Cara Lockwood - Shelter In The Tropics

Your father is a monster.

No. She never wanted him to know that. Because Avery wasn’t anything like his father, and she planned to keep it that way.

“I bet you’re hungry,” she said instead. “Ready for dinner?”

Avery nodded. “Snack!” he demanded, opening up his hands.

Cate knew the fifteen-minute drive back to the resort would be a lot easier with a few crackers than without. Besides, the boy burned through calories. He needed to eat every ten minutes, so there was almost zero chance of spoiling his dinner.

“Want some graham crackers?”

“Yes!” he cried with enthusiasm. She grabbed the Ziploc snack bag filled with animal-shaped grahams and handed it to him. Feeling relieved, she made her way to the driver’s seat and looked forward to a nice, quiet dinner, before the rest of the guests. Not that there were that many, she thought. The resort was less than half full. It was one of the reasons Mark wanted to do more advertising. And she should, she guessed. She should get over this irrational idea that ads would somehow catch Rick’s attention.

She wouldn’t be in any of the ads, and she could use a picture of the resort on social media. She needed to let go of the fear that drove her. She knew it didn’t make sense. But fear never did.

She pulled up to the resort, noticing the mostly empty parking lot. Her stomach sank. What would she do if the resort went under? When she sold her jewelry—the only thing she took from Rick Allen—she’d put much of it into the hotel. Mark had suggested it. He could be the public face of the resort, and she could be a silent investor, hidden away from the public and from anyone who could recognize her.

Then it had been booming, and she thought it was a sound investment. Of course, that was before the island opened itself up to the big cruise ships. Now, fewer people came to St. Anthony’s to stay. Most opted for a floating hotel, and that meant letting staff go and her taking on a larger role in the resort. She saw two big liners off in the distance. She wondered how many of her guests they’d stolen in the last year.

How many different ways had Rick told her she wasn’t capable of doing anything on her own? There were the hundreds of small household decisions he’d called into question: How could you let the gardener plant those ugly shrubs? Am I wrong, or were you supposed to be supervising him? And then there was the time she wanted to try writing a novel, but he’d ridiculed her mercilessly and in front of others: Cate wants to write. God, can you imagine? A romance! Lord help us. He’d even had an opinion about what she wore: You don’t even know what looks good on you, Cate. How did you last this long with me? When she got upset, he’d tell her she was overreacting. That it was her fault. After all, there was never anything wrong with Rick Allen. The problem had to be with her.

She’d been with him five years, married for three, but in some ways it felt like a life sentence. His nagging voice in her head never quite seemed to go away. He was always telling her something was wrong with her—she wasn’t smart enough, wasn’t interesting enough, wasn’t pretty enough. She got now that it was his way of controlling her, just another aspect of the abuse. But while the bruises healed, the insults and criticisms just festered, wounds that never seemed to scab over.

Maybe I’m not smart enough to run this resort. Maybe Rick was right.

The second the evil thoughts weaseled their way into her head, she pushed them out once more. She was done letting Rick push her around, whether that was physically or in her own head. You’d never survive out there without me, he’d told her once. Well, that’s just not true, she thought, I’m surviving just fine.

She killed the ignition and glanced at the resort.

For now, at least.

Cate bustled Avery out of the car, carrying his fire truck backpack, and steered him straight into the lobby and to the dining room, where the dinner buffet was just being set up. She looked at all the food—the simple fish fillets and bright veggies prepared with such loving care by the cooks in the kitchen—and felt a bit of sadness. It was lovely, but couldn’t touch the amazing buffets of the good old days with fresh crab legs and delicate sushi rolls. The scaled-back buffet was a shadow of its former self. She steered Avery to his favorite spot, near the window looking out to the blue-green water, and turned to head back to the food.

She piled on chicken strips and apple slices, and then hesitated at the broccoli, wondering if it would be too much of a fight to get him to eat some. She felt a sudden presence by her elbow.

“Hi, Cate,” came the deep, unmistakably sexy voice. She knew before looking who stood there.

Cate nearly dropped the plate as she whirled away from the buffet. So much for avoiding the man.

“Tack,” she cried, surprised, her heart rate doubling as she took in his tall frame. The man moved like a big cat. She hadn’t even heard him approach. He’d changed and now wore a linen button-down, short-sleeved, pale blue shirt and khaki cargo shorts. His face broke into an easy smile, and she felt her stomach clench as she looked at his clean-shaven tanned face. She’d just seen him earlier that afternoon, but it seemed in that time he’d managed to get sexier, if such a thing was possible.

“Uh...the dining room is closed,” she managed to say, though the gruff way it came out made her want to kick herself. Why was she being so rude?

Tack grinned, and nodded at the buffet and the plate in her hands. “It looks pretty open to me.” He seemed completely unruffled by her, and even worse, he wasn’t leaving. “Mind if I...join you?”

“Uh...I’m eating with my son...” She nodded toward the table where Avery was happily pretending his snack cup was a car, and making it zoom across the table.

“I love kids,” Tack said smoothly. “I don’t want to brag, but I’ve been told I’m the world’s greatest uncle. I might just have a mug that says the same thing.”

He flashed another bright white smile, and all of the excuses as to why she wouldn’t want a handsome stranger to join her rushed from her mind.

She giggled a little, feeling like she was thirteen again and standing by the lockers in front of the cutest boy in school. Get it together, Cate. He’s not interested in you, anyway. You’re not nearly pretty enough for him. Not without all the expensive jewelry and clothes that Rick said made you an “eight” when you were naturally just a “six.”

Tack reached behind her to get a plate, and his strong arm brushed her elbow. She was hyperaware of every movement he made. She realized, suddenly, she was still holding her son’s half-filled plate, watching Tack reach for scalloped potatoes. She decided to leave the broccoli and opted for raw carrots instead, then headed back with a cup of juice to the table, where she plunked the plate in front of her little boy. He went for the chicken fingers first, naturally, and happily chomped his food while she turned back to the buffet. Deliberately, she started on the opposite side as far from Tack as she could get, though it wasn’t long before he was again by her side.

“What do you recommend?” he asked her, dark eyes studying her. Her mouth went a little dry beneath the intensity of his gaze.

“Everything is good,” she said. “But you should try the conch chowder. It’s the island specialty.” She nodded toward the soup bowl on the other side of the glass-partitioned buffet. She thought it would be better if she could move him from her side, but when he walked around, she realized now, he was right in front of her, glass buffet or not, and he was watching her even as he ladled soup into a small bowl. If he was going to study her like that, she might not be able to eat. Her once growling stomach now exploded into a riot of nerves. Why did the man make her so nervous?