Authors: Jan Hudson
“I suppose my education is sadly
lacking. I’ve done my share of dog shows and ribbon cuttings, but I’ve never
ridden an elephant to the circus.”
“Give it time, kid.”
“I’m not a kid. I’ve been a
reporter for four years.”
He held back a chuckle. “That
long, huh?”
She lifted her chin and puckered
her lips, trying, he assumed, to show her annoyance. She only succeeded in
looking cute and kissable. “I know that I don’t have as much experience as you
do,” she said, “but I’m getting there.” She focused her attention on the
hotels, condominiums, and beach houses sprawled along the northern end of the
island. Her pique lasted only a moment, and then she turned back to him, as
eager and fresh-faced as ever. “Tell me about your experiences in
Iran
and
Bangladesh
.
Was it exciting to report on wars and monsoons in such exotic places?”
He grimaced at the montage of
memories that flashed through his mind: smells of arms fire and destruction,
sights of maimed and bloated bodies, mewling cries of homeless children with
distended bellies, the acrid taste of horror and despair. “I hope you never
have to find out. I’d rather talk about camels and elephants.”
She reached over and touched his
arm. His biceps bunched at the contact. Her hand was small and soft and
comforting. “Was it bad?” she asked quietly.
“Worse than you can ever
imagine. You’re better off sticking to the weather and heritage society
functions.”
“Hoaglin, I’m tougher than I
look.”
She removed her hand, and he
gritted his teeth to keep from asking her to touch him again. It was a shame
that he’d be here for only two weeks. He frowned at the thought. Hell no, it
was a good thing he’d be here for only two weeks. Much longer and he’d start
going soft and losing his edge. He’d set his course years ago, and there was no
place in it for someone like Sunny Larkin, who despite her protests was a
kitten in his world of tigers.
They stopped and paid at the
park entrance, then both were quiet as the car sped along the flat road of
Padre Island National Seashore, the mid-part of the long barrier island
unspoiled by development and noted for its birds and beaches. High grassy
dunes, white and wind-rippled, hid the waters of the Gulf on their left and
Laguna Madre on their right.
“You want to stop at Malaquite?”
Kale asked, naming the beach where the visitors’ center was located.
Sunny shook her head. “Too
crowded. Let’s drive as far as we can.”
They drove until the road ended
at
South
Beach
, then continued a few miles over the packed sand of
the Gulf shore, passing rows of trailers and RVs, families on outings, and
groups of teenagers cavorting in and around the water. Kale stopped on a
deserted stretch where railroad vine and knee-high grass grew over the dunes
and shells littered the beach.
“This okay?” he asked. “It’s
about as far as we can go without getting into the four-wheel-drive area.”
“Perfect.” She dug into her tote
bag and pulled out the sunscreen. She grinned and held it up. “Bet you thought
I’d forget. Want me to do you?”
He plucked the bottle from her
fingers and muttered, “I’ll do it.”
While he applied the lotion,
Sunny grabbed her yellow straw hat and two plastic bags for shells. She got out
of the car and walked to the edge of the beach, watching the waves roll in,
listening to the rushing sounds of the water and its subtle changes as it
washed the shore, breathing in the fresh, salty air. She closed her eyes and
lifted her chin to relish the warmth of the sun and the play of the cooling
breeze against her face and neck. She flung out her arms, wanting to hug the
wind.
Sensing Kale’s presence beside
her, she laughed. “Isn’t it glorious?”
“Glorious.”
She turned to him, and her
laughter faded. His gaze wasn’t focused on the water. His sunglasses glittered
with her reflection. Even though she couldn’t see his eyes, she could feel
their intensity capture her, stroke her. Her breath caught, and a momentary
weakness washed over her as if she’d been caught by a wave.
She shook off the feeling,
laughed nervously, and thrust a plastic bag in his hands. “This is yours.”
“What are we looking for?”
“Good specimens. Anything
unusual. I don’t really know much about shells. One of my nieces has a passion
for them, and I’m collecting enough to fill a treasure chest for her birthday.”
“A treasure chest?” he asked
incredulously.
She chuckled. “Only a small
treasure chest. About so big.” With her hands, she measured the size of a shoe
box. “The best time to go shelling is after a storm or in winter, but her
birthday is only two weeks away. I already have some collected, and if we can’t
find enough today, I’ll fudge and buy the rest.”
For about an hour they walked
along the beach, examining and discarding most of what they found.
“I’m about ready for a beer and
that hot dog you promised me,” Kale said.
Sunny swiped at her damp
forehead and fanned her face with her hat. “Me too.”
They walked back to where the
car was parked and dug a shallow pit in the sand for the grilling fire. While
Kale lit briquettes they’d dumped in the hole, Sunny took two beers from the
cooler, spread towels in the shade of a dune, and sat cross-legged on one of
them.
Kale dropped down beside her and
plucked a can from her hand. He popped the top and took a swallow, then rolled
the can over his forehead. “Man, that’s good. I’ve seen the time I’d have paid
a hundred bucks for an icy-cold beer.”
“On assignment?”
“Lots of places I’ve been didn’t
have ice or beer. Most of the time I was damned lucky to have tepid bottled
water to drink. At least I didn’t get cholera or dysentery.”
“Sounds grim.”
“Foreign news events don’t
always develop near a luxury hotel.”
Sunny had the strangest urge to
smooth the lines on his brow with her thumb and stroke his rumpled hair.
Instead she took a sip of beer. “Where are you going when you leave Corpus?”
He shrugged. “It depends on what’s
happening in two weeks. Could be anywhere.” He stretched out sideways on the
beach towel and propped his head on his hand. “Tell me about this niece we’re
collecting shells for.”
She smiled, thinking about her. “She’s
eight, the daughter of my oldest sister, and my namesake.”
“You have another Sunny in the
family?”
“No, my name is really
Virginia
.”
He scanned her face and frowned.
“
Virginia
doesn’t suit you. Why are you called Sunny?”
“Because I was such a happy
baby. My dad started calling me Little Miss Sunshine, which got shortened to
Sunny, and it stuck. I’ve always been cheerful.” She rolled her eyes at him. “Unlike
some people I could name.”
“We can’t all be cheerleaders,
Little Miss Sunshine.”
“I was never a cheerleader,” she
informed him.
“Why not? You’re a natural for
jumping around and shaking pom-poms at the Friday night football games.”
“Shows what you know. On Friday
nights I was too busy making hot dogs and hamburgers at the local Dairy Queen.
With six kids in the family, everybody had to help if we wanted school clothes
and food on the table.” She jumped up. “Speaking of food, the coals should be
ready. I’m starved.”
* * *
After they’d eaten and had
another beer, they expanded their exploration in a direction different from the
one they’d tried earlier, walking a mile or more south of the car.
“Oh, look,” she squealed,
kneeling in the sand. “We’ve hit pay dirt.” She picked up several shells and
added them to her bag. They gathered specimens for another half hour, walking
farther south in their search.
“How about this one?” Kale held
out his hand to show her his find.
“Oh, it’s a sand dollar, and it’s
absolutely perfect. I wish we had time to look for more, but we’d better go
back to the car. We’ve come a long way, and it’s going to start raining in a
few minutes.”
He looked up at the placid sky
and frowned. “It’s not going to rain.”
“Yes, it is. Trust me.”
“It’s
not
going to rain.
I checked with the Weather Service. Let’s see if we can find another sand
dollar.”
“But, Kale—”
He glowered at her.
She shrugged. “If you don’t mind
getting wet, I certainly won’t melt, but I’d hate for the inside of the
convertible to get soggy.”
“It’s
not
going to rain.”
“That’s not what my ear says,”
she mumbled, tugging at her left lobe.
“Your
ear
? What does your
ear have to do with anything?”
She sighed. “Never mind.”
“No, I want to know exactly what
in the hell you’re—”
A sudden hard gust caught her
hat and snatched it from her head. “My hat!” she yelped, making a grab for it.
“I’ll get it,” Kale yelled, but
it sailed past him. He thrust his bag of shells into her hand, ran, and lunged
for the tumbling straw, but another gust lifted it and swept it toward the
dunes.
They both scuttled up the high
sandbank after it. Kale made a flying tackle, but the wind whisked the elusive
quarry from his grasp, and he landed on his face. He cursed, spit sand, and
shoved himself to his feet.
“There it goes!” Sunny shouted,
laughing and tearing up the crest of another dune.
The yellow straw hat seemed
alive, playing tag like a mischievous fairy, waiting for them to catch up, then
soaring away as they neared.
They spied the yellow rascal at
the top of another dune, caught in a bit of vine with chiffon streamers
fluttering in the breeze, teasing and taunting.
“I’ve got you now,” Kale ground
out, muttering curses and scrambling up the embankment with Sunny on his heels.
Just as the wind tugged it free,
he sprang and pounced on the mocking culprit, trapping it like a loose
football. Sunny stumbled over him, lost her balance, and started to fall. He
grabbed for her, and they both slipped in the shifting sand and went rolling
down the side of the dune in a wild tumble of flailing arms and legs, lost
sunglasses, and spilled shells.
When they came to rest, she
found herself sprawled atop Kale, thigh to thigh, chest to chest, nose to nose.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“Fine. You?”
“Intact.” He reached and slowly
dragged out the straw hat, which was crushed between them. “Your chapeau,
mademoiselle.” He plopped the bedraggled thing on the back of her head.
With its crown smashed, it
promptly slid off.
Her lips twitched. “I think it’s
dead.”
Bubbles of mirth caught in her
throat and exploded. The corners of his eyes crinkled. One side of his mouth
lifted in a lopsided grin. They both broke into gales of laughter.
Shoulders shaking, Sunny buried
her forehead in the crook of his neck. His arms went around her, and she could
feel the laughter heaving his chest against hers as he held her close, could
sense the rumble of the sound against her nose.
She could smell the delicious
sun-warmed scent of his skin mingled with the lingering redolence of lotion and
spicy after-shave. Without her thinking, the tip of her tongue went out to
taste the enticement of his throat.
His laughter stopped. They grew
still. His body tensed beneath hers. Then his fingers moved ever so slightly in
slow strokes below her shoulder blades.
She lifted her face and looked
at him. His eyes glinted with a sensual awareness as potent as a riptide. Her
breath caught as the power of it engulfed her. She couldn’t think; she couldn’t
move.
He closed his eyes, clenched his
teeth, and took a deep shuddering breath, as if to breathe in her essence or to
gain strength from the salty air. His hands moved downward to the swell of her
bottom and pressed her against his hardness.
His face looked as if he were
fighting a thousand inner devils . . . and losing.
A drop of moisture splattered
against his forehead. His eyes flew open. “What was that?”
“I told you it was going to
rain.”
He spat out a succinct expletive
that made her giggle, and they scrambled to their feet. The wind had
intensified, the waves were beginning to kick up whitecaps, and an ominous line
of dark clouds was moving in rapidly from the Gulf.
He cursed again and grabbed her
hand. “Let’s make a run for it before it pours.”
“But the shells!”
“Forget the shells. I’ll buy you
a tubful.” He dragged her down the dune toward the beach and pulled her behind
him as he ran.
After a few hundred yards, she
yanked her hand away and yelled, “Stop! I have to go back for our sunglasses.”