Lakeshore Chronicles [10] Candlelight Christmas (9 page)

“I’m ready,” said Bilski. He took a piece of wax from a tub and went to work on his board. After they’d covered their boards with a thick coat of wax, Logan gave the surf’s-up sign and waded out into the ocean with his favorite board, a thruster.

He turned back to say something to Bilski, and all the words, along with all coherent thought, drained out of his head. Darcy Fitzgerald was the unexpected cause of his brain damage.

At first he didn’t even realize it was her. Then he saw the big floppy hat and shades left by her beach bag. She’d taken off the big shapeless coverup to reveal the hottest bikini bod he’d seen since...maybe ever. His sister’s charming but frumpy friend had suddenly turned into a goddess. He tried not to gawk, but damn. She might not be his type, but she sure as hell was built like his type.

Oblivious of his stare, she bent over to strap the leash of the board around her ankle.

“Oh, sweet mother Mary,” whispered Bilski. “Remind me I’m a married man.”

“Daddy! Daddy!” Fisher’s shrill voice pierced the air. “I made you a wig out of seaweed. Come try it on.”

“There’s your reminder,” said Logan, without taking his eyes off Darcy. She arched her back slightly and shook out her hair. Then in a graceful movement, she bent down again, displaying that perfect ass, and picked up the board. Logan tried not to groan aloud.

This, he realized, was going to go well. Extremely well. He had been surfing these waters since he was a kid. He knew every wave, every break pattern. She was going to need help. He was the guy to coach her. He’d span his hands across her waist, feel those nice taut abs...

As she approached him, amazing in the yellow bikini, he wondered if he should warn her about her top—or bottom—coming off in the waves.

Naw.

He lowered his board to conceal his excitement.

“Ready?” he asked her.

“As I’ll ever be.” Her eyes sparkled as she regarded the waves.

India bustled forward with a rash guard. “Put this on,” she said, holding out the shirt.

Killjoy, thought Logan. But the rash guard was skintight, concealing nothing. “So, the best breaks are over there,” he said, pointing. “If you start in the white water, you’ll have fun. The green waves are amazing here, but you might want to work up to them.”

“Dad! Check it out!” Charlie splashed toward him through the surf, kicking up a storm of water, spraying both Logan and Darcy. Charlie waved his sand pail. “I caught a mullet!”

“Well, jeez, buddy,” Logan said, “you got us both soaked.”

“Oh, sorry.”

“You remember Darcy?”

“Yeah, from summer. Hi.”

“Hey, Charlie.”

The kid stared, his mouth slightly open. He was ten years old, just starting to exhibit the signs of female-induced brain damage. He fumbled with the pail. “Want to see my mullet?”

“How could I resist such an invitation?” She leaned over and peered into the bucket. It was all Logan could do to keep his eyes off her tits. “That’s pretty cool,” she said.

“Yeah,” said Charlie. “So, Dad, can I keep him?”

“A mullet? A freaking mullet?”

“I mean, just to watch him, you know.”

“You crack me up.” Logan tousled his son’s damp and salty head.

“You crack me down.” Charlie grinned, the exchange a familiar one.

Logan felt a wave of affection for the kid. Charlie wasn’t a little boy any longer. Gone were the round apple cheeks and high-pitched voice. In his place was a funny, smart, sometimes cheeky kid—one who was not immune to yellow bikinis.

“Just don’t let it drown,” he said.

“It’s a fish. It’s not gonna drown.”

“When you keep a fish in a small amount of water, it runs out of oxygen and could suffocate.”

Charlie’s face fell. “I’m letting him go, then.”

“Okay. That’s a good decision. Now, I need to give Darcy a surf lesson—”

“Dad.”

Logan turned to Darcy, but she was gone. Concern shot through him. Maybe she’d been swamped by a wave, caught in a riptide. He shaded his eyes to check the lifeguard station.

“Dad—”

“Not now, Charlie.” Logan’s voice was sharp with command. “I need to find Darcy.”

“But—”

“Not another word.”

At that, Charlie grabbed his arm and pulled him around to face the horizon. He pointed at something out on the water.

Holy crap.
Darcy was lying prone on her board, paddling out to the break—completely alone.

Logan bolted into action, rushing through the surf and jumping on his board to paddle after her. She hadn’t even been here an hour. He’d be a lousy host if he drowned his guest.

She had somehow managed to put a good bit of distance between them. She seemed like a strong paddler, using swift, deep strokes, the kind that would give her aching shoulders tonight. When a white wave barreled toward her, Logan called out a warning—having the board swept away could be scary and dangerous.

She surprised him by sinking in front of the wave, then passing the board overhead and coming up on the other side.

Okay, he thought, his worry easing. She knew a little something about how to get out to the surf. Still, he needed to catch up with her before she reached the green water. The waves were not exactly tame today. He paddled full speed but didn’t catch her, and the noise of the pounding surf made yelling pointless. She rode up one side of a mounted wave and down the other, disappearing into a trough.

In the distance, a big roller took shape, gathering momentum.

She stopped paddling and turned her board.

No, oh, hell no.

“Darcy!” he yelled, though he knew she couldn’t hear. “Wait up.” He whistled to get her attention, to no avail.

He imagined the worst—she’d get battered by her surfboard, sucked out to sea, slammed under the force of the wave—and he felt responsible, letting her head blithely out into the open surf alone. “Damn it,” he said, paddling furiously in the direction he’d last seen her.

Then a movement flickered in the rise of the wave, and he stopped dead, bobbing on his board. His mouth dropped open as she went surfing past, giving him the cowabunga sign, a grin of delight on her face, her killer body, slick with salt water, flashing past, her hair streaming out behind from the speed, Botticelli’s Venus made flesh.

Logan stared like an idiot, mesmerized as she surfed up and down the tube, expertly carving turns, her feet seemingly glued to the board. She rode as if the water were a mountain of glass instead of an undulating tube, skimming one hand into the surface for more control. She flashed momentarily behind and then rose on the other side. At last, the white water caught up with her and she dove headfirst into the surf.

He still couldn’t move, riveted by the performance. It had been a long time, way too long, since a woman had taken him by surprise.

Too late, he saw an enormous wave rolling straight at him. Though he bailed over the side of his board, the force of the wave slapped him to the bottom of the ocean.

* * *

“This,” Logan said, “is what is known as a post-feast stupor.” He was slumped on the sofa in his mother’s designer living room, his feet propped on her designer coffee table. A football game—the third of the day—was playing on the TV, the crowd noise a low murmur punctuated by cheering. In the next room, Charlie was playing Parcheesi with his cousins. Inez, the housekeeper, was in the kitchen with his sisters, storing away the leftovers and cleaning up after the big meal.

Darcy, equally slumped, turned to him. “You mean you don’t want to go surfing again?”

He chuckled, the picture of her surfing like a goddess playing over and over again in his mind. “What, you don’t think you schooled me already?”

“I wasn’t trying to school you. I just love to surf and don’t get to do it often enough.”

“Where did you learn to surf like that?”

“Long Island. I was a lifeguard at Cupsogue Beach all through high school. Then in college, I did a study year abroad in Australia, just a bus ride away from Bondi Beach.”

“Very cool.” Logan had always sensed a special kind of sexiness in athletic girls. There was something about their confidence that appealed to him. And Darcy had it in spades.

“What about you?” she asked. “You looked pretty good out there yourself.”

“I’m surprised I never ran into you at Cupsogue,” he confessed. “It was one of my favorite places to go when I was shirking chores in the summer.”

“I probably blew the whistle at you when you were a skinny kid getting too close to the jetty,” she said.

She was the same age as his older sister, he thought. Four years older than him. “You should have said hi,” he pointed out.

“Maybe I did. Or maybe we weren’t meant to meet until now.”

For some reason, he liked the idea that they’d been circling closer and closer, unaware of each other until now. He’d never felt quite so comfortable around a woman before. She was just easy to be with. And now that he had the indelible image of her in his head—yellow bikini, board glued to her feet, long hair streaming—she was more interesting than ever.

The brothers-in-law perked up when there was a big play in the game. Al pounded his beer bottle on a side table. “Damn, that’s sweet,” he said. “I always thought you should have gone out for football in high school, son.”

Logan chuckled, though he wasn’t amused. “As I recall, I stayed so busy with soccer there wasn’t time for anything else.”

“You make time for what’s important to you,” said Al.

Logan was determined not to rise to the bait. “Right now I’d like to make time for Mom’s pumpkin pie.”

“Ah, sounds fantastic,” said Bilski.

“I’ll go start hovering in the kitchen,” said Ethan, the other brother-in-law, rising from the sofa with a groan.

“How about you?” Logan asked Darcy. “Pumpkin pie, or pecan?”

“Pumpkin all the way.”

“Hey, I heard a rumor of pie,” said Logan’s niece, Bernie. The rest of the nieces and nephews, along with Charlie, came charging into the room.

“I have a secret weapon,” said Inez as Ethan wheeled out the dessert cart. “I put whipped cream on top and sprinkle it with chopped maple glazed pecans.”

“I can’t make up my mind,” Charlie said.

“Inez, you’re killing me,” said Logan.

“You’re awesome,” said Charlie, wedging himself on the sofa between Logan and Darcy.

Thanks, pal,
thought Logan.
Thanks a hell of a lot.

“Arigato,”
Charlie added.

“He knows lots of words in Japanese,” said Fisher.

“Yeah,” said Goose. “Charlie speaks Japanese now.”

“Are you getting excited about moving to Japan?” Bilski asked him.

“It’s gonna be pretty rad.” Charlie shoveled in a big bite of pie.

“What are you looking forward to the most?” asked China. She was a teacher, adept at getting kids to talk.

“Dunno,” Charlie said. “I’m not there yet. My Japanese teacher said I’m gonna like the food and the culture. What’s culture, anyway?”

“It’s everything,” said Bernie. “Duh. Mom, when can we go to Japan to visit Charlie?”

“We can’t,” said her older sister, Nan. “He lives with his other family there, and they’re the enemy.”

“Are not,” Charlie snapped.

“He’s right,” said China. “They are not the enemy. Where in the world did you get that idea?”

“After people split up, they’re enemies,” said Nan, with firm authority.

“That’s just silly. Tell Charlie you’re sorry.”

“Sorry,” she mumbled.

“Sometimes I feel the same way,” Charlie admitted, mumbling past another bite of pie.

Logan lost his appetite. He ached for the kid. Was there any way to protect him from feeling torn loyalties? Any way to protect him from the life Logan and Daisy had given him? He hadn’t asked to be born to two people who weren’t meant to be together. All he wanted was to be part of a family, a regular kid. But Logan wasn’t sure it was his job to make the kid feel okay about moving halfway around the globe.

“Hey,” he said, “you’re in Florida, you stood up on a surfboard today, you had an epic Thanksgiving dinner and pumpkin pie. So life is good.”

“Yeah.” Charlie nodded agreeably enough.

“We have a lot,” said Logan. “A lot to be thankful for.”

“Yep.”

“Friends and family,” China said.

“Full bellies and Florida sunshine,” Marion added.

“And pie that makes me forget the whole world,” Darcy said. “Marion, I really appreciate being here with you guys.”

“I wish you could stay longer,” said Logan’s mother.

Logan checked his watch. “That reminds me. My shift is about to start.”

“How’s that? Are we eating in shifts now?” asked Bilski.

“Charlie and I are going to help serve dinner at Ryder House. It’s a place for kids who aren’t with their families.”