Summer Reads Box Set: Volume 1

by Freethy, Barbara

  "Too much?"

  "You think? These have to be the most expensive rental bikes I've ever seen."

  "Probably, but they were also the coolest."

  She walked over to the bicycles. "I know all about boys and their toys. Bikes, boats, cars—it's all the same where men are concerned. They want the fastest, the biggest, the best."

  "And what do girls want? Surely big and best is a requirement at times."

  She smiled. "But speed isn't always a plus. Some things are meant to be enjoyed more slowly."

  "I absolutely agree.”

  "Well." She cleared her throat, a faint blush coloring her cheeks. "I do have my own bike but it pales in comparison to this one.”

  "It's already paid for, so let's go. You can lead.”

  "Fine. I just hope you can keep up."

  "Don't worry. I have no intention of losing you." He got on his bike and followed her down the street.

  Kate rode with a purpose; no meandering, no stopping and looking at the view. She zigged and zagged through the downtown village, cruised along the wharf, then led him through a residential area before turning back toward the water. It was a beautiful summer day, the kind of day Tyler hadn't stopped to enjoy in years.

  How long had it been since he'd ridden a bike that wasn't stationary in some twenty-four-hour gym? He couldn't remember. How long had it been since he'd actually stopped and looked at the scenery? Years, probably.

  Since that day, more than twenty years ago, when his father had picked him up from school, he'd been on the move, never calling one place home, never making more than casual friends, never letting himself get attached to any place, any person. He supposed he could have stopped sometime in the past fifteen years and made a home for himself, bought some land, put down roots, but the concept was foreign to him. It was easier to go on living the way he'd grown up, reporting on life, watching other people live instead of living himself.

  Shit! Way too heavy thoughts for a simple bike ride. What the hell was the matter with him? He didn't psychoanalyze his life. He didn't have the time, the patience or the desire. He was what he was. He didn't need to change. It was just this decadent lazy island lifestyle that made him think of change.

  Normal people didn't ride bikes and have picnics on Monday afternoons unless they were on vacation. He wasn't on vacation. He was on a mission, a mission he did not intend to fail. He simply had to get Kate relaxed, catch her off guard and go in for the kill. He did not intend to end this day without a solid lead or maybe, if he was lucky, a definitive answer.

  They stopped about fifteen minutes later, walking their bikes over a rough patch of grass that led down to a sandy, secluded beach.

  "Hey, where's the waterfall?" he asked, looking around.

  Kate pointed to a small stream of water dripping down between two rocks on the far side of the beach.

  "'That's it? I'm not impressed."

  "It's low tide. When the larger waves hit the other side of those rocks is when you get the waterfall. Disappointed?"

  Actually, he wasn't disappointed at all. He liked the intimate atmosphere. The beach was almost deserted—a mother and her toddler at the water's edge, a couple on a blanket down by the rocks and a man throwing a stick to his dog. "Where is everybody? Isn't it summer?"

  "They're watching the boats. You can't see them from here."

  "Do you want to go somewhere else?"

  "No, I like this beach. It's small and quiet, peaceful. We get so many tourists nowadays. I miss the years when nobody came to Castleton."

  "That wouldn't be good for your business." He unstrapped the picnic basket and set it down on the ground. "Damn. I forgot a blanket.”

  "We'll survive." Kate plopped down on the sand and took off her tennis shoes, running her toes in the fine sand. "This is nice."

  Nice wasn't the right word. Sexy was. He loved the flash of hot pink polish on her toes; it seemed at odds with her very practical personality and hinted at her passionate side, a side he wanted to see more of. "What is this love affair you have with dirt?" he asked as he knelt down on the ground next to her.

  Kate laughed. "I don't know. I just like the feel of the sand. Why don't you take your shoes off?”

  "I don't think so."

  "Why not? Is something wrong with your feet?”

  "No, there's nothing wrong with my feet.”

  "Then let's see 'em."

  "Fine. But if I'm taking off something, so are you.”

  "I already took off my shoes."

  He grinned at her. "I wasn't talking about your shoes."

  She shook her head. "You have a one-track mind.”

  "Well, I am a man."

  "So I noticed," she muttered.

  "Good."

  "Stop flirting and settle down. Get comfortable. Take off your shoes."

  Shoes again. He stretched out on the ground and slipped off his tennis shoes. His white socks followed. "Are you happy now?"

  "Not even an extra toe. I'm disappointed."

  He flopped down on one side, letting the sand trickle through his fingers. "It's cool," he said. "Moist. Does the tide cover the sand completely when it comes in?"

  "Only with a storm."

  "No chance of that today. Not a cloud in sight."

  "A perfect day," she agreed, and for a moment they both watched the water lap against the protected beach in small, rippling currents. "It's amazing how fast it can change, though. One minute there's nothing but blue sky, and the next minute it's totally black and threatening."

  "You're remembering, aren't you?" he said after a moment, watching the play of emotions across her face. "Some day in particular?"

  She didn't answer for a moment. "Yes."

  "It's a bad memory. It makes you sad."

  "How do you know that?" she asked, turning to look at him.

  "The shadows in your eyes, the way your voice drops down a notch when you talk about the sea." He reached out and stroked the side of her cheek. "Your mouth draws into a grim line as if whatever you're going to say is so distasteful you can barely spit it out."

  "You're very observant."

  "That's how I make my living."

  She caught his wrist and pulled his hand away from her face, but she didn't let go. Instead, she interlaced her fingers with his. "You have strong, capable hands. I like that about you."

  "I'm glad there's something you like about me, but I think you're changing the subject. We were talking about storms."

  She looked away from him at the water, at the horizon, at the past—he wasn't quite sure what she was seeing. He just knew that her fingers had tightened around his.

  "I was washed overboard during the storm," she said finally.

  "You were?" He was shocked. "I never heard that. I don't remember reading anything about it."

  "My father pulled me back in. There was no official rescue or anything."

  "So no need for a report," he said slowly, his mind wrestling with the implications.

  "I wasn't the first, the last or the only person to go overboard during that race. It actually happened fairly frequently."

  "I thought you wore safety harnesses."

  "We did, but I had taken mine off for a minute. It was stupid," she continued rapidly. "A mistake. Anyway, it took me a long time to forget the feeling of water rushing over my head."

  Tyler sensed there were still pieces of the story that were missing. But at least she was talking. "That must have been terrifying, Kate."

  She tilted her head as she considered his words. "I was dazed at first. I wasn't sure if I was dreaming. It was an odd feeling. Was the boat underwater, or was I? Then I saw the boat drifting away from me. That's when the fear hit. The waves were so high it would completely disappear from my view. I tried to swim, but I got disoriented." She paused, drawing in a long breath and slowly letting it out. He could see the fear in her eyes and knew that her words had taken her back to that place. He was almost sorry he'd asked. "Then my dad managed to
get a line out to me, and he pulled me in. He saved my life.”

  "Is that why you're still saving his?"

  She met his gaze, and the truth passed between them. "I guess I am trying to do that. It might be a lost cause, though. I keep throwing lines to him, but he doesn't grab on to them. He doesn't want me to pull him in."

  "Maybe he needs to rescue himself."

  "Maybe." She drew in a breath and slowly let it out. "Well, this conversation has gotten heavy. How about some food?"

  "If you let go of my hand, I might get you some. That is, once the blood starts flowing back to my fingers," he said, flexing his hand as she let go.

  "I'm sorry. I didn't realize. So, what's for lunch?"

  "Everything you said. Fried chicken, potato salad, Brie, wine and chocolate." He sat up, opened the basket, and began pulling out containers.

  "Very good, but I don't think I said wine. I'm not a drinker. My dad drove that desire right out of my head."

  "Unlike your baby sister."

  "What do you mean?" she asked sharply. "Caroline likes to party, but she's not out of control or anything."

  "Sorry. I guess I read her wrong." But he wondered if Kate wasn't protesting a little too much.

  "You did read her wrong. I'd know if Caroline had a problem." She paused, worry in her eyes. "I would know, don't you think?"

  "You know your sister better than I do."

  "Exactly. I'll take one of those mineral waters."

  He handed her a bottle of Crystal Geyser. "I'm not a drinker myself," he said. "I like to keep my wits about me. Stay in control. Part of that oldest-child syndrome, I think. Always be the responsible one."

  "Is your brother irresponsible?" she asked.

  How did he answer that one? And why had he even mentioned his brother? Mark was a dangerous subject. Then again, Tyler wondered if he could gain her sympathy by telling her about the terrible tragedy that had befallen his brother. But if he told her anything, she might one day use it as ammunition against Mark. He couldn't take that chance. "He's more impulsive than I am," he said finally. "Now, what do you want to eat?"

  Kate pulled off her sweater and spread it out between them. "We can put the food on this."

  "Are you sure? It might get dirty."

  "I like dirt, remember? And I have a washing machine."

  "You're a very low-maintenance woman, aren't you?"

  "I'm used to taking care of myself."

  "And other people, too—your sisters, your father, your friends, your customers. Don't you ever get tired?"

  "Even if I did, I haven't seen any fairy godmothers hovering about ready to turn my pumpkin into a carriage."

  He smiled, liking her wit, her sense of humor, her lack of pretension. "What about handsome princes?"

  "Not a one in sight."

  "Are you sure about that?"

  "You're not suggesting you have one of my glass slippers?" she teased.

  He picked up her abandoned tennis shoe. "Will this do?"

  "I'm afraid not. There are several dozen women who could wear that shoe and do. It's not one of a kind."

  "But you are," he said impulsively, leaning over and kissing her on the lips. Her mouth was cool, moist from the water she'd been sipping. He wanted to linger, wanted to warm those lips, taste her more deeply, but she was already pulling away.

  "Why did you do that?" she asked.

  "I wanted to," he said simply.

  "You make it all seem so easy, the flirting, the kissing. It's second nature to you, isn't it?"

  He saw the question in her eyes, heard the hint of insecurity in her voice. "Maybe you just make it harder than it has to be."

  She gave him an odd look. "Jeremy used to say the same thing. He thought I worried too much, thought too long, planned too hard." She shrugged. "But that's just me. I can't help it."

  "You don't have to change—not as long as you're happy with who you are."

  "For the most part, I am. Not that I don't have my faults, and I certainly haven't lived an error-free life, but I try hard. Does that count?"

  "Enough to get you a chicken leg." He handed her a drumstick.

  "Hmm. This looks good. Jack's Deli?"

  "I heard it was the best."

  "You heard right." She took a bite and sighed as if she'd just tasted ambrosia. He loved watching her lick her fingers in between bites. Made him want to lean over and take a taste himself.

  "You’re staring," she said. "I hate it when people watch me eat."

  He smiled at that. "It doesn't seem to be stopping you."

  She took another bite. "Okay, it doesn't bother me that much, but, if you don't eat, there may not be anything left. I am the fastest eater of the McKenna sisters. Although we're all pretty speedy."

  "It must have been fun growing up with sisters." He'd had a good time with Mark when they were little. He'd missed that when he'd become an only child.

  "It was wonderful. Even though they often drove me crazy, especially when we lived on the boat together."

  "What was that like?"

  "Ashley taking our pictures every other minute. Caroline sneaking into the food rations. Card games that went late into the night, flying fish that landed on our deck when we least expected it, dolphins that were so friendly we could swim right along with them." She let out a sigh. "We were a tight group. We got used to having only one another. We didn't need anyone else."

  And apparently they'd kept everyone else away, Tyler thought, especially while one of them was pregnant. Otherwise, someone somewhere would have said something about it.

  "Sometimes it's hard to let go—even now," Kate continued. "But we have our own lives to live. Caroline reminds me of it often enough. And Ashley has been pulling away lately. With my father wanting to race again, I think I'm the only one trying to keep us together.”

  "Everyone grows up and sometimes apart. That's the way of families."

  "You're right. I've actually been thinking about making some changes in my own life."

  "What kind of changes?" he asked with interest.

  "Well, when I turned twenty-eight three weeks ago, I looked at all those candles on my cake and thought about the years that had passed. Maybe it wasn't a midlife crisis, but it was a wake-up call to break out of my little cocoon, take a look around, figure out what I want to do, where I want to be, that kind of thing."

  Three weeks ago? She'd had this revelation three weeks ago? The same time that Mark had received the first contact from Steve Watson? Tyler's pulse sped up. It had to be a coincidence. It had to be.

  "What kind of things, exactly?" he asked carefully, trying not to sound too eager.

  She hesitated, then said lightly, "I signed up for an exercise class, for one."

  "That's it?"

  "What did you expect?"

  "How about a trip or a move, maybe looking up an old friend, someone you hadn't seen in a while?"

  She looked at him through narrowed, thoughtful eyes, and he realized that he sounded much too intense for what she probably thought was a casual conversation.

  "Sorry," he said quickly. "It's not for me to say how you should change your life. But I thought you meant something on a grander scale than an exercise class."

  "I think I'm ready for the potato salad now.”

  He handed her the container and a fork.

  "What about you?" she asked. "Ever had one of those life-changing moments?"

  "Not while blowing out the candles on my birthday cake," he replied. "But, yes, I did have one. Fairly recently, in fact."

  "What happened?"

  He shouldn't tell her. He absolutely should not tell her. He tapped his fingers against his thigh. "My brother was hurt in a car accident," he said shortly. "He could have been killed. And I realized how little time we'd spent together lately. I'd spent years of my life wanting to be with him, and then wasted the opportunity when I had it. I won't let that happen again."

  "Is he all right now?"

  "He's getting
better."

  She tilted her head, giving him a thoughtful look. "Why are you here, Tyler? Why aren't you home with your brother?"

  Damn. He'd known confiding in her was a mistake. He tried to think of a plausible excuse. "My brother is very interested in sailing and sailboat races. He's the one who first told me about you and your big victory."

  "So I have your brother to thank for your intrusion into my life?" she said with a dry smile. "I hope I meet him someday."

  He offered a weak smile in return. "It's possible. Hey, aren't you going to share some of that potato salad with me?”

  She handed him the container. "Help yourself.”

  He looked down at the potato salad, then set it back in the basket.

  "What's wrong? Why aren't you eating?" Kate asked.

  He cupped her face with his hands. "I just realized it wasn't potato salad I wanted."

  "What do you—"

  He cut off her question with a long, deep, wet kiss that turned into another and another. He liked the way she kissed him back, the way her tongue played with his. She smelled like vanilla, and she tasted even better. He ran his hands down her back, grabbing her by the waist and pulling her up against him. He wanted to feel her soft breasts. He wanted to touch every inch of her.

  "Oh, God," she murmured as his mouth moved down the side of her neck. "We have to stop.”

  "We're just getting started."

  "I—this is crazy," she said breathlessly, pulling away from him. "We're on a public beach. Tyler, stop."

  He sat back, knowing she was right. He watched her fidget with her blouse and her hair and whatever else seemed out of place. He wanted to tell her to stop. He liked her loose and messy and a little out of control. He liked her passion and her spirit and, well, pretty much everything else about her.

  "You're staring again," she said. "And I'm embarrassed."

  "Why? We just kissed."

  "It felt like more than just a kiss." She darted a quick look at him, then glanced away.

  He flopped down onto his back, closing his eyes against the bright sun. She was right. It hadn't felt like a kiss; it had felt like a promise.

  "Tyler, can I ask you something?"

  "Sure."

  Her words didn't come right away. "Are you connected to K.C. in some way? Are you part of a plan to get back at my father? Is this about revenge?"