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Beau nodded. “Without a doubt.” He nudged the hose toward Mackey. “Hang on to that for a sec?”
Mackey took the hose and continued spraying the oysters, his aim not quite as accurate, as Beau walked to the edge of the concrete slab and retrieved the largest oyster of the batch.
Kit bit back a smile as Beau inspected the oyster, turned it over in his big palm, and brushed a glob of mud carefully off one edge of the shell. It seemed a futile effort, considering every inch of Beau was smeared with mud—including his hands.
“You know, I think that shell would’ve stayed cleaner if you’d left it right where it was,” Kit said.
Beau’s blue eyes settled on her, a mischievous spark in their depths. “Oh, you think so?”
“I do.” Kit gestured toward his tall frame, refusing to let her gaze linger on the way his damp jeans and T-shirt clung to his muscular girth.
An expression of mock affront appeared on his face as he spread his hands. “What exactly are you trying to say?” His sensual mouth turned up in a devilish grin. “Are you implying that I’m dirty and not suitable for polite society?”
Cal, carrying an armload of firewood, walked over to Kit’s side and laughed. “She’s saying you stink, Dad. Which you do.”
“So you want in on this, too, huh?” Beau held the oyster out to Mackey with one hand and motioned with his other. “Let’s swap, Mackey.”
Kit held up a hand as Mackey handed the hose to Beau. “Don’t you dare—”
Too late. A strong blast of water skimmed her belly and legs, sending a cold spray up to splash her face.
Squealing, Kit covered her face and doubled over, laughing. The stream of water left her and hit someone else. Cal whooped at her side, and firewood thumped to the ground by her feet. Seizing the moment, she shot forward, blinking hard through the water streaming down her face, and managed to make it to Beau and grab hold of the hose.
She wrestled with him as he chuckled, her hands slipping over his toned forearms and wet hands, until she secured a grip on the nozzle and turned it on him. Water shot everywhere—on his face, her hair, his chest, her legs—and Kit struggled to catch her breath. Her laughter and each cold burst of water against her bare skin left her breathless as Mackey and Cal cheered the water-soaked combatants.
The back door slammed. Royal walked out onto the back deck, a frown on his face.
Kit froze, her hands entwined with Beau’s around the hose, the stream of water still splashing against both of their chests. It was silly, really. She was a thirty-eight-year-old woman, completely entitled to decide how and with whom she spent her time. But the displeased look on Royal’s face made her feel about sixteen again.
She lowered the hose and aimed the water at the oysters piled on the concrete slab. Beau released her hands and straightened slowly, his smile fading.
“Can’t no one take a decent nap around here with all that noise,” Royal said.
“We got the oysters, Dad.” Mackey bounced in place, smiling and pointing at the harvest. “You come down and see what we got.”
Royal stomped down the steps of the back deck, walked across the backyard, and stood beside the pile of oysters.
“I got some,” Mackey continued, “Kit got some, and Cal got some. Beau got some, too.”
Royal propped his fists on his hips, studying Mackey’s smile, then the scattered bivalves, and narrowed his eyes at Beau. “You pried these out the mud? Took the time to fish ’em out that creek, instead of dumping ’em outta one of them cages of yours?”
Beau dragged a hand over his face and returned Royal’s hard stare, but his blond hair—now wet—stuck out in adorable tufts, ruining the effect. “I did, sir.”
Royal glanced at Cal, who stood shivering by the pile of scattered firewood. “You too?”
Cal shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans and nodded. “Yes, sir.”
“He found one almost big as mine,” Mackey shouted. He jogged over to Cal, grabbed his elbow, and tugged him across the grass toward the oyster pile. “Show my dad which one, Cal. Show him.”
Cal tugged one hand from his pocket, sneaked another glance at Royal, then picked an oyster up and held it out. “This was the biggest I found, sir.”
Royal took the oyster and turned it over a couple of times, weighing it in his palm. “Mighty fine,” he said softly.
“This Cal,” Mackey said, tugging Cal closer to Royal. “Not Cole. His name’s Cal, and he’s my friend. He’s gonna come over again, and I’m gonna go to his house one day.” He smiled at Cal, nodding eagerly. “Ain’t I? Ain’t we friends, Cal?”
Cal shoved his hand back in his pocket, still shivering, and smiled. “Yeah. We’re friends.”
Royal looked Cal over. “I expect you’ve caught a chill”—he glanced at Beau, his gaze hardening slightly—“seeing as how your dad hosed you down. You’re about my height. I got some dry clothes and a soda inside, if you’d care to come in with Mackey and dry off?”
