“Okay.”

When he pulled up at the house, Emma was true to her word. She unloaded the tools they’d bought and dug, literally, right in.

But plans to lure Laurel off for that long walk had to be postponed.

“Laurel went off with Parker. Shopping,” Jack told him. “Parker wanted some stuff for the house. She had a list. And there was talk about earrings. Mac’s in the pool, Carter’s down at the beach with one of his books, Mal’s somewhere. I’m about to head down there.”

“Did they say when they’d be back? Laurel and Parker?”

“Dude, they went shopping. It could be an hour or three or four days.”

“Right.”

“Problem?”

“No. No. Just wondering.”

Jack slid on his sunglasses. “Beach?”

“Yeah. I’ll come down in a bit.”

“I guess I have to see if Emma wants some help before I go down—thanks a lot for that.”

“Wait until the rest of it gets here. We didn’t have room for most of it.”

“Great.”

When they didn’t come back in an hour, he fought off the first prickles of irritation. He paced the deck, going over various possible scenarios in his head, as he would before going into court.

He heard Emma’s voice, Jack‘s, Carter’s, Mac’s, Mal’s—come and go. He spotted them on the beach, in the water, on the walkway. When he heard the group of them come in—probably digging up lunch—he went out for a solitary swim and more thinking.

As the afternoon wore on, he considered calling Laurel’s cell. He nearly gave in and did so when he finally saw Parker’s car turn in the drive.

He headed down while the two of them unloaded a mountain of shopping bags and giggled like a couple of kids with both hands in the cookie jar.

He had no excuse for it, but it annoyed the hell out of him.

“Oh, Emma, that looks fabulous!” Parker called out.

“It absolutely does, and I’m not nearly done.”

“Take a break. Come see what we got. We had the best time. Hey.” Laurel stopped to shoot a grin at Del. “Just in time to help haul all this stuff. And God, it’s way past time to start up the blender, because shopping’s made us thirsty for beach margaritas.”

“I was starting to get worried.” He heard the tone of his own voice, nearly winced.

“Oh, don’t fuss, Daddy. Haul.” She pushed bags at him. “Em, we found the most amazing gift shop. We have to go back!”

“You mean they have something left?” Mal wandered over to take some bags.

“I think we hit every shop within fifty miles, but we left a few things behind. Don’t look so put out.” Laurel laughed at Del. “I bought you something.”

With no choice, he carried bags upstairs. And had to stand back while the women tore into them to show off their scores.

“Why don’t we take a walk on the beach?” he asked Laurel.

“Are you kidding? I’ve walked a half a million miles. Must have margarita. Who’s in charge of the blender?” she called out.

“Got that covered.” Mal headed off to the kitchen.

Del shot Emma a look, hopeful for a little help. She merely shrugged and went back to admiring the take.

Payback, he thought.

“Here.” Laurel offered him a box. “A memento.”

Since he couldn’t beat them, Del settled down.

“A sun catcher,” she told him when he opened it. “Recycled beach glass.” She reached out to finger one of the smooth, colored shards. “I thought you might like to hang it in your place—to bring back good times.”

“It’s great.” He tapped a piece so several danced and clicked together. “It really is. Thanks.”

“I got a smaller one for my sitting room. Couldn’t resist.”

They drank margaritas, talked about dinner. He couldn’t budge her.

Patience, he reminded himself.

He managed to take his own advice until nearly sunset.

“Walk. Beach. You and me.” He grabbed her hand, pulled her toward the door.

“But we’re going to—”

“Later.”

“Pushy,” she said, but linked her fingers with his. “And God, it does feel great out here. Look at the sky. I guess I owe the beach a visit since I spent most of the day shopping.” She flicked a finger at her newest earrings. “But now I have such pretty things to remind me of these two weeks. When we’re socked in next winter, I’ll be able to look around and say, summer’s coming back.”

“I want you to be happy.”

“Right now, your wish, my command. I am happy.”

“I need to talk to you, to ask you something.”

“Sure.” She turned, walking backward to look up at the house. “Emma was right about the plants, the grasses.”

“Laurel, I need you to pay attention.”

She stopped. “All right. What’s wrong?”

“I’m not entirely sure. I need you to tell me.”

“Then nothing’s wrong.”

“Laurel.” He took both her hands. “You didn’t tell me that Linda came at you about me. About you and me.” He felt her hands go rigid in his.

“I told you I dealt with Linda. Emma had no right to—”

“Not her fault. I maneuvered it out of her. She thought you’d told me the whole story. And you should have. More, Laurel, much more, you should’ve told me you felt any part of what she said might be true. If I’ve done or said anything to make you think that way—”

“You haven’t. Let’s forget it.”

“No.” He tightened his grip when she would’ve pulled her hands free. “She hurt you, and indirectly so did I. I can’t forget I had any part in hurting you.”

“Forget it, Del. Absolved. I don’t want to talk about Linda.”

“We’re not. We’re talking you and me. Damn it, Laurel, can’t you be straight with me? Can’t we be straight with each other?”

“I am. I said it’s nothing.”

“It’s not. It’s damn well not when you get so twisted up when I offer to pay for some damn groceries. Or a cake I’ve asked you to bake. It’s not about that either, but what’s under it.”