Barefoot in the Sun (Barefoot Bay)

chapter Four

This is fun, Dad.”

“Is it?” Oliver tried to see Mimosa Key through his son’s eyes. Thick with tropical foliage, dotted with colorful, mismatched cottages and old-school mom-and-pop retailers, the center of the island was no more than a tiny town built around one main intersection that boasted a convenience store as its main attraction. Lowbrow as it was, Oliver imagined the charm of the place was more appealing than the manicured perfection of Naples to an eight-year-old.

Frankly, it was more appealing to a thirty-nine-year-old, too, but that might have more to do with the charm of a current resident than the town itself.

“And Mom says you hate fun.”

Oliver almost smiled. “So I’ve heard.” But if that were true, he wouldn’t have fallen for Zoe, the human embodiment of fun, in the first place. “But I cleared my day and brought you to…” He squinted at the one-story fleabag across from the Shell station. “A place with a motel called the Fourway.”

“Bet it’s named after the intersection,” Evan mused.

“One would hope.”

Evan laughed, but he sounded uncertain enough to assure Oliver that his son wasn’t quite that precocious.

“Want to have even more fun, Dad?”

“If I can handle it.”

“Let’s go in that place called the Super Min and get Slurpees. I’m parched.”

Oliver smiled at the word so few eight-year-olds would ever use. “All right. Let’s live dangerously and see some local color.”

Evan bounded out of the Porsche the second they parked in front of the store, full of energy and enough excitement over the modest adventure that Oliver had a pang of guilt. He’d worked a lot, and missed a lot, and now he’d moved away and ended his marriage. Evan might act smart and tough, but none of Oliver’s decisions had been easy on the child.

And who knew better than Oliver what a lasting impact a parent’s actions can have on a kid his age? He vowed to remember that this summer. No, he wasn’t going to spoil Evan, but indulging him a little couldn’t hurt, either.

With that promise in his heart, he watched the boy yank open the door and stopped to appreciate the old-fashioned bell that announced their arrival. Inside, they met the sharp-eyed gaze of a sixty-something proprietor propped on a stool behind the counter.

“Don’t tell me,” she said. “You’re going to Casa Blanca.”

Oliver and Evan shared a look. “How’d you know?” Evan asked.

“The car’s a dead giveaway.” She narrowed her eyes at him, giving Oliver a once-over. “And the designer threads. What’s your name?”

Oliver bristled a little at the question, but had to consider where he was. In a town this size, everyone knows everything. “Dr. Bradbury,” he said, approaching the counter. “Oliver Bradbury.”

She straightened, giving him another, slow once-over, an awkward moment considering she was well north of sixty. Then she pointed to Evan. “Your son?”

“Yes.” But Evan was already down the aisle, choosing a cup and a Slurpee flavor, avoiding local scrutiny.

“Where’s his mother?”

Oliver, on the other hand, had obviously landed square on the radar. “On her way to Europe.”

She made a face and wiggled her shoulders. “Well, la-di-da.”

The Ritz was looking better and better. “How much for a Slurpee?”

She tapped a neon orange nail on the counter, studying him. “Married or divorced?”

“Are you serious?” He laughed softly.

“Dead.” She stuck out her hand. “I’m Charity Grambling and, honey, I didn’t get to be the eyes, ears, and source of all information on this island by not asking questions.”

He’d have to remember that.

“Married or divorced to Ms. Euro Travel?”

He had no choice but to shake the busybody’s hand. “Divorced.”

Both painted-on eyebrows shot up well over the reading glasses perched on the end of her nose. “Really.”

“I suppose you’d like to know the terms, too.”

“Obviously you got custody.”

“For the summer. How much is the drink?” he asked as the machine in the back made a loud sucking noise.

“Dollar fifty unless…” She leaned over the counter, lifting off a little stool she’d been perched on. “You want to work out a deal for a date.”

He chuckled again. “I’m going to pass on that, though you’re quite a, uh, compelling shopkeep, Ms. Grambling.”

“Oh, I don’t want you.” She waved the fierce-looking fingertips at him. “I’m thinking of my extremely attractive niece, Gloria.”

“Gloria.” He smiled. “I’m sure she’s lovely but—”

“Take my niece on a date and you can have free Slurpees all summer long.”

“Free Slurpees?” Evan came up behind them holding a cup that was a little bigger than his head. “These twenty-two-ouncers?” he asked.

“Thanks, but we’ll be happy to pay,” Oliver said, taking a few dollar bills out of his wallet. “I’m sure Gloria is a wonderful girl—”

“Oh, she’s no girl, trust me. But she has some very, oh I don’t know how to say it without being blunt, but her taste in men is questionable.” She shook her head. “That lame excuse for a deputy sheriff being one of them.”

“You want me to go out with a woman who’s seeing the sheriff?”

“Not that he has the you-know-whats to use his gun.”

He glanced at Evan, who probably knew exactly what the you-know-whats were, but he was busy sipping his drink and eyeing the candy offerings. “I’ll pass.”

“Why? She works at the beauty salon there at Casa Blanca. Except they call it a spa so they can charge three times as much, but…” She peered over his shoulder at the car. “You could probably afford a forty-dollar trim.”

“I’m actually very busy. Thank you.” He nudged Evan toward the door.

“You won’t find anyone prettier on the whole island,” she called out.

Oliver kept going, but Evan looked over his shoulder, then up at Oliver as the door closed. “Oh no?” he asked. “Bet she never saw Zoe, then.”

Oliver almost tripped off the curb. One conversation with Zoe and poor Evan was smitten.

But then that was Zoe’s gift. He had to remember that, too.

A few minutes later, he pulled the Porsche into the same spot he’d used the other night, surprised at an unexpected sense of anticipation gripping him. Just because he might see Zoe? Might. He had no guarantee she’d be around. And yet, when he’d called to talk to the owner and father of the newborn, he’d jumped on Clay Walker’s casual invitation to drop by and see the baby.

Zoe wouldn’t stick around long, no matter what her aunt’s situation. And before she left, Oliver had to tell her what had happened in Chicago. Now that she’d met Evan, she deserved an explanation. If she hadn’t already put two and two together and come up with…not quite reality.

Yeah, he had to set her straight. So he’d make some subtle inquiries and find her today.

A man came out of the entrance of Casa Blanca’s main building, pushing the doors with assurance. Instantly Oliver recognized the long fair hair and muscular build. He hadn’t talked much to Clay the other night; Oliver had been busy with the baby and Clay had been a typical overwhelmed new father.

This morning the man looked much more relaxed as he reached out a hand, then added an impulsive pat on Oliver’s shoulder.

“Dr. Bradbury, it’s great to see you here again. And this is your son?”

“Yes, this is Evan.” Oliver gave Evan a little nudge to get him to shake Clay’s hand. “This is the owner of this resort, Mr. Walker.”

“Not technically the owner,” Clay corrected as they shook hands. “I’m married to her. I am the architect, however.”

“Then even more congratulations are in order,” Oliver said, gesturing to the cream-colored building unlike any of the typical stucco Spanish-style buildings that marred the coast of Florida like carrot-topped behemoths. “This place is stunning. Great job.”

“Thanks. We’re really happy with how it turned out.” He brushed his long hair off his face, revealing a tiny gold hoop in his ear. “We’re not officially open, though we’re taking a few early guests while we work out the kinks and get all the services up and running.”

“All with a new baby,” Oliver mused.

Clay laughed. “What can I say? My wife and I like challenges. It’s really nice of you to come and see Elijah,” Clay said to Evan.

“And Zoe,” Evan said. “Is she here?”

And so much for subtle inquiries. Clay reacted with a slight frown, his hand clasped on a chin that hadn’t seen a razor for quite a few days. “That’s right, you two said hello the other night. I forgot you know her.”

“You were distracted,” Oliver said. “And how is the little guy? I feel invested now that I’ve brought him into the world.”

Clay beamed, easily taken off track by the subject of his new baby. “You should. He might not be here if not for you.”

“No, he’d be here. Your wife seems very strong.”

“You have no idea.” Clay gestured for them to climb into a waiting golf cart. “You want to drive up to our house, Evan?”

His eyes nearly popped out of his head. “I can’t drive.”

“Sure you can.” Clay glanced at Oliver, who nodded easily. Better to keep his mind on a new adventure than drop any more hints about Zoe. He was rewarded with the biggest smile he’d seen from Evan in years.

After a moment and some quick instructions, Evan had the golf cart rumbling—slowly—under a canopy of exotic trees and palm fronds. They followed a path that cut through the resort and was built up enough to offer a stunning view of the Gulf of Mexico on the left.

“That inlet is Barefoot Bay, which is what the whole north hook of Mimosa Key is known as,” Clay explained. “It’s not very populated up here. Most of the residences on the island are on the south end, all the way down to Pleasure Point.”

Oliver took in the tropical paradise, elegant but so much less ostentatious than the Ritz.

“We own the property along the water,” Clay continued. “From here up to our house and the acres of gardens to the east. We’d like to grow, eventually, but, you know, one step at a time.”

“Looks like you’ve taken a pretty ambitious first step.”

“It’s been a fun ride,” Clay said easily.

“Look, Dad. That’s the house we saw in that flyer.” Evan pointed to a waterfront villa they’d seen in the brochure, a truly gorgeous structure that matched the North African architecture with curved windows, multiple archways, and rich wood accents.

“Do you live there?” Evan asked.

“No, that’s one of our six villas we rent out to guests.”

Evan turned to Clay. “We could live there.”

“Evan, eyes on the road,” Oliver warned.

“You certainly could,” Clay agreed. “That’s Bay Laurel, our largest villa, and it happens to be vacant and ready for renting. You interested?”

“Yes!” Evan chirped. “We live at the Ritz-Carlton and I hate it there.”

Clay gave an unsure look. “Am I walking into a land mine?”

Oliver shook his head. “Not really. I recently relocated here from Chicago, started a practice, and work with a clinic in Naples. I haven’t had time to focus on buying a house, and Evan is not a fan of our hotel.”

“Well, we could probably work out a better deal than you’re paying at the Ritz, and you’d have a three-thousand-square-foot house with a pool and yard.”

Evan slammed on the brakes and they all shot forward in their seats. “A yard for a dog?”

“Whoa, Evan.” Oliver put his hand on his son’s shoulder. “Easy on the brakes and the dog.”

Clay shrugged. “We don’t have a problem with animals in the villas. We actually welcome them.”

“Well, then, that’s something to think about,” Oliver said vaguely. “Right now you should be concentrating on driving, son.”

“I’ll take you to look at Bay Laurel later, if you like,” Clay said, obviously sensing that Oliver’s enthusiasm was a little downgraded from his son’s.

Of course it was. Zoe was living on this property. One more thing to remember.

They reached the end of the resort’s road, pulling into the circular drive of another beautiful home, this one feeling lived in and loved and different enough from the rental villas that it was obviously not part of Casa Blanca.

Evan brought the golf cart to a not-quite-smooth stop, then turned to look at his dad. “I want to live here, Dad. For the whole summer.” His voice almost cracked with the fervent plea. “I want to live here.”

Right then, one of the double front doors opened and Zoe stepped out into the sunshine, a tiny baby in her arms and a blinding smile on her face. The sunlight spilled over her hair and straight through the white gauzy thing that barely covered her body.

“Can we live here this summer, Dad?”

Oliver’s mouth went bone dry, his pulse doubled, and his brain went blank, forgetting everything he’d sworn to remember. “Yes.”





“Woo-hoo!” Evan shrieked so loud the baby in Zoe’s arms startled and opened his mouth to cry. In the time it took for him to gather his next breath, Tessa was on one side and Jocelyn on the other, ready to seize the coveted Elijah.

But then they both zeroed in on the arrivals and forgot the baby.

“Whoa,” Jocelyn said in a low whistle. “I guess in all that chaos at the grand opening, I didn’t notice how gorgeous our doctor in shining armor really was.”

“Um, you were busy getting engaged,” Zoe reminded her.

“He reminds me of George Clooney in the old ER episodes,” Tessa agreed.

“More like McDreamy,” Jocelyn said.

“And Doctor Hottie sure can’t take his eyes off Zoe.” Tessa whispered with the subtlety of a bad ventriloquist.

Oh, brother. “Don’t you think this is too much sun for the baby?”

“Actually, vitamin D is great for him.”

“Shut up, Tessa, and take him inside.” Zoe did the handoff quickly, especially because she was already quivering a little.

Oliver is here.

Surely he wouldn’t have come to Casa Blanca just to see the baby, right? He had to be here because he’d rethought his response and wanted to help her. Right?

There was only one way to find out. She headed toward the golf cart, corralling every ounce of swagger she had.

“Hi, Zoe! Remember me?” Evan scrambled out of the golf cart and ran to her.

“Mr. Potty Mouth?” she teased, ruffling his hair. “Of course I remember you.”

“We’re moving here!”

She froze midstep. “What?”

“Dad said we can move out of the hotel and rent one of these houses on the beach. Isn’t that cool?” He came closer and lowered his voice. “No more Shitz-Carlton.”

She stole a glance at Oliver, who approached slowly, as if he wasn’t sure what to make of her…or the news.

He looked even sexier in casual clothes, if that was possible. A polo shirt fit snug on his broad shoulders, hanging over loose linen pants. He didn’t smile, but studied her with the same intensity she was probably using on him.

“That was easy,” he said, so softly only she could hear him.

“What was?”

“Finding you.”

Heat that had nothing to do with the tropics rolled over her.

“Evan, why don’t you follow Mr. Walker inside and go meet the baby I delivered last night?” Oliver suggested. “I need to talk to Zoe.”

After a minute of negotiating Evan did as he was told, leaving the two of them frying under the blistering sun and staring at each other.

“You left too soon,” he finally said.

“Story of our relationship, isn’t it?”

He took a step closer, giving her a chance to see that a few beads of sweat had formed on his upper lip. They would taste…salty. And sweet. “But this time when I came after you, I found you.”

She could have given up the fight right then and there. She could reach out, pull herself into him, raise her face, and let him kiss the holy hell out of her. Because that was all she wanted.

But not what she needed.

Braced by that thought, she lifted her face to him, but not for a kiss. “I hope you came to talk about my aunt and what you can do for her.”

“I came to talk about Evan, and how and when he was conceived.”

Seriously? “I’m going to assume he was conceived the usual way and as far as when? I can add. Whatever, Oliver. It’s hist—”

“And I found out in the balloon that day.”

It actually took a few seconds for the words to process in her head. She opened her mouth to say something, but nothing came out. But the world slipped away, as if she’d caught a dangerous cross breeze.

“That’s why I left so quickly,” he said. “That’s why I didn’t really talk about your situation. I was too stuck on my own.”

Still, no words. In the balloon that day?

“And of course, I had no way of finding you to tell you that I decided to—”

“Dr. Bradbury!” From the front door, Lacey called out, making them both turn instantly.

Her curls sprang in a wild strawberry-blonde halo and she looked like she was about to launch herself down the steps and across the driveway despite her post-delivery attire, which included bare feet, sleep pants, and a maternity T-shirt.

Aw, Lace. Now?

But Oliver instantly went to her, leaving Zoe hanging on a cliff.

Then Lacey was hugging him, thanking him, and dragging him inside. All he could do was shoot an apologetic glance over his shoulder.

Zoe let out a sigh of frustration. Lacey didn’t know, of course. She probably didn’t remember she’d seen Oliver before—in the lobby store of the Ritz almost two years ago. Zoe had brushed off that chance meeting back then, and she doubted that Lacey—especially in her sleep-deprived, new-mom brain fog—would ever remember.

She waited outside for a few minutes, letting Oliver’s news sink in.

He found out in the balloon that day.

In the time since she’d met Evan and counted months, that possibility had never occurred to her. Hell, in the nine years that had transpired since that day, she’d never even thought about those phone messages he’d received up there, long before texting became part of everyday life. She’d always assumed it was about a patient.

No, she really hadn’t assumed anything because she’d never thought much past his reaction to her announcement, and his subsequent demands that she “do the right thing” and talk to a lawyer or the police.

What would have happened if she’d waited? Would he still have married Adele? Would he have forced her to try to “resolve” things with the law and Pasha? Or would he have deemed her unacceptable—too much of a risk, too far off the grid, too flighty for a grounded guy with a potential blockbuster career?

She wasn’t sure she wanted to know the answer to that question. And even if he told her, could she believe him? It didn’t matter. All she really wanted was for him to fix Pasha. That’s who was broken, not Zoe.

She walked toward the house, opening the door to find Clay, Lacey, and Oliver talking in the entryway.

Oliver held the tiny baby in his arms and, shit, if that wasn’t the goddamned sexiest thing she’d ever seen, she didn’t know what was.

Clay was laughing, putting a friendly hand on Oliver’s arm. “We might have to put your little boy in charge of the sales staff. Why don’t we take a look at Bay Laurel right now, then? You can move in this week.”

Oh, Lord.

“Maybe Zoe should take Oliver,” Lacey said quickly.

“That’s all right,” Clay said. “I’ll take him down there.”

Lacey shook her head and shot her husband a secret look that Oliver probably missed, but Zoe didn’t. Maybe Lacey did remember the run-in at the hotel shop. And, of course, her friend would want to help. And by help she meant stick her little copper curls where they didn’t belong.

“You’ll just talk about rebar and I-beams,” Lacey insisted. “Zoe can give the ten-dollar tour. Walk down the beach and really get the feel of the place.”

“That’d be great,” Oliver said, already putting a possessive hand on Zoe’s shoulder. “You don’t mind?”

Clay handed Zoe a card key before she could reply. “This’ll get you into any villa on the property. We can entertain Evan for you, Oliver. That way you can make a decision without pressure.”

“Good idea,” Lacey added. “Can he go swimming with my daughter? She’s an excellent babysitter.”

“I’m sure he’d love that.”

Lacey gave a warm smile to Zoe, her amber eyes dancing. “Then take your time and really let him fall in love…with the villa.”

Holy crap, could she be any more obvious?

“Let me tell Evan,” Oliver said, handing the baby to Lacey before he disappeared into the family room.

Instantly, Lacey’s eyes widened. “You don’t mind do you, Zoe?” she asked, nestling Elijah into her chest. “He obviously likes you.”

“I think it’s true that babies lower your IQ.”

“Zoe, come on. He’s totally hot.”

Clay smiled, sliding an arm around his wife’s shoulder. “She wants all of you guys married and mothering like her.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard misery loves company.”

Lacey shrugged, undaunted. “Take your time and close the deal.”

It was futile to argue. And, honestly, Zoe wanted that time with him anyway. For Pasha, of course. Not for any reason other than Pasha.