Page 40 of Hearts Aweigh

A BBY EXITED THE TENT AND glanced at Spencer for the umpteenth time. She studied his slumped shoulders. He was a man who always said the proper words, did the proper thing, and stood the proper way. But not tonight. After his conversation with Daisy, he looked even more like a lost little boy.

Her toes twitched in her sneakers. She wanted to go over and talk to him, comfort him, find out what was wrong. But she didn’t dare. He wouldn’t welcome the intrusion. Her job was taking care of the daughter, not the father.

So instead, Abby wandered to where Gerry, Althea, and Emily sat by the faux campfire.

Gerry shivered. “Why is this Caribbean cruise so cold?”

“Saints preserve us, if it ain’t herself,” Seamus said, approaching with a cup of hot chocolate. He extended it to Gerry. “Would you care for some tasty sustenance with marshmallows?”

“No, thank you.” She made no move to take the cup. “Drinking too much is a bad idea. The bathrooms aren’t conveniently located.”

“Ah yes.” His smile drooped. “My mistake, sorry.”

Seamus walked away, and Althea poked a finger in Gerry’s side. “Why you gotta be so harsh, baby? It’s obvious the man fancies you.”

“Then it’s better not to encourage his futile aspirations.”

Emily thrust out her chin. “Why ‘futile’? He might be your Mr. Right.”

“I spent the better part of seventy years imagining Mr. Right. And in all those daydreams, I never once crouched down to kiss him.” Gerry fussed with her spectacles. “Does that sound shallow?”

“Yes,” said Emily.

“Not to me.” Abby swooped her hand from head to toe. “I relate with the height issue, although I’m coming at it from the opposite direction. Men are too short for you. They’re too tall for me.” She sank to the deck and sat cross-legged. “Either way, it’s a problem.”

“Come on, Gerry.” Althea draped an arm around her friend’s stiff frame. “Give the magician a chance. He’s adorable.”

Gerry shrugged away from the embrace. “Do you know how many times I’ve been called a beanpole? People don’t comprehend how embarrassing it is for me to stand next to a shorter man. It plays into my old insecurities.”

“Too bad. Seamus is a sweetheart.” Abby lifted her palm to stall Gerry’s protest. “But I get it. You don’t think of him that way, no matter how great he is. It’s like me and Spencer.”

“Spencer?” Emily bent closer. “How do you mean?”

“He’s good-looking, industrious, intelligent.” Abby checked on the man she was describing. As always, he was observing Maddie, protecting her from a distance. “Kind.”

Althea’s jaw dropped. “You reckon that boy’s kind?”

“Not in an obvious way.” Abby grinned. “You have to get past the stuck-up Southern aristocrat shell, but inside he’s very caring. You should’ve seen him with his daughter when I took them on the ropes course. The way he spread out his arms as he followed her.”

“I’ve heard of the type,” Gerry said. “Helicopter parents. Always hovering.”

“No. I know all about helicopter parents. He’s something different.” Abby searched for the best explanation. “He’s like a … an undercover guardian angel. It’s sad.”

“Sad?” Emily said. “How so?”

“Madeleine craves love and attention more than anything.” Abby caught a strand of hair and twirled it around her fingers. “But she’s too young to recognize the many ways her father takes care of her. If he showed his affection more, I bet she would open up.”

Daisy joined them and settled in an empty chair. She laid her hands on the armrests, a queen on a collapsible throne. Her lips parted as she watched Madeleine at play in the tent. “Abby, thank you for taking such good care of my granddaughter. I can already mark a difference in her.”

“The pleasure’s mine. Maddie’s easy to love.”

“She’s such a dear.” Emily shook her head. “How can her mother bear to be apart?”

“It’s better for Madeleine that her mother remains aloof.

” Daisy’s mouth pinched. “Priscilla was never the nurturing type. She was only able to get the divorce because my son supported her decision. Usually, once you’re part of the Masterson dynasty, there’s no getting out.

Any whiff of divorce, and the whole brood descends to explain why you can’t bring shame on the family name. ”

Althea shivered. “You make it sound like the mafia.”

“They possess more similarities than you might imagine.” Daisy reached over and took Abby’s hand. “Please forgive me if this is an uncomfortable question, but … are you interested in my son?”

“Interested?”

“In a romantic way.”

“What?” Abby’s eyes jerked to where Spencer sat. Even though he was far away, she still lowered her voice. “Not in the least.” She yanked her hand from Daisy’s. “I’m his nanny—his daughter’s na—You know what I mean.” She sprang from the floor. “Would you excuse me? I need a bathroom break.”

Yip. Yip. Yip.

A woman chased her noisy beagle across the deck. The playful puppy dashed among the chairs, knocking over camping trays and water bottles. When his owner cornered him, he howled with abandon.

A frustrated sigh rattled in Spencer’s throat. He buried his hands in his pockets and reminded himself his daughter was happy. Giggles carried from the tent where she played with her friend. It made the cold and the noise and the lack of work worth it.

Abby approached him, and he stood from his camping chair.

She pointed at the tent. “Could you please watch Maddie? I need to visit the restroom.”

“Of course.”

He sank back to the chair and stared into the cellophane flames of the giant fake campfire. The heart-to-heart with Daisy had drained the energy from his body. He didn’t have the brain space to process all he’d learned from his mother and Althea.

A forceful wind ravaged the site. It howled louder than the dogs as canvas flaps rattled. He cast a glance at Madeleine’s tent and shot to his feet.

It was empty.

Spencer raced to the tent and ducked inside. The girls were nowhere to be seen, but the hugger had left her purse by the wall. The two beanbag chairs sat desolate except for a lump of blankets in the one where Madeleine had sat. The blankets rustled, and a small foot poked from the bottom.

“Madeleine?”

Two watery blue eyes lifted above the blanket, and his heart started to beat again.

Spencer released a breath and knelt by the chair. “Are you okay?”

She shook her head back and forth.

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s scary. Over there. The eyes are watching me.”

She pointed a shaky finger at the floor. Spencer squinted into the golden twinkle-light shadows.

Nothing.

“I don’t think—”

Croak.

Spencer looked again. Two luminescent dots stared back at him from the rainbow netting on the other girl’s purse. It appeared bow-wow-wow-wow glamping was for all kinds of pets.

He turned to his daughter. “Are you afraid of the frog?”

Her head bobbed, the blankets still covering half her face.

“Hold on.” Spencer rose and approached the unwelcome visitor.

“Careful,” Madeleine said. “It might bite.”

He smiled. It was his first time playing the rescuing knight against the big bad dragon. Spencer picked up the purse. The frog made a noise somewhere between a croak and a squawk.

“Yeah, I don’t like you much either.” Spencer peered through the netting and into the beady, reflective eyes. He turned to Madeleine, ready to show off his conquest, but her head had disappeared under the blankets again.

Spencer didn’t move. “Would you like me to take him outside?”

“Yes, please,” came the muffled voice.

He took the frog out of the tent and hesitated. What should he do with it? He was tempted to dump it over the side of the boat, but who knew if it would survive the drop? Besides, its owner would be heartbroken when she found her beloved pet missing.

“Dwight!” The brunette hug monster skipped over. “There you are.”

Spencer gladly passed the purse to her and returned to the tent. Madeleine was sitting in the beanbag chair with her knees hugged to her chest.

He stopped in front of her. “Is that better?”

Madeleine shrugged.

He ran a hand through his hair. “Okay … I guess … I’ll go back outside.”

A whimper stopped him.

Spencer tamped down his impatience. Most parents complained because their children wouldn’t stop talking.

He lowered the tent flaps to block out the other passengers and approached his daughter in much the same way he had the frog.

Quietly. Not wanting to spook her. He lowered himself to the empty beanbag.

Should he pat her back? Hug her? Tell her not to be frightened?

Where was Abby? He needed an expert opinion.

Spencer cleared his throat. “I put the frog outside. You’re safe now.”

“I’m scared.” The tremor in his daughter’s voice pricked his heart.

“Scared of what?”

The wind kicked up, and Madeleine’s head jerked. “It might come back.”

“You don’t like frogs?”

“One time,” she tugged a blanket closer, “when I was little—”

Spencer pressed his lips together. It wouldn’t be right to laugh at his grown-up five-year-old daughter. Not when she was confiding in him.

“A frog jumped on my arm.”

He shifted his body so he could see her better. “Where were you?”

“In the park, with Nanny Margaret.”

“And she didn’t help you?”

“She was on the phone.”

His jaw clenched. Why were all these expensive, highly vetted governesses so undependable?

He forced his mind back to the present moment and his frightened daughter.

How could he set her mind at ease? From somewhere deep in his subconscious surfaced a childhood memory of someone holding him and singing a silly song.

He couldn’t recall who it was, but he remembered feeling comforted. It was worth a shot.

“I know the perfect thing to do when you’re scared.” Spencer reached over and patted her silky hair twice. Awkward. He dropped his hand back on his lap.

Her rounded eyes stared up at him. “What?”

“Sing a song. Do you like to sing?”

Her lips pursed, and her nose scrunched. “I don’t know.”

“Would you like to try?”

“Yes.” Madeleine blinked. “Which song?”

It was one question after another. Why was this parenting thing so hard? He tried to remember a children’s song. Any song. What was the one about the rain?

“Ah”—he slapped his knee with his hand—“I’ve got it.” Spencer cleared his throat and looked around the tent. “ Frog … frog … ” Please, God, don’t let anyone outside hear me. “ Go away. ”

Changing an old nursery rhyme to fit the situation. Not bad, Masterson.

“ Don’t come back another day. ”

A giggle shook Madeleine. He’d never felt so relieved to hear someone laugh at him.

Spencer grinned and sang louder. “ Frog, frog, go away. ”

He lifted his arm and gently cradled his daughter. Her body tensed and then relaxed. She cuddled against his side. Her soft voice joined his, and they sang together.

“ Don’t come back another day. ”

His voice cracked, but he kept going. Abby better be somewhere out of earshot. He didn’t need any witnesses.

Abby crouched outside the tent flap. The puddle of goo that was once her heart splashed inside of her.

Who knew a late-night trip to the bathroom would cause such adorable father-daughter bonding?

She clapped a hand over her mouth as Spencer’s voice warbled.

Ignoring the pitch issues, this was the sweetest song she’d ever heard.

A blast of cold air hit the back of her neck. Tent flaps rustled in the darkness. She pulled the hood of her sweatshirt over her head, crossed her arms, and wrapped her hands around her elbows.

The singing stopped.

If the ever-proper Mr. Masterson caught her, he wouldn’t be happy. Abby pivoted. She tiptoed away and hurried outside the circle of tents. Spencer emerged, spotted her in the darkness, and walked over.

Abby smiled. “Hello, boss. Did anything happen while I was gone?”

A gust tumbled a thatch of his dark hair, and he pushed it away. “Madeleine spotted a frog in her room and wasn’t happy about it.”

“Ah yes. Dwight.” She laughed. “Good thing you were nearby. How did you calm her?”

“Just”—Spencer coughed—“a little parental know-how.”

Abby kept a straight face. “Good work.”

The moonlight illuminated the area behind the tents, but the lights and noise and pet people remained around the campfire.

Another forceful wind whooshed and blew Abby’s hood from her head. Her tangled curls swirled around her face. She grabbed the tousled mess and tried to tame it. Every time she grasped a new strand, another would fly from her hand.

Spencer stepped close. He reached with both hands and pulled the hood up.

“Thanks,” she said.

Abby tried to step away, but his hands continued to hold the hood, immobilizing her. She looked up at him. Without her high heels, his face was a long distance away. Spencer stared down. He tugged, and she stumbled forward until there was barely an inch between their bodies.

Abby tilted all the way back to see him. She licked her lips. “Did … did you need something?”