Isle of Hope (20 page)

“Maybe, but I care about him, too, Tess—more than I realized—so I’m not sure I’d have the strength to keep the friendship from straying into something deeper.”

“And would that be such a bad thing?” Tess asked softly.

Lacey buffed her arms, a chill taking her by surprise as she avoided Tess’s eyes. “My heart’s still reeling from a broken engagement,” she said quietly, “and my faith is so new and fragile right now, I’m not sure I can handle a bitter ex-boyfriend whose beliefs run counter to mine.” She lapsed into a melancholy stare. “My mom told me once she believed that was the main reason she and Daddy fought so much. She said her faith was strong when they got married, but Daddy’s wasn’t, and after a while, it took a toll, and hers suffered too.” Lacey finally glanced up, arms in a nervous clutch at her waist. “I just want to marry a man whose faith matches mine, Tess, because after seeing what my mom and dad went through, I need all the stability I can get, you know?”

“Yes, I do.” Tess expelled a weary sigh. “It’s our loss, sweetheart, but I have to say, you’re a wise woman, Lacey Carmichael.”

No, ma’am, just a very wounded one.
Her eyelids fluttered closed as she sucked in a shallow breath, remembering those awful fights between her mother and father over Daddy’s disdain for the church, even with a pastor as a close friend. It wasn’t until faith had become an important part of her own life that the strain between her and Tim suddenly appeared, finally escalating out of control.
Just like Mom and Daddy
. Since her breakup with Tim, she’d vowed to only marry a man of deep faith. She frowned. But then, Tess had married a man of deep faith, hadn’t she?

Throat suddenly parched, she quickly reached for her tea, taking another sip before she managed a wry smile. “Not so wise, Tess, just pretty gun-shy. I saw what being unevenly yoked did to my parents’ marriage, and I have no desire for more of the same.” Her lips skewed into a wry smile while she raised her tea in a toast, giving a sharp nod toward the sky. “Which is why from now on, it’s His way or the highway for me, you know? Hopefully to up my odds for success.”

“Success, yes …” Tess nodded, her eyes trailing into a backyard sanctuary canopied by trees. “Well, we both know I learned the hard way there are no guarantees whether one is evenly yoked or not. But the four of us always had such a great time together, I just assumed any fights we had with our spouses were a natural part of marriage.” The line of her throat shifted as she continued to stare, voice faraway and gaze unblinking. “Like Adam and me.” She finally glanced up, her reverie broken. “And it is to a degree, I suppose, but also a symptom of something deeper that couples need to explore, and pray about, and heal. But even so, sweetheart, I believe your parents loved each other no matter how much they butted heads.”

“I suppose,” Lacey said quietly, not sure at all that her father had harbored much love for either her mother or her.

As if reading her mind, Tess leaned in, the intensity in her tone drawing Lacey’s gaze. “I truly believe your father has mellowed, Lacey, and although he may give you a fight over your desire to make amends, I pray you don’t let his gruffness push you away. Ben Carmichael may not know it yet, but he needs you desperately, honey, and you need him.”

Lacey slowly twirled the empty glass in her hands, her stomach suddenly rolling along with it. “I know,” she whispered, “but what if he keeps turning me away? I’m not sure how much more rejection I can take.”

“He won’t, not if you hang in there and show him you’re as tough as he is.” A smile squirmed on Tess’s lips. “He fought me, too, when I started going over there after that night you brought Davey home, but I wore him down with persistence, pizza, and monster cookies. And if I recall, your father has an unnatural fascination with both your mother’s chocolate chip pie and my monster cookies, so maybe that’s the next bribe you bring.”

A grunt rolled from Lacey’s mouth. “The next one? You’re assuming my grandmother’s peach pie will work this time.”

Tess winked. “Oh, it will, trust me. Because you, Lacey Carmichael, are staying for dinner tonight, and as soon as we hear Beau in the backyard, that’s my cue to pray while you deliver the pie.”

Lacey froze for a split second, the thought of having dinner with Cat as frightening as seeing her father. “Oh, no, not dinner, Tess, I don’t want to impose. I can come back later, really—”

“Nope.” Tess shoved to her feet with a firm jut of her chin. “Trust me, it’s nothing fancy—Davey’s requested sloppy Joes, chips, and marshmallow fruit salad—so it’s no imposition at all, truly. And the girls won’t be home for dinner, so there’s plenty of room.”

Relief flooded Lacey’s veins. “Well then, what can I do? Set the table, take drink orders?”

“Drink orders would be lovely.” Glancing at her watch, Tess nodded toward the O’Bryen’s fishing dock across the street on the Skidaway River. “Tell the boys they have thirty minutes to fish or cut bait before I ring the dinner bell.”

“Will do.” Ponytail bouncing, Lacey rose and pushed in her chair, the lure of the fishing dock calling her home to countless memories she still cherished in her heart. Magical summer nights spent with Jack, Cat and Shannon—fishing, talking, swimming, what have you. Her heart picked up pace along with her feet, thoughts of the “what have you” suddenly warming her cheeks. Shaking off the thought, she pulled out her cell phone to let Mamaw know she wouldn’t be home for dinner.

“Oh, and Lacey …”

She whirled around on the driveway, finger poised on the keypad. “Yes?”

Affection skimmed across Jack’s mother’s face. “It’s been eight long years, sweetheart, and I suspect you haven’t cast a line since, so I’ll bet Jack will still bait the hook if you ask him real nice.”

Lacey grinned and waved to deflect a gulp. Quickly leaving a message for Mamaw, she disappeared around the corner and shuffled down their driveway. “He already has,” she muttered before screeching to a dead stop at the curb on Bluff Drive while a car sped by. She shaded her eyes to peer across the street where Jack, Matt, and the boys laughed and fished on the O’Bryen’s cozy dock with its long, weathered ramp and cedar-shake, cabana-style roof. Little more than miniatures in the distance, they were far enough away to ensure the privacy she and Jack had always sought on summer nights. Jack cast a line wearing nothing more than cutoffs and Sperrys, and Lacey’s stomach tumbled along with her composure when his tan shoulders rippled with the motion. His broad back tapered into a narrow waist while sweat gleamed on muscles molded to perfection, causing a second gulp to rise in her throat. Swallowing hard, she glanced up at the sky, a plea in her eyes. “All I’m asking is
please
don’t let it be me who swallows the bait,” she said, her tone veering toward dry, “or it’ll be hook, line, and sink
her
.

Chapter Nineteen

“Hey, Jack, look what Spence caught!” Davey’s excited words ricocheted across the water from the grassy shore where he’d wandered while fishing with Matt and Spence.

A slow grin slid across Jack’s face as he spied the piece of driftwood dangling from Spence’s rod, the boy’s ear-to-ear grin matching the pride in Davey’s voice. “Good job, Spence. That’ll make a nice souvenir after we sand and polish it, won’t it, Davey?”

“That’s what I told him, so can we do it after supper?”

“You bet.” Jack’s line jerked with a flash of a sea trout, and he casually reeled it in while he glanced in the boys’ direction, both waist deep in a gentle sway of marsh grass. “Any bait left on that hook, Spence, or do you need another worm?”

“Nope, still have some, but thanks.” Spence dislodged the driftwood and carefully set it aside before sailing his bobber back into the water.

“If you boys get tired of catching wood with Matt’s worms, just let me know, and I’ll fix you up with a shrimp and popping cork like I’m using.” Jack taunted them with a wave of his good-sized trout before hooking it onto a stringer rigged to the side of the dock.

“God’s just throwing you a bone, O’Bryen,” Matt called. “Apparently He feels sorry for you ’cause I’ve caught three fish to every one of yours.” He tossed a grin Jack’s way as he ambled further down the shore.

Jack shook his head and re-baited his hook with a jag of a smile. “He’s throwing me a bone all right,” he mumbled under his breath, thoughts straying to Rocks on the Roof a few nights ago when he and Lacey had talked. “A flippin’ T-Rex femur, right in the head.”

“I love you, Lacey. Always have, always will
.”

“I love you, too, Jack. Forever and ever amen.”

Muscles taut, he all but hurled his line into the river along with a colorful word that hissed from his lips.
And yet we’re only friends.

“Battling fish and talking to them is one thing, Dr. O’Bryen, but swearing at them too?”

Jack’s head jerked around, pulse pounding hard in his throat.

Lacey strolled to the edge of the dock, hands clasped behind like a little girl with mischief on her mind. She scrunched her nose as she peered up with an impish smile. “Not sure, but I’m thinkin’ that might be overkill.”

He grinned when his line suddenly tugged, and setting the hook hard, he focused on reeling in another fish. “Oh, I don’t know, seems to work fine for me.” Grabbing the lower lip of the bass, he held it up and cupped a hand to his mouth. “Hey, Matt, you got another stringer I can borrow—mine’s a
little
full.”

Lacey laughed, waving at the boys when they spotted her on the dock. “Mmm … that’s not the only thing that’s full, apparently,” she said with a tilt of her head, her grin just shy of a smirk. “Still the hotshot when it comes to fishing, I see.”

“No brag, just fact, Miss Carmichael,” he said with a chuckle. He squatted at the edge of the dock to hook his fish on the stringer, then rinsed his hands in the water. “Taking potshot at me on my own dock, are you?” He shot her a half-lidded grin. “Why don’t you put your money where your mouth is, Carmichael, and wet a line. Maybe you can teach me a thing or two.”

She assessed him with a narrow gaze. “All right, bucko, you’re on.” Tongue rolling inside her cheek, she strolled over to where several rods were propped against a white weathered Adirondack chair, and making her selection, she marched over to Jack. “First one to land a fish wins, all right? What bait are we using?”

Leg cocked, he placed hands low on his hips, studying her with a twitch of humor. “Live shrimp on a cork, but I suppose I’ll have to bait your hook too, won’t I?”

“Come on, Jack, you know I can’t stand to touch slimy things.” She wrinkled her nose. “Unless they’re boiled and served with cocktail sauce, so man up and bait my hook, ’cause your hands are already smelly.”

He reached for the bait bucket with an exaggerated roll of eyes. “I swear, you’re the only tomboy I’ve ever met who won’t bait her own hook, you big sissy.”

“I’m a girl, Jack, and we like to smell nice, so sue me.” She perched on tiptoe to watch him closely while he fished his hand in the bucket. “Just make sure you don’t give me a shrimp shrimp, O’Bryen, one that’s tinier than yours.”

He arched a brow. “First you mock me, then you boss me around?” He rose and tossed her the rod, laughing when she caught it with a squeal. “Some things never change, I guess.”

“Nope. On your mark, get set, go!” Before he could blink, she stepped away and arced the fishing line up in a clean sweep across the water, squinting in concentration as she drifted the line downwind.

“Hey, I’m not even ready yet, you little brat.” Slashing a hand into the bait bucket, he rigged his line in record time, then whipped it high in a perfect cast that rippled over the water. “But that’s okay, Mike,” he said with a lazy grin. “You’ll need all the time you can get.”

Her gaze never strayed from her line while her jaw notched up, a flicker of a smile flitting across her lips. “Your mother said you have twenty minutes tops, O’Bryen, till dinner is on, so that may hurt you, but me?” Her profile sported a grin. “I won’t need that long.”

The dock thundered with the clomping of little-boy sneakers that sounded anything but sneaky. “Lacey, Lacey, you fishing too?” Spence and Davey screeched across the dock, thumping and rattling the wooden planks so much, Jack was pretty sure any fish had hightailed it to the other side of the river. “What are you using?” Davey skidded to a stop with a pole and stringer in hand. Behind him, Spence carried his piece of driftwood like a priceless treasure.

“Same as Mr. Cocky here—shrimp on a cork,” Lacey replied, a gleam of trouble in the side glance she slid Jack’s way. “In a contest for first fish landed before dinner because
somebody
here has to teach this guy a little humility.”

“Good luck with that,” Matt said, moseying onto the dock with a string of decent fish. “I’ve been trying since the boy was knee-high to a crawdad, but for all his book smarts, he’s a
liiiiiittle
slow.”

Jack chuckled. With an expert snap of his wrist, he patiently popped his cork, producing a chugging sound that resulted in a splash of water eight inches high. “That’s because ‘slow’ is key, my man, especially when fishing with a popping cork, as Miss Twitchy Fingers here is about to learn when I win.”

“What do you win?” Spence asked with a scrunch of freckles, the driftwood clutched to his chest.

Jack’s gaze converged with Lacey’s. “Well, I don’t believe we set the terms yet, now did we, Miss Carmichael?” he said with an evil grin, enjoying the competitive camaraderie he and Lacey had once shared. “But I think it should be something really good, don’t you, Spence?”

“Yeah!” Davey vaulted and fist-pumped the air. “Ice cream at Coldstone after supper.”

“Uh-oh.” With a grate of her lip, Lacey offered a penitent glance, shoulders hunched in apology. “Sorry, guys, but Mamaw sent a peach pie that Davey’s mom plans to serve with vanilla bean ice cream.”

“Awesome,” Matt said with a tweak of Davey’s neck. “I’ve had Mamaw’s peach pie, and it’s killer, Dave, trust me. Especially with your mom’s homemade ice cream.”

“Cool!” Davey high-fived Spence, then spun around to face Lacey. “But what else would be a good prize?”

“Well …” Lacey’s lips pursed in thought as she skipped her cork across the water. “How about the loser takes drink orders and serves them?” she suggested, bobbling her cork way too often to Jack’s way of thinking. “That’s the job Davey’s mom gave me when she invited me to dinner.”

“Wow, you’re staying for dinner?” Spence’s eyes blinked even wider than usual as a shy grin eased across his lips. “Way cool!”

“I’ll second that,” Jack said with a much slower, steadier pop of his cork, grinning when he felt a slight tug on his line, “but let’s up the ante to both drink service
and
loser waits on the winner all night.”

“Deal!” Lacey jerked her rod up hard, her line as taut as the smile on her face while she strained to reel in a definite flash of silver at the exact moment Jack set his hook.

Screeches blistered Jack’s ears as the boys bounded into the air with hoops and hollers when a beauty of a trout leapt from the water at the end of his line. Adrenaline coursed as he fought to reel him in, his muscles tense and slick with sweat. “Come on, baby,” he whispered, determined that Lacey Carmichael would—for tonight at least—do his bidding.

“Holy cow, it’s a tie!” Davey shouted, rattling the dock with wild stomping while cheers and whistles sounded from behind.

Matt moved to the edge of the dock, his laughter ringing as Lacey and Jack battled it out, grunt for grunt. “Then biggest fish wins,” he called, and Jack had no time to compare. All he knew was he hadn’t had a fighter like this all summer, and it was a flippin’ monster. He prayed—likely for the first time in years—that his line wouldn’t break. He’d be bushed after landing this one for sure, but that was okay because tonight he could rest on his laurels. Reeling it in, he quickly squatted to hook his fingers into the massive jaws of a truly beautiful spottail bass, lifting it from the water with a satisfied grin. Oh yes, indeedy. Lacey Carmichael would be waiting on him tonight.

Hand, foot, and finger.