Ready To Burn (Due South Book 3) (25 page)

She glanced over her shoulder at the snack table. Carly still hovered there with a glass of champagne in one hand and a plate in the other. Piper had insisted Carly come, refusing to take no for an answer.

While their mum, Glenna, had welcomed her effusively when she’d arrived at the shower with West’s mother Claire, the coolness from some of the older ladies was palpable. Glenna’s influence produced a grudging politeness from the locals when they were forced to socialize with Claire, but Stewart Island women had long memories. Claire had abandoned her man, and therefore, them. And although she’d begun to redeem herself with her return to care for Bill, her pretty, red-haired stepdaughter was an unknown.

Shaye slid out of her seat and crossed to the snack table.

“Don’t touch Mrs. Brailsford’s Anzac cookies,” she murmured, standing at Carly’s side. “They’ll break your molars with one bite.”

“Thanks for the warning. Maybe it’s safer to stick to this.” She tipped her plastic wine glass toward Shaye with a tight smile. “Or your macaroons. They look safe.”

“They won’t break your teeth, at least.”

More crazed laughter and hoots from behind them.

“It was nice of your sister to invite me to her shower,” Carly said.

“She wasn’t being nice; she genuinely wants you here. So do Glenna and Kezia. And me.” Shaye moved to the edge of the table and picked up a plastic glass of orange juice. “I want you here, too.”

“West doesn’t.” Carly drained half her champagne. “You think I’ll win him over?”

“Absolutely. Now you’re working in Due South, you’ll wear him down with a campaign of sisterly love.”

Carly snorted. “He doesn’t want a sister.”

“But he needs one—he just doesn’t know it yet.” Shaye tipped her orange juice at Carly in a silent toast.

They moved to a row of seats against the wall and sat in silence, both sipping their drinks.

Carly turned slightly on her chair, crossing her legs and balancing the plate on her knee. “I’m glad Del’s found you. I haven’t seen him so happy in a long, long time.”

“I don’t think it’s to do with me.” She turned the plastic cup in her hands. “It’s more about him scoring a spot on Ethan Ward’s show.” Keep the conversation in safe territory— that was the plan.

“The show’s not why he’s gained a little weight and is looking less zombie-like. Whatever is going on between you two, you’re obviously good for him—better for him than Jessica the party girl.”

“Jessica?”

Carly’s brow crinkled, her lips twisting. “His poor ex—”

Glenna waved frantically from the other side of the hall, yelling, “Shaye, Carly. Cake-cutting time!”

Shaye’s hand trembled as she downed another gulp of juice, the plastic glass rattling against her teeth. “We’d better go.”

Her scalp tingled, as if tiny fire ants marched across it. So Jessica was the
complicated relationship
Del mentioned at his place. Jessica, the ex-girlfriend. The party girl. The fun, wild, sophisticated girl. Everything Shaye wasn’t. She pasted on a fat fake smile, determined to ignore the tiny seed of jealousy sprouting in her belly.

Stupid, pointless,
ridiculous
seed.

She and Carly walked over to the proudly displayed wedding-dress-shaped cake made by Betsy Taylor. Shaye left Carly by her mother’s side and went to collect a stack of paper plates, ready to do bridesmaid’s duty of cake distribution with Kezia. Piper slid the knife through the buttercream icing, and everyone clapped.

“Don’t forget, single ladies,” said Mrs. Taylor, as Piper transferred the first slice to Kezia. “If you get the slice with the ring, it means you’re next in line to marry your sweetheart!”

Shaye doled out plates of cake, napkins and forks, and the women moved away to sit in small clusters.

“That’s your slice.” Piper handed Shaye a plate. “Don’t get all weepy if you don’t find the ring. I’ll help you practice your diving skills for the bouquet toss later.”

Shaye snatched the plate from her sister. “I won’t be diving for anything, and even if I did—”

“Holly’s found it!” bugled Mrs. Taylor from across the hall. “Holly’s found the ring! Who’s the lucky man, dearie?”

Shaye turned away from her sister and waved at Holly, who’d gone crimson with the attention. Tears suddenly stung Shaye’s eyes, and she blinked rapidly.

She’d nearly finished the thought out loud.
And even if I did
…what would be the point of finding a crappy ring-in-a-cake or catching a bouquet, since she didn’t
even have
a sweetheart. No sweetheart, only a guy wanting to bang her senseless.

Pressing her lips together, she stabbed her fork into the cake.
Get a grip, woman
. Of course Del wasn’t sweetheart material, but she could still enjoy hot, no-strings sex while he was around. But a small corner of her heart ached as she spotted Piper, a dreamy look on her face, smoothing plastic wrap over a slice of cake and a few other goodies on a paper plate.

To take home to West.

That same small corner of Shaye’s heart wanted someone to go home to. Someone who’d smile, knowing she’d been thinking of him.

Chapter 13

Del’s feathered alarm clock woke him at 5:32 a.m. with a raucous squawk and a rata-tat-tat on the window pane.

Goddamned bird-brained kaka.

He flung off the covers and rolled to the bunk edge. Experience gained in the past twelve days had taught him the bird absolutely wouldn’t quit until Del went out with his coffee and a handful of peanuts.

At least this kaka hadn’t notified all his buddies about the sucker living in Walter’s beach house, ‘cause if he had, Del’d have a chain-gang waiting on his deck.

Del scrubbed his face and hauled on his jeans. With a morning off work, and Ethan’s crew in meetings and who-knew-what-else until the planned Mollymawk trip tomorrow, waking early for some physical labor wasn’t such a bad thing. Del hoped to have a coat of paint on the southern wall by lunchtime.

Rummaging through a drawer for an old shirt, Del spotted the flash of Shaye’s lacy blue panties tucked in the back. Not even the bird’s caterwauling could dial down the smile on his face from the sight of her sexy underwear. She’d called him a thief, but he fully intended to return them—after she’d spent a night in his bed.

For once, Stewart Island’s unpredictable weather decided to play nice. After coffee on the deck—and yeah, the tiny waves curling ashore as dawn broke in gold and pink was maybe worth the brainless bird’s wake-up call—Del fed his feathered blackmailer and then got to work.

By the time a car parked and cut the engine outside his place, he’d nearly finished the top coat of pale green Walter had selected. Del swiped a hand across his forehead as the car door slammed.
Damn
. He hoped the car’s owner hadn’t stopped to shoot the shit awhile. He continued to stroke the brush over the weatherboard, climbing another rung on the ladder.

It’d require Chinese water torture to force him to admit he enjoyed the hell out of painting Walter’s house. Something about the bite of fresh sea air, the dull ache in his arms from stretching above his head, and the pungent smell of paint. Better way to spend his morning off than the way he usually wasted one in LA. That had often involved dragging his hung-over butt out of bed to laze around staring at his apartment walls, or, if he hadn’t been totally trashed the night before, a punishing run.

“Looking good, boy.”

His father appeared around the corner of the house with a faded legionnaire’s cap on and a six-pack of beer in his hand.

“Hey.” Del lowered the brush and stepped down a rung.

“No, no—don’t stop on account of me.” Bill walked over to a small wooden bench overlooking the beach. “I’ll sit here and watch you work. Brought some beer for after you’re done.”

Del shrugged. “Thanks. Nice enough day for it.”

See? He could be civil when his father decided to act like an actual human being.

Bill sat, placing the beers beside him. “Finish the wall, and I’ll let you have one.”

“Bit early for Happy Hour.” Del carefully swiped excess paint off the brush, his gut knotting at the condensation pebbling the cans’ sides. God. When he’d moved in, he’d sworn he wouldn’t risk the temptation of bringing alcohol into the house.

“My age, you don’t worry about waiting for Happy Hour.” Bill chucked. “You enjoy a beer while you still can. I can’t with these bloody kidneys.”

“Right.” Guess this conversation was long overdue.

“So…they ran some tests on me at Invercargill hospital.” Del slapped the brush on the wall, his attempts to keep the paint evenly coated thwarted by his pulse throbbing through his body like a giant toothache. “Looks as if I’m potential donor material.”

Loaded silence from behind him. He’d thrown the grenade into Bill’s territory; would it explode? Or would he toss it back?

“Is this where you tell me I’m a terrible father and I don’t deserve your forgiveness, let alone a body part?”

For once, no aggravation roughened his father’s tone, or any hint of animosity. Just a weariness that had Del’s fingers tightening on the paintbrush’s handle.

“Do you even
want
my kidney?”

A derisive snort. “I sure don’t want to spend the rest of my life on dialysis.”

“A yes, then.”

“Actually, my answer is more like
I don’t bloody know
. It’s a lot to ask, and we’re not exactly…well. There’s been more than the Pacific Ocean between us for a number of years.”

“Thirteen, to be exact.” Del loaded up the brush again, even though the hairs running down his spine had lifted.

“Yeah.”

Bite the bullet, Del. Take the vicious bull by the horns and deal with this once and for all.

“Let’s hear it, then.” Del turned on the ladder. “The reasons why I should cut you a break for being a shitty father.”

“Nothing good to say about me, then?” Bill crossed his skinny old-man ankles, looking completely unperturbed by the bitterness in Del’s voice. “No grace because I didn’t wale the crap outta you as a kid?”

“So you never beat us. Doesn’t make you a shining example of fatherly concern.”

Bill grunted, dug around in his pocket for a tissue, and blew his nose. The sun shone too brightly overhead for Del to identify the expression in his father’s eyes.

“Far as West’s concerned, you were a pretty good dad,” said Del. “Then again, you didn’t send him away to another continent when he was fourteen.”

“You ever bother to ask why, as you got older?”

Considering he’d mostly refused to take Bill’s calls, or the times he couldn’t avoid the phone since it’d been Lionel who’d handed it to him, he’d answered Bill’s questions in a monotone. No, he’d never been brave enough to hear why his father hadn’t wanted him around.

“Seemed pretty obvious. We butted heads constantly, so it was easier when mom left to keep the son who didn’t drive you nuts. You figured I’d be some other man’s problem kid.”

“And were you?”

“Yeah. But Lionel sorted me out. He was a good guy.”

“I always said so. I trusted Lionel to shape you into the man you needed to be.”

Del’s hand froze, icicles creeping up through his fingers and tingling in his palm. The brush trembled, causing little eddies to swirl through the paint.

“You didn’t know Lionel.”

“No, not well. I only met him the one time, during the week we spent with your mother’s family.”

Del squinted behind his sunglasses. “I was ten, and we went to all the theme parks. You and I rode the coasters together because West and Mom said they’d puke.”

“We screamed our lungs out and loved every damn second.” Bill chuckled. “You remember meeting Lionel and his daughter?”

“Nah, we met too many different people—grandparents, cousins, distant aunts and uncles—”

“And some school friends of your mother’s,” Bill said. “Well, your future stepdad was Claire’s old high school sweetheart. She broke it off after they graduated college, and he went into the Air Force. They both moved on with their lives. Me and Claire got married, and so did Lionel. Then nineteen years ago, Lionel’s wife died in an accident and left him the sole parent of their six-year-old daughter.”

Del stepped off the ladder and shifted it along to the edge of the house. Last corner, then he was done for the day. “I know about Lionel’s wife.”

“Course you do. You consider that sweet girl your sister, don’t ya?”

Del nodded, picking up his paint bucket and scaling the metal rungs again.

“Lionel never got over Claire.” Bill sighed. “When we came to LA for a visit, he couldn’t resist coming to the family lunch at your grandparents’ house. Lionel and I sized each other up, and he pulled me aside during the afternoon. He told me he’d loved your mother since they were in grade school, but he wished the two of us happiness. Told me to treasure her, as I’d never know when some drunk bastard could take her away.”

“That sounds like Lionel. Guts of a Fly-Boy, heart of a romantic.”