Trusting His Promise (Love on Sanctuary Shores #5)

Chapter 8

Beckett shuffled from one foot to the other, watching the line in front of him creep toward the food. He’d never actually been to a church potluck before, and he felt more than a little bit out of place. But Gail Olsen had insisted their group stay, and before Beckett could politely decline, Andre had accepted.

Beckett’s eyes skimmed the room, but there was no sign of Jo. He couldn’t decide if he was disappointed or relieved.

She couldn’t really refuse to listen to him apologize if he did it at church. But he’d also seen the way she looked at him when she spotted him earlier—clearly, she didn’t think he belonged.

“I hope they have chocolate torte.” Andre turned to him, eyes gleaming. “My grandma always made that for potlucks. Brings back good memories every time I eat it.”

Beckett nodded absently. He wouldn’t know. Dad’s parents had died when Beckett was only a baby, and Mom’s parents stopped visiting after she died—though whether that was their choice or Dad’s, Beckett never knew.

They reached the food table, and Andre grabbed a plate and fork. Beckett did the same, loading his plate with casserole and cheesy potatoes and a roll.

“Oh wow. Is that tamale pie?” Andre asked. “My grandma made that too.”

“It is.” The soft voice made Beckett look up—straight into the face of Jo Fletcher, who was clearing away an empty pan and replacing it with a full one.

“Did Gail make the pie?” The question was out before Beckett could think it through.

“She did.” Jo’s lips tightened. “Why do you ask?”

“No reason. I’ve just heard good things about it.” He winked at her, then grabbed the serving spoon and heaped a big helping onto his plate.

“Ah.” Jo’s lips twitched a little. “Make sure to tell your friends about it.” She turned and strode toward the kitchen, and Beckett couldn’t help laughing.

“What’s so funny?” Andre spooned an even larger serving onto his plate.

“Nothing.” Beckett shook his head, still grinning. It was just possible that he’d made some progress with Jo at last. “But you’re going to want plenty of milk to wash down that tamale pie,” he said quietly, glancing around to make sure Gail wasn’t nearby. “It’s terrible, but no one wants to tell Gail and hurt her feelings.”

Andre grabbed his fork and loaded a big bite of tamale pie onto it, then shoved it into his mouth. He chewed for a moment, then shrugged. “Tastes fine to me. Just like my grandma’s.”

Beckett chuckled and followed his friend to a table. As he ate, he scanned the room.

People chatted and laughed together, all of them looking as if there was nowhere they’d rather be.

Beckett wondered what that must feel like. He couldn’t recall ever feeling that way anywhere.

He caught sight of Jo from time to time too—mostly, he had to admit to himself, because he was actively looking for her. She wore dark pants and a silky white sleeveless shirt that highlighted her toned, tanned arms. Her blonde hair was pulled back in a sleek ponytail. She had always been pretty, but now she was knock-your-breath-away gorgeous.

For the most part, she kept to herself, refilling dishes quietly, although she was quick to smile at anyone who greeted her. Once the line for the food cleared out, she grabbed a plate for herself, carrying it to a table where her daughter sat with Alex Gibbons and some other people Beckett didn’t recognize—although he was pretty sure one of the women had been among the extras the other day.

After a while, Jo’s daughter got up from the table, said something to her mom, and then skipped to the door.

“Hey, man, did you try this torte?” Andre asked, brandishing a forkful. “It’s amazing. Just like my grandma’s.”

“I’m not so sure I trust your grandma’s taste in food anymore,” Beckett retorted, eyeing the remains of the tamale pie on his plate.

“Are you almost done, Andre?” Sadie called from the other end of the table. “I want to get to the beach. Look at that beautiful sunshine.” She gestured out the window.

Andre nodded, scooping the last bite of torte into his mouth. “Let’s go.”

They all pushed back from the table, gathering up their plates and cups and dumping them into the overflowing trashcan. Beckett hesitated a second after adding his trash to the top, then grabbed the edges of the garbage bag and pulled it out.

“Oh, you don’t have to do that,” the dark-haired woman who had been at Jo’s table hurried over with her own plate and cup. “We’ll take care of it.”

“I’m heading out anyway.” Beckett held the bag open for her to drop her garbage into, then cinched it shut. “The dumpster is behind the church, right?”

She nodded. “It is. Thank you. I’m Lisa, by the way. I’m glad you all could join us. I hope you’ll come back next week.”

“Is there food every week?” Andre jumped in. “Just kidding. We came for the Word. But the food was a nice bonus.”

Lisa laughed. “I heard you enjoyed the tamale pie.” Her eyes went to Beckett, and his heart warmed. There was only one place she could have heard that. His gaze went to Jo’s table, but she had disappeared.

“I did,” Andre answered. “Just like grandma’s.”

“Good. See you next week.” Lisa headed for the kitchen, and Beckett hefted the trash bag, following the other members of the cast and crew out the door.

“Let me go toss this—” He broke off as he spotted a small form standing under a tree, swiping at her face as if wiping away tears. Something in his chest tightened.

“Actually, you all go ahead. I’ll meet you at the beach. You know how to get there?”

“It’s two blocks away,” Maggie pointed out. “Do you know her?” She gestured toward the girl.

Beckett nodded. They may not have spoken long at the store the other day, but it had been long enough for the girl to leave an impression on him.

The others started off, and Beckett swiveled his head from the girl to the church. Should he go to her or go inside and get Jo—who most likely wouldn’t talk to him anyway?

He strode toward the tree.

“Hey, it’s Samantha, right?” he asked cheerfully when she looked up, hastily wiping away the last of her tears.

“Yes. Sam.” Her lips lifted a little, as if pleased he’d remembered. “And you’re Mr. Beckett.”

“Yep. What are you doing out here?”

Sam shrugged. “Nothing.”

“Oh. Okay.” He set the garbage bag down and lowered himself to sit at the base of the tree. “Do you mind if I do nothing too for a while? It sounds like fun.”

Sam’s reluctant giggle made him smile.

“Is something wrong?” he asked gently.

She shook her head, but tears welled in her eyes again.

“You don’t have to tell me.” He sighed as he leaned back against the tree trunk. “It’s a nice day. Warmer than I thought it would be.”

“I guess.” Sam sat next to him.

“Still don’t want to tell me what’s wrong?”

“Nope.” Sam pulled out a clump of grass.

“Have you ever played twenty questions?” Beckett asked.

“Of course,” Sam answered, as if it were a ridiculous question. “Mommy always plays it with me on the ferry when we go shopping on the mainland.”

“Then you know the rules. I get twenty questions to guess.”

Sam shrugged. “You won’t guess it.”

“Is it a boy?” Beckett asked instantly.

Sam’s eyes widened. “How did you know?”

“Because I know what little boys can be like. Okay, question number two: Did he kiss you?”

“Ew. Noooo.” Sam wore the same horrified expression Jo had worn when she first spotted him on the pier the other day. The girl made a gagging sound as if to emphasize her repulsion at the thought.

Beckett laughed. He supposed he should be grateful Jo hadn’t done that .

“Okay,” he said more seriously. “Did he hurt you?”

Sam shook her head.

“Did he say something mean?”

Sam shook her head again, but the sheen of tears in her eyes gave her away.

Beckett’s stomach tightened. Was this what Jo had looked like when he’d made her cry? She’d never let him see that he affected her like that.

“What did he say?” It was a struggle to keep from growling the words.

“He said—” Sam choked a little. “He called me Stupid Sam because we had to read out loud in Sunday school and I messed up all of the words and—”

“Samantha Fletcher,” a sharp voice called, and Beckett looked up to see Jo barreling down on them.

“Please don’t tell my mom,” Sam begged, scrambling to her feet, and surreptitiously wiping her tears.

“Why not?” Beckett stood too.

“She has enough to worry about already,” Sam had just enough time to answer before Jo reached them.

“What are you doing here?” It wasn’t Sam whom Jo was glaring at but Beckett.

“I was just taking the trash out.” Beckett gestured to the bag, hoping it might earn him some grace, but Jo’s expression didn’t soften. “And I saw Sam, so I came over to say hi.”

“Come on. We have to go.” This she directed at Sam.

“Did you really go to school with my mom?” Sam asked.

“I did.” Beckett glanced at Jo. Maybe this was his opening.

“I said we have to go.” Jo grabbed Sam’s hand.

“What was my mom like when she was a little girl?” Sam seemed undaunted by her mother’s clear desire to flee.

“Never mind that.” Jo looked like she was ready to physically pick the little girl up and carry her away, just to escape from Beckett.

“She was . . .” Beckett glanced between mother and daughter. “A lot like you, I think.”

“Really?” Sam seemed to glow. She turned to her mother. “What was Mr. Beckett like when he was a boy?”

Jo’s lips flattened into a thin grimace.

“I was pretty horrible,” Beckett answered for her. Sam’s eyes widened, but Beckett turned to Jo. His mouth suddenly went dry, but he had to do this while he had the chance. “That’s what I’ve been wanting to tell you. That I’m sorry. For all of it.”

“What are you sorry for?” Sam asked, cocking her head to the side.

Beckett hesitated. “I said some mean things to your mom when we were kids,” he finally settled on. It was probably best not to go into details.

Sam’s eyes widened. “Why?”

“It doesn’t matter.” Jo tugged her daughter toward the sidewalk. “I said it’s time to go.”

“But what about Uncle Alex? He said he’d give me a piggyback ride home,” Sam insisted.

Beckett blinked at her. Had she said Uncle Alex?

Jo sighed and reached up to adjust her ponytail. Beckett caught a glimpse of her left hand. No ring.

“Uncle Alex is still talking to Lisa. I’ll give you a ride.” She squatted, and the girl climbed onto her back.

Jo stood with a groan and a slight wobble that had Beckett reaching out an arm to steady her—until Jo’s glare stopped him short.

She started down the street, her head not turning even a centimeter. But Sam looked over her shoulder and smiled, unwrapping one arm from around Jo’s neck to wave.

“Sam, hold on,” he heard Jo scold as they turned onto the street.

Sam wrapped her arm back around her mom. “See you later, Mr. Beckett.”

Beckett waved, watching them until they turned the corner onto Fourth Street.

So Jo wasn’t married to Alex. And didn’t wear a ring. And she had called her daughter Samantha Fletcher . Jo’s own last name. Did that mean she was divorced? A single mother? Neither option seemed likely—but then again, he wouldn’t have thought it was likely that he would be back on Sanctuary Island—at church. And thinking about Josephine Fletcher.

Jo fast-marched down the street with Sam on her back, fuming all the way. And to think, she’d let herself soften a little bit toward Beckett for taking some of Grandma Gail’s tamale pie.

He’d said some mean things to her when they were kids .

He didn’t seriously think that measly apology was enough to make up for everything he’d done? The things he’d said were the least of it.

“Mommy, are you still mad at Mr. Beckett?” Sam’s voice cut off Jo’s thoughts.

“Of course not,” Jo snapped out, flinching at the tone of her own voice. “Sorry, I’m not trying to yell at you. I just— It was a long time ago.”

Sam tightened her grip on Jo’s neck. “What kinds of mean things did he say to you?”

Jo sighed. “Nothing for you to worry about.” She slowed her march as she reached the walkway in front of their house. She glanced over her shoulder as if Beckett might have followed them. Thankfully, the sidewalk was empty. She squatted down to let Sam off her back.

“Did he call you stupid?” Sam’s voice was quiet and serious.

Jo took her hand, and they continued up the walk. “I don’t remember.” Actually, she very clearly remembered him calling her stupid, but she didn’t need her daughter to know that—or any of the other things Beckett had done. Sam was too young to be exposed to how cruel people could be to each other.

“You’re going to take good care of Opa this afternoon, right?” A change of subject seemed like the best course of action.

“Yes, Mommy.” Sam nodded vigorously. “I’ll make him toast and get him water and give him the TV remote.”

“That’s a good girl.” Jo patted her daughter’s head, wondering if she should have someone come over to babysit in case Dad wasn’t feeling up to it.

But he had barely consented to letting her take this afternoon’s charter. It was only her insistence that their clients wouldn’t enjoy being coughed all over that had led him to relent. But even then, he had grumbled that it was only his second sick day in thirty years as a captain.

Jo eased the door open quietly and held a finger to her lips in case Dad was sleeping. Sam nodded, and they crept into the house.

Clunking came from the back of the house, and Jo looked at Sam. “Theodore?” Their big orange cat was known to get into plenty of mischief.

Sam shrugged, and they passed through the foyer to the kitchen. Jo spotted movement in the mudroom at the far side of the kitchen.

“Not Theodore,” she said to Sam as Dad emerged, pulling on his Reel Adventures fishing cap.

The moment his eyes fell on them, his expression turned guilty—and defiant.

“And where do you think you’re going?” Jo jammed her fists against her hips.

“Fishing,” Dad answered around a stifled cough.

Jo rolled her eyes. “I thought we settled this, this morning.”

“I’m doing better.” He stifled another cough.

“Yeah, I can tell.” She waited for him to stop coughing. “You know I can handle it by myself, right? I have taken charters on my own before.”

“I know. But it’s Sunday. Your day off.”

“I can work on a Sunday,” she argued.

“I’ll text when we’re on our way in.” Dad waved his phone, then ducked back into the mudroom and disappeared out the back door.

Jo stood there, shaking her head. “Your Opa is one stubborn man,” she said to Sam.

“He says that about you too sometimes.” Sam giggled. “But not man,” she corrected. “Woman.”

“Good to know,” Jo said dryly. “I guess we have the afternoon free. What do you want to do?”

“Go to the beach,” Sam answered instantly.

“Really?” Jo held back a groan. The beach had never been her favorite place. But Sam would swim all day every day if given the opportunity.

“Please, Mommy?” Sam folded her hands. “We haven’t gone in ages .”

Jo laughed. “Where did you learn that word?”

Sam shrugged. “It was in a book Grandma Gail read to me. Did I use it right?”

“Yes.” Jo ruffled her hair.

“Yes, we can go to the beach?” Sam asked hopefully.

“Ah, trying to trick me into it, are you?” Jo squinted at her daughter but then nodded. “Yes, we can go to the beach. We’ll bring your reading book along too.”

Sam’s smile faded. “Do we have to?”

“Yes, we have to.” Jo frowned. She wished she knew how to help her daughter love reading the way she did. But now that she thought about it, in the few months she’d been with Jay, she hadn’t once seen him crack open a book. So maybe that was another thing Sam had inherited from him.

Jo pushed the thought aside. She wanted to think about that man just as much as she wanted to think about Beckett Knox. Not at all.

“Fine.” Sam sighed.

“Fine,” Jo repeated. “Let’s go change.”

She followed Sam upstairs. Theodore was curled up on Jo’s bed, and she stopped to pet him. “You don’t know how good you have it, cat.”