The Honeymoon Cottage (A Pajaro Bay Romance) (30 page)

"I wish...," Camilla said twenty minutes later.

He smiled at her. "I almost made it the last time, kid. I would've had 'em, if it wasn't for that smart-aleck frequent flier who noticed some little things."

Ryan saw Camilla's hand on the phone looked relaxed. "Like the fact you were emptying the country club patrons' wallets?"

"Minor detail. I would've made it. Just slipped a little bit. Bet you never thought your old dad could convince people he was an airline pilot, did ya?"

"No, pop." She looked at him through the plexiglass barrier. "It was real clever."

The conversation could have been funny. But it was not funny at all.

Her old man told her all about his absurd con game, bragging as if he was real smart. She listened patiently, nodding, not correcting him when he said things that were obviously lies.

How could she be so compassionate with him? What was wrong with her that when she finally had the chance to tell him how much he hurt her she just sat there, listening to his idiotic comments and treating him—

Like she treated Oliver. Ryan rocked back on his heels, uncrossed his arms. This was who Camilla was. She had this deep well of kindness, understanding and compassion. It was what he'd noticed in her the first day he'd met her. What had stood out when he'd watched her with Oliver.

This woman was special. He would never be like her, but he had to admire what she was. She was something he would never be. Loving. Forgiving.

Their appointment time was up.

He watched as Camilla felt around for her purse and then stood up, still with the phone in hand. "I'll write you, pop."

He nodded, and Ryan saw the tears in the old man's eyes.

"I'll make another appointment to visit you in a few weeks. I have to take care of my little boy, but I'll be back soon."

He nodded again, and stood, still holding the phone, clearly not wanting to let the conversation end.

"Stay out of trouble, pop." She hung up the phone, placed her hand on the glass one last time, then turned to go.

The old man watched her until the guard came to make him go back to his cell.

~*~

In the parking lot she stood by the car for a long time, and Ryan watched her. He was so angry, not at her, but at the situation.

"Why didn't you tell him?"

She looked up, startled from her own thoughts. "Tell him what?"

"How he'd hurt you. How angry you are."

She smiled. "He knows he hurt me."

"That doesn't make it okay!"

"Ryan." She shook her head at him. "I'm not angry at him."

"He was a terrible father to you." He wanted to go back in there and wring the guy's neck.

"Didn't you hear anything he said? He's been in trouble since he was a kid. He's a 'bad apple.'"

"So? He's trying to make you sorry for him, and it's working!"

"Don't you get it? He sounds just like Oliver—like me. Like we caused the things that happened to us when we were kids."

"He's not a kid!"

"He did the best he could, Ryan. It was a terrible job, but it was the best he had in him." She got into the car, and he went around to the driver's side and got in, slamming the door behind him.

"Hey. This is an antique," she said. "Be careful with it."

He made up his mind. "I'm going in there to tell your father what he did. If you can't do it, someone needs to."

She put her hand on his arm, that small touch restraining him. He knew she could feel the thrumming tension in him.

"No, Ryan. Don't you see? I can't fix him. I can only fix myself. I can only live my life right. I can't go back and fix what's broken in him—what must have been broken when he was just a child. All I can do is move forward. Make sure I don't repeat his mistakes. Make sure I teach Oliver not to repeat them."

"It's just so unfair."

"And you can't fix it. I know. You want to catch a bad guy, arrest him, make him pay. Neat and clear-cut. Life doesn't always work that way."

He was seething, and he wasn't sure why. Yes he was. Because he had been vicariously hoping for a confrontation between Camilla and her father. Because her forgiveness pissed him off. It felt like she was letting the creep off too easy. He needed to pay for what he'd done to her.

Like his own father deserved to pay.

"No, Camilla. I need to take care of you in this. He can't get away with hurting you." He started to stalk back to the entrance, but she ran after him and got in front of him.

She glared up at him, her curls a halo around her round face, and he was struck again by how small and vulnerable she was, how she needed him to protect her.

But then she said, "So everything you said was a lie."

"What are you talking about?"

She put her hands on her hips and glared up at him. "You said I'm smart, but you won't listen to me. You said I'm honest, but you don't trust me. You said you respect me, but you override my decision."

"I just think"—

—"No. You don't. Get in the car and drive me back, Ryan."

They drove in silence.

Ryan was furious for about thirty miles, gripping the steering wheel to keep from turning to the insufferable woman next to him and telling her off. He'd done everything for her. He'd saved her, protected her. Didn't she see this situation was black and white? There was good, and there was bad, and it was that simple.

But not for her. She saw the gray that had given him problems all his life. Either he was right or wrong. Either he was perfect, or he was a screw-up. She saw that people could be both. And that was why he loved her.

But he didn't respect her. That was the problem. He said he did, but somewhere deep inside he didn't respect anyone. Or maybe it wasn't really respect. He didn't trust anyone.

Or was it that he didn't trust himself? He stared out the windshield. What was wrong with him?

He thought back at all the times people had said those same words to him: Why don't you trust me? Why don't you respect me? Why don't you listen to me? What he thought was protecting was really smothering.

Was really fear.

Fear was behind it all. Every time someone he cared about walked out the door he feared they wouldn't come back. He felt an urgent need to go with them, to keep the world outside from touching them, harming them.

He thought back to what Angie had said after Sara had died.

She had said she couldn't live with him smothering her. She hadn't called him names, blaming him for the death of her daughter. After Sara's death, Ryan wouldn't let Angie out of his sight, and that's what had driven them apart. He hadn't given her the space to grieve, to go through what she needed to go through. He hadn't let her know he was feeling the same pain, too. He'd just been strong, and controlling, and distant. Would they have stayed together if he'd opened up to her? Who knew. But he'd never given her a chance.

He smothered people he loved. He didn't actually listen to them. He didn't actually talk to them.

He glanced over at Camilla, saw her watching him with those beautiful, wise, kind eyes. He was going to lose this incredible woman if he didn't do something.

They were coming up on the Pigeon Point Lighthouse road again. He turned in and parked.

"My mother left the house one day when I was five," he said, staring out at the fog rolling in off the ocean. "She was hit by a car and I never saw her again. After that my father went to work and came home, and drank. It was just me and Leah. She was only a baby when my mom died, so I took care of her. It was my job." He rephrased it. "I thought it was my job. I thought if I could keep her safe, she'd never walk out the door and disappear. She'd always be there."

Camilla's hand came to cover his on the steering wheel and he used it to anchor him here, in the car, in the present.

"I still try to control Leah, even now. I need to know she's safe. I need to know what's happening in her life so I can protect her. I call her every day to check that she's okay."

"There's a surprise," Camilla said, and he realized that's what he'd done with her, too.

"When I became a cop I felt it was my chance to protect people. But every time I failed—every time someone got hurt on my watch—I felt I was responsible for what had happened.

"And then Sara died...." His voice broke there, and Camilla sidled closer to him, wrapped her arms around him, gave him the strength to continue.

"I thought, here I had built my life around being the Protector, the Guardian. And then I failed. So who was I? What was I?"

"You're a good guy who isn't perfect."

He turned to her then, took her in his arms. "I'm sorry, Camilla. I haven't given you room to be an adult. I haven't respected you, just like you said."

"You saved our lives."

"But I wouldn't let you do anything on your own, even deal with your own father."

"I invited you."

"To support you. Not to take over your life."

"Yeah," she said.

He looked at her, and she was smiling.

"It's a real problem," she said. "I was kind of hoping to find a guy who was perfect in every way, but I guess you'll have to do."

"Will I do?"

"Let's see."

She kissed him then, and he let her take charge, relishing the feel of this incredible woman choosing him, wanting him. Could he be the man she wanted, needed him to be? He didn't know.

But he was going to spend the rest of his life trying.

~*~

"You came back." Oliver was so tired he could barely keep his eyes open, but he had waited up for her.

She hugged him there on the Serrano's living room sofa. "I gave my word."

He nodded.

"And I'll always keep my promises to you."

Ryan nodded from the doorway. "We always keep our promises in this family."

"Good," said Oliver. "I want to go home and go to bed."

She took his hand and led him to the door. "Good plan. Tomorrow we buy real beds. We'll never have to move them again."

~*~

Epilogue

Pajaro Bay, California

Saturday, September 15, 11:45 a.m.

Ryan finished typing up his summer wrap-up report for the county. The Labor Day weekend had ended with one capsized boat (no injuries), three lost kids (quickly found), about a hundred cases of sunburn among the tourists (Dr. Lil had run out of calamine lotion), and one more report of missing chickens up on Pajaro ridge. Ryan had handled the last case personally, assuring the farmer that he would get to the bottom of the crime if he had to interview every raccoon in the tri-county area.

"What are you doing here?"

He looked up to see Joe Serrano standing in the doorway, looking stiff in a gray suit with a lavender tie.

"Just finishing up paperwork."

Joe went over to the coat rack. Ryan's tie was draped over the rack, next to his khaki hat. "Where's your suit jacket?"

"On the back of my chair." He kept typing.

"Dot the last i, cross the last t, and get a move on, Captain."

Ryan stood up, still typing. "Just a little bit more."

Joe came over and pulled him away from the keyboard. "Come on. I will not hear the end of this if you're late."

Ryan took back the keyboard, hit save, then quit. "Done."

"Good. Let's go." Joe grabbed the tie off the coat rack, and shoved Ryan out the door.

~*~

It was one of those glorious fall days on the California coast where not a wisp of fog was present, the air was just slightly cool, and the sky and ocean were a heavenly clear blue.

Cliff Drive was packed with cars, pickup trucks and SUVs. Joe finally found them a parking spot in Miss Zelda's driveway, between her ivory and gold 1954 Bentley and a pink 1968 Volkswagen Beetle. "This'll do," Joe said.

"Don't hit the Beetle," Ryan warned. "That's Windy Madrigal's car."

Joe laughed. "Yeah. Better to scratch Miss Zelda's car than the mayor's little sister's."

When they went into the backyard of the Honeymoon Cottage, Ryan saw the yard held more people than he ever imagined it could. The DiPietros, Madrigals, Hector and his cousin, Dr. Lil, Mama Thu and Big Mel Machado. Whether you needed your car repaired or a cup of chowder, you were out of luck today.

Ryan chuckled. "I guess it's fine for both of us to be off-duty at the same time," he said to Joe. "Since there's nobody left in town right now."

Joe caught sight of Hector fumbling with the pocket of his lavender tie-die shirt, and he quickly excused himself to go over and explain to Hector that it would be a bad idea to light up during the ceremony.

Miss Zelda fluttered around the cottage's jam-packed back yard, her vivid yellow hat matching her yellow full-length dress and giving the impression of a very authoritative sunbeam.

"Stand still!" Miss Zelda said, in that voice that brooked no argument.

The whole crowd in the backyard stood still and stopped talking.

"Sandy, make sure the roses on the arbor are fixed so they don't droop." Her handyman went to work on the disobedient flowers.

Miss Zelda turned to Ryan's sister. "What is your name, young lady?"

"Leah, Ma'am."

"Well, Leah, make yourself useful and straighten up those chairs on the lawn."

Miss Zelda turned on her next target. "Mabel, stop standing there like a fool and center the cake on the serving table, and lay out the silverware properly."

Mabel Rutherford sheepishly stopped staring and went to work.

"Young man!"

Oliver froze in his tracks. "You have a job to do. Come over here and wait by me."

Oliver ran over and took her hand.

Miss Zelda winked at Ryan. "All it takes is a little organization."

She nodded to the string quartet set up on the brick patio where the old shed had once stood, and they began to play. The people began heading to their seats.

"Joe, see that Ryan is in his place."

"Yes, Ma'am."

Joe pushed Ryan down the aisle toward the spot by the stone wall.

Robin already waited there under the arbor along with the minister. Robin wore a lavender skirt suit with matching fingernail polish, and she winked at him. "Ready, Ryan?"