Bungalow Nights(14)

The attendant steadying their seat spoke with the tone of experience. “Ferris fear,” he announced. “Strikes all kinds, all ages. You can exit over there,” he added, pointing with a finger.

Layla stared at Vance, her head shaking back and forth. “I have to do this.”

“Of course you don’t,” he assured her, starting to rise.

“I have to do this.” Though her face was pale and now her gaze was trained over his shoulder.

Vance glanced back and saw that the view—which gave the impression they were suspended over the ocean—wasn’t helping her any. “Layla—”

“Please, Vance. It’s on the list. Dad’s Helmet List.”

He couldn’t resist the plea. “All right, all right.” He slid down the molded plastic seat and reached for her hand. “Look at me. Now take a step inside. I won’t let go.”

She landed beside him with a gentle plop that sent the bucket swaying. Her free hand clutched his thigh.

“Look at me,” he directed, angling her chin so her big brown eyes didn’t leave his face. “Just keep looking at me.”

“Okay,” she said, and a little tremor ran through her.

He brushed at the bangs that were tangling with her long eyelashes. “You’re afraid of heights?”

She made a face, both sets of fingers still clinging to him. “I don’t know. Maybe so. Or maybe it’s just like the man said, Ferris fear. This is my first ride on one.” Her breath caught as their bucket moved upward in order to let other people into the next on the line.

Over Layla’s shoulder, the view was incredible as the ride continued to slowly revolve and the buckets were filled. The Pacific was far below them, boats gliding across its surface, leaving white trails on the glassy water. Antlike people crawled across the sand of Santa Monica Beach, some of them playing in the lacy edges of the waves. Vance didn’t dare direct her attention to any of it.

Instead, he slung an arm around her shoulders and didn’t flinch when she nestled closer to his chest. She was cool to the touch, and he let her snuggle close, noting that her long lashes were squeezed tightly together.

“Do you know why they call this a Ferris wheel?” he asked.

Her head moved in a short, negative shake.

“It was named after the designer, one George W. Ferris, who came up with the idea for the 1893 World’s Fair in Chicago. The organizers wanted an attraction to rival the Eiffel Tower, which had wowed visitors in Paris four years before. The ride is based on the waterwheel he remembered watching move in the river near his childhood home. He completed it in four months’ time and with some of his own money because no one had any faith in him.”

Vance knew how that felt, didn’t he? No wonder he’d always held a soft spot for ol’ George, whose wife had ultimately left him and who had died penniless.

He glanced down. Layla’s eyes were open now, but again fixed on his face. “How do you know all that?”

“Report in the sixth grade.” With his forefinger, he tapped his temple. “The facts never left me. Best grade I ever got on anything until I joined the army, though I never told my folks a thing about it.”

Layla frowned. “Why not?”

He shrugged. “Fucking Perfect Fitz had the honor roll role already sewn up.”

“Who?”

“That would be my older brother. Never a hair out of place, a grade less than A, the slightest smudge on his permanent record.”

“A big brother?” She sighed a little. “I always wanted one of those.” Then the wheel lurched into motion again, but instead of stopping shortly, it became a smooth revolution that took them even higher.

Layla made a little squeak and burrowed closer, her face turning into him, her mouth touching the side of his throat.

Vance sucked in a breath, trying to ignore the almost-kiss. “How about I be a big brother to you then, during this next month,” he proposed, keeping his voice light. “I’ll teach you how to throw, how to punch, how to survive your fears.”

Of course, he didn’t feel like any kind of brother to Layla at all. And damn, she felt good in his arms, despite the contact being everything he’d tried to avoid. He felt good, period, he decided with some surprise. Until now, the month had struck him as an obligation, not the least like his own vacation. Huh.

Propping his chin on the top of her head, he allowed himself, for a few minutes, anyway, to just enjoy the ride.

* * *

AS THE SUN SANK TOWARD THE horizon, Baxter climbed the steps from the beach onto the open-air deck of Captain Crow’s, his gaze sweeping the space. Looking for Addy.

He’d tried releasing his guilt. He’d tried to tell himself he could let the past go, that his effort at talking to her two days before was enough to clear it from his conscience.

But he couldn’t stop thinking about the fluffy-haired female—and it was affecting his work.

All Business Baxter couldn’t have that.

So he’d called Vance, and he’d not even begun to fish for the woman’s whereabouts before his cousin had extended an invitation to spend the Fourth of July evening at the beach house. Baxter had quickly accepted.

Not that he’d intended to stay for long. No, he headed to Crescent Cove with the purpose of getting Addy alone and once and for all addressing what had been said and done—and then ignored—That Night all those years ago.

But upon arrival at No. 9, he’d learned the woman he sought was meeting some friends for drinks at the restaurant on the sand. Waiting for her return smacked of stalling, so he’d taken himself up the beach. Once he spotted her, he’d pull her aside and spit out the apology that had to be made.

His gaze caught on Addy’s bright hair. Then he took in the fact that she already had male companionship. Surrounding her at a table were four guys in scruffy-casual: cargo shorts, T-shirts and beat-up running shoes. Baxter didn’t allow himself to feel overdressed, even though his khakis and sports shirt were pressed. So what that his leather sandals were Ferragamo?

The soles of them were silent as he came up behind her. The fivesome didn’t notice him as they passed around a pitcher of beer and continued their discussion. The topic of the moment was Sunrise Pictures, what Addy had discovered so far about it, how much material there was for her to sift through.

One of the men leaned close to her, his narrow fingers wrapping around her glass to top off the beer. “Sign of the jeweled collar?” he asked. His neck was skinny and his complexion pale, made sallower by the contrast to his faded black T-shirt.

Addy shook her head. “It could just be old Hollywood gossip, you know.”

“It’s gotta be,” another of the group concurred. “Priceless treasure still undiscovered after all these years? Not a chance.”

“You should let me help you look for it,” Skinny Neck said, scooting his chair closer to Addy’s. “I have some free time. I could be here every day.” He put his hand on her arm.

The gesture made Baxter move forward. “Addison,” he said.

Her head whipped around and she turned in her chair, causing the man to release his hold on her. “Baxter!” She said it with such enthusiasm he couldn’t help but suppose she didn’t like Skinny’s touch.

Baxter didn’t like it, either.

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

He yanked a free chair from an adjacent table and insinuated it between her and the guy in the black T-shirt. The other man didn’t move an inch, but Addy obligingly shifted her chair to give Baxter room. “Do you mind if I join you?” he asked, when it was already done. He smiled genially about the table. “I’ll buy the next pitcher.”

He’d learned a thing or two about managing people over the years. Ask for permission after the deed was already done. Never overlook the opportunity to buy a round of drinks for your friends...or enemies.

Holding out his hand toward Skinny, he gave him a full-wattage Smith smile. “Baxter. Addy and I go way back.”

Introductions garnered him the knowledge that the others at the table hadn’t known her nearly as long. They were fellow students from her undergrad years, and all seemed to still hold a passion for film. Two worked in the industry, one was in law school, Skinny put in part-time hours as a barista while monitoring a chat room dedicated to all things movie.

And he was itching to get into that small archives room with Addison.

“Listen, Addy, I’m serious about the offer,” he said, after the waitress delivered the pitcher of brew that Baxter had ordered. “I got the time, you got the access.” He leaned over the table to send her a smile that was close to a leer. “We could have some fun.”

Baxter glanced at Addy, then went with his instincts. “I don’t think so,” he told the guy.

“Huh?” Skinny frowned at him.

Sliding an arm around Addy’s shoulders, he tugged her closer to his body. “Let me explain...”