Meant to Be (8 page)

“The foot,” he said, that damn eyebrow still lingering near his hairline.

She gave him her foot and called him a jerk. In her head.

While Joe untied the laces on her right shoe, Beth ignored the throbbing in her left thigh from holding that foot up off Joe’s lap. If she let the limb drop, her heel would be much too close to a crucial part of his anatomy. A part she shouldn’t be contemplating but the more she tried not to contemplate, the more she felt heat shoot to the tips of her ears.

“Does it hurt that bad?” he asked.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re holding your breath.”

Beth exhaled and let her foot drop but kept it as far down his thigh as she could. “I told you, it’s not that bad.”

Joe pulled off her right shoe.

“Shit and stickers!” she yelled.

“You’re getting better at that.” He set her foot gently on his leg and turned to face her. “Sorry.”

Removing her nails from the wood of the bench seat and invoking her yoga breathing, Beth took almost a minute to speak again. “Not your fault.” Another breath and the fire shooting up her calf eased. “Guess they’re worse than I thought.”

“They’re bad all right.” As Joe bent for a closer look, Tom stepped onto the porch.

“What happened?” his dad asked. Spotting the blood, he moved forward and kneeled before the bench. “Did this happen tonight?”

Beth shook her head. “This morning, but I guess I aggravated them running the tables.” Uncomfortable with the attention, she tried to put her feet on the floor. “I really am fine. A couple new Band-Aids and I’ll be ready to tap dance.”

With a firm hand around her right calf, Joe held Beth in place. Ignoring her protest, he addressed Tom. “You have any peroxide in there?”

“Should have.” Tom flipped through the first aid kit, drawing out a small brown bottle. “Let me find some cotton balls.”

“That square pad there should work,” Joe said, pointing into the plastic box.

Beth couldn’t get over the way they were ignoring her as if the feet in question belonged to some lifeless mannequin. “I’m still here, you know. Why won’t anyone listen to me?”

“Stop talking nonsense and we’ll listen.” Joe looked to Tom. “Might be best to pour the peroxide on. You got a towel?”

“I’ll grab a clean one from the kitchen. Be right back.”

As they sat alone in silence broken only by the sound of crickets and the occasional passing car, Joe cleaned the blood from around the blisters with an alcohol swab while Beth pretended not to be affected. Closing her eyes, she sent her brain elsewhere by focusing on the chirping crickets. The creaking of the Dempsey’s sign swaying in the night breeze. The smell of salt and male in the air.

Her eyes shot open to find Joe watching her. “I thought you were nodding off.”

As if she could fall asleep with him so close, wreaking havoc on her nerve endings. “I’m awake.”

“Good,” he said, sharing a half grin that turned her inside out.

“I brought two,” Tom said, joining them again. “Toss ’em when you’re done.”

Beth reached out a hand. “I don’t want to ruin your good towels.”

Joe and Tom chuckled in unison. “Don’t worry, darlin’. Bar towels are a dime a dozen. Literally.” Tom leaned over her feet again, then looked at Joe. “I could have one of the other waitresses come out and do this.”

There seemed to be a question in Tom’s words, but Beth couldn’t be sure. Being doctored by Joe did feel odd. Intimate almost.

“I’ve got it,” Joe said, the command in his voice ending the unspoken debate.

Tom sighed as he rose to his full height. With a reassuring smile Beth’s way, he nodded. “I’ll leave you to it then.”

Sliding one of the towels across his lap beneath her feet, Joe reached for the peroxide. “This might sting. I’ll count to three then pour. You ready?”

Beth nodded then gripped the bench.

“One, two…” Without saying “three,” he tipped the bottle. The sting made her eyes water.

“You didn’t say three,” she ground through clenched teeth. “You’d make a horrible doctor.” She refused to cry
over stupid blisters, but the tighter she closed her eyes, the more the tears threatened.

“My last doctoring was done on a turtle. I didn’t hear him complain.”

The laugh bubbled out before she could stop it. Her shoulders relaxed as the pain faded to a tolerable twinge. “Careful or I’ll start a rumor that you have a sense of humor.”

“Don’t threaten the doctor while he’s working.”

Joe dried the peroxide that had run down her foot, his hands gentle as if trying not to cause her any more pain than necessary. “Thank you,” she whispered.

“Don’t mention it.”

“I mean for earlier.”

His hands stilled for a moment, then returned to their ministrations. “Those guys are idiots. I should have ignored them.”

“What guys?”

Joe jerked, turning a gentle pat into a rough poke.

“Ow!”

“Sorry.”

“Maybe I shouldn’t talk to you while you’re doing this.”

“Whatever you want.” He glanced up, met her eyes, then looked away. “Won’t happen again.”

She considered asking about the guys in question, but decided for the sake of her feet to move on. “I meant back there with Sid. You saved my life.”

Joe snorted. “Sid isn’t that bad.”

“She threatened me with a pool stick. Though I’m not sure if she intended to beat me with it or shove it down my throat.”

“She didn’t threaten you.”

“I know a threat when one comes my way. That was a threat.”
Blow in my ear.
The nerve. “The woman needs a keeper.”

“That woman is my friend. You shouldn’t go around judging people you don’t know.”

The shock of his words hindered her brain function for several seconds. Then the anger came. “You amaze me. Until yesterday, you believed me to be a materialistic blonde bimbo serving as the latest acquisition in your brother’s lifelong goal to collect the most…crap. I’d call that judging someone you don’t know.”

Joe poured peroxide over her other foot.

“Good God, just kill me.”

“Stop being dramatic,” he said, setting the bottle on the porch and dabbing her foot with a corner of the towel. “And I know my brother.”

“You what?” Beth asked. Chucking the yoga breathing, she started to pant.

Pulling a bandage from the kit, he squeezed gel from a yellow tube onto a small gauze square. “Hold still while I tape this on.”

Between the cold gel and the pressure of the gauze, holding still became impossible. “Are you trained in torture methods or just practicing these techniques on me for fun?”

“That turtle was a better patient than you are. At least he held still.”

“He was probably moving,” Beth said, biting her bottom lip, “too slow to be noticed.”

She’d finally gained his attention. “That might be the worst joke I’ve ever heard.” But he smiled. His eyes dropped
to her lips, the bottom one clenched between her teeth. Beth’s heart beat an uncomfortable rhythm. “Bite any harder and I’ll have to doctor that lip up next.”

Beth licked her lips, then closed her mouth. She couldn’t look away, even when he returned his attention to the task at hand. Or foot, as it were. Regardless of how much she provoked, his hands remained gentle.

“You’re right,” he said.

“I am?”

“I shouldn’t have assumed that stuff about you.” He met her eyes again. “But I had my reasons.”

She leaned her head on the back of the bench. “What reasons?”

He ignored her question and asked one of his own. “Why didn’t you call me on it?”

“I told you. I didn’t want to embarrass you.”

“Why not?”

She straightened and repositioned herself on the bench. “The reason I’m on this island is to meet Lucas’s family. To make you all like me. If I’d embarrassed you before we’d even been introduced, then you might have never liked me.”

His brows drew together and his eyes narrowed. “You think Lucas would change his mind if we didn’t like you?”

“No. But I’m not doing this just for Lucas. I have my own reasons.”

Joe applied a final piece of tape, then lowered her feet to the floor. “I wouldn’t put the shoes back on. Dad should be leaving soon. He’ll take you home.”

Tossing the damp, bloodstained towels in the garbage can at the top of the stairs, Joe stomped down the steps and walked off into the night.

Beth didn’t move. The sound of a motor turning traveled on the breeze, then tires on gravel followed by tail-lights fading in the distance. Something had just happened. Something she didn’t understand. While part of her brain, the rational, practical side, told her not to go there, the purely feminine side sat back with a sigh.

Joe Dempsey had more layers than he wanted anyone to see. And he’d managed to peel back a couple of hers as well.
Be careful, my dear. You’re walking on dangerous ground.

B
eth saw Joe briefly the next morning, and in the few seconds during which they shared the same space, he refused to make eye contact. Even when he said good morning in his gruff, grunting way, his eyes never met hers.

Lucas had left a message on the Dempseys’ home phone while Beth was at the restaurant. Exhausted and edgy after a long drive followed by meetings into the night, Lucas had explained that the evidence was worse than he’d expected, which tilted the odds of winning in the prosecution’s favor.

Though a selfish thought, Beth couldn’t help but be more upset about what the new evidence meant for their vacation. She’d told herself throughout the day that Lucas would return. He’d come to his senses, let the rest of the team handle the case, and be back on Anchor the next night. But with one brief message he’d snuffed any hope of a quick return.

Patty had announced that morning that she’d be running over to Hatteras for her Sunday grocery expedition and asked if Beth would like to tag along. Since the trip would require riding the ferry, Beth did her best to refuse the offer as gracefully as possible. Which meant breaking
out in a sweat and yelling, “No!” Something she was doing much too often on this trip.

Tom refused her help for the lunch shift, so Beth was once again left to her own devices. Though there were plenty of shops and sights to explore, the place she really wanted to be was hanging out with Lola. Which is why she was now sitting alone in the art store, making jewelry and hoping no one would try to buy anything before Lola returned.

Lola had needed to run a quick errand and after giving Beth a crash course on the antiquated register, assured her she’d be back in no time. Trusting woman, that Lola. So far on this vacation Beth had waited tables and was now holding down a brief gig in retail. She’d be irritated if she weren’t actually having fun.

The tips at Dempsey’s were good, and Tom had forced her to keep them. Wanting to put them back in the local economy, Beth browsed Lola’s store, picking out items that spoke to her. The first had been a black-and-white patterned vase, larger than the purple one she’d purchased the day before. This one would be perfect for her living room, while the purple one would go nicely in her kitchen. According to Lola, both vases had been handblown by an artist up in Nags Head. The work was exquisite.

The second treasure was a pencil sketch of the Anchor Lighthouse. Beth had yet to see the landmark in person, but the sketch wove such light and shade into the image, she could almost hear the gulls above and the waves in the distance. She had to have it.

Her island booty, as Lola called it, wrapped and tucked safely behind the counter, Beth turned her attention to the
large selection of gems and beads laid out in the far corner of the store. Worktables dotted the area so tourists could gather the pieces of their choosing and assemble them into their own unique designs.

Beth had dabbled in jewelry making during high school, but her grandmother discouraged anything that detracted from her studies. She’d surreptitiously managed to get her art supplies into her dorm room in college, but endless papers and pressure to maintain a high GPA stole her attention. Slackers didn’t get accepted to law school, or so her grandmother warned often enough. She never did make another piece.

A spattering of tourists wandered around the artwork as Beth occupied a small workstation in the back corner, which afforded her a view of the entire shop. She’d chosen to make a bracelet using various shapes and sizes of beads. Shades of blue slid together, broken by the occasional silver faux pearl. As she assembled the clasp, she realized one of the stones matched the same powerful blue as Joe’s eyes.

The memory of his smile filled her mind, followed closely by the steady dose of sparks his touch ignited in her system. Had she subconsciously chosen that blue on purpose?

The notes from the wind chime hanging off the front door saved Beth from pondering the question. A blonde draped in an expensive-looking black-and-white dress, espadrilles, and large Jackie O sunglasses entered the shop. Her hair was short and stylish, her nails white-tipped perfection, and Beth knew the clutch tucked beneath the customer’s right arm cost more than Beth’s car payment.

A sense of familiarity lingered, as if Beth had seen her somewhere before.

“Can I help you?” she said, as the woman stopped just inside the door.

“I’m looking for Lola LeBlanc.” The pinched voice contained the lilt of money with the typical lack of generosity. Beth knew this kind well. They were usually married to one of the partners at the law firm.

“Lola had to step out, but she’ll be back shortly. Is there something I can do for you, or would you like to wait?”

Beth slid behind the counter while doing her best impression of a servant ready to serve. The blonde glanced at her watch, and Beth noticed a ring of diamonds surrounding the tiny glass. The term
high maintenance
came to mind.

“When will she be back? I have an appointment in twenty minutes.”

She’d set aside a whole twenty minutes for Lola. Must be important. Perhaps her next appointment was kidnapping puppies. “Are you here to pick up an item? If you’ll give me your name, I can see if there’s something in the back room for you.”