Bahama Mama Page 4

  “Cheyenne Dallas MacBain, you can’t force romance. You have no idea what it’s like to connect with a man.”

  “Apparently, you don’t either.”

  Molly paused in the process of kicking off her heels. One T.J. Maxx special dangled from her big toe. It dropped to the floor with a clunk and landed beside her stomach. Tears burned the back of her eyes. The jibe, which brushed too close to her deepest darkest fears, was even more hurtful coming from a naive and inexperienced fourteen-year-old girl. Molly blinked her eyes to clear them and took a deep breath. “I beg your pardon?”

  The girl had the decency to look ashamed. “I’m sorry, it’s just you always have an excuse why you didn’t like this one or that one. I’m worried about you, Ma.”

  Placing the to-go container on the table, Molly pulled out the chair beside her daughter and sat. “There is nothing to be worried about, Cheyenne. I keep telling you that.”

  “I read an article recently that said ninety-three percent of women say being a mother is central to their identity and that’s why many women sink into depression when their children leave the nest. I just don’t want you to feel lost when I go away college.”

  “It’s true you are my number one priority, but you’re not central to my identity.” At least, Molly didn’t think so. Suddenly, she wasn’t so sure. Did she identify herself as Cheyenne’s mother first before Molly the country singer? Before Molly the bookstore owner? Before Molly the plucky redhead with a little too much junk in the trunk? She needed to go for a run. Her jeans had been starting to feel a bit too snug lately. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “Besides, you’ve only just finished your freshman year. We have three more years together before you go off to college. Don’t worry about me, baby girl. I’ll be fine.”

  “Ninety-one percent of the women surveyed said they don’t have enough time for friends, hobbies, or their partners. I want you to have time for all that stuff.”

  “Well, they didn’t survey me. Your statistics would have you believe real life fits into neat little boxes you can check off in a questionnaire, but it doesn’t. Everyone’s circumstances are different, and my priorities are unique to me. I do have time for myself. I have a regular gig at Dixie’s and I meet my friends for lunch at least once a week. Having a man in my life would be nice, but it would take away from time I get to spend with you. Like you said, you’ll be going off to college in a few years.”

  “I wouldn’t mind.” Cheyenne’s gaze returned to the computer screen as she moved her finger around on the mouse pad.

  Molly reached across the table to cover her daughter’s bony wrist. Squeezing it gently, she said, “I know you wouldn’t. And I know you had your hopes set on Jeff, by he’s not for me, baby girl. I’m sorry.”

  Cheyenne nodded but didn’t glance away from the screen. “Oh, my goodness!”

  “What?”

  “You know how April and I have been trying to solve that riddle? The one that was written on that old map that belonged to Sophie’s father?”

  “You haven’t given up on finding that old treasure yet?”

  Cheyenne pulled her gaze away from the computer screen to look at Molly like she’d just said the moon is purple and frogs eat cheese. “It’s buried treasure, Ma. Why would I give up on it?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because there is no such thing as the Firefly Emerald, and even if there was, I doubt very much it’s still hidden where that dusty old map says.” Molly got up and carried her leftovers into the kitchen. Grabbing a clean dish and fork off of the drying rack, she scraped the steak and baked potato onto the plate and popped it in the microwave. She was starving.

  “Maybe you don’t believe in it, but I do,” Cheyenne said. “And April does too. I can’t wait to tell her what I found.”

  “What does April Linus want with treasure? She’s one of the richest teenagers on the planet.” Spotting Cheyenne’s dirty dinner dishes soaking in the sink, Molly rinsed off the remnants of the spaghetti sauce before sticking the plate and fork in the dishwasher.

  “Oh, she’s not in it for the money. She’s just helping me figure out the riddle. I offered to split it with her, but she said I can keep it for myself.”

  “You realize if you find the treasure on someone’s property you won’t be able to just take it?”

  Cheyenne blinked at her as if she’d never given it a thought. She probably hadn’t. She might be a brilliant, straight-A honor student, but she was naive to the ways of the world. The girl opened her mouth and closed it again. “But that’s not fair. It should be finders’ keepers.”

  “I’m sure people will be grateful to you, and your name may even appear in the paper, but beyond that, you shouldn’t expect to get rich from this.”

  Cheyenne blinked at her again before returning to her computer screen. “I just found a lead that suggests the location of the emerald is in the Bahamas. Can we go?”

  “Of course not.”

  “What if April and I went? She’ll be nineteen next week.”

  “No.”

  “But I’m almost fifteen, Ma. I can handle it. I won’t be alone or anything.”

  Molly came back to the table with her plate of food in one hand and a drink in the other. “No, you are not going to the Bahamas with April Linus, and you’re not going to Miami for the science fiction convention either, so get that out of your head too.” Taking a bite of the tender, savory steak, Molly was happy to discover she hadn’t over-nuked it. “Mmm,” she said out loud. “This is actually really good.”

  “When are you going to start trusting me?” Cheyenne closed the laptop and leaned back in the chair with her arms crossed.

  “I trust you. It’s other people I don’t trust.”

  “But how am I going to learn how to deal with people on my own if you don’t trust me?”

  Molly stopped chewing.

  “The bus from Key West will drop me off one block from the sci-fi/fantasy convention. I’ll spend a few hours there and catch the evening bus home. It’s so easy. Why won’t you let me go?”

  “Because you’re only fourteen years old and Miami is three hours away.”

  “I’m almost fifteen.”

  “It’s not just about your age. We don’t have enough money for trips to the Bahamas and excursions to Miami. We’re barely scraping by as it is. You know that.”

  “But Ma—”

  Molly opened her mouth to say you’re not going and that’s the end of it but caught herself just in time. Since when did she start resorting to clichés to parent her child? Lowering her fork, she looked at her daughter. “I’m doing the best I can here, Cheyenne. Please don’t make me out to be the bad guy. Some things in life are negotiable, but not when they risk your safety or wellbeing.”

  “Fine.” Cheyenne got up from the table so quickly she knocked her chair over. The cheap wood made a loud clatter when it hit the tile floor, but she didn’t look back as she headed for her bedroom.

  “Fine,” Molly said to the empty table. She pushed her plate away because she suddenly wasn’t hungry anymore. She hated having to play the part of the mean mom and putting a damper on her daughter’s plans, but Molly was the adult in their relationship and that meant it was her job to say no whether she enjoyed it or not. Sometimes being a single parent sucked.

  Cheyenne wasn’t a bad kid. She was an excellent student, respectful to her teachers, honest, good-hearted, always punctual, and usually cleaned up after herself, but she was also shy and a bit socially awkward, and far too trusting. She didn’t understand what might happen to them if Molly didn’t come up with the rent each month. She’d always managed to keep a roof over their heads, even if it meant paying an extended visit to one of her many siblings or calling her mom and dad for money. Asking for help hurt her pride, but she’d always done what she needed to do to keep her daughter safe and happy.

  Molly was fortunate that her big, loving, generous family was always willing to help, but it had been several years since
she’d had to call her siblings for anything other than a hello, and Mom and Dad were retired now and living on a fixed income. Molly had to be even more careful with cash and that meant saying no to their wants and picking and choosing their needs.

  It was tough saying no when what she really wanted was to give her daughter the world.

  Chapter Four

  Summer in Florida was a lousy time of year to take up jogging again. Molly shoved her soggy hair out of her eyes and sprinted across a crosswalk as if she could outrun the rain. The cute, curly red-gold ponytail she’d tied on top of her head now shrouded her face like a medieval helmet. When she’d made the decision to go for a run this morning, she hadn’t thought it through. She’d just been thinking how she was only fitting into her fat pants these days. Fat being a relative word. She was only a size eight, but she’d be into a ten soon if she wasn’t careful. The morning had been a balmy eighty degrees and sunny when she left her apartment, but she’d forgotten she lived in the Keys where the only predictable thing about the weather was that it wasn’t. She was paying the price for her mistake, dashing over a puddle on the sidewalk as another boom of thunder made the ground tremble beneath her feet.

  Fat raindrops pummeled her face, her body, and the pavement, and everything else in their way. Her squeaking sneakers made her increasingly aware of her appearance. Her purple terrycloth jogger capris had taken on water, causing her ass to sag like a baby with a loaded diaper. She was self-conscious of the squish, squish, squishing sound she made as she extended her stride and hustled up the street.

  She’d set off for Old Town that morning with the intention of challenging herself to a three-mile loop. Though her pace was slow and she was huffing and puffing, she wasn’t as out of shape as she’d assumed and managed to find her groove. She’d just made it to Duval when the storm came out of nowhere. Running all the way home in an electrical storm wasn’t the smartest idea and she didn’t have keys to the bookstore. Or cash for a cab. Most businesses weren’t open at this hour of the morning, but she knew Sue would be at Dixie’s. She and her husband Oscar were early risers. They’d likely already be at work prepping for the lunch crowd.

  Dixie’s had been closed for renovations since the end of May, but the place had reopened a few days ago in time for Sophie and Jimmy’s wedding. The bar and grille wasn’t as flashy as the other buildings in the neighborhood. Like the pastel pink house on the next block with its peaked roof and gingerbread shutters, or the yellow Victorian B&B up the street with its twin whitewashed porches. Dixie’s was a squat, white stucco building with a flattop roof and a red neon sign that stretched across the front windows.

  The owner, Jimmy Panama, used to say customers didn’t come to Dixie’s for the atmosphere. They came for the food. But since becoming engaged to Sophie, an English socialite, the good ol’ boy from Alabama had started sprucing up the place.

  Molly spotted the lights inside the building as she came around the corner. Grinning, she paused to let a car pass. A bolt of lightning streaked through the sky above her head and struck something on the next street. She instinctively ducked, as if that was going to save her from a strike. The static electricity in the air raised the tiny hairs on her arms and gave her goose bumps. Smelling something burning, she shivered and dashed across the street. When she shoved open the brand-new glass front door, which didn’t stick like the old one had, a roiling squall of water, wind, and leaves followed her inside.

  “Dagnabit, that’s a hootenanny of a storm. My goodness gracious.”

  “What are you doing here?” Sue stopped short just outside the kitchen door holding a steaming pot of coffee in her hand. The Alaskan native wore her long, silver-streaked brown hair in a single braid that skimmed her lower back. Her wardrobe consisted of tank tops and long floral skirts, and a well-worn pair of steel-toed combat boots she’d brought with her from her home state. She was a direct, no-nonsense kind of person and Molly usually appreciated her brutal honesty—except in moments like these. “You look like hell.”

  Molly shoved her hair helmet away from her eyes to see her friend better. “I was out for a run and got caught in the storm. Why are you looking at me like that? I know I look scary but—”

  “You’ve got to go.”

  “Pardon me?”

  Shooting a nervous look in the direction of Jimmy’s office, Sue set down the pot and came around the mahogany bar that ran most of the length of the back wall.

  “I mean it. You’ve got to go.” She put her hand on Molly’s shoulder and turned her around. “You can’t be here right now.”

  Molly faced the door but dug in her heels. Her soggy sneakers emitted a sad squish. “Oh, my God, why not? It’s not like you to toss a person in need out on the street. What’s going on, Sue?”

  Sue pressed her lips together tightly and shot another glance toward the office. “Sophie hasn’t had the chance to tell you yet. She was going to talk to you tonight.” She put her arms around Molly’s shoulders and tried to guide her toward the door again. “I’ll give you a ride home, but you have to wait outside while I get my keys.”

  A crack of thunder loud enough to rattle the windows made the suggestion even more ludicrous and out of character for Sue.

  “What? No!” Molly dug in her rubber soles again. “Stop it. That’s crazy. What’s Sophie going to tell me? Am I fired or something? Is that it?”

  “Molly, please—”

  “It’s okay, Sue.” The deep velvety voice came from the direction of the office. The voice had an odd familiarity to it. Not a voice Molly had ever heard in person, but one her subconscious knew as well as it knew her own name. And had identified before her conscious brain could put two and two together. Goose bumps traveled up her arms as the voice continued. “She the one Sophie was telling me about at dinner last night?”

  Three things dawned on Molly in quick succession. One. Her musical ear was too good not to recognize that voice. Two. Her friends had been keeping something very important from her because apparently, they felt she couldn’t handle the truth. And three. She was standing in front of Anders Ostergaard with a uniboob and a gallon of water in the ass of her pants.

  “Dagnabit,” she murmured as she turned around to face the man who was standing within spitting distance. Six-feet-two-inches of long, lean muscle packed into faded blue jeans and a form-fitting baby blue T-shirt. Artfully messy dirty blond hair and a ruggedly handsome, chiseled face that had helped him win the title of “Sexiest Man Alive” more than once. There was a healing cut on his right cheekbone that was from his recent accident, but otherwise, he was perfect. Seen in this setting, the family resemblance to Jimmy Panama was unmistakable. “You’re related to Jimmy.”

  At least that’s what she thought she said.

  What came out of her mouth must have been gibberish because Anders sent a questioning look to Sue who shrugged. “I could be wrong but I think she said ‘You’re late, mini.’”

  Molly shook her head and tried again, but she couldn’t seem to make her mouth work. She’d seen Anders Ostergaard in concert more than once, but she’d never been this close to him before. Looking at him was like looking into the sun. Her eyeballs hurt and she was pretty sure she was going to go blind or pass out before she was done, but she couldn’t look away.

  She knew that face so well. Knew it with the familiarity of someone who had studied hundreds of photographs of it over a decade and a half. She knew the bump in his slightly bent nose and the faint cleft in his chin. She knew how many laugh lines creased the corners of his slanted blue eyes. She knew the shape of his lips. The angle of his square jaw and the light dusting of dark blond stubble that covered it.

  As impossible as it sounded, he was even more attractive in person. It had to be the natural charisma that oozed off of him, and the confident, relaxed vibe he radiated in waves that quietly commanded people’s attention. It was that special, indefinable quality really famous people had that made them a star. And he had it in spades.

>   When he grinned at her, it had the equivalent effect on her insides as a solar flare on the sun’s surface. Red blobs outlined in shades of yellow and orange flashed behind her eyelids.

  “Hi, there,” he said. “I’m Anders.” The words were spoken through a tunnel, far away and too close at the same time.

  What did you do when the man you’ve idolized for most of your adult life suddenly stood before you? She’d fantasized about this moment so many times, but she was supposed to be fifteen pounds thinner and four inches taller, looking like a bombshell in stiletto heels and a killer dress. She’d say something smart and sassy, and he’d chuckle and fall madly in love with her. Instead, she was standing there slack-jawed feeling like she’d been eaten by a shark and shit out in the ocean.

  The toaster waffles she’d eaten for breakfast made a jump shot for her throat.

  “Oh no.” She covered her mouth and spun away. Shoving through the glass door, she plunged out into the rain and just made it past the car parked in front of the building before she leaned on the hood and coughed up the contents of her stomach in the street.

  A passing cab driver honked his horn. Molly gave him the finger.

  Oh, God. The rain wasn’t helping. It struck her face and stung her skin. She was pretty sure she was going to be sick again. Trembling, she bent at the waist and choked up bile.

  “Are you all right, hun?” Sue called from the open doorway.

  Breathless and weak, Molly forced herself to straighten up. Her eyes watered from the exertion of vomiting, but the rain streaming down her face washed the tears away. Gaping at her friend, she couldn’t keep her voice from wavering. “You knew. Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “No one else was allowed to know. Boss’ rules.”

  “But why didn’t they tell me?” By ‘they’ she meant Sophie and Jimmy. Jimmy might be the boss, but Sophie was her best friend. If anyone knew how crazy she was over Anders Ostergaard, it was Sophie.