She cleared her throat. “I was going to say I give lectures about the sea turtles every weekday at three, and it’s…” She pointed to his watch.
He jolted. “Oh, I need to let you go.”
She took a step in the direction of the theater.
“Are the lectures open to anyone, or do I need a ticket?”
She turned to face him. “You want to come?”
He shrugged, a very boyish gesture, and pushed his sunglasses on top of his head again. “Yeah. I’d like to hear what you have to say.”
Tamiera couldn’t stop a smile from growing. “Okay then. They sell lecture tickets in the gift shop, but I always carry a few complimentary ones in case I meet somebody I think could benefit from the information.” She dug in her fanny pack and pulled out a ticket. Then a worrisome thought struck. “Um, do you need more than one?”
“For…?”
“Your wife, or girlfriend, or…”
He shook his head. “It’s just me.”
Just him, vacationing on Grand Cayman Island. Interesting. And more of a relief than she wanted to admit. “Here you are.” She handed him the ticket and began a slow backpedal. “The theater is on the other side of the incubation hut. Follow the signs. Hour long program beginning at three o’clock sharp.”
“Got it.” He saluted and grinned.
He really was way too cute. She turned and hurried off.
Joe would say one thing for Tamiera Davison, she knew her stu ff. Using slides on a huge screen and touches of humor, she’d held the attention of her audience for every minute of the half hour lecture. Even the youngest of those seated in the wooden, old-fashioned movie theater-type chairs hadn’t fidgeted. Then she’d opened the floor for questions. Here they were, twenty minutes into the Q-and-A, and not once had she so much as hesitated before giving an answer. Joe’s brother Justin was in the habit of saying pretty girls had empty heads, but not this one.
Although he’d never been terribly interested in the ecosystem or in endangered species—his major was business, not biology—by the end of her lecture, Joe was trying to find a way to incorporate biology into business. Why not? If the new resort was going to be built right here on the island, in close proximity to where the wild sea turtles made their nests, it only made sense to capitalize on the ecological happening and allow it to boost visitors to the place of business.
A boy maybe ten years old shot his hand in the air, and Tamiera pointed to him. He stood. “If I wanted a sea turtle for a pet, what kind of habitat would I need for it?”
A few people laughed, and the boy slunk into his seat.
Tamiera folded her hands in front of her and pinned the boy with a serious look. “Although many reptiles have been trapped and sold into the pet industry, it’s my personal belief that wild creatures should be allowed to live in the wild. Creating an appropriate habitat for a turtle that will eventually grow to weigh 350 pounds would be a greater undertaking than an individual could manage.”
Finally, a smile curved her lips. “But if you’d really like to have a pet turtle, I suggest visiting your local pet shop and searching for an aquatic turtle. Fitting a 55-gallon tank in your bedroom is easier than putting a 55,000 gallon simulated ocean in your backyard.”
A few chuckles rolled.
She winked at the boy. “But keep in mind, aquatic turtles can live as long as 15 to 25 years, so this is a pretty big life investment.” Sadness pinched her brow. “Too many people take in these exotic pets unaware of the responsibility. When they grow weary of it, they release the pet, thinking it will survive on its own. Sadly, many do not, and those that do can disrupt the natural ecosystem into which they’re released. So always do your research and carefully consider the pros and cons of adopting a ‘wild’ pet.”
The man seated next to the boy raised his hand. “You said wild creatures should be allowed to live in the wild, but you have how many turtles here living in captivity?”
Joe sucked in a breath. The man’s question seemed more inquisition than inquiry. He experienced an unexpected shaft of sympathy for her. Joe observed Tamiera under the harsh light from the track of bulbs above the stage.
“We have between thirty and forty adults capable of reproducing, and of course countless turtles in various stages from babies to juveniles. Of the turtles hatched here on the farm, twentyfive percent are released into the ocean in the hopes of rebuilding the wild population. Another twentyfive percent are sold into the food industry.”
A few people groaned, and a small boy near the front said, “Yuck!”
Tamiera laughed. “If you aren’t accustomed to eating turtle meat, you might think so, but it really is quite popular in many cultures. Over-hunting for meat is part of the reason the green sea turtle is considered endangered. Since it takes twentyfive years for a turtle to mature enough to reproduce, many are caught and killed before they reached maturity. By selling turtles specifically into the food market, we can protect those in the ocean and let them grow up and become mamas and daddies someday.”
Joe raised his hand. “There are fifty percent unaccounted for. What happens to those?”
She aimed her smile in his direction, and he couldn’t deny it had an effect on his pulse. “Some are kept here to use as breeders in the future, some are released to zoos or biology programs elsewhere, and some…” She sighed. “Some don’t survive. But in the wild, of the roughly hundred hatchlings in a nest, fewer than ten percent make it to adulthood. Here on the farm, closer to ninety percent survive since they aren’t exposed to predators or pollution. So our efforts are very valuable to preserving the future of green sea turtles.”
She glanced at the wall clock. “And that’s all the time we have today. Thanks so much for coming, and I hope you’ll visit the Caribbean Sea Turtle Farm and Conservatory again soon.”
The attendees ambled out, some stopping to shake Tamiera’s hand or thank her. Joe stayed in his seat until the last ones departed, then he stood and made his way to the front, clapping softly and rhythmically as he went.
She folded her arms across her chest and tilted her head, a half smile lifting one corner of her lips. “What?”
He slipped his hands into his pocket. “Very well done, Miss—” He glanced at her left hand, but it was tucked under her elbow. “Are you Miss, Ms., or Mrs. Davison?”
“Miss.”
Never married. Such a shame. Or was it a blessing? He gave himself a mental shake. “Miss Davison. Your knowledge is commendable, but more than that, you have a natural delivery style. I’m surprised you didn’t choose to go into teaching. You seem to have an innate ability.”
She hit a switch that plunged the room into darkness. She gestured to the exit door, and he followed her into the small, glass-walled foyer. “Funny you’d say that.” She kept talking as she locked the theater door with one of the keys dangling from her belt. “My foster mom was a teacher, and she encouraged me to go into education—job security and all that. But I guess I was too restless back then. I wanted something…bigger.”
She laughed, and pink crept into her cheeks. “And I can’t believe I told you that. I’m not usually so open with people I just met.”
“Then I’m flattered.” He meant it, too. The longer he was with her, the more he liked her and the more he wanted to know about her. Was coming to the sea turtle farm on the first day of his month-long stay on the island chance or providence? Either way, he wasn’t ready to tell her farewell. “You know, there’s a really nice restaurant on the beach next to my hotel. I was told they serve terrific steaks and sea food. Would you be interested in meeting me there?”
She bit down on the corner of her lip and gazed at him so intently he wondered if she could see underneath his skin. “Well…”
He held up both palms, as if under arrest. “Dinner only.” He lowered his hands and smiled. “I’d like to hear more about your work here with the turtles and how they play into the ecosystem on the island. Why not satisfy our hunger while you sa
tisfy my curiosity?”
CHAPTER 3
Tamiera examined her re flection in the full length mirror attached to the back of her closet door. She’d donned one of her church outfits—floral skirt, pink silk tank, and white lace cardigan. In the States in November, she wouldn’t have worn white, but here on the island the rules were different. She reached for her beaded wedge flipflops, the fanciest shoes she owned.
As she popped them onto her feet, she released a nervous giggle. Had she really agreed to a date? And with someone she’d met in passing at the turtle enclosure? Her foster parents, Don and Carol, had always required any boy who asked her for a date to spend an evening with the whole family in their home before they allowed her to go out on her own with him. They would probably shake their heads in dismay at what she was doing tonight. She sat up, frowning. Or would they?
Joe Phillips was clean-cut, polite, well-spoken, and respectful. An awful lot like Don. She’d encountered some men, including some who wore three piece suits, who gave her the heebie-jeebies. But she had been at ease with Joe from the first minutes. Even when she pretty much told him he personally was the reason why her beloved sea turtles were endangered, he hadn’t gotten defensive or angry. He’d listened. Seemed to care.
Her heart fluttered, and she pressed her hand to her chest. “Stop that!” He was here on vacation. He’d be around for a few days and then gone. Getting attached was not a good idea. She repeated the admonition to herself at least a dozen times on her short drive to the Sandbar Grill about three miles from the conservatory. But the moment she spotted him waiting outside the restaurant’s carved front doors, her traitorous heart took wing like a sea gull.
Whoa, Carol, Tom Selleck’s got nothing on Joe Phillips. Her knees went a little wobbly, making crossing the paved walkway a challenge. Watching her feet—getting her focus off of his muscular frame showcased by trimfitting tan trousers, a pale mint button-down shirt, and paisley tie—helped. By the time she reached him she could meet his smiling gaze and offer a casual greeting.
“Hi. You’re early. Or am I late?”
“You’re just on time.” He slid his fingers down the length of the tie then held to the tip, his eyes crinkling slightly in the corners with his smile. “I intentionally came early so you wouldn’t worry you’d been stood up.” He pulled the door open. “I already put our names in, so we should have a table before too long.”
She crossed the threshold, getting a whiff of his aftershave as she passed him. Something fruity yet spicy—an intoxicating scent that was too quickly overtaken by the savory aromas coming from the restaurant’s kitchen. He’d no more than stepped in behind her when the woman behind the maître d’s desk called, “Phelps, party of two.”
Never had an announcement felt so personal.
Joe touched her spine with his fingertips and guided her forward. They trailed a server across the plush carpet between linen-draped tables lit by flickering lanterns to a small, square corner table next to windows overlooking the beach. An L-shaped, padded bench provided the only seating, and Joe held out his hand in invitation for her to slide in first. When she was settled, he hitched his pant legs and slid in on the opposite side, putting them at right angles to each other. Not as intimate as side-by-side, but definitely less formal than across.
The server handed them their menus, listed the evening’s specials, which included two different alcoholic beverages. Somehow Tamiera wasn’t surprised when Joe ordered water with lemon for both of them.
The server nodded. “I’ll be back in a few minutes with your drinks. Please feel free to peruse the menu, and let me know if you have any questions.” He hurried off.
Joe snapped his menu open and smiled at her over the top of it. “Have you eaten here before?”
She’d lived on the island for more than three years and joined co-workers for dinner at various restaurants, but she’d never gone to what her roommate Paula called a take-a-date place. She opened her menu. “No, but if everything tastes as good as it smells, we ought to enjoy our dinner.”
“I came in yesterday evening after I checked in at the hotel. The grilled halibut was the best I’ve ever tasted. I might have it again.”
She glanced at the entrées and located grilled halibut. Her mouth began to water when she read the accompaniments. “That sounds perfect.” She set the menu aside, and so did Joe.
The waiter arrived with their water glasses. “Are you ready to order?”
“Yes. The lady will have the halibut, and I’ll have the shrimp and scallops scampi.”
“With fettuccini or angel hair pasta?”
“Angel hair, please.”
“Tonight’s soups are turtle with shell pasta in a tomato base or creamy clam chowder.” The server’s gaze flicked from Joe to Tamiera.
Although it was technically Fall, which was always soup season in her foster home, soup didn’t appeal in this tropical climate. Besides, she couldn’t bring herself to eat turtle soup and, in her opinion, eating a clam was too much like chewing on a pencil eraser. “None for me, thank you,” Tamiera said.
“What about salad? Our house Caesar is very popular.”
Joe looked at Tamiera. “Would you like a salad?”
The halibut came with garlic mashed potatoes and sautéed spinach, so she really didn’t need a salad, but she loved a good Caesar. “Well…”
Joe grinned. “Two Caesars, please.”
The server nodded, picked up their menus, and departed.
Joe took a sip of water then linked his hands on the edge of the table. “I have to ask…have you ever eaten turtle soup?”
Tamiera fiddled with her napkin and tried not to grimace. “No. After working with the turtles all day, I’d feel like a, well, a cannibal eating turtle meat.”
He laughed, but not in an offensive way. “I kind of figured that. You wrinkled your nose when he mentioned the turtle soup.”
“I did?” Her face went hot. If she still had the menu, she’d fan herself.
“You did. Which let me know how much you love the turtles. So tell me, where did your interest in green sea turtles begin?”
Not a hint of humor tinged his expression. Tamiera pushed aside her embarrassment. “When I was a first grader, my teacher gave us all books for Christmas. Mine was a picture book about marine life. I grew up in North Dakota in the middle of an agricultural community, so whales, dolphins, and sharks all seemed so glamorous compared to horses, pigs, and cows. I guess you could say my fascination began then, but not until my foster parents took me on a K-Love cruise—”
His forehead puckered. “A what cruise?”
She released a short laugh. “K-Love. It’s a Christian radio station. They host a cruise every year to various locations, and the ship is packed with Christian music artists.” Worry struck. He was a very nice man, but if he didn’t know about K-Love, was it possible he also didn’t know about Jesus? If so, she’d need to get her interest in him in check. She chewed her lower lip for a moment and gathered her courage. “Do you listen to Christian radio?”
Joe took another sip of his water. “I rarely turn on the radio. I’m pretty busy with my job, and I’m also easily distracted—I was one of those wiggly kids in school, so the radio playing would have a negative effect on my productivity. But if the artists sing contemporary Christian tunes, I’d probably know some of them. My church back in Florida has a worship band that plays before every service, and they do mostly contemporary Christian music.”
The flutter in her heart returned. “Joe, may I ask you a personal question?”
“Sure.”
“Are you a Christian?”
Without a moment’s pause, he nodded. “Yes. I became a Christian when I was fourteen at a youth camp. How about you?”
“When I was sixteen in Sunday school.”
“That’s great.” A genuine smile lit his face. “Sure makes a difference, doesn’t it? I—”
Their server arrived with two crisp Caesar salads. He pla
ced them on the table and then whisked a wooden pepper grinder from his back pocket. “Pepper?”
Both Tamiera and Joe nodded, and they leaned back to allow the server space to operate the grinder. When he finished, he bobbed nods at them by turn. “Enjoy. Your dinners will be here soon.”
Joe stretched his hand to her. “Shall I say grace?”
Tamiera battled a lump in her throat as she listened to him offer a brief yet heartfelt prayer. None of her co-workers had ever offered to pray with her. She hadn’t realized how much she missed holding hands at the table and listening to someone thank God for their food.
“Amen.” Joe released her hand and picked up his fork. “I interrupted you. You were saying your foster parents took you on a K-Love cruise to…?”
He might not listen to the radio, but he sure listened closely to her. She smiled as she stabbed her fork into the bed of Romaine lettuce. “To celebrate my seventeenth birthday. We booked an excursion to the turtle farm, and I fell in love with the turtles. From that moment on, I knew I wanted to be a marine biologist, and I knew I wanted to work with sea turtles.”
The remainder of the evening flowed smoothly, with none of the awkward pauses she’d experienced on first dates with other men. Not that she’d dated a great deal. Her foster mother called her reserved, but Tamiera inwardly admitted she was cautious. Her early years in a volatile household—so volatile the state determined she’d be safer away from her parents—still impacted her even after her dozen years with the Wagners, who’d provided a secure, loving home for her. She marveled that she felt so at ease with Joe, as if she’d known him for months rather than hours.
They both declined dessert, Joe paid the tab and left a generous tip, then he escorted her to her car. He leaned against the hood, crossed his ankles, and slipped his hands into his trouser pockets, the picture of ease and charm. She held the fob to unlock the door, but she hesitated, reluctant to leave his presence just yet.
“Tamiera?” His voice emerged softly, almost hesitantly, in contrast to his intense gaze, which never wavered from hers. “I really enjoyed tonight.”
Destination: Romance: Five Inspirational Love Stories Spanning the Globe Page 2