Page 17 of Betrayal In Calusa Cove
Her mind slowly drifted back to reality as he pressed his lips against her hair. As the quiet settled around them, she closed her eyes.
He rolled to the side, rustled the covers over their bodies, and pulled her close.
“I have to get up at six,” she said with a heavy sigh.
“I do as well.” He kissed her temple. “I have to work most of the day with Parks and Rec, and I have one airboat tour, but then whatever you need at the marina, I’m at your beck and call.”
“I’d rather clean out your old bedroom closet. I have a feeling that might be amusing.”
“Or embarrassing.” He tucked himself in behind her. “Get some sleep.
She sank deeper into his body and let the soft rhythm of his breathing lull her toward sleep. Hearing the faint splash of water outside, she realized everything had finally fallen silent—their world outside and their war within.
Chapter 5
Fletcher adjusted the brim of his Parks and Rec ballcap as he stepped onto the wooden deck of Massey’s Pub. The aroma hit like a rocket speeding through the sky right before it landed on its target, clean. It was the perfect blend of bacon, grilled meat, and a hint of something sweet. He’d heard that Mrs. Massey had given up trying to find a buyer, and because business was still booming, she continued, trying to forget her husband had turned out to be a drug and arms dealer.
He glanced around and smiled. He was glad she’d been able to rebound, and that the town had done its best to forgive. At least people weren’t boycotting since the place was humming with its usual midday buzz—locals and tourists mixed like old friends and new stories, a playlist of Jimmy Buffett and Kenny Chesney underscored the clink of glasses and low thrum of conversation. It was Florida through and through. Breezy, open-air charm with a warm wood bar, fans twirling lazily overhead, and faded nautical maps framed on the walls. Inside, the AC was humming, but most folks preferred the shaded tables on the wraparound porch, where the scent of grilled fish and lime from the kitchen rolled out with every swing of the screen door.
He caught sight of Keaton already seated at a high-top near the window, the man unmistakable in his Fish and Wildlife uniform—tan shirt, green patch, and mirrored shades he hadn’t taken off despite being inside. Fletcher slid into the seat across from him.
“I heard something fascinating this morning before leaving for work.” Keaton pushed his shades to the top of his wavy hair, which always looked like it needed a good combing, yet was perfectly styled at the same time.
“Did Trinity figure out how to have a baby without going through labor?” Fletcher smiled as he sat down, lifted his cap, and ran his fingers through his hair, wishing he had Keaton’s mop.
Everyone wished they had Keaton’s hair.
“She can’t wait to be a mother.” Keaton shook his head. “But at our last doctor’s visit, she asked if it were possible to be put under, have the kid taken out of her body, but not by C-section because she doesn’t want scars.” He smacked his hand on the table. “But she also doesn’t want any pain meds or anesthesia, which she mentioned in the same breath. The poor doctor blinked, turned to me, and said, Good luck.”
“Trinity is a walking oxymoron,” Fletcher said. “She’s strong. Independent. Can weather almost any storm. But she told Baily that pushing out a baby is the most terrifying thing ever. Baily figures she’ll have one contraction, and the baby will pop out.”
“With my luck, it’ll be forty hours of Trinity turning into a foul-mouthed princess.” Keaton chuckled. “But that brings me to what has me so utterly amused.”
“Dare I ask?”
“Baily called Trinity at seven and informed her of where she spent last night.”
“Your wife has a big mouth.” Fletcher’s lips tugged into a smile. He swiped his hand across his face to try to cover it.
“Not really. She happened to be in the bathroom, putting on her makeup, and had her cell on speaker. I just happened to stroll in at precisely the right moment.” Keaton grinned like a big kid. “So, you and Baily, eh?”
“What are we, Canadian all of a sudden?”
“Hey, I lived in Oregon for a little bit. It’s kind of like Southern Canada.”
“Not even close, dude.” Fletcher took an ice cube from his water and chucked it at Keaton.
“Tell that to my cuz, Foster. He thinks he’s all sorts of Canuck.”
“I just can’t with you sometimes.”
Keaton shrugged. “So, Dawson’s dealing with old man Jenkins and Cooney's chickens?”
Fletcher let out a sigh, flagging down the waitress with a nod. “I could hear Jenkins in the background blustering that if one more rooster crosses onto his side of the fence, it’s gonna end up in a stew pot.”
Keaton let out a hearty laugh. “That man needs a new hobby.”
“What he needs is fewer bullets.”
