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“Without you?”
“Yes ma’am. She has her own beautiful little girl now.” He reached out and brushed a strand of hair from Arabella’s face.
“I bet she misses her old life,” she told him wisely. “Mama does. Sometimes in the morning, I go into her room, and she’s awake, but her eyes are closed. When I ask her what she’s doing, she says she’s imagining her old life and what she’d be doing now.”
Ian’s breath caught in his lungs. When he’d first arrived on the island, he’d assumed Cameron had healed and moved on. But despite her brief relationship with Keso, and the life they’d created, she was as stuck in the past as him.
“I think she had an almost-husband,” the girl continued. “I heard her talking about him to Keke. Sometimes Keke gets upset because Mama still loves him.”
“I don’t think your mama would want you telling me that. You’re probably not supposed to listen in when she and your dad talk.”
Arabella shrugged, unconcerned with what she was supposed to do. “I wish Mama would have a baby in her tummy like your almost-wife.”
Him too. He’d like nothing more than to take Cameron and Arabella home with him and fill their apartment with babies. For the rest of their lives, they’d cram all the love and happiness they’d missed out on in the past into the years ahead of them. But Cam had made it clear she’d never go back. Her life was here now. With Ara.
“She’s a pretty great mom, isn’t she?”
Ara nodded. “The best. I bet you’d be a pretty great daddy too.”
Cameron had said the same thing when he’d told her how scared and worried he’d been about fatherhood. Somehow, coming from the mini philosopher, he almost believed it.
“So, is our little patient ready to go home?”
“Mommy,” Ara cried.
Cameron walked around and sat on the other side of her daughter’s bed. Ara launched herself at her mother, who pulled her in for a tight hug. Over the girl’s head, Cam’s gaze met his. Her eyes didn’t match the cheerful tone in her voice. Tears swam within, making them darker, sadder. Had she heard his conversation with Arabella? Was she upset about the things her daughter shared?
“Are you giving Dr. Ian a hard time?”
“No ma’am.” The girl pulled away from her mother, appalled she would even ask something so absurd. “Dr. Ian loves me. I’m his favorite patient.”
Cameron’s brow rose at this information. She looked at him with something akin to a smile. “He told you that, did he?”
“No,” the girl replied, “but I can tell.”
He couldn’t help the grin that split his face, or the way it grew when Cameron smiled in return. Rolling her eyes, she began raising her daughter’s gown so they could inspect the stitches along her side.
As he bent for a closer look, Ara asked, “Am I going to have a scar like Mommy?”
His gaze darted to Cameron as her daughter continued chatting. Cam’s jaw was clenched so tightly, he could see a muscle thumping. She averted her eyes, refusing to look at him.
“Maybe a small one. You shouldn’t have too much of one to worry about.”
The girl’s little face slumped. “I like Mommy’s scars. They’re pretty.”
He stared at Cameron. Her jaw trembled and her nostrils flared.
He’d seen the scars on her front the night before as she’d shown Esme where a doctor had cut her skin to deliver Arabella. He’d yet to see those on her back up close, but he’d felt the glossy edge of them the night before. Each scar reminded him of her strength. And her strength was beautiful. Tears burned in his eyes. “I’m sure they are. Everything about your mommy is beautiful. Especially her little girl.” He tapped her nose with his index finger, earning a giggle.
He sat back, motioning for Cameron to replace Ara’s gown. “Looks like you’re ready to go home,” he informed her.
Clapping, Ara leaned against her pillows. “Thank you, Dr. Ian.”
“You’re welcome. Thank you for being such a great patient. Now go home and listen to your mom and dad.”
Before he could stand, she threw her little body against his, wrapping her arms around his neck. He pulled her close, soaking up the comfort of her pure and innocent gesture. Now that she was well, he had one less reason to stay.
* * *
Cameron gave Arabella one last kiss on her forehead, then tiptoed out of the room, closing the door behind her. Through the window, she spotted Keso sitting in one of the porch chairs, staring out at the night.
Joining him on the porch, she leaned against the post. “You’re thinking pretty hard.”
“Am I?” He leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees, and kneading the knuckles of one hand with the other.
Early in their relationship, she’d picked up on this habit. It usually meant he was worried and fighting with his decisions. Sighing, she pushed away from the post and went to sit on the wood porch at his feet. She looked up into his handsome face. “What is it?”
He shook his head, making his unruly blond curls bounce. “You don’t want to hear it.”
“Keso.” Scooting closer to him, she took his hands in her own, forcing him to look at her instead of his fists. “Tell me.”
His eyes met hers, and in the fading light she could just barely make out the pale green ringing the black before he looked away and shook his head.
“Since when can’t you talk to me?” Her voice was almost a whisper. “We’ve always shared everything.”
Finally, he sighed. “Victor Roberts isn’t going to forget about you and Ara.”
Her stomach dropped. She’d known whatever bothered him would involve the other man.
“He’s gone back to the big island. He’s staying at his house for the next week.”
Closing her eyes, she dropped his hands. “And what do you plan to do with that information?” Swallowing, she tried to force back the fear of what he likely planned to do.
“Kill him if I can.” Keso shrugged as if he weren’t talking about the life of another human being. Of course, to him, Victor Roberts was no more human than the sharks that were caught and killed in the sea surrounding their island.
She scoffed. “You can’t kill him.” Her words sounded light-hearted, as if she thought he were joking, but inside, her heart beat like a drum.
Shoving up from the chair, he stalked away from her. “Leave him alone, Doc? Really?” he yelled before catching himself and looking back to the house to make sure Arabella hadn’t heard him. “He’s set his sights on you. On Ara . . . He knows.”
She jumped to her feet. “He doesn’t know anything. Maybe he suspects, but he doesn’t have any proof. There’s nothing—”
“He doesn’t have to have proof. He’s Victor Roberts.”
“Then we’ll fight. But you can’t just go off and kill the man, Keso. You’re better than that. Than him.”
Shaking his head, he turned away from her. “Look where that’s gotten me.”
He spoke so low, she barely heard him. She probably should’ve pretended she hadn’t, but with Keso, she never seemed to do the right thing.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
