by Jo Leigh
“To the resurrection of Cricket,” Ginny said, holding up her glass.
“Ditto.” Harlow held up her drink.
Jessica—no, Cricket let the name sink in deeper. Since she had only a white napkin sitting in front of her she waved it over her head like a flag of surrender, though she would’ve preferred a drink. “Cricket it is.”
* * *
WYATT COVACK HEARD his phone beep and hoped like hell it was part of a dream. He grabbed the extra pillow and just as he was about to put it over his head he heard the second ring. Cursing, though not loud enough to drown out the third beep, he opened one eye. The alarm clock was a red blur but he finally made out the three and the one. That’s all he needed to see to make him want to punch the wall.
Who the hell was calling him? Just about everyone he trusted with his cell number knew he’d worked until 5:00 a.m. and then hadn’t hit the sack until eight. The bar had closed at one but trying to win his two hundred back from that lousy cardsharp Bobby Cappelli had been damn hard work, and Wyatt dared anyone to tell him otherwise.
He’d left his phone on the kitchen counter, all the way on the other side of the cramped apartment. The place wasn’t very big, but trying to navigate past all the crap he’d left lying around was like crossing a minefield. Maybe worse.
As if the universe decided to prove the point, his bare right foot landed on something sharp. A pain shot up his leg. Dammit to hell. One of Josh’s Lego pieces. He swore the kid was out to kill him. Nerve clusters made the bottom of a person’s feet vulnerable. A ruthless target if you needed to extract information without leaving obvious marks. Made it a popular torture technique.
Wyatt winced. He hated that he knew that, and a lot more, all remnants of his former life. He’d heard time would eventually blunt the memories...reduce the flashbacks. If guilt didn’t punch his ticket first.
Before he made it to the phone the caller was sent to voice mail. He squinted at the call log. Sabrina. Oh, man. If she was calling in sick again, he was gonna...
He actually didn’t know what he was gonna do.
Sabrina was his backup. None of the other waitresses could handle running the bar in his absence. Most of them were kids who attended the local community college, a couple considered themselves artists and sold their work at street fairs. But waiting tables paid the bills. Especially during tourist season.
Most nights he was behind the bar, pouring drinks and filling pitchers, occasionally breaking up fights, and making sure last call didn’t stretch past one o’clock. But there were times when he had to just plain get away. Away from people. From responsibility. Get away from himself when he could manage it, which usually meant getting shit-faced. Other times he borrowed Marty’s chopper. Flying into the clouds had a way of letting him feel weightless and unburdened. And then there were those times when Becky needed him to watch the kids. Sweet-tempered, obedient Rose and Josh, the little terminator.
He rubbed his gritty eyes and waited for his vision to clear. Next he’d probably get a text from Sabrina. Best-case scenario, she’d be late. Worst-case? She was sick, again, and didn’t know how long she’d be out. He was beginning to think he should have a little man-to-man talk with her worthless boyfriend. Wyatt got the feeling the dumb bastard was responsible for most of Sabrina’s absences. That wasn’t what bothered Wyatt the most. Normally he wouldn’t think of butting into someone’s private life. But she was a nice girl who deserved a lot better than an abusive drunk.
On cue his cell signaled a text.
Just as someone knocked at his door.
“Are you kidding me?” he muttered and threw in a curse.
Another loud bang.
“Hold on, for crying out loud,” he yelled and glanced at the text, then searched the floor for his jeans.
When he’d bought Sam’s Sugar Shack two years ago, he’d left everything intact—the funky decor, the staff, the pseudo uniforms, which amounted to very short denim cutoffs and a cropped T-shirt with the bar’s logo. In good conscience he had offered to get rid of the Hooters look, but the waitresses shot it down. Better tips. Who was he to argue?
Hell, he’d hadn’t even changed the name of the place, which every local seemed to have a strong opinion about. The purchase price had included the apartment above it. Never having had a conventional job before, it seemed like a major win.
Big mistake. It made him too accessible.
He couldn’t even get away with turning off his phone. If he didn’t answer, someone always came knocking. Usually over something stupid. Civilians were a bunch of damn crybabies.
He pulled on his jeans and opened the door.
“Hey, boss. Sorry to bother you but—” Tiffy’s gaze froze on his bare chest. He was pretty sure she wasn’t admiring his pecs, although he did keep in shape. She was staring at the scars left by a pair of particularly nasty knife wounds.
He rubbed his stubbled jaw, using his arm to obstruct her view. “You were saying?”
“Oh, um, right. We’re really getting slammed downstairs and Cara and Viv are both late. Well, we knew ahead of time Cara was going to be late because she has an appointment with—I guess it doesn’t matter. Anyway, if you could come in early that would be totally awesome.”
“Early?”
“Yeah, um, like now?”
Wyatt sighed. “I gotta take a quick shower and I’ll be right down.”
Tiffy was still staring at his chest as he closed the door.
Chapter Three
CRICKET STOOD ON the balcony of her suite, inhaling the salt air and feeling it cleanse the body and soul of Jessica and her problems. At least for the moment. This far up the coast you couldn’t smell the fish market. As a kid she’d rarely minded the odor, though sometimes if the temperature climbed too high in the peak of summer, the stink could get to anyone.
One of the advantages of the resort sitting on the bluff was being able to look down at the clear, beautiful water. She could make out the green roofs of the bungalows that had been a recent addition to the resort. Her first choice would’ve been to stay in one of them so she could be right on the beach. But there were only a half dozen available and they’d been booked quickly.
She glanced at her watch, startled that a whole hour had slipped by. With barely enough time to change her clothes, she had fifteen minutes to meet Ginny at Sam’s Sugar Shack.
After hurriedly changing into tan capris and a casual blouse, she rode the elevator down to the “beach and pool level” below the lobby, hoping she wouldn’t run into anyone. Something was clearly bothering Ginny and they didn’t need old classmates inviting themselves along. After all these years and having seen each other only twice, Jessica was glad her old friend felt she could confide in her.
The second before she hit the beach, she kicked off her sandals. Feeling the warmth of the sand and the cooling breeze made it a whole lot easier to shift gears now that everyone would be calling her Cricket. She’d laughed when she picked up her nametag earlier. It had been a hard transition in college becoming Jessica, but since she’d decided early that she wanted to study law, she needed a serious name. But nobody here knew her as an attorney. Even her dad called her Cricket occasionally, but mostly he called her Baby Girl.
After a ten-minute walk, Sam’s came into view. Shading her face from the bright sunlight, she saw Ginny standing at one of the tall umbrella tables outside, wearing a green sundress, which showed off her stupidly perfect arms and the legs that had made half the boys in school walk around with books in front of their jeans. When a couple leaving the bar caught Ginny’s eye, she waved and disappeared inside. The place was probably as packed as the resort bars. Cricket quickened her pace. Hopefully Ginny was able to grab a table. It would be more private and comfortable talking inside.
Removing her sunglasses, she hesitated at the door, letting her eyes adjust to the dimmer lighting.
“Over here.”
She followed the voice and saw Ginny sitting at a small table for two in the corner. It was slightly out of the way and couldn’t be more perfect. All except for the donkey piñata hanging over the wicker chair Cricket sank onto. No, not wicker, more like straw, firm enough to poke her behind. She doubted investing in a few cushions would’ve broken the new owner.
When she saw the pink-and-green Hula-Hoops hanging on the back wall, she grinned. “Oh, my God. This place hasn’t changed one bit. I wonder if they still have Hula-Hoop contests for free drinks.”
Ginny glanced up at the large piñata over Cricket’s head. “I don’t know if I trust that thing.”
“So, you left this chair for me?”
“Well, yeah. I have a kid, you don’t. And you’re an attorney. You can sue without it costing you.” Ginny barely got it all out without laughing.
They were both cracking up and pointing out the strange assortment of hanging decorations. Aside from piñatas of all types, there were also dangling skateboards, a couple of bikini tops, several license plates and a group of visors with dumb sayings. And then Ginny looked at the hula girl bobblehead sitting in the middle of their table. With a flick of her long elegant fingers she set it in motion and they laughed until they both had to wipe away tears.
Sniffling, Cricket moved in for a closer look at the hula girl. “Is that thing glued to the table?”
“I think so.”
“For God’s sake, who would steal that?”
“Oh yeah, you’ve definitely been away too long.”
Cricket glanced around, saw the coast was clear and bowed her head to use the hem of her shirt to dab at her nose and eyes. “Do not make me laugh like that again.”
“It felt good, didn’t it?” The trace of wistfulness in Ginny’s voice didn’t go unnoticed. “Look, I’m sorry for pulling you away from everyone,” she said. “It isn’t fair, I know, but I figured it would be harder to find time toward the end of the weekend.”
“Oh, please. There’s nothing to be sorry for.” Cricket did a quick survey of the place and thought she recognized a woman in an absurdly short skirt downing shots at the bar. “Could just be me, but I have a feeling we’re going to be pretty sick of some of these people by Sunday.”
“It’s not just you.” Ginny’s smile softened the worry lines between her brows. “Does everyone drink so much at reunions?”
“Beats me. I’ve never been... You must’ve come to the ten-year. It was at the hotel, wasn’t it?”
“I’d planned on it but Tilda was sick and I didn’t want to leave her alone.”
“Isn’t your dad—?”
“Tilda and I are living in the family home. He’s still in his apartment in Providence.” Ginny shrugged. “It’s for the best. He’ll never accept Tilda or forgive me for not wanting to spend my life playing a piano.”
“It must hurt, though.”
“No, actually, I’ve let it go. I don’t think he ever recovered from my mom’s death, and he never will. It’s sad, and if I thought I could help him I would. But honestly, I think there’s a part of him that blames me. After all, she died giving me life.”
“Of course he doesn’t blame you.” Cricket knew Ginny’s dad. Robert Landry was a well-known attorney, and not just in Rhode Island. “That’s completely irrational.”
“Oh, and you have two perfectly rational parents?”
Cricket let out a strangled laugh. “Good point.” She reached for a glass that wasn’t there. “Did anyone ask if you wanted a drink yet?”
“They probably figured we’ve had our limit.”
“Probably.” She leaned to the side, scanning the room for a waitress. And found someone so much better. “Oh, hello. Did you see the bartender? Nice. Despite the fact he looks as if he just rolled out of bed.”
Ginny looked over her shoulder. “Despite? I think he looks yummy just as he is. I wonder if he’s the owner.”
“Why do you say that?”
“I’m guessing he’s midthirties? Most of the employees are barely legal drinking age.”
“True. He’s not messing around, either. He’s really whipping out those drinks.” She liked his lean, athletic build, the broad shoulders that filled out his wrinkled T-shirt. Even from clear across the room she could see the play of muscles across his back as he turned and grabbed a bottle off the shelf.
He startled her by swinging a sudden look in her direction. “Sorry,” he called out. “Be right with you.”
Cricket felt the heat surge up her throat to her face. How had he known she was—?
“Was he talking to you?” Ginny asked, turning her head for another peek at him.
“I guess so. Was I that obvious?”
“He probably thinks you’re impatient for a drink.”
Cricket could only hope. “Tell me what you wanted to talk about,” she said, giving her complete attention to her friend.
“Actually, I need your advice on something.”
“As an attorney or a friend?”
Ginny looked surprised, and Cricket couldn’t explain what prompted her to make the distinction. “Both I hope.”
“Okay, I’ll be happy to do what I can.”
“It’s about Tilda. Or more to the point, about her father.”
“Wait. Is this a custody issue?”
“I’m not sure. Maybe.” Ginny sighed. “I really don’t know.”
Cricket drew in a deep breath and leaned forward. “First off,” she said, “you should know that family law isn’t in my wheelhouse. But that doesn’t mean I can’t help in some way. Even if it turns out I recommend someone good for you to contact.”
Ginny nodded. “I understand.”
“Has Tilda’s father been in her life at all?”
“No.”
“Did you name him on the birth certificate?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Does he even know she exists?”
“Not really.”
Cricket leaned back and smiled. “You’re going to have to tell me a bit more about what’s going on. Does Tilda want to search for him? Is that what’s bringing all this up?”
“No, but I expect she will soon.” Ginny shrugged. “If for no other reason than she’s getting to be at that age, you know?”
“How old is she now?”
“Fourteen. I have pictures if you want to see them later,” Ginny said, grinning proudly.
“Your daughter’s a teenager? How is that even possible?”
Ginny chuckled. “You never were very good at math.”
“All right, come on, let’s see the pictures.” Cricket thought back to her first visit home after graduating from college. She’d run into Ginny at the local supermarket. It had startled her to discover Ginny had a kid, which certainly explained why she’d left Julliard. All Cricket had been able to think was how horrible it must be for her. Her friend had shown so much promise. And Ginny was a smart girl, it seemed impossible that she’d have unprotected sex. Yet she couldn’t have planned the pregnancy either...
Ginny handed over her phone. “Scroll through as many as you want. I’ve got a million of them.”
Cricket smiled at the dark-haired preteen striking a goofy pose. The girl didn’t resemble Ginny, but maybe the father. “She’s a doll,” Cricket said, continuing through the photos. “She seems to have such a sweet disposition.”
“Ah, you must be looking at the ones before she hit puberty.”
“Ha. I bet she’s not half as bad as we were.”
Ginny sniffed. “As you, maybe. I was a good kid.”
Cricket glanced up and glared. Then she sighed. “Okay, you’re probably right.”
“Probably?”
“All right already.” Cricket couldn’t resist a few more pictures as it occurred to her th
at she was actually feeling a twinge of envy. Where was that coming from? She hadn’t thought much about kids, not for a while. That’s why she’d been okay hooking up with Grant. Her whole world was her job, although that might be changing in the very near future.
Just as she was about to hand over the phone to Ginny, a deep, raspy voice stopped her short.
“Sorry for the wait, ladies. What can I get you?”
Cricket looked up into a pair of gray eyes. He was even better looking up close. His jaw was dark with stubble, which normally would’ve been a turnoff for her. But with his lean, tanned face and firm mouth, faintly curved as he held her gaze, he was the best-looking man she’d seen in a long time.
Ginny cleared her throat. “I’ll have a frozen margarita, easy on the salt.”
He turned a smile at her. “Got it,” he said before looking back at Cricket. “And you?”
“Um, I guess the same.”
His sudden frown came out of nowhere. He whipped a look toward the entrance. “Hey, what are you doing here?” he barked at two young kids who’d just stepped into the bar. “Back up. Now. Both of you.”
“Mom said you’re supposed to watch us.” The boy tilted his head back and stared at the ceiling, his gaze bouncing from one colorful papier-mâché animal to the next. He pointed at the blue pig. “Is that pintana new?”
“That’s not how you say it,” the little blonde girl, who looked to be about seven or eight, told the boy. “It’s called a pinta.”
“Rose, Josh...” The man gave them a stern look. “What did I just say?”
“That we can have an ice cream cone?” The girl flashed him a dimpled smile that he seemed to be having trouble ignoring. Guess who had Daddy wrapped around her little finger?
“If you’re good, and you listen, then maybe.” He gestured toward the door. “Now, scram.”
Josh wrinkled his freckled nose. “But...”
“I mean it. You go around to my office and stay there till I tell you otherwise. Nothing less than a real emergency, like we talked about.” He swore quietly under his breath. “Damn kids... I’m gonna lose my liquor license.”
