Beside a Dreamswept Sea (22 page)

“That’s it.” Cally lost it, and thrust a pointed finger toward the outer door. “Everyone out. And I mean now!”

Board stiff, Jimmy muttered an “I’m sorry, Miss Tate,” then turned and left. Probably hiding a smirk, though looking at his back, she couldn’t be sure.

“But I gotta pee.” Jeremy did a dance, cupped himself with his hand, and nearly tripped over his muddy shoestrings.

Cally groaned. What the hell? He was only four—and he didn’t look as if he’d make it to the downstairs bath. “All right. Go ahead, Jeremy.”

The washcloth clung to her breasts like a second skin. She loosened it, so it wouldn’t so clearly outline her contour, and slid deeper into the straggling clumps of bubbles, then stared at the bar of soap in her hand. She’d gripped it so hard it bore indentions from her fingers.

“Jeremy?”

Bryce. Oh, God. Not him, too. She sank deeper, up to her chin.
Please, not him, too.

“I’m in here, Daddy.”

“Jeremy, no!” Cally whispered a shout.

The startled child jumped. Knocked the bar of soap from Cally’s hand; it flew across the room. Tripped over his shoelace, fell, then cracked his chin on the floor and wailed louder than a body being tortured to death.

“Oh, mercy.” Her heart in her throat, Cally scrambled to her feet inside the tub, splashing water onto the floor. She scooped Jeremy up, into her arms, tried to get a look at his chin. “Let me see, sweetie.” No blood. Thank heaven, no blood. “Are you hurt?”

Bryce rushed into the bath. Saw Cally just as his foot hit the bar of soap and his feet slid out from under him. He glided in the water across the tile floor and crashed into the side of the tub. His breath swooshed out. So did a healthy grunt.

“Bryce!” Cally sat down, Jeremy fully clothed in her arms. Water gushed over the side of the tub, soaking Bryce.

Water dripping from his hair, streaming down his face, and soaking his white shirt, he stared up at her, clearly searching for just the right curse word.

Not at all sure the one she had in mind would do, she winced down at him. “Animal crackers?”

Frankie and Suzie stood at the outer door, exchanging a high five. “That should do it,” Frankie said. “He’s seen her nekkid.”

Bryce slung a killer look at his daughter and her friend.

Comforting the wailing Jeremy, Cally reached over the edge of the tub then stroked Bryce’s jaw. A bruise was already forming on it. “Are you okay?”

“Do I look okay?” He swung an angry gaze to her. “My knee’s reinjured, my elbow’s throbbing, and my jaw feels like it’s been on the receiving end of a heavyweight champ’s left hook.”

Jeremy cried even louder. “Shh, Daddy’s fine, sweetheart.” She smiled at the child burrowing into her chest. “And he’s not angry at you. Men just do that.”

“Men do what?”

“Roar. When they’re irritated at themselves for upsetting their children, men roar. Loudly.” Cally slid him a frown and held it so he wouldn’t miss it, then nodded down to Jeremy, brushing his hair with the tip of her chin.

Bryce looked at his son, nuzzled to Cally’s chest. With a sharp pang of envy for that nuzzle, he saw Jeremy’s face twist into a mixture of fear and worry that ripped Bryce’s insides to shreds. Animal crackers. “No.” He forced his voice calm. “I’m not angry, tiger.”

Cally gave him her best smile.

Why the hell was he smiling back at her? His knee burned like a five-alarm fire, and he’d have a goose egg the size of a cantaloupe where he’d banged his head in the fall. Damn if he wasn’t seeing stars. He rubbed at a spot behind his left ear and felt a knot. Swelling already. And as tender as a baby’s backside. He hauled himself to his feet, wincing and trying to focus.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, Cally.” His vision righted itself, and he reached for Jeremy.

“Thanks for helping.” He took the boy, who’d finally stopped wailing and now only sniffled, then settled him on his hip.

“Your coloring doesn’t look so hot, Counselor. It’s kind of pasty.”

“I’m okay.” He hurt like hell. “Thanks again.” He glanced at her and nearly fell again. Her bare skin flushed rosy, creamy smooth, and the washcloth she clutched to her chest did nothing but enhance the shape of her full breasts.

“Bryce,” she said softly, then repeated more firmly. “Bryce?”

He heard her, recognized the reprimand in her tone, and forced himself to lift his gaze back to her face. Her neck and cheeks scalded bright red. Not from the bath, from embarrassment. “I’m, um, sorry for the, um, interruption.” Damn, he sounded like a stumbling kid who’d just noticed the difference between boys and girls.

“You need to get some ice on that knee. It’s swelling up again.”

It hadn’t been unswollen since the frog-in-the-kitchen fiasco. But she was right. He’d done fresh damage. “Yeah, I’ll see to that just as soon as I get Jeremy dried off.” Bryce snagged a towel from the rack, then headed toward the door.

At the outer door, he glanced up. The nail was bare, and he grimaced. Women. He called back to her. “Cally, didn’t anyone tell you to put the little Occupied sign out when you’re in the bath?”

“I did put it out.”

“Well, it’s not here—Suzie, hold it right there. You, too, Frankie.”

Terrific. He’d caught them red-handed. Cally grabbed for a towel and whisked it over her torso. She had ten seconds—fifteen max—to get out there in time to prevent a marathon lecture.

“Mr. Richards.” Mrs. Wiggins’s voice carried through the door into the dressing room. “I hardly think Mrs. Richards would approve of the children visiting Miss Tate while she’s bathing.”

Cally made an ugly face the battleaxe wouldn’t see and rolled her gaze heavenward. What mother would approve? Geez, the woman was a royal pain in the tush.

“I’m sure Miss Tate wasn’t crazy about the idea, either, Mrs. Wiggins,” Bryce said. “Jeremy, to your room. Change clothes, bring the wet ones down to the laundry room, then find me. Suzie, Frankie—downstairs. In the parlor. Right now.”

“And the hard knocks just keep on coming,” Cally mumbled, tugging on black slacks, slinging her bra out of the way, then tossing on a gray silk blouse that stuck to her still-damp skin. She grabbed the doorknob, making a vow. If the stuffed shirt made Jeremy start crying again, she’d just blast his ears. And if Mrs. Wiggins gave the child a hard time, or Suzie one, Cally would just desperately need them to do
something
vitally important right away. What something? She had no idea. Whatever it took to get them out of the clutches of the stuffed shirt and the battleaxe.

The hallway was empty.

Praying she wasn’t too late, Cally took the steps two at a time downstairs, her heart beating hard against her ribs, pounding inside her head.

She rounded the corner then stopped at the doorway. A pin dropping would sound like a foghorn in the silent parlor. A bad sign, if ever there was one. She held off a grimace by the skin of her teeth.

Bryce stood facing the sofa, his back to Cally. At least his clothes were only wet. Not spackled with oatmeal, berry juice, or mud. There was solace in that. Jeremy had wrapped himself in a towel and sat on the eggshell carpet at Suzie’s feet. He looked as if he were awaiting execution, which totally frosted Cally’s cookies. He was only four, for pity’s sake. And Suzie and Frankie sat like wooden soldiers on the soft green and eggshell tapestry sofa. The darling’s eyes were as round as quarters, and her fingers were laced together in her lap so tightly her knuckles had bleached white. The child was under enough stress with those damn dreams; she didn’t need more.

The battleaxe sat in a wing chair beneath a gold leaf branch hanging on the wall, holding a fidgeting Lyssie, whose hair, bless her heart, really was tinged blue. If the woman’s expression got any more stern her face would crack, and that was that. Poor Bryce. Another resignation appeared imminent.

“Does your arm hurt much, Daddy?” Suzie asked.

He’d hurt his arm, too? Cally glanced at his soggy sleeve, and saw him cupping his elbow.
Animal crackers.

“Not nearly so much as my jaw,” he said. “But that’s not important. What I want to know is why in the world you guys interrupted Cally’s bath.”

“I couldn’t find my sweater.”

“I needed to know how come lizards don’t fly.”

“She wasn’t mad at us,” Suzie said. Frankie nodded to support the claim.

“She will be,” Bryce insisted. “When she finds out you two scamps took the sign off the door, she’ll be more than mad—as well she should be.”

“We didn’t want no trouble.” Frankie gave him an earnest look, reeking of sincerity. “We only wanted you to see her nekkid.”

“You
what?”
Bryce went purple and the veins in his neck bulged.

“Suzie wants Cally to be her new mom,” Frankie added, as if that explained it all.

Cally’s heart skipped. Suzie had said that once. But to tell her new friend, she must really mean it. She wanted Cally for her mother.
Her mother.
Protective urges, rampant feelings of caring and loving, overwhelmed Cally, and her heart suddenly felt too big for her chest.

Bryce faltered, then regrouped. “What you two did was invade Cally’s privacy—and that’s against the law.”

Frankie’s fair skin blanched white. “Is she gonna call Sheriff Cobb?”

Bryce stared down at the child, clearly flustered. “She’d be within her rights to do exactly that.”

Frankie groaned, covered her face with her hands. “My mom’s gonna kill me dead.”

“She’s not really, Daddy,” Suzie quickly assured him. “Frankie just means her mom’s going to be mad at her.”

“I’m not going to call the sheriff.” Cally stepped forward, then stopped at Bryce’s side. “But I do want to have a chat with all of you.”

She looked to Bryce for permission. When he nodded, she looked back at Suzie and Frankie. “What you two did was wrong.”

“We know, but—” Suzie interrupted.

“No buts. It was wrong, Suzie, and that’s that.” Cally sighed. “Sweetheart, you’ve mentioned this about me being your new mom before. We should’ve talked about it then, but we didn’t. Now I realize we should’ve because your thinking isn’t quite right on this. Your daddy seeing me without my clothes won’t make me your mom. What moms and dads feel for each other is a different kind of love than they feel for kids—Frankie’s right about that. But a mom loving her children no matter what is what makes her a mom. It really doesn’t have anything to do with dads. So no more of these tricks, okay? I want your promise—yours too, Frankie.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

Cally stared at Suzie. She’d slipped her hand behind her back, as had Frankie. “Good.” She slid Bryce an I-know-what-they’re-up-to-look, linked her arms over her chest, then stared back at the girls. “Now uncross everything crossed, and promise again.”

Suzie slumped. “I promise.”

“Me, too.” Frankie grimaced and shut her eyes.

Cally bit back a smile. “Now, that’s done.” She wheeled her gaze to Jeremy.

“I never didn’t touched that sign, Cally.” He stared up at her from the floor.

“I know. I just want to talk with you for a second. Is that okay?”

Looking majorly relieved, he nodded.

“I’m happy to answer your questions, but not while I’m in the bathtub. And if you need to use the restroom, then you go right away. Don’t wait until you can’t make it to the one downstairs—just in case someone is in the one upstairs, okay?”

“Uh-huh.” He gave her an enthusiastic nod.