"A great day."
Misty skipped around the kitchen, a grin plastered on her face. Suddenly, she stopped and looked up at Rhianna with innocent blue eyes. "What did you do today?"
Rhianna stifled a cough. "Well, I…"
She didn't know what to say. It's not like she could tell the child she'd been making out with her dad.
Making out? What are you, a teenager?
"I hurt my foot," she said. "So I spent most of the day in my room, resting it."
She caught Mrs. Atkinson looking at her. There was an odd expression in the woman's eyes. Suspicion.
For a moment, Rhianna wondered whether Mrs. Atkinson knew what she'd been up to earlier that day. If she did, did the housekeeper approve?
For some reason the thought that Mrs. Atkinson might judge her harshly for getting romantically entangled with Jonathan saddened Rhianna. She liked Jonathan's housekeeper.
"Can I help you, Mrs. Atkinson?"
"That's okay, dear. I've got it covered."
There was a knock on the back door. Mrs. Atkinson opened it and beamed a smile at the thin man standing on the porch.
Rhianna had met Marvin Atkinson shortly after arriving on the island, but the man rarely left his home, except when he was repairing something or doing yard work. He probably hadn't said ten words to her.
Marvin gave Rhianna a shy nod.
"I fixed the washing machine," he told his wife. "Will you be home soon?"
Mrs. Atkinson surveyed the potatoes she was chopping and the basket of vegetables. "I have to finish making the soup."
"I can do that," Rhianna offered.
Mrs. Atkinson's dark eyes widened. "Thank you, dear. Are you sure?"
Rhianna threw her a wry grin. "If I can't make chicken soup I'd be pretty useless, wouldn't I?"
"I'm sure you're anything but."
The Atkinsons left the house together, hand in hand.
Watching them, Rhianna's stomach churned. She wondered if she'd ever have what they had. A joyous love, simple and uncomplicated.
She turned back to her charge. "Let's make soup."
Misty grabbed the basket from the table and carried it to the counter. "Can I cut the carrot?"
"I think you should be in charge of washing them." At the pout on the girl's face, Rhianna added, "After I cut them, you can put them in the pot."
Misty nodded, then signed, "Daddy's going to love our soup. He's going to be very happy."
Rhianna sighed. Well, at least one of us will be.
Soon, the potatoes, carrots, onion, zucchini, peas and chicken were simmering in a pot on the stove, while Misty sat at the table, swinging her short legs under the chair. She'd been a great helper, but it appeared Rhianna now had a problem on her hands.
"I'm bored," Misty signed.
"What do you want to do?"
"I don't know."
"Do you want to walk on the beach?"
Misty gave a shake of her dark curls.
They sat for a moment in silence.
The house is too quiet, Rhianna thought.
She reached across the table and turned on the portable radio. Turning the dial, she found a station with current pop hits. She opened her mouth and began to sing along.
Misty's eyes widened. "What are you doing?"
"What?"
"Why is your mouth moving like that?"
"I'm singing," Rhianna signed. "Don't you know what that is?"
"No. No one's done that before."
"Do you like music?"
Misty frowned. "What's that?"
Rhianna was shocked. Why hadn't someone taught Misty about music? Or shown the girl how she could hear in a different way than hearing children? Surely Jonathan and Misty's other teachers knew that a deaf person could enjoy music too.
Rhianna let out a sigh. "Misty, even deaf children can hear music. You just need to learn how. I'll show you."
She took Misty's small hand and placed it on top of the radio. Then she turned the volume up. Misty jumped back in surprise.
"It's okay," she reassured the girl.
Misty touched the radio again. The smile she gave Rhianna transformed her, and whatever boredom had been lurking behind her blue eyes instantly vanished. Misty turned the dial up as far as it could go. For a small radio it thumped out a decent volume, but Rhianna knew Misty needed to experience more than the moderate vibration from the old radio.
"Misty, let's go in the living room."
"But I like this."
"Trust me. I have an even better way for you to hear."
When Rhianna had first arrived, she'd noticed an ancient stereo system, complete with record player, tucked into the back corner of the living room. It didn't take her long to unearth the four speakers that were hiding in the corners of the room. From the amount of dust on the equipment, she surmised that the stereo hadn't been used in a long time. Hopefully, it still worked.
"This plays louder music." Rhianna pointed to the stereo. "You'll be able to hear it with your feet."
Misty let out a raspy laugh. "My feet?"
Rhianna flipped through a pile of old record albums that were in the cabinet under the stereo. "There's got to be something suitable for a six-year-old." There was. ABBA's Greatest Hits.
She placed it on the turntable and showed Misty how to work it. "See? It's easy. Now we'll turn up the volume."
Misty stood beside her, with her hands clasped as if receiving the most precious gift, as Rhianna cranked up the volume and the bass. Music pounded into the room and the hardwood floor vibrated with the beat.
"I can feel it," Misty signed, her eyes filled with amazement. "It's in my toes." She ran from speaker to speaker, touching the sides, feeling the vibrations.
When Rhianna began to dance, Misty stopped in the middle of the room, her eyes wide. "What are you doing?"
"Dancing."
"Why would you do that…dancing?"
"Because it's fun." Rhianna twirled. "You try it."
Misty attempted to mimic her. She hopped and swayed, giggling the entire time. Every now and then she'd sign, "I'm dancing."
It was a Hallmark moment, one Rhianna wanted to freeze and take with her when she left. She closed her eyes and swayed to the music. Lost in thought, she didn't hear the front door open. Or the footsteps approaching.
"What the hell is going on?"
~ * ~
Furious, Jonathan strode over to the stereo. He turned it off, then slowly turned toward Rhianna. He had to take a couple of deep breaths before he found his voice.
"What are you trying to do? Destroy Misty's eardrums completely?"
"It won't destroy her ears," Rhianna argued. "I was just showing her how she can hear music."
"In case you haven't noticed, Ms. McLeod, my daughter is deaf. She can't hear anything."
"Well, in case you hadn't noticed, Mr. Know-it-all, your daughter is having fun. From the look of all the dust on that stereo, fun is something you don't know much about. Don't you ever listen to music? Or are you too busy painting?"
When Rhianna came up for air, he said, "The stereo belongs to my ex-wife."
"So?"
He shrugged. "So I don't use it. I should've thrown it away. Or shipped it to her."
She gave him a smug look. "Oh, so you're just a natural music hater."
"I don't hate music," he said in a tight voice. "I―"
A blast of music cut him off.
Jonathan spun around, his breath catching in the back of his throat. Misty grinned back at him as she placed both hands, palms flat, on a speaker that was pumping out "Dancing Queen" lyrics. The smile that radiated from her was one of unmitigated joy.
"Look, Daddy! I can hear the music." She stomped her feet to the beat.
He swallowed hard, unable to speak.
"Dance with your daughter," Rhianna said.
With a little prodding, he caught Misty's hands and spun her around in wobbly circles until they were both laughing and dizzy. When the mus
ic slowed, he lifted Misty until she was standing on top of his feet, and they danced slowly, without a word.
God, it had been years since he'd danced.
"You two look…perfect," Rhianna said quietly.
The music soon kicked into high gear again and Misty tugged at his hand. He tried to teach her a few dance steps―the few he could remember―but he ended up tripping over his long legs and clumsy feet.
"Not exactly Dancing with the Stars," he said, grinning at Rhianna.
She smiled back. "No. It's far better."
"You've turned her into a dancing maniac," he said as he dropped into a chair, exhausted. "I knew I'd regret leaving Misty with you."
She gave him a hurt look. "What do you mean?"
"I'm joking." He chuckled wryly. "Sorry for barging in and yelling at you."
She shrugged. "It's okay. This is all new for you. I understand."
"I don't think you do," he said with a sigh. "Not completely. When Sirena left us, I had a lot of resentment toward her."
"I'm sure you did. She never wanted custody of Misty?"
He shook his head. "No, and I never pressure her about that either. To tell the truth, I was afraid."
"Of what?"
"Losing Misty." He chewed his bottom lip. "Sirena is…flighty. She can't sit still in one place for long. Eventually she would've disappeared. And taken Misty with her. I was relieved when she didn't want custody. But I also felt guilty for being relieved."
"Jonathan…"
The way Rhianna said his name made him look away.
"You did the best under the circumstances," she said, touching his arm. "You're a great father and Misty loves you."
"I know. But I can't help thinking I should've done more to keep Sirena in Misty's life."
"That's Sirena's choice. It always has been."
Rhianna was right. His ex-wife had made her choice.
Jonathan glanced at Rhianna. And I've made mine.
Chapter 19
Back in his Miami home office, JT Lance sat behind a mammoth oak desk and thought about all the tough choices he'd made over the decades―some that had resulted in something positive and some that had ended with tragic consequences.
And too many regrets.
The phone gave a shrill ring, jarring JT from his thoughts. Winston Chambers, the call display read.
He picked up the receiver. "You got your money, Chambers. We have nothing left to discuss."
"Well, actually…we do."
JT hissed in a breath. "We had a deal. I paid you what you asked for and you were supposed to go your own way. You swore you would."
Chambers let out a taunting laugh. "And you believed me?" There was a tense pause. "I've run into a bit of a problem and I think you can help me fix it. Two hundred thousand should suffice."
Shocked, JT closed his eyes. He'd never be rid of Chambers at this rate. The man would drain him dry.
"I can't pay you any more," he said, seething. "I won't. Whatever you know, it's not big enough to warrant being blackmailed like this."
"Then I'll tell her. Rhianna will know your secret."
JT swallowed a lump of guilt. "Then it's time she does. I'll tell her myself."
He glanced up as Higginson entered the room. On the pad on the desk, he wrote: Chambers wants more $!
Higginson silently read it, then patted JT's arm.
"I'll tell her tonight," JT told Chambers.
Another laugh from the private investigator.
JT scowled. "What's so funny?"
The line went silent. Then he heard the click of a lighter. The sound of inhalation confirmed JT's thoughts that Chambers had lit up a cigar. The man was taking his time, torturing JT―and enjoying every minute.
"I know Ms. McLeod has taken a little trip," Chambers said finally. "Wire the money to me by the end of the week. If it's not there, I'll make you very sorry you crossed me."
Chambers hung up, leaving JT staring at the receiver.
"He knows Rhianna's not here."
"Does he know where she went?" Higginson asked.
JT shook his head. "I don't think so. Not yet."
"How much does he want?"
"Two hundred thousand."
Higginson slumped in the chair across from JT. "Do you think he'll follow through with his threat?"
"I don't know." With tear-filled eyes, JT stared at Higginson. "But I do know I don't want that bastard anywhere near Rhianna."
"What do you want to do?"
"I can't pay him. If I do, he'll keep wanting more." A steely determination gripped JT. "He gave me until the end of the week."
"What can you do in four days?"
JT groaned. "I'm not sure."
"The man is slime," Higginson said, his jaw clenched.
"Lower than slime. But it's my fault he's doing this."
"JT―"
"Everything bad that's happened is the result of one stupid choice." A tear escaped and JT batted it away. "My past is catching up to me, but I have to make this right. For everyone."
Higginson sighed. "Tell me what I can do to help."
"You're a good friend, Higgie."
A slow chill of weariness settled into JT's old bones and his mind wandered into the ominous gray fog that lured him in like a mythical sea siren calling a ship to its rocky doom. It confused him, this fog, this callous disappearance of thought and struggle for names or events.
He eyed Higginson in bewilderment.
What were we talking about?
~ * ~
Winston leaned back in his extra-wide chair and sucked thoughtfully on a slender cigar―a bargain brand, only forty bucks a pack. The taste was darker, muddier, nothing like his precious Cohibas. But he only had one of the hefty beauties left, and he was saving it for a special occasion.
Would Lance pay?
He'd better, or Winston would make his life―what was left of it―a hell on earth. The reticence he'd heard in Lance's voice suggested the old guy wasn't feeling the pressure. Yet.
The computer monitor in front of Winston displayed his withering bank account. His client list had diminished to Lance and two others he'd milked bonuses from. Blackmail was far more lucrative than tracking down deadbeat dads or following cheating spouses, although he did enjoy taking photos of their sexual exploits.
He swiped his receding forehead with the back of his arm and it came away covered in a thin sheen of sweat. Outside the dingy one-room office, the sun was in sizzle mode, but it wasn't the heat that was getting to him. Fear was eating away at his churning stomach. Popping three extra strength Rolaids into his mouth, he chewed quickly and drowned the chalky taste with a brandy chaser.
"It'll all work out in the end," he muttered.
But would it?
He'd put down a large chunk of Lance's last payout at the race track. He nearly had a heart attack when he lost it all. Now he had debts to pay. Some of the guys he owed wouldn't wait much longer. Last time they paid a visit, he'd ended up in the hospital with two broken ribs and a mild concussion.
Winston picked up the photo of Rhianna McLeod.
"I'll make him pay me. One way or the other."
A devious plan began to percolate. There was a way for Winston to get a gigantic payout, easily a cool million. Threatening the old guy that he'd tell JT's secret would only get him so far. This new idea would secure his future someplace overseas where no one could track him down.
"JT'll beg to pay me anything," Winston said, kissing Rhianna's likeness. "You'll beg too, my dear. For something far different."
Chapter 20
That night, after Misty went to bed and Mrs. Atkinson returned to her cottage, Jonathan coaxed Rhianna into the living room with the promise of an after dinner drink. He was craving her company, and he needed someone to talk to about Misty.
"I can't thank you enough for everything you've done for Misty and me," he said, handing Rhianna a glass of Merlot. "She's been less irritable."
"That's because
both of you have learned to sign more effectively."
"I know. But neither of us would be signing so easily without your help. Thank you."
Rhianna shifted and looked away. "I'm glad I could help. That was the agreement after all."
"Agreement?"
She glanced at him. "For staying here."
He laughed. "Well, it's not like you can leave."
"No, I can't."
A strained silence filled the room.
Finally, Rhianna said, "I hope it hasn't been too difficult having an unwanted guest."
Unable to form a single word, Jonathan remained silent. A waft of Rhianna's perfume, with delicate notes of spice, vanilla and seduction, made him dizzy and he struggled to take his eyes off her moist, slightly parted lips. He wanted nothing more than to crush them with his, to taste her sweetness again. Earlier that morning, he'd seen apprehension in her eyes and it incensed him that he had caused it. But she didn't look afraid now. Just nervous.
"What?" she asked. "Why are you looking at me like that?"
"Because you're beautiful," he said. And I don't want to let you go.
That sudden realization smacked him hard.
Damn, Rhianna was getting to him.
~ * ~
Rhianna could barely breathe. In all these years she'd never felt so tempted. No other man had made her feel this…safe. And there was enough sexual chemistry between them that it was impossible to deny she was attracted to Jonathan.
What the heck was she going to do about him?
She didn't have time to pursue that train of thought because Jonathan gently pried the wineglass from her fingers, set it on the bar and pulled her into his arms.
"What are you doing?" she asked, stunned.
"You wouldn't deprive a man of a dance now, would you?" He pointed a remote at the stereo and smooth, sultry jazz filtered into the room. "I hope you like this."
She swallowed. "Jazz is one of my favorites."
Jonathan twirled her into the center of the room, then reeled her back in, catching her around the waist. With a breathless laugh, she stared into his sea-blue eyes and was immediately caught in a tidal wave of emotion. She didn't know what to say. Every thought seemed juvenile and silly.
He reached up and released her hair from the ponytail.
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