Twila didn’t doubt Becka loved this. It allowed her to relive the times when her business flourished. “All right, I’ll help with serving and keeping things cleaned up. Now, I have to run.” She leaned over and gave Becka a peck on the cheek.
“Thank you, Twila.”
Twila heard Becka say to her husband as she escaped through the patio doors. “I’m so glad Drake is finally going to meet Twila.”
“Stop the matchmaking,” Mr. Addison admonished. “Our son has no intention of settling down, and he’s got that hot, rich babe he’s dating.”
“Pffft. I know what’s best for my son, and it isn’t that sun-soaked harpy.”
Drake’s picture sat on a shelf beside the TV, and Twila slowed her pace to take a closer look. She’d seen it many times before. He stood behind the wheel of a sailboat, reminding her of a roguish captain. His open, white shirt billowed in the wind, exposing the ultimate ripped body. In most of his pictures, he wore his dark blond hair in a short cut, but in this one it was a little longer and his smile cracked a cut jaw on his handsome face. He seemed so carefree and happy, not to mention the aura of sexy beyond a woman’s wildest movie star dreams. Twila’s heart loped into an uneven beat. Not many men had that effect on her. No wonder he had a model for a girlfriend.
Twila found it odd there were no pictures of Drake and his girlfriend, Heather, taking up space in the Addison’s living room. Shouldn’t there be at least one? Becka didn’t miss the chance to exude an ugly sound from her throat whenever she mentioned Heather.
Becka said Drake would only visit for a week or two, and although it was ridiculous, Twila hoped she wouldn’t have to meet him. Mothers were blind to their son’s faults. He was probably an egomaniac and had a personality to match.
“He’s a handsome man, isn’t he?”
Twila straightened and her cheeks burned hot. Sliding a gaze toward Becka, she nodded. “Yes, he is.” Why lie about it, she’d only insult Becka if she did.
Becka picked up the picture and looked at it with an expression of warmth. “I used to worry myself sick when both Drake and Layton were deployed in the Marines. I thought when Drake left the forces I wouldn’t have to worry about him anymore, but I do.”
Although she didn’t have children of her own, Twila understood. “Parents never stop worrying about their children. If Heather and Drake get married, you’ll be able to worry about your grandchildren.”
Becka pressed the frame to her heart. “I want grandchildren so badly, but I don’t want Drake to make the mistake of marrying Heather. I know he’s a grown man, and he can make his own decisions, and he will, but Heather is not the one.”
Twila shrugged. “Will anyone be when it comes to your oldest son?”
Becka placed the frame back on the shelf and eyed her. “I hope so, Twila.”
Drake’s mother held a very, big soft spot in Twila’s heart, and she’d hate to break it. “Becka, I know you want Drake to meet me, but…” She cast a look at the heart-stopping image of the man smiling back from the picture. “You mean well, but don’t try to set us up. I’ll help you with your birthday party, but it’s because you were so good to Mom and me.”
Becka gave her a sweet smile. “I miss your mom, but I have you. Although I never told Gordon, and I love my boys, I always wanted a daughter. I consider you part of this family and I love you, honey.”
Twila’s eyes misted and so did Becka’s when they gave each other a big hug. She swept the tears from her cheek and gave Becka another quick hug. “I have to get back to my rounds. I’ll call you later.”
She closed the door and stood on the small stoop of the Addison’s trailer to sweep away another tear. Grief sucked, and it couldn’t be avoided when someone you loved passed away. She considered herself blessed to have Becka in her life, but falling in love with her son would never happen. Luck was for the Irish, and she was a southern girl.
Chapter Two
“Hey, folks! Anyone here?”
“Drake, my oldest baby boy!” his mother squealed, running through the house full tilt and into his arms.
“Mom, I lost the diapers at two.” He clasped her in his arms for a big hug, and pulled her right off her feet. “Love you, old girl.”
“Oh, put me down,” she scoffed. His mom clutched his cheeks and planted one on him.
“Hey, Dad,” he greeted, as his father strode calmly across the living room, and shook his hand then pulled him in for a hug.
“How’s business, my boy?”
“Good. Can’t say I’m complaining about having a couple weeks off though.”
His mom clapped her hands together. “A couple weeks, that’s wonderful.”
She reached for his bag and he stopped her, picking it up instead. “I thought I’d give Dad a hand around here.”
His dad looked toward the ceiling and counted without speaking out loud.
“Oh my goodness! Are you going to extend the front patio for my birthday?”
Drake leaned over and wrapped an arm around her shoulder. “Happy birthday, Mom.”
“Oh, son, thank you.” She narrowed an eye at his father. “No more excuses, Gordon”
“Ya had to do it, didn’t ya?” his father said good-naturedly. “By the end, we’ll have to demo it and start again because she’ll want something different and probably add a replica of the Eiffel Tower.”
“Go on, ya old fool. I’m not like that.”
Drake’s father grunted and crossed his arms. “Your mother just put lunch out. We’ll get the tools together after I eat.”
Drake tossed his bag in the spare bedroom, and joined his parents on their deck, following the scent of the Panini’s she placed on the table. The one thing he missed joining the Marine Corp was his mother’s cooking. When he came home from sea, he headed straight to the restaurant. His father set a beer down in front of him, and cracked his own.
Her brow quirked. “That’s your second one, today, Gordon.”
“Stifle it, woman. You’re not my keeper,” his dad growled at her.
“Could have fooled me.”
She grabbed the beer and poured half of it into a glass for herself. They’d done this for as long as Drake could remember. His dad would grumble, then stick his tongue in his cheek with a grin. His parents never stopped bickering or loving each other.
“Tell us about Italy, Drake,” his mother prompted.
“It’s old,” he said and took a bite of his Panini, savoring his mother’s skill in the kitchen. Italy didn’t have a thing on her cooking. “Didn’t do much sightseeing. Went to a few wineries, and visited the Vatican City. Spent most of my time at the manufacturers.”
“You going to use their engines in your next line of yachts?” his father asked.
“I think so. They’re willing to deal on price. Not that it seems to make much difference to my clientele.”
“We’re so proud of you, Drake,” his mother chimed. “But you work too hard.”
Living in the Keys and working long hours turned days into weeks of endless details, but he didn’t begrudge the time or the hard work. When he did have a night off, Heather was there to drag him out to some party. She traveled a lot with her modeling, but she kept him busy in the bedroom when she landed back in Miami. Their arrangement worked for him, although lately she’d been pressing him for something more permanent. While on the road, Heather didn’t let one day lag without a phone call, and she blasted him with text messages into the early morning hours. Seeing someone every day and pointless phone calls came too close to a slippery slope into a wedded nightmare he wanted to avoid.
Up at five, at the dock office looking over plans by six, and most nights he didn’t put his feet up until nine. Settling into a domestic role wasn’t an option. His list of clientele grew by the month. Heather bragged about his yachts to anyone who would listen. Most prosperous Floridians wanted a boat. Her father’s list of endless wealthy associates helped, and they got along, but Drake got a little nervous with the
guy always referring to him as son.
She’d made a big deal of coming to his mother’s birthday party, although he’d tried to dissuade her. Not only did they come from opposite ends of the food chain, but sharing family parties seemed a little too much like a relationship.
“I have the best news,” his mother said, drawing him from his thoughts.
He nodded for her to carry on.
“You’re finally going to meet Twila.”
Hell bent on another mouthful of Panini, his mom’s words halted the attack. As if he hadn’t heard that name a million times. “Mom, seriously, I know you like her, but the business has found its feet, and I put in a lot of hours. I don’t have time for—”
“Nonsense, I’m not saying marry the girl, I’m just saying she’s going to be here for the party, and you can finally meet.”
He knew his mother. She wasn’t shy about prodding him about grandbabies, something she’d always wanted, but his brother was going to have to pull his weight. “When’s Layton getting here?”
His mother darted a suspicious glance at him, sensing his diversionary tactic. “Not sure, but he won’t make it for my birthday.”
“Maybe Twila would like to meet him?” He smiled at her, picking up his cold beer. When his mother started to give him the look he remembered from childhood it was time to retreat. “I’m sure she’s a great gal, but I’m seeing someone right now.” Gutless, yup, but no matter how old you got, a mom could wither twenty-five years with one glare, especially his.
“That woman is not your type,” she said briskly.
“Dad, you gonna help here or what?”
“Nope,” he said, filling his mouth with Panini to seal the deal.
His mother grunted. “Your father thinks your girlfriend is hot.”
He choked. “I’d agree, but—” He stopped himself before saying she wasn’t his girlfriend, and giving his mother any ammo to use against him.
“There are lots of ‘buts’ when it comes to that girl. I hate how she’s always draped over you like a curtain. Can’t she stand on her own two feet?”
“Mom, try to be nice. She wants to celebrate your day.”
“What if I don’t want her here?”
He shrugged. “She’s coming.” He wiped his mouth and sat back with his beer cradled in his hand, taking in a breath of responsibility-free air. He could smell the sea only a half mile away. The sun filtered through the trees, and the September afternoon wasn’t sweltering hot. His father finished his beer and smacked his lips. “You ready to start on Mom’s birthday present?” Drake asked.
With a grumble, his dad said, “I was going to go for a round of golf after lunch.”
“How about we put a few hours in, and I’ll go with you after dinner?”
His father grinned. “Deal.”
Mom collected the plates from the table. “I’ll get the plans.”
He and his dad raised a brow at each other. “I have them, Mom, you sent them to me in triplicate, remember?”
She winked at him. “I made a few changes.”
He didn’t have to look at his father to know he’d rolled his eyes toward the heavens looking for spiritual help. Spending time with his parents always brought a few laughs.
As they collected the tools from the shed, Drake wondered why his parents had opted for the trailer park. He’d offered to build them a new home near him in the Keys. He would have preferred having them a little closer, but they’d fallen in love with this park five hours north in Port St. Lucie.
“You still happy living here, Dad?” he asked.
His father backed out of the shed pulling the wheelbarrow. “No complaints, son. I’ve got two golf courses, a comfortable little trailer and I’m only a few minutes from my favorite watering hole when I need to get away from your mother,” he teased.
Drake grinned. “When she says you can leave.”
His Dad disappeared inside the shed to snag a few more tools. “Why do you ask? Thinking about tying the knot with Heather? You’d make your mom a happy woman if she could have a grandbaby or ten. She’d move to the North Pole for that.”
“Not even on the radar, Dad.”
His father emerged and dropped two spades in the wheelbarrow along with a measuring tape and string, then eyed him. “I get the feeling Heather has other ideas. Not that you bring her around very much. I know we don’t meet her family’s standards, but—”
“Not that,” he quickly cut in.
His father crossed his arms. “Still competing with your brother for longest running bachelor then?”
Besides his brother Layton, his dad had always been a good listener. He guided his sons, but never pressed them to be something they weren’t. He shrugged. “Just not the marrying type. Saw too many guys in the Marines whose wives split when they were deployed. I don’t have a lot of time, nor any real desire to commit to one woman.”
His father adjusted his ballcap. “Yet. You haven’t found the right woman yet,” he clarified, and gripped the handles of the wheelbarrow.
Drake and his father finished pounding in the last stake and tying the line to mark the perimeter of his mother’s new patio. Straightening up, he saw a woman jogging down the road. Man, he loved Florida. He swore the most beautiful girls in the world all collected themselves in this state. Cut-off jeans sat snugly against a rather gorgeous ass. Her legs were shapely and tanned, and a tangle of dark curls cascaded over her shoulders and down her back.
His father poked him with the handle of the shovel, and he darted a glance at him. “I’ll cut the turf, you can dig,” his dad said.
Sweat rolled down Drake’s back for the next two hours as he dug out the area where they’d lay sand and eventually imbed the patio tiles. Every time he looked up, the same girl seemed to be walking past with a determined pace. She was too young to be a resident. Maybe she was a staff member of the park, but he’d never seen her before. He sat back on his haunches, his shirt discarded because it stuck to him like a wet napkin, and watched her. “Isn’t that the fifth time that woman has walked past here?” he asked his father.
His dad lowered the empty wheelbarrow. The woman’s head turned their way. Watching her dark curls flounce with a quick step was kind of mesmerizing. Compared to Heather’s statuesque poses ingrained from being a model, this gal rocked the girl-next-door features. She waved, but she couldn’t be waving at him. He looked up to see his father grinning at him like a Cheshire cat. “You know her?”
“Course I do.” He waved back. “Getting your exercise today hey, Twila?”
She grinned and then put it into a jog.
That was Twila?
“Something wrong, son?” his father drawled.
“Nope,” he said quickly, and bent over to finish what he was doing, but he couldn’t stop himself from looking up in time to see her disappear at the end of the road. His dad squatted beside him. “Should I divulge to your mother that your eyes just bugged outta your head?”
He chuckled. “I don’t think that would be wise.”
His father’s brow rose in an obvious look of blackmail.
“Guess I should get my clubs, huh?”
His father nodded slowly with a got-ya-by-the-short-hairs grin.
On the fourth hole, Drake swung at the same time catching a spray of curls jogging the path beside the fairway. He missed the ball, and his father chuckled.
“Something break your concentration, son?”
“How many miles does that gal put on in a day?”
His dad shrugged. “She doesn’t stop. The residents take advantage of her if you ask me, but she seems willing.”
“So Mom wasn’t exaggerating?” he asked.
“About Twila? God, no. That girl works herself to death helping the people around here.”
“Why?” Still gazing at her as she crossed the bridge toward the pools.
His father pushed a tee into the grass, and reached in his bag for a ball. “To keep herself busy. Her mother passed
away three months ago. It was pretty hard in the end, but Twila is a registered nurse and trained geriatric specialist. She was able to keep her mom at home until she died.”
“Why is she still here?” She could get on with her life. Do what she wants. He’d left the Marine Corp knowing he would start his business by building a prototype for his yachts, and he started the day after his release.
His father sighed and gave him a pat on the back. “She truly likes helping the old farts. I think it holds back the grief.”
“You’re one of those old farts, Dad.”
“Don’t remind me. Now watch the birdie.”
It wasn’t a birdie, but his dad got damn close. Drake’s gaze leaped across the green, but didn’t find what he was looking for. He shook his head. His mother had been gushing about Twila for a year. He didn’t visit his parent’s enough, but the two times he’d come, he’d never seen her, probably because she’d been caring for her mother.
His dad gripped the handle on his golf bag, and headed for the next hole. Drake hoisted his bag over his shoulder, and kept pace. “How did her mother die?”
“Think it was a stroke, son. Kimberly Carlisle, Twila’s mother, kind of withered after losing her husband. Your mother helped Twila nurse Kimberly to the very end.”
“Doesn’t Twila have other family?”
“Why so interested?” His father veered onto the gravel path instead of tugging the bag along the fairway.
He shrugged. “Just making conversation.”
“Really,” his dad drawled. “Well, Twila’s got a brother, but he lives on the other side of the country. Your mom mentioned she used to own her own business. She provided assistance to aging farts like me.”
He chuckled. “You’re doing okay, Dad.”
“I would be if your mother would stop trying to make me do shit.”
“Ya love it, and Mom.”
“That I do. From the day I set eyes on her.”
They stopped to wait for the group of silver-haired golfers ahead of them. Two men and two women took their sweet time setting up for the next hole. After the hot summer they’d had, the wide waterways that meandered through the golf course were shallow. A flock of Wilson’s Snipe pecked at the mud with their long beaks and a lone turtle swam lazily in the dark water.
Twila's Tempest Page 2
