His deep voice surrounds me, all lush heat and promise. “Now, I can see you’ve been thinking things through in that suspicious brain of yours, maybe coming to a few realizations you didn’t expect, and it’s throwing you for a loop. So I’m going to ignore the rudeness because I was where you were earlier, and it’s no picnic.” Grim humor curls his lips before they soften. He dips closer and speaks just above a whisper. “Let me know when you’ve figured shit out. I’ll be waiting.”

With that enigmatic statement, he straightens and walks off, leaving me frowning up at the clear blue sky. I can’t settle down. His words have kicked up my heart rate, and the anxious tightening in my belly has returned tenfold. I might have been able to remain on the lounger, stewing in my thoughts, only I spot Macon heading toward the rough stone stairs that lead to the beach.

“Of all the stupid . . .” I grab my T-shirt and put it on before scrambling off the lounger. He’s a little less than halfway down when I finally catch up to him. The stairs are fairly wide and set at a forty-five degree angle along the cliff face. But they are also roughly carved and have hidden slick spots where the sea spray has hit them. “What the hell are you doing?”

Macon glances over his shoulder as he hobbles down another step. “The Pachanga. What does it look like I’m doing?”

I hustle down the stairs until I’m behind him. “It looks like you’re being a complete idiot.”

“You say the sweetest things, Tot. Really.” He keeps creeping down the stairs, his cane at the edge of the stone. The sight nearly gives me vertigo.

“Macon, you could fall, and you’re busted up enough as it is, don’t you think?”

“Hell, the boot comes off tomorrow. I’m just taking a little walk to get some air.”

“Take it tomorrow, then.”

“I’m not going to fall.” His foot wobbles, and he halts to shoot me an accusatory look, as if I somehow caused it. “Unless you’ve come to tell me you figured out what I already know or have the sudden urge to take a walk with me on the beach, quit hovering.”

“Quit speaking in riddles. It’s annoying.”

“Quit being obtuse,” he counters. “It doesn’t suit you.”

“Why don’t you quit being stubborn.” At the small landing, I scramble around him, skirting the edge of the stone, and hop down on the stair in front of him.

Macon utters a ripe curse. “You call me stubborn. You could have fallen just then.”