change their spots.

  But maybe, just maybe, people weren’t leopards.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  “How’s it going over there?” Sitting at the desk in Summer’s hotel room, Trent looked over the top of his laptop. Her legs stretched out across the white duvet and crossed at the ankles, while her back leaned against the tall headboard of the queen-sized bed. The notebook rested in her lap as her eyes bore a hole into her computer screen.

  “I sent it.”

  He closed his computer. “You did? When?”

  “About five minutes ago.” Lips pressed inward, she raised her eyes to meet his.

  Her gaze was so uncertain that he felt the punch of it in his solar plexus. It left him momentarily paralyzed to respond with any sort of reassurance.

  “What if the editors don’t like my work? What if the photos aren’t good enough?” Her throat rose and fell with a hard swallow. “What if I’m not good enough?”

  Two strides was all it took to reach the bed. He lowered himself on the edge and gripped her hand. She didn’t immediately turn her eyes to him, but slowly, like the unfolding of a flower, he peered into her sparkling emeralds. “If the editors don’t see the talent in front of their faces, then they’re morons.”

  Truly, he’d find out the magazine’s home office, go there himself, and tell every single one of those editors how much sense they lacked if they didn’t offer Summer the position. His jaw tensed at the thought of such a possibility, but he forced himself to relax the clench. Summer needed reassurance, not his defensive posturing. “Don’t ever think you’re not good enough, Summer Arnet.”

  His lungs filled with a deep breath to help cool the boiling of his temper. It didn’t work. Heat still flushed his skin. Only maybe the fire in his blood had more to do with the small bow of her upper lip resting upon the fullness of the lower. Or that her gaze had also fallen to his mouth. Perhaps it was due to the sound of her shallow breaths or the wild racing of his heart.

  “Why?” The single word came out on a breath. One that feathered his lips as the distance separating his from hers vanished.

  His mouth brushed hers, then separated only enough to speak. “Because you’re the best person I know.” He claimed her mouth once more, the soft mewling sound that evicted from her throat driving his senses.

  Her lips tore away from his. “Don’t kiss me.” She scooted over more into the center of the bed, distancing herself
from him. “I don’t want you to.”

  Oh, she wanted him to all right. The softness of her mouth, the response of her body, the quiet sound in the back of her throat, all contradicted her claim.

  He propped his weight with a stiff arm. “You don’t?”

  A strand of hair fell across her temple as she shook her head.

  “Care to explain why?”

  She tucked the wayward lock behind her ear. “Depends.”

  “On?”

  Both hands came around and clasped each other on her lap. “Care to explain where you were yesterday?”

  She didn’t trust him. Still. It hurt worse than the one time he’d had to lay down his bike to prevent a more serious accident. Then he’d been somewhat protected by a leather jacket and jeans. With this—with her—he had no protection. He jammed a hand through his hair and lowered his head, the strands falling back around his shoulders. Every action had an equal reaction. Wasn’t that Newton’s law? She didn’t trust him, didn’t think he was sincere in his feelings for her—the reaction to his past relationships with women. He couldn’t blame her. Didn’t. But that didn’t make the ache go away.

  The bed creaked as the mattress was relieved of his weight. “Take a walk with me?”

  “Why?” Even as she asked it, she scooted to the far side of the bed and stood.

  “Because it’s good to be moving when hearing hard things.”

  Her eyes were wary as they regarded him. “What’s going to be hard to hear?”

  He palmed the hotel card key. “Come on. I’ll tell you on the beach.”

  The walk from the room to the sandy shore didn’t last long enough for Trent to figure out how he was going to tell Summer he’d talked to her dad. And that he didn’t want anything to do with her.

  As soon as their feet hit the sand, she sprung on him. “Well?”

  “Hold on.” He plopped down onto the white grains. “Let me take off my shoes.”

  She slipped out of her sandals and dangled them from her fingers, then cocked a hip. His boots wouldn’t be so easy. Neither did they need the extra time he spent untying the laces and hefting them off. He knotted the laces together and let them hang from his shoulder.

  “I’m waiting.”

  And none too patiently, from her pursed lips and the hands that flagged her hips.

  He sighed and set a course through the soft, dry sand to the damp, packed earth in reach of the tide’s caress. “I went to DeLand yesterday.”

  She didn’t respond. Didn’t ask where that was or why he went or whom he saw there, just put one foot in front of the other and remained silent.

  The sun arched over the horizon. Its rays would soon be cast in a brilliance of color across the sky. A thing of beauty. Amid the ugly telling, Summer would need loveliness to remind her of the good. Maybe even the reminder of the heavenly Father she had so recently come to know.

  “Dave Landstrom lives in DeLand.”

  Again silence, although not really. The sound of the water rushing and receding, crashing and flowing accompanied his words.

  “Do you know who Dave Landstrom is, Summer?”

  She stopped walking, her eyes down. He sensed her struggle, an internal warring that didn’t show but which he felt. Whether she won or she lost, she looked up, the sheen of moisture in her eyes. “He’s my dad.” Her chin quivered as much as her voice.

  “Oh, babe.” His arms came around her and drew her close to his side. He tucked her there and would have liked nothing more than to shield her from this hurt. “I’m so sorry.”

  Her hands clung to his back as she buried her face in his chest. “He doesn’t want to see me, does he?” His shirt muffled her voice, but not enough to miss the raw edge.

  “Dave Landstrom isn’t worthy of the title father.” Trent cradled her cheek and thumbed an errant tear. “He isn’t worth crying over.”

  She nodded and sniffed but didn’t loosen her hold. Which was fine by him. He’d hold her, offer her his strength and whatever comfort he could, for as long as she needed it.

  “Why’d you do it?”

  As with many things people did, he’d had more than one reason. A grand gesture on her behalf. Women fell hard for stuff like that, and he wouldn’t lie and say the thought that she might soften toward him because he had done something big for her hadn’t crossed his mind. Of course, once he pushed away all the side motives, one main goal still remained—with a flesh-and-blood dad in her life she’d come to recognize she didn’t need a figment father figure in the form of God Almighty.

  Who would’ve thought his actions to disprove her need would only enlighten him to his?

  He smoothed back the hair from her forehead. “The reason doesn’t matter. I was wrong.”

  Her face lifted. “What do you mean?”

  With all his experience with women, this new vulnerability in his core left him adrift. Flashing a smile, offering a compliment—body language that spoke more than words had been his go-to in difficult situations. Familiar. But stripping it all away until he was laid out bare and naked, his heart exposed—this was new and frightening.

  He laid his cheek on top of her head. “I wanted to give you your dad so you’d realize you were only filling the void he left when you accepted God as a substitute Father.”

  “Trent, that’s not why—”

  “Shh. I know. Believe it or not, I learned a lot from your dad.”

  Hair scraped his cheek as her head jerked back. “You learned something from my dad?”

  The side of his mouth so eager to grin turned down. “A hard lesson.”

  Her arms fell from around his waist, and never had he been so keenly aware of the absence of a touch. She searched his eyes. “Someone once told me the harder things are made easier with motion.”

  Some of the tension eased from his shoulders. “I’m not sure those were my exact words.”

  “A paraphrase then.”

  He dipped his head, and they continued their stroll. The bottom edges of the sun disappeared beyond the horizon, causing the tropical sea to turn a dark blue against the fiery-orange sky.

  “What hard lesson did you learn from my dad?”

  He filled his lungs with the salty air and glanced down at the woman beside him. His vision filled with the top of her head, strands of hair flying on the coastal breeze. The admittance was going to cost him, but he hoped the price wouldn’t be too high. “That I’m no different than he is.”

  He wasn’t sure what reaction he expected. Outright denial? Soft assurances? Cutting affirmation? He received none of those. Summer didn’t flinch, her step didn’t falter, and neither did she look up.

  “After meeting Dave, I determined to contact past…” He let her supply the appropriate noun. “Anyway, I wanted to make sure there weren’t any kids out there that didn’t have a dad on my account.”

  “And?” She nearly choked on the word, with how strangled it sounded.

  “No.”

  They took a few more steps before she stopped again. Her eyes were hooded, and he couldn’t blame her for protecting herself, because even though she said the opposite, he knew his feelings for her were not unrequited. “Anything else?”

  How he longed to smooth the crease pleated between her eyes. “Yes.”

  Tense muscles tightened further, but she lifted her chin as if willing to take the blow head on.

  “I found God, Summer. Or, rather, He found me. Or I let Him in.” Trent shook his head. “I don’t know how to put it.” Make her see. “You know about my brother Trevor and, even though I rarely admitted it, the hole I’ve felt all my life.” He caught up her hand and placed it over his heart. “It’s not here anymore. God filled it when I asked him into my life.”

  She stared at her hand on his chest. At his hand that covered hers. “The same as He filled mine when I asked.”

  “Yes.” His thumb traced languid circles on the back of her hand. “There is still something missing here though.”

  Confusi
on clouded her gaze. “But you said—”

  “God filled up that void, but I’ve recently discovered there’s another piece, a very unique and special piece, which I’ve found and keep trying to place in its proper spot”—he pressed her hand more firmly to his chest—“but for some reason, she doesn’t want to fit. Why is that?”

  Warm breath fanned his hand in short, rapid bursts. She lifted her eyes to meet his gaze, and they caused a throbbing in his center at the struggle they mirrored.

  “Trent, I—”

  He brought his forehead to rest on hers. “Why are you afraid to admit your feelings for me?” His voice barely carried above a whisper.

  She took a step back and hugged her arms. “I am afraid. How do I know you’ve really changed? That I’m not just some challenge or passing fancy for you? That you won’t check me off as another notch on your belt once you’ve gotten whatever it is you want from me?” She squeezed her eyes shut and let her arms dangle at her sides. When she opened her eyes again, they looked tired and defeated. “I want to believe you. You have no idea how much I want to believe you.”

  He smiled. Not with elation but a small degree of hope. “I told you before I’d prove you wrong, and I will. One day, Summer Arnet, you will believe me when I whisper in your ear”—he leaned down until his face was beside hers—“I love you.”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Bahamas, 1689

  Marry him? The two words swirled around in Isabella’s mind, refusing to land and stick. She looked at him, took in the grim set of his jaw and squared shoulders. It did not appear the suggestion—nay, command—had appealed to him. But why offer? A sense of duty to his lost friend and first mate?

  Isabella swallowed against the churning in her stomach. “I thank you for the offer, but—”

  “It was not an offer, as I did not ask.”

  Insufferable man! Control seeped through her fingers faster than flour through a sifter until her nostrils flared and her hands fisted in the folds of her skirts. “I am not among the numbers of your crew that you may dictate my actions, Captain Montoya.”