Honeysuckle Bride. Tara Randel
look terrible,” Max greeted him at the reception.
He knew Max spoke the truth. After all, he viewed his face in the mirror every morning. Realized the shadows under his eyes and the blank expression were growing more pronounced daily. “Thanks, buddy.”
Max scowled. “You can’t go on like this.”
“Like what? A guy grieving the loss of his family?”
“You’re entitled to your grief, Wyatt, but enough is enough. There comes a point when you have to deal with the loss and try to move on.”
It was all Wyatt could do to keep his temper in check. Didn’t Max see it wasn’t that easy? Every day was a struggle to get out of bed and survive. He knew his buddy meant well, knew Max wanted to help somehow, even if it entailed spewing tough love.
“Do you miss Cypress Pointe?” Max had asked him.
“Not particularly.”
“Folks in town miss you. Your parents worry.”
Like he needed more guilt. “And bringing this empty shell back to Cypress Pointe is going to make things better?”
“You need to be around people who love you. Running sure hasn’t helped you heal.”
Max had a point. Running had only made him more lonely. More bitter. Less than the man he wanted to be.
After thinking it over for a few days, Wyatt decided Max was right, so he moved home.
Sure, Cypress Pointe was pretty. For the most part, people stayed out of his business. He found a job he liked. His family, thrilled to have him home again, tried to cajole him into a normal existence, as if his life hadn’t been shattered beyond recognition. Friends welcomed him with open arms, inviting him to get-togethers he had no interest in attending. The thing none of them understood was that he wasn’t the man he used to be. Never would be. His life had irrevocably changed the day Jamie died and he was still trying to navigate the waters of what constituted this new existence.
And so his self-imposed isolation continued.
But lately, Max had grown more vigilant in encouraging Wyatt to move out of his comfortable seclusion. Meet me for coffee. Let’s go fishing. Wyatt recognized the invitations for what they were, attempts to drag Wyatt back into the land of the living. He doubted that was possible.
Yet some part of him knew he had to get out of this rut. Problem was, he didn’t have the energy to pull it off. At that thought, a bitter laugh escaped him. Rut was putting it mildly. No change of location or routine would alter the truth. His son was dead and it was his fault.
So for now, running the charter fishing boat was all he could handle. He’d go along with Max’s little outings, just to keep him from nagging. Let Josh and the family think they were reaching him. Give them something positive to hold on to, even though Wyatt knew better.
Not bothering to stifle a yawn, he dropped into an Adirondack chair, kicking up his feet on an old trunk. Cruiser, who’d finished eating, flopped down beside Wyatt for a nap.
This morning he’d risen early for a scheduled charter. A group of businessmen who didn’t know a fishing rod from a BB gun had been a challenge, but the guys knew how to have fun. Long hours in the sun, bright red cheeks and hungry stomachs later, he’d motored back to port. He declined their invitation to join them for lunch. He’d rather sit on the porch by himself, staring out over the calm water, than mingle and make small talk.
For fifteen minutes he savored the relative silence until the sound of chattering voices snagged his attention. A knock rattled the screen door.
Cruiser jumped up, on full alert, barking until Wyatt commanded him to calm down.
“Hello. Anyone home?” a female voice called out.
He glanced through the screen. The woman from the beach yesterday, flanked by her two little girls, peered inside.
Beautiful green eyes stared at him. He bit back a groan and sank deeper in the chair. Mimicking the computerized tone known to all answering machine owners, he said, “No one is here right now. Just leave a message.”
“That doesn’t make sense,” one of the girls said. “He’s sitting right there.”
So much for his lame attempt at humor. Man, he was rusty. “Means I’m not up for company.”
“Then you should go inside and close the door,” the other girl said, matter-of-factly.
How he wished he had.
“We’ll only keep you a minute.” The woman held up a plastic-wrapped plate. “We brought you a present.”
Which meant he had to get up to let them in. Swallowing a sigh, he rose and crossed the porch, holding Cruiser by the collar as he opened the door.
“Thank you,” the pretty blonde said, her light and airy tone at odds with her worried expression.
All three entered the porch, hovering near the doorway. Okay, his social skills were pretty awful right now, but the way the girls hugged the woman’s side, like they were nervous, surprised him. He ran a hand over his chin, glanced down at his old T-shirt, cargo shorts and scuffed boat shoes, and grimaced.
“Sorry, I just got in from work. Haven’t had a chance to clean up.”
“It’s okay. We won’t stay long.” She thrust the covered plate in his direction. “We wanted to thank you. For yesterday.”
“When you pulled me out of the water,” the girl on the left piped up.
As if he could have forgotten.
The woman smiled down at the child, ran her hand over her hair in an affectionate gesture before meeting his eyes again.
“My name is Jenna Monroe. These are my girls.” She nodded to the one on the left. “Bridget.” Then right to the girl with the ponytail. “Abby.”
For the first time his mind registered the children were twins, dressed in matching white tops with a big, bold flower print on front, pink shorts and sneakers. In all the excitement yesterday, he hadn’t noticed.
He glanced at their mother, wearing a flattering blue summer dress. Self-conscious, he wished he’d showered as soon as he got home.
Realizing the woman still held out the plate, he took it from her hand.
Smooth, Hamilton.
“We baked you cookies,” Bridget announced.
Of course they had.
“Can we play with your dog?” asked Abby.
Cruiser, dancing in place the entire time, strained against Wyatt’s hold. He looked at Jenna. “Okay with you?”
“If he’s good with kids.”
“The best.”
“Fine.”
He let go of Cruiser, who covered them with doggy kisses. The twins giggled and cooed at their new friend.
“Why don’t you girls go in while your mother and I talk. There’s a basket of Cruiser’s toys beside the couch in the den.”
The girls ran ahead, talking to Cruiser as they went.
Suddenly remembering his manners, Wyatt nodded to the porch chair. “Have a seat.”
Jenna looked around. “There’s only one chair.”
Right. Because having only one chair discouraged visitors from staying. “I’ll be right back.” He hurried inside, placed the plate of cookies on the counter, grabbed a kitchen chair and returned to the porch. Jenna was settled in the Adirondack chair, looking as if she belonged there.
Her genuine smile greeted him, sending a warm rush of expectation through him. Surprised by the intensity of the long-dormant sensation, Wyatt