Barefoot Bay: Silhouettes on the Sand (Kindle Worlds Novella) (9 page)

The way C.J. kept a steady pace, he could tell running was definitely a regular routine for her. The sun crept over the horizon, changing the dull gray to strings of blue and pink and finally burning yellow over the water with the strewn clouds taking on colorful hues.

"I love the sunrise." C.J. slowed her pace.

"What about sunset?"

"That too, but there's something about the promise of a new day, a new beginning, that offers me more peace."

"Are you looking for peace, C.J.?"

Her gaze in the distance, she eased out of a trot to a gentle walk. "I suppose I am. What about you?"

"Me?" He shortened his stride to keep in step with her. "My life is very peaceful."

"I guess that's why you have to hire dates for family events?"

"That would be
date
. As in singular. And that's because my life is complicated, not unpeaceful."

C.J. nodded. "Got it."

"All right." He paused and stretched at the waist, left then right. "Maybe, just maybe, I do envy Nate a little."

"Ah." C.J. glanced at him sideways, squinting one eye.

"Nate always played hard. The stereotypical party boy. Most eligible bachelor. Man-whore. Pick an adjective. He's been called them all. Yet he lived a life that most men dream of. He should have, by all rights, been the happiest guy around."

"But he wasn't," C.J. stated rather than asked.

"I don't know that deep down any of us are." The admission surprised him. He'd been thinking that more and more recently, but hearing his own voice say it out loud was startling. He'd convinced himself that running Ivory Glass was all the fulfillment he needed. Somewhere in the back of his mind he'd always known that “things” couldn't replace emotional stability. His mother had been a living, breathing example that money and power couldn't buy peace and happiness. And yet money and power seemed to be the only thing the women he'd dated had been truly interested in. Not till Mitch and Abi had Chase seen true love in action, and just one brother finding true love Chase could easily write off as a fluke. A once-in-a-blue-moon stroke of luck. Except now two of Chase’s brothers had hit the jackpot. Slippery odds.

"I wish I could say you were being cynical." C.J. looked around. "I think we left the resort in the dust. If we're going to hoof it back, I need fuel."

Chase scanned the street up the hill. "There's a wonderful little bistro not far from here that serves the best brioche—"

"I have a better idea." Her eyes took on a bright sparkle, and she took off at a slow trot.

Chase fell into step beside her. "Where are we going?"

"There."

She pointed toward the street in the distance, but, between the beach and the park ahead, no structure looked to be a restaurant. "I don't see anything."

"That's because you're not looking."

Of course he was looking. He strained his perfect 20/20 vision looking.

At the concrete curb, she slowed her pace. "These trucks always have the best food."

Truck?
Sure enough, she walked right up to a large silver truck with a raised window cut out of the side. "You do realize those things are probably germ factories. Chez Moi is not far from here."

"Nonsense. Closest thing to a mouthwatering greasy spoon. I've been taking a crash course in your world for almost two days. The least you can do is share a food-truck breakfast with me."

And food poisoning. "Lead the way."

He had no idea why anyone went jogging with money, but C.J. had a small plastic case on a string around her neck with cash, credit card, and driver’s license. Who the hell needed a driver’s license to run on the beach? But he couldn't fault her efficiency. She'd ordered him a breakfast burrito with the works. He wasn't even sure how much
works
could be in a breakfast wrap.

While he held the two ginormous aluminum-clad bundles, C.J. paid the man for their breakfast and two OJs. Juggling the wraps and drinks, he shrugged. "Sorry I don't jog with cash." Or credit. With the Ivory name a mere signature at the best places in any town was enough to guarantee payment.

"Fortunately I do." She took an orange juice from his hand and one wrapped burrito. "Come on. Breakfast will be more pleasant under one of the shade trees in the park."

Curious to see what all was in his steroid-size breakfast, Chase resisted the temptation to peek under the foil and instead distracted himself by watching C.J.'s cute posterior strut across the street to the park.

"Here's a good spot." C.J. plopped heavily onto the garden bench and immediately unwrapped one end of her breakfast.

The large tree she picked looked the same to him as the three other large trees they'd passed en route to this location. "I thought the previous tree was a good spot."

"That's because you haven't taken the time to really look around." Gripping the massive burrito in two hands, poised to take a bite, she looked up through her lashes at him. "First, this tree has wider branches. The sun won't encroach on our space before we're done eating. Second, the bench at the other tree is missing a slat. Third, from here, we can see the playground. It's really too early for moms and their kids to come around, but, by my sister's place sometimes, a mom or two will show up just to keep the kids busy. They might here as well."

C.J. took a bite and moaned with delight. Chase on the other hand nearly groaned.

Wrinkling her nose at him, she swallowed another big bite. "So what do you think?"

Before he could fully bite down, his taste buds already understood what C.J. knew. This was the best damn egg and potato and bacon and who-knew-what-else concoction he'd ever had. He practically inhaled the damn thing it was so delicious. "I have no idea what else was in there besides eggs and potato and maybe some bacon, but, wow, that was good."

"Told ya." She took her last bite, crumpled the foil into a ball, and tossed it into a nearby trash can.

No children had come by. Hardly a surprise so early on a Sunday morning. He wished they had though. Something told him he would have enjoyed seeing C.J.'s face as she watched the small children scurrying about. Had Mandy and Zeke's news last night reminded her of that ever-ticking biological clock? Or did she always sit in the park and watch the children play? It certainly sounded like she might.

"When was the last time you were on a swing?"

"I'm not sure I was ever on a swing. My mother wasn't the sort to take me to the park for a playdate."

"Now that's just a crime against human nature. All children should play on swings." She reached out and tugged on the tail of his T-shirt. "Come on."

For the entire length of the short walk, C.J. didn't bother to let go of Chase's shirt. The next thing he knew, he was on the tallest swing on the set, and C.J. was showing him how to pump his legs. "Higher," she screamed. Soon they were both on swings, flying back and forth, up higher than the top. When they pendulumed back in the opposite direction, C.J. leaned backward and squealed.

There was no stopping the smile on his face. He wasn't sure which was more exhilarating, soaring back and forth on the set or watching the smile bloom on C.J.’s face as she flew higher. More than a time or two, he wondered if the strong metal set wouldn’t pop up from the ground and take them with it.

"Mommy, look. Like you and Daddy." A little girl, not even tall enough to reach Chase's waist, came running up to the swings and gave him a huge toothy grin. "My daddy pushes my mommy on the swing sometimes, and it makes her laugh. Can you push me?"

"Carolyn," the mom called, hurrying to catch up. With a single gesture, she had the little girl hurrying back to her mother's side. By the time mother and child had reached the swing set, both he and C.J. had relinquished their seats.

"I didn't mean to interrupt you." The mom rested her hands atop her protruding stomach. "I can't keep up with her most of the times. I'm sorry if she bothered you."

"Nonsense." Chase smiled at the woman. "But a gentleman never refuses a lady’s request."

The mom stared at him blankly until little Carolyn grinned up at him again, and, when he nodded, she scurried over to the lowest swing seat and waited for him to give her a little nudge. Pretty soon she was swinging her feet back and forth and, like C.J., calling to go higher. Unfortunately, off to the side, her mother shook her head at him. Little Carolyn would have to wait until she got older to go higher. Just then another little girl ran up to Carolyn, and he and the swing were both forgotten as the two children hurried off to the monkey bars. "Looks like I've been stood up," he teased.

"Don't feel bad. Women are known to be fickle." Jogging in place, C.J. tipped her head toward the beach. "We should be getting back now anyhow. You ready?"

"Absolutely. Last one back pushes the other on the swing for a whole month." Chase took off at a quick clip. He was having fun. Real fun. And it wasn't just the swing or the food truck. It was the person who'd introduced him to both. To a softer, simpler side of life. Surprised at C.J.'s ability to keep pace with him, he revved it up a bit. Normally he'd hang back and be the gentleman, give the lady a head start, but suddenly the idea of more time to get to better know the real C. J. Lawson was more important to him than chivalry.

With Nate and Liza having the only great-grandchild in the family, and the family patriarch aging, a winter family estate in the warmer southern climate, and closer to Nate and Dylan, appealed greatly to the Colonel. Land being limited on Mimosa Key and the Colonel growing more obsessive about his family's privacy, he and Mimsy chose to build the new home in a secluded area not far from Naples and Barefoot Bay. The drive would take just over an hour.

What struck C.J. as ridiculous was that she had to pack an overnight bag for dinner. Normal people got dressed in ordinary clothes and took an ordinary leisurely drive to dinner, ate a normal meal, and then returned after dinner to their normal house. Of course there wasn't a single damn thing about the Ivory family that fell under the category of normal
or
ordinary. From what she was told, they would arrive in afternoon-business-casual attire. Mimsy would most likely serve tea in the late afternoon. The family matriarch didn't have a lick of British heritage, but her dad had been stationed in England for a good many years, and she'd taken a liking to the civility of tea time. So around four o'clock C.J. could expect to sit for tea with the women in the family. At six they would retire to their rooms and change for dinner. Chase had explained that normally Sunday dinners were full uniform—suit and tie—but, for this visit, the Colonel had designated the dress as black tie. Dinner would be served promptly at 8:00 p.m., so every member of the family would assemble for cocktails by 7:30 p.m. at the very latest.

"You'd better bring a change of clothes for tomorrow." Chase popped his head into the open doorway to her room. "Dinner will run late, and the Colonel will, of course, convince everyone that it's best to stay than drive at night."

C.J. raised a questioning brow.

"I know. He thinks because he can't see at night anymore, neither can the rest of us."

Now it made perfect sense to her that Chase had insisted on purchasing her a full set of luggage to go with her new wardrobe and the matching satin nightgown and robe. Not that anyone should see her in her nightie, but, for all she knew, maids and butlers would be prancing in and out of her room like a modern-day episode of
Downton Abbey
. "Afternoon clothes, dinner clothes, breakfast clothes. Do I need to know anything special about a lunchtime wardrobe change?"

Chase rolled his eyes. "By lunchtime we'll be on the road back to Mimosa Key. The Colonel and Mimsy will move to the resort, and Mimsy will commence the wedding parties with a formal tea. Or is it the tennis game?"

"Tennis? What the hell does tennis have to do with anything?"

"Ivorys tend to be a bit competitive. The family will be divvied up in teams and work their way through the day until there's a winner who gets the cup."

"
Cup
?"

"The Ivory Cup. Sounds silly but, to an Ivory, it might as well be the Stanley Cup. You'll have to watch out for a few members who tend to cheat a bit. Though that's harder at tennis. Do you play tennis?"

C.J. shook her head.

"Then you'll get paired with one of the stronger players. Beth is actually pretty good. For a while we thought she might go pro."

"Wait a minute. I have to play?" Her sister so owed C.J. for stepping in for her.

A satisfied smile slid across his face. A mischievous sparkle twinkled in his eyes. "Everyone participates."

"But I'm not an Ivory."

"You’re here with an Ivory. That's close enough. At least there's not an obstacle course this time. Mimsy put her foot down and insisted it wasn't appropriately civilized for a wedding, so the Colonel agreed to tennis."

Too bad.
That
she could have done.

Twenty minutes later they were on the road to Sunday dinner. An hour and ten minutes after that they were rolling up the winding drive to a split-level house that reminded her of Picasso’s Cubism period. Not nearly as large as she'd expected but most definitely impressive, if someone liked modern architecture. "Nice."