Barefoot in the Sun (14 page)

Pasha slammed her hand on Zoe’s mouth. “Don’t.”

Zoe jerked away, the fire blazing in her eyes for a whole different reason now. “What is wrong with you?” she demanded. “I’ve found a solution!”

But Pasha had a better one.

She shook her head and conjured up some fake gypsy tears. “Please take me home, little one. I promise I’ll come back tomorrow. Oh, no, tomorrow’s Sunday. So maybe Monday, then. One day won’t make a difference. And I will come back, Zoe. I enjoy that little boy very much.”

Zoe dropped back into her chair with a sigh, shaking her head. “You can’t outrun cancer, Pasha.”

Pasha swallowed—mercy, that hurt—and cast her gaze over Zoe’s shoulder.

“Hey.” Zoe took Pasha’s chin and angled her face so they had to look at each other. “We’re a team, remember. I’ll be with you every step of the way on this.”

But the fact was, she wouldn’t be. Not every step. Not this time. “ ’Kay.” She gave a quick smile and prayed that Zoe couldn’t tell she was lying.

Pasha was sound asleep by ten, leaving Zoe restless and bored and on the hunt for company. After a quick check on her aunt, Zoe slipped out into the moonlight, grateful to see a light on in the bungalow next door. But Tessa didn’t answer Zoe’s soft tap at the front door. She must have fallen asleep, and Zoe didn’t have the heart to wake her so she headed back, considering a walk to Lacey’s house. Surely
she
was up, with a newborn.

As she crossed the grassy area that separated each cottage, a soft sound from the gardens rustled through the air.

An animal? They were out here. Opossum, giant crane birds, and don’t try to tell her a gator couldn’t come from the canals on the east side of the island looking for a midnight snack.

With a quick shiver Zoe took a few quick steps, abandoning the idea of a walk through the gardens, however tempting a late-night girl talk might be. She took a few more steps, then heard the sound again.

That wasn’t an animal. It was a person. A person…
sniffing
.

Zoe headed into the shadows of the garden, her gut telling her exactly who was out here.

She found Tessa in between two rows of leafy greens, her arms wrapped around her legs, her face buried in her knees, her shoulders heaving with silent sobs.

“Hey,” Zoe said softly, not so loud that it scared the crap out of Tessa, but loud enough to beat out the sobs. “And here I thought
I
needed a little girl talk.”

Tessa lifted her head, the moon bright enough to reveal her red-rimmed eyes. “I don’t want to talk,” she said, the lie so pathetic Zoe almost laughed.

“Oh, I see you’re out here weeding.” She dropped into the soft dirt, praying that no nocturnal critters were out and about.

Tessa sniffed and wiped her eyes. “I said I don’t need to talk.”

“You said you don’t want to talk. Needing and wanting are two different things.” She lifted a leaf and examined the exposed vegetable. “Surely I’m better company than the…” She knew this; Tessa had told her. “Flying Chinese peas.”

That got a smile. “Asian winged beans.”

“Close enough. They look like caterpillars run over by a steamroller.” She dropped the plant and eyed her friend. “Looks like something flattened you, too.”

“Billy,” she said softly. “That’s the steamroller who flattened me.”

“Oh, the fuckwad ex-husband. Don’t tell me, baby number two was born and Billy the Bonehead just had to text you from the delivery room.”

“How did you know?” Tessa croaked in disbelief.

“Oh, Tess. Really? Why would he do that?”

She nodded and swiped her nose. “The baby was five weeks early, and in his defense—not that there is one—he knows how I feel about everything not being out in the open. So he thought I should know right away and not hear it from one of our mutual friends.”

“He’s too thoughtful,” Zoe said wryly. “I hate him.”

“Zoe, you said you loved Billy when I married him.”

“
Hello?
Wedding champagne. Anyway, have we not established that my taste in men is not the most reliable yardstick, hon?”

“Oliver’s nice,” Tessa said.

“Let’s not talk about Oliver. I’d rather crucify Billy for a while. Did he marry that baby machine yet?”

“No, they’re living together still, up to the eyeballs in diapers.”

“Which means they’re up to their eyeballs in diapers full of…oh my God that green stuff that Elijah makes. Have you
seen
that goop?”

Tessa sighed. “I wouldn’t mind.”

“Of course not. It looks like organic creamed spinach to you.” But Tessa didn’t laugh, so Zoe leaned closer. “Why don’t you adopt?”

Tessa leaned back on a sigh. “We looked into adoption years ago and it’s not as easy as you’d think unless you have a super-stable life. I’m a single woman who spent most of the last ten years moving from country to country, farming. By the time I got through the legal wrangling and qualified, I could be forty.”

“So?”

“I want a baby now, that’s all.” She plucked a leaf. “There are other options for me to be a real mother.”

“A
real
mother?” Zoe couldn’t keep the disgust out of her voice. “What the hell does that mean, anyway? You think Pasha wasn’t a real mother to me?”

“No, Zoe, that’s not what I’m saying at all, and I’m sorry, that was a poor choice of words. But she’s your great-aunt, so there’s blood there.”

Zoe didn’t answer, as a swell of guilt and discomfort rolled over her.

He knows how I feel about everything not being out in the open.

Lord, even Tessa’s horrible ex was more forthcoming, out of respect for what was important to Tessa. Quiet, Zoe stuck her fingers in the soft soil and sifted it. She really should tell her best friends, but now she’d lied to them for so long she wouldn’t know where to start.

“Do you even remember your mother, Zoe?” Tessa asked quietly.

Start right there.

No, she couldn’t. The lies were so ingrained, so imprinted on her heart, that after a few dozen times of reciting them, they became truths.

My parents died in a car accident when I was ten. Aunt Pasha was my only relative. She raised me. We move a lot because there’s gypsy blood in the Tamarin line.

“Barely,” Zoe said, instead of lying by rote. “Pasha’s my mother, for all intents and purposes. And you could be that person to another child who doesn’t have parents. What you need is to get a kid that’s been housebroken.”

“Like a foster child?” Tessa asked. “I don’t know if I could stand to give it away.”

Zoe couldn’t even respond to that. She turned away, certain that even in the moonlight Tessa could read her expression.

Could the door be open any wider?

The truth would feel
so
good. To sit here in the moonlight and share histories and secrets. Just to let the pressure of a lifetime of lies lift from her heart would be so liberating. Sure, Tessa would be mad as hell, but they’d be closer and more trusting, wouldn’t they? It would be a breakthrough moment, and they’d tell Jocelyn and Lacey, and surely they’d all rally round Zoe. They’d finally understand what made her tick, forgiving her deceptions, and be all
Fearsome Foursome, go team go
. Right?

Or would they hate her for hiding the truth for all these years?

And if she told the truth, even whispered it right here in the moonlit garden to a woman whose perspective could change if she knew Zoe’s history, would Zoe be breaking a promise to someone who’d been so much more than a friend?

What a bitch of a dilemma.

“Anyway, I’m not sure I’m equipped to handle a foster child,” Tessa continued. “Some of them have been abused and neglected and God knows what.”

Yeah, God knew what and didn’t do a damn thing about it. But Pasha did.

“You could probably handle it, Tessa.” Zoe’s hands shook a little as she played with a row of strange bean pods, popping one off and snapping it to find three splotchy red lima beans inside.

“I want a baby to keep and raise, not a social services project I’m scared to get attached to,” Tessa said.

Was
that
what she’d think Zoe was? Had Pasha? Of course not. Pasha had just scooped Zoe out of her life and saved her ass. Which is why Zoe owed her complete loyalty to Pasha, not Tessa, who was actually pissing her off even more than usual right that moment.

“A child like that needs love, like any other kid.”

”But don’t you have to give a foster child away at some point?”

“How would I know?” Zoe said, sounding irrationally defensive and not giving a shit right then. The misconceptions about foster kids made her crazy, and so did this conversation. “I don’t think all of them are like delinquents or crack babies. You might get your maternal instincts appeased for a while.”

“Well, that’s not what I want.”

“What about what they want?” she demanded. “Why is it always about you, Tessa? You and your uterus. Don’t you ever think about those poor kids and how much one of them could be transformed by living here, learning from you, loving you, eating this tie-dyed bean?”

Tessa gave a weak smile. “That’s a Christmas pole lima bean, Zoe. And, honestly, this isn’t about my poor, empty uterus. It’s about the one thing I wanted to be in my whole life. A mother forever. Isn’t there anything you ever wanted to be or do, something that burns inside of you like a lifelong dream, the thing that would make you so happy and whole that you just know you have to have it someday?”

Oh, yes, there was. A permanent, stable, enduring address to a place that had history and happiness in every corner. But nothing could make Zoe say the ultimate four-letter word out loud.

Home
.

“Isn’t there?” Tessa demanded.

“No,” Zoe lied. “I just want to be a hot air balloon pilot who drifts from city to city without any chance of putting down roots that could do nothing but strangle me.”

Even she could hear the sarcasm in her tone and, damn it, she wanted that line to come off as the truth.

“Roots are what I live for.” Tessa leaned forward, her eyes piercing. “Roots don’t strangle if the plant is well tended, my friend. Roots nourish. They provide stability. They make sure the plant doesn’t merely survive, but thrives and grows and produces a fruit or vegetable.”

“Enough with the gardening metaphors. You know what I meant.”

“No, I don’t, Zoe. You don’t really like this…this whimsical, immature life you’re living, do you?”

She snorted. “Excuse me, but I am not the one sobbing in the dirt.”

“You just keep on pretending to be someone I know you’re not.”

Zoe gasped a little, shocked at how the conversation had turned on her. “I am? You know this how?”

“You’re always pretending to be some sex-loving, hard-drinking, joke-making party girl, when deep inside you’re really a sweet angel who would do anything for her old aunt and gets tipsy on a glass of Chardonnay.”

Oh, God, Zoe, just tell her.

“You know damn well it takes two glasses.” The tease tasted like vinegar on her tongue, but she said it anyway. Because she couldn’t face the truth. “And now that we have me all figured out, why don’t we talk about you and your issues?”

“Nah.” Tessa stood up, brushing dirt off her jeans. “I feel much better. And I know what you should do, Zoe.”

“Stop pretending?”

“Well, that, yeah, and you should move.”

“Oh, I’m sure I will. That’s my life.”

She held out her hand to help Zoe up. “Here.”

“Thanks.”

“No, I mean
here
is where you should move. Right here, to Barefoot Bay on Mimosa Key. I think this is the one place you can have that thing you’re longing for, that dream that will make you whole and happy.”

“You sound like Pasha the Predictor now.”

Tessa ignored the comment. “A home, Zoe. This can be your forever home. And isn’t that what you want more than anything?”

So much for
secret
longings. How did Tessa know that?

“You’re not going to deny it, are you?” Tessa asked.

“Home is overrated,” Zoe said, looking up to the stars, suddenly imagining the utter peace and security of a night balloon flight wrapped in silence and sky. “I prefer to be untethered.”

Tessa sighed. “I guess that’s the difference between us, then. I’d kill for a few tethers I could diaper and love.”

Zoe put her hand on Tessa’s shoulder, handing her the lima bean. “Here. There were two little beans in this pod. Pasha would say that’s a sign you could have twins.”

“I wish Pasha’s predictions were right.”

Zoe angled her head, surprised. “They are.”

Tessa looked a little hopeful when she took the bean and headed into her bungalow, seeming much more lighthearted and leaving Zoe feeling exactly the opposite.

What was stopping her from telling the truth? Habit? Fear? The anger and disappointment she’d see in one of her closest friend’s eyes?

And yet she wanted to talk about it so much. She walked toward the bungalows, aware of a pressure on her heart so heavy she almost couldn’t breathe. What was that?

This can be your forever home. And isn’t that what you want more than anything
?

Considering how well her friends knew her, it was a miracle they hadn’t figured out the truth by now.

She kicked the dirt and peered up at the moon, suddenly turning in the opposite direction, toward the other side of the resort, no longer concerned about night critters. Her heart ached with untold secrets. Her body tensed with the need to tear down that wall that surrounded the
hard-dri
nkin
g, joke-making, sex-loving party girl who never lets her feelings show.

Meandering through the back of Casa Blanca, she made her way to another wall—a wooden fence, actually. On the other side of it was…the thing she wanted most right then.

T
he Glenlivet burned on the way down his throat, but Oliver didn’t bother to chase the shot with water. Instead he drew in a slow, deep breath so the bittersweet flavors of the scotch worked their way up into his head, clearing it.

And still he stared at the silver-blue pool and imagined he could see Zoe, swimming naked like some kind of laughing, loving water nymph with flowing blonde hair and luscious wet skin.

Well, that beat the darker images that usually haunted him when he was alone in a house. So far the little villa on the beach hadn’t triggered any old memories, but maybe that was because Evan was here. In Chicago the house had never been empty; even if Adele had been traveling and Evan had been sent to stay at his grandmother’s, they’d had live-in staff.

He’d never had to come home to an empty house.

He pushed the glass to the side and returned his attention to the tablet computer on the table, forcing himself to finish the report to Raj and the team, bringing them all up to speed on their newest case and the schedule for tests and treatment.

Still, the words blurred in front of him and his mind wandered back to Zoe.

She wasn’t going to try to fix Pasha’s legal problems. Why did Zoe have to be so driven by loyalty and emotions and an invisible sense of duty when that could be steering her aunt all wrong?

He tapped into the Internet and opened a search bar, an attempt to pull up some facts based on the little information she’d ever given him.

Bridget. Corpus Christi. Foster Child. Missing.

He sipped while a few results flashed on the screen, mostly recent stories that couldn’t possibly be connected to something that had happened about twenty-five years ago.

He took another drink and started to skim the links but a sound at the fence caught his attention. Looking past the pool screen, he peered into the darkness, expecting to see an animal.

Every light in the house was off, the fiber-optic pool lights were too dim to cast much glow, so he listened, definitely hearing something thud against the privacy fence.

And the soft intake of breath.

An intruder at the resort? Without making a sound, he unlatched the screen door and stepped onto the narrow strip of grass around the patio. He walked along the wall, cocking his ear.

Another thud, and this time two hands appeared at the top of the fence, along with a loud bump—someone hoisting themselves up on the other side, probably balancing on the crossbeam that ran along the back of the stockade-style wooden fence.

A ballsy intruder, then.

He hid behind a thick hibiscus bush, placing himself between the intruder and any entrance to the house. He didn’t have a weapon, but he had his bare hands and he’d use them before anyone got near—

Blonde hair popped over the fence.

What the
hell
was she doing?

Zoe pushed herself up higher and one foot in a bright-yellow flip-flop came over the fence, a short black dress riding up to reveal her bare thigh. Turning her head from side to side, she peered into the darkness and then hoisted herself higher.

Jesus, she was fearless. And crazy. And gorgeous. And
here
.

He managed not to make a sound or move, watching as she maneuvered over the fence and angled herself to—she wouldn’t jump, would she?

Of course she would. She’d do anything. That was why she made him hard and hot and flat-out insane with how much he wanted to capture her and hold her down and force her to
stay still
and
be his
and
not leave him
.

But if she did that, she wouldn’t be Zoe. She wouldn’t be the woman who climbed fences and…

Jumped. He sucked in a breath as she leaped into the air like a bird, arms out, hair flying, dress high enough for him to see that she was bare-ass naked underneath.

She landed with a soft thump, tumbling to her knees like she was born to be a cat burglar. But something told him she wasn’t here to steal anything, except his sanity. And his breath. And his heart.

Or maybe she just wanted to get laid.

“Can I help you?” He stepped out from behind the bush and earned a loud gasp of shock.

“Oh my God, you scared me!”

He smiled, the irony too obvious to comment on. He reached down to give her a hand. “Let’s see…you didn’t want to knock and wake Evan?”

She let him pull her up. “I was strolling the grounds and ended up back there.”

“By chance?”

“Luck.” She grinned. “Did you think I was a heavily armed intruder?”

“Not when the dress flew up. Don’t know where you’d hide a weapon.” He gestured toward the screen door, letting her brush by him. She left a trail of something that smelled like honeysuckle and sin behind her.

And he followed like a fucking dog in heat.

Inside the patio, she went straight to the table and his heart stopped. If she looked at that tablet screen…

What difference did it make? Why not let her know exactly what he was doing? He was trying to help.

She lifted the glass and sniffed, made a face, then sipped. “Ewww. That tastes like lighter fluid filtered through swamp water. Why would anyone drink that?”

“It’s manly.”

Laughing, she dropped into his empty chair and draped her arms over the side. “Can I have something girly? Like, you know, beer or vodka?”

“Stay here.”

He went into the kitchen and grabbed the bottle of Grey Goose he’d picked up when supply shopping, telling himself it wasn’t because he knew she liked it, poured it over ice, tore into a juice box, and added a splash. Before going back out, he slipped into the living room and broke the bloom off a bright-pink flower from a bouquet to garnish the drink.

He half expected her to be skimming his tablet and following his last Internet search when he came out, but she was sitting at the edge of the shallow end, her feet dangling in the water.

He joined her, sticking his feet in the pool as he presented the drink. “Girly enough for you?”

“Perfect.” She raised her glass. “Let’s drink to…”

“Whatever made you come over here.”

“Dead batteries.”

He laughed. “At least you’re honest.”

“Except when I’m not.” She tapped his glass with hers, casting her eyes downward. “It’s hard to live life as a liar when you’re as open as I am.”

“I imagine it is.”

She lifted the flower and laid it down before sipping her drink, closing her eyes and moaning appreciatively. “Damn, that’s good.” She tasted again. “Cranberry juice?”

“Apple Raspberry Juicy Juice.”

She smiled. “The mixer of champions.”

“So, Zoe, why don’t you stop lying if it’s so hard for you?”

“It’s become a way of life.” The blunt candor actually surprised him. “In fact, just moments ago, life handed me the perfect opportunity to share all my secrets with one of my very best friends and what do you think I did?”

He didn’t answer because he was still trying to process that her friends didn’t know her past.

“That’s right,” she answered for him. “Nothing. Not exactly a lie, unless you count omission.”

“You mean to tell me that Lacey and Tessa and Jocelyn don’t know that Pasha’s not really your great-aunt?”

“They know she’s sick,” she said, as if that were a huge bit of progress. “But the rest of my sad tale of woe?” She lifted her glass again. “Only you, doc. Only you.”

He would have liked to hold on to the sideways compliment, but he was still too perplexed by her confession. “But they’re your best friends, Zoe. They can give you advice and be sounding boards.”

“And I might even be able to return the favor by helping them. At least I could set Tessa straight on the truth about foster kids.” She splashed her feet in the water, creating ripples that danced across the teal water. “But there is a downside.”

“Surely you don’t think they’d turn Pahsa in.”

“No. But they might hate me for not coming clean.”

He let his knuckles brush her exposed thigh, trying not to think about what wasn’t on under that thin dress. It would take one second to have her naked and in his arms. One second.

He lingered on the thought for a lot longer than that, watching her drink and think.

“I don’t believe they’d hate you,” he finally said. “You are judging yourself far more harshly than they would.”

“Hate’s a strong word,” she agreed. “But how do you think they’re going to feel when I tell them I’m not…” She closed her eyes and whispered, “I’m not a girl named Zoe Tamarin.”

He put down his drink and reached for her, wrapping his hands around the slender column of her throat and holding her jaw with his thumbs. “No one cares what your name is, Zoe. You are
you
. An amazing, funny, beautiful woman. You owe your friends the truth.”

She looked away, refusing to make eye contact.

“What’s the worst that could happen?” he asked.

“I could lose them, like I…lost you.”

He tightened his grip. “You didn’t lose me. Surely you believe that by now.”

Finally, she shifted her gaze to meet his. “I’m ashamed,” she said softly.

“You were a kid.”

“But I let this lifestyle go on and on for years,” she said, inching free to make her point. “Every time I had a choice—including that day in Chicago when Pasha said I should stay—I took the chickenshit, lazy, easy, loser choice.”

Yet she was none of those things. “You and Pasha simply got yourself painted into a corner, Zoe. She protected you and you protected her and neither one of you could get off—”

“Don’t make my excuses for me.” She took a lusty gulp and put the glass down so hard he thought it might crack on the stone pavers. In a second, she turned to him, her eyes bright.

“Then don’t make your own,” he said.

“Touché. So you noticed that I’m naked under this?” She fluttered the hem of the dress seductively.

Of course, she wanted to plow over the tough stuff with sex. And as much as he wanted to drive that plow, he refused.

“Why don’t you tell me what happened?”

Her brows drew together. “When?”

“I know you say Pasha’s at risk of being charged for kidnapping, but what actually happened?”

She tilted her head, a smile pulling. “You don’t want to have sex with me?”

“I’m going to assume that’s a rhetorical question. What I don’t want to do is derail this conversation yet.”

Without warning, her hand landed on his crotch, squeezing, a bolt of lightning shooting right into his balls. “What are you doing?”

“Making sure you’re a guy.”

He put his hand over hers and pressed, his erection growing with each passing heartbeat. “I’m not
a
guy. I’m
the
guy. I’m the one who knows you, Zoe.” Very slowly, because it hurt like a motherfucker even to think about making the move, he lifted her hand and put it on her lap. “Now tell me the story. What happened when Pasha ‘kidnapped’ you? I take it she didn’t throw you in a trunk and drive off.” He frowned when she didn’t reply. “Did she?”

“Of course not.” She picked up her hand and looked at it like her very fingers had betrayed her. “I’m really losing my touch.”

“Your touch is…”
Insane
. “Fine. And my kid’s asleep upstairs,” he added, more to assuage her humiliation than anything. “I’ve waited nine years, Zoe.”

“For sex with me?”

“For this story.”

Puffing out some air, she leaned back on her hands, breaking their contact but staying close enough that he could feel the silk of her calves against his and the splash of warm water between them. “She did drive off. But I was in the passenger seat, not the trunk.”

“Ten years old?” The threads of her story had stayed in his mind over the years, but no real tapestry had emerged. She’d been in trouble, run away, found safety with Pasha, and—that was all he knew. “How did it happen?”

She didn’t answer for a while, drinking instead.

He gave her leg a nudge.

“Okay, okay. I’m getting fortified.” One more luscious sip, this one with her eyes closed and head tilted back. It took everything in him not to dip his head and kiss her exposed throat. “I have never spoken this story out loud,” she announced as she set the drink down next to her. “Not once, not even to myself. So bear with me.”

“I have all night and an eight-pack of Juicy Juice. Talk to me.”

She exhaled a soft whistle and looked out over the water, gathering her thoughts. “I was raised in foster homes. I think I mentioned that on our balloon ride.”

He nodded his head, but she didn’t even look at him. “Yes, you did. But when we were dating, you told me your parents died in a car accident, and that Pasha was your father’s aunt and your only living relative and she was appointed as your legal guardian. But…” His voice trailed off as it hit him then—really hit him like a brick to the brain.

Zoe had lied to him from day one. She’d
never
told him the truth.

She glanced at him, no doubt reading his expression. “And I only knew you a month. Can you imagine how my lifelong friends are going to feel?”

Yes, actually, he could. They’d feel betrayed and hurt and cheated. Those emotions strangled enough that he couldn’t talk.

“Sometimes,” Zoe said, “you tell a lie for so long it becomes the truth.”

“No,” he managed to reply. “It never becomes the truth.”

“I’m sorry, Oliver.” She angled her head toward him. “I wasn’t happy about lying to you. That’s why I took you on that balloon ride. I wanted to tell you the real truth up there. I did, I tried, anyway.”

“Tell me now, down here.”

“Okay. I might have to go back to, you know, the beginning.” She took another drink, then continued. “I have no idea who my father is. I doubt my mother did, either, but she overdosed when I was four, I think. I really don’t know. I was truly an orphan—she was a runaway, too, and…” Her voice cracked.

“Shhh. Zoe, don’t cry.” He put his hand on her shoulder, but she wiggled out of his touch.

“I’m not crying. My voice always cracks when I’m nervous.”

“Why are you nervous? This is me.”