Barefoot at Moonrise (Barefoot Bay Timeless Book 2) (33 page)

But this time? This would be the real test of whether or not Ray Endicott thought Ken Cavanaugh was worthy to be a
son
.

“It’s a great night, sir, especially now that the rain stopped.”

“Josie and I had to come out here to the scene of the crime.”

For a moment, he thought they meant the cabana, and he slowed his step, but then he realized they were referring to the dining terrace at Junonia where a little over a month ago, Ken had saved Ray’s life.

“That’s why we were talking about you,” Josie said. “I was talking to your mother again this morning and couldn’t help gushing again over what you did for us. She’s so proud of you, Ken.”

He nodded his thanks. “And she’s grateful for a friend like you, Josie.” He came closer and put a light hand on Ray’s shoulder. “I was wondering if I might have a chance to talk to you, sir.”

“Oh, let me run inside, then.” Josie stood immediately, her eyes glistening with a conspiracy, and she gave a knowing look to her husband. What had they been talking about out here? “I think they’re about to do the bouquet toss, right?”

“Might have already done it,” he said.

Josie grinned at him. “Then you better get to talking to my husband.” She blew Ray a kiss and left them.

Ken took her seat. “Guess this isn’t going to come as a big surprise,” he said on a laugh.

“That you’re going to ask me for my daughter’s hand in marriage?”

He smiled. “That was the plan, sir. I have a whole speech ready about how much I love her, and what kind of husband I’ll be, and what an honor it is to be her partner in life. You want to hear it?”

Ray leaned forward, flinching a little as his chest was most likely a bit sore still. “No,” he said simply. “I know all that.”

Ken looked at him. “Okay. But if you’d humor me, I still want to ask the question, sir.”

“I think this time, I should do the asking,” Ray said.

Ken frowned. “Excuse me?”

The older man inhaled slowly, then let out a ragged breath. “I would like to ask you, Kenneth Cavanaugh, if you would do me the honor of allowing me to be your father.”

Ken blinked in surprise.

“They are big shoes to fill,” Ray said. “I happen to know that for a fact.”

“They were…” Big shoes? Ken swallowed anything he could say, since he was still unable to think about his father without a low-grade unhappiness that he was still trying to overcome. “One of a kind,” he finished somberly.

Ray reached his hand out to Ken’s. “I remember Johnny Cavanaugh quite well, and when I think of him, I don’t think about his troubles or struggles.”

Ken simply stared at Ray, locked on eyes the same color as Beth’s but with a lot more years and experience around the crinkled edges.

“I remember a man who could fix anything, a man who didn’t give up when a job was challenging, and a man who always took the high road. He didn’t badmouth anyone. He didn’t point fingers or make enemies. Everyone loved him. Everyone. God knows they can’t say that about me.”

The words hovered over Ken’s heart, making his chest ache in a way he’d never expected when he walked out here.

“He was generous, your father,” Ray continued. “He’d give you the shirt off his back and never complained. Never. Can’t put a price on that in my business.” Ray leaned a little closer, the hint of tears in his eyes. “John Cavanaugh was a very good man. Competent, kind, and he loved you kids like crazy. He’d beg for overtime to cover Christmas, but gave up hours if you or your brother had a baseball game to play.”

It was true. Dad never missed a sporting event, Ken thought, and they always had presents under the tree.

“He put his family first, and that’s a lesson I could have learned from him,” Ray said.

Ken closed his eyes as the truth of that hit, tempered by the other truth they both knew.

“You think your dad had…issues. A disease. Maybe he did, but we all have issues, son.” Ray pressed his hand on Ken’s. “I try to control the family I’m supposed to love. I scoff at the very people God put in my life to inspire. We all have flaws and baggage and things we hide. But the older a man gets, the more it’s clear what really matters.”

“That’s true, sir.”

“So, instead of you asking me for Beth’s hand…” Ray put his wrinkled hand on top of Ken’s. “I’m asking if you would let me be your father.”

Ken opened his mouth to respond, but nothing came out. But he was swamped by an unexpected jolt of emotion that made him close his eyes for a second before he spoke.

“You know,” Ken finally said with a half smile. “I could really, really use a father.” He turned his hand over to hold Ray’s. “Thanks…Dad.”

Ray gave a slow, satisfied grin as the door to the banquet room opened and Beth stepped out, as bright and beautiful as the shiny gold dress she wore. She lifted a cheery bouquet with gold and white streamers fluttering in the breeze.

“Captain Cav,” she called playfully. “Guess what I have.”

He leaned a little closer to Ray. “She has my heart, that’s what. Forever.”

“Then go pop the question, son. I’m going to dance at
that
wedding.”

* * *

“So what was that all about?” Beth asked after they handed Dad back over to Josie and lingered outside, watching her wheel him back into the wedding.

“You know, man talk.”

She gave a dry laugh. “You and my father having a man talk.”

“As I like to tell you, Bethany Endicott, nothing is impossible. Now come with me.” He put his arm around her and turned her toward the beach. “I have a few questions to ask you.”

Her heart fluttered. A few? “Where are we going?”

“Right there.” He pointed to the yellow tent. “Cupcake’s cabana.”

That made her laugh. “He’s going to kill us if we call him Cupcake.”

“They already do at the station. Kid’s going to have to learn to be tough with that nickname.”

“If I had known it was a boy, I would have called him Sledgehammer or something suitably masculine.”

“You want to take off your shoes?” Ken asked as they reached the edge of the deck.

“I assume that’s a rhetorical question. I want to take them off and throw them into the bay.” She happily kicked off heels that had been slicing into her toes for hours. “Ahhh.” She sighed as her feet touched the cool, damp sand. “This feels like déjà vu.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, barefoot now as well. “Best night of my life.” He wrapped his arm around her and added a squeeze. “So far.”

“There are a lot of good ones ahead,” she agreed, then tapped her growing stomach. “Sleepless ones, too.”

“We can handle it,” he said, guiding her into the empty cabana, then turning to close them in by sliding the drapes across.

“Uh, you can’t really be serious with my brothers and dad twenty feet away.”

He laughed. “That’s not why I want privacy.”

She perched on the edge of the chaise, taking a calming breath and a moment to admire the way his white dress shirt fit his broad shoulders. He’d loosened his tie since the dancing started, and he was every bit as hot and sexy as the night he came and found her right here three months ago.

“What
were
you and my dad talking about?” she asked.

“My father.”

“Oh.” She sighed a little. “I thought you two had that conversation already.”

“Not like this.” He reached for her hand to pull her up.

“Don’t you want to lie down with me?”

“No, I want you to stand right here.”

She did, eyeing him. “Why?”

“So that when I get down on one knee, I can be looking up at you.”

She inhaled a quick breath. “Oh…one knee.”

“You prefer two?”

She laughed, shaking her head. “One’s good.” She knew it was happening. They’d been talking about the future, and with every conversation, a life together became more crystal clear and right. But still…this
moment
. She pressed her palms together, realizing her fingers were trembling. “I would never doubt your sincerity on one knee or two.”

“Okay, then.” He took her hands in his. “This is it.”

Her breath caught at the words
. This is it.
“You’ve said that to me before.” Long ago, in the rain.

“But this is…better,” he said. “We’re older and wiser. But not too old for a down-on-one-knee proposal, are we?”

“Not if you can still get up.”

He closed his eyes and let out a slow exhale, lifting her hands closer to his heart. “Since the day I met you, Bethany Endicott, twenty-five years ago, I fantasized about this moment.”

She bit her lip, tears welling. “Me, too,” she admitted.

“I have always wanted you to be my wife. I spent more than half of my life thinking I missed the best woman in the world and had no one but myself to blame for that loss.” He tightened his grip on her hands. “But since I don’t blame anyone for anything anymore, I’m okay with what happened in those twenty-five years, because that’s what made us who we are. And, I really love who you are.”

She tried to swallow, but it was getting more difficult every second. “And I love who you are, Kenny Cavanaugh.”

Very slowly, still holding her hands, he lowered himself to one knee and looked up at her. “Beth, I want to marry you and be the best husband, father, friend, and soul mate you can imagine.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small black box, flipping it open, and even in the dim light, she could see the diamond spark.

“Will you complete my life and be my wife?”

“You already completed mine,” she whispered. “So my answer is yes. A thousand, million times yes.”

He put the ring on her finger, then stood and pulled her close for a long, sweet kiss that lasted until they gave in and slowly eased each other onto the chaise.

“You know what this is?” she asked, tapping the leather cushions under them.

“The place where we baked a cupcake?”

“And…” She touched his face and smiled. “It’s the place where you and I officially became a
we
.”

* * *

Don’t miss Barefoot at Midnight, the next book in the Barefoot Bay Timeless series. Here’s a sneak peek!

Sneak Peek of

Barefoot at Midnight

by Roxanne St. Claire

Chapter One

When it’s time to take a chance, move fast. Think too hard, and you’ll wimp out.

The words of Lawson Monroe’s late great friend and mentor echoed louder than the controlled chaos of the Naples Ritz-Carlton main kitchen serving four top-notch restaurants in the middle of a dinner rush. Louder than the orders being barked at other sous chefs by the arrogant, incompetent, and clueless moron in charge. Louder, even, than the warning bells that reminded Law of just how hard he’d worked to get to this point.

“You got a problem with that, Monroe?”

Law glared across the stainless steel pass. “I have a better idea, Chef.”

“You always have a better idea,” Executive Chef Delbert Tracey-Dobbs leaned closer, his beady brown eyes like pinpoints of hate. “But I’m the one in charge.”

Proving that life went way beyond unfair and possibly into the zip code of pointless. At least this argument was. Still, Law had principles. And that sauce? It crushed his principles and his palate. “I think we should—”

“I don’t care what sous chefs think, Monroe. Don’t care what
we
should do. I’ll tell you what
you’re
going to do and then, guess what? You’ll do it. Today, tomorrow, and for the rest of your days in this kitchen which, if I have anything to say about it, will be few.”

“One can hope,” Law muttered.

“Excuse me?” Chef slammed his hands on the pass, shaking a few waiting dishes and toppling a tower of thinly sliced tuna that another sous chef had spent ten minutes building. Here it comes, Law thought. A reminder of how many people wanted his job.

“I have a hundred resumes on my desk for a sous chef position,” Chef barked, right on cue. “I could have you replaced before midnight.”

Some of the clatter around him died down as a few people nearby slowed their choreographed movements on the line to listen to the showdown, most of them probably expecting it since Chef Del arrived six months ago and decided he wanted Sous Chef Law Monroe out of his kitchen.

Law looked down at the whimsical fennel grapefruit salad screaming for cognac sauce. But the sauce was crap and Law refused to use it.

“Add the cognac and get the order up,” Chef said between grit teeth.

Law didn’t make the flat, lifeless sauce, but this was his dish and he was the one who’d writhe in shame when a discerning customer sent it back. Or when a heady-with-Internet-power diner tossed a shitty review up on Trip Advisor, adding to the string they’d been getting since the new executive chef had arrived.

Law could outlast him, couldn’t he? Law could keep his smart mouth shut and cook. Just until he figured out who owned the restaurant where he was
supposed
to be now…the place Jake Peterson had allegedly left Law in his will. Except that will had yet to turn up anywhere and the Toasted Pelican was currently owned and managed by…a nameless, faceless company.