Meet Me in Barefoot Bay

by Roxanne St Claire

  “What are you—”

  Behind her the screen door whipped open and Jocelyn turned to see Will frozen in the doorway, looking at her with almost the same degree of shock he’d had this morning outside the villa.

  “William!” Guy practically lunged toward him, arms outstretched. “You are the best son in the world. How can I thank you for getting her here?”

  The older man reached up and grabbed Will in a bear hug, flattening his gray-haired head against Will’s chest.

  Over his head, Will stared at Jocelyn, his mouth open but nothing coming out.

  “You did it,” Guy said, finally leaning back to beam up at Will. “You got Clean House here and this pretty girl is going to make my life perfect. I love you, son, you know that?”

  Jocelyn put a hand on the cool brick wall to steady herself. Not because the old man misunderstood why she was there. Not because he thought she was there to make his life perfect. Not even because he thought Will Palmer was his son and she was a stranger.

  He’d just never, ever said the words I love you unless he was weeping in apology for having hurt someone or broken something. The words had always been meaningless to him.

  But not now. Guy really did love Will. And as Will patted Guy’s back, comforting the old man, it was clear that Will loved Guy, too.

  And the irony of that was one bitter pill on her tongue.

  Chapter Five

  Jocelyn looked more real, more beautiful, and even more stunned standing in the entry of her own home than she had when Will had accidentally discovered her at Casa Blanca.

  With one more gentle pat on Guy’s back, Will gave Jocelyn a pleading look, hoping she’d just go along with this.

  “He thinks I’m from a TV show called Clean House?” she asked, obviously still confused by what had unfolded. “Why don’t you tell him—”

  “I’m so glad you’re here,” he said, a little forcefully as he eased Guy away from him. “Why don’t we go talk privately about…” His gaze moved beyond her to the kitchen. “Holy shit, Guy, what the hell happened here?”

  “Now there’s no need to cuss, son. I just got a little ahead of the game. This lady, this… uh, uh… what was your name again?”

  “Jocelyn,” she said with barely restrained patience. “Jocelyn Bloom.”

  Guy didn’t even blink at his own name. “This Jocelyn is going to straighten it all out and set things right for me. That’s what she does, right? Isn’t that what you do, Missy?”

  Will held his breath, watching a series of emotions play over her refined features. Dismay drew her dark brows together and doubt made her lower lip quiver slightly. But she finally lifted that deceptively delicate chin and nodded.

  “Yes, actually, that is what I do.”

  Will exhaled slowly, fighting the urge to give Jocelyn a hug of gratitude. “Why don’t we go somewhere and talk about the details,” he suggested. “Guy, you take a load off in the living room and I’ll show Jocelyn around.”

  “Is this the part where they do a tour?” Guy asked. “The ‘before’ tour?”

  “Yes,” Will said, stepping closer to Jocelyn. “But you have to sit down and let me take Jocelyn on the tour.”

  “Why?” he asked. “I want to show her everything.”

  Will gave another look, practically begging for help.

  “He’s right. I have to see everything without you. Go sit and we’ll be back after I’ve looked around.”

  Oh, man. He could kiss her. “C’mon. We’ll start out in the…” He looked around at the chaos. “Garage. It’s through the laundry room over—”

  “I know where it is.” She rounded the brick wall and made her escape through the unused—and just as messy—office that led to the laundry room.

  “Will.” Guy grabbed his arm. “Thank you.” He reached up for another hug. “I don’t deserve you, you know that? You’re such a good son.”

  “It’s okay, Guy. Let me talk to her.” Will inched him aside, knowing Jocelyn was damn near liquid mercury when it came to disappearing between a man’s fingers. She could well be gone when he got into the garage.

  He found her standing at the door to the garage, listening to the exchange. Shit.

  “Hey, thanks,” he whispered, coming closer. “Let’s go out there and talk.”

  She slipped into the garage and he followed, closing the door and gathering his wits. He’d thought of nothing, absolutely nothing, all morning but the impact of seeing Jocelyn Bloom.

  He’d talked to Lacey and found out that Jocelyn was here for an “indefinite visit”—and he supposed he knew why—but after how she acted this morning, he didn’t imagine she’d come to see Guy on her own. At least not this soon.

  “I’d been hoping to bring you down here myself,” he said, giving voice to his thoughts. “I thought I’d ease you into what to expect.”

  She arched a dubious brow. “Then why did you make that closing shot about you taking care of him? I mean, what was that if not a way to get me here?”

  “Desperation, I guess. Look, Jocelyn, I—”

  “I’m sure there’s plenty of desperation in this situation. But I’ll take care of it for you and you’ll be free. I’ll take care of the problem.”

  He blew out a breath, his hands aching to hold her, his heart still not settled from the unnaturally wild beat that had started when he saw Lacey’s car in front of the house. “It’s really not a problem,” he said slowly.

  “Caring for an infirm old man who—”

  “He’s not exactly infirm.”

  “—is living like a pig and—”

  “That mess just happened.”

  “—once threatened to kill you and now thinks you’re his son.”

  He stared at her. Of course that night would be right under the surface, waiting to bubble up, waiting to rip him apart, waiting to suffocate him in guilt because Will had been able to forgive, if not forget.

  “He’s changed, Jocelyn.”

  She gave a mirthless, dry cough. “I see that.”

  “No, I mean, he’s really a different man.”

  “He has no idea who I am,” she said, still cool and controlled and pretending to be unaffected by something that had to affect her. “But he certainly has a fondness for you.”

  “He’s confused.” He attempted a smile. “I guess that’s obvious.”

  She folded her arms tightly against herself, defensive and still defiant. “I guess I should say thank you for what you’ve done.”

  But, whoa, she sure didn’t sound like she meant it. “Look, I came back here a year and a half ago to fix up my parents’ house and get it on the market and I had no intention of speaking to the man.” He stuffed his hands in his pockets as if that could stop the need that still made them ache. All these years and he still wanted to touch her.

  “So why did you?”

  “Because I’m… human. And he was in sorry shape.” Alone, pitiful, and, god damn it, a really nice guy. “I started just by taking his trash to the front on pickup day and then cutting his grass when it got to be a mess. Normal, neighborly things. I fixed a few things, like his broken sink and the back screen door that didn’t close and—what?”

  With each word she’d grown paler, smaller, more constricted in her posture. “What? You’re asking me what, Will? Do you know why the screen door was broken?”

  He swallowed hard. “I can guess.”

  “Then why would you do anything for him?”

  He took a slow breath. “Because he’s sick, Jocelyn.”

  “Then you should have called me.”

  Guilt slammed him. He should have called her. Not just when he realized how bad Guy was, but fifteen years earlier when she disappeared from Mimosa Key without saying good-bye. He knew she was up at UF, but he didn’t call. He just let time go by, and then too much time went by.

  “I saw you last year for thirty seconds and you bolted.”

  She swallowed guiltily. “I had a…”

  “Ph
one call, I remember. But how could I call you then when it was obvious how you felt?” He recognized his own rationalization and swiped a hand through his hair in frustration.

  “I’ll get the house cleaned up and get him squared away,” she said quietly. “I hope that can be done with a minimum amount of fuss or, to be honest, interaction with him.”

  He tried to focus on her words, the efficient tone snapping him to attention.“You mean, you’d go along with this? You’d pretend to be on that show? Because that would be great. You know, when he doesn’t get his way, he—”

  “I know what happens when he doesn’t get his way.” Her voice was icy, and he could have kicked himself. Of course she thought she knew what happened when he didn’t get his way, except she didn’t know this Guy; she knew a different Guy. “And like I said, I do this for a living. You’d be surprised how many people are willing to pay for a life coach to do nothing more than organize closets and files. Then we’ll get him situated somewhere.”

  He tilted his head, trying to understand. “What do you mean?” Except, deep in his heart, he knew exactly what she meant.

  “In a home somewhere.”

  Yep. Exactly. “He’s in a home. His home.”

  She raised her chin, looking remarkably strong for such a petite woman. But she’d always been strong. Even at her weakest, most broken moments, Jocelyn had a backbone of pure titanium. It was one of the things he’d once loved about her. One of many.

  “He can’t stay here,” she said simply. “And you can’t be expected to care for someone who isn’t your father, no matter how much he thinks he… likes you.”

  Did she think he couldn’t still read every nuance in her tone and delivery? They’d known each other since they were ten. “He said he loved me.”

  “Yes, well, I imagine he says a lot of strange things.” She bit her lip and crossed her arms so tight he could see each tendon straining in her hand. Man, she was wired for sound.

  “That probably hurt your feelings, since he doesn’t even recognize you.”

  She let out a dry laugh. “You’re assuming I have feelings where he’s concerned, Will. Or did you forget what kind of man he was?”

  “I didn’t,” he said softly. “But he did.”

  “And that makes everything okay?” Her voice rose with incredulity.

  “I understand how you feel because I felt the same way when I first got here. But over time, shit, he kind of grows on you.”

  Her eyes grew wide in shocked disbelief.

  “Maybe you could…” Give him a chance. Was that even possible? “Think about this a little more.”

  “I’ve thought about it enough.” She turned as if she were looking for something—or just couldn’t face him anymore.

  “I just don’t think he needs to be put away like some kind of criminal.”

  She whipped back around to flatten him with a dark glare. “He is a criminal and you might have gone all soft at the sight of him, but I didn’t. I won’t. I never will.”

  “Maybe there’s another way,” Will said. “He’s old and out of it. He’s sick and demented. But this is his home. It would be cruel to—”

  “Cruel?” She threw the word back in his face like a ninety-five-mile-an-hour fastball. “Are you serious? He wrote the book on cruel. He hit my mother, Will. He threatened to shoot you. He… he…” She clenched her jaw and drew in a shaky breath. “He is a very bad man.”

  What was she about to tell him? What happened that last night? By the next day Jocelyn had left Mimosa Key; he never knew how she got away. And, shit, he’d been too scared to find out. Scared to lose his scholarship. Scared to lose everything he’d promised his own father. Scared of the recriminations of pursuing a girl he thought he—no, a girl he really did love.

  He hadn’t been willing to pay the price, and he’d had to live with that. Had to pay it now, in a different way.

  “Jocelyn.” He took one step closer, slowly taking his hands out of his pockets, that need to reach for her still strong. Instead he cracked his knuckles like he had a million times in the dugout during a tense inning. “I understand your position. Maybe you could… we could… find someone to live with him. Or stay with him during the day.”

  “That’s—”

  “Expensive, I know. God, I know exactly what it costs and he doesn’t have that much money left and neither do I, or I’d—”

  She waved him quiet. “I would never expect you to pay for his care. He’s my problem and I’ll have a solution. That’s what I do, really. This is right in my wheelhouse.”

  “In your wheelhouse?” He almost choked on a batting term he’d heard a hundred times on the field, the expression wrong right here in so many ways.

  “Yes, this is what I do. I’m a life coach, Will. I put people’s lives back together. I help them find solutions to the problems of life. I organize, structure, prioritize, and master their everyday lives. Usually I teach them how to do that for themselves, but in this case, I’ll just skip that step.”

  She sounded so clinical. “Actually,” she continued, slowing down as if a thought had just occurred to her. “If it’s going to make things easier for him to believe that I’m from some TV show, then fine, I can play that game, as long as we can get him away somewhere.”

  “Where?”

  “I don’t know. I’ll find a facility.”

  A facility. “You can’t just lock him up. He’s a person,” he said stiffly.

  “He’s an anim—”

  “Not anymore he’s not!” His exclamation echoed through the garage, making Jocelyn’s eyes pop wide and her cheeks pale. Son of a bitch, that was the wrong thing to do. “The disease has changed him,” he added softly.

  “Alzheimer’s doesn’t affect your soul.” She hissed the last word, then closed her eyes to turn away. “Does the car run?” She gestured toward Guy’s old Toyota.

  He cleared his throat and jammed one more knuckle that refused to crack. “Yeah, I start it up every week or so to make sure the battery doesn’t drain.”

  “Good, then I won’t have to rent one to go to the mainland. You don’t have to worry about him anymore, Will.”

  He put a hand on her shoulder and slowly turned her toward him. “It’s not him I’m worried about.”

  She held his gaze, inches away, the first glimmer of vulnerability in her eyes. Shaking him off, she slipped out of his touch. “I better get to work.”

  “Now?” He practically spit the word. “Today? This minute?”

  “Of course. There’s no reason to wait.” She put her hands on her hips as she looked around the garage and up to the loft, where more boxes were piled. “Are any of those empty cartons? I’ll need them. And these.” She snagged a box of Hefty bags from the worktable, yanking out a sheet of thick black plastic. “I’m sure there’s plenty of trash around here.”

  He just stared at her. Who was this woman? Where was the tender, vulnerable, soft young girl he’d been so madly in love with when he was seventeen?

  She snapped the bag with a satisfying crack. “Don’t you have to go back to work?”

  He took a step backward. “Yeah, I do. I’ll be back here later.”

  “Why?”

  “To make him dinner.”

  She lifted an eyebrow. “I’ll handle it.”

  On a soft exhale, he just nodded like he understood. But, shit, he didn’t really understand anything about her anymore.

  Chapter Six

  The show’s on!” Guy came bounding into the dining room where Jocelyn had made stacks of three different china patterns, not enough of any one to make a complete set. “You have to come and watch it with me,” he insisted.

  “I don’t have time for TV,” she said, scooping up one pile of plates to fit them in a box she’d found in the garage.

  “Not the blue roses!” Guy said, slapping his hands on his cheeks in horror. “I love them.”

  She looked up at him, still completely unused to every word that came out of hi
s mouth. “Since when?” she asked.

  “Since…” His shoulders slumped. “I don’t know, I just do. They have sentimental value.”

  She almost choked. Her only memory of this wretched china pattern was when a bowl had gone sailing across the table one night because Mom had made mushroom soup.

  “They have no value,” she said, tamping down the memory.

  “But I really like flowers.”

  She looked up, the memory worming its way into her heart anyway, stunning her that same man who hated fucking mushrooms could really like flowers.

  “I’m sure you do,” she said. “But there aren’t enough to sell as a set, so I’m pitching these.”

  He shook his head like he just didn’t get that as he lifted one of the blue rose teacups off a saucer, dangling it precariously from his finger.

  She tensed, squaring her shoulders, her breath caught in her throat as she stared at the delicate china hooked to a thick forefinger. Any second. Any second and… wham! Whatever was in his hand would get pitched in the direction of the closest wall to make the loudest crash.

  But he just moved the cup left and right like a pendulum, a smile pulling at his face. “You gotta gift me.” He practically sang the words, his voice lifting playfully.

  For a second, she couldn’t speak. Just couldn’t wrap her head around this man. “Gift you?”

  “You know. I give up something precious and you gift me with something in return. A sofa. New carpet.” He sucked in a breath and dropped his mouth in complete joy. “One of those fancy flat TVs!”

  “I’m not going to—”

  Gingerly, he set the cup back on its saucer, making the tiniest ding of china against china. Then he held out his hand to her. “You need a little refresher on your own show, little miss.”

  “My own…” Clean House.

  “I’ve seen most of them before, ’cause they keep running the same ones over and over.” He closed his hand around her arms, his thick fingers lacking in strength but not determination. “But I don’t mind the repeats. Come on, let’s get to gettin’, as they say.”