Barefoot in the Sun (Barefoot Bay)(14)

“The car’s a dead giveaway.” She narrowed her eyes at him, giving Oliver a once-over. “And the designer threads. What’s your name?”

Oliver bristled a little at the question, but had to consider where he was. In a town this size, everyone knows everything. “Dr. Bradbury,” he said, approaching the counter. “Oliver Bradbury.”

She straightened, giving him another, slow once-over, an awkward moment considering she was well north of sixty. Then she pointed to Evan. “Your son?”

“Yes.” But Evan was already down the aisle, choosing a cup and a Slurpee flavor, avoiding local scrutiny.

“Where’s his mother?”

Oliver, on the other hand, had obviously landed square on the radar. “On her way to Europe.”

She made a face and wiggled her shoulders. “Well, la-di-da.”

The Ritz was looking better and better. “How much for a Slurpee?”

She tapped a neon orange nail on the counter, studying him. “Married or divorced?”

“Are you serious?” He laughed softly.

“Dead.” She stuck out her hand. “I’m Charity Grambling and, honey, I didn’t get to be the eyes, ears, and source of all information on this island by not asking questions.”

He’d have to remember that.

“Married or divorced to Ms. Euro Travel?”

He had no choice but to shake the busybody’s hand. “Divorced.”

Both painted-on eyebrows shot up well over the reading glasses perched on the end of her nose. “Really.”

“I suppose you’d like to know the terms, too.”

“Obviously you got custody.”

“For the summer. How much is the drink?” he asked as the machine in the back made a loud sucking noise.

“Dollar fifty unless…” She leaned over the counter, lifting off a little stool she’d been perched on. “You want to work out a deal for a date.”

He chuckled again. “I’m going to pass on that, though you’re quite a, uh, compelling shopkeep, Ms. Grambling.”

“Oh, I don’t want you.” She waved the fierce-looking fingertips at him. “I’m thinking of my extremely attractive niece, Gloria.”

“Gloria.” He smiled. “I’m sure she’s lovely but—”

“Take my niece on a date and you can have free Slurpees all summer long.”

“Free Slurpees?” Evan came up behind them holding a cup that was a little bigger than his head. “These twenty-two-ouncers?” he asked.

“Thanks, but we’ll be happy to pay,” Oliver said, taking a few dollar bills out of his wallet. “I’m sure Gloria is a wonderful girl—”

“Oh, she’s no girl, trust me. But she has some very, oh I don’t know how to say it without being blunt, but her taste in men is questionable.” She shook her head. “That lame excuse for a deputy sheriff being one of them.”

“You want me to go out with a woman who’s seeing the sheriff?”

“Not that he has the you-know-whats to use his gun.”

He glanced at Evan, who probably knew exactly what the you-know-whats were, but he was busy sipping his drink and eyeing the candy offerings. “I’ll pass.”

“Why? She works at the beauty salon there at Casa Blanca. Except they call it a spa so they can charge three times as much, but…” She peered over his shoulder at the car. “You could probably afford a forty-dollar trim.”

“I’m actually very busy. Thank you.” He nudged Evan toward the door.

“You won’t find anyone prettier on the whole island,” she called out.

Oliver kept going, but Evan looked over his shoulder, then up at Oliver as the door closed. “Oh no?” he asked. “Bet she never saw Zoe, then.”

Oliver almost tripped off the curb. One conversation with Zoe and poor Evan was smitten.

But then that was Zoe’s gift. He had to remember that, too.

A few minutes later, he pulled the Porsche into the same spot he’d used the other night, surprised at an unexpected sense of anticipation gripping him. Just because he might see Zoe? Might. He had no guarantee she’d be around. And yet, when he’d called to talk to the owner and father of the newborn, he’d jumped on Clay Walker’s casual invitation to drop by and see the baby.

Zoe wouldn’t stick around long, no matter what her aunt’s situation. And before she left, Oliver had to tell her what had happened in Chicago. Now that she’d met Evan, she deserved an explanation. If she hadn’t already put two and two together and come up with…not quite reality.

Yeah, he had to set her straight. So he’d make some subtle inquiries and find her today.

A man came out of the entrance of Casa Blanca’s main building, pushing the doors with assurance. Instantly Oliver recognized the long fair hair and muscular build. He hadn’t talked much to Clay the other night; Oliver had been busy with the baby and Clay had been a typical overwhelmed new father.

This morning the man looked much more relaxed as he reached out a hand, then added an impulsive pat on Oliver’s shoulder.

“Dr. Bradbury, it’s great to see you here again. And this is your son?”

“Yes, this is Evan.” Oliver gave Evan a little nudge to get him to shake Clay’s hand. “This is the owner of this resort, Mr. Walker.”

“Not technically the owner,” Clay corrected as they shook hands. “I’m married to her. I am the architect, however.”

“Then even more congratulations are in order,” Oliver said, gesturing to the cream-colored building unlike any of the typical stucco Spanish-style buildings that marred the coast of Florida like carrot-topped behemoths. “This place is stunning. Great job.”

“Thanks. We’re really happy with how it turned out.” He brushed his long hair off his face, revealing a tiny gold hoop in his ear. “We’re not officially open, though we’re taking a few early guests while we work out the kinks and get all the services up and running.”

“All with a new baby,” Oliver mused.

Clay laughed. “What can I say? My wife and I like challenges. It’s really nice of you to come and see Elijah,” Clay said to Evan.

“And Zoe,” Evan said. “Is she here?”

And so much for subtle inquiries. Clay reacted with a slight frown, his hand clasped on a chin that hadn’t seen a razor for quite a few days. “That’s right, you two said hello the other night. I forgot you know her.”

“You were distracted,” Oliver said. “And how is the little guy? I feel invested now that I’ve brought him into the world.”

Clay beamed, easily taken off track by the subject of his new baby. “You should. He might not be here if not for you.”

“No, he’d be here. Your wife seems very strong.”

“You have no idea.” Clay gestured for them to climb into a waiting golf cart. “You want to drive up to our house, Evan?”

His eyes nearly popped out of his head. “I can’t drive.”

“Sure you can.” Clay glanced at Oliver, who nodded easily. Better to keep his mind on a new adventure than drop any more hints about Zoe. He was rewarded with the biggest smile he’d seen from Evan in years.

After a moment and some quick instructions, Evan had the golf cart rumbling—slowly—under a canopy of exotic trees and palm fronds. They followed a path that cut through the resort and was built up enough to offer a stunning view of the Gulf of Mexico on the left.

“That inlet is Barefoot Bay, which is what the whole north hook of Mimosa Key is known as,” Clay explained. “It’s not very populated up here. Most of the residences on the island are on the south end, all the way down to Pleasure Point.”

Oliver took in the tropical paradise, elegant but so much less ostentatious than the Ritz.

“We own the property along the water,” Clay continued. “From here up to our house and the acres of gardens to the east. We’d like to grow, eventually, but, you know, one step at a time.”

“Looks like you’ve taken a pretty ambitious first step.”

“It’s been a fun ride,” Clay said easily.

“Look, Dad. That’s the house we saw in that flyer.” Evan pointed to a waterfront villa they’d seen in the brochure, a truly gorgeous structure that matched the North African architecture with curved windows, multiple archways, and rich wood accents.

“Do you live there?” Evan asked.

“No, that’s one of our six villas we rent out to guests.”

Evan turned to Clay. “We could live there.”

“Evan, eyes on the road,” Oliver warned.

“You certainly could,” Clay agreed. “That’s Bay Laurel, our largest villa, and it happens to be vacant and ready for renting. You interested?”