Barefoot at Moonrise (Barefoot Bay Timeless Book 2) (31 page)

And Ken was honored to have the privilege.

* * *

I love you.

Beth clung to the memory of Ken’s soundless admission, rolling the words around in her heart, longing to say them back to him over and over again.

He still had wounds to heal, some fresh, some twenty-five years old. But she would be there to help him, and he would be here to…love her.

I love you.

She thought about those words all the way back to the resort, barely able to keep up a conversation with Selina and RJ, who used Beth’s news to talk about something other than Dad. She insisted they drop her off at her car so she could drive it home. She didn’t want to be home with no way to leave overnight in case she had to get back to the hospital in a hurry.

Landon, Rebecca, and Josie had followed to get something from Josie’s car, and the whole family had one more group hug in the parking lot.

At home, she parked in the driveway and let herself in the front door, carefully locking it behind her as she’d been chided to do by so many people lately. People who cared about her. People who loved her.

I love you.

On the way back to her bedroom, she took out her phone and glanced at it, tempted to text him the same three words. Would that help him make it through the night? Or should she wait until she could finally tell him in person?

“I love you,” she whispered out loud, for the joy of hearing the words spoken by her own lips.

She didn’t want to be alone, not in this life, not when she could share it with Kenny “Nothing is Impossible” Cavanaugh.

She reached her bedroom and turned on a light as she practically stumbled across the room to rip off her clothes so she could take a shower. At the closet door, she stopped and stared at the papers that started this whole mess on the floor. She hadn’t cleaned them up yet because the thought of touching them had hurt her heart this afternoon.

Crouching down, she flipped open the top of the bin and started storing the papers properly this time, including the autopsy report that she couldn’t bear to touch. The letters between lawyers, the nondisclosure agreement. All the things required to cover up the truth.

What would they tell their child?

She stood holding the box, the question pressing down on her. Would they try to protect him or her from the past? Would they tell their baby the truth about his or her paternal grandfather? Would this child even
have
a living maternal grandfather?

They’d figure it out, together. And even that thought made her smile.

“Well, what do you know, Miss Independent?” she said as she whipped open the step stool, replaying the questions she’d just asked herself.

She
had unequivocally become a
they
.

She put her foot on the first step, carefully staying to the right. “They.” She said it out loud on purpose, liking the sound of it.

“We,” she said, moving gingerly to the next step. “
We
is nice,” she whispered. “You like that, cupcake?”

She reached the top step. “Us. Oh, I like the sound of
us
.” She let go of the ladder to hold the box in two hands, lifting it high to shove it back into its slot between the other two. “They, we, us.” She pushed hard, but the box wouldn’t slide in place. “It sounds like a fam—”

The step stool wavered under the next push, leaning to the left, then the right, as Beth helplessly tried to regain her balance. With a shriek, she let go of the bin to grab some clothes and stop the fall, and the thick plastic fell right back on her head, stunning her as a hard corner slammed her temple.

She called out as she lost her footing, tumbling backward. The world suddenly moved in slow motion, the colors of her clothes like a flash of a rainbow in front of her eyes as she fell to the ground, the thud of her body hitting the floor a shocking force that cracked her teeth together.

It hurt. Everything hurt. Her bottom, her elbows, her head.

Her
baby
.

She put her hand on her stomach but a ping of pain shot through her temple, shocking her with intensity, making everything fade to black. Oh no, she couldn’t faint. She forced her eyes open, and her mouth, trying to call out for help.

She could feel herself slipping and sinking into unconsciousness, like dropping into quicksand as a dark weight pulled her down against her will.

How long would she be on the closet floor? Who would find her? And would she ever get to say those words to Ken?

I love you.

But the world went black.

Chapter Twenty-four

Ken texted Beth that he was on his way over as he left the hospital, his guard duty watch ending about an hour after it started. Landon had walked back into the waiting room not long after Ken poured a second cup of coffee and found ESPN on the TV in the waiting room.

Landon wanted to wait for a man who’d been a father to him and encouraged Ken to get to Beth, who looked like she was about to keel over when they’d all met back at the resort parking lot.

It was all Ken needed to hear, along with that low grade gnawing that started when he remembered he hadn’t had a chance to take that CO monitor to her house, and he really didn’t want her sleeping there until he confirmed it was safe.

But when he pulled into Beth’s driveway, he realized she hadn’t texted back.

He parked behind her Explorer and squinted at the house, deciding that at least one light was on in the hall. She could have been so tired she crashed with the lights on, poor thing.

Except how would he get in without waking her?

He hustled up to the front door only to find that, for once, she’d locked it. Great. He peered in the window and definitely saw a light on somewhere in the back, but no movement.

He stepped away from the door, puffing out a frustrated sigh. He could go pound on her bedroom window or the sliders, if the screen door to the patio wasn’t locked.

But he hated to scare her like that if she’d fallen sound asleep.

Should he go home and let her rest? It was probably the smartest thing to do, but not what he wanted to do. Not at all.

He pulled out his phone again and tapped her name to call her. It rang a few times, then went to voice mail.

Now that was weird. She should jump at a ringing cell phone tonight, he thought. With her father on the edge of life and death, she would have the phone on and close to her head.

He headed toward the back where her bedroom was. He tried to peer through a window, but the shutters were closed.

Could he look through the sliders on the screened-in patio?

The screen door was locked, making him consider how much damage he wanted to do in an effort to wake her.

Or maybe she was taking a shower, he thought. That would explain the light, maybe from the hall bath. Or her closet.

He froze for a moment, his hand still on the screen door.

She could be in the closet, breathing carbon monoxide.

“Shit,” he murmured, yanking a little harder at the screen door handle while he pictured her closet. But all he could see was that bin full of damning papers that had fallen and fluttered to the ground.

She probably put them back by now.

His heart popped at the thought of her…on that rickety step stool. Without taking time for one more scenario to play in his firefighter’s mind, he stabbed the screen with his bare hand, tearing it away from the metal frame. He practically broke the latch unlocking it, flinging the door open and running to the sliders that lined her bedroom wall. The curtains were drawn, and the sliding glass was locked, but he smashed his face against the glass, trying to see through a crack in the drapes.

Yes, there was a faint light…like she was
in the closet
.

“Beth!” He smacked his hand on the glass more in frustration than any chance of getting in this way. He had no tools, no ax, no way to ram into the house.

Break the glass? Kick down the front door?

The hall bathroom had a door onto the patio, he remembered. Pivoting, he vaulted toward that door and tried to open it. Locked. Stepping back, he braced himself, lifted one leg, and flattened his foot against the wood exactly where it would be the weakest. It cracked but didn’t open.

He called her name again, frustration and fear firing sparks up his spine. He was positive something was wrong now. No way she’d sleep through all the noise he was making trying to break into her house.

Without waiting for a response, he kicked again and again, finally splintering the wood and ramming it with his shoulder to pop the door wide open. Still calling her name, he ran into the hall, down to her bedroom, and whipped around the corner into the closet.

“Beth.” He barely whispered her name, falling to his knees at the sight of her slumped body. His hands shook as he checked her pulse, like he’d never done the simple act before.

Because it had never mattered so much before.

Her heart was beating, and she was breathing. Thankfully, this wasn’t the second Endicott he’d have to perform CPR on. He tapped her shoulder over and over, rocking her gently, coaxing her awake.

A purple egg rose on her left temple where she must have hit it, or something hit her. He stole a glance at the cursed storage box next to her, a sea of papers he was already too familiar with spread around her, the damn step stool on its side.

“
Mmmh
.”

When she moaned, he came closer, willing her back to consciousness. “Beth?”

“
Ohhhh
.” It was a grunt as she worked to pull herself awake.

He didn’t move her, wanting her to wake and tell him if anything hurt before he decided whether or not it was safe to pick her up. She could have broken her back or—

“Baby,” she murmured, lashes fluttering. “Our baby.”

Or hurt the baby. On instinct, he looked down. Her dark skirt covered her thighs, but there was no sign of trauma or blood. “Beth, can you wake up? Tell me what hurts?”

She managed to open her eyes to slits. “Kenny.”

“I’m here, sweetheart. Can I lift you? Does anything hurt?”

“I…fell.”

“I know.”

She finally opened her eyes all the way, focusing on him. “You came to me.”

He lowered his head and pressed a kiss on her hair, still uncertain if he should move her. “Of course. Does your back hurt? Can you move your arms and legs? I don’t want to cause more damage when I get you out of here.”

“I can move.” She lifted one arm, then the other. “The bin hit my head.” She raised her hand to touch the bruise, but he stopped her.

“Don’t touch it. I’ll take care of it. Legs moving?”

She inched one leg from side to side, then the other, looking up at him. “Nothing hurts, Ken, except my pride and my head. I shouldn’t have climbed that thing.” She reached up to touch his face. “But you came to me. Why did you leave my dad?”

“Landon came back. He really has a soft spot for your dad, and he was worried about you.” He slid his hands under her back and knees, rising slowly with her in his arms. “For good reason.”

He stood and carefully carried her out of the closet to lay her on the bed. “Let me get some ice for that bruise. Is there any in that little fridge?”

“Yeah.” She settled into the pillow. “Could this day get any worse?”

“Well, let’s see. I broke a door.”

“My hero.”

He kissed her on the forehead before leaving to get ice. “We’re lucky that bruise is all you got.” And lucky he arrived when he did. “I’m still not a hundred percent sure about that water heater,” he called as he found a small ice tray in the freezer. “But I have a monitor in the truck that I grabbed from my garage before I left for Barefoot Bay. As soon as we get ice on that, I’ll check the levels. If there’s anything, we’re going to my house.”

He waited for her to make a comment about how he’d brought a CO monitor when he’d come to Junonia, as if he
knew
he’d spend the night here. Or how she wanted to stay. Or what she was feeling.

But she didn’t say a word.

He grabbed a small towel and hustled back down the hall, glancing into the bathroom on the way. “And I’ll fix that door tomorrow.” He popped some ice into the towel. “I have the day off so we can go to Lowe’s or Home Dep—”

He stopped in the doorway at the sight of her sitting on the bed, her skirt raised, her hand held out, a sob ripping her body in half so hard she couldn’t make a word come out. He dropped the ice and towel and came right to her, sucking in a breath at the sight of blood on her exposed thigh.

“I’m bleeding,” she whimpered. “I’m…losing…our baby.”

* * *

Beth turned to face Ken through the rail of the hospital bed. “They don’t act quite as urgent in here as they did in that cardiology department.”

He wasn’t surprised. An ER wouldn’t treat this situation with the same frantic rush to save a life as she’d witnessed hours ago when they brought her father in. They’d taken her right away, handled all the vitals, and got her comfortable. But a miscarriage on an eight-week pregnancy wasn’t something they could stop in its tracks like a sudden cardiac arrest. So an hour or two one way or the other wasn’t going to matter in a place where seconds spent on another patient could save a life.