The Beach House by Georgia Bockoven Page B

The beach was crowded, and it took Chris several minutes to find Janice. She was standing in the surf, her hands open at her sides as if trying to stop the incoming waves. In the week and a half she’d been there, Janice had picked up a tan—which wasn’t surprising, considering the hours she and Tracy had lain in the sun. While her skin had darkened, her hair seemed lighter, as if some gold were now mixed in with the brown.
    Chris supposed she was pretty in a cheerleader kind of way. Not the sort that usually appealed to him—in anyone but Tracy, of course. Tracy was the exception to every rule he lived by, someone so special that she wasn’t held to any standards.
    In the ordinary world, Chris liked girls who didn’t worry what the wind would do to their hair if someone rolled down the window in the car, a girl who wore makeup to a party but didn’t worry about it at the beach. He scanned Janice’s near naked body and added mentally—a girl who wore suits they actually could swim in. Most important, he wanted a girl who could beat him at something besides television trivia.
    Chris came up to stand beside Janice. “So now that you’ve been here a while, have you changed your mind?”
    Janice didn’t show surprise at finding him there. “About the ocean?”
    The question puzzled him. What else could he have been talking about? “Yeah.”
    â€œI love it more every day.” She rocked up on her toes when a late-breaking wave sent the water rushing up her thighs. “I’m starting to feel pretty selfish about it, though. I resent the other people hanging around my beach.” She gave him a sheepish grin. “I want this place all to myself.”
    With Tracy he would have figured it was her way of telling him to get lost. He didn’t get the same feeling with Janice. “You have to get up pretty early to—”
    â€œI know.”
    He eyed her. “You do?”
    â€œJust before sunrise is the best time. No one is up yet, or if they are, they aren’t on the beach. There isn’t any music or kids screaming, or parents hollering, just the sound of the birds and waves.” She scooped up a handful of water and let it drain through her fingers.
    â€œDo you come alone?”
    She laughed. “Get serious. David Beckham couldn’t get Tracy out of bed at that hour.”
    â€œYou shouldn’t, you know.”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œIt just doesn’t seem like a very smart thing to take off alone that way.” He was automatically repeating a warning he’d heard given to every girl and woman he knew.
    â€œI refuse to live my life being afraid,” she said. “That doesn’t mean I’m going to be stupid. There are a whole lot of places in St. Louis I wouldn’t go by myself at night, but they’re places my brothers wouldn’t go, either.”
    â€œStill, I’d go with you if—”
    â€œI don’t need a bodyguard, Chris. I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”
    â€œThat’s not what I meant. I like the beach when it’s empty, too.”
    She turned to look at him. “Then how come I never see you here?”
    â€œI go at night. After everyone else is in bed.”
    â€œDoes your mother know?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œI didn’t think so.”
    â€œWhat’s that supposed to mean?”
    â€œTracy said Margaret keeps a really tight rein on you since your dad left.”
    He didn’t like knowing he was being talked about, even if it was Tracy doing the talking. “Well, she’s wrong.”
    â€œCome on, Chris. I’ve seen how your mother controls you. All it takes is a look and you’re right there doing the dishes or going to the store. I’ll bet she’s the one who sent you down here after me.”
    â€œSo what?” What right did she have to judge him or his mother? “She cares what