Honeysuckle Bride Page 3

  More unnerved than she cared to admit, Jenna marched back into the kitchen to rinse out the mugs. Resting her palms on the sink ledge, she leaned forward, staring out the window. The moon emitted a small sliver of light, barely illuminating the backyard.

  Lately, the direction of her life seemed just as dark. As it had numerous times tonight, the scene at the beach flashed in her mind.

  Next time you might not be so lucky.

  At the memory of Wyatt’s parting words, she straightened her shoulders. No way would she let his prediction come to pass.

  Nealy was right. She had to stop second-guessing herself. Enough worrying over the things she couldn’t control. Time to focus on what she could do. With the single-mindedness that had gotten her through years of foster care and then advanced her career, Jenna vowed to be the best mother possible for Abby and Bridget.

  CHAPTER TWO

  “GUESS WHAT I have planned for today?” Jenna said at breakfast the next morning,

  The girls sent each other a questioning glance. The silent twin communication freaked Jenna out. She’d probably never understand it, but whenever it happened, self-doubt twisted in her. Once again, she found herself on the outside. Unsure. Not very motherly.

  “Why don’t you just tell us?” Abby asked.

  “Because it’s a good surprise.”

  Bridget frowned. “You told us you don’t like guessing games.”

  Holding back a sigh, Jenna said, “You’ve got me there. But for today, let’s play.”

  “We aren’t going to the beach again, are we?” Bridget asked before taking a spoonful of cereal.

  “No. I think we had enough fun in the sun yesterday.”

  “Our new school?”Abby asked.

  “No. I already registered you so we’re good.”

  Abby pushed the cornflakes around her bowl. “Shopping. You promised we can get new stuff for school.”

  “I know I promised, and we will go to the mall, but you’re still not close.”

  “I give up,” Bridget informed her with a very mature sniff.

  Jenna bit back a grin. Was she ten going on sixty? “So soon? We just started.”

  The girls stared at her.

  Jenna threw up her hands. “Now I give up.”

  “So you’ll tell us?” Abby asked with a giggle.

  Despite yesterday’s close call, the girls were in a cheery mood today. Most mornings the twins would hide out under the makeshift tent they’d built in the bedroom. Missing their mother, the girls sometimes refused to leave their safe place. Jenna learned from the counselor in LA that this was part of their grieving process. Back home she would have tried to coax them out of the tent with the promise of a special breakfast or plans for the day if she wasn’t scheduled to film or meet with her agent. Some days her tactic worked, others not so much. Today, the girls came to the breakfast table the first time she called. A small victory in Jenna’s opinion, but a victory indeed.

  “You knew I’d give up if you did. No point in teasing when you aren’t willing to play the game.”

  Bridget shrugged.

  “Fine. Then here’s the answer. Bridget, remember the man who pulled you out of the water yesterday?”

  Bridget kept her eyes focused on her cereal bowl. “Yes,” she said in a quiet tone. “He was really brave.”

  “Like the prince in the story you read to us,” Abby piped in.

  “Yes, I guess he was like a prince. Saving my beautiful princess here.”

  Abby giggled.

  A slight grin tugged Bridget’s lips.

  “Anyway, I was talking to Nealy about him last night and the idea of making a thank-you gift popped into my mind.”

  “What are we going to make?” Abby asked.

  “Cookies. Then I thought we’d deliver them in person. That will give you a chance to thank him yourself.”

  Jenna moved to the fridge, taking out the ingredients she needed to make a batch of cookies. “Do you know where he lives?” Abby asked.

  Jenna, in mid-reach to retrieve a measuring cup from the cabinet, glanced over her shoulder. “I’ll call Nealy to find out.” She brought the cup to the counter then turned to face the girls, who had grown quiet.

  “What’s wrong?” Jenna asked.

  Bridget shot her sister a glance then lowered her eyes. “I’m sorry about what happened yesterday.”

  Abby, her eyes shimmering, met Jenna’s. “We might not have been exactly honest about being able to swim.”

  Jenna rested her hip against the counter and crossed her arms over her chest. “You told me you had taken lessons.”

  “Well...we were going to. We never got around to it before mom...you know.”

  Yes, she did. How could she be angry with the girls when they were still grieving? Every day brought a new tangle of emotions. Yet as hard as it might be, Jenna had to lay down some ground rules. She walked to the table and took a seat.

  “Look, girls, I know things have been hard, but you have to tell me the truth. If I had known you couldn’t swim, I never would have let you in the water by yourselves. How can I take care of you unless you’re completely honest?”

  The girls exchanged glances again. What Jenna wouldn’t give to know what was going on in their heads.

  “How about we make a pact to be honest with each other?” she suggested.

  Abby blinked at the tears making her eyes bright. Of the two, she showed her emotions more easily. “We miss Mommy.”

  “I do too.” Jenna swallowed. In her own way, she understood the depth of loss the girls experienced. In her case, her mother had chosen to walk away, leaving Jenna bereft and angry. Abby and Bridget felt the same, but at least they had Jenna to turn to for comfort.

  Taking a shaky breath, she said, “It’s okay to miss her.”

  She took one of Abby’s hands in hers and squeezed. Then she turned to Bridget, whose lower lip trembled. How like her to be the strong twin when her heart was breaking. Jenna drew them all together. “This is it, kiddos. We’ve got each other now.” Turning her tone from sympathy to firm, she said, “So, the pact?”

  After a hesitant moment, Abby said, “From now on we promise to tell you stuff.”

  Bridget didn’t utter a word, the tougher nut of the two. Not surprised, Jenna knew she’d have to keep an eye on her.

  They sat holding hands for a long, drawn-out moment until Bridget shifted in her seat. Jenna released her hold, briskly rubbing her hands together as she rose. “Let’s get working on our project, girls.”

  How many times had they made cookies together? More times than Jenna could remember. When Carrie was alive, they’d had frequent sleepovers with Jenna, which always included some kind of baking session.

  The girls joined her and they worked side by side, measuring, stirring, then spooning batter on the baking sheet before sliding it into the oven. A dozen cookies later, with the final sheet in the oven, they’d finished the messy part of their task. Standing on tiptoe, Bridget turned on the faucet to fill the sink before squeezing dish detergent into the rising water. Suds materialized as Abby dropped in the batter-covered utensils.

  Proud of the girls for cleaning up without her asking, Jenna said, “Hey, you two, I’ll finish up. Go play.”

  “Are you sure?” Abby asked. “We don’t mind helping.”

  “Yep. You’ve both been great, but I can take over from here.”

  The girls scurried from the room. As Jenna removed the last batch of cookies and turned off the oven, her cell phone rang. She glanced at the number and frowned. She didn’t want to answer, but knew her agent wouldn’t stop calling until she spoke to Jenna.

  “Barbara. How are you?”

  “Cringing at the number of appearances I have to refuse on your behalf.”


  Tension tightened Jenna’s temples. They’d had this conversation one too many times since Jenna informed her agent she was taking time off. “And you’ll have to keep refusing until the hiatus is over.”

  “Absence from the public eye does not make the viewer grow fonder.”

  “The girls are my priority. I don’t know how much clearer I can make the point.”

  Barbara Samson had been Jenna’s agent for four years. An energetic go-getter, she never heard a “no” she paid attention to. Until Carrie died, Jenna didn’t have any reason to turn down work. Now that she did, Barbara was persistent about changing Jenna’s mind.

  Right out of culinary school, Jenna landed a job at a trendy restaurant that became a popular hangout for celebrities. At first, she was one of the minor chefs in the kitchen. She stuck it out there and eventually, her unique culinary ideas became popular with the in-crowd. When one of the local talk show hosts inquired about her, the restaurant owner quickly encouraged Jenna to be a guest on the show. He couldn’t pay for better publicity.

  Not exactly thrilled at first, Jenna thought long and hard before agreeing. She didn’t like crowds or being the center of attention. But when she arrived on the set, she found the hosts and crew welcoming. Her nerves settled down. Soon, she went from being a guest every couple of weeks to guest shots on other shows, including a popular LA daytime talk show. Not familiar with the world of television, she asked one of the hosts for advice. The person mentioned Barbara’s name. Jenna called, set up an appointment. Before she knew it, Barbara had booked her schedule tight and, eventually, landed the cooking show.

  As much as Jenna appreciated those opportunities, it didn’t mean she’d let the woman railroad her into any future projects until she was ready. She’d made good money and put enough away so she and the girls were financially stable until she decided her next move.

  “I totally get your stand on the girls,” Barbara said. “Doesn’t mean you can’t fly to LA or New York periodically. You know, to keep your name in front of the public. The girls don’t have to travel with you.”

  “And I won’t be separated from them. It’s too soon.” Barbara went quiet for a moment. As Jenna removed the cookies from the aluminum sheet to cool, she could only imagine the whirl of her agent’s mind as she came up with another way to cajole Jenna.

  “How about online? You can work from home.”

  “Right now I don’t want to do anything to alert the tabloid news magazines. I won’t risk it.” She took a breath. “I understand you don’t like it, but I’m asking you to honor my decision.”

  A long, melodramatic sigh came from the other end of the line. “Fine. But I can’t promise I won’t call if a worthwhile offer comes in.”

  Jenna didn’t expect differently. “Just don’t be upset if I turn you down.”

  “The one you can’t resist will come and when it does, you’ll be out here on the next available flight.”

  While Barbara had other clients, she couldn’t afford to let her main moneymaker go on hiatus, no matter how noble the reason.

  “Thanks, Barbara. I do appreciate all you’ve done for me. Just think of my time away as a small vacation. It’s not the end of our relationship.”

  “So, how are things going? You’re settling in?”

  “Yes. The girls are happy. So far I like this little town.”

  “Little, as in, are there any museums? Fine dining? Theaters?”

  Jenna chuckled. Barbara could be a fine-arts snob. “We manage.”

  “I couldn’t leave LA, no matter how much anyone tried to convince me otherwise.”

  Jenna fought the temptation to remind Barbara about the tabloid reporter making her life miserable. Jenna viewed his intrusion as a personal attack on her family. Barbara saw him as a necessity for the expansion of Jenna’s career. If he tailed Barbara for any length of time, Jenna was sure the woman would change her tune.

  “You’re a great agent. Hopefully you’ll get some new clients while I’m away.”

  “I’ve fielded a few calls.”

  “See. With me gone, you’ll have the chance to develop your next big star.”

  “Yes, there is a strong possibility I can make that happen.”

  Which could mean Jenna would lose some interesting job opportunities, she thought with a small pang of loss, but the girls were keeping her too busy to regret her decision.

  Abby dashed into the kitchen, her ponytail swinging as she grabbed two warm cookies then hightailed it back to the bedroom.

  “Hey, no food in your room,” Jenna called to her retreating back. The brief feeling of loss vanished as Abby disappeared. Yeah, she’d much rather be with the girls. “Listen, Barbara, I have to run. Thanks for calling.”

  She ended the call and then checked on the girls, who were happily playing in their room. Satisfied they were occupied by their dolls, she hurried to her room for a quick shower. Afterward, she stood before her closet wrapped in a towel, trying to decide which outfit to choose. She finally selected a denim sundress for their goodwill mission, and placed a quick call to Nealy.

  Her stomach turned, nervous at the prospect of seeing Wyatt again. His parting remarks at the beach, although true, had stung. She couldn’t help but wonder how receptive he’d be when she showed up on his doorstep, cookies or no.

  * * *

  WYATT WALKED INTO his cottage, located within walking distance from the marina, tossing his keys on the coffee table. His golden retriever, Cruiser, followed him into the kitchen, jumping up for attention. “Down, boy.”

  Absently rubbing the dog’s head, he poured some kibble from a twenty-pound bag into Cruiser’s bowl, then pulled a glass from the shelf mounted on the wall that served as storage. He opened the fridge and poured a glass of orange juice for himself, draining it as he wandered into the small living room.

  He stared out the window, at the view of the Gulf water. Before long, the familiar ache he lived with every day enveloped him.

  Two years. Two long years since Jamie had died. Eighteen months since Marcie divorced him.

  Since the accident, his family had been after him to talk to a professional. His older brother, Josh, moved back to Cypress Pointe with the purpose of keeping an eye on him. A useless move, but Wyatt appreciated the sentiment.

  “You need to let go of the grief,” Josh and the family told him. “You need to move on.”

  They didn’t understand. If not for the unrelenting pain, he wouldn’t feel anything at all. He was so far beyond numb, grief remained the only emotion alive inside him.

  A boat motored by. Wyatt stepped out onto the small screened-in porch to watch its passage, running a hand over his grizzled chin. He should shave. Probably get a haircut. But didn’t really give a flip.

  Why had he let Max talk him into moving back to Cypress Pointe?

  After aimlessly traveling the world, taking one job as yacht captain after another, he’d run into Max four months ago. A mutual Navy buddy had invited both of them to his wedding. Since Wyatt happened to be in the States at the time, he attended, hoping a reunion with old friends would help ease him out of his funk.

  “You 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.