All I Want Is You (12 page)

Once he held he torches, the crowd waited in silence as he pulled a lighter from his pocket and carefully lit each. And then Jack and Christy watched as he did indeed juggle fire! Again, it wouldn't have been a surprise at the circus, but Jack found himself growing curious about Fletcher McCloud, wondering what a guy like him was doing
here
.

When the show ended, Fletcher passed around a large top hat collecting money—­and Jack wanted to add something to it but couldn't from up on the pier.

“I wish we could give him something,” Christy said.

“I'll walk down and put in a ­couple bucks,” Jack informed her, then headed for the sand.

By the time he reached Fletcher, the crowd had dispersed and Jack opened his wallet and drew out a twenty, adding it to the evening's tips.

“Very generous, my friend,” Fletcher McCloud told him appreciatively.

“Your show was great,” Jack said in reply.

To which Fletcher answered, “Your girlfriend's pretty.”

And Jack balked slightly.

Fletcher just chuckled, and went on. “I've done this show a million times and I'm a skilled multi-­tasker—­I can ­people-­watch while I do it. For me, that's the best part.”

Now Jack gave him an easy grin since he, too, could appreciate the art of ­people-­watching. Though he felt the need to inform him, “Well, she's not my girlfriend. Exactly.” Since at this point, he didn't know
what
she was.

“She
should
be,” Fletcher McCloud said as certainly as if he were announcing the sun was about to set.

And Jack blinked, intrigued enough to ask, “What makes you say so?”

Fletcher McCloud narrowed his gaze, looked introspective. “I just get feelings about ­people sometimes. And my feelings are usually right. Plus you two look at each other a lot. The show's out here, on the tightrope, but you two keep looking at each other instead.”

Huh. Jack never would have made that observation, but he couldn't deny it, either. Yet something about the truth in it compelled him to change the subject. So he pointed to the tightrope. “How do you do that?” he asked.

“Balance,” Fletcher replied.

And Jack laughed.

But Fletcher said, “No, I'm serious. Life is all about balance. And walking on the tightrope is really just a metaphor for life. It's . . . a balance of putting yourself at risk and keeping yourself upright at the same time. It's about the discipline to teach yourself to do the impossible. Anybody can walk on a tightrope if they're brave enough and dedicated enough. Anybody can learn to do the impossible—­if they want it bad enough. I just wanted it bad enough. So what's impossible for 
you
?”

“Trust.” The word popped out of Jack's mouth before he'd even realized it. Damn, how had this guy drawn that from him so quickly?

Though Fletcher simply responded with a shrug. “The whole world has trust issues. But you know who wins in life? The ­people who get over it and trust anyway. The question is always—­do you want it bad enough?”

And Jack confessed, “That
is
the question.”

Jack found Fletcher more than a little intriguing, and easy to talk to—­and he considered saying more. But instead he turned to go. Because prolonging this conversation, he suspected, would only have him further examining things he was busy trying to avoid.

Still, he looked back over his shoulder to say, “Mind if I ask you something? What's a guy who can juggle fire on a tightrope doing in Coral Cove, Florida?”

Fletcher laughed good-­naturedly. “It's not the hot commodity you might think, my friend,” he said. “But the real answer is a long story. I live in a little blue cottage up the beach on Sea Shell Lane. If you're ever up that way, drop by for a beer and I'll tell you what's keeping me here.”

Jack walked away even more intrigued. Damn, this little town was
full
of interesting ­people.

But he forgot all about Fletcher McCloud when he approached Christy's table to find her smiling from ear to ear, holding up a twenty dollar bill of her own. “Look, Jack!” she said. “I sold a bracelet! I really did it! I made my first sale!”

The joy in her hazel green eyes nearly undid him. And damn, he wanted to kiss her again—­but instead he just said, “I'm not surprised at all—­I knew you would.”

Then she bit her lip, looking thoughtful, hopeful, sweet as hell. “Wouldn't it be great if I could ever earn enough money at this to make a career of it? To support Grandpa Charlie and me both?”

“That
would
be great, Alice,” he agreed softly.

To which she replied by flashing a deprecating smile. “You don't sound like you think that's possible.” She still spoke just as sweetly, and didn't seem hurt or angry—­maybe just . . . acceptant.

And he hated like hell that she'd heard the reality in his voice. The last thing he wanted to be was discouraging. “Anything's possible,” he told her.

But it's not
likely
, and it just reminds me that you need someone to take care of you.

Jack had a lot of faith in a lot of things, but he wasn't sure he believed in the impossible. And right now, it seemed pretty damn impossible to figure out a way to be close to Christy without risking
everything
.

 

Alice rubbed her eyes, and looked again.

She couldn't make out what had happened at all.

Lewis Carroll,
Through the Looking Glass

Chapter 11

T
HE FOLLOWING
morning, Christy bounded merrily into her grandfather's room, unable to hide her joy. She found him chatting with Ron the Nurse, who looked up and said, “Well, aren't you a ray of sunshine?”

“Of course she is,” Grandpa Charlie said. “My day's better already just seeing that pretty smile. Now come give your old grandpa a hug.”

Ron excused himself, warning them with a grin, “Now don't you two be plotting any trouble while I'm gone.”

And after Christy had given her grandpa a hug in his wheelchair, he said, “What has you looking so happy and glowy this morning, my grandgirl?”

She tilted her head and offered a coy, playful grin. “Maybe it's just seeing
you
.”

He laughed and said, “Now, I know ya love me, but this ain't that kinda glow.”

And then Christy told him the news she'd been dying to share since last night. “I sold some jewelry at the sunset celebration, Grandpa! Five pieces before the night was through! It started out kind of slow, but then it was just one after another, and I ended up making over a hundred dollars!”

Now Grandpa Charlie smiled, too, big and bold, as a happy laugh left him. “See there? I knew it. And it just goes to show ya—­you never know what you can do until ya try.”

“That's so true! Thank you for encouraging me. It really was hard to set up my stuff and sit there without knowing what would happen, and at first when ­people walked right on by, I felt like a big loser. But with a little patience, things got better.”

“And ya know, the truth is,” he told her, “if you hadn't sold a dang thing that woulda been hard on ya—­but you'd still be glad you tried. And you wouldn't be a loser.”

Christy thought that through and realized he was right. It would have been disillusioning and heartbreaking, but it would still be better than always wondering what would've happened. And now . . . “Everything feels . . . filled with possibility.” And it truly did. Ever since her second sale—­which had proved the first wasn't a fluke—­she'd felt uplifted, as if she'd discovered the world was a different, better place than she'd come to believe. Her problems seemed smaller. And a halo of hope hung over her every thought.

Just then, Grandpa Charlie squinted, lowered his chin. “Where's your boyfriend?”

And she rolled her eyes. “He's not my boyfriend.”

“But you want him to be,” Grandpa Charlie said.

Ugh. She let out a sigh. “Is it that obvious?”

“Yes, indeedy, my grandgirl.” A warm expression shone from her grandpa's eyes. “And he seems like a stand up fella, so I approve.”

This time she held in the sigh, but a great well of emptiness opened inside her. She'd been so happy focusing on her jewelry sales—­but when it came to Jack, her emotions were at war. She flip flopped between just being glad to have him in her life and being painfully aware of wanting something more that she just couldn't have. And right now, the suggestion of Jack being her boyfriend had her wanting. “Well, I'm glad you like him, but . . .” She stopped, finally letting out that sigh.

“But what?” her grandpa asked. “What's wrong with him that I didn't see?”

Christy tried to think how to explain. She couldn't just blurt out that she was seeking a rich man in order for him to stay here at Sunnymeade, but . . . maybe he'd understand if she just kept the focus on Jack himself. “Well, Jack's great,” she said, “but . . . he's a handyman.”

“Honest livin' if you ask me,” Grandpa Charlie said without missing a beat.

“Yes, and he's wonderful at it!” she rushed to say. Since clearly she'd come at this the wrong way. “And if I were any other person in any other situation . . .”

“What situation are you in, darlin'?”

Crap. She'd blurted out that last part before thinking, and now she felt . . . shallow. Still, she tried to be honest, and more blunt this time. “I'm dirt poor, Grandpa.”

“Well, you don't need to be rich to be happy.”

“Oh, I know,” she assured him. “And I'm not even sure I'd
like
being rich to tell you the truth.” In fact, eating at the Hungry Fisherman the last ­couple of days and staying at the Happy Crab the last ­couple of nights had truly shown Christy how much she enjoyed a down to earth lifestyle. And she was forced to realize how much more comfortable—­and downright happy—­she'd been in places like that with Jack than she'd been in fancy clubs and restaurants back home. “But . . . well . . .”

“Spit it out, girl,” her grandpa said.

Oh hell, apparently she would have to put this on the table, like it or not. “Well, between you and me, Grandpa,” she said, “you're about to get kicked out of here—­and I can't stand to let that happen. Okay?”

And at this, he flinched. “Good Lord, girl, what does one thing have to do with the other, for heaven's sake?”

In response, Christy drew in a breath, let it back out. An open window carried a salty sea breeze in and she let the scent soothe her senses—­then forced herself to get even more honest. “I just think . . . if I met the right guy . . . well, maybe he could bail us out. And how can I meet the right guy if I'm . . . with Jack?”

When a troubled look came over her grandpa's face, she wished she hadn't let the conversation go this far. “My living arrangements aren't your responsibility, honey,” he said.

“I know that—­of course,” she assured him. “But . . . I'm all you have. And ever since you told me about the situation . . .”

Now, though, he was shaking his head. “Well, maybe I shouldn't have done that. It never occurred to me you'd take on my burdens as your own. And if I'd had any inkling you would, I'd have kept my big trap shut, believe you me.”

“But I'm
glad
you told me. I'm glad we can be open with each other. We're family and we need to stick together.” She reached down to squeeze his soft, wrinkled hand, desperate to take away any guilt or worry she'd caused him.

“Well, be that as it may,” he replied, “sticking together doesn't mean goin' so far as lookin' for some money bags type of fella on my account.” Then he narrowed his gaze on her more tightly. “Now listen to me, darlin'. I don't want you to worry—­because whatever happens, I'll be fine, ya hear? And you're young and beautiful, with your whole life ahead of you, and you need to date whoever you feel drawn to, not whoever has the biggest wallet—­got it?”

Christy took all that in. Of course he would say that. Of course he wouldn't want her to feel responsible for him. It only made sense. What she
wasn't
sure of anymore was . . . whether
her
plan made sense. Maybe he was right.

Yet, either way, there was another factor here, more truth to share. “Okay, I got it,” she conceded. “But the upshot is . . . I don't know that Jack wants anything romantic with me anyway. Because he thinks I'm a gold digger.”

At this, Grandpa Charlie smacked his hand to his forehead. “You told him about this plot to find a rich man?”

She let out a long-­suffering sigh, beginning to realize what a mess she'd created here. “Sort of. Accidentally,” she explained. “Before I realized it would matter.”

“Well, that's a shame,” Grandpa Charlie said. “A damn, cryin' shame. Because that's not who you are, my dear. Not by a long shot. And it pains me to know you've let him think you are.”

“It pains me, too—­believe me,” she said, feeling tired of the whole situation.

“But I guess once you let a cat like that out of the bag,” her grandpa said, sounding grim, “it's hard to put it back in.”

I
N
the days that followed, Christy and Jack alternated between spending time at the beach and hanging out with Grandpa Charlie. Over the next few nights they sat at the pier during the Sunset Celebration and Christy sold more jewelry. Certainly not enough to pay Grandpa Charlie's way at Sunnymeade, but enough to continue raising her confidence and even help her begin to believe she might somehow build a future in this. And a really wonderful and unexpected by-product of the last few days was that she suddenly felt she fit here now, among the other talented vendors—­she believed she was an artist now.

But she'd have to make more than she could at the beach. And now that she knew ­people liked her creations, it was a matter of figuring out how to turn that into more money.

It was Thursday evening, as the sky blazed a brilliant purple over the horizon in the distance, that a familiar-­looking guy with a ponytail and beard picked up one of the necklaces she'd made with her grandma's fake pearls and said, “This is beautiful—­I'll take it.”

“Aren't you the tightrope walker?” she asked, tilting her head as she peered up at him.

“Fletcher McCloud, at your ser­vice,” he replied with a grin.

Jack, who'd walked away to get them sodas, returned just then. “Good show tonight, man,” he said in greeting. “We watched from up here.”

“I know you did,” Fletcher said with a small wink that made Jack chuckle as he leaned his head back.

“I forgot,” Jack said. Then he dropped his gaze to Christy. “Fletcher here has excellent observational skills from atop his tightrope.”

Jack had told her he'd had an interesting discussion with the tightrope guy, and as she wrapped his purchase in tissue paper, she smiled up at him and asked, “Who are you buying this for?”

“My wife,” he replied.

She caught the slightly surprised look on Jack's face as he settled in the folding lawn chair next to hers, soda cups in hand. “I don't know why,” Jack said to Fletcher, “but you didn't strike me as a married guy.”

And Christy thought the other man's slight smile held a hint of mystery as he said, “Do married men act or look a certain way? Still got that beer ready for you. Stop on by some afternoon.”

“I might just do that,” Jack replied with a nod.

It was only a few minutes after Fletcher had departed that a woman with long, dark silky hair paused to look at Christy's offerings. And as Christy glanced up at her to say hello, she real­ized she wasn't a stranger. Not at all. But how could this be? “Anna?” she asked, perplexed. To her shock, before her stood her friend, Anna Romo, from back in Destiny.

Clearly surprised to hear her name, Anna flicked her gaze to Christy's and her eyes went wide. “Christy Knight? Is that you? What on earth are you doing here?”

“Visiting my grandpa—­he lives here,” she explained. “What are you—­” But then she stopped, remembering. John and Nancy Romo lived here. Why hadn't she thought about this before. “Oh, you must be visiting your parents!”

“Yes,” Anna said with a pretty smile. “Duke and I got here just last night.”

As if on cue, Anna's rugged biker boyfriend, Duke Dawson, stepped up behind her and they all exchanged greetings.

And once Christy got over her surprise, she couldn't help feeling some sense of . . . almost
relief
to see Anna here. Anna had been a real friend to her in Destiny, and she couldn't deny that suddenly seeing a familiar face, a girlfriend to turn to and maybe confide in, appealed immensely. “I'm sure you're busy with your family,” Christy said to Anna, “but I'd love to get together while we're both here.”

“That sounds great,” Anna said. “Maybe we can hang out at the beach. My parents aren't big sun worshippers, and while Duke looks hot in a pair of trunks, he gets bored just lying around in the sun.”

At this, Duke slanted her a look that made Christy think he was a little embarrassed, but then he dropped his gaze to Jack to say, “You fish?”

“Some, yeah,” Jack replied.

“Her dad and I are planning to fish off the pier tomorrow if you're interested. Could let these two do their girl thing.”

And though Christy appreciated that Jack did enjoy the beach, she was also pleased when he accepted the invitation so she and Anna could have some alone time. Which was when it hit her. “Grandpa Charlie used to love to fish,” she said to Jack. “Maybe if he thinks he could handle it on his walker, you could bring him, too.”

“Sounds good to me,” he said. “I'd be happy to.”

And Christy couldn't help smiling. More and more things seemed to be going right all the time. Yes, she was still heartbroken over the ways she'd screwed up with Jack—­letting him think she was only interested in money. And yes, her body ached with wanting him almost all the time now. But maybe if she just quit worrying about that and tried to focus on all that was going well instead, the rest would somehow work itself out.

T
HE
next day Christy and Anna stretched out on towels on Coral Cove Beach, soaking up the rays and watching kids build sand castles and play in the water near shore. It was another beautiful day in paradise and Christy never wanted to leave.

“So you're selling your jewelry at the Sunset Celebration,” Anna said. “I'm thrilled to see you moving forward with that!”

Christy smiled in reply. “Thanks—­me, too. I was nervous about it at first, but it's been going well.” Then she glanced toward the long pier in the distance. It was far enough away that she couldn't see Jack or her grandpa, but she knew they were there somewhere, holding fishing rods over the railing and waiting for a bite. “In fact, if we decide we've had enough sun before the guys are done fishing, I may explore an idea I have for selling even more.”

Anna raised her eyebrows. “Oooh, that sounds mysterious and top secret.”