Trusting His Promise (Love on Sanctuary Shores #5)

Chapter 12

“Look, Mommy, I see Mr. Beckett.” Sam tugged Jo’s hand, trying to pull her past the other children and parents as they all reached the town square.

For the hundredth time since they’d started out from the school, Jo asked herself why she had agreed to come on this field trip.

But she knew why: Sam had pleaded, and Dad had insisted that his cold was better—and Jo had never been able to resist when those two teamed up against her.

And that was the only reason she was here. It most certainly was not because she wanted to see Beckett.

She saw him way too much the way it was. No matter how hard she tried to avoid him, he seemed to appear everywhere she was. In the week and a half since he’d invaded her house, she’d seen him at church, at the market, at the post office, and at the bookstore. Not to mention the three days he’d spent filming at the harbor. Sometimes he just waved and went on his way. Other times he stopped and asked how Sam was doing—even cheering when Jo reported that the girl had gotten a one hundred percent on her spelling test.

They reached the green space at the center of the square, where the cast and crew were gathered, and Jo clutched Sam’s hand, keeping to the back of the group. But somehow Beckett’s warm smile reached her even there, and she almost smiled back, before she reminded herself—as she’d needed to do more and more lately—that she didn’t like him.

He waved to Sam and gestured them both toward the front. Jo shook her head, but Sam looked up with imploring eyes. “Please, can we go in the front?”

“ You can,” Jo answered. “I’m going to stay back here.”

Sam shrugged and skipped off.

“I guess I know where I rank,” Jo muttered, drawing a chuckle from Tom Fuller, the fifth and sixth grade teacher, who stood on the other side of her.

“Better get used to it,” he murmured, nodding toward his daughter Shauna, who was giggling with a group of girls. She was a few years older than Sam, and Tom had been raising her on his own since his wife died four years ago.

“How?” Jo asked, hoping the teacher would have some words of wisdom.

But Tom shrugged. “I’ll let you know when I figure it out.”

Jo laughed, but her attention was diverted by the sound of Sam’s voice shouting, “Stop it!”

Instantly, Jo started in the direction of the cry, her gaze zeroing in on Sam, who was glaring at the light-haired boy next to her. Jo grimaced. Henry Gordon was known to be a troublemaker. As she watched, Henry stuck out a finger and poked Sam’s shoulder.

Jo stopped, debating whether or not to interfere. Her eyes went to Miss Patterson, who didn’t seem concerned with the altercation.

Maybe Jo was overreacting. Maybe—

Henry tugged on Sam’s ponytail, and Jo started forward again.

“Okay, everyone.” That was Beckett’s voice. “We’re going to get started.”

Henry poked Sam again, and Jo kept walking toward them.

“Sam, could you come up here and be our special helper today?”

Jo froze. Beckett’s eyes came to hers for a second, and his grim smile said he’d seen the same thing she had. Then his attention went back to Sam, and he held out a hand to her. The boy who had been poking her looked slightly impressed.

And as much as Jo hated to admit it, she was too.

“What are you doing?” Maggie whispered.

Beckett thought fast.

He needed to come up with a special job for Sam. Because there was no way he was going to let that little bully get the best of her. He wondered if he was the same boy who had made fun of Sam at Sunday school.

“Can you teach her to do the slate?” he whispered back to Maggie.

She nodded, and Beckett waited for Sam to reach him, then gave her a fist bump and sent her with Maggie.

“All right. Now.” Beckett rubbed his hands together, his eyes skimming the students and snagging again on Jo. The worry lines had disappeared from her forehead, and she offered him the tiniest of smiles, which set off an unexpected little crackle in his heart.

He pulled his gaze back before he could scare her smile away.

“Who’s ready to see how a movie is made?”

Most of the students cheered, although a few—including bully boy—acted bored.

“First, let me introduce our cast and crew.” Beckett stepped back, and everyone took a turn talking briefly about their different roles and equipment. When it was Beckett’s turn, his eyes fell on Jo, who was somehow smiling again , and he suddenly had no recollection of what he’d been planning to say. “So, uh,” he stammered. “The actors have probably the easiest job. All we have to do is play pretend. Who here is good at that?”

Hands shot into the air, especially among the younger students. Beckett glanced at Jo with a grin, but her face had returned to the usual pinched look it wore whenever she saw him.

“Well, good.” He tore his eyes off of Jo, telling himself not to think about her. “So why don’t we walk through a scene really quick, and then you all can take turns on camera if you want to. Sound good?”

The students all cheered, and Miss Patterson clapped enthusiastically.

Beckett turned to Sam. “You know what to do?”

Sam nodded solemnly, her tongue poking through her lips a little just as they had when she’d worked on the Play-Doh spelling words.

She lifted the slate. “Scene one, take one,” she announced loudly.

Beckett grinned, oddly proud of the little girl. His eyes flicked to Jo, who was smiling wildly at her daughter, and his heart expanded. At least he had done something to make her happy.

He and Sadie and the other actors went through the scene—they’d made sure not to pick a kissing one, since that would likely elicit too many groans from the kids—then invited the students who wanted to be on camera to form a line.

He and Sadie took turns coaching the kids—asking them questions about themselves, ad-libbing short scenes with them, and just trying to help them feel comfortable on camera.

It was a lot more fun than Beckett had anticipated.

“Sam, you’re next,” he called.

“Good luck, Stupid Sam,” bully-boy called.

Beckett took a step toward the kid.

“Henry,” Miss Patterson’s voice warned in a tone that wasn’t nearly harsh enough. “We don’t call our friends names.”

“She’s not my friend,” Henry retorted, and Beckett nearly walked over there and picked up the kid to shake him.

“We’re all friends here,” Miss Patterson said calmly.

Oh, for goodness’ sake. Beckett stared at the teacher. Did she really think that was going to do anything to stop the boy from being a bully?

“Come on up here, Sam,” Beckett encouraged. “You’re going to do great.”

The girl seemed to be teetering on the edge of tears, but she blinked bravely and made her way toward him.

Beckett’s eyes flicked to Jo, who looked just as ready to pound Henry as he felt.

A lash of remorse swept through him. The way Henry made Sam feel—that was how Beckett had made Jo feel. For years.

No wonder she wasn’t eager to forgive him.

“What do you want to do?” Beckett asked Sam gently.

She shrugged.

“I have an idea. “Let’s ad-lib a little bit. I’ll be your grandpa.”

Sam and several of the children giggled.

“And you’re trying to teach me what this is.” He pulled out his phone. “Okay?”

Sam looked slightly doubtful but nodded.

Beckett didn’t let himself look at Jo—he was pretty sure he didn’t want to see her reaction to him pretending to be related to her daughter.

He looked at the camera and nodded, and Maggie called, “Action.”

Beckett turned the phone over in his hand. “What is it?” he creaked in his best old-man voice. “Some kind of new-fangled TV clicker?”

“No, Grandpa.” Sam giggled as soon as she said the word, but then seemed to step into her role. “It’s a cell phone.”

Beckett examined the phone. “That’s not a phone. Where are the numbers? Where is the little round dialy thing?”

“Here, I’ll teach you how to take a selfie.” Sam held out her hand, and Beckett set the phone into it.

“A selfie?” he creaked. “What’s a selfie?”

Sam gave a screen-worthy eye roll. “It’s a picture of yourself.”

“Why do I need a picture of myself?” Beckett frowned. “I know what I look like.”

“You send it to other people,” Sam explained.

“Who would want a picture of this hideous old face?” Beckett asked.

“Me,” Sam said. “Your family.”

The simple way the girl said the word jabbed at Beckett’s heart.

“Well, okay then. Teach me.”

Sam walked through turning on the camera, then gestured for him to squat down to her level and threw one arm around his shoulders, snapping a picture with her other hand.

“There.” She passed the phone to him. “Now you’ll always have a picture of us together, Grandpa.”

“Cut,” Maggie called. “What a perfect end to the scene. You, young lady, would make an excellent screenwriter.”

Sam glowed with the compliment and ran over to Jo, who greeted her with a hug.

Beckett swallowed hard and turned away. He didn’t have a family anymore—and he didn’t want one. Not really. But seeing Sam and Jo together made him wonder if he was missing out on something.

He forced his attention back to the next kid in line, but it was that bully Henry, and Sadie sent Beckett a look that said she would take care of this one. Beckett went to grab a bottle of water.

He took a long swig, unable to keep himself from searching out Jo and Sam again.

Sam stood near Miss Patterson, but Jo had walked several yards from the group and stood with her back to them, her phone to her ear. She shook her head and lifted her free hand to her mouth.

Tension clenched Beckett’s stomach. Something was wrong. He took an involuntary step in her direction but stopped as she turned around and made straight for Sam, her face set.

She said something to Miss Patterson, who clutched her arm and nodded. Then Jo squatted and spoke to her daughter.

Sam’s face crumpled, and Jo hugged the girl fiercely, closing her own eyes. Then she stood and took Sam’s hand, leading her quickly away from the group.