Barefoot Summer (5 page)

Just as quickly as the prayer surfaced, she pulled it back. He was the cause of this. He could’ve stopped it all if He’d wanted to. But He hadn’t.

She rolled over and pushed the covers down, welcoming the cool air. On the floor beside her, Lulu, her border collie, let out a soft snore. She was glad somebody was able to sleep.

Madison didn’t even own a bathing suit. Hadn’t stepped foot in anything deeper than the tub since she was twelve. So as she made her way through the thick copse of evergreens the next Saturday, it was no surprise that her heart kicked into high gear, that her legs felt as wobbly as a newborn pup’s. Dead ahead, the pool of water glistened in the afternoon sun.

Rather than fight her trembling legs, she dropped her towel and sank onto the grass a good ten feet from the bank. Evan had called earlier in the week to find out how her first lesson had gone. She’d explained the slight delay, and he’d told her to call when she was ready to resume lessons.

She looked at the sun-dappled water, her nerves firing off warning flares. Why was she here? More importantly, why was Beckett doing this? The question had rolled around her head all week. This went way beyond the package she’d won at auction. Way beyond helping out a buddy with an overloaded work schedule.

She could figure only one motive behind Beckett’s offer: guilt. Whatever he’d done to Jade, he at least had the decency to feel guilty about it. Madison wondered for the hundredth time where her sister was, how she was making her way, if she’d found a job.

She stifled a yawn. The nightmare had kept her awake for
hours. Sleepy, but terrified of the dream returning, she’d gotten up and watched TV, finished a tub of butter pecan ice cream.

Madison pulled her knees to her chest, wondering how deep it was in the middle, how it would feel to be surrounded by water, to sink under it and feel it pressing in on all sides. She shuddered.

It wasn’t as if she hadn’t tried to swim before. Her dad had tried to teach her when she was little, and then Michael had tried again when they were twelve.

She could still see him now, coaxing her from the creek’s shoreline. “Come on, Madders. It’s not even deep.”

She had followed him in, hating the way the water licked her ankles, then her calves. But she forced herself forward, up to her knees, then her hips. It had rained the day before, stirring up the mud. She couldn’t see the bottom, couldn’t even see her knees.

“I don’t want to do this.” The anxiety was illogical, she knew that. But recognition didn’t make it go away.

He’d taken her trembling hand. “Doesn’t it feel good?”

It was over ninety degrees that day, and somewhere in her subconscious she knew he was right.

“Come on,” he said. “I won’t let anything happen.”

He’d always been her protector. At school, with their siblings. He was her brother, her twin, a part of her. But the panic she felt was stronger than reality.

She pulled away, turning toward dry land. “I can’t. I just can’t.” She splashed toward the shoreline, eager for the familiar feel of solid ground instead of the mucky mud. Onshore, she grabbed her jean shorts, struggling to get them over her wet hips. She didn’t even look at her brother as he stepped up on the bank.

“It’s okay, Madders. We’ll try again another time.”

The hum of a vehicle broke through her thoughts. The memory had made her nerves spark to life. She picked at the fray of her cutoffs, her eyes returning to the water. Upstream she could hear it rippling over rocks, surging forward to this spot, where it funneled into a wide, bowl-shaped pool. A concave cliff wall formed the other side of the bowl, trapping the liquid, a clear blue broth. At the other end, boulders forced the water into a narrow stream that trickled forward to the river.

She was seconds from bolting when she heard Beckett’s footsteps on the bed of pine needles behind her. Too late.

“Hey,” he said, passing her, dropping a towel at the bank.

She frowned at his jeans and work shoes. In all her imaginings of these lessons, he’d been in the water with her. As scary as that thought was, being in the water alone was worse.

“You’re—you’re not getting in?”

“Came from work.” He pulled his shoes and socks off, then off came his jeans. She turned her head, feeling heat that had nothing to do with the sun overhead burning her cheeks.

When he sank onto the grassy bank, she dared to look again. He wore black trunks and a white T-shirt. He stuck his feet in the water and patted the spot beside him.

Madison stood, slid off her sandals, and lowered herself onto the ledge a safe few feet away.

“We’ll take it slow,” he said. He was being nice today, and that made her suspicious.

She dipped her feet into the water up to her ankles. There. That wasn’t so bad. The water was only a foot or so deep here. She could see the sandy bottom. See the little tadpoles flickering around. She closed her eyes and drew a deep breath.

Pine. Loamy earth. Some manly, musky smell.

“I’m impressed. It took me three lessons to get my grandpa this far.”

“Really?” He was probably just trying to boost her confidence.

“You’ll be swimming in no time.”

She huffed. He had no idea what he was working with here. No idea how many times she’d tried.

“How’s the clinic doing? Been busy?”

She saw through the ploy to distract her but grabbed at the chance like a lifeline. “Not bad. Helps that it’s the only one in town. Haven’t seen Rigsby in a while. He must be due for his shots.”

“Probably. Almost brought him with me today. He loves the water but—”

She gave a wry smile. Rigsby was an exuberant young male; think bull in a china shop. “Yeah, not the best of ideas.”

“My grandpa’s nurse said you brought him a cat this week.”

Madison took an animal from the shelter to the Countryside Manor one evening a week. The elderly folk lit up when they saw a friendly canine or feline face, and the animals needed the attention too.

“He likes the dogs—the cats, not so much.”

“He had a basset hound for years. Grandpa may not remember me all the time, but some part of him remembers Bosco.”

Beckett’s grandpa had more or less raised him and Layla, their own dad in and out of jail, usually for petty stuff. Beckett had come by the rebel gene naturally. You didn’t live in a town as small as Chapel Springs and not know these things.

“Alzheimer’s must be tough,” she said.

“On everyone.” He stood in the water and removed his shirt.

Madison looked away, but not before she saw the rippling muscles of his stomach. His shirt hit the grass beside her.

He took a few steps out, the water wetting the legs of his trunks. His shoulders were broad, tapering down to a narrow waist, his skin coppery under the sun.

“Feel like standing?”

She looked down. The water would be over her calves here, the ground sloping into deeper water. Uh, no, she didn’t feel like standing.

“Sure.” She scooted toward the edge. “We’re taking it slow though, right?” She hated the wobble in her voice.

“Like I could make you do something you didn’t want to.”

She was on her feet now. Her toes sank into the sloped bottom. The water lapped at her knees.

“How—how deep is it out there?” She nodded toward the middle.

“Not very. Chest-deep, maybe.”

“On you or me?”

“You. We won’t go any farther than the shore today though.”

That thought made her relax a bit. Here it wasn’t much deeper than bathwater. If she could just forget about all the water . . . out there.

He gathered water in his hands and wet his arms, then splashed to the middle, stomach-deep. He bent his knees, disappearing under the surface, then came up dripping. Show-off.

“So, tell me about this boat of yours.”

“It’s old. Kind of in rough shape.”

Beckett waded toward her. Rivulets of water ran down his neck, over his shoulders. She wondered if he had to work out or if those muscles came from his work. Then she wondered why she was wondering.

She looked away as he approached. Somewhere in a nearby
tree, a whippoorwill called. A breeze rustled the branches and drew chills from her arms.

“So . . . the regatta . . .” Beckett’s eyes narrowed. “You’re not looking to win or anything, right?”

“Actually . . . I’m kind of counting on it.”

“You’ll have your work cut out for you, even with Evan. Lots of stiff competition—including me.”

“You just teach me everything you know, and let me worry about the rest.”

He sank down, sitting a few feet away, the water reaching his rib cage.

“I suppose that’s next,” she said.

He shrugged. “If you’re up to it.”

Like she was going to chicken out in front of him. Her heart accelerated as she squatted. The water closed around her hips. She wet her arms, stalling, her mouth dry, her breaths shallow. When she ran out of excuses, she sat down in the chest-deep water. It pressed against her lungs, its weight crushing.

I’m at home, in my bathtub. I’m just taking a bath.

Except this water was like a living, breathing thing. It licked her arms and tugged at her hair. She forced air into her lungs and back out. In. Out.

“You okay?”

She struggled to act normal and hated that she couldn’t fake it. In front of Beckett, of all people.

“Maddy?”

“
Madison.
” The word was forced through her clenched teeth.

Her veins buzzed with adrenaline, leaving her shaky in its wake. She hated this. Hated it. This was why she’d stopped trying. She was suffocating.

“Just breathe. I’m right here.”

She focused on the rock wall across the way, where a tree had managed to sprout from a crevice. A blue jay joined the whippoorwill, his cry loud and sharp.

You’re fine. It’s just water.

She felt a gentle tug, the water pulling her to and fro. She braced her hands on the creek bed, her fingers clutching for a hold in the sand, sinking.

Then a hand settled on her shoulder, weighting her, steadying her.

He was rushing her. He’d said they wouldn’t go past the shore, and she hadn’t imagined herself chest-deep in that picture.

“You said we’d take it slow.” Her teeth started to chatter, and she clamped down on them.

“Doing great. Just keep breathing.”

She wanted to tell him to kiss off. She wanted to slap his hand from her shoulder, but she needed it, and that only irritated her more.

Why this? Why him? She’d never felt so vulnerable and was too afraid to hide it. It was one thing to do this with Michael, another thing with Beckett. He was probably over there sneering at her weakness. Big bad Beckett, afraid of nothing. His middle name was Risk, and here she was, sitting in a puddle, scared out of her wits. He must be having a real laugh.

Her eyes stung, but she clenched her jaw. Blast it. He wasn’t going to see her cry. She swallowed hard.

He squeezed her shoulder. “Relax. Nothing’s going to happen, I promise.”

He was closer somehow. Did that make her feel better or worse? She wasn’t sure. She breathed in. Breathed out. In. Out.

The warmth of his hand penetrated her skin, warming her to the bone, the weight of it rooting her to the creek bed. She loosened her fingers from the sand, bringing her hands in front of her, pulling her knees up until they peeked above the water. She could do this. Just sit here and relax.

He removed his hand from her shoulder. “See? You’re fine.”

It didn’t sound like he was laughing. His voice was deep and soft, like velvet to her ears. Her heart rate was slowing. Still fast, but better. Maybe she could do this. Maybe it would get easier.

She dared a look at him. Water spiked his lashes, giving his rugged face an appealingly boyish look. His eyes, as dark and enigmatic as a moonless night, stared back. There was no hint of laughter. Instead, they shone with something like concern. It couldn’t be that though. More likely he was afraid she was going off the deep end. Literally.

She looked away, recognizing that her heart thumped her ribs again, this time for an entirely different reason. What was wrong with her? This was Beckett O’Reilly. She’d been half afraid he’d drown her himself, and now she was noticing spiky lashes and . . . and muscles. Fear must be making her chemistry go haywire.

The memory of that night so long ago surged into her mind. Plenty of chemistry then. She pushed the thought down firmly, held it underwater until the last stubborn air bubbles popped to the surface.

She looked down at the water, at the chill bumps pebbling her skin. She wanted to be home right now. Or taking a nice, long run with Lulu. But she wasn’t. She was stuck here in the water, wondering how much worse it was going to get.

Madison gave him a sideways look. “So what fun do you have
in store for me next, O’Reilly? Chinese water torture? Holding me underwater until I run out of breath? Maybe you can just throw me in the middle and see if I sink or swim.”

A blue jay answered, his mocking jeer making her feel worse.

“I’m not a monster, Madison.”

Beckett had been in his share of trouble, but true, he’d never hurt anyone—not that she knew of anyway. In fact, she hadn’t heard many rumors about him at all the past few years. For all she knew, he’d turned over a new leaf. Besides that, he’d only come here to help her. Guilt pinched her hard.