Dani treated him to a lingering kiss and then asked, “Any idea what kind of dog that is?”
“Her face looks like a Chihuahua, but they don’t have long hair like this, do they?”
“That’s a good question. Let me Google it.” Dani accessed her Internet browser on her phone. “I’ll be darned. There really is such a thing as a longhaired Chihuahua, also known as a long coat. Look at this picture.” She turned the display toward Evan. “It looks just like—is that a male or a female?”
“Female. Yes, same coloring. Chocolate, caramel, and white. What a pretty little girl you’ll be when you’re groomed properly.” He looked up at Dani. “We’ll need to take her to a vet and have her scanned for an I.D. chip.”
“And if she doesn’t have one?”
“We’ll put an ad in the paper, see if anybody calls about her. I know if this was my dog I’d want her back. She’s such a sweetheart.”
“And if nobody claims her?”
Dani implored him with her eyes. She’d begged her parents for a dog years ago, but her adamant mother didn’t want to deal with the mess. When Dani moved out on her own, she’d been too busy building a career and a social life to justify another pet besides her African gray parrot, Ozzie. And she couldn’t afford the pet deposit at any of her apartments. Evan owned the condo where they lived now, so…
“Let’s not have that discussion just yet because I’d hate for you to get attached to her, only to get your heart broken if we have to give her up,” Evan replied.
“But you’d be open to keeping her if we can’t find her owner?”
“Yes. But a vet needs to check her over and make sure she has no serious health problems. I didn’t notice anything obvious when I bathed her, except for the fact she’s clearly malnourished and has some minor skin abrasions. But if she’s sick, that’s another factor we have to consider.”
Dani’s stomach fluttered and her face fell. She didn’t want to contemplate the worst-case scenario, but she couldn’t seem to help it.
Evan squeezed her hand. “Now, honey, don’t let your imagination get the best of you or you’ll make yourself ill. We’ll just have to see what happens.”
Just then Ozzie, who’d been hanging upside down like a bat in his cage, started screeching. Dani went over and rubbed his head and beak through the bars.
“What’s the matter, buddy? Feeling left out? Don’t fret, you’re still momma’s best boy, no contest.”
“Hey, what about me?” Evan demanded with a hint of a smile.
She shot him a suggestive look. “You’re far from being a boy. But you’re definitely my number one man. Happy now?”
“I’d be a lot happier if you came back over here and gave me another kiss.”
“You’ve already got a girl on your lap. There’s no room for me.”
“I could very easily make a little bed for her on the floor.”
“She looks too peaceful to disturb. Speaking of that, where’s she sleeping tonight? Is she housebroken?”
“I’m not sure. But if I remember correctly, someone from the aquarium talked about having an extra cage or a carrier their dog outgrew. Do you know who that was? Maybe we can borrow it.”
“It was Shelby. Let me call her.”
Shelby Dean, an Education Department volunteer, invited them to come pick up the kennel, along with a couple of toys, a brush, a freezer bag full of dry food, a harness, and a leash.
“That’s very generous of her,” Evan remarked. “I don’t mind buying what we need, but I’d rather not spend the money until we know whether this little girl will be staying with us.”
“That’s exactly what Shelby said. Let me change my clothes, and then we can head over there.”
“What about the dog?”
“We’re taking her with us. Shelby wants to see her.”
Evan looked down at the little bundle of fur on his lap. “You up for another car ride, huh?” The stray’s mouth curved into what looked like a smile and she wagged her tail. “Oh, you know that ‘r’ word, do you? Well, let’s go outside so you can do your business while Dani gets ready. And then we’ll come back home and fix up a place for you in the bedroom. Does that work for you?”
The pup danced around on Evan’s legs and let out a happy bark.
He stroked her back and smiled. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
Chapter 16
Kenshin may have deemed him lucky, but Flipper didn’t feel that way. The word he’d use instead was “empty.” Not to mention “regretful.” He missed Tara, and no amount of rationalizing could make him feel better about their parting.
His boss had been right about one thing, though. Flipper indeed was fortunate the aquarium’s upper management hadn’t reamed him a new one over the picnic photo.
“I’m extremely disappointed,” Wesley had said, “but I’m too busy right now working on our new five-year plan and the possible Dolphin Inlet expansion to do anything about your serious lapse in judgment.”
To which Flipper replied, “There’s nothing you need to do because things between us ended before they really started.”
Preoccupied, Wesley muttered, “Good. Glad to hear it. Now keep your nose clean so we don’t have to talk about this again.” And then he strode off to attend yet another meeting.
As soon as Wesley disappeared down the hallway, Flipper pulled Kenshin aside and asked why the director was still talking about enlarging the dolphin habitat.
“Please don’t tell me he hasn’t given up on adding whales.”
“Okay, I won’t tell you that,” Kenshin answered. “I also won’t tell you he’s trying to figure out how we can keep at least two of the rescued pilots.”
“That’s fine if they’re unreleasable. But we haven’t determined that yet.”
Kenshin made no comment, which left Flipper suspicious. Tara’s words kept replaying in his mind.
“You do realize how nasty things will get for us if those whales are ready to return to the Gulf and Wesley finagles a way to prevent that.”
“What are you talking about?” Kenshin demanded.
“The anti-captivity lobby will raise the biggest stink you’ve ever heard.”
“Did you open your big mouth and blab to that woman about Wesley wanting whales?”
“Of course not.” And if I told you she already knows, you’d bust a gut. “Trust me, I’ve been very careful not to discuss anything that isn’t common knowledge or that I wouldn’t say to the media or a guest.”
“Trust you? Seriously? After what just happened in Orlando?”
“C’mon. You know I’d never betray a confidence.”
Kenshin bit his bottom lip as he appeared to consider that.
“You’ve got a lot of faults, O’Riley, but I believe you. Now, we need to make sure this thing about the pilot whales goes no further. I’ll send out a general e-mail reminding all employees, volunteers, and interns not to discuss anything of a sensitive nature within earshot of the public, the media, or anyone else who has no business listening in.
“Speaking of nosy people, Helen Hunt’s already called about the Facebook photo. I assured her there’s nothing to it, but she’s too smart to buy that. So don’t be surprised if she contacts you.”
“The only thing she’ll get from me about that, or anything else involving Tara, is a no comment,” Flipper promised.
“Precisely. And make sure it stays that way.”
*
Tara couldn’t stop thinking about Flipper and the hurtful things they’d said to each other. She wished she could have a do-over, but would things have turned out differently? Maybe Larry’s ill-timed interruption was a blessing in disguise. Was she really ready to give herself, body and soul, to a man with whom she had such a fundamental disagreement?
As she wallowed in her blue mood, Tara’s cell phone rang. Her heart leaped at the prospect of Flipper calling to apologize or at least cracking open that door, but instead Helen Holt’s name appeared on the scre
en. After they exchanged greetings, the Messenger reporter got right to the point.
“I saw the picture of you and Flipper O’Riley online. Are you dating, Tara?”
“Whatever gave you that idea?”
“C’mon now, you looked cozy on that blanket. Why else would you have a picnic together? Although for the life of me, I can’t imagine how you’d make it work.”
“That makes two of us,” Tara mumbled.
“What was that?”
“Nothing. How do you know we weren’t discussing SWADS’ campaign to convince Gulf Shore Aquarium to build ocean pens for its dolphins and manatees?”
“Is that really what you were doing? Because you didn’t appear to be arguing.”
“Not everyone has to be disagreeable when they disagree. Some people are quite capable of being civilized about such things.”
“I’ve never known aquarium employees and anti-captivity advocates to talk about that topic without things getting heated. Unless the aquarium worker is disgruntled and shifts to the other side.”
“You’d have to ask Flipper how he feels about his boss’ policies, but he’s expressed no such criticism to me, nor is he likely to.”
“Okay, let’s change the subject. Have you heard about the televised debate I’m involved in? I’d very much like you to participate.”
“Flipper mentioned it to me, but I’m short on details. Have you chosen a date? Who would I go up against?”
“It’s set for the first Thursday night in November, and I’m still trying to pin down Wesley Coffey. If I can’t get him, and I don’t see why he wouldn’t do it, I’d settle for Kenshin Hamasaki.”
Tara breathed a silent thanks that Helen wasn’t suggesting Flipper as her opponent. As intriguing as that matchup would’ve been for viewers, Tara would’ve found it awkward and painful. She tuned back in to her conversation with Helen, only to realize the reporter had stopped talking. Had she asked a question?
“Um, can you repeat that please? The phone cut out there for a minute,” Tara fibbed.
“I asked if you’d commit to doing the debate.”
“Yes, of course.”
“Good. I’ll get back to you with more information as we firm up our plans. I can’t wait. This is going to be so good.”
“You’ll act as moderator, correct?”
“Yes. And we’ll leave time at the end for questions from the studio audience and from viewers calling in.”
“Will you be posing questions to us, too?”
“I’ll get you started and steer you back if you wander off track. But I’m hoping the flow will come naturally. I’d rather let you two dictate the discussion.”
“Okay. When Gulf Shore decides who my opponent is, shoot me an e-mail, will you please?”
“Absolutely.”
Chapter 17
Just after eleven that night, Monica Sims and Cosby Williams sat on beach chairs, holding hands beneath a three-quarter moon as waves arrived and receded in hypnotic repetition. Beside them, protected by a wire cage and marked by “Do Not Disturb” signs and wooden stakes strung with yellow “caution” tape, was one of the last sea turtle nests of the season that had yet to hatch.
Monica had volunteered to monitor the nest because the aquarium’s sea turtle patrol was short on volunteers, thanks to illness and family emergencies. And Cosby was with her because he couldn’t think of anything more important than spending time with the woman he loved and wasn’t about to let her sit out on a dark beach by herself.
“So tell me again what the plan is for tonight,” he said, just before his eyes slid closed again.
Earlier in the day, a vacationing family from Toronto had run one of his company’s rental boats aground on a sandbar. And then a state wildlife officer had busted two more Nauti-Toys customers for operating a Jet Ski while drunk. All in all, it had been an exhausting day.
“If the hatchlings emerge from the nest tonight, we’ll make sure they get to the water safely,” Monica explained. “Don’t pick them up unless you have to, though. Just kind of herd them in the right direction.”
“They can’t make it on their own?”
“Yes, but they can get confused by bright lights from waterfront buildings and head the wrong way. And sandcastles, holes, beach toys, and other stuff can impede their progress. I guess the best way to describe our role is that we’re acting as their guardians.”
“And if tonight’s not the night?”
“Then somebody will be out here tomorrow night and every night after that until the nest hatches. The incubation period is just about over, so it should happen any day now.” Monica rubbed her foot against his leg. “I know you’re tired after the day you’ve had. Thanks for coming with me.”
“Of course, baby. And I’ll be here any other night you need me, too.”
She smiled and Cosby’s heart did a happy dance. He and Monica had weathered some rough patches together, but their relationship was on solid ground now. They lived in her one-bedroom apartment and were in no hurry to move to a bigger place. Though they hadn’t discussed marriage, Cosby assumed it was only a matter of time.
He’d poured most of his savings into the watercraft rental business he’d bought with his brother, so he wasn’t in a position yet to talk about a house and children. But Cosby knew without a doubt he wanted that in the not-too-distant future, with Monica. He hoped to buy her a nice piece of jewelry for Christmas and an engagement ring for Valentine’s Day or, at the latest, for her birthday in April.
“So how was your day today?” he asked to get his mind off such weighty matters.
“We admitted a new turtle into the hospital. A gorgeous young hawksbill that swallowed a damned fishing hook. Second ingestion this week. Jonny Quest was the first.”
“What kind of turtle is Jonny?”
“Kemp’s ridley. We’re giving him nutrients through an IV because the hooks—two of them—did so much damage to his esophagus. And he’s having surgery tomorrow to repair a tear in one of his lungs.”
“Poor guy. Have you named the new turtle yet? You’re doing a cartoon theme right now, right?”
“Yes we are and no, not yet. We’re calling him Turtle K in the interim. But I’ve already picked out his name. Krusty, after the clown from The Simpsons. We had to remove a ton of barnacles from his carapace before we could do the X-ray.”
“Krusty, eh? I like it.” Cosby picked up her hand and kissed it. “And I like you, too. A whole bunch, in fact.”
“Is that so?”
“Yup. I’d even go so far as to say you’re a totally smoking hot babe.”
Monica shot him a saucy look. “You’re not so bad yourself, Boat Boy. If you play your cards right, I might even let you give me a good-night kiss after we’re done here.”
“Yeah? I had something a little more intimate in mind.”
“Oh? Such as?”
“I thought we could make out in the car outside your apartment. Maybe we’ll even crawl into the back seat and see what comes up.”
Monica laughed and squeezed his hand. “You sure know how to sweet talk a girl, don’t you, Mister Smooth?”
“They don’t call me Casanova Cosby for nothing.”
“Well, what would you say if I told you I’m considering inviting you in tonight for a sleepover?”
“A sleepover? With footy pajamas and bunk beds and everything?”
“Whatever you want, big guy.”
Cosby pressed a button on his phone to light up the display. “It’s not even midnight yet. How long do we have to stay out here? I’m suddenly very antsy.” He shifted in his chair to prove his point.
“Until about two, unless they hatch sooner.”
“The way my luck is going today, that won’t happen.” He settled back with a sigh and closed his eyes again. “Wake me if the little buggers decide to make an appearance or if you get a notion to have sex beneath one of these big beach towels.”
Monica nearly choked on the water she’
d just swigged from the half-gallon jug they’d brought. She reached over and playfully punched his arm after wiping away the liquid dribbling down her chin.
“What? It could happen,” he insisted.
“Maybe in a parallel universe. Or back when I was a mean girl.”
“Have you ever had sex on the beach?”
He smiled to cover up the familiar jealousy that flared through him whenever he thought of her with any other guy. And then he held his breath until she replied. Silly, he knew, but old habits tended to hang on even when they weren’t welcome.
“No. But I’d like to someday, under the right circumstances.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means we’d have to be in a private place where we’d have no chance of being seen,” she clarified.
“We? So I’d be there, too, eh?”
“Of course. Who else?”
Cosby’s breathing returned to normal and he leaned over and kissed her.
“Nobody else. Just me and you, the love of my life.” He kissed her again, wishing they were back at home, snuggling in their bed.
“You really mean that?” she teased and nuzzled his nose. “You don’t have another honey or two stashed away somewhere?”
“Nope. You’re all the woman I can handle and all the woman I need.”
“That seals it,” Monica confirmed. “You’re definitely getting lucky tonight.”
Chapter 18
Tara keenly felt Flipper’s absence from her life, especially when she sat alone in her condo as she was doing now. “Alone” seemed to be a theme in her life these days. She’d apparently morphed into a pariah, at least as far as the members of SWADS were concerned. She’d gone down the list and contacted everyone besides Larry to gauge reactions to the Facebook photo. Nobody answered her calls or returned her messages.
She turned on Central Florida’s twenty-four-hour news channel, more for company than anything else, and was surprised to see video of Flipper working with one of his dolphins. She saw the words “Shots fired at dolphin trainer” at the bottom of the TV screen and clapped her hand over her mouth to hold back a scream. Oh my God, oh my God, please let him be all right.
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