Upon a Mystic Tide (16 page)

“Hmmm, I can’t say I’m surprised. If she’s truly in love with another man—”

“No, Miss Hattie,” he corrected her. “I mean Bess won’t discuss with me why she wants the divorce. It’s very frustrating.”

“Oh.” The old woman nodded, her expression pensive. “Well, I’m sure as certain it
is
frustrating.” She started rocking and, after a long moment of clearly mulling over the matter, she cocked her head. “Jonathan, dear.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Far be it from me to tell you your own mind, or Bess’s, for that matter
 . . .
”

Realizing she wanted permission to offer her advice, he encouraged her. “Go on, Miss Hattie.”

“Perhaps you should use a little
 . . .
gentle persuasion to get Bess in a more talkative mood, and then ask her again.”

John nearly fell off his chair. “Miss Hattie, are you suggesting that I seduce Bess?”

“Well,” the dear woman shrugged, her face as pink as the geraniums on the front porch, “there are worse ways to find out the truth, dear, you must agree, and you are married to Bess, so I can’t see how this could actually be seduction. It’s more like
 . . .
encouraging. Yes, encouraging. That suits, doesn’t it?”

“Encouraging suits.” Loving her logic, John laughed out loud. “God, you’re a treasure.”

She smiled. “Why, thank you, Jonathan.”

“But even if I wanted to, I don’t think I
could
seduce Bess. Remember Santos?”

“Ah, her sorry Spaniard.”

John laughed again. “He is that.”

“I’m afraid voices carry in the house.” She lowered her gaze. “I truly wasn’t eavesdropping.”

“I know that, Miss Hattie,” he assured her to rid her of the wrinkle of worry creasing her brow.

“Well, I’d be remiss if I didn’t say that I think you’re mistake—” Miss Hattie stopped midsentence, stared up at the ceiling as
if listening, then changed tactics and smiled. “I’m sure you know best, dear.”

John sipped from a tall glass of iced tea. Extra lemon. Tart. It slid down his throat, cool and refreshing, and buried the chump. Bess didn’t care about him and he wouldn’t be suckered into thinking she did or that he could seduce her. She wouldn’t like his new spin on the settlement, that was a given. But if she’d been reasonable and accepted her half, then he wouldn’t have been forced to revert to drastic measures to make sure she didn’t have to rely on anyone else for her needs. She’d be ticked. Furious. But would the drastic measure work?

That remained to be seen. If it did, the hell she was sure to put him through for his trouble would be worth it.

The phone rang.

“It’s for you, dear,” Miss Hattie said, not missing a stitch of her sewing.

How could she identify the caller
before
answering the phone? On the second ring, John went to the wall beside her, then lifted the receiver. “Seascape Inn.”

“John Mystic, have you lost your mind?”

He stared at Miss Hattie, disconcerted. It was for him. “Selena,” he said into the receiver, “calm down.” Silently, he cursed Bryce. The man hadn’t wasted any time calling her.

“Bryce called at the crack of dawn. I’d have called as soon as the sun was up, but Miguel Santos phoned me, too. So has Francine. In fact, I’ve spent an entire day listening to people bitch and swear you’ve lost your mind, brother dear. I defended you, of course, but if half of what they’re telling me is true, I’m inclined to agree with them.”

“Why?” John leaned against the door casing and stared out the window at the lush lawns. A butterfly was having a field day in Miss Hattie’s peonies.

“Why? You
have
lost your mind!” Selena drew in a hissed breath that crackled through the phone wires. “You’re suing Bess for—”

Bess walked into the kitchen. Terrific timing. “I asked you to calm down, Selena. Now, I’m telling you to do it. This is my affair and I’ll handle it as I see fit.”

Bess sat down at the table and sipped from his glass of tea. Just like the old days. Every muscle in his chest clenched. And angry because it had, he semi-shouted at Selena. “Don’t you and your partners have enough to do to keep you busy?”

“Enough, John. Leave this alone, okay?” Selena’s voice went soft, pleading. “Bess has made her feelings quite clear. Can’t you just accept it that it’s over and let go?”

He’d promised Elise. Failed her when she’d needed him most. He’d never wanted this damn divorce or to lose Bess. Now he had a second chance. No, he couldn’t “just let go.” The magic was still there. True, that hadn’t been enough to make a successful marriage before, but maybe—. “You’re stepping over the line, Sis.”

“Somebody’s got to keep you from self-destructing. I know you’re still going to the house and parking in the drive. I know you’re still listening to her radio shows, too. You’ve got to move on, John. For you. And you’ve got to let her move on, too.”

Bess dragged a fingertip down his glass. He envied it. She had shadows under her eyes. Beautiful, and worried. But Miss Hattie was wrong. Bess’s worry had nothing to do with him. He was just a piece of paper. She worried about all the trouble and turmoil in her own life. Bess resented turmoil. She probably missed Santos, too. That, John resented. “Take care of your seniors and kids and stuffed bears, Selena, and leave my business to me. And tell Peggy to give the box-hedge snooping a rest.”

Damn. Bess heard him. He thought he’d been talking low enough so that she wouldn’t, but he hadn’t. Her cheeks flushed a dusty rose, nearly the same shade as her silk robe. Wrapped and belted at her waist, it clung to her breasts. In his mind, he saw them bare, peaked, and his stomach flipped. She had no right be so alluring. Sitting there covered neck to heels and still looking sexier than in any teddy she’d ever let caress those lush curves.

“But, John. I’m worried about you. It hasn’t been that long since Elise died, and I know you’re hurting. You’re vulnerable, you know? I don’t want to see you hurt more.”

Selena was worried. He softened his voice. “Look, honey, I’m fine. Really. And I know what I’m doing.”

“Sure as heck doesn’t look like it from here. Suing Bess for—”

“I’ve got to go, Selena. And tell Bryce there’s a thing called attorney/client confidentiality that he’d best start adhering to or I’m going to start losing my sweet disposition.”

Bess sent him a look flatly stating she didn’t think he had a sweet disposition to lose. He frowned at her, and held it so she wouldn’t miss it. She let her gaze roll to the ceiling, and he nearly smiled. He didn’t, of course, but he could have. As soon as he got off the phone and hit Bess with “Settlement Proposal Number Two,” she’d lose that superior smug look.

He could hardly wait.

“Bryce was worried about you, too,” Selena said. “You have to see that this is one crazy stunt you’re pulling, John. If Bryce wasn’t concerned, he wouldn’t be a very good lawyer.”

“Okay, you’re all on record as being officially worried. I’ll talk with you later.”

“John, don’t do this. Do you hear me? Don’t do—”

He hung up the phone. Miss Hattie and Bess were talking softly. The tune on the radio switched from horns to piano, soft and smooth and mellow.

“I’d rather have one of your blueberry muffins. Lucy’s pretty excited about them,” Bess told Miss Hattie. “Is that okay?”

“Of course, dear. Whatever you like.” She nodded toward the counter at the plate of muffins next to the ceramic canisters. “I’ve been a wee bit concerned about your lack of appetite lately, though you don’t look the slightest bit peaked. Do you think she looks peaked, John?”

She looked red as a beet with embarrassment. Bess didn’t like being the focus of attention. Feeling a little contrary because of that “sweet disposition” look she’d laid on him, he studied her slowly, intently, weighing every nuance of her every feature. His body went hard and that reaction he hadn’t anticipated. If the woman wasn’t just so damn beautiful to him.

“No, she doesn’t look peaked.” John slid back into his chair and saw himself taking back his glass of tea, rubbing its rim where Bess’s lips had touched. Hard to tell for sure with her robe—he couldn’t see beyond temptation—but maybe she had lost a couple pounds. Her eyes were shadowed. Her cheeks were a little more hollow, too.

Worry spiked through him, but if he asked, she’d know she still mattered. Couldn’t have that. He’d
chump
himself and she’d sweet-disposition and mind-your-own-business look him into the next century. Instead, he poured himself a shot of steaming black coffee then returned to his seat and frowned down into a flowered cup far too delicate for his huge hands. Maybe it would cool him off. He must have been crazy, thinking he could assess her without getting hot and bothered. He never had been able to do it. Still, that she might be ill concerned him and, hell to pay for it or not, he had to ask. “Why aren’t you eating? Are you sick, Bess?”

She stilled at the counter, squared her shoulders, then turned to look back at him. “No, I’m fine. Just a lot on my mind.”

Like Santos, the divorce, the settlement, her job. Yeah, John could see it. And as soon as conversation allowed, he’d be adding to her list of worries. That had guilt knocking at his conscience’s door. He ignored it. The only reason he’d sunk so low as to pull this stunt was because she’d left him no choice. He’d see to it that she never had to depend on anyone for her financial needs. That reassurance would compensate for the additional guilt he’d have to lug around. Hell, when you had a heap already, what was one more shovel’s worth? He compromised as best he could to soften the blow. “I don’t like adding to the list, but we need to talk about something.”

She filled a cup with coffee from the pot. Her hand started shaking; coffee sloshed in the carafe. “Fine.”

Giving him a smile as false as her worrying about him, she returned to the table, then sat down. Weak sunlight filtered in through the windows and Bess’s hair looked like spun gold, far too tempting to not want to touch.

The chair legs scraping against the floor sounded gritty and good and reminded him he shouldn’t be thinking these kinds of things about her. At least not until she accepted his proposal.

Would she accept it?

Yeah, she would. He’d box her in if he had to, but she would accept it.

Miss Hattie stuffed her sewing to her bag. “Would you two prefer privacy?”

“No!”

“No!”

Simultaneous reactions. Miss Hattie jerked, then eased back down into her rocker and shifted her gaze uneasily to the ceiling.

John glanced to Bess then back to Miss Hattie. They’d made her uncomfortable and he hated that. “I’m sorry.”

“Me, too.” Bess shifted on her chair. “I guess it’s pretty obvious we’d rather not be alone together.”

“Understandable.” Miss Hattie gave them a warm smile that had John feeling even more guilty for startling her. “Divorce is seldom easy. I admire you both for treating each other kindly.” She pulled out her sewing again then counted her stitches. “So often couples want only to hurt each other. It’s such a sad thing, isn’t it? To hurt so much that you want to hurt back?” Her round cheeks tinged pink. “Not that either of you would do that, thank goodness.”

John frowned at the yellow porcelain daffodils in the table’s centerpiece. He’d been looking forward to dropping his bombshell on Bess for a good hour. Now, he couldn’t do it. Not without feeling like a jerk. And Bess was staring at her muffin as if she expected it to burst open and suck her down. Looking as guilty as he felt because in their earlier encounter they both had wanted to hurt each other.