Trusting His Promise (Love on Sanctuary Shores #5)

Chapter 26

Jo steered through the channel to the dock where the fish would be weighed, her heart thrashing more wildly than any fish she’d ever caught. But she couldn’t tell if that was because she was about to find out whether she’d placed in the tournament—or because she could still feel the soft prickle of Beckett’s five o’clock shadow under her fingertips.

She didn’t know what had come over her, touching him like that. Maybe it was the fudge. Or dehydration. Or . . .

Or maybe you wanted to , a voice that sounded suspiciously like her own whispered in her head.

Jo silenced the thought. Because even if she did want to, it was very clearly a bad idea. The fact that Beckett was starting to ask questions about Sam’s dad made that all too obvious.

“How’d you do out there?” a judge called as she pulled the Reel Blessed up to the pier.

“Not bad,” Jo replied nonchalantly, at the same time Beckett practically shouted, “Incredible.”

Jo shot him a look, but the judge chuckled. “I guess we’ll see.”

Jo opened the live well, and she and Beckett handed the fish out to the judge, whose expression remained neutral as he loaded them onto a cart.

“Oh, come on,” Beckett wheedled. “Incredible, right?”

The judge’s expression didn’t change, but Jo was pretty sure she caught the slightest dip of his head. “Looks like you two had a good day.”

“We did.” Beckett’s enthusiasm set Jo’s heart to thrashing again. But all she said to him was, “Stay here a minute while I go to the weigh-in.”

Beckett saluted dutifully, and Jo followed the judge, refusing to let Beckett see her smile as she walked away.

The weigh-in took only a few minutes, and the instant Jo returned to the boat, Beckett held out a hand to help her in. “So? Did we win?”

Jo stared at his hand a moment, then set hers into it—only because it was much easier than explaining why she shouldn’t. “They have to wait until everyone is done weighing in. But it sounds like we were one of the last boats still out, so it shouldn’t be long.” She dropped to the bottom of the boat and reluctantly withdrew her hand from his. Then she backed the boat away from the pier and steered it into its usual berth. She and Beckett cleaned up silently, their movements somehow in perfect sync.

Jo desperately wanted to know what he was thinking, but she didn’t dare to ask—just in case it was about her.

It felt audacious to even think that. After all, she’d assumed plenty of times that Jay must be thinking about her—but it turned out he never once was.

When the boat was cleaned up, Jo and Beckett made their way to the shore, where the returning fishermen were gathering.

The shadows grew longer as the sun lowered, and Jo shivered. In an instant, Beckett had his backpack off and was passing her the sweatshirt she’d borrowed earlier.

Jo took it without protest and slipped it on quickly.

“That’s how you know he’s a keeper.” A woman’s voice came from the other side of Jo, and she looked over to see Terri smiling approvingly at Beckett. “When he gives up his shirt for you. Randy gave me his jacket on our first date, and I knew then and there he was the one.”

“Oh no. It’s not— I’m not— We’re not—” Jo’s words tripped over each other.

From her other side, she heard Beckett’s distinctive chuckle. “I don’t know who you are, but I think I like you.”

“Terri Branson.” Terri held out her hand to Beckett, who leaned around Jo to shake it.

“And my husband Randy is over there.” She pointed to a group exchanging fishing stories.

“They won the tournament the last two years.” The voice was way too normal to be Jo’s, but she was pretty sure it had come from her mouth.

“Ah, the competition,” Beckett joked. “Trying to put us off guard with your flattery. Well—” He slung an arm over Jo’s shoulder, the unexpected movement making her fall against him. “I’m sorry to say it won’t work.”

Terri laughed. “May the best couple win.”

Before Jo could protest her use of the term couple , Terri waved and returned to her husband’s side.

“Beckett—” Jo slid carefully out from under his arm. “Now she thinks—”

“What’s that?” Beckett interrupted.

Jo followed his gaze to a large whiteboard the judges were wheeling to the front of the crowd.

“The weigh board.” Jo’s throat went dry, and she tried madly to swallow. On the other side of that board was possibly the answer to her prayers.

Even fifth place would mean $1,000, which would help with Dad’s medical bills—though not nearly as much as the $10,000 first prize would.

“Can’t they move any faster?” Beckett muttered, and Jo nodded, her hand moving to grip his arm. She vaguely registered that she should let go, but her fingers refused to obey.

Slowly, the judges spun the board around.

Before she could comprehend what she was seeing, her feet came off the ground, and she was whirled through the air.

“Beckett,” she gasped when she realized he was the cause.

But he kept spinning, his hands planted firmly on her back, and she accidentally buried her face in his neck, inhaling his rain-fresh scent.

“We did it!” He finally set her down, but he didn’t loosen his hold on her.

“Nicely done, you two.” Terri stood at their side, holding out her hand.

“Oh.” Jo stepped out of Beckett’s embrace. “Thank you.” She shook Terri’s hand and then Randy’s. A quick glance at the weigh board showed that Jo and Beckett had beaten them by only four pounds.

Beckett shook their hands too. “So the best couple won?” He raised an eyebrow, and Terri smiled, sliding her hand into her husband’s.

“We’ll put that to the test next year.”

“Next year,” Beckett agreed, his voice tight. And Jo felt her own heart slip.

She might enter the tournament next year—but Beckett would be long gone by then.

“They’re calling you up to get your prize.” Randy gestured toward the judges at the weigh board, who seemed to be searching the crowd.

“Let’s go.” Beckett grabbed her hand and pulled her past groups of fishermen who all congratulated them.

At the front, Jo took the check and smiled for the obligatory pictures and thanked the judges—Beckett grinning at her side through all of it.

When they were done, he wrapped his fingers through hers again as if that was something they just did now. “Come on. We have to tell Sam and your dad the good news.”

The purple-pink glow of the sunset gave everything a surreal feeling as Beckett walked with Jo to her house.

Or maybe the surrealness came from the fact that she hadn’t pulled her hand out of his. He supposed that might be because she was still in shock from winning the Salmon Spectacular, but whatever the reason, he wasn’t going to argue with it.

“Let’s pretend we didn’t win,” Jo said as they turned onto the path to her front door.

“They probably already know.” Beckett had lived here long enough to know how fast word traveled on the island.

She turned to him with a playful smile. “Want to bet on that?”

“Absolutely.”

Jo opened the front door, letting her hand slide out of his as she entered. Beckett considered grabbing it again, but then he thought about facing Mr. Fletcher with Jo’s hand in his and changed his mind.

“We’re home,” Jo called in a subdued voice.

“Not bad,” Beckett whispered, but Jo shushed him.

“I’m afraid we have bad news.” She stepped into the kitchen, and Beckett followed.

Sam sat at the table in front of a pile of shaving cream, and Karen Stanley sat next to her. Mr. Fletcher sat at the end of the table, his posture rigid from the brace that wrapped around his back. Beckett straightened his own posture a little too.

All three of them grinned wildly.

“You won! You won!” Sam jumped up from the table, shaving cream coating her hands, and threw her arms around Jo, leaving foamy handprints on the sleeves of his sweatshirt, which she still wore.

“How did you know?” Jo cried.

“Told you,” Beckett exulted.

“Candi called,” Karen answered.

“I should have known.” Jo wiped at the shaving cream.

“You really should have,” Beckett said in mock seriousness. “Now you’ve lost our bet.”

“Good thing we never made a wager.” Jo smirked. “I say winner gets . . . shaving creamed.” She lunged toward him, clapping the foam onto his cheeks.

Sam howled, and Karen chortled.

Beckett could only stare at Jo in total, captivated surprise.

The sound of a throat clearing seemed to snap Jo back to herself, and Beckett hastily wiped the shaving cream off of his cheeks.

“Biggest fish ever in the Spectacular, huh?” Mr. Fletcher said, and Beckett could practically see the pride beaming from him toward his daughter. Beckett had never experienced anything like that, but he was glad suddenly that Jo had.

“How big was it?” Sam asked.

“Almost as big as you .” Beckett held his hands apart in an estimate. “They said it might be a new state record.”

“You have to tell us the whole story.” Karen gestured to the empty chairs at the table. “You know that’s half the fun of fishing.”

“Well.” Jo pulled out a chair and nodded to the one next to her.

“The first thing you should know,” Jo said, “is that Mr. Beckett was late.”

“I— What—” Beckett spluttered as he sat. “It was only a few minutes,” he tried to defend himself. “And it was because I was making lunch. For you ,” he added pointedly.

But Jo was laughing too hard to respond.

“Seems to me,” Mr. Fletcher cut in, “someone has forgotten what time she showed up for our first joint morning charter.”

“I was a kid then,” Jo protested.

But Beckett turned to her. “What time?”

She mumbled something.

“Sorry, I didn’t catch that.” Beckett cupped a hand around his ear and leaned toward her.

“Ten a.m.” Jo muttered.

Mr. Fletcher guffawed. “We were almost out and back by the time she got there.”

Beckett laughed, soaking in the easy family atmosphere. It felt foreign but also . . . like he belonged.

A big orange cat sprang onto his lap.

“Theo,” Jo scolded.

“It’s okay,” Beckett assured her. “I like cats.”

“No. I mean, he’s supposed to curl up on my lap,” Jo retorted. “He never goes by strangers.”

“Mommy, how many times do I have to tell you, Mr. Beckett isn’t a stranger?” Sam rolled her eyes as if she thought Jo would never get it, and Beckett shot her a grateful grin. It was good to have the little girl in his corner.

Beckett and Jo told the story of their big catch, filling in each other’s sentences and extending one another’s thoughts as if they had rehearsed it.

They finally drew their story to a close with their triumphant win—though they both left out the part where he picked her up and spun her around—and Jo told Sam it was time for bed.

“Goodnight, Mr. Beckett.” Sam slid off her chair and threw her arms around him as if that was part of her bedtime routine.

“Goodnight, Sammycakes.” Beckett squeezed her back, hoping Jo wouldn’t mind his use of her nickname for the girl. It had just come out. “Hey, I was thinking, how about a fishing theme for trunk-or-treat?”

Sam shook her head. “We did that last year.”

“Ah.” Beckett nodded. “I’ll keep thinking then.”

“Me too.” Sam waved and headed toward the stairs.

“I’ll be back in a few minutes.” Jo followed her daughter, and Beckett wondered if that was his invitation to leave—or to stay.

He was still debating as Jo and Sam disappeared up the stairs.

“I’d best be off.” Karen stood and wiped the shaving cream off the table. She rested a hand on Mr. Fletcher’s shoulder. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

Mr. Fletcher nodded, and Beckett was sure it must be a trick of the light that the older man’s cheeks suddenly seemed ruddier.

Beckett turned away so neither would see his smile, but when he turned back, Karen stood right in front of him.

“You keep on making those two smile.” She bobbed her head toward the stairs.

Before Beckett could splutter out an answer, she was gone.

Beckett slid his chair back, an attack of nerves suddenly telling him to run before Mr. Fletcher could react to Karen’s comment.

“Stay put,” Mr. Fletcher ordered, as if he could sense Beckett’s impending flight. “There’s something I want to say to you.”

Beckett swallowed. “Yes, sir.”

“You hurt my girl badly when you were younger.”

Beckett nodded. “I know. And I wish I could undo it every single day.”

Mr. Fletcher’s jaw was hard, but his eyes softened a little. “I believe people can change. And from what I can tell, you have. But I need to know that you’re not going to hurt my Jo again. Or Samantha.”

“Hurting either of them is the last thing I ever want to do,” Beckett answered honestly.

“Good.” Mr. Fletcher nodded as if satisfied. “Now, I have to tell you about the time my buddy and I caught two muskies at the same time.”

Beckett nodded, half listening to the story as he considered Mr. Fletcher’s demand. It was true that hurting Jo was the last thing he ever wanted to do. But he wasn’t going to be on the island for long. Was it fair to try to start a relationship with her when he knew he’d be leaving?

The sound of footsteps on the stairs drew his attention away from his thoughts, and he looked up just in time to catch Jo’s smile. “She wanted me to say goodnight to you. Again.”

Beckett grinned. “Say goodnight to her for me again.”

“Not gonna happen. I’ll tell her in the morning. Or you can tell her at church. She also wanted me to ask you to sit with us.”

Beckett felt like his heart was glowing bright enough that she could probably see it right through his shirt. “I would be honored.”

Jo was still smiling as she dropped back into her seat at the table. Mr. Fletcher continued his fish story, with Jo jumping in from time to time to keep him honest. And then they told another story. And another. Until the clock struck eleven.

“Oh my goodness.” Jo covered a yawn with her hand. “I didn’t realize how late it was. You should have told us to shut up hours ago. We must have bored you half to death with our stories.”

Beckett shook his head. He had savored every one of the fish tales. But it wasn’t only the stories. It was the way her dad teased her and the way she teased right back. It was the way they included him in the conversation. It was the way the cat curled up in his lap. The way they made him feel, just for a moment, like he was part of a family.

He got up reluctantly. “I should go. But I hope you’ll tell me more stories sometime.”

Mr. Fletcher grunted. “Be careful what you wish for.”

Jo slid her chair back. “I’ll walk you to the door.”

Beckett almost said he knew the way out but bit his tongue before he could say something so idiotic. He wasn’t about to pass up more time with her, even if it was only a few seconds.

Jo led the way to the door, pulling it open without hesitation, and Beckett’s heart slipped a little.

Was she that eager for him to leave?

He stepped outside. The night was dark, aside from the glow of the old-fashioned lamps along the sidewalk. A sharp wind sliced through Beckett’s shirt, and he shivered.

“Oh, here.” Jo started to slide her arm out of the sweatshirt she still wore. “I almost forgot.”

Beckett planted his hands on her upper arms to stop her from pulling it off. “You keep it on. I’ll be fine.”

“But—” Jo started to protest but then broke off, her eyes coming to his as he slid his hands up her arms to her shoulders.

“Beckett,” she whispered—but whatever else she said disappeared as their lips came together.

Beckett couldn’t have said whether it was his doing or hers. All he knew was that they should keep doing this forever. He let his hands slide to her back, drawing her closer to shelter her from the wind. But a wild gust blew her hair into their faces, and Jo pulled back with a gasp.

“I’m sorry.” She choked out the words between gulping breaths. “I didn’t mean to—”

Beckett reached for her hands. “I did.”

“But—”

“No buts.” Beckett brushed a soft kiss across her lips. “See you tomorrow?”

Jo nodded mutely, and Beckett turned and headed down the path.

When he reached the sidewalk, he lifted a hand to wave. She waved back, her hand still cloaked by his sweatshirt.