Summer Secrets (23 page)

Duncan stood straight and tall, his position on the boat setting him above them. With his shoulders squared and his jaw firm, he appeared very much the master of his destiny and perhaps theirs as well, Tyler thought, casting a sideways glance at Kate and Caroline.

“We’ve come to talk you out of this crazy idea,” Kate said.

Wrong choice of words, Tyler wanted to tell her, but he didn’t have time.

“It’s not crazy, and it’s not an idea,” Duncan snapped. “It’s a fact. I’m sailing the Summer Seas. I’m going to win back our boat. I’d like you two to help me. We lost her together. We should get her back together.”

“We didn’t lose her, we sold her,” Kate replied.

“Actually, you two sold her,” Caroline interjected. “I don’t think I had a say in the matter.”

“Caroline, you’re not helping,” Kate grumbled.

“And you don’t speak for me,” Caroline retorted. She turned to her father. “Daddy, why is K.C. racing our boat?”

“To show us up, that’s why. He wants revenge. And this is his way of getting it. But he won’t succeed if we stick together. I need your help. We’re family.”

Tyler watched Kate’s reaction as Duncan played the family card. He could see the indecision in her eyes. She was as loyal as they came. Caroline also watched Kate. Despite Caroline’s brashness and bravado, she seemed willing to give Kate the lead.

“We made a promise to one another to move on with our lives. This is moving back, not forward,” Kate said.

“I don’t see it that way,” Duncan replied.

“There is no other way to see it.”

“I want the Moon Dancer back. And I’m going to get it, with or without you.” And with those words, Duncan disappeared into his cabin.

“Great job, Kate,” Caroline said as she blew out a large bubble of pink gum that snapped against her lips.

“What did you want me to do?”

“Not call him crazy for one.”

“Racing is crazy.”

“You used to love it. Kate was the bravest one of all,” Caroline added for Tyler’s benefit. “Utterly fearless. I admired her so much.”

“I’m still here, Caroline,” Kate said with annoyance.

“Not the person you were. That person left a long time ago. I kind of miss her.” She paused. “I’ll see you around, Kate, and probably you, too, Tyler.”

Kate sighed as Caroline left.

“Is she right? Were you once fearless Kate?” Tyler asked.

“Not fearless, stupid. I believed in the wrong people and the wrong things. Then I grew up. I wish I could say the same for the rest of my family, but you might as well call my father Peter Pan, because he is never going to leave Never Never Land.”

Tyler smiled. “I think you’re right.”

“What are you doing here, anyway? Digging for more dirt?” she asked.

“Don’t worry. Your father didn’t tell me the location of the family jewels.”

“What did he tell you?”

“That I could sail with him tomorrow.”

Her jaw dropped in surprised. “What?”

“He said he’d take me out on his boat tomorrow so I could see first hand what it feels like to sail.”

“I’d advise against it.”

“I’m sure you would. But why exactly?”

“Because my father is reckless and unreliable.”

“I can’t imagine someone would put him in charge of their boat if he didn’t have some skill.”

“You didn’t say anything to my father about K.C., did you?” she asked, looking past him toward her father’s boat. “About the possibility that my mother and K.C. had some sort of relationship?”

“No. That’s up to you.”

“It would make sense -- why they started to hate each other,” she murmured.

“So you believe it now?”

“I don’t know, but I couldn’t stop thinking about it last night.”

“Just ask him, Kate. Go in there and ask him. What do you have to lose?”

She stared back at him. “Everything. My whole identity, that’s what. And he’s already angry with me. I don’t think it’s a good time.” She spun on her heel and started walking down the dock.

“Where are you going now?” Tyler asked as he followed her.

“Back to work, I guess.”

Her half-hearted reply gave him hope. “I have a better idea.”

“I doubt that.”

He put his hand on her shoulder, stopping her in her tracks. “It’s a beautiful day. How about a picnic on the beach?”

“A picnic on the beach?” she echoed, as if she’d never heard the words before.

“You know, wicker basket, fried chicken, potato salad, blanket, maybe a little wine. I was reading a brochure I found in my hotel room about a beach with a waterfall. I’d like to see it.”

She cleared her throat. “I don’t think so. Things didn’t go very well yesterday when we spent time together.”

“Today is another day.”

“I don’t know, Tyler. There’s no point.”

“Does there always have to be a point?” he challenged.

“For you, I would think so. You came here for a reason, to write an article. I’ve already told you I’m not going to help in that regard, so I’m not quite sure why you’re still hanging around.”

He considered her point. It was something he’d spent a lot of time thinking about, in fact. The suggestion of an article had been the easiest way to get into the McKenna family, but it hadn’t played out the way he and Mark had intended. Maybe it was time to change the plan.

“I’ve actually decided to do as you originally suggested.”

“Which is what?” she asked, surprise in her voice.

“Talk to some of the other sailors, find some interesting anecdotes, come up with another story angle.” It wasn’t completely a lie. He had never actually intended to write an article, only to find out who was Amelia’s mother.

“If that’s true, then you should be picnicking with someone else.”

“Maybe I just want to spend time with you,” he said with a smile. “Come on, say yes. It’s just a picnic.”

Kate didn’t answer for a moment, a battle going on in her eyes. Then she said, “You better put together the best picnic basket I’ve ever seen, which will definitely include potato salad, some kind of fancy Brie cheese, and chocolate. Got it?”

“I got it.”

“I need to stop in at the store.”

“I’ll meet you back there in twenty minutes.” He didn’t want to give her too much time or she’d surely change her mind.

“I’m fairly sure this is a mistake,” Kate said.

“Well, if it is, it will be delicious.” Whistling, he headed down the street in search of a delicatessen.

“Your chariot awaits,” Tyler said a half hour later as he pulled Kate out of her bookstore and pointed his hand toward the street where he’d rented two bicycles. The picnic basket was strapped somewhat precariously on the back of a sleek, fifteen-speed racer. Tyler supposed he could have chosen something more modest, but, hell, he was a guy, and certain macho tendencies couldn’t be denied.

Kate raised an eyebrow when she saw her matching bike. “Are we riding in the Tour de France or pedaling around the island?”

“Too much?”

“You think? These have to be the most expensive rental bikes I’ve ever seen.”

“Probably, but they were also the coolest.”

She walked over to the bicycles. “I know all about boys and their toys. Bikes, boats, cars, it’s all the same where men are concerned. They want the fastest, the biggest, the best.”

“And what do girls want? Surely big and best is a requirement at times.”

She smiled. “But speed isn’t always a plus. Some things are meant to be enjoyed more slowly.”

“I absolutely agree.”

“Well.” She cleared her throat, a faint blush coloring her cheeks. “I do have my own bike but it pales in comparison to this one.”

“It’s already paid for, so let’s go. You can lead.”

“Fine. I just hope you can keep up.”

“Don’t worry. I have no intention of losing you.” He got on his bike and followed her down the street.

Kate rode with a purpose; no meandering, no stopping and looking at the view. She zigged and zagged through the downtown village, cruised along the wharf, then led him through a residential area before turning back toward the water. It was a beautiful summer day, the kind of day Tyler hadn’t stopped , to enjoy in years.

How long had it been since he’d ridden a bike that wasn’t stationary in some twenty-four-hour gym? He couldn’t remember. How long had it been since he’d actually stopped and looked at the scenery? Years, probably.

Since that day, more than twenty years ago, when his father had picked him up from school, he’d been on the move, never calling one place home, never making more than casual friends, never letting himself get attached to any place, any person. He supposed he could have stopped sometime in the past fifteen years and made a home for himself, bought some land, put down roots, but the concept was foreign to him. It was easier to go on living the way he’d grown up, reporting on life, watching other people live instead of living himself.

Shit! Way too heavy thoughts for a simple bike ride. What the hell was the matter with him? He didn’t psychoanalyze his life. He didn’t have the time, the patience, or the desire. He was what he was. He didn’t need to change. It was just this decadent lazy island lifestyle that made him think of change.

Normal people didn’t ride bikes and have picnics on Monday afternoons unless they were on vacation. He wasn’t on vacation. He was on a mission, a mission he did not intend to fail. He simply had to get Kate relaxed, catch her off guard, and go in for the kill. He did not intend to end this day without a solid lead or maybe, if he was lucky, a definitive answer.

They stopped about fifteen minutes later, walking their bikes over a rough patch of grass that led down to a sandy, secluded beach.

“Hey, where’s the waterfall?” he asked, looking around.

Kate pointed to a small stream of water dripping down between two rocks on the far side of the beach.

“‘That’s it? I’m not impressed.”

“It’s low tide. When the larger waves hit the other side of those rocks is when you get the waterfall. Disappointed?”

Actually, he wasn’t disappointed at all. He liked the intimate atmosphere. The beach was almost deserted -- a mother and her toddler at the water’s edge, a couple on a blanket down by the rocks, and a man throwing a stick to his dog. “Where is everybody? Isn’t it summer?”

“They’re watching the boats. You can’t see them from here.”

“Do you want to go somewhere else?”

“No, I like this beach. It’s small and quiet, peaceful. We get so many tourists nowadays. I miss the years when nobody came to Castleton.”

“That wouldn’t be good for your business.” He unstrapped the picnic basket and set it down on the ground. “Damn. I forgot a blanket.”

“We’ll survive.” Kate plopped down on the sand and took off her tennis shoes, running her toes in the fine sand. “This is nice.”

Nice wasn’t the right word. Sexy was. He loved the flash of hot pink polish on her toes; it seemed at odds with her very practical personality and hinted at her passionate side, a side he wanted to see more of. “What is this love affair you have with dirt?” he asked as he knelt down on the ground next to her.

Kate laughed. “I don’t know. I just like the feel of the sand. Why don’t you take your shoes off?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Why not? Is something wrong with your feet?”

“No, there’s nothing wrong with my feet.”

“Then let’s see ‘em.”

“Fine. But if I’m taking off something, so are you.”

“I already took off my shoes.”

He grinned at her; “I wasn’t talking about your shoes.”

She shook her head. “You have a one-track mind.”

“Well, I am a man.”

“So I noticed,” she muttered.

“Good.”

“Stop flirting and settle down. Get comfortable. Take off your shoes.”

Shoes again. He stretched out on the ground and slipped off his tennis shoes. His white socks followed. “Are you happy now?”

“Not even an extra toe. I’m disappointed.”

He flopped down on one side, letting the sand trickle through his fingers. “It’s cool,” he said. “Moist. Does the tide cover the sand completely when it comes in?”

“Only with a storm.”

“No chance of that today. Not a cloud in sight.”

“A perfect day,” she agreed, and for a moment they both watched the water lap against the protected beach in small, rippling currents. “It’s amazing how fast it can change, though. One minute there’s nothing but blue sky and the next minute it’s totally black and threatening.”

“You’re remembering, aren’t you?” he said after a moment, watching the play of emotions across her face. “Some day in particular?”

She didn’t answer for a moment. “Yes.”

“It’s a bad memory. It makes you sad.”

“How do you know that?” she asked, turning to look at him.

“The shadows in your eyes, the way your voice drops down a notch when you talk about the sea.” He reached out and stroked the side of her cheek. “Your mouth draws into a grim line as if whatever you’re going to say is so distasteful you can barely spit it out.”

“You’re very observant.”

“That’s how I make my living.”

She caught his wrist and pulled his hand away from her face, but she didn’t let go. Instead, she interlaced her fingers with his. “You have strong, capable hands. I like that about you.”

“I’m glad there’s something you like about me, but I think you’re changing the subject. We were talking about storms.”

She looked away from him at the water, at the horizon, at the past -- he wasn’t quite sure what she was seeing. He just knew that her fingers had tightened around his.

“I was washed overboard during the storm,” she said finally.

“You were?” He was shocked. “I never heard that. I don’t remember reading anything about it.”

“My father pulled me back in. There was no official rescue or anything.”

“So no need for a report,” he said slowly, his mind wrestling with the implications.

“I wasn’t the first, the last, or the only person to go overboard during that race. It actually happened fairly frequently.”

“I thought you wore safety harnesses.”

“We did, but I had taken mine off for a minute. It was stupid,” she continued rapidly. “A mistake. Anyway, it took me a long time to forget the feeling of water rushing over my head.”