A wave of nausea hit her stomach, and she had to grab the arms of her chair to keep the room from spinning. She didn’t say anything, but it didn’t matter. He wasn’t looking for conversation.
“See, the thing is,” he continued, “everyone says you have friends in town who do have money.”
This was about Topher, then. The rumors had brought Caleb here dangling some kind of sweetheart deal, a tit for tat. She remained silent.
He pushed up from the chair. “I think you understand what’s needed.”
He turned and strolled from her office, leaving her breathless for a solid five minutes before she collected her wits, found her phone, and called her lifeline.
“What?” Hillary said the moment she came on the line.
“I think I’ve just been offered a bribe.”
“Holy…What happened?”
Jessica related the situation, then asked, “What do I do now?”
“Maybe you take the job in Miami?”
She closed her eyes, envisioning a new life far, far away from Caleb Tate and the gossips of Magnolia Harbor.
Yeah, maybe that’s what she needed to do. But it was painful to think that the one place on earth where she couldn’t stay was her hometown.
And then a vision of Topher came to her, standing out in the rain taking care of his boat, staring down at her as she vented about Daddy, holding her when she cried.
Kissing her.
“Should I tell Topher?” she asked.
“Why would you? He and Caleb Tate deserve each other.”
“No,” she said in a small voice. “No, I don’t think so.”
“Holy crap. You’ve been holding out on me. What exactly happened when you were stranded on that boat? I want to know the whole story.”
* * *
A strange lethargy infected Topher on Wednesday. For the first time since he’d gone back to swimming, he woke up in pain and didn’t want to move. So he took a pill and slept the morning away.
When he finally dragged himself off to the shower, he was angry—at himself. For backsliding. For taking the pill. But mostly for the aching self-pity that had stolen away his focus. He had a name for this horrible feeling: Jessica.
He didn’t want to think about her, but she’d invaded his mind, leaving him with the chastening conclusion that he’d never wanted anything quite as much as he wanted her.
All the successful strategies he’d used in his past life—money, charm, power, his good looks—would never win her. In fact, there was nothing, really, that he could do to make her love him or want him back. And there were no pills that could touch the ache in his heart.
He ate some cold cereal and took up his spot in one of the rockers on the porch, while he called Erik for a status report on Caleb Tate. There was no question about it; the state representative was up to his ass in shady real estate.
He spent the early afternoon making a few calls, talking to some old friends and acquaintances, until Jackie, wearing his school uniform, came racing across the rose garden. The little boy scrambled up onto the porch railing, his cheeks flushed and his eyes alive with youth and innocence.
The pull of gravity lightened a little with the boy’s arrival. So maybe Topher would never have the family he’d imagined once. Maybe there would be no kids for him to toss a football with. But this little guy had become his coconspirator, and there was an adventure waiting. The thought lifted his heavy heart.
“Mom’s busy doing bookkeeping. She won’t come out of her office for hours. We could steal the shovel from the shed.”
“Let’s do it,” he said, pushing himself up from the chair. They purloined the spade and headed out across the grass, the man limping and the boy skipping like a stone over water.
“So what are we going to do with the treasure when we find it?” Jackie asked.
Damn. Topher hadn’t really thought about that. What if there was no treasure? Really? Of course there wasn’t going to be any treasure. He stopped.
“Look, Jackie, we may never find it, you know?”
“Yeah, I guess.”
“Someone may have already found it.”
“Yeah, but we might find it.”
Oh, such hope. If only he could have hope like that. “Yeah, I guess we could, huh?”
The kid grinned and rushed ahead to the tree.
“Which way is west?” the boy asked.
“That way.” Topher pointed toward the bay.
“How big is a pace?”
“Good question. I’m thinking Rose’s paces are smaller than mine and bigger than yours.”
They stood with their backs against the tree and walked