by Amy Summers
He nodded, then frowned, toying with the handle on the mug. "You had a few visitors while you were out."
He could see her stiffen. "Oh?" she said carefully, putting down her mug on a coaster and using one index finger to wipe up a smudge on the table. "Who were they?"
"Your daughters dropped by. One at a time."
She turned back to face him, her expression relaxing into a smile. "And found you here." Her smile grew to a grin.
He reached for the family portrait she had displayed on the coffee table. "This one," he said, pointing to silver-haired Suzi, "arrived first, gaped at me, and ran for the door. Then this one," he went on, pointing to Trish's sunny face, "came storming over to check me out, obviously warned by her sister. She gave me the third degree, threw around a few insults, and stormed out again."
Laura Carrington gasped in dismay. "What? That doesn't sound like Trish."
"Well..." His grin was a shade sheepish. "I might have provoked her a bit."
"I'll bet!" Laura laughed. "But didn't you tell them who you were, why you were here?"
"I tried." He shrugged. "I started to. But when it came right down to it, I wasn't sure how to explain it."
"You're right." She picked up her mug. "I haven't really thought that part through. What are we going to tell them?"
They both fell silent, neither of them coming up with anything particularly appropriate.
The truth would be the best thing, Chris thought to himself. Making up stories always ended in chaos. A half smile curled his lips as he remembered some of the scrapes he and his sister Michelle had fallen into when they'd tried to pretend things were other than what they actually were. The truth was the only way to avoid that sort of thing. But he hesitated and finally decided not to prod Laura with that advice just yet. This was her show. She had a right to set it up her way.
Still, he decided on a cautionary note. "They've got the wrong idea, you know," he told Laura. "Especially Trish. And I'm afraid I got mad and let her walk out, still thinking what she was thinking."
Laura looked blank. "What do you mean? What was she thinking?"
To his total amazement, Chris felt color filling his cheeks.
Blushing. He was blushing. Good God, what next?
He shook his head again, smiling with self-deprecation. "She was thinking….that you and I...well, that we're here together….that we're more than just friends."
Laura stared at him. "My own daughters think something like that?"
Chris's eyebrows rose quizzically. "You can't see why they might make that mistake?"
Laura laughed. "Well, no, it's absurd. I mean, you're so...so...." She gestured incoherently toward him and made a face.
He looked down at himself, then back at her. "Thanks a lot, lady," he kidded her with a grin. "I guess I know where I stand."
"No!" She laughed. "Of course, you're a terribly attractive man. But you know that. All those little snow bunnies at Mammoth don't hang all over you for nothing." She sobered. "But I'm a bit beyond the snow bunny stage. I would have thought my daughters would have given me a bit more credit."
He cleared his throat. "Don't blame them," he said gruffly. "They're just concerned about you. They probably think I'm after your money or something." He shrugged.
Laura sighed. "And you're feeling uncomfortable about it." She shook her head. "You're doing me such a tremendous favor. You coming out here to Destiny Bay to help me is a godsend as far as I'm concerned. I was at my wit's end until I thought of bringing you in to help start up this business. You're going to be saving me money. And maybe even saving lives."
"Am I?"
I hope so, he added silently. I hope it's going to do you a lot of good, because I'm not at all sure what good it's going to do me.
Laura was looking bemused. "So my daughters really were concerned?"
"Oh, yes. Very concerned."
"Maybe I'd better give Trish a call and let her know the truth." She sighed. "Though I know it's not going to be easy for her to accept it. She's always defended her father, and this is going to be perceived as an attack on him, I'm sure. Oh well, best get it over with."
She picked up her cell phone and tapped out a call, then waited for a moment or two. "No answer." She shrugged, putting it down again. "I'll call her later." She turned back to Chris.
He was deep in thought, mulling over what she'd said. Our Plan. That was a euphemism. It had been Laura's plan right from the start. Chris stirred restlessly. He wasn't used to having someone else chart his life this way. He wasn't sure he'd be able to adjust.
But he didn't like the life he'd been living lately, either. He wasn't a kid any longer. He'd felt for some time he needed a change, but the right avenue hadn't come clear. And then Laura had come to him with her ideas, and they'd sounded like something worth looking into. So here he was. For now.
He stared at the family portrait on the coffee table again. The faces looked so happy. But then they always did in those things. His gaze concentrated on Trish's freckled face, then slid to the next figure in the shot. "How about him?" he asked, pointing to Laura's husband, Tam Carrington. "Will he be coming around?"
Laura turned her face away so that he couldn't see the expression in her eyes. "Don't worry about him," she said softly. "He's got much more important things to do than to worry about my welfare."
Chris sat back against the couch again and stared at the mug in his hand. There was emotion in her voice, deep, abiding pain. The mother, the husband, two angry daughters. What the hell had he gotten himself into here?
Trish hurried through the lobby of the low building, waving at the receptionist and pushing her way through the wide double doors that led out onto the production floor. Saws and sanding machines screamed, but an occasional greeting was shouted above the noise and she waved at each workman. Most of them were people she'd known all her life. She went through another set of double doors into the research area, and there she found her father all alone, running his hands over the freshly wrapped coating on a brand-new surfboard.
"Hi, Daddy," she called as she approached.
He looked up and smiled at her, and despite the thinning blond hair, his grin was as boyish as it had been thirty years before when he'd formed his first surfboard with his own hands, the board that would launch one of the largest surfboard companies in the world. He'd been one of the first surfers on the California coast and those days were still a part of him. In spite of the cool March weather, he wore Bermuda shorts and a bright Hawaiian shirt, with thongs on his feet.
"Hi, sugar," he responded, turning to give her a hug and a loud smack on the cheek. "What's new?"
Too much to go into casually.
Still, as she drew back and looked at him, she decided to get right to the point.
"Daddy, don't you think it's time to make up with Mom?"
"Your mother?" He frowned as though that were a knot he didn't feel like untying at the moment. Turning away he went back to running his hand over the lemon-yellow board. "What about your mother?"
She steeled herself. She'd never been much of a pusher, but some things needed a bit of a shove, and this was one of them. "Don't you think this has gone on long enough?"
"Hmmmm?" He narrowed his eyes and leaned back to get another angle on his study of the paint job. "What's that?"
"She's never been gone for six months before."
His shoulders seemed to tighten, but he still examined the surface of the board for flaws. "Has it been that long?"
"You know it has!" She went around to the other side of the board to get back into his line of vision.
"What do you think of the patina on this resin?" he asked. "We've got a new supplier and I'm not sure about the luster—"
"Daddy! Listen to me! You're going to lose her!"
His head rose and he finally met her gaze. He stared at her for a long moment, his eyes unreadable. "Baby, I can't lose something I don't have," he said softly at last.
Something in th
e flatness of his dark eyes shocked her as much as his words did. Was it already too late? She wasn't sure she could stand that. A hot, choked feeling filled her throat, but she forced herself to go on.
"Daddy, can't you talk over your differences? I... I have an idea. I'll invite her to dinner, but I won't tell her you're coming, too.”
He turned away dismissively. "Forget it, sugar. Your mother and I have nothing to talk about."
She followed him, putting a hand on his arm. "Daddy, you've been married for over thirty years."
"And according to your mother, that's just about thirty years too long." Anger darkened his face. "She left me, Trish. I didn't leave her."
Trish shrugged helplessly. "But she's left before...."
"Never for more than a few days." He turned and shoved his hands deep into his pockets. "She's never taken an apartment before."
Trish gestured into the air. "Maybe if you talked, you could find out why—"
"Damn it, Trish!" He slammed the table with the flat of his hand, making a resounding slap that hit her with almost physical force. His face was hard and dark, his eyes shining with anger. "She doesn't want me anymore. She told me so. I'm not going to go begging to get her back. It's over." He turned and began to stalk off toward his office. "I've got work to do," he grumbled, hurrying away.
She followed him and fired her last shot. "Daddy," she called out after him. "Mom's seeing someone else." Then she waited, holding her breath, to see if she'd made a very big mistake or not.
"Someone else?" His steps slowed. "You don't think I know about that?" He turned back, his brows drawn together. "Trish, this is something that's been coming for a long time. You're grown-up. Suzi is involved in her medical studies. You two don't need us to be together anymore. Just let it alone. We'll do what makes us happy. You don't have to worry about us."
Whirling, he slammed into his office, making it very clear he wouldn't welcome company.
Trish stood where she was, shaken to her roots. Tears rimmed her eyes and spilled down her cheeks. She felt empty and aching and she couldn't stand it. She had to do something. Anything, to keep from feeling so awful.
Get mad, she told herself fiercely. Anger was better than this nagging pain. She blinked away the tears. These were two very stubborn and pigheaded people she was dealing with here. It was obvious she was going to have to do more than talk. She was going to have to do some manipulating.
Chapter 4
Trish pulled her lime green convertible to a stop along the sand at Mission Bay and turned the engine off, watching the late afternoon sunlight dance across the water. There was a wild, gypsy twist to the wind that was kicking up along the shore. It tousled her hair and made her shiver uneasily.
Am I just being selfish?, she wondered. Am I refusing to grow up? Is it my own insecurity? Do I need that family unit behind me because, so far, I haven't been able to build one of my own?
All of the above, she admitted. But also, she couldn't just dismiss it, that partnership that had sustained her for so many years, that loving nest that had nurtured two girls and molded them into women. It had worked so well for so long.
A part of her was crying, let it go! It's their business, not yours.
Another part of her was just crying. She wasn't sure why, but having her parents together and happy again was deeply important to her—fundamental. Now if only she could think of a way to bring that resolution about.
A sea gull called. The raucous sound of its voice filled her with a dreadful loneliness. She shivered again and reached for the key, turning the engine on. Gravel spit out as she raced away.
Her mother's apartment was nearby and she found herself pulling up before the building. Something told her she would have no more luck getting through to her mother than she'd had with her father, but it was worth a last ditch effort. Striding briskly into the courtyard, the first thing she saw was Chris Dawson doing laps in the apartment pool.
She hesitated behind a huge bird of paradise in full bloom. She didn't relish another run-in with the man. But his head was down and he was swimming energetically back and forth. He hadn't seen her. Maybe it would be possible to sneak by him. The pool was long and serpentine, but if she just walked quickly, head high, eyes on the stairs ahead…
She almost made it. Just as she neared the far end of the pool she heard a great surge in the water, and then there he was, standing before her, beads of water flying everywhere—including all over her.
"Hello, Trish," he said calmly. "You came back."
She backed away, shaking drops of water from her hair and glaring at him. "But not for a swim," she protested. "And not to see you."
"Of course not. I know you came to see your mother. But I wanted to talk to you first."
She backed away another foot or two. The man was practically naked. Silver streams of water ran over his tanned flesh, making him look slick and smooth. His swimsuit was a tiny strip of electric blue material that didn't so much hide as accentuate. His thighs were thick and strong and covered with golden brown hair. His wet shoulders seemed wider than ever. The entire effect was like some exotic dream of a lover one might conjure up on a lazy summer afternoon.
But at the same time he was much, much too real.
She winced, as though protecting herself from too bright a light. If she let him, he could easily weaken her defenses.
"Talk fast," she said breathlessly, trying to still her pounding heart. "I'm in a hurry."
His eyebrows rose and his hands went to his hips. "Is it just me?" he asked her. "Or are you this rude to all the men you know?"
She flushed, shocked. No one had accused her of being rude since she was six years old and refused to kiss Aunt Lulu goodbye. But she knew he was absolutely right. She was being unforgivably rude.
Turning away she stared at the lapping water of the pool. "I'm sorry if you think I'm rude to you," she said, trying hard to control her voice. "I guess I tend to forget my manners when I'm upset."
She glanced up and for just a moment she thought his dark eyes actually showed concern. "What have I done to upset you?" he asked quietly.
What a question! It worked on every level, from the purely sensual, to the moral, to the intellectual. Any way you sliced it, he was an upsetting man.
"That's not precisely the point," she answered evasively. She looked at him, tried to think of how to tell him just what the point was, and failed, distracted once again by his well-built body.
"Do you ever appear anywhere fully dressed?" she asked in exasperation.
His grin started at his eyes and grew from there. "Not if I can help it. I'm a nature freak. How about you?" But he reached for a towel, dabbing with it at his chest.
She shook her head, but the grin was having its effect. "I think nature is best tamed," she claimed. "Like you ought to be." She said the words, but her face was softening.
Chris hesitated, hearing the emotion in her voice and reacting viscerally. For some crazy reason, she touched him. He looked at her with her sad face and her anguished eyes and he wanted to pick her up and hold her and tell her everything was going to be all right.
But she wouldn't like that. That much was obvious. So he said instead, "Why can't we be friends?"
"Friends?" She seemed confused by the concept.
"Friends. You know, people who say 'Hello' and 'How are you?' and 'Nice weather,' and 'Hey, do you want to go with me to see a movie sometime?' instead of 'Make it fast, I'm in a hurry.'"
She was still stunned by the thought. "We... we can't be friends. We're on opposite sides."
He nodded slowly. "You see, that's what I don't really understand. Opposite sides of what? What's the war here?"
He waited for a moment but she didn't answer. "Okay, tell me this. What can I do to make you stop hating me?"
Hating. The word shocked her. She didn't hate him. How could he think that? She looked into his eyes and slowly shook her head. "I don't hate you," she said softly. "Don't you understand? I
just don't want my mother hurt."
"Trish." He dropped the towel and stared down into her green eyes, searching them for something. "Come with me," he said abruptly. "I've got to talk to you."
"But..." She looked back at the apartment as he took her by the hand and led her into a secluded gazebo at the corner of the courtyard. Honeysuckle climbed about the structure in thick profusion, cutting off visual access and filling the air with perfume.
"Sit." He sat beside her on the small white wicker love seat. Turning toward her he took her hand, holding it palm up and placing his other hand over it. His face was earnest. "Now listen to me."
How was she going to listen when she was so busy trying to keep her senses from spinning out of control? Where had this man come from, some other planet? Her heart was pounding, her head reeling. He was so close, she could feel him, like a laser imprint of heat. His large, strong hands held hers captive, warming her all over. She couldn't speak. She could hardly think.
"Your mother and I are not lovers," he said slowly, distinctly, gazing intently into her eyes. When she didn't respond, he reached out with one hand and drew an invisible line across her cheek with one index finger. "Are you listening? Have you got that? We are not lovers. We haven’t ever been and we’re not going to be. Period."
Her green gaze was locked with his dark one. Her cheek tingled where he'd touched it. She nodded slowly. "Got it," she whispered. And suddenly she knew he was telling the truth. She couldn't possibly feel this way—this incredible, breath-stopping way—about a man who was having an affair with her mother.
"Good," he said, and sighed with relief. "Okay, here's the story. I've known your mother for a couple of years. She's been coming up to Mammoth pretty regularly. And she's become friendly with my sister, Michelle, who has a restaurant up there. The two of them cooked up this scheme to have me come down here with your mother and help her with a project she's got going."
"A project?"
He hesitated. This wasn't his story to tell. "She wants me to help someone run his business. In effect, she's helping me get a job."