A Woman To Blame (20 page)

If anything, Rick's physical need for her had deepened to a point where words were unnecessary and only the power of their shared desire mattered. At the end of each encounter he would hold her in a desperate embrace until the outside world called to them.

She tried convincing herself the reason for the change was that their lives had suddenly become hectic with her grandfather's arrival home, activity surrounding the fund-raiser, and Rick's charter business suddenly receiving an onslaught of new clients. Those were all legitimate explanations, but her heart and her head knew there was more to it.

* * *

All he'd wanted was his bar back, Rick reminded himself. In the midst of the semiformal ball that signaled the end to the Malabar Key Sports Festival, he unbuttoned the top of his tuxedo shirt and tugged on his bow tie. With the jukebox back in its rightful place and blasting, Miss Scarlett screeching questionable blessings, and familiar faces milling with new ones, he ought to be the happiest man at Pappy's Crab Shack this evening. Bryn had even had his old chair refinished, and presented it to him in front of Pappy and the fund-raiser committee an hour before the ball began. Easing into the chair, he smoothed his palms along the curved wood while he looked across the room for Bryn. As if his eyes were trained to seek her out, he spotted her immediately, standing by the jukebox admiring someone's blue ribbon. A flood of confused feelings assailed him as he watched her charm the winner of the handicapped division. She hadn't laughed with him like that in days. He could no longer locate the emotional shield he'd always managed to keep over his tender spots in the mix of emotions connected with Bryn. As she moved in and out of the crowd, his insides ached with a strange tension. Bryn wasn't going to be around forever, but, he quickly reminded himself, there was no reason to rush into reviewing his feelings on that subject just yet. Seeing her every day, working with her on the fund-raiser, and making love to her were the only thoughts he allowed into his mind, because he didn't feel right asking for more. Maybe he never would.

Looking at her now, in that incredibly sexy outfit, he felt like whisking her away for a private, blue-ribbon moment of their own. Once he touched her, nothing disturbed their graceful struggle of two becoming one. Nothing. Not even his lingering guilt over Angie's death. Each glorious time he and Bryn came together, his deep feelings of renewal quieted the unfinished feelings surrounding Angie... for a while.

But he had to stop lying to himself that all was well with his new lover. He knew Bryn sensed a change, and as a matter of her own survival, she was starting to withdraw from him too. At least that's how he perceived it.

Turning his attention to a basket of hot conch fritters and his beer, he remembered what she had once called him. Malabar Key's local hero. Laughing silently, he bit into a fritter. A coward was more like it. A coward for avoiding her in every way but physically now. Whether or not he could ever figure a way out of the emotional prison he'd placed himself in five years ago, the least he could do was make sure she knew she meant more to him than an object of sexual desire. He ought to be up there on the floor dancing with her. With her warm body pressed against his, and the possibility of making love removed for the next few hours, he knew he could begin to recapture the relaxed mood that used to lead to hours of conversation.

Sliding his beer mug to the center of the table, he started to look for her again. Two executives from the resort on Upper Matecumbe were blocking his view while they admired her cane.

As if she knew he wanted to see her, she moved the two men to one side, giving Rick a clear shot. Bryn used the space to twirl the shiny lacquered walking stick like a baton. Performing a short version of a soft-shoe routine, she ended her dance demonstration by bouncing the cane off the floor and catching it in her opposite hand. While everyone around her applauded, Rick closed his eyes and sent up a thank-you prayer that she'd knotted a long red-starred scarf over the V of her vest.

"Didn't I tell you she was a pistol?"

Rick looked to his right as Pappy Madison, shuffling behind his walker, maneuvered himself into the chair next to his table. "Yes, you did, Pappy," Rick said, reaching for another conch fritter in the red plastic basket near his elbow.

"Loosened up a lot since she arrived. Best thing for her, coming down here to the Keys. The rest of the family's just a bunch of tight-ass grudge-holders."

Despite the din of the piano now and the mix of happy voices filling the room, Rick was painfully aware of the silence hanging between him and Pappy. Moving forward in his chair, he cleared his throat and reached for his mug of beer. "She pulled all this together pretty damn well," he offered.

Pappy shrugged. "According to Brynnie, she couldn't have done it without you, son."

"I don't know about that."

"Come on, Rick, you've saved the Crab Shack for the second time." He leaned in toward his young friend. "You saved me from drowning in yellow ruffles. Gagging on foreign food." He waved his hand in disgust. "Slowly choking to death in a necktie."

Rick shook his head, refusing to accept the old man's gratitude. Once Pappy got started on Bryn, Rick knew he'd have to think about the last weeks they'd spent together and where they were or weren't going. Glancing over at her again, he realized there was no way he couldn't think about her. Shimmering in her satin costume, she stood out from all the rest of the costumed partygoers. Hell, was that revelation supposed to be a surprise to him? It shouldn't, he thought with immense satisfaction. Buck naked in his bedroom, she shimmered like a vanilla candle at midnight.

"Guess she's been kept pretty busy this summer," Pappy said.

Choosing to ignore his friend's carefully worded implication, Rick leaned back in his chair.

"Yep," Pappy continued, "and on top of this fundraiser, she tells me she's been running her design business by phone and the internet. And she says it's a lot easier than she thought it would be."

Reaching for another conch fritter, Rick kept his eyes trained straight ahead.

Pappy raised his furry white brows. "Did she tell you I've asked her to stay on and become my partner?"

The conch fritter never made it to his mouth. Staring at the golden fried delicacy as if it were anything but food, he laid it back in the basket. His entire body tensed with possibilities he hadn't allowed himself to think about before this moment. "What did she say?" Keeping his eyes trained toward the salt and pepper shakers, Rick felt Pappy's stare boring into him. "Is she thinking about it?"

"She's thinking about something," Pappy said as he stood up and carefully stepped away from the table.

Pappy's cryptic answer started a cold sweat down Rick's spine. Guilt, hope, and fear churned in his mind as he stared over the railing. Smoke from the barbecue grills wafted through the palms above the rest of the people partying below. Beyond the milling crowd he could see his marina, with all the boats tied up tonight. In the background Miss Scarlett squawked and Martha and the Vandellas sang about nowhere to run. All of these things were familiar, yet tonight they were disjointed bits and pieces from a sensory puzzle that no longer fit together into the picture that was his life. His heart thudded erratically; his brow moistened with perspiration. Nothing felt right. Nothing except his need for Bryn.

Caught in a wave of unnameable emotions, Rick had an overwhelming urge to have her by his side. Slamming his palm on the rail, he cursed under his breath as he pushed up from his chair.

"You'd better not let Miss Scarlett hear you say that, or the whole bar will have to listen to it the rest of the night," Bryn said.

Standing inches from his table, Rick almost bumped into her as he turned around. Her physical presence, coupled with the immediacy of his need to be with her, rendered him momentarily speechless. Instead of trying to locate his voice, he stared at her. Tendrils of golden-red hair had escaped from her top hat and were brushing against her brow and cheeks. A sudden breeze caught them, moving them like a halo of angel's curls around her face.

"Liza wants to see us in the kitchen. She says it's important."

Managing a nod, he followed her through the crowd. As they walked past the hissing fryer filled with conch fritters and through the pantry door, he experienced a jolt of deja vu. They'd made love in this room. A wild, "anything goes" experience starting with him feeding her lychee nuts from his fingertips and ending with them gasping for air. And for more.

The sight of Liza sitting on a folding chair at a card table in the middle of the pantry helped him get his mind off the last time he'd been in there. Flipping her steel-colored braid over her shoulder, Liza picked up her calculator and turned it around for them to see.

"I'll give it to you straight. We can't pick up that ambulance until we come up with another six thousand dollars. And we have about forty-eight hours before the price change goes into effect. Then we're looking at five thousand more added to this," she said, tapping the digital display window with her pencil.

"Six thousand dollars," Bryn repeated, removing her hat. "How are we going to come up with six thousand dollars in two days?" Sitting down on an overturned avocado crate, she shook her head, bewildered by the downward turn of events.

"You two will come up with something," Liza said, shoving her paperwork, calculator, and pencil into her bag. "Meanwhile, I'm taking the liberty of scheduling a committee meeting at my house tomorrow at one. You have until then to figure that something out. I'm going out to find the others and tell them to be there."

The solution to the problem came out of nowhere, hitting Rick broadside like an unexpected wave. Momentarily stunned, he let the idea wash through his mind until a smile began forming on his lips. This idea could solve more than the ambulance problem. If the gods were smiling, there was also the chance of a way out of his self-inflicted imprisonment.

"Don't worry, Liza," Rick said moments after she'd left the kitchen. With a burst of energy he turned the card table on its side, collapsed the legs, and stored it behind the door. He quickly folded the chair and slid it next to the table. "Let's dance," he said to Bryn.

Instead of responding to his request, she looked up at him as if he were crazy. "What do you mean, telling her not to worry? How can you be so cavalier about this? We have to come up with six thousand dollars in two days." Pushing off the crate, Bryn turned her back to him and began pacing the narrow room. Rubbing her forehead, she stopped to point at him as he lounged against the doorjamb. "If I didn't know better, I'd think you weren't worried about this money situation in the least."

"If you're certain worrying will help matters, then by all means, go ahead and worry. But right now all I want to do is dance with you to this Smokey Robinson song." He wriggled his fingers at her. "Come on. I haven't held you in hours."

"But Rick," she said, taking his outstretched hand and moving into the comfort of his embrace. "Six thousand dollars? Shouldn't we be talking about how we're going to—"

"Shh." Smiling to himself, he realized the tension inside him had begun disappearing. "By the time we start the committee meeting tomorrow, I'm sure everything will have worked itself out."

"Rick, if you have an idea, I think you ought to tell me, because I don't have one."

Laughing against her curls, he danced her around the pantry. "You have to learn to relax," he said, dipping her dangerously close to the flour can.

* * *

"Thanks, Liza, for suggesting we have this meeting at your house. Since the Crab Shack reopened last night, we've lost our meeting site," Bryn said as she settled into a flowery cushion on one of the rattan armchairs.

"I hope you and Rick got to talk about the money problem. Your committee has to deal with this crisis as quickly as possible, Bryn. Once the fun is over, interest tends to quickly lag," Liza said as she passed by Bryn on her way to open the drapes. Brilliant sunshine poured in through the multi-paned window facing Liza's front yard and Florida Bay.

Rita covered her eyes and yawned. "Well, sugar, my interest is lagging behind a teeny-weeny headache from that party last night. That was the most fun I've had with my clothes on in years."

"Rita!" Millie whispered, before joining the rest of the group in laughter. "It's true. That semiformal ball idea was unique." Sighing, she looked at Bryn. "I can't imagine what Malabar Key will be like without you."

I can get through this,
Bryn told herself, while cold stones dropped one at a time into her stomach. Smiling down at her hands, she took a deep breath. "Maybe we'd better talk about the six thousand dollars needed to purchase the ambulance."

"Shouldn't, ahhh, we wait for Captain Parrish?" Jiggy asked while May Leigh gave him a neck and shoulder massage.

"He said to start without him because he had something he had to do at the bank," Bryn said.

"When, uhhh, did he tell you that?" Jiggy asked as he rummaged through an empty bag of potato chips for a few salty crumbs.

"Earlier," Bryn said, watching a cloud of dust rise from the road outside.
Much, much earlier. He found me in Seaman's All Night Market buying a can of coffee at three o'clock this morning, and took me to Ibis Lane Park, where he made love to me on a picnic table.

"Then you two did talk? Great, let's hear the idea," Liza said.