A Woman To Blame Read online

  Are you having fun out there with some pretty woman who can't bait a hook, but laughs at your jokes? And why haven't you told me any jokes?

  Pressing her fingertips against her brow, Bryn scolded herself for thoughts befitting a jealous lover.

  She wasn't the jealous type. And she wasn't Rick's lover. He wasn't interested anyway. She looked to a point beyond the freshly painted north rail. Beneath a big yellow moon, the inky ocean shimmered with spangles of gold light, intermittently broken by the dark clumps of tiny islands. The rustling palms framing the scene blocked her view of the channel and the twangy country and western music on the radio made it difficult to hear a boat's motor—if one happened to be trolling by.

  Just how much fun are you having out there on this beautiful balmy evening, Captain? And when do I get invited out on the Coral Kiss?

  Pointedly ignoring the nuzzling couple seated on the floor, she adjusted the mandarin collar of her blouse then smoothed the legs of her capris. Thumbing through the ambulance brochures, she tried to interest herself in comparing the different models. This was one heck of a beginning to her first fund-raising committee meeting. From the cage on the bar, Miss Scarlett echoed Bryn's sentiments with a barrage of gravelly squawks. The unexpected noise had Bryn clutching for her heart. Enough was enough.

  "I believe we've given Captain Parrish more than enough time. Let's get started," she said, reaching for the stack of folders Liza had brought by earlier.

  "We ought to wait for Captain Parrish before we do anything," Hazel said, running her hand along the carved armrest of the new chair.

  "Yeah. What's the rush?" Jiggy Latham asked before May Leigh scooped up the maximum amount of salsa a tortilla chip could hold and shoved the whole thing into Jiggy's mouth. Rick's lanky employee hummed with pleasure at his current love before continuing. "We'll just have to start over when he gets here."

  "If he gets here," Bryn said, then instantly regretted it. Four sets of eyes flicked their attention in her direction.

  Rita Small, the owner of the Nauti-Us Swimsuit Boutique, pushed her idea list aside to flip over the playing cards in front of her. Leveling a squinty gaze across the table at Bryn, she said, "The truth, sugar pie. You and Liza weren't telling a white lie about Captain Rick being a part of this fund-raiser just to get us to join, were you?"

  All four committee members leaned toward Bryn. She gave them a pulse of a smile. Friendly but professional. "Of course he's cochairing with me." Doubt prevailed in each stare directed her way. She sighed with frustration. "If you don't believe me, ask Liza." That appeared to work. They were easing back from her, mumbling contentedly.

  Sorting through the folders, Bryn handed the first one to Hazel. Hazel opened it, blinked at the lists inside, then closed it. "I miss Pappy's. Don't you, Jiggy?"

  Jiggy Latham's face was suddenly wistful as he stopped testing the edges of his new tattoo and looked at the wall where the mermaid mural used to be. "Yeah. We had the best times at Pappy's. Remember when the Captain bought the Coral Kiss and we went down to christen her?" Laughter rippled through the room, encouraging Jiggy to continue. "And the time Bill Harper dragged that ten-foot sailfish up the steps, plunked it on Captain Parrish's table over there, and insisted he buy it a beer?"

  "I'd call that one sushi grande," May Leigh managed before collapsing in giggles across Jiggy's lap.

  As laughter swelled again, Bryn couldn't deny the funky charm of Jiggy's stories. She pursed her lips to keep back a smile, then gave in to a chuckle. The rest of the group stopped laughing and looked at her. In the unnatural silence that followed, Jiggy cleared his throat.

  "Can't see that happening in a place like this," he said, glancing away from the pastel plaid upholstery and over to the French impressionistic paintings leaning against the newly mirrored inner wall. "What time did Captain Parrish say he'd be here?"

  "I thought you said that charter was getting back about eight or eight-thirty," Bryn said while attempting to banish the slightly guilty tone in her voice. These people could have a good time at Chez Madison too. Just a different kind of good time.

  "That's right, but Captain Parrish wasn't on for that charter."

  "I—I didn't know that," she said, flabbergasted by that bit of news. Where was Rick if he wasn't fishing? She made a valiant attempt to push back a tidal wave of panic. "Well, we shouldn't put off starting any longer. Wouldn't you and May Leigh like to join the rest of us up here at the table?"

  "We're fine down here," he said, planting a kiss on May Leigh's head. Jiggy and Bryn each reached for the plastic pitcher of iced tea at the same time. The pitcher slipped from their struggling hands, crashing to the floor, spilling tea everywhere. In the end May Leigh's bangs were liberally splashed, and the front of Jiggy's T-shirt was lightly sprinkled, but Bryn got the worst of it. Scrambling to her feet, May Leigh took off for the ladies' room, shrieking at Jiggy in a mixture of Japanese and Spanish. Alternately swearing and apologizing in highly understandable English, Jiggy was right behind her.

  Bolting out of her chair, Bryn grabbed a stack of napkins from the dessert tray and dropped to her knees to begin sopping up the spill. Although the floors had been sanded, a finishing coat of polyurethane had yet to be applied.

  "For pity's sake, Jiggy, that's a fine how-do-you-do," Rita called out after him. "What'll we serve Captain Rick when he gets here?"

  Bryn did her best to keep the steam from shooting out of her ears. Who cared if "Captain Rick" had anything to drink? She dropped a slice of lemon onto a soggy napkin. "Captain Rick" wasn't here. Brushing up another two slices, she set them beside the first. "Captain Rick" wasn't going to be here. Chasing ice cubes around the hardwood floor, she reminded herself that she didn't want to think where he could be.

  "Bryn, sugar pie, do you have any chilly-cold beer in your Frigidaire?" Rita asked as she pushed back her chair and stood.

  "Chilly-cold beer?" Bryn repeated, wondering if it was a brand name she'd never heard of. "It's possible I have some in the back of it."

  Jiggy trailed back into the room after May Leigh. The almond-eyed woman nodded toward Bryn. "Cool. Captain Rick loves chilly-cold beer. I'll get it."

  "Don't bother, May Leigh. I doubt if the Captain's going to make it here tonight. He never said for sure—"

  A chorus of mutinous groans filled the room. "Well, he didn't say he wasn't coming either," she added, her hands planted flat on the floor a few inches in front of her knees.

  "I said I'd come later if I could."

  Four heads turned toward the familiar masculine voice. At the sound of his voice Bryn's hands stopped moving, her heart started pounding, and her body shook with every emotion she could name and a few she couldn't. Excitement over his rich baritone voice. Relief that he'd finally shown up. Thankfulness that he'd made it at all. Pure annoyance that he'd gotten himself there this late! Being held hostage to another person's schedule always irritated her, but when Rick did it, she considered it a terrorist tactic. And did he have to sneak up on her like a one-man SWAT team?

  She knew the moment Rick appeared from behind the ornate screen by the stairs. The ripple of excitement in the room was almost palpable. She waited until the rest of the group finished their hero-worshipping hellos. "Good evening, Captain Parrish," she said, tossing another wet napkin onto a growing pile. Once she was sure she'd gotten control of her traitorous physical reactions, her breathy voice turned smooth. "We were just about to start... without you." Her hand carefully closed over the wet pile of used napkins as his polished shoes appeared in front of her. She took a cautious glance up his body. From his neatly combed sun-streaked hair, to his bronze-toned skin and sky blue eyes, he looked Esquire perfect.

  "Start what?" he asked, lowering himself to his haunches to set the empty pitcher upright. He pulled a handkerchief from inside his jacket and dabbed her chin. "A food fight?"

  Chapter 4

  With Rick's face inches from her own, she could not miss his annoying smile. Still on her h
ands and knees, she allowed him a few strokes with his handkerchief before turning her chin away from his hand. He aimed for her cheek, but stopped when she sent him a warning look.

  "We're not gathered here to indulge in a food fight, Captain Parrish. We're here to discuss ideas for the fund-raiser. Or did you forget?"

  "No, I didn't forget," he said, handing her the handkerchief. He pointed to a drenched area between her breasts before lacing his fingers together in front of his dangling tie. "I even have an idea."

  He continued smiling at her in that exasperating, in-charge, highly amused way of his. Pointedly ignoring the front of her blouse, she looked him straight in the eye while she dabbed at her cheek instead. "We can't wait to hear it."

  "Yeah. What'd you have in mind, Captain Rick?" Rita asked through a hail of gum snapping. The rest of the group moved a little closer as Rick stood.

  "First, let's get the cochairperson off her hands and knees." He offered Bryn his hand, and after a few hesitant seconds, she took it.

  "How about a fishing tournament?"

  "Of course," Millie said. "We should have known Captain Rick would come up with the right idea the first time."

  "Isn't he wonderful?" Rita remarked in an adoring whisper.

  Jiggy gave a singular and thoroughly energetic clap. "Amen and case closed, Captain."

  "Can we go fishing now?" May Leigh asked Jiggy.

  "Hold on, everyone. The case is not closed. Liza told me that Islamorada and Conch Key are both having fishing tournaments this July. We need to look for a completely different idea. Something fresh and—"

  "No we don't," Rick said, cutting her off. "We have all these sport fishermen down here just waiting for a little competition. I think a tournament is the perfect answer."

  "I don't," she said, pressing his handkerchief into his open hand. "The entrance fees to these tournaments are high, and I can't see how we'll make much money with at least two others going on so close to ours. Besides, we would draw even more people if we could come up with a totally new event that would pull in sponsors looking for free advertising. An event with more pizzazz than a fishing tournament," she said, looking at the others. "What do you think?"

  Rita shifted her weight from one foot to the other, then looked thoughtfully at Millie while popping a large bubble.

  Millie raised her eyebrows and looked at Jiggy.

  Jiggy looked someplace between skeptical and confused.

  And May Leigh had missed the question entirely while searching through her purse for a comb.

  "More pizzazz?" Rick asked. "Don't you mean more problems for everyone here?"

  "Not if we show up for meetings and work together cooperatively." The rest of the group made a series of uncomfortable sounds. A cough. A gasp. A groan. And one "Oh, my good lord!" Bryn stood her ground, then decided to advance while the others recovered from her countering response to their hero. "I believe Rita brought along a few ideas." She smiled at her. "Didn't I see a list in front of you before?"

  "List? Oh, no," she said, shaking her head hard enough to fling her pearl drop earrings into tiny orbits. "That was something else. No, I didn't have any ideas at all. Anyone else have any?"

  Everyone shrugged at once, leaving Bryn to wonder if they'd rehearsed the move. Anything seemed possible when the committee turned their attention to Rick.

  "I'm not ready to give up on this tournament idea, so hear me out, Bryn," Rick said. "It's still the most profitable fund-raiser I know of, and it won't run us ragged this summer. I've already spoken to the two other marinas on Malabar Key, and they both told me they'd be glad to get involved with it."

  "Oh, really?" Bryn asked. "Didn't it occur to you to speak to me before going ahead on your own?"

  Shoving his blazer back, he calmly propped his hand on his hip below his belt. His friendly expression disintegrated into a series of frown lines between his brows and on either side of his blue eyes. Conviction deepened his voice. "Look, I thought this would go a lot faster for everyone if I took care of the footwork myself. I happen to know what people will go for around here. Do you have a problem with that?"

  "The problem," she said, crossing her arms and stepping closer to him, "is that I've spent valuable time away from my business and the restaurant to work on several ideas. If you would have returned my calls this week, we might have figured out a way to use our time more efficiently." She ignored the whispers around her of a possible insurrection.

  "We already talked about that this morning," Rick said, rubbing his thumbnail across his brow, "and I believe I told you that I've been busy."

  "Well, Captain Parrish, I believe I told you the same thing."

  "Ah, yes," he said, nodding as he waved his hand to indicate the rest of the room. "Painting the world yellow, I see."

  She knew she could continue clashing with him over the fund-raiser indefinitely, but the moment he started in on the restaurant, something snapped inside her. Turning Pappy's Crab Shack into Chez Madison was never meant to be a situation where she had to prove her competency to anyone, especially Rick Parrish. Yet with each snafu she encountered in the restaurant project, her apprehension grew. Stooping down, she snatched the pile of wet napkins from the floor and plopped them onto the table. Ignoring the people trying to step out of the way of the splattering tea, she reached down for the pitcher and slammed it on the table. When she went after the last few pieces of unmelted ice, four sets of legs scurried for the exit.

  "Sounds like you two have a bowl of wet spaghetti to straighten out, so we'll let you get to it," Rita shouted over her shoulder.

  "Call us again sometime," Millie added.

  Bryn was up and on her feet and hurrying after them with ice pieces cupped in her hands. "Wait! Please don't go."

  "It's five-hundred-dollar night at bingo, Millie," Rita said, pulling her friend by the hand. "We can make the second half if we hurry."

  "People, please! There's no need to run off. We need to talk," she shouted.

  Jiggy and May Leigh didn't bother answering. They were down the steps and climbing onto Jiggy's motorcycle by the time Bryn reached the railing.

  While she continued pleading with the group, Rick started across the room. Before he was halfway there, she had dropped the ice over the railing and was slapping the wetness from her hands.

  "I hope you're satisfied, Captain," she said, bracing herself against the railing while she pulled off one jewel encrusted sandal and then the other.

  "Me?" he asked, opening his hands toward her. She thrust her sandals into them and hurried around the decorative screen and down the steps. He quickly followed her. "What do you mean, you hope I'm satisfied?" He reached the bottom as Rita's rusty Mustang made the turn out of the parking lot.

  "Your presence intimidated them enough to send them bolting like frightened deer." She pointed toward the taillights of Millie's late-model station wagon, which was trailing close behind Rita's car.

  "Me? I wasn't the one who—" He broke off in midsentence when she stepped around him and headed back up the stairs. The best thing, he decided, was to allow her to cool off a little before having it out with her. He intended to wait a good five minutes, but instead found himself at the top of the steps staring at her before sixty seconds had elapsed.

  Gliding her fingertips over a delicately carved chair, she appeared to be inspecting the new furniture for flaws. The closer he got to her, the more intense her examination became, as if she were on the verge of discovering a microscopic ding in the wood. He began wondering if the meticulous attention she was giving to the chair was a way to ignore him. Or tick him off. In an undisguised act of frustration, he dropped her sandals to the floor.

  "I thought you'd have had the decency to leave by now," she said, bending closer to the top of the chair.

  While he could cut off other people with a look or a gesture, these things only fueled Bryn's fire. He slammed his hand over the headrest. "Just what the hell was that all about?" he asked, moving closer.
r />   Straightening slowly, she held her own with admirable control. "You tell me," she said in a dangerously quiet voice before cutting her eyes in his direction. "Your fan club was perfectly happy to be here until you arrived." Stepping sideways to the next chair, she began another meticulous inspection.

  "I'm not talking about the committee. I'm talking about you," he said, reaching to cover one of her hands with his to keep her from moving away. His voice suddenly gentled. "And me." With her lips parting to take in more air and her breasts straining against her blouse, he noted with guilty pleasure the difficult time she was having holding herself together. Slipping her hand from under his, she reached toward the table to place an empty salsa bowl and one of the pies on a tray. Beneath her lowered lids and those incredible sable fans that passed for her lashes, her gaze moved away from him.

  "What about us?" she asked in a whisper. With a deliciously slow sweep of her lashes, she cautiously looked up his arm to his mouth and then his eyes.

  His heart pounded with pleasure and pain; the inevitable moment was upon him. He had to get into it and out of it without her touching any part of his soul. He smiled, knowing he could manage it. After all, he'd been sleeping with Sharon Burke for two years and that hadn't altered anything of importance in the secret recesses of his heart. He was simply going to kiss her. "I have this theory."

  "I'm willing to listen."

  Running the backs of his fingers under her chin, he lifted it as he lowered his head. From the corner of his eye he could see her curl her fingers into the key lime pie, then lift a delicious-looking gob out of the plate.

  Shifting his weight, he leaned closer and suggested the wrong thing.

  "You wouldn't."

  As her hand arced through the air, he caught her wrist hard, sending a splatter of pie filling onto the sleeve of his blazer. Ignoring the mess, he brought her hand to his mouth and began licking her fingers. After trying to pull her hand away once, she gave up, her gaze riveted on his lips and tongue.