the shark farther away.
Ashley screamed again and followed the order, her skinny arms flailing as she stumbled through the waist-high water. Lacey ran toward her just as David made a loud noise and—dear God, had he punched the shark? Kicked it?
The fin disappeared, then popped up again, fifteen feet away and headed out into the Gulf.
Instantly David dove into the shallow water toward Ashley, popping up in front of her just as Lacey reached them both.
She threw her arms out to grab Ashley, but her daughter turned and fell into David’s embrace.
“Daddy!”
“Baby girl.” He kissed her head and hugged her like… like he actually cared about the child he’d demanded Lacey abort.
“Daddy, you saved my life.”
“No, sweetheart, you saved mine.”
Crumbling into the water, an adrenaline dump and cold reality bit Lacey harder than the rare tiger shark in the Gulf of Mexico ever could. Silhouetted in the sunshine, Ashley and David hugged like there was no tomorrow.
But there was, only now it included a man with the totally apt name of Fox.
Chapter Eleven
After dinner, Lacey could hear David and Ashley laughing in the living room, a bittersweet sound to a mother’s ears. She loved to hear Ashley happy, with a giggle that was quick, easy, and joyous. Despite the history, the absence, and a lot of unanswered questions, Ashley had just seamlessly accepted David into her life.
It was shocking, really, that she didn’t harbor more of a grudge. Was the loss of her home and all her stuff enough to make her realize what was important in life? At fourteen? If so, Lacey could learn a lot about maturity from her teenage daughter.
Then again, David had a gift. He wielded that irrepressible charm like a razor-sharp blade, slicing away anything that got in the way of people liking him. Somehow, when he teased Ashley he made the empty years disappear, and when he enthralled her with a colorful story about diving with crocodiles in Botswana, Lacey could see her daughter’s eyes fill with awe and forgiveness.
Ashley could forgive David, so why couldn’t Lacey?
Because she didn’t have to. They had made an arrangement many years ago. David held no paternal rights to Ashley, and any gifts and money he gave her were out of concern and care. No strings attached. In return, Lacey had told him he could see Ashley whenever he wanted.
She just hadn’t thought he’d ever want to.
She pushed the faucet handle, making the water run louder into the sink, scrubbing the pan with vicious swipes, drowning out the sound of all that happiness in the living room.
Her hands itched to do something other than clean. She eyed her mother’s pantry, knowing it was stocked well enough now that she could knock out something simple for dessert. A cobbler, maybe. Or tropical napoleon, which she’d been testing before the storm. He’d be impressed with that.
She grunted softly and whipped the wet sponge. Why should she impress him?
Although he’d certainly impressed them with his cooking skills, making a remarkably good country-style chicken and not letting any of the girls lift a finger.
How could she not invite him to stay here, sending Tessa and Zoe to the Ritz to bunk with Jocelyn for a few days? Lord, she hoped it was a few days. Or less.
Yes, the invitation made sense; the house was too crowded and the decision to move everyone around to accommodate David had seemed smart when adrenaline was soaring and arms were hugging and rational thinking took a backseat to dramatic life-saving dives.
A few minutes ago, when she had a moment to say good-bye to the girls, Zoe had whispered, “Bet he planted the shark.”
Zoe meant it as a joke, but part of Lacey—the dark, nasty, resentful, unforgiving part—wondered exactly what David Fox was capable of doing just so he could redeem himself in his daughter’s eyes.
“We’re going over the causeway!” Ashley burst into the kitchen, practically vibrating with excitement. She hadn’t brushed her hair after swimming, so it was a wild mess, and she still wore the bikini Jocelyn had bought her, with a tiny pair of gym shorts rolled down nearly to her pelvic bone. She looked like a delicate flower, lithe, tan, reedy, and blown by the exciting winds of life. No, David Fox wasn’t a wind. He was a cat-five hurricane and, damn it, she’d already weathered one of those.
“Now?” Lacey asked.
“We have to get some games! Grandma doesn’t have any.”
Of course not; they never played games in this house. Unless you call “count