Beside a Dreamswept Sea (28 page)

Bryce nodded. “Tony protects her, Cally. I don’t give a tinker’s damn if he’s a ghost, or an alien from Planet Funnel Cake. He’s helping my daughter.”

Her mouth stone-dry, Cally stared up at him. Bryce meant it. Every word. He didn’t care. With Tony helping Suzie, Cally understood that. But how well did she understand? Was she grateful enough to set aside the fear of the oddity that he existed? Question was, did she care?

He was helping Suzie. Suzie, who’d wanted a mother and deserved a childhood. Suzie, whose eyes shined love whenever her gaze fell on her father, her brother or sister, on Cally. Precious, tormented Suzie. Cally owed Tony for what he was doing with her. And she owed him for his treatment of her as well. He’d reached out to help her, too, talked to her internally, until she’d become frightened. Then he’d respectfully backed away. She’d suspected the truth about him, true. She’d been told it. But knowing it deep in her heart and soul, having it confirmed by Bryce, a man she trusted . . . It still felt . . . shocking.

So did she care? No. She didn’t. Not at all. Tony’s being a ghost and being here was weird. Bizarre. Different. It defied social acceptability, theories that death is final, the belief that life exists in a single dimension. It shook to the roots a myriad of basic societal foundations, and a hell of a lot of philosophies. But so what? It was good.

He was helping Suzie.

Thanks, Miss Tate.

The man’s voice. An arrow of shock shot up her spine, set her nerve endings to tingling.
Tony?

A warm rush whisked through her, head to toe.
At your service.

She opened her mouth, then did what any sane woman would do when she’d mentally accepted a ghost had come into her life. She fainted.

Cally joined Bryce in Suzie’s room.
It’d become a ritual, tucking in the kids together. Most girls nine didn’t want that kind of attention, according to Frankie, but Cally figured Suzie hadn’t had it earlier, so she needed it now. And only to herself did Cally admit how much she loved hating the good feelings the ceremony gave her. How much she looked forward to them all being together, sharing their lives.

But as much as she loved hating those things, she hated knowing how much she was going to miss them when their vacation was over and they went home without her. She’d again be alone. Even more empty than before because, with them, she’d been given a taste of what her life as a mother would have been like.

From under the quilts, Suzie looked up at Bryce and Cally, standing side by side near the edge of the spool bed. “On Little Island, there are two graves behind this little fence. Hatch said one was Dixie Dupree—that lady Uncle John used to look for, Daddy.”

“John Mystic,” Bryce reminded Cally.

“I remember, Counselor.” That John had investigated her for Bryce had her prickly, and knowing he and the children would be leaving Seascape Inn without her already had her sad. Prickly heaped onto sad didn’t stack up as a peace-inducing mix of emotions to lug around.

She buried the feelings and tucked the quilt up under Suzie’s chin. Suzie had said there were two graves on the island. That piqued Cally’s interest. “Who’s in the other grave?”

“Hatch said it’s a lost soul. It couldn’t find its way home because it refused to believe it could.”

An odd sensation crept over Cally. Hit her hard. Something else of importance had been disclosed to her through Suzie. And again Suzie’s first message replayed in her mind.
If only one has the courage to believe, miracles can happen beside a dreamswept sea.

Suzie stared at the ceiling, her eyes unfocused. “I think that makes my island even more special.”

Bryce smiled, but didn’t remind her again that the island belonged to the children of the village and not tourists from away. “I agree. It’s a big responsibility.”

She nodded. “I’m nine. I can do it, Daddy.”

“I know.” He dropped a kiss to her forehead. “Good night, munchkin.”

“’Nite.” She curled her arms around his neck, hugged him tightly, then held out her arms for Cally.

She stepped into them, her heart in her throat, vowing she wouldn’t start counting how many more nightly hugs there’d be on her calendar before they left her and she had only the cherished memories of them in her heart. “’Nite.”

Bryce gave her a heavy-lidded look, as if he knew how vulnerable and isolated she was feeling, then clasped her hand.

They walked out into the hallway. Bryce flipped off the light. Cally reached back to close the door, heard Suzie’s whisper, and paused.

“Tony?” she said. “Okay, I just wanted to make sure you were here.”

I’m here, little one. We’re all here. Me, your dad, Cally, and Miss Hattie. You can go to sleep now.

Comforted at hearing Tony’s voice, Cally quietly eased the door shut.

“Miss Tate.” Bryce turned to face her. “You’re confusing the court.”

She stood so close to him, he filled her senses, and she felt more than a little confused herself. Attempting to step back, to gain perspective, she backed into the door. “I am?”

Bryce nodded, clasped her arm and inched her over, against the wall. “I had these strange feelings in there. That you were riding an emotional roller coaster. You felt content, then devastated, then scared as hell, and then incredibly sad. Now you look content again.”

Moonlight from the mullioned windows bathed them in soft, wispy shadows. Her face went hot, and she blessed the darkness for hiding it from Bryce. But being totally honest, if only under the obscuring cover of the night, had grown comfortable. She could tell him the truth. And she would. That much courage, at least, she’d garnered here. “I felt all that, and more.”

He slid a gentle thumb along her chin, stared deeply into her eyes.
“Why?”

“A lot of reasons.” She dipped her chin to her chest to avoid his eyes.

“Would you think me a stuffed shirt if I said I like you content?”

“No.”

“Would you, if I said it makes me feel good to know you’re content when you’re with me?”

“No, I wouldn’t. I like feeling content. It’s fleeting, but at least I’m glimpsing it again, and that’s a start.”

“I’m not content.” A fingertip joined his thumb on her face, then trailed a winding path down to the soft hollow behind her ear.

“I’m sorry to hear that.” She was. She truly was. He was such a wonderful man. He deserved contentment, and so much more. Loving. He deserved loving. But that he didn’t find contentment with her didn’t surprise her; she hadn’t expected he would. Still, a pang of disappointment rattling around in the region of her heart couldn’t be denied.

“I’d be closer to contentment with a little assistance.”

What did she do with her hand? She couldn’t continue to hold it midair, and to put it behind her back, she’d have to get even closer to the man. From the hum of blood singing through her veins she was plenty close already. “What kind of assistance?”

He laced their fingertips until their palms touched, then bent his elbow and pressed their clasped hands against the small of his back. “A hug would help. A kiss would be even better.” He lightened his tone, but his expression stayed serious. “I would remind you, Miss Tate, that I’m a man suffering from a multitude of injuries. When Jeremy scraped his elbow, you kissed it to make it better, but . . .”

Con artist. But what a good one. “You want me to kiss your knee?”

“No.”

“Your elbow?” She ran a fingertip along his sling.

“No.”

“Your bruised jaw?”

“You’re getting warmer.” His eyes twinkled and he dipped his chin, touching his mouth to hers.

“Take care with your arm, darling.”

“It can fend for itself. Hugs are rare and I intend to indulge myself to the legal limits.” He pulled off the sling, curled his arms around her, and let out a satisfied sigh that shot sheer joy through her woman’s heart. “God, but that feels good.” He pressed a soft kiss to the cay at her shoulder. “It truly is a nuisance, Miss Tate, to want to hold a woman and not be able to do the job properly.”

Sober and tense, she cocked her head and looked up at him. “Is this more of your campaign? Because if it is, I’d really rather you kept to our agreement and didn’t—”

“No, Miss Tate. No campaign.” He pressed a fingertip to her lips, outlined them with flutters of touch, and his eyes glazed. “This is for me.”

Her heart swelled into her throat then dropped to her knees. No, she couldn’t believe it. Couldn’t do this to herself. “Under penalty of perjury, do you swear, Counselor?” Why had she asked that? Why couldn’t she have recalled Grandma Tate’s crude words of wisdom and not opened herself to this?

“I swear.” He kissed her eyelids, her cheeks, then paused, hovering over her lips. “Cally?”

“Hmm?” Oh, God, this was too good. It couldn’t be real. She’d have to be crazy to believe even for a second it could be anything close to real.

“Let’s dream.”

“Dream?” She dragged her fingers through the hair on his nape. Dreaming sounded good.

“Mmm, just for now, let’s forget everything that’s happened to us. Let’s pretend that there’s only us, and only now. I—I need to dream, Cally.”

Forget. Pretend. Dream. Yes. Yes, she could do that. She could kiss him from the heart out, knowing it was only a dream. “Oh, Bryce. Sometimes you’re just so damn perfect.”

“I’m not.” He cupped her face in his hands, breathed against her lips. “But you make me wish I could be. I want you with me. I want you to want to be with me.” He shuddered and his hands trembled on her face. “Dream with me, Cally. Please. Dream with me.”

Her fears crumbled, and she settled into the kiss, eager to dream.

The rocking chair squeaked.

Her hand at her chest, Cally darted her gaze over to the fireside chair. “Miss Hattie. Good grief, but you startled me.”

“I’m sorry, dear.” She held some sewing in her lap, but her reading glasses sat on the stone ledge of the fireplace. “Can’t you sleep?”

The light from above the stove shone on the lenses. Without them, Cally felt sure Miss Hattie had been doing more thinking than stitching. At the fridge, Cally poured herself a glass of milk, then softly closed the door. “Evidently not.”

“Bryce?”

“In the hallway, on the floor.”

“I thought you two had stopped that, since Suzie hasn’t been bothered with that dream.”

“We had. We just wanted to talk.” Cally inwardly sighed. What they’d wanted was to prolong their dream. God, but it’d been magnificent. It would have been so easy to let it lapse into making love. So easy . . .

“I see.”

Cally feared Miss Hattie did see. Too much. Stifling a sigh, she sat down at the kitchen table and took a long drink of milk. The cold going down her throat felt good. “Men.”

“Isn’t it the truth?” Miss Hattie sighed and tapped the floor with the toe of her slipper to set the chair to rocking. “As Hatch says, ‘Ya gotta love ’em.’ ”

Its squeak sounded comfortable. And comfort felt good. “You know Bryce is making me crazy.” No surprise there. Miss Hattie seemed to have the pulse on the feelings of everyone at the inn. “Is Vic what’s getting to you?”

“Oh my, no. Vic is one of my dearest friends, but no more than that.” Miss Hattie’s cheeks went rosy. “I’m just missing my soldier.”

And clearly worrying. Did she see and hear Tony, too?