Scandal on the Sand (The Billionaires of Barefoot Bay #3)(10)
Author: Roxanne St. Claire

“Damn, Becker, you took smart pills,” Nate joked.

The other man gave a typically smart-ass Elliott Becker grin.  “It’s Frankie.  She brings out a whole new me.”

“Mandy does the same thing with me,” Zeke admitted.

Nate looked skyward.  “You guys are making me sick.”

They just laughed, but then Zeke grew serious.  “What about the DNA test?” he asked. “You going to do it?”

“I don’t know.”  Truth was…the truth scared him.  Absolute confirmation that he had a kid? “I have to figure it all out.”

“Not at the expense of our stadium and team, I hope,” Becker said. “Make sure your focus is where it should be: on the Barefoot Bay Bucks. We have a lot riding on this project, and we really need to rally some more investors.”

“I know. I’ll figure it all out.”

“You will,” Zeke said as they all stood to end breakfast. “Don’t forget to—”

Something bright green whizzed by and slammed into Zeke’s chest, shutting them all up as a Frisbee clattered to the table. They reacted with surprised laughs and turned at the sound of loud, fast footsteps. Two sets, in fact, both quite small. Two children approached, a tiny blond girl with her hand over her mouth and a matching tow-headed boy.

“Sorry,” he said. “My sister…” He shook his head. “She didn’t mean it. We’re going to the beach, and she got excited.”

He had to have been just about the same age as Dylan, Nate thought. “No problem, kiddo.” Nate picked up the Frisbee and easily lobbed it to the boy, getting a grin when he clapped his hands over it and caught it.

“Emma! Edward!” A tall man in a white chef’s coat came marching into the sunshine, a scowl on his face. “Don’t bother the customers, you two. So sorry, gentlemen.”

“No worries,” Nate said. “We were just headed out.” He took a step closer, sizing up the two of them. “Twins?” he asked.

“I’m older by a minute,” Edward said, making them all laugh.

The chef extended his hand to Nate. “I’m Chef Ian Browning, by the way. I know Mr. Nicholas and Mr. Becker, but don’t believe we’ve met.”

“Nathaniel Ivory.” He wasn’t used to introducing himself, since most people recognized him, but this man was obviously British and probably didn’t read the tabloids much. “Cute kids,” he added.

“Thanks.” He reached the kids and put protective and proud hands on their shoulders. For a flash of an instant, Nate imagined what that would feel like. “The children’s program doesn’t start until nine, and my wife had to go over to the mainland,” the chef said. “So, you’re with the new baseball business, too? Everyone in my kitchen is talking about—Edward!”

The boy went zooming out of his father’s grasp, followed by his sister.

“We’re going to the beach!” she called out, her shyness gone as the two tore down the stairs to the sand.

“Wait!” The chef darted after them, throwing the men an exasperated smile as he chased his kids.

“Got your hands full, huh?” Nate asked as the man zipped by.

“And another on the way, mate.” He disappeared onto the sand, leaving the three of them sharing a look.

“You ready for that?” Zeke asked wryly.

“Hell no.”

“So be careful what you wish for…mate.” Becker added the chef’s English accent and grinned at Nate. “You just might find it.”

Chapter Four

“Car, Aunt Liza? Now? N-O-W C-A-R!”

Liza tucked the dishtowel on the oven handle and smiled down at Dylan, her heart doing a little flip when she looked into his eyes—the very shade of tawny oak that had been haunting her every thought since the day before.  Nate and Dylan did look so much alike. That fact was even more undeniable now that she’d seen Nate Ivory in person. Twenty-five years apart in age, but something in the eyes, the jaw, even the expression…had to be hereditary and not coincidence.

“Please?” Dylan dragged the word out, then frowned, no doubt wondering whether he could spell that one. “Now?”

“Yes. N-O-W.” She nudged him to the kitchen door with one hand on his back, pausing at the dining room to call out, “Mom, I’m going to be in the driveway with Dylan!”

The announcement was a courtesy, but it didn’t take away the fact that Liza still reported to her mom—thanks to the circumstances of her life—and she didn’t like it.

After they unplugged the charger and maneuvered the bright red Power Wheels car into the driveway, Liza situated herself on the lawn where she could have an unobstructed view of the driveway, the street, and Dylan in his new toy.

“Do not go close to the street, Dylan,” she warned as he climbed behind the wheel, his face bright in anticipation.

Mom had gotten him the Lightning McQueen electric car this past Christmas, and he lived for the chance to drive it, back and forth, in the semicircle driveway. That chance was usually the weekends, when Liza wasn’t working. Mom watched him a few days, when she didn’t have club meetings, lunches, tennis, or golf. Mostly, he was in day care, so Liza tried to spend every minute with him on the weekends.

“Here I go!” He gave it a little gas and started his circuit, waving each time he passed her.

She waved back, then leaned on her hands to look around the pristine neighborhood. Trimmed hibiscus, manicured emerald lawns, and rows of Queen palms lined the grid of streets that made up a painfully planned community full of pink and beige houses, all topped with the same barrel tile roof.

The sound of a car engine—a real one—made her open her eyes to check how close Dylan was to the street. Very.

“Careful,” she called, though he was usually good about minding.

He stopped his little car suddenly, at the curb, and stood slowly. “C-A-R!”

“Yes, it’s a car.” She squinted into the sunshine, seeing a silver vehicle slowing as it approached her house. That was unusual in Blue Landing. Most of the retirees and snowbirds who populated the expensive development didn’t even remember what it was like to have kids playing in the street. Living here was a great financial solution, and having her mother as a back-up for Dylan was convenient, but it sure wasn’t the kid-friendly neighborhood she wanted.

Still, this driver was far more aware than most, slowing at her driveway.