Dare Me Once Page 3

  “Dad!” Ben leaped over the side of the slide instead of sliding to the bottom. He barreled toward Trace. “Dad!”

  “Hey, buddy.” Trace hugged his son as the boy threw his arms around Trace’s waist. “How was school?”

  Ben let go and toed the ground. “I got in trouble for telling Miss Etheridge her new haircut was ugly.”

  Oh no. Trace could feel another parent-teacher conference coming on. They’d already had so many with Miss Etheridge, who insisted Ben would be a better fit in special ed. Yes, Ben had special needs, but he could do the work. He just got frustrated easily when he didn’t understand something. Miss Etheridge was twenty-five and straight out of graduate school. Trace wasn’t going to let Ben miss out on the education he deserved because his teacher didn’t have experience dealing with Asperger’s.

  “Ben, we’ve talked about this.” Trace tried to be gentle. Harsh words only heightened Ben’s responses and caused more outbursts. Something his ex could never seem to grasp.

  “But it’s true,” Ben insisted. “Her hair used to be long and pretty, and now it’s short and blue at the bottom.” He held out both palms as if he were incensed. “All the way around.”

  Trace chuckled. “Instead of focusing on what you don’t like about her hair, try to find something kind to say about it. Like maybe it’s a nice shade of blue. You like blue, right?”

  Ben nodded, still not convinced this was good advice.

  “Say that, and don’t mention the negative stuff that might hurt her feelings, even if it’s true.”

  Little Sophie slowed her swing and hopped off, skipping over to them wearing a tiara and a princess costume with a skirt made of hot-pink netting.

  “Hello, Princess Sophie,” Trace said, all serious and refined. He even threw in a bow.

  She scrunched up her shoulders and batted big round eyes at him without saying a word.

  “Miss Etheridge says I have to pick the topic for my science project soon or I’ll get behind schedule.” Ben toed the ground some more. “I want to build a remote-controlled plane like yours. One that really flies.”

  “I think we need to pick something easier.” Ben might have a meltdown over such a difficult project if it didn’t turn out the way he expected.

  Ben started to rub his hands against his thighs in a distressed rhythm. “We always pick easy projects.” His voice rose. “And the other kids make fun of me like I’m a baby.”

  Trace sighed and ruffled his son’s hair. “That’s because the other parents do the projects for their kids. I want you to do the project yourself. We’ll give it some thought this week, okay?”

  Ben grabbed Trace’s right arm. “Can I wear your watch?” The rubbing stopped, and his voice returned to a normal volume.

  Trace unstrapped his Garmin D2 Pilot watch and put it on his son’s wrist.

  “And your sunglasses?” The excitement in Ben’s voice rose. “Then I can pretend to be a pilot.”

  Trace pulled his aviators from his inside pocket and slid them onto Ben’s nose.

  Sophie grabbed Ben’s hand and tugged him back to the playground, skipping all the way.

  Ben glanced over his shoulder at Trace with a look that said Help!

  Trace shrugged. “Get used to it, buddy. The pilot thing gets ’em every time.” He studied the churning sky for a moment. “It’s going to rain soon,” he called out to the kids. “Come inside as soon as it starts.”

  He made his way through the back entrance, stomped his feet on the mat, and walked into the resort’s kitchen. His cousin, Charley, was hard at work on a fresh batch of her famous gourmet doughnuts. She had retreated to the island to lick her wounds after the sudden breakup of her marriage had been publicized in every foodie magazine and gossip column up and down the coast. Coming from the branch of the family who’d made their mark as coffee tycoons, she’d taken charge of desserts and coffee at the resort to feel useful and hadn’t seen fit to move on. Yet.

  “Hey, Charley.” Trace set his phone on the counter.

  “Hey.” She didn’t look up. Bent over the counter, she decorated each doughnut like it was a masterpiece. “Did you happen to see my daughter on your way in?”

  “Yep. She’s in full-on princess mode, commanding her subject around the playground.” Trace’s mouth watered as he stared at the tray of doughnuts.

  “Poor Ben.” Charley kept decorating.

  “He’ll get through it. At least she’s not trying to dress him up like a girl.”

  Charley looked up with a twinkle in her eye because, yes, she’d tried the same thing on him and his two brothers when they were kids. Trace and Elliott had run like hell. Spence, being the youngest, got caught up in Charley’s diabolical plan. The pictures were priceless and had been fun to leave lying around when Spence brought his dates home in high school.

  Trace couldn’t resist the temptation any longer and reached for a cinnamon-sprinkled doughnut.

  Charley’s twinkle turned to a glare. “Don’t you dare. I’ve been working on these all afternoon. They’re for Ben’s teacher. She loves my doughnuts.”

  “Ah, you heard about Ben’s critique of her new hairstyle.” Trace braced both elbows against the counter.

  Charley nodded. “The minute I pulled into the school parking lot to pick them up.”

  He had to hand it to his cousin. She knew the hardships of being a single parent, and it was nice that family had his back. “Thanks for smoothing things over. I owe you.”

  Not only was she an incredible pastry chef, but she was also an even better cousin for keeping so many of the Remington brothers’ secrets. Plus, she had one mean left hook, which Trace had experienced a time or two while they were growing up.

  So he let his hand fall to the counter. “Just one?” He tried to pout. Hell, he’d already borrowed a woman’s phone and called himself from it to get her number just to win a bet. Pouting was the least of his transgressions today.

  Although, he would’ve been happy to follow through on his offer to give the pretty tourist an aerial tour, and he’d have done it for free after the way she’d moaned. If she hadn’t disappeared without a word.

  Charley slid a doughnut onto a saucer for him, and he poured himself a cup of coffee. He took a big bite and washed it down, growling in pain as he swallowed the scalding coffee. When he could finally speak again, his voice was hoarse from the burn, and he couldn’t feel his tongue. “Jesus,” he wheezed and rubbed his throat.

  “Are you okay?” Charley got him a glass of water.

  “The coffee’s hotter than usual,” Trace croaked, wondering if his voice would ever be the same again.

  “The burner’s been acting up. It wasn’t hot enough earlier,” Charley said.

  “Well now it’s surface-of-the-sun hot,” Trace managed to choke out. “I may have to eat intravenously from now on because my windpipe disintegrated.”

  Elliott blew through the door. “Hey, asshat. Back to admit defeat?”

  Trace pulled up Sexy Airport Girl’s number and shoved his phone into his brother’s chest. “Read it and weep.” Still in pain, he kept his voice low.

  Elliott stared at the screen and leaned against the wall next to the phone that was anchored there for the staff’s convenience. “No way. You either paid her, or it’s a fake number. Still have to call her with us in the room to prove it or you lose.”

  Which could be a problem since Trace had gotten her number without her knowledge. He snatched the phone from his brother.

  His dad came in through the dining room entrance. His age was showing now that his hair had gone from salt-and-pepper to solid white, but his stature was still tall and strong. He loved his family and the resort he’d spent his life building. “Is Ms. Barns getting settled into her cottage?” His dad’s stare landed on Trace.

  “She never showed up.” Trace broke the bad news.

  His dad rubbed his chin. “Maybe she’s stuck somewhere because of the storm.”

  “You haven’t heard
from her?” Not showing up for the first day of work was bad enough. Not even calling was grounds for termination. Better they discovered her irresponsibility now before she started making changes to the resort. Changes that Ben might not handle well.

  His dad shook his head, a worried look in his eye.

  “Look, Dad”—Trace softened his voice to ease the blow—“maybe she changed her mind. It wouldn’t be the first time we’ve hired the wrong person. We’ll find someone else.”

  “What’s wrong with your voice?” Elliott asked.

  “Burned my throat with the coffee,” Trace said, rubbing his neck.

  One of the resort lines started to ring, and Elliott grabbed the handset from its cradle. “Wuss,” he said to Trace as he balanced the receiver between his ear and his shoulder. “Yeeel-low,” he said like the smartass he was. He listened for a second, then pushed off the wall and shoved the handset into Trace’s chest. “It’s for you. Old Lady McGill.”

  Trace put a palm over the receiver. “Who’s the asshat now?” he whisper-yelled at his younger brother.

  Elliott shot him the bird over his shoulder. “Gotta go organize a movie night for our guests since they have to stay indoors with a storm coming.”

  Trace put the phone to his ear. “Ms. McGill?”

  “Hello. Which Remington fella is this?”

  “It’s Trace.”

  “Is Lawrence there?” she cooed.

  Trace glanced at his father, who shook his head as if he knew exactly what Ms. McGill was asking.

  Trace exhaled long and hard. “Can I help?”

  She sighed into the phone, clearly disappointed that she wasn’t going to speak to Trace’s dad. “I just wanted to check to see if your new employee arrived yet. She left the terminal some time ago, and the storm is about to unleash on the island.”

  Hell. “Uh, Ms. Barns arrived on the ferry?”

  His dad perked up.

  “I don’t know her name, hon. Just that she’s a young, pretty little thing. Spunky too. Reminds me of myself back in the day.” Ms. McGill kept rambling. “Said she had to take a different flight than planned, and no one was here to pick her up.”

  Trace put his hand over the receiver and whispered, “Ms. Barns is on the island. Are you sure she hasn’t called?”

  “Not on the landline,” his dad said.

  “Nope. I’d have heard the phone ring,” Charley confirmed.

  “Could she have called your cell?” His dad came from the generation that didn’t keep their cells attached at the hip, and text messaging was as painful for him as a root canal without anesthetic.

  His dad’s expression blanked. “I did give her my cell in case of emergency.” His tone told Trace he probably hadn’t checked it in days.

  “Ms. McGill?” Trace removed his hand from the receiver. “If she left the terminal a while ago, who picked her up?”

  A chafing laugh from years of cigarettes and ferry exhaust coursed through the phone. “No one, hon. She insisted on getting there on her own.”

  “She’s walking to the Remington?” With a storm coming their way? What kind of person had his father hired?

  Ms. McGill laughed again. “Of course not,” she said, like Trace was the foolish one. “She’s on a tricycle.”

  Trace’s jaw went slack. Because that wasn’t the least bit insane. Traveling by trike, probably with a suitcase, while a raging storm bore down on them was completely understandable.

  “Thanks for the call, Ms. McGill.” Trace hung up. “Gotta go.” He snatched his cell off the counter.

  “I’ll come with you,” his dad said.

  “No. You make sure the heat is on in her cottage.” Trace swung into captain’s mode, like he used to when he piloted private jets. “Charley, can you brew some hot coffee that won’t send Ms. Barns to the burn unit? If the storm opens up before I find her, she’ll be freezing.” And probably angry. Trace would be. Somehow Ms. Barns and his father had gotten their wires crossed, and she was left out in the cold rain.

  “I’ll get a tray ready. Ms. Barns can have a doughnut for her troubles.” Charley poured beans into the coffee grinder. “Maybe she’ll forgive you guys once she tastes it.” She waggled her brows. “They’re magical.”

  Trace grabbed a set of keys hanging by the back door. They belonged to one of the resort Jeeps. He ran toward the garage with Ms. McGill’s words ringing in his ears. Apparently, Ms. Barns wasn’t over the hill like Trace had assumed.

  She was young. She was pretty. She was spunky.

  In Trace’s experience, that could be a lethal combination.

  Chapter Three

  LILY’S LIFE LESSON #3

  Karma can be a real motherducker.

  Lily pedaled the giant tricycle faster in what she hoped was the direction of the Remington Resort just as the first big drops of rain pelted her face.

  So what if no one had shown up at the ferry terminal to pick her up. The cross-country move was her way of taking control of her life. Lily Barns could find her own way. She would make her own destiny.

  The rain fell harder, and she looked up at the growling thunderclouds.

  She may have overcommitted.

  Thunder crashed through the blackening sky so loud it shook the ground. She jumped and jerked the handlebars to one side. Her luggage tumbled off the back. The bungee cord Ms. McGill had loaned Lily at the ferry crossing was threaded through the suitcase handles and secured to the basket between the back wheels, so it dragged the bags along behind her.

  Thump, thump, thump.

  She kept pedaling but glanced over her shoulder at the suitcases. One problem solved. They wouldn’t look like expensive designer luggage by the time she got to the Remington.

  The road curved around a pond, a row of cedars separating the flinty water from the pavement. She thanked the Baby Jesus when a fork appeared up ahead.

  Lily doubled down and pedaled harder.

  Just as the sky opened up completely and dumped on her.

  And not one vehicle had come along since she’d left the ferry crossing. Where was she?

  The cold rain soaked through to her skin. She shivered and squinted against the heavy water shed. The purplish hue of dusk was settling over the landscape, so she set her sights on that fork and pedaled like her life depended on it. In a way, it did. The Remington shouldn’t be much farther, and that’s where her new life waited. She was almost home free.

  Cheep.

  Lily’s brows pulled together, and she tried to listen above her chattering teeth and thumping luggage.

  Cheep, cheep, cheep.

  When she glanced over her shoulder to see where the noise came from, she slammed the pedals in reverse. The trike slid sideways, tilted, and sent Lily tumbling ass over elbow into the soggy ditch.

  Cheep.

  Lily sat up, pushed her sopping hair out of her face, and stared at the brood of baby ducklings that followed her. Small, brown, and fuzzy, they couldn’t have been more than a few days old.

  Cheep, cheep, cheep, cheep!

  They scurried closer, and Lily counted them. Ten little motherless ducklings.

  Cheep, cheep. They waddled to her, trying to snuggle into her leg for warmth.

  “Get in line. I’m cold and alone too.” She wrapped shivering arms around herself and took stock of her situation. Maybe New Orleans wasn’t so bad after all. A new hair color to go with her new name—maybe a little plastic surgery to change her looks so the press and her father’s enemies wouldn’t recognize her—and she’d be golden.

  The weather certainly wasn’t any worse on the Gulf Coast. Just hotter. And she’d swear the mosquitos in Louisiana had teeth.

  Lily mustered her courage as the rain kept falling. No, she was staying right there in Angel Fire Falls. This was the only job she’d ever landed on her own. The great job offer she’d gotten in the French Quarter was because of her father’s connections. So she’d worked long hours and holidays with no complaint to be worthy of the position. W
ith a father who’d siphoned off millions from FEMA and from investors who’d trusted him to rebuild the Gulf Coast after the last hurricane, she’d likely never get another job anywhere in that region. Stealing people’s money and their dreams tended to make them see you as an employment risk, and Lily was guilty by association. So she wasn’t giving up on the job at the Remington until she gave it her best shot.

  Plus, it was the only prospect that hadn’t required a thorough background check that would’ve revealed her true identity. Not to mention her father’s transgressions.

  More thunder growled, and the rain showed no sign of letting up.

  Neither did the ducklings.

  Cheep, cheep, cheep, cheep.

  “All right, all right.” Lily shook her head. “So demanding.” She gently moved the ducklings aside and stood. “Here’s what we’re going to do.” She pointed to the trike. “I’m going to keep riding that thing to the resort, and you’re going to go back to the pond where you belong. Hopefully, your mom’s okay, and she’ll be back soon. Maybe she’s getting a pedi or getting her feathers done.”

  Lily snorted. Because hell, it was either laugh or cry.

  She was soaking wet and riding a giant tricycle, for God’s sake. That was going to make a spectacular first impression on her new boss. She wasn’t sure how long her probationary period would last, but she couldn’t very well show up with a brood of baby ducks in tow on top of everything else. Lily straightened the big trike and swung a leg over. They’d just have to fend for themselves.

  She pushed off and pedaled toward the fork, her luggage scraping along the road.

  Cheep, cheep . . . cheep, cheep.

  Lily’s feet stopped pedaling, and her eyes slid shut.

  Leaving those fuzzy little innocent things behind didn’t seem right. It made her feel . . . well . . . like a big fat motherducker.

  She drew in a breath that said I surrender and got off the trike. The ducklings all but stampeded her, gathering at her feet. Hands on her hips, she stared down at the chirping birds as the rain bit into her skin.