A Woman To Blame Page 12

  Rick led her to a sofa and sat down beside her. Reaching for a tissue, he fumbled, pulling out a handful instead, and shoved them into her hands. At least that elicited a snorted laugh from her. After a while she stopped dabbing her eyes and looked up at him.

  "How much do you know about my grandfather's life before he came to the Keys?"

  He started to speak, but realized he had virtually nothing to say. "Bryn, people down here leave a person's past alone. They don't ask questions about a newcomer's background either. What I know about Pappy's past can fit on a post-it note. It's what I know about him now that counts. He's a good man."

  "I know that. But what you don't know is, he had a fight with his brother, my uncle Ron, over the family business. Uncle Ron wanted him to open up another auto parts store in the next county, but Grandfather refused. Everyone in the family had an opinion about it, even my grandmother. She pushed and pushed for him to open another store." Bryn stopped talking, staring hard into the hallway. Finally she sighed and leaned back against the sofa. "One day, after about a month of this, Grandfather suddenly packed a suitcase and left town."

  Rick twisted slowly around to look at her. "He left your grandmother?"

  Bryn nodded. "We couldn't figure it out. Grandmother refused to talk about it. She said it was too humiliating. Within a year they were divorced and he'd started his life over down here. A few years later everyone praised Uncle Ron for marrying her. My father was so angry with Grandfather that he wouldn't let us mention his name." Tears started down her face again. "For years I almost forgot about him—forgot this wonderful man who always treated me like a princess."

  "What happened?"

  "After my grandmother and Uncle Ron died in a car accident, we were going through her things. I found a stack of love letters."

  "Ah, from Pappy," Rick said, reaching for her hand.

  She gulped and swallowed. "From my uncle Ron. They were seeing each other during her marriage to my grandfather. Rick, she was having an affair with his brother, and he must have found out about it. Knowing that must have broken his heart. And his pride... well, that kept him from seeing me. Seeing all of us."

  "But you've been coming to see him, Bryn."

  Swiping at her nose with the ball of tissues, she said, "Only after I'd read those letters. I think he knows that I know about his brother and my grandmother. Rick, I should have said something to him."

  "Bryn," he said, shifting uneasily. "Why would you want to bring up something that painful from the past? Why not let it alone?"

  "And pretend nothing ever happened? Oh no, this kind of hurt, going on as long as it has, needs its moment in the light. I've already told him how badly I feel about missing all those years with him, but I never told him I've forgiven him for not being there, and for his pretending we all stopped existing when he found out about Uncle Ron and my grandmother." Picking at the ball of tissue, she asked in a desperate whisper, "Don't you see?"

  "I see that an old man who has the granddaughter he adores with him doesn't need to be reminded about a miserable time from his past. Bryn, I'd reconsider telling him." He watched for a sign that he'd made his point, but she continued to cry and he wasn't certain how to read a woman's tears anymore. It had been so long.... Pinching the bridge of his nose, he said, "If you still feel compelled, I'd highly recommend you don't tell him until he's back on his feet."

  Staring hard again into the hall, she shook her head in confusion. "I'm not sure what to do. I have to think." Raising her hands in a helpless gesture, she thumped them against her chest. "Rick, you never know when people you love are going to leave you."

  "I know, I know," he said, pulling her into his arms when she hid her face in her hands. Patting her back, he whispered words of comfort as he thought about Pappy. And Angie. If he waited long enough, he reassured himself, all those chaotic thoughts trying to claim him would drift to the back of his mind. Pulling her closer, he pressed a kiss against the curly top of her head.

  "Excuse me," came a voice from the hallway. "Pappy Madison is back in his room."

  Bryn sat up, clutching the raggedy remnants of tissues to her breast. "Is he going to be okay?"

  "No broken bones. We should have known Pappy would be too hardheaded. He's going to be fine."

  "Can we see him?" Bryn asked as Rick stood up with her.

  "The nurse will be out to get you in a minute."

  "Thank you, Doctor," she said, slipping her arms around Rick's waist. As the doctor walked away she looked up at Rick. "Thank you for being here. And for listening. I think I would have really lost it if you hadn't been here for me."

  Brushing her hair away from her brow, he stared down into her eyes and smiled. He didn't agree with the way she wanted to handle things with Pappy, but at least she'd heard him out. Maybe those scenes from his past would stop replaying and he could start this afternoon in the present with Bryn again.

  "Hey," he said, thumbing away the moisture below her eyes, "you almost lost it last time we stood in this alcove too. Remember?"

  Her sigh was a cleansing one, deep and revitalizing. "What I remember most is that you almost kissed me. Or did I almost kiss you?"

  Pulling her close, he brushed his lips against hers in a sweet kiss. "Go ahead, blame it on me," he said, happy to have made another memory to add to his list.

  Chapter 8

  "That's it," Bryn said, standing in the middle of Pappy's Crab Shack. Pointing to the second smear of paint on the wall, she nodded confidently to the group as the reinstalled jukebox played another oldie. "This, uh," she began, then paused to look at the paint chip card in her hand, "Sumatra Tan is so much more workable than Bark Beige or Cafe au Lait. You see, there's not as much gray..." she said, squinting at the wall and then the paint chip card. "At least, I don't think—"

  "Quick," Rick said to the rest of the people in the room, "start rolling it on before she changes her mind."

  "Ha-ha. Very funny," she said good-naturedly amid their laughing. Walking over to the far end of the bar, she heard Rick coming up behind her. Slapping the paint chips onto the refinished wood surface, she turned to point at him.

  "Just because I've decided to get back to basics with the decor doesn't mean I'm willing to settle for second best for Pappy's Crab Shack."

  In the only shadowed corner of the room, Rick took her finger between his teeth, sucked it into his mouth, and swirled his tongue around it. For one intense second she thought she was going to embarrass herself by gasping out loud. Then he released her finger and turned back toward the rest of the people.

  "Bryn's right, Captain Parrish," Rita Small said, from her place by the secondhand piano. Chiseling off suspiciously barnaclelike substances from the top, she stopped long enough to offer her opinion. "This old place is going to be as comfy as before, only fresher. Pappy's going to love what Bryn's done to the place."

  "How's his head from that fall he had?" Jiggy asked.

  "Harder than ever," Rick said as he went down the stairs. "I'm going for that extra tarp in the truck."

  "Need help with it?" Jiggy asked.

  "No, thanks. Just keep stirring that paint and I'll be up with it in a minute."

  "Okay," Jiggy said, before turning his attention to Bryn. "Now that Pappy's started his physical therapy, when will he be well enough to have a look at the place?"

  "The doctor says the week of the sports festival is the soonest we can have him back. I'll never be able to thank you all enough for pitching in with this," she said, raising her hands to indicate the interior of the Crab Shack. "With so much going on with the festival, Grandfather's hospital stay, my own business, and then turning this restaurant project around, I don't know how I'd have managed without you."

  Liza Manning looked up from the papers spread out before her on the opposite end of the bar. "Seems only right that we should, since Pappy insisted we use the place as headquarters during Sports Festival Week. Besides, what are friends for?"

  "Ms. Manning, don't
go getting all sappy or I'll cry in this paint and mess it up," Jiggy said from his squatting position next to a paint can. Lifting the stir stick, he let the rich tan liquid dribble off the end. "Looks like the color of the sand over on August Moon Key."

  Bryn glanced away from the old brass clock she had started polishing to glimpse the color. Smiling, she turned back to the clock again, recalling the afternoon a few days ago when Rick helped her pick it out in an antique shop in Key West. That was the same day he'd finally gotten to show her the secondhand piano Rita was working on. The same day they'd finally checked into Lord Eddie's, took that long walk on the beach and then made love all afternoon. "August Moon Key," she said slowly. "That sounds so romantic."

  "Captain Parrish used to think so," Jiggy said as he concentrated on neatly pouring the paint from the can into the paint tray. "He used to take Angie there every chance he could."

  The room went silent, leaving Bryn with the deafening sound of her pounding heart.

  "Hush up, Jiggy, or I'll put a tangle in your tackle so tight that you'll go blind getting it straight again," Liza said.

  Rita Small thunked the chisel onto the piano and noisily cleared her throat before reaching for the sandpaper by her feet. "Liza, I believe you've been spending too much time with Pappy."

  Rita's words of admonishment came a few seconds too late to ring true. Eight pairs of eyes were now slowly turning toward Bryn. Heat crept up her face, making her skin sting. Why should it matter to her if Rick used to take his wife to a deserted little island? That happened years ago; they were divorced now and that's what mattered. Shoving a lock of hair away from one eyebrow, she found herself wondering once again why Rick was virtually mute on the subject of his ex-wife.

  If Angie Parrish was no longer a part of his life, then why hadn't he brought her up in the normal course of their conversations? Had Angie been the dragon lady who broke Rick's heart? Or did Rick continue to feel guilty because he had been the cause of their divorce? He'd had no trouble explaining Sharon Burke to her. Why not his ex-wife? Was he still in love with her?

  Squeezing her eyes shut, Bryn tried desperately to get control of her wandering thoughts. Until her grandfather was safely on both feet again, the rest of her life was on hold anyway. Whatever the explanation for Rick's continued silence, she was crazy to allow herself to be torn apart like this. She fought to stay in control of her thoughts as they raced ahead unchecked. These feelings for Rick existed in a world apart from the rest of her life, and because of that, she could handle them. Besides, what good would it do for her to force him to talk about his past? She'd already tried several times anyway. What they were sharing had nothing to do with the past, and who cared about the future? The answer to that brash question left her breathless. She cared about the future, because she was in love with Rick Parrish.

  Admitting to herself what she'd been suspecting for days, had her shaking all over. Pressing the back of her hand over her lips, she pulled in a deep breath through her nostrils, then let it out slowly. This summer on Malabar Key was about more than taking care of her grandfather. For the first time in her life she was taking care of her own needs. She had happily put the rest of her life on hold, except the part of her that filled with joy each time Rick walked in the room, the same part that died a little each time he left. Now that she'd admitted to herself that she was in love with Rick, it all made sense. So why wasn't she happier about the revelation?

  With the disquieting whispers going on around her, she slid onto a bar stool with a sigh and stared out at the highway. When it came to the subject of Rick's past, she spent more time excusing his silence then truly ignoring it. Sooner or later she was going to have to confront Rick about it, because the simplicity of their togetherness had begun dissolving in a sea of unanswered questions. All the lighthearted laughter, comfortable companionship, and steamy sex weren't going to be enough to keep Bryn's fear at bay much longer. Especially since the object of that fear had been named. Angie Parrish.

  Bryn sensed the rest of the committee and the several volunteers behind her still reacting to the mention of Angie with murmurs punctuated by silence. This miserable situation couldn't last forever, she told herself. It didn't.

  Rick walked into the room with the rolled-up tarp balanced over one of his muscular shoulders. He winked at her, and for one glorious instant the tension within her melted into a pulsing mass of pleasure. Angie who? she thought flippantly.

  "You must have been talking about me, because you all look as guilty as sin," he said, letting the tarp slam onto the floor. "What's up?"

  Meek little Hazel Miller astonished Bryn with her reply. "Why, Captain Parrish, I was thinking about a community fish fry to wind up the festival week." Pointing over the railing, she added, "Right down there in the palm grove. What do you think?"

  "Sounds like a great idea, but I've got to run it by the other chair. Bryn?"

  This was her moment to prove to all of them that she'd been unaffected by the mention of Rick's ex-wife. Besides that, she had an idea to wind up the fund-raising event. Smiling, she turned to face the group. "Hazel, that sounds like fun. I have another idea that, I think, we could combine with yours, but I want to work on it with Rick before I bring it up for a vote."

  Casting a slow glance toward him, she lowered her lashes in a private invitation he had become intimately acquainted with over the last week. He puffed out his cheeks, then blew softly through his lips.

  "I'll give a listen, Bryn," he said, before turning his attention to unrolling the tarp and draping it over the far end of the bar.

  If she knew Rick Parrish, he was going to approve of her idea with gusto. Picturing the private presentation she planned for Rick, she leaned forward on her elbows and smiled to herself. Just a few more hours and she'd have him alone.

  * * *

  "Can I turn around now and have a look?" Rick asked, scratching the bridge of his nose under the blindfold. Straddling a chair in the middle of his living room, he leaned his head back. "Bryn?"

  "No. You promised not to look until I tell you it's okay to remove it. And I'll be... oops!"

  Something clattered to the parquet floor behind him. Running his tongue along the inside of his cheek, he lowered his chin to his stacked fists on the back of the chair. "You brought props along for your, uh, presentation?"

  "A few."

  "Are you sure you want to go to all this trouble to convince me that this idea, whatever it is, is better than Hazel Miller's plain old fish fry?" Lifting his chin from the back of his hands, he started to twist around. "Bryn?"

  "I'm over here," she said, close to his ear.

  Her sultry voice sent a shiver of anticipation down his spine. Cocking his chin, he reached for his blindfold. "Now?"

  "Not yet," she said, trailing something cool and smooth across his cheek. Her cinnamony scent invaded his nostrils, stirring his libido with familiar grace. Suddenly she was on the other side of him, close to his other ear.

  "I'll tell you when, Captain Parrish," she said, before nipping his ear.

  "Ouch!" he managed, reaching out in a blind grab for her. Missing her, he tried again and almost fell off the chair. Perhaps surrender would be the better part of victory. And he might maintain a shred of dignity along the way. "This is getting kinky."

  "To each his own fantasies," she said, dragging what he now suspected was a piece of satin, wrapped around her fingers, below the hems of his shorts.

  Squirming on the chair, he said playfully, "Well, in that case, want to tie my hands?"

  "Rick!"

  "Okay, okay. Want me to tie your hands?"

  "Why don't you just take off that blindfold?"

  Loosening her Versace signature scarf with a few tugs, he pulled it down around his neck and stared. "Cripes," was all he could manage.

  Standing before him, with her bare feet spread apart, she was bracing both gloved hands on a shiny lacquered cane planted squarely on the floor between her feet. She wiggled her painted
red toenails as his gaze skated up her long, tan legs. Black satiny running shorts snagged his attention for a full five seconds before his gaze meandered on to her white satin vest with the pearl studs.

  Rick swallowed. Her matching white satin gloves only served to accentuate her daringly exposed flesh. "Where's your blouse?" he asked after moving his gaze back down the neckline that plunged halfway to her navel.

  "In your bedroom." Shifting her weight from one foot to the other, she pulled her top hat low over her brow. Tracing her red bow tie with a fingertip, she asked, "Well, what do you think?"

  He started to rise from the chair. "Think? I think all the blood has left my brain and gone south."

  "Down, darling. I mean, what do you think about my compromise?"

  "Compromise," he murmured, totally mesmerized by her sexy costume. "I can be compromised."

  "Rick, this is my idea of semiformal ball attire. I thought about a banquet or maybe a formal dinner dance." She took a step closer to his chair. "But I want a memorable affair, something different to make this fund-raiser stand out from all the rest. Past or future."

  When she cupped his chin with one gloved hand, Rick recognized the smooth cool feel of the satin she'd teased him with when he was blindfolded. Now that he could see her doing it, the resulting physical response was the same—he was squirming again.

  "I thought a combination of ideas might catch your interest. You see? From the waist up, everyone has to wear formal attire, but everything below the waist, in keeping with the sports theme, has to be dressed in sports clothing of some sort." Tapping her cane on the leg of his chair, she asked, "What do you think? Could people have fun with this?"

  "I'll have to see," he said, standing up and tugging off his T-shirt. "Are you naked under that?"

  Glancing down at her breasts, she said, "Well, of course I'm naked under this. Everyone's naked under their clothes." Exchanging her next sentence for a scream, she made a run for it when he began chasing her around the coffee table. "What are you doing?" she asked, her cane clattering to the floor again as she sprinted for the dining room.