Barefoot at Moonrise (Barefoot Bay Timeless Book 2) (7 page)

“And I’d like it to stay that way.”

What was he implying? “You think he’d dredge that up for some reason?”

“I don’t know,” he said simply. “I don’t know what his ulterior motive is with you.”

Irritation rocked her. “His ulterior motive?” It might have been to get her in bed. It might have been to date her, but that…wasn’t going to happen. “I don’t think he has one,” she said. “But it doesn’t matter. I’m not going to see him again.”

“That’s good.”

Was it? It sure didn’t feel good. It felt sad.

“I don’t know the man,” Dad continued. “But I do know he’s held a grudge against us for a long time, despite the settlement on the case, despite the fact that we had irrefutable proof that all the machinery on site had been inspected within thirty days of the accident.”

She shivered at the memory of what happened to Ken’s father when a huge generator fell on him and crushed the life out of him. She’d never known the amount of the “settlement”—only that there’d been rumors of “hush money,” despite the fact that Ray Endicott was quoted in the press as calling it a “gift” for the grieving family, since there was no proof of negligence on the part of EDC.

“He may still hold that grudge,” Dad said.

“And that’s why you’re here? To warn me off seeing him again? You think he can hurt EDC?”

“No, that’s not what I’m saying at all. I’m just saying that there is more to the story, and it’s…complicated.”

Complicated? Yeah, it usually was when people’s lives were ripped apart with grief and death and blame.

Dad held the envelope out. “This is a copy of every pertinent document regarding that case. Some of this is highly confidential.”

“Why? Does it implicate EDC?” she asked.

He closed his eyes, clearly not wanting to answer that. “Read it and do with it what you will. Except share it with Ken Cavanaugh. That, you cannot do.”

Another stab of fury made her stand even straighter. “You can’t come in here and tell me what I can and cannot do, Dad.” She tried to keep her voice slow and steady and not let him know the conversation was getting to her.

“You’ll understand after you read it.”

Except she wasn’t going to read it.

He extended the envelope over the coffee table. “Take it, read it, and learn the facts. Then talk to me, please. Please.” He stepped closer. “But don’t talk to him about any of it.”

“Then why are you giving this to me?”

“So you know the whole story, but, be warned, if Ken Cavanaugh talks about the incident, he’s breaking a nondisclosure agreement his mother signed on behalf of the whole family.”

“A nondisclosure agreement? Why would they need to be silenced?”
Had
they been paid hush money?

“Read the papers, Beth.” He dropped the envelope on the table and nodded toward the door. “And let me know if you plan to see him again.”

She resisted the urge to remind him of her age and independence again. “You don’t have to worry about that,” she said. “We have no intention of ever seeing each other again.”

“Because of…” He gestured toward the envelope. “That?”

Why lie? “Among other things.”

He gave her a hug. “That’s probably a smart decision, Bethany.”

Nothing felt smart about it right now.

When Dad left, she picked up the envelope and flipped it over, tempted to open it and read. But to what end? She wasn’t going to see Ken again.

Tossing it onto a pile of work papers that needed to be stored, she headed to the master bath and forced herself to think of how she’d renovate this little room…all by herself.

Which was how she’d set her life up to be lived, right?

* * *

The feeling of loneliness never really left and, in fact, seemed to morph into something completely different over the next month or so. Exhaustion. No matter how much sleep Beth got, she wanted more, and this morning had been particularly awful because she’d started emptying the kitchen in preparation for the demolition and had forgotten to turn on the mini-fridge. The milk had soured overnight, and pouring it into her coffee had made her wretch.

Not tomorrow, she vowed. She needed coffee, so on the way home from a meeting with a designer on the mainland, Beth pulled into the convenience store that sat at the heart of Mimosa Key.

Inside, the bell rang, like a reminder to Beth that she should have gone to Publix in Naples instead. Charity Grambling, the weathered, ancient owner, sat on her perch behind the counter with all the authority of a federal judge, specs lowered,
National Enquirer
opened, opinion at the ready.

“Hi, Charity.”

“We have concealer for those circles under your eyes down in cosmetics.”

She almost laughed, but nodded her thanks instead. “Just milk today. Vitamin D ought to do the trick.”

“It’ll take more than that. The house-flipping business keeping you awake at night?” Charity asked, closing her reading material as if her new customer was so much more interesting than the lives of the Kardashians.

“Nope, it’s all going fine.” She didn’t have the energy to argue with the old windbag tonight.

“Too bad. I was hoping we could get those handsome Property Brothers down here to help you.”

“Yeah, that’s…” She paused as she was about to turn down the last aisle, the milk she had her eye on suddenly swaying in the cooler. She put her hand to her temple, but the wave of dizziness increased rather than went away.

“Anything’s better than that redneck Chip on
Fixer Upper
!” Charity’s voice floated through the store, but Beth barely heard it because her ears were ringing.

What was wrong with her?

A virus? An allergic reaction to Charity’s opinions?

She took a deep breath and waited for the dizziness to pass, but it was compounded by a sudden bout of nausea. Her stomach rolled. Her head felt light. Her tongue thickened and, holy God in heaven, she was going to throw up.

Right in the middle of the Super Min.

“Charity…I…” She reached for the nearest display, her hand smashing on candies and gum.

“What’s the matter?”

She tried to answer but couldn’t. She heard Charity’s footsteps and tried to look over, but bile rose in her stomach and she fought to keep from heaving.

“There’s the bathroom.” Charity shoved her toward a ladies’ room she honestly hadn’t even known was back there, forcing Beth through the door.

Inside, she stumbled to the first stall, barely making it in time.

After she threw up, she managed to straighten and lean against the stall wall. When did she pick up this bug?

She wet a towel and pressed it to her cheeks, stealing a look at her pale face and dark circles. Maybe she should buy that concealer, after all.

A few minutes later, she came out, the bout of sickness finally gone. “Thank you,” she said to Charity, who waited right outside the door, the closest thing to concern Beth had ever seen in the old woman’s eyes.

“Don’t forget your milk,” Charity said.

The thought of milk turned her stomach. “I don’t really want any now.”

“Then how about you buy this?” She stuffed a small box into Beth’s hand as the bell rang and another customer walked in. Charity pivoted and marched back to the cash register as Beth looked down at the box.

Suddenly, she remembered the last time she was dizzy and had thrown up.

Chapter Five

“This is going to be cold, Mrs. Endicott.”

Beth braced herself. “It’s Miss or, I guess, Ms. Ms. Endicott. I mean, not that it matters, but it’s…not Mrs. Just…Beth. Okay?”

“Okay.” The sweet technician named Shelley smiled and held the tube of gel a little higher. “You’ve been shaking since we walked in here, Beth. Relax.”

Beth stared at her. Relax? Was she out of her mind? “I can’t,” Beth admitted. “Truth be told, I’ve been shaking for two weeks, since I first…suspected. I mean, this was
not supposed to happen
.”

Shelley smiled like she’d heard that line before. “Sometimes the best things in life are surprises.”

Well, this would be the world’s biggest surprise. “I don’t know if it’s on my chart, but I had my tubes tied.”

“Oh.” Her eyes widened. “Certainly unexpected, then.”

That was one way of putting it. “I kept ignoring every sign,” she admitted. “I was late. A little dizzy.” She cringed when Shelley smeared the gel over her stomach, which was still completely flat. “I was exhausted,” she continued.

“What finally clued you in?” the other woman asked as she settled on a stool and reached for the ultrasound wand.

“I started counting days…in disbelief. Then I took the test. Well, tests.”

Shelley laughed. “Everyone thinks the first one’s wrong.”

“I had my tubes tied,” she repeated with emphasis.

“Pregnancy is possible after a tubal ligation,” she said. “I had another one in here a few weeks ago. Rare, but not unheard of.”

“Was her baby…okay?” Beth asked, the question looming over everything.

She didn’t answer, her focus on her monitor. “Oh, I see something.”

“You do?” Her voice cracked. “Is it…in the right place?”

She looked from the screen to Beth. “It’s—”

A tap on the door stopped her. “It’s Dr. Moore,” a woman’s voice called from outside. “May I come in, Shelley?”

“Yes, Doctor,” the technician answered.

The door inched open, and the kind, bright blue eyes of Beth’s ob-gyn met hers. “I didn’t want to wait for the report,” Dr. Moore said with a reassuring smile.

Beth looked at the technician expectantly, holding her breath, her heart pounding so hard she was surprised the ultrasound didn’t pick up the thumping.

The doubt, the despair, the days of disbelief had dragged on while she waited to reach the seven-week point to determine if this baby was ectopic or not, since that was the risk with post-tubal pregnancies.

“The baby is right where it’s supposed to be.” Shelley sounded positively triumphant, and Beth made a little mew sound in response.

“I see that,” Dr. Moore said, taking a few steps closer and adding a tender touch to Beth’s shoulder. “Your worst worry can now be put to rest. Like I told you when you first came in here, not all post-tubal pregnancies are ectopic, but it is our biggest concern.”

“And what about my…uterus?”

Dr. Moore lifted the chart from the side of the table and looked at it again. “I wasn’t your doctor when you had your miscarriage, Beth, so I can’t really concur or argue his diagnosis of an incompetent uterus. But I will say I’ve seen far less competent ones deliver many healthy babies.”

Beth sighed with relief.

“Not that you shouldn’t be extremely careful,” Dr. Moore added. “I don’t want you lifting anything weighing over fifteen pounds or doing any strenuous activity. Normal activity is fine. You can walk, do yoga, ride a bike, have sex, or even lightly jog. But no heavy lifting. And I want to hear from you immediately if you notice any spotting.”

Thank God she hadn’t started demo on the house. But now she’d have to hire help, and she’d have to…tell Ken.

Oh yes, she’d have to do
that
today. She’d already put it off too long. “Okay.”

“You look a little horrified. Were you planning on moving a piano or something?” Dr. Moore asked.

That might be easier than what she’d have to do this afternoon.

“I do a lot of physical work when I remodel homes,” Beth said. “But as luck would have it, I’ve been waiting for final designs on my current flip. I haven’t so much as lifted a screwdriver. It’s been incredibly frustrating.”

“And a blessing.” Dr. Moore replaced the chart. “I want to see you again in two weeks, and we’ll get a nice heartbeat to put your mind at ease.” She smiled. “Congratulations, young lady.”

“Young? I don’t know about that. I’ll be forty-one by the time this baby is born.”

“Haven’t you heard? Forty-one is the new twenty-five in my world.” Dr. Moore’s brows lifted as she handed the chart to Shelley. “Can you return this to the front for me?”

Shelley nodded, slipping off her gloves to take the chart. The door clicked shut, and Beth’s heart rate ratcheted up when she looked at Dr. Moore’s serious expression.

“I don’t know if you’re going through this alone, Beth, but I know of some fantastic support groups who love to help others enjoy and relish the experience of having a baby without a partner.”

“Thank you, Dr. Moore.” She sighed and smiled. “Now that I know it’s not ectopic, I’m going to be telling the baby’s father today.”

“Good. I hope he’s there for you.”

She had a feeling he would be, but, honestly, Beth had no idea how Ken would take the news. Only that she had to deliver it and couldn’t wait one more day now that she knew this was a viable pregnancy.

Only, the last one was viable, too.

“You still look terrified.”

“My history,” Beth said softly. “The miscarriage, the tubal, and I told you my own mother died giving birth to me.”