Hometown Reunion

by Lisa Carter

  She moistened her bottom lip. “I’ll come another—”

  “The water’s big enough for the two of us, Darce.”

  “Is it, Jax?” She tilted her head. “Is it really?”

  “The water. The town. The Shore. I reckon they are.”

  “Virginia. America. The world.” Darcy threw out her hand. “I’m not so sure, Jax.”

  A speculative look entered his eyes. A look that, in her vast, personal experience with Jaxon Pruitt, usually boded no good. At least for her.

  “I’m not unaware of the conspiracy that has put this summer into motion, Darce.”

  “Conspiracy?”

  “Shirley, the shop, the Keys...”

  Kicking off her flip-flops, Darcy widened her stance on the sand.

  “This afternoon. This spot. You and me.” He quirked his eyebrows. “It was my dad who suggested I take advantage of Brody’s nap, and come here for a little paddle. Never saw that coming. Not from him.”

  Her mouth tightened. “We’ve been played.”

  “Again.”

  She turned to go. “I’ll leave you to it and—”

  “How about we give ’em something to talk about, Darce? Let ’em think they succeeded.”

  “What’re you suggesting?”

  Jax let one shoulder rise and fall. “Let’s do one better. Let’s get out the tandem kayak.”

  Her eyes widened. “Go together for a paddle? In the same boat?”

  A smile tweaked his lips. “Why not? Because the way I see it, we’re already in the same boat. The boat they’ve maneuvered us into. Maybe then they’ll let us alone. What do you say?”

  “I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

  For many reasons. Most of which she’d never have the courage to share with Jax Pruitt. Standing there, the sunshine highlighting the gold strands in his brown hair. Looking way too good. Way too everything.

  “Despite, and I quote, ‘I wouldn’t get on board with you, Jaxon Pruitt, if the ship was sinking and you were the last lifeboat’ end quote. I dare you, Darcy Parks.”

  She tapped her bare foot. He wasn’t going to let this go. And she’d never been one to shy away from a challenge. Especially one issued by her arch nemesis Jaxon I’m-So-Handsome Pruitt.

  “Fine.” She poked out her lips.

  As he ducked his head to enter the storage building, she didn’t miss the gleam of pure satisfaction in Jax’s gaze. He returned, dragging the tandem kayak. His eyes landed on the hem of her skirt, brushing against her kneecaps. And she glimpsed not only satisfaction, but something else. Appreciation?

  “Looking good, summer girl.”

  With a life jacket threaded over his arm, he tucked his head, rotated his hips and his shoulders, doing that swagger thing he did. “I wouldn’t have changed into cargo shorts if I’d realized Sunday paddles had a dress code.”

  Her skin probably glowing as red as a firecracker, she took the PFD from him. “I’ll help you drag the boat to the dock.”

  “I got this, Darce.” He swished his hand, reminding her of their swashbuckling childhood. “Nothing for your pretty red head to worry about.”

  She glared. “I’m not a—” Wait. Had he called her pretty?

  Darcy was so stunned, she didn’t put up any resistance when he carefully handed her into the kayak. And she was too discombobulated to protest when she found herself seated in the stern, not the bow.

  She tucked her skirt around her legs. She didn’t usually wear a skirt on a paddle, but her mind had been elsewhere this afternoon. On things she’d spent a lifetime avoiding. She surveyed the broad, muscled shoulders of the man seated in front of her. Things including him.

  His corded forearms sliced the paddle through the blue-green waters. She matched her stroke to his. They glided along the inlet.

  Leaving the busy harbor, they entered a narrow tidal creek, not far from the Duer Inn. With an upsweep of its wings, a great blue heron lifted off from the salt marsh.

  Jax stopped paddling, resting his paddle across his lap. They sat in silence for a few moments, savoring the sights, sounds and smells of their Eastern Shore world.

  “So did we pass the test, Darce?” He didn’t turn around.

  Darcy preferred not to have to face him. Easier to gather her thoughts. The grown-up Jax disturbed her on a profound level.

  She played obtuse. “What test?”

  “The kayak test. I think we work well together, don’t you?”

  Jax Pruitt didn’t really want to know what she thought. She bit her lip, lest her words betray her.

  “The test of mutual trust.” He angled to glance back at her. “We make a good team, Darce.”

  She inhaled sharply. “What are you playing at, Jax? What do you want from me?”

  His eyes darkened. “Darcy...”

  “I learned the hard way never to trust you.” She flung out her hand, dislodging her paddle. She made a quick grab for it, nearly losing it overboard. “There is no happily-ever-paddle when it comes to us. You made your choice a long time ago. You just need to suck it up and deal.”

  He flinched.

  Runner-up Darcy. Second choice to the army. Now, a dead wife? She would walk the plank before she was anybody’s consolation prize.

  “Spent any time on that swing lately, Darce?” His voice was a dangerous purr.

  Darcy went cold, then hot. “Stop...” She shuddered. “Just stop, Jax...”

  Anger stitched his mouth into a flat line. His hands clenched around the paddle shaft. “Till summer’s end. I get it, Darcy.”

  She gripped her own paddle. “I’m going home.”

  Using the blade as a rudder, she made a valiant but futile attempt to rotate the kayak. Huffing with exertion, she blew an errant lock of hair out of her eyes, straining.

  Jax watched, letting her struggle for a second, before he dipped his blade in the water, too. With his help, the craft turned.

  Back at the dock, she scrambled out of the kayak. Almost capsizing, he grabbed the sides to steady himself. And past caring about getting wet, she plowed through the water. Her skirt plastered around her legs, the hem dragged against her knees.

  She stalked past her abandoned flip-flops, not bothering to retrieve them. And then she ran as if her life depended on it. She should’ve stayed away. Why couldn’t she just stay away? Choking back sobs, she sprinted toward her SUV, not caring who saw her.

  Because somehow her life, her sanity, her plans, her dreams, depended on staying as far away from Jax as she could.

  Chapter Eight

  Jax had a hard time falling asleep that night. And a harder time rising the next morning. What Reverend Parks said about freedom had gone around and around in his head. As did the look on Darcy’s face when she’d stormed out of the kayak.

  He didn’t know why he’d brought up the kayak test. He was ashamed of bringing up the swing. No excuses. He’d known exactly what he was doing in pushing her buttons.

  She didn’t realize it, but he was doing her a favor in pushing her away.

  He was surprised to find Brody still in bed. His son usually woke with the dawn, which meant Jax did, too. But today was Monday, and the business was closed. So there was no big urgency to get out the door.

  After much prodding, Brody responded, but his eyes were dull and shadowed. His hair sleep-tousled, he sat on the edge of the bed and watched Jax remove clothes from the bureau.

  Jax laid the shirt and pants beside his son. “Time to get dressed, Brody.”

  Brody slumped, making no move toward the clothes. Jax frowned. It wasn’t like him to be lethargic.

  “Need help, buddy?”

  Brody nodded. Again, not the norm from Mr. Me Do.

  Jax helped him slip out of his gym shorts and Captain America T-shirt. Brody shivered, although the temperat
ure outside already hovered around eighty degrees.

  When Jax eased the blue T-shirt over his head, Brody allowed him to lift his arm and insert it through the sleeve. He felt warm to the touch, but Jax reasoned he had been snugly wrapped in his bedcovers.

  Had Brody somehow gotten overheated on the Big Wheel at Grandpa’s yesterday? Jax had made sure he was properly protected with sunscreen and bug spray. Had he drunk enough water? Maybe he was dehydrated.

  “Let’s get breakfast, Brode.”

  Without a word, Brody slipped off the mattress and plodded after Jax toward the kitchen. The little boy stopped at the base of his booster seat, staring at it as one might contemplate Everest.

  Brody held up his arms.

  Heart hammering, Jax lifted him and placed him in the seat. His son radiated heat and also a faint clamminess.

  This wasn’t like Brody. Not at all. Darcy held him. His grandmother and Agnes Parks, too. But never Jax. Something wasn’t right.

  He poured cereal into a bowl. As if his neck suddenly was unable to bear the weight, Brody laid his head on the table.

  Jax came around the island to his son. “What’s wrong, Brody?”

  Listless, the little boy closed his eyes. “No hungwy,” he whispered. His little lips were chapped.

  The day Brody Pruitt wasn’t hungry...

  Jax laid his palm on Brody’s forehead. “Does your stomach hurt?”

  Was it his imagination, or was Brody warmer than he’d been a few minutes ago, getting dressed?

  “Does your head hurt?”

  A single tear welled in Brody’s eye. Jax watched its silent trek down the length of Brody’s cheek. His heart caught in his throat.

  “Son? Talk to me. Please.”

  Raising his head, Brody promptly vomited all over himself and burst into tears.

  The child—who’d never even cried when his mother died—sobbed in Jax’s arms.

  Fear lanced Jax’s heart. His too-stoic little boy was sick. Very sick.

  “I’m here, Brody. Daddy’s here.”

  Quick as he could, Jax got Brody cleaned up and carried him out to the truck. He sped down Seaside Road, glad his by-the-book deputy sheriff brother wasn’t around. But one look at his kid and Brody’s marshmallow Uncle Charlie would’ve probably hit the siren and given them a police escort.

  Jax gripped the wheel, darting a look in the rearview mirror. “Hang in there, buddy.” Brody’s head lolled against the seat.

  “Brody?” His pulse lurched. “Answer Daddy, please.”

  He grunted, momentarily reassuring Jax.

  Jax bypassed Kiptohanock and headed north on Highway 13. When he was a boy, Kiptohanock had had its own general practitioner, but not anymore.

  Belatedly, he realized he should’ve called ahead to the doctor’s office. Jax white-knuckled the wheel, as scared as he’d ever been on his worst mission.

  What was he doing, trying to be somebody’s dad? He didn’t know anything about sick kids. He barreled to a stop in the medical office parking lot. He grabbed Brody and ran.

  Jax caught sight of himself in the glass door. An expression on his face he recognized from combat missions—grim, determined, don’t-get-in-my-way. The nurse took one look at him and hustled them through the waiting area to an examination room. An antiseptic smell assaulted his nostrils.

  The nurse was a friend of his mother’s. “Lay him on the table.”

  But when Jax did so, his son whimpered and held on to his hand.

  “I’m right here, Brody.” Jax set his jaw. “I’m not going anywhere.” His boy looked so tiny and pale on the white paper sheet.

  He swallowed. Darcy was right. Despite being almost “thwee,” Brody was still a baby. His baby.

  The nurse adjusted the stethoscope around her neck and reached for Brody, who let out a hoarse cry of fear.

  Sinking onto the crinkling paper, Jax gathered him in his arms. Brody clung to him.

  “No shot...” The child quivered against him. “No shot.”

  He rubbed small circles on Brody’s back. “The nurse is going to help you feel better, son.” He glared at her. “You are going to make him feel better, right?”

  The nurse’s face softened. “We’re sure going to try. I need to get his vitals and take his temperature first, though.”

  Jax nodded. But when he began peeling him off his chest, Brody protested. Loudly.

  If he required an injection... Jax’s gut clenched. Brody would fight them, as he would have at his age. Jax would have to hold Brody down, and he’d hate him even more. But if that’s what it took to make Brody well...

  Jax answered the nurse’s preliminary questions as best he could. An elderly man in a white coat entered the room. Brody writhed in Jax’s arms as the doctor checked the boy’s ears, nose and throat.

  The doctor appeared unruffled by the struggle. “Have you given him anything for the fever?”

  Jax felt like he’d gone ten rounds with a terrorist. And lost. He was a terrible father. He should’ve had a first aid kit stocked at home.

  “No.” He pinched his lips together. “I didn’t know what to do.”

  The doc patted Brody’s head. Brody howled like a crazed thing.

  “You did the right thing in bringing him here. His ears and throat look fine. I think it’s the summer virus that’s been going around. A lot of children on the Shore are sick with it. Let’s get the fever down.”

  Jax sagged in relief. “He’s going to be okay?”

  “Keep him on plenty of fluids. It should pass within twenty-four to forty-eight hours. If not, bring him back.” The doctor smiled, rearranging the wrinkles on his face. “You’ve got quite the little warrior here.”

  His arms tightened around his son. Yes, he did. “So no shots?”

  “Not unless you really want one.” The doctor’s lips curved. “The virus just needs to run its course.”

  “Thank you so much, Doctor.” Jax bent his mouth toward Brody’s ear. “No shots today, son.”

  In a remarkable, immediate transformation, Brody gathered his dignity about himself. The doctor left final instructions.

  Brody gave the nurse, holding a vial of pink liquid, a steely-eyed scowl. “No!”

  She arched her eyebrow. “No medicine, no lollipop.”

  “Bribery?” Jax gaped. “Seriously?”

  She shrugged. “Sometimes you just gotta do what you gotta do.”

  Brody’s eyes narrowed, but like a baby bird, he leaned forward, lips parted. The noxious liquid went down the hatch. He made a face.

  “Dude.” Jax ruffled Brody’s hair. “That was brave, man.”

  Brody presented his outstretched palm to the nurse. Jax’s jaw dropped. Obviously at some point Brody had done this before.

  “Grape or cherry?” The nurse pulled open a drawer. “And Jax, please give my regards to your mom.”

  After checking out, it was with no small measure of personal triumph that Jax carried Brody from the office. The fever reducer was already taking effect. A grape lollipop clenched between his lips, Brody rode in Jax’s arms, the conquering hero.

  Only a virus? Thank God it hadn’t been anything more serious. But he quailed at the prospect of a dozen more years of childhood illnesses. Tucking Brody into his seat, Jax exhaled.

  The nurse had given him enough fever reducer samples to avoid a detour to the pharmacy. At home, he gave Brody a few sips of an electrolyte drink. After waiting to make sure he kept that down, he gave him more.

  Brody refused to return to his bed, preferring to watch television. Which was fine by Jax. Settling on the couch with the remote, he and Brody watched the morning lineup of kid shows.

  Midway during the first one, Brody crawled onto his lap. Jax’s breath hitched. He was sorry Brody wasn’t feeling well, but he’d take what Brody offered
while he could. By the second animated children’s show, his own weariness started to overtake him.

  Keeping Brody tucked under his arm, he inched to the corner of the couch. Stretching out his legs, Jax leaned his head on the armrest. Brody’s eyelids drooped, as worn out as Jax by the morning’s trauma.

  Touching Brody’s forehead, Jax was relieved to find his skin cooler. There were still a few more hours until the next dose, but the medicine was doing its job. Brody’s eyes closed, his eyelashes fanning his cheeks.

  When he shifted, Jax opened his arms. And to his surprise, Brody planted himself facedown on Jax’s chest, his little forehead resting against the exposed skin above Jax’s T-shirt. The lump in Jax’s throat grew.

  Careful not to wake the sleeping Cubby Bear, Jax placed his hands on Brody’s back, and found his breaths deep and even. And an immense gratitude welled within Jax. For his son. For home. For a future together.

  Tears pricked his eyes. He’d lie here all day if that’s what it took to make Brody feel comfortable. Jax had nowhere to go, and no place he’d rather be than on this sofa with his son in his arms.

  Something within him—a feeling he’d not realized he was capable of—relished that he could give Brody what he needed most. And for the moment, it was enough.

  * * *

  Darcy didn’t think anything of it when she pulled up to the empty outfitter shop on Tuesday. She hadn’t spoken to Jax since Sunday afternoon. She’d talked her parents into spending Monday at the Ocean City boardwalk.

  She’d needed the time away from everything reminding her of Jax. She needed time to regroup. To school her emotions into the place they belonged. She meant it this time.

  After today—with some artful planning—their paths never need cross at work again. Darcy unlocked the store. The path not taken. A path not meant to be. At least, not for her.

  She was relieved not to have to face Jax first thing, but he’d be in later to go over the accounts. With restless energy, she went outside, set on taking each of the paddle joints apart. Using a bottlebrush, she cleaned the throat of the blade where it tapered to the shaft. Once it was thoroughly scoured, she leaned each paddle against the outbuilding to dry.

  It was best to keep busy. To leave no time for imagination. Or dream of something doomed from the start.