Barefoot in the Sun (Barefoot Bay)(23)

“Pasha.” She laughed softly. “How can you even think of dying? I need you to crack me up. And, no, that wasn’t the problem, although I didn’t even think about it.”

“Well, you better. What stopped you?”

Zoe finished rinsing the cup and set it on the drainer, wondering how honest she should be. Normally, she’d tell Pasha everything. They had no secrets.

“Fear.”

“Of what? Falling in love? You need to fall in love, Zoe. It’s time. You’re in your thirties. You need a home, a child or six, and a husband.”

“I’m afraid.” She looked out the window over the sink, her gaze focused on the very bright green of a queen palm frond swaying in the Gulf breeze. “I’m afraid I don’t know how to stay.”

“Another thing you can blame on me.”

“I’m not blaming anything on you.” She turned and walked to Pasha, her heart swelling with affection. “You sacrificed everything for me. Everything.”

“And that’s why you left him and went to Colorado with me.”

“That’s why I’ve done everything for the last twenty-five years. Do you think I will ever forget that you threw your life in a suitcase and ran into the night when I told you what happened? All you did to keep me safe? To educate me and love me and put me before everything else?”

The words seemed to pain Pasha and she hissed in a noisy breath, her lips puckering as she did so, her hand automatically rising to her chest—where the cancer was.

Tell her what he wants you to do.

Normally, Zoe fought to ignore that voice in her head. But right now something clicked and the instructions made sense. “Pasha,” Zoe whispered. “If we could settle here and never run again, then I would be happy. Together, with you healthy. That’s how I could be happy.”

“That’s…impossible.”

Zoe crouched again, taking Pasha’s withered hands. “Not if we clear your name.”

Pasha whipped out of Zoe’s grip with lightning speed. “No!” Pasha pushed her chair back, looking from side to side like a trapped animal, desperate for escape. “Don’t ever suggest that again.”

Zoe stood, reaching for Pasha as she tried to pass. “It’s been almost twenty-five years, and—”

Pasha’s dark eyes narrowed. “You know the law.”

“We can get around that—”

“No.” Pasha wrestled away from Zoe and marched toward the hall.

“Pasha, please.” Zoe followed, easily catching up in two steps. “You aren’t being reasonable. With a good lawyer, we could—”

“Stop it!” Pasha spun, her eyes filled and her color high despite her lack of makeup. “The answer is no. No. No!”

Frustration seized Zoe, wrapping around her throat. “Pasha, why can’t we even try?”

“You can’t try something like that, Zoe. The police, the newspapers…” She shook her head and put her hand over her chest. “I don’t think I could take it.”

Of course she couldn’t. Zoe almost melted with self-loathing. How could she do this to Pasha? So she could have “something real” with Oliver? She would not hurt this woman who had saved her, raised her, and loved her.

Pasha was the only person who ever had loved Zoe unconditionally. Even Oliver’s offer had come with stipulations, hadn’t it?

“Okay.” Zoe stepped back, holding her hands up in surrender. “I’m sorry I brought it up.”

“Me, too.” Pasha headed into her bedroom just as Zoe realized she hadn’t done the one thing she had to do this morning: convince Pasha to see Oliver.

She swore under her breath as her phone buzzed with another text. Oliver, no doubt. What should she tell him? Was she going over to the villa today?

Of course she was. Because she was going to save Pasha’s life—and not so she could spend the rest of it in jail. “Pasha?”

She didn’t look up from an open drawer, where she was deeply involved in choosing her underwear for the day. “Hmm?”

“Can you go out with me today?”

She sighed. “I don’t know. Where do you want to go?”

How could she convince her? She’d never say yes, not in this mood. Not when she was determined to die instead of getting legal help. Pasha Tamarin was a five-foot-tall, ninety-five-pound brick wall when she wanted to be.

But Zoe could climb that wall. “I thought we might go check out that hot air balloon operation. Maybe, you know, put an application in.”

Pasha smiled. “I’d like that.”

“All right. But I have to make one quick stop first on the way.”

“That’s fine, honey.”

No, it wouldn’t be. But she’d climb over that wall, too.





Chapter Eight

Oliver heard the Jeep from the kitchen, the low growl of the engine starting a matching rumble of anticipation in his gut. Already. It had taken two days to get stupid over Zoe.

And not only the hormones, adrenaline, and pheromones kind of stupid. That other kind—the illogical kind that made him agree to things that made no sense, like living on the same property, having her help him with Evan, taking care of her aunt, and getting close to naked the first time they were alone together.

But that wasn’t stupid. That was inevitable.

And so was pain, heartache, and a few holes punched in the wall. This was, after all, Zoe Tamarin.

Evan’s rapid footsteps pounded overhead. “Dad!” He tore down the stairs so fast he couldn’t possibly have been holding on to the banister. “Dad!”

“Be careful on those—”

“She’s here!” He swung into the kitchen, one hand on the doorjamb, his dark eyes lit from the inside, his little face flushed.

So Zoe had that same inexplicable, stupid effect on him. “I heard her car,” Oliver said.

“It’s actually a Jeep Rubicon,” Evan told him, clearly proud of that knowledge. “Topless.”

“Convertible.” Topless was something else altogether. Although, with Zoe…

“There’s an old lady in the car with her.”

“That’s her great-aunt.” So she’d managed to get her here. The few texts they’d exchanged that morning had warned him that Pasha was lukewarm on the idea of seeing him. He wasn’t sure if it was because Oliver knew her history, or because she wasn’t keen on seeing a doctor in general.

Either way, he’d promised Zoe he’d let the visit be casual. Hell, he’d have promised her the moon to get her over here again. And not just because he needed to use her oversized vehicle to get some stuff from storage, although he was looking forward to taking a drive with her.

“Let’s go greet our guests,” he said, folding a towel and placing it on the counter before gesturing for Evan to lead the way.

But his son didn’t move, which seemed odd considering how overjoyed he was to see her.

“Move it,” Oliver said, prodding Evan’s shoulder. “She’s liable to change her mind.”

Evan didn’t take the nudge, looking hard at Oliver instead.

“What’s the matter, son?”

“Do you, like, like her, Dad?”

Ah, the downside of a genius IQ. It was impossible to get anything by this kid. “Of course I like like her. I think she’s going to make a great sitter for you when I’m at work and—”

Evan scowled, reminding Oliver that his son was not as easily pacified as most eight-year-olds. “You know what I mean.”

“Yes, I know what you mean.” He searched his son’s face, not exactly sure where to go with this—which seemed to be the story of their relationship. “Is that a problem for you?”

He lifted one shoulder. “Well, since Mom’s gone to France with…” He rolled his eyes. “Mark Asslowe.”

“It’s Bass…” He laughed softly. “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that.”

Adele had kept her relationship with the pharmaceutical CEO under wraps until the divorce was officially final, so Oliver had no idea how much his son knew about the man his mother was dating. Obviously enough to give Mark Basslowe an accurate nickname.

“So, is Zoe your new girlfriend?”

He opened his mouth to say no, but the denial didn’t roll out. “She’s a…friend.”

Evan nodded, skepticism all over his little face. “I like her.”

“Well, sorry, she can’t be your girlfriend.”

That got him a toothy grin. “I know. I mean, I guess you and Mom…”

Oliver felt his shoulders drop with the weight of the conversation. “We’re not going to be together, Evan, but we both still love—”