The Sweetheart Secret (5 page)

When Daisy's mother had shown up that summer and whisked Daisy back to her home in Jacksonville, Colt had been unable to focus on anything. College applications, homework assignments, all got forgotten. One day he hopped on his motorcycle, roared up the state, and showed up on her doorstep. Five minutes later, Daisy had her arms clasped tight around his waist and they'd been on their way—to anywhere that they could be together. Back then, his only thought was being with her. Now he was presumably smarter and more grounded. Until he looked at her, and everything inside him flipped again.

“I haven't eaten since lunch when I had something masquerading as meatloaf.” Daisy pressed a hand to her belly. “I think that diner next to the motel is a little loose with their descriptions.”

Colt chuckled. “The Drop Inn isn't known for its cuisine. It does, however, sport forty-four different beers, which is what brings in most of the local traffic, from what I hear.”

“For God's sake, Colton, invite the woman in and quit jabbering on the porch. What kind of host are you, anyway?” Grandpa Earl opened the cabinets, withdrew a trio of plates, and put them on the kitchen table. “Look. I'll even use a napkin this time.” He sat in a chair, tugged a napkin out of the holder on the table, and spread it across his lap.

A meal at the table. With Grandpa Earl in something approximating a good mood. That was enough reason to invite Daisy to stay. If she could inspire a good mood in Grandpa, even for a few minutes, it was worth the price Colt would pay to have a momentary peaceful lull in this ongoing battle. A way to forget all the things that Colt did a good job of shoving under the carpet.

“Why don't you stay for dinner? We can talk after we eat,” Colt said. She hesitated, so he gave her a smile. “I promise, we don't bite.”

“Pity, because I sometimes do.” She flashed him a smile that was half vixen, half sex kitten. As Daisy whispered by him in a soft cloud of tempting perfume, Colt had to wonder if he'd invited her in because he wanted his grandfather to behave—

Or because Colt wanted an excuse to misbehave. Again.

The dissolution of Emma Barton Jennings's marriage had been as slow as molasses dripping into a bowl. One day, her relationship with Roger had all been perfect and shiny and wonderful, and then bit by bit, each day, the union that had started so bright began to dim. She'd made one last-ditch effort to resurrect their marriage, a weekend getaway, and instead ended up inadvertently driving the last nail in the coffin. The second they got back, Roger had packed the last of his bags and moved the rest of the way out.

But if there was one thing Emma excelled at, it was maintaining a fiction. She'd done it all her life, and she wasn't about to change now. No one knew Roger had left; no one knew her marriage was on life support. She kept thinking that maybe if she pretended it wasn't happening . . . it wouldn't.

“Hi, Momma.” Emma placed a kiss on her mother's cheek, then smoothed the blanket lying across Clara's chest. Her mother was in her favorite spot—on the chaise lounge in the living room, where the big screen TV held court over the fireplace and the sun streamed in from the sliding glass doors leading to the lanai. She'd been home from the hospital in Jacksonville for over a week now, and except for lingering cough and exhaustion, seemed recovered from that scary bout with pneumonia last month. For a while there, Emma hadn't been sure her sixty-year-old mother was strong enough to survive, but in the end, Clara had surprised everyone, including the doctors. “How are you doing today?”

“I'm still breathing. Always a positive.” Clara pushed up on the pillows behind her head and sat up straighter. “How's my favorite daughter?”

Emma laughed at the familiar joke. “I'm your only daughter. Always have been, always will be. And Jack is your favorite son, also your only son.”

“All the more reason to be my favorites.” Clara grabbed Emma's hand and met her daughter's gaze with direct green eyes. Her mother had always had that ability to zero in on any little detail. Maybe that was why Emma had always talked in vague terms about her marriage to Roger. If she dropped even the slightest hint of trouble, her mother would have been all over it. And now . . .

Well now Emma had problems of her own to deal with. Problems she didn't need to add to her mother's plate.

Don't you miss the place, just a little?

Daisy's question came back to Emma, offering a way out, but also a return to the very place where Emma's memories had been destroyed and her mother's heart had been broken. Lord knew why her mother had held on to that place, given what all had happened there. Going to the Hideaway would mean answering Daisy's questions—questions that Emma had yet to answer for herself.

“You didn't answer the question, missy,” Momma said, as if reading Emma's mind.

“I'm fine.” Emma shrugged. “Roger's getting ready for another school year, so he's been on campus often.”

“Which means you're alone a lot and Roger is gone twelve hours a day.”

Emma shrugged again, as if it didn't matter. As if she hadn't been alone for months, heck, years. Her husband had used the hectic school years at Jacksonville U as an excuse to spend less and less time at home. Then he started filling up his summers with golf games and research projects, or anything that kept him away. Then he'd landed a book deal after years of writing in his spare time, and he'd disappeared into his office every spare minute he had to work on his novels. He'd become a part-time husband, making an effort just often enough to make Emma believe they still had a chance.

Emma thought of telling her mother about the impending divorce, then decided Clara would worry too much, and end up sick again. Later, when Momma was stronger, and when Emma had figured out what the heck she was going to do with her life. “With Roger busy at school, I get the house to myself again,” Emma said, putting on a bright, happy smile that made her cheeks hurt. “I was even thinking of switching to working full-time at the insurance company.”

“You hate that job. Besides, I thought you were doing well working on your own, with the photography.”

“I need a steady job, Momma, not one that fluctuates between baptisms and bridal season. I can't just sit around all day and stare at the walls.” Walls that seemed to close in more every day. Walls that echoed with emptiness, a cavern that had once been a home.

Or had she just been fooling herself all this time?

“You should go down to Rescue Bay and—”

“Momma, I'm not going there. Not while you still need me.”

Clara shifted on the lounge and gave her daughter a smile. On the TV, credits rolled over the screen for the movie that had just ended. Outside, the pool glistened in the sun and geckos darted among the shadows beneath the lanai screen.

“I'm just fine,” Momma said. “If I need help, I'll call one of my friends or call your aunt Willow, assuming she's back from whatever adventure she's off on now. You go, take care of you. And help Daisy. She can't handle that place all on her own, you know.”

Emma tugged a magazine out from the pile on the end table. She flashed the cover in her mother's direction. “Want to see what Kanye and Kim are up to this week? I hear they redecorated the nursery again.”

Clara waved that off. “Tell me when
you'll
be decorating a nursery. That's newsworthy.”

A weight sank to the pit of Emma's stomach. The truth bubbled inside her, like a witch's brew, toxic and deadly. If she spoke it aloud, it would make it true, and she wasn't ready to face that yet. She knew she couldn't put it off forever, but right now, with her mother still pale and thin, putting off the truth was the best choice for everyone. She put the magazine back on the pile. “I have to go. I forgot I'm supposed to pick up Roger's dry cleaning before five.”

She hadn't picked up Roger's dry cleaning in four months. Hadn't made him a dinner in three. And hadn't had a husband to go home to in two. But she didn't say any of that to her mother.

Momma reached out a hand and touched her daughter's knee. “Are you feeling all right, honey? You look a little pale.”

“I'm fine, Momma. Just fine.” Maybe if she said that enough times, it would become the truth. Or maybe it would just become one more lie in a growing falsehood mountain. “Just fine.”

Then she hurried out of the room before the tears welling in her eyes told the truth.

*   *   *

Daisy had told herself she'd accepted Colt's invitation to dinner because it was a good opportunity to make her case about the loan. Except she hadn't brought up the loan or the Hideaway Inn one time. Instead, she'd sat at the small round table in Colt's kitchen, trying to figure out this new Colt, a man who surprised her in more ways than one.

She'd expected to find him living in a tidy little modern style condo, all organized and sterile. Maybe something downtown, near his office. Instead, he shared a cozy beachside bungalow with his grandfather, a small house that could have been one of a hundred similar bungalows fronting a private section of Rescue Bay's three-mile-long beach, just north of the Hideaway Inn. The furniture was a mishmash of recycled pieces, most of them older than Colt, but worn in a way that spoke of family memories and long evening chats. Everything, from the antique brass umbrella stand by the door to the wide-bellied cedar chest across from the kitchen table, seemed to hold histories, secrets, mysteries waiting to be uncovered.

The second they sat down at the table—Colt with a salad he'd assembled, Daisy and Earl with the ooey-gooey pizza—Colt's cell phone started ringing. He glanced at the screen. “It's a consult I've been waiting on. I need to take this.”

“Take away,” Earl said, waving a hand in dismissal. “It's not like we eat dinner together every day.”

“Grandpa—”

“It's fine. I'll sit here with Daisy and enjoy my pizza. She's probably better company than you anyway.” Earl slid a spatula under the pizza. “How many slices, Daisy?”

“Just one, thank you.” She grinned. “But I'll be back for more soon.”

“A woman after my own heart.” Earl slid a slice onto her plate, then took two for himself before getting to his feet, crossing to the fridge, and pulling a beer out of the bottom drawer. Colt tensed, but didn't say anything to his grandfather.

The phone trilled again. Colt glanced between Daisy at the table and Earl by the fridge, clearly torn about leaving the room. He started to walk away, then turned back and paused to lean down and whisper in Daisy's ear. “Just warning you. My grandpa can be . . . difficult.”

“Oh, I can handle difficult,” she said, trying to pretend his nearness had no impact on her. Whatsoever. “I used to live with you, remember?”

“
I
was never the difficult one.” The words were hot and low, sending a tremor through Daisy. He held her gaze for one long moment, then he straightened and pressed a button on his phone, issuing a short, professional greeting before striding from the room. In an instant, Colt had gone from the man she remembered to the man in the khakis and tie.

Earl returned to the table, and took a long swig of his beer. “I love my grandson, but most days he has a hornet up his ass the size of a pterodactyl.”

Daisy laughed. “I get the feeling he likes things the way he likes things.”

“All neat and tidy and without any unnecessary carbohydrates.” Earl gestured toward Colt's salad and made a face. Then he lifted the spatula again. “Meanwhile, want another piece?”

“Definitely.” She held out her plate.

She and Earl ate and chatted, an easy conversation about the crazy neighbors down the street, the benefits of classic crust over pan pizza, which then segued into a conversation about her cantankerous car. Between the food and the chatting, Daisy settled in at the small maple table as if she'd always been there.

It was what Daisy had imagined having a grandparent would be like. The kind of atmosphere she'd found at Emma's raucous, warm house during holidays and school recital nights, before Daisy went home to a house where the words
dependable
and
family
didn't exist.

Daisy had grown up with a mostly absent mother, an always absent father, but no real grandparents. Her father's parents lived in Texas, and the handful of times they had come to visit had resulted in stiff, awkward conversations that ended almost as quickly as they began. Her mother's parents had died long ago, long before Daisy was born, and had been nothing more than photographs in an album that Daisy had found on a shelf.

She'd imagined, in those days when she'd been young and craving family like some women craved sugar, that her grandfather would be like Earl Harper. A mix of grumpy and wise, a man with enough years behind him to color his sentences with history and insight.

“You know, if your car is sputtering like that,” Earl said, bringing her back to the conversation, “you might want to get the air filter checked. Could be a little clogged. And don't take it to one of those chain places that turn a simple oil change into a full body paint job. Take it to a mechanic who's been in business more than five minutes. Someone with some grease under his nails and experience under his belt.”

“Thanks, I will.” She lifted the pie knife in Earl's direction. “Do you want another slice of pizza?”

Earl put a hand on his stomach and shook his head. “I've had about all this old belly can fit for now. Which means there's going to be room for a snack later.”

Daisy laughed. “Smart thinking. I'm all about snacks. And second helpings. And especially dessert.”

“Good to see a girl with an appetite. Nothing more annoying than those salad-only girls. Colt's grandma, now that was a woman who could eat. And cook.” Earl leaned in toward Daisy, his pale blue eyes assessing her. “Can you cook? Because Colt sure can't. A man could starve to death in this house.”

“Quit exaggerating, Grandpa. You're not starving,” Colt said, as he walked back into the room and tucked his phone away. “I serve plenty of healthy food around here, but you choose not to eat it.”

“Which is another way of asking a man to starve.” Earl scowled.

Tension stiffened Colt's stance. “I'm just trying to take care of you.”

“I don't need anyone to do a goddamn thing for me.” Earl started to get to his feet, then his face paled, a tremor shook his body, and he reached for the edge of the table. In an instant, Colt was there, with one hand under Earl's elbow, and another on his back. Earl jerked away from Colt's touch. “You know what would make me feel better? You, leaving me the hell alone. You hover over me like I'm some kind of invalid.”

“Grandpa, I'm not trying to hover. You have some issues—”

“What I have is a pain in the ass grandson who thinks he knows it all just because he's got an MD next to his name. Goddamn doctors do nothing but make people sicker.” Earl pushed off from the table then crossed to the sink. Sweat beaded on his brow and his breath came in shaky bursts.