Barefoot in the Rain, Page 3

  So far, only one action item was checked, although it was more of a survival technique than anything strategic: Get out of L.A. and hide.

  Nor was her destination exactly her first choice on a list of possible hiding places, but all her wealthy friends and clients—owners of multiple chalets in Aspen and getaways in Italy—had been conveniently unavailable. No surprise, really.

  But Lacey had come through, of course, as the truest of true friends. When she’d suggested that Jocelyn take refuge at Casa Blanca, Lacey’s partially built resort in Barefoot Bay, there’d been no hesitation. Jocelyn needed sanctuary from this personal storm, a place to avoid the media and figure out just where to take her life from here.

  Funny that such a decision had to be made on the island of Mimosa Key, but beggars and homewreckers couldn’t afford to be choosy.

  Except that Jocelyn was neither.

  Two seats away, a young woman skimmed the pages of People magazine, blind to the fact that the “other woman” in Miles Thayer’s broken marriage was sitting a foot away, sipping water and wishing it was something stronger.

  Jocelyn stole a few glances at the pages as she closed her notebooks and tucked them into her bag, narrowing her eyes at the image of Coco Kirkman on the cover of the magazine.

  That defenseless shadow in her eyes had served her well in front of the camera, making her an empathetic character no matter who she played. That vulnerability had attracted Jocelyn, too, reminding her of another woman who needed a little help developing a spine. Coco was a young, talented, still-fixable version of Mary Jo Bloom, but, once again, Jocelyn had failed to make that fix.

  Leaning against the glass, Jocelyn peered down at the swampy Everglades of Florida’s southwest coast, the lush, tropical wetlands so different from what was now her home state. California was brown most of the year, horribly overpopulated and packed with people who thought they were rare birds, not real rare birds.

  But this? This little corner on the Gulf of Mexico was home. A shitty home full of heartaches and bad memories, but it was home. And if her dear friend from college hadn’t also lived on this island, she’d never, ever have come back here again.

  And that might be sad, because Mimosa Key, for all its dark memories, was a pretty place. Especially Barefoot Bay. The picturesque inlet on the north end if the island was far away enough from those memories that Jocelyn could feel safe and secure. Relatively.

  As the plane came to a stop and the deboarding announcements were made, the woman flipped the magazine onto the empty seat between them. “Feel free to take it,” she said to Jocelyn, giving her a quick look.

  For a moment, Jocelyn tensed, expecting shocked recognition. Oh my God, you’re the chick who had an affair with Miles Thayer!

  But there was only a cool smile, and Jocelyn’s gaze dropped to the blaring, glaring lies across the cover.

  Coco Is Crushed! Sexy Life Coach Steals an American Angel’s Husband!

  “No, thanks,” Jocelyn replied, turning away.

  At the medley of snapping seat belts and clattering overhead bins, Jocelyn tugged the long blonde wig and adjusted her sunglasses, not caring that the sun had already set here on the East Coast. If she could fit a hat over the stupid wig, she’d have worn that, too.

  The regional airport was small, and she spotted Lacey and Tessa right past Security, standing close and peering over heads to find her. Lacey looked as radiant as she had the day Casa Blanca’s groundbreaking ceremony had turned into her impromptu wedding to Clay Walker. Her reddish-blond curls framed her freckled face, a slight frown pulling as she scanned the crowd.

  Next to her, Tessa looked relaxed if not radiant, tanned from hours in the gardens, toned from her uber-healthy lifestyle. Her deep brown eyes passed right over Jocelyn.

  Only when Jocelyn dragged her carry-on in front of them and slowly raised her glasses did they gasp with recognition.

  “Oh my God,” Tessa said.

  “Joce—”

  Jocelyn put her hand over Lacey’s mouth. “Shhh. Let’s cut out of here, stat.”

  “I didn’t even recognize you.” Tessa reached for a strand of wig hair, but Jocelyn ducked.

  “Exactly. C’mon, move it.”

  Lacey put her arm around Jocelyn and Tessa grabbed the rolling bag, both of them flanking her like bodyguards.

  “There are no paparazzi in the airport,” Lacey assured her, moving so slowly that Jocelyn wanted to scream. “And certainly none in Mimosa Key.”

  “Which is why I’m here,” Jocelyn said. “We can skip Baggage. I’ve got everything here. Let’s go.”

  “Can’t.” Tessa moved even more slowly, nudging them all away from the exit.

  “Must,” Jocelyn shot back. “I gotta get this wig off.”

  “Over here,” Lacey said. “She’s already landed.”

  “Who’s already landed?” The airport wasn’t that big, but it felt like she was crossing the Sahara from one gate to the next.

  “You really think Zoe Tamarin could stand for the three of us to be together and not get in on it?” Tessa asked, her expression changing as she pointed to more people deplaning a few gates away. “There she is. Spent a fortune she doesn’t have to fly direct from Phoenix and time her arrival with yours.”

  Instantly Jocelyn spotted Zoe, with her wild blonde waves and sunny smile, weaving through the crowd, waving madly. As much as Jocelyn feared Zoe would suddenly scream her name, the fact that the four of them were together sent a shudder of sheer joy through her. She’d pay Zoe for the plane ticket, and it would be well worth the cost.

  “Woo-hoo! I made it!” Zoe practically danced through the crowds, her jade green eyes sparkling as she locked on Tessa and Lacey. Thankfully, she didn’t even notice or recognize Jocelyn.

  Lacey moved ahead, reaching Zoe first, hugging her and whispering in her ear. Instantly, Zoe’s head popped up and she zeroed in on Jocelyn.

  She stared, raised one eyebrow, then just shook her head as she approached Jocelyn and Tessa. Reaching out for a hug, she folded Jocelyn in her arms.

  “That wig is so fake I can’t even joke about it,” she murmured in Jocelyn’s ear.

  “But you will.” She hugged her friend. “Thanks, Zoe. I’m glad you’re here.”

  Zoe fluffed some strands of Jocelyn’s wig and rolled her eyes. “As if I’d miss this.” She turned her attention to Tessa; once again there was a shower of squeals and hugs. “I’m glad you called me,” Zoe said to Tessa, wrapping them all into a group hug. “We come together when there’s trouble, right? That’s what we did for Lace after the shit storm. Now that’s what we do for you… during the shit storm.” She leaned in and whispered, “Seriously, Miles Thayer, Joss? He’s so not your type.”

  Jocelyn just closed her eyes. “For the love of God, can we please get in the car so I can get this thing off my head.”

  A man passed and took a long look at Jocelyn, making her cringe and drag the sunglasses down for coverage. “Did you see him stare at me?”

  “That’s how all men look at blondes,” Zoe assured her, linking arms and nudging Jocelyn forward. “Especially fake ones.”

  Jocelyn kept the sunglasses on until they were in Lacey’s car. Then she ripped off the wig and scratched her scalp, yanking at the clip that held her long hair in a tight knot. “Oh my God, that feels good.”

  Lacey grinned into the rearview mirror. “There’s our Joss again.”

  “Give me this thing.” Next to her, Tessa snagged the wig. “You don’t need this here, okay? No reporters, no paparazzi, no one to hide from.”

  Well, there was at least one person to hide from. “Depends. Where did you decide I’m staying, Lace?” Last year when she’d come to help Lacey rebuild her life, she’d stayed at the Ritz Carlton in Naples and while her friends didn’t exactly understand her adamant decision not to go to certain parts of Mimosa Key, they’d abided by it. She couldn’t do that now; the media would be all over her in a hotel that public.

  “Zoe’
s staying with me in the house I rent in Pleasure Pointe,” Tessa said.

  Too close for comfort. “I’m not staying there,” Jocelyn replied quickly.

  “We know,” Lacey assured her. “You’re staying in Barefoot Bay.”

  “So speaketh the former dormitory resident adviser and elder statesmen of the group,” Zoe said.

  “Two years. Not that elder,” Lacey shot back.

  “One year married to the younger man and she’s a teenager again. All right, woman.” Zoe turned in the passenger seat to face Jocelyn in the back. “Dish.”

  Where she was staying was an easy topic compared to this one. They’d want the truth, and it would be tricky. But she was ready. “There’s nothing to dish.”

  Again, Zoe gave a signature eye roll. “Come on, Joss. Miles Thayer? He’s like the hottest human on earth. I want gory details, including size, stamina, and any kinky shit.”

  “Zoe,” the other two said.

  But Jocelyn just shook her head. “All right, ladies. Listen to me. I’m going to say this once and once only. I did not sleep with Miles Thayer. I barely speak to Miles Thayer, and when I do, there’s not the remotest molecule of affection or attraction between us. I hate Miles Thayer and, if you want to know the truth, so does Coco Kirkman.”

  They all just stared at her.

  “Why?” Tessa asked.

  “I’m not going to say,” Jocelyn said, her voice taut. “And if I can’t count on you three not to believe the crap in the tabloids, then turn around and take me back to the airport. I’ll hide somewhere else.”

  Tessa put her hand on Jocelyn’s arm. “You can count on us,” she said. “You can also count on Zoe being crass and thinking exclusively about sex.”

  “There was no sex. Sorry to disappoint you, Zoe. And none of this leaves the car, got it?”

  “I’m not disappointed,” Zoe assured her. “I’m proud of you for resisting his hotness. But if there was no sex, really, why is Coco claiming you broke up her marriage?”

  Jocelyn dropped back on the seat, letting out a long, slow breath. “It’s complicated,” she said, the vague tone getting a quick, suspicious look from Tessa. “But Coco wants out of the marriage and this… is her way.”

  “Her way?” Lacey’s voice rose with incredulity. “Why not just file for divorce? It’s Hollywood, for heaven’s sake. Why throw it all on you?”

  Because Coco’s shoulders weren’t strong enough to handle the repercussions. And this was the only way.

  “She needs to put the blame on someone other than herself,” Jocelyn said, conjuring up her best shrink-like tone.

  “Okay, but that doesn’t explain why you don’t publicly deny every word,” Tessa demanded.

  “Really publicly,” Zoe added. “Like a billboard on Sunset Boulevard.” She boxed her hands as if she were reading the headline. “I Am not a Marriage-Wrecker.”

  “But I am a life coach,” Jocelyn said. “And billboards on Sunset Boulevard are as fake and cheesy as the rest of that town. But with my job comes certain ethics about privacy. I know stuff.”

  “So she makes you her fall guy?” Tessa asked. “I don’t get it.”

  And they wouldn’t, until they understood what “stuff” Jocelyn knew. And if they knew that, then…

  “Look, guys, I don’t want to talk about it. I just need to breathe and think and hide.”

  Tessa snorted. “Which, knowing you, will make you batshit crazy in two days.”

  Jocelyn smiled at her, not denying the truth of that. But every single client had put her on hold—or fired her last week. “Anything for me to do at Casa Blanca?”

  “The resort’s barely built,” Lacey said. “So unless you’re handy with a hammer, you’re going to have to work in the food gardens with Tess.”

  She held up her thumb. “Totally brown. Unless your plants need life management.”

  “You know, Joss,” Lacey said. “I’ve been doing all this research on high-end resorts and some of the best ones offer life coaching to their clients. Do you think you could help me figure out how I can incorporate that into my menu of services?”

  “I’d love to.” She leaned forward and put a hand on Lacey’s shoulders. “By the way, marriage really suits you, girl. You are quite literally glowing.”

  She laughed. “That’s because when Clay kicks me out of the construction trailer, I get to ‘research’ spas and their treatments. Doesn’t suck.”

  “Don’t listen to her,” Tessa said. “She’s madly in love and it shows.”

  Lacey grinned. “He’s awesome, as you guys know. How can I ever thank you all enough for talking me into the hot young architect?”

  “Like we had to do a lot of convincing,” Zoe said with a laugh.

  All the way over the causeway and up to Barefoot Bay, they chattered about Lacey’s first year of happy marriage, her challenges with a teenage daughter, and the resort they’d all invested in financially and emotionally.

  For the first time in over a week, Jocelyn felt certain this trip had been a very good idea. Even when they passed Center Street and she glanced to the south and memories threatened, she ignored them.

  There would be absolutely no reason to see her father while she was here, none at all. So she didn’t bother to bring him up and, being the friends they were, neither did the girls.

  How long would that last?

  Chapter 3

  Something was different at Casa Blanca. Will could practically smell a change in the salty air of Barefoot Bay the minute he climbed out of his truck in front of the resort’s construction trailer. The Gulf of Mexico was dead calm, the water a deep cobalt blue as the sun made its first appearance over the foliage along the eastern border of the resort’s property line. The construction parking lot was empty, of course, and the structures stood silent in various degrees of completion.

  Still, the air pressed, heavy with change. Funny how he could sense that. Like when the wind would pick up in the outfield, a signal that the game’s momentum was about to shift.

  Scanning the main building, he noticed a few additions since he’d last been to the job site. Clay and Lacey Walker ran a tight schedule, determined to get Mimosa Key’s first exclusive resort up and running within the year, so it was no surprise that the subs had been hard at work on Friday while he’d driven to Tampa to pick up the flooring for one of the villas.

  There were definitely more roof tiles on the main structure, the creamy barrels adding to the many textures of Clay’s Moroccan-inspired architecture. And the window contractor had been busy, too, having left at least a dozen giant sheets of plate glass propped along the side and front of the curved entry, ready to be installed when the roof was completed.

  But the main building of Casa Blanca was of no real interest to Will. His work centered on the six private villas the resort’s most well-heeled guests would rent. He’d spent the better part of the last year building those smaller structures, including all of the finishing carpentry in Rockrose, the first completed villa at the north end of the main path.

  He peered through the palm fronds and elephant-ear leaves that had grown lush since a hurricane stripped the trees over a year ago. He studied the unpaved road that led to the villas. Deep, fresh wheel grooves cut through the dew-dampened dirt. Had someone driven up there on a Sunday?

  Even if there had been a sub here on a Sunday—which was really unlikely—the construction crew was primarily focused on Bay Laurel, the villa closest to where he stood now and the destination of the African wood flooring he’d loaded in his truck.

  Why would someone drive up the path? Lacey and Clay’s new house stood at the very far north end of the property, but you couldn’t drive all the way up there from here; they’d take the back road around the property.

  He paused at the passenger door, pulling it open to grab the cup of coffee he’d picked up at the Super Min on his way to the site. As he unwedged the cup from the holder, a drop of hot black liquid splashed through the plastic top, dri
bbling onto the seat.

  Well, not the seat. Onto the newspaper he’d left there. And not exactly a newspaper, either, unless the National Enquirer qualified.

  The headline taunted him.

  Coco Cries on Set: “I Was Blind to the Affair!”

  Why the hell did he buy that shit, anyway? To revel in someone else’s misery? To get the dirt on a woman he’d once thought was perfect?

  Well, hell, people change. Who knew that better than Will?

  Holding the coffee in his right hand, he used the other to lift the front page to see the blurry shot of a woman with long dark hair, big brown eyes, and features so burned in his memory that he didn’t need a wide-angle lens to capture them.

  She had only changed for the better, at least physically. The years had been kind, even if the media wasn’t. The memory that had haunted him for almost half his life nearly swallowed him whole when he looked at her picture.

  Then don’t look, you idiot.

  Closing the page, he nudged the door closed with his hip and finished his coffee, intrigued enough by the tire prints to follow them after he tossed the empty cup in the trash. He strode along what would eventually be the resort’s scenic walkway, canopied by green and lined with exotic flowers from Africa. Each villa was named for a different bloom found on this path.

  He passed the partially built villas, mentally reviewing each construction schedule, but his thoughts stopped the instant he rounded the foliage that blocked Rockrose, the only fully finished villa.

  That’s what was different.

  He squinted into the sun that backlit the vanilla-colored structure, highlighting the fact that the french doors along the side were wide open, the sheer curtains Lacey had installed fluttering like ghosts. There was no breeze, so someone had to have the overhead fan on in there.

  Shit. Vandals? Squatters? Maybe Lacey’s teenage daughter or one of her friends taking advantage of the place?

  There was no other explanation. Rockrose had been given a CO two weeks ago. But a certificate of occupancy didn’t mean actual occupancy, and Lacey kept the secluded villa locked tight so that none of the construction workers traipsed through or decided to use the facilities.