Barefoot at Moonrise (Barefoot Bay Timeless Book 2) (14 page)

She studied him for a second, then slowly shook her head. “Beats me.”

“But you live around here and know everyone and everything.”

She shrugged. “Sorry, can’t help you. Gotta go.
Namaste
, gentlemen.”

She pivoted and walked off, shiny black hips swaying in perfect time to a long ponytail that swayed like a yellow silk pendulum. Mark and Ken turned back to the table, but Law was still staring.

“Nama-stay a little longer next time,” he murmured.

Mark nudged him. “If you’re seriously interested, you might try not treating her like your personal plaything.”

“Shit,” Law mumbled, falling back against the seat. “I swear she knows who owns this place now and isn’t saying. Someone knows, damn it.” Law combed his hair back with his fingers and looked around for their waitress. “I need food. It cures all.”

“Not this food,” Ken joked. “It makes things worse.”

“Exactly why I need to take over and bring this place into the twenty-first century.”

They ordered, relaxed with another beer, and let Mark fill them in on his new life with Emma. A life, Ken had to admit, that sounded damn good to him. A life he couldn’t figure out how he could have with Beth. Because even if she had his last name—which was laughable to even think about—that wouldn’t change the one she was born with.

Chapter Nine

It was still dark, predawn, when Beth woke on Thursday. She turned and drifted out of a heavy sleep, the same first thought she’d had every morning for nearly three weeks tumbling over.

I’m pregnant.

Her heart kicked with joy. And then she remembered Ken, and her heart kicked again, maybe not with joy but with…

Expectation? Optimism? Just plain old lust?

He’d be here in a few hours, and she wasn’t unhappy about that at all. She’d spent the day without him yesterday and had done some shopping and gone over to the mainland to look at fixtures for the bathrooms and kitchen to get some ideas.

Oddly, she was excited to share the concepts with him. It was nice not to have to do a house alone, she admitted in her state of half awake. Turning over, she sighed into her pillow and stretched her leg across the empty expanse of the bed.

It would be nice not to have to do a lot of things alone. Like sleep.

Maybe he was right, she mused. Maybe she was confusing being alone with having control. Alone wasn’t all it was cracked up to be, especially when the alternative was…Ken Cavanaugh.

Her whole body tingled and tightened at the thought.

She’d read that a woman’s sex drive can increase in early pregnancy, and that it didn’t take much to get…stimulated. She drew in a deep breath and listened to the soft exhale.

He stimulated her, that was for sure.

She threw back the covers and sat up, awake enough to start the day. It was a little past six, so she got up, stopped into the bathroom, and remembered she couldn’t brush or flush until she went outside and turned the water back on.

It was a short-term and minor inconvenience of living in a house being renovated, but when the kitchen was in such a state of tear-down, it was stupid to leave the house valve open overnight. Even keeping the sink valves closed, there could be leaks after all that sledgehammer action.

Mmmm. Sledgehammer action. Shirtless sledgehammer action.

Just the thought of seeing more shirtless sledgehammer action today got her rushing down the hall, picking up speed as she rounded the wall, and—

In a flash, she slid across the kitchen floor and landed flat on her butt.

“What the hell?” She gasped as cold water seeped into her sleep pants, the shock of it impossible to process. Was there a flood, a leak, a—

“Oh my God.” She pressed her hand against her stomach as the real impact of the fall hit her.
The baby.

She froze for a moment, waiting for something…anything…a pain or pang or warning sign. But nothing hurt and or felt different. A flash of déjà vu pressed hard, the memory of the miscarriage from years ago remarkably fresh. That had been morning, too, a cold and damp day that she’d never forget.

She pressed her hand against her wet pants and reminded herself that this was water, not blood, and she had to figure out where it was coming from.

“Okay,” she whispered. “Okay. We have a flood.” She could deal with anything as long as the baby was okay.

Finding her footing, she pushed up, swearing softly as she realized how soaked she was and how bad this situation could turn out to be.

“I know I turned the water off,” she said, moving gingerly while mentally reviewing last night’s activities. She’d gone out after her shower and final trip to the bathroom and twisted the water valve completely clockwise. She was
certain
of that. She’d taken a flashlight and could see her fingers on the handle. She remembered testing it to be sure it was tight and thinking how she’d replace the old-school valve with a modern flip style.

And now she was standing in water. Which, with the number of open outlets, even with the circuit breakers off on this side of the house, was incredibly dangerous.

She needed light. She needed to be dry. She needed…
Ken
.

That hit her almost as hard as the current disaster. She didn’t want to need anyone, but these were extenuating circumstances.

She tiptoed out of the water and back into the hall, getting to dry tiles in a few steps. So the bulk of the damage was in the kitchen and dining room.

She made it back to her room, still too wet to try to find a light. Instead, she got her phone and opened her contacts with a surprisingly steady hand. Ken had given her his cell phone number when he left the other night, thankfully.

He answered on the first ring. “Beth. You okay?”

She wanted to resent the question, but she couldn’t. Instead, she let her heart sink into the fact that he cared about her. Well, the baby. He cared about the baby.

“I’m fine, but my kitchen flooded even though I know I turned off the water last night.”

“Do not go into a flooded room, Beth.” Warmth evaporated as he delivered the order with tense authority. “There are compromised electrical outlets.”

“I know. I’m in the back of the house, where it’s bone-dry.”

“It’s best to get out of the house. I can send a local Mimosa Key fire team over.”

“No, don’t. Just…” She swallowed.
Help me
. “I’ll get out of the house, and you can…help me figure out what to do.”

“I’ll be there in half an hour,” he said, the sound of movement clear through the phone. She could picture him in that blue shirt, vaulting up like an alarm had called him out, and the very thought made her a little weak in the knees.

“Don’t you have to stay at the station until seven? What if you get a call?”

“The next crew is already here,” he continued. “And I know every cop and state trooper between here and there. I’ll be there soon. Get out of the house and stay safe.”

She ended the call, stripped out of the wet sleep pants, and changed quickly into yesterday’s cutoffs and a clean T-shirt. She had to figure out what happened to the water valve, she thought while brushing her teeth with bottled water.

Wanting to avoid the main part of the house, she headed out the sliders to the pool, phone in hand. She rounded the back of the house and froze, stunned at what she saw.

The old-school valve was not just turned on, it was broken off.

Now she couldn’t even turn the water off as it flowed into the house. At least, she couldn’t unless she had a wrench and a lot more muscle. Dropping to her knees, she peered at the pipe, spying the round, rusted handle she’d battled with last night lying on the ground.

Had she turned it so hard, she’d broken it and hadn’t realized it?

Then why wouldn’t the valve stem be set to off? The tiny metal sticking up from the pipe was definitely turned toward the flow position, and it was so old, rusted, and beat-up that even with a wrench, she might not be able to turn it.

Frustration rose through her as she considered going back into the house for a wrench, which was either in the flooded dining room or kitchen. It really wasn’t safe until every breaker was off on the panel, and even then…it wasn’t only Beth taking that chance anymore.

Every decision she made affected the baby inside her, and stopping further flooding in rooms that were going to be remodeled anyway wouldn’t be worth taking a risk.

She called a plumber, left a message. Called a house-flipper friend, left another message. Managed to get in the garage and find some crappy second-rate tools. Then she turned all power off from the outside box, even though she still wasn’t going in the house.

Instead, she went to work trying to turn the stem, fighting, sweating, and swearing every time the metal slipped with no change, until she heard a car door. Then another. And another. And men’s voices, footsteps, and—

“Beth? Where are you?”

“In the back,” she called, pushing back from the fruitless task.

Ken came around the back…followed by another man. And another. And another. And—

“A few friends wanted to help,” he said, taking in her wide-eyed expression.

She wasn’t sure whether to thank him or…stare. She recognized a few of them from the day at the fire station, but not all of them.

Immediately, Ken was on the ground next to her. “You okay?” he asked, his voice soft and concerned, his eyes so direct she felt like melting.

“I am now,” she said, earning a hint of a satisfied smile. “I fell,” she admitted, and not just because she should tell him everything that might impact the baby, but because she wanted to.

His expression registered a flash of fear, but it was gone so fast she wasn’t sure she saw it. “Are you injured?”

Now he sounded like a medic and firefighter. “No, I honestly don’t think so. I slipped in the water, but I didn’t notice anything hurting or feeling different. Still, I promise I’ll call my doctor as soon as her office opens and tell her what happened.”

He looked hard at her, then nodded. “I trust you.”

She sighed a word of thanks and jutted her chin toward the water valve.

“The handle broke off,” she told Ken. “It was closed and not broken last night, I’m sure of it.”

“Moonshine,” he called to one of his men. “Get me a wrench.”

“Is the house open?” he asked.

She closed her eyes. “You guys are going to go in there and take over everything, right?”

“Yep.”

“And I’m going to let you.”

“Yep.” He touched her nose in a gesture that from anyone else would have been condescending, but from Ken it was sweet and somehow supportive. “Let me help you, Bethany.”

She didn’t even think about arguing. “The sliders into my bedroom are open to the patio. That’s the only way in and out without my key. I turned the breakers off.”

He turned to the two men behind him. “Jimbo, Irish, head in, check everything, and assess the damage.”

Smiling at her, a young man handed the tool to Ken, who went to work, still firing orders. In ten seconds, he twisted the valve stem, and the water stopped with a clunk to the pipes.

He shot her a satisfied look.

“The power of good tools,” she said under her breath. Of course, big muscles helped, too.

“Who you calling a tool?” he teased with a wink.

When she smiled, he leaned closer to study her. “Are you sure you’re okay? No pain? No bleeding?”

“None at all,” she promised him. “I’m fine. We’re…fine.”

The shadow of a smile crossed over his face again. “We. Your favorite word.”

Right at that moment, with him helping her…it wasn’t a bad word at all. She returned the smile. “I hope we can dry out this house and fast.”

He gave her shoulder a squeeze. “You’ve got my team, and they’re the best in the business. Relax.” He took another look at the valve. “So, vandalism?”

She shook her head, not quite ready to buy that theory in this neighborhood, but gave him a smile. “But thanks for not assuming I’m an idiot.”

He drew back. “Who would assume that?”

“Well, I was the last person to touch that valve last night.”

“You
think
you were the last person to touch the valve last night.” He inched her to the side, tossed another order at one of his men, then headed to the patio where the other two had opened the sliders. “Stay here.”

Two other firefighters, in the same Navy T-shirt and camo fatigues as Ken, came around the corner, carrying a bright red gas-powered water pump between them.

He’d brought the damn cavalry!

“Miz Endicott,” one said, nodding. “I’m Jenkins. Remember me?”

“And I’m Mike, aka the chef.” He grinned. “Can we get past you and start drying things up, then?”

“Of course, thank you.”

If she hadn’t been pregnant, she could have done all this. She could have rented a pump and checked all the circuits and closed up the outlets. She could have dried out the house and fixed the valve—eventually—and handled her problem on her own.