Shore Feels Right

by Annette Mardis

  “Now, enough about them or I’ll get heartburn. What happened at the aquarium today?”

  Monica told him about a loggerhead sea turtle brought in by the stranding team after a boater found the animal washed up on a spoil island just off the coast. The turtle had become so entangled in monofilament fishing line that it cut off the blood supply to its front flippers, causing some of the tissue to die. A veterinarian amputated most of the right one and about half of the left one.

  “It just makes me so damned mad when I see a turtle or some other marine animal maimed by what should’ve been a preventable injury,” she ranted. “It’s one thing if your fishing line breaks and you can’t find the missing piece. But some of these morons purposely throw that stuff overboard after it gets knotted up or snagged on something. It kills me to see these poor creatures suffer unnecessarily, and now that beautiful turtle more than likely will have to live with us for the rest of its life.”

  “That’s not such a bad fate, is it?” Cosby asked. “Compared to what could’ve happened, I mean.”

  “No. He likely would’ve died if he hadn’t been rescued. And of course we’ll give him first-class care and plenty of love. But I’d much prefer that he still be swimming free out in the Gulf.”

  Monica filled Cosby in on some of the other goings-on at the aquarium as he scarfed down his dinner and then refilled his plate. After he shoveled in his second helping, he leaned back in his chair, blew out a breath, and patted his full belly.

  “You get enough to eat?” Monica asked, obviously holding back a smile.

  “Go ahead and say it. I oinked that down like I hadn’t eaten in a week.”

  She laughed. “You certainly seemed to enjoy it, which is all I care about.”

  “I did. Thank you. A home-cooked meal is a real treat.”

  “You’re welcome. But it’s something you easily could cook for yourself.”

  “Yeah, but usually by the time I get home from work I’m so tired that all I want to do is make a sandwich, grab some chips, and plop on the couch to watch whatever game’s on TV. Or I bring home a burger or a foot-long sub. Or order a pizza.”

  She wagged her finger at him. “That’s no way to eat.”

  He took her hand and played with her fingers. “Good thing you came along or I might starve.”

  “I’m serious. You need to treat yourself better than that. It doesn’t take much effort to stick a pork loin roast or a couple of chicken breasts into a slow cooker before you leave for work. Or just throw together a salad when you get home.”

  “Salad? That’s chick food.” At her indignant look, he grinned and winked.

  “So buy precooked chicken or beef strips to throw in with the greens if your inner carnivore can’t conceive of an evening meal without meat,” Monica suggested.

  “It’s more fun to take you out for barbecue or seafood. Speaking of which, have you ever eaten at that warehouse-looking place on the beach? I can’t think of the name of it.”

  “Catch of the Day.”

  “Yeah, that’s it. Is it any good?”

  “Excellent. A little pricey, though.”

  “Maybe I’ll raid my gallon jug of change and take you there some night soon.”

  “You collect coins in a glass jug?”

  “Sounds dorky, I know, but I’ve been doing it since I got my first job as a teenager. Any change I get back on purchases I make with cash, I throw in the jug. You’d be surprised how quickly it adds up. Once I got my first credit card the jug didn’t fill up so fast, of course, but it’s kind of like found money if you don’t touch it for a while.”

  “That’s actually not a bad idea. If you really want to eat there we can, but don’t think you have to spend a bunch of money on dinner to impress me.”

  *

  If Tanner or Evan had heard her say that, they would’ve asked if she’d taken a hard hit to the head. She’d routinely ordered top-dollar entrees whenever they took her out to eat. And she turned up her nose when they suggested less-expensive restaurants. Evan had called her a food snob, and she’d thought he was teasing. In hindsight, she realized he wasn’t.

  Now, she could tell from the way Cosby looked at her and his indignant tone that she’d somehow insulted him.

  “I can afford it, Monica, if that’s what you’re worried about. Why not let me decide how much I want to spend on you?”

  She scowled. “You men and your fragile egos. I didn’t mean to imply you couldn’t afford it. But you just made a major investment in a business venture and I wanted to be considerate, that’s all. It’s a fairly new experience for me, so let me enjoy it, okay?”

  He pressed her palm against his lips. “I didn’t mean to be so sensitive. Forgive me? It’s very sweet of you to look after me that way.”

  Monica burst out laughing. “Sweet! I don’t think anybody’s referred to me as sweet since I was ten.”

  “I doubt that. You have a very sweet side.”

  “If you say so.”

  “Here, I’ll prove it to you.” Cosby sucked on one of her fingers. “Yup. Tastes like pure sugar to me. I’d better try another one to be sure.”

  She laughed and pulled her hand away. “You’re too much. So now that you’ve sampled my fingers, I guess you don’t want dessert.”

  He looked hopeful. “What’ve you got?”

  “Apple pie à la mode, just like your nephews like it.” He pouted, surprising her. “What? I thought that was your favorite, too.”

  “It is. But I hoped you were making an indecent proposal when you offered ‘dessert.’”

  “Your choo-choo definitely runs on only one track,” she teased.

  “It does when I’m around you. I can’t help it if you’re too sexy for your own good.”

  “Now that you know what I mean by dessert, do you want some?”

  “Not right now. It’ll take a crane to lift me out of this chair as it is.”

  “How about some coffee?”

  “Okay, that I’ll take you up on.”

  When she left the table to start the coffeemaker, Cosby began clearing the dishes.

  “What are you doing?” she asked, unable to hide her surprise.

  “Don’t tell me you’ve never seen a man help clean up after a meal.”

  “You don’t have to do that. Sit down and relax. I’ll take care of it.”

  “Not a chance. Besides, the faster we finish, the quicker we can head to the couch to make out.”

  Monica swatted him with a dish towel and then squealed when he wrapped her in a bear hug.

  “I’ll have to think of a suitable punishment for you.” Cosby nibbled on her earlobe while she giggled and pretended to struggle. “And if you don’t quit wiggling your cute little behind against my zipper like that, you’re going to get something else to think about.”

  He trailed featherlight kisses down her neck.

  “All right, I surrender. You win.”

  He paused. “I do? What do I win?”

  “I’ll let you help me clean up the kitchen.”

  He pressed his lips to her neck again—and blew a loud raspberry. Then he let her go.

  “How romantic. Never let it be said that you don’t know how to woo a woman, Cosby Williams.”

  “Woo? Who even says that anymore?”

  She shot him a saucy look. “I do, bucko, so you’d better figure out how to do it.”

  “Oh, I know how. Don’t you worry your pretty little head about that.”

  “You did not just say that to me.” She rolled up the dish towel and snapped him with it.

  “And you did not just do that. As your penance, you owe me two extra-long, scorching-hot kisses. With plenty of tongue. I’ll expect to collect once we’re done here in the kitchen.”

  She couldn’t think of anything else while he helped load the dishwasher, wipe the table, and put away the leftovers. Afterward, Monica poured their coffee and added a shot of Kahlúa to each cup.

  “Shall we retire to the parl
or, my lady?” Cosby bowed, making her giggle.

  “Why yes, you scoundrel, I believe we shall.” Her lips quirked as he offered his arm with a flourish and escorted her to the living room.

  As they sat on the sofa sipping their drinks, he ran a finger down her arm.

  “You look quite fetching tonight. Perhaps you might favor me with a kiss if I promise to behave myself.”

  “Perhaps.”

  “It’s quite fortunate, then, that we both partook of your delightful garlic chicken. I would hate to offend you with my malodorous breath.”

  Monica clapped her hand over her mouth to hold in her laughter. He raised an eyebrow at her, set their cups on the end table, and drew her into his embrace. Then Cosby proceeded to kiss her senseless. His hand had dipped under her shirt and headed north when her cell phone rang.

  “Don’t answer it.” He caressed the underside of her breast through her bra with the tips of his fingers.

  “Damn it, I have to. It’s somebody from work.”

  “How do you know?” he asked against her lips.

  “Ring tone.”

  The phone went silent and Cosby dived in for another kiss, but a minute or so later it rang again. Monica hissed out a four-letter word, disentangled herself from his arms, and grabbed her phone from the charger, which sat next to her laptop on a small desk in one corner of the room.

  “What’s going on?” she answered, bypassing hello. “What? When?” Her face paled as she listened for a few moments. “Tonight?”

  It became all too obvious then that Cosby’s most ardent wooing would have to wait until another day.

  Chapter 14

  “You’re upset. Let me drive you,” Cosby offered.

  Monica had just informed him Dolly was headed to surgery after an X-ray revealed several small objects lodged inside her.

  “I don’t know how long I’ll be there. You’ll be sitting around for hours waiting for me.”

  “I don’t care. Look, your hands are shaking. I don’t want to risk you having an accident.”

  She gave him a quick kiss. “Thank you. Your support means a lot. Let me grab my shoes and purse and I’ll be ready to go.”

  While she went to her bedroom, Cosby took their cups into the kitchen, rinsed them out, and then cleaned up the coffeemaker. Monica literally vibrated with urgency when she appeared in the doorway.

  During the drive to the aquarium, Cosby asked her about Dolly’s prognosis.

  “Dr. Laramie should be able to remove whatever’s in the upper part of her esophagus without too much trouble. But the second object’s stuck just before the esophagus joins the stomach, and the smallest one made it into her stomach.”

  Tears pooled in Monica’s eyes. He knew she took it personally whenever one of the animals under her care wasn’t doing well.

  “We had a feeling something was wrong when she only picked at her food yesterday. And then after I left today she quit eating altogether. They tried to entice her with a special treat but she wouldn’t touch it. She’s always been a very enthusiastic eater.”

  “Is Dr. Laramie good?” Cosby asked.

  “He’s the best. He just happened to be down from Gainesville—he teaches at the University of Florida’s College of Veterinary Medicine—for a consult on a rescued Kemp’s ridley turtle, so they brought him in on Dolly’s case.”

  “See, that’s a positive sign.” Cosby squeezed Monica’s leg and she placed her hand over his. “She’s got luck and good timing on her side.”

  “I sure hope so.” The biologist wiped away a couple of tears that slid down her cheek, then entwined their fingers.

  When they pulled into the GSA parking lot, Monica leaped from the car as soon as it stopped and dashed toward the employee entrance. She swiped her I.D., and the door slammed behind her just after she disappeared inside. Cosby reached the door a few moments later and pounded on it. She opened it, apologized, and grabbed his hand. They trotted toward the surgical suites, while guests and other staff members watched them in curiosity, and arrived outside a glass window as the vet techs induced anesthesia. Several members of the turtle department had gathered to observe, too, and they greeted Monica with worried expressions.

  Inside the operating room, a distinguished-looking man with a touch of gray at his temples nodded at Monica, and she returned the gesture.

  Then another man, his shirt wrinkled, his tennis shoes dirty, and his hair disheveled, came up beside Monica and rested his hand on her shoulder.

  She turned and offered a weak smile. “Hey, Jack. Thanks for calling me. This is Cosby Williams. Cosby, this is Jack Barfield, another of our staff marine biologists.”

  Cosby saw a hint of something—irritation and maybe even dislike—cross Jack’s face before he offered his hand and they shook.

  “Did you two ride together?” Jack stared at Cosby as if challenging him.

  “Yes.” He stared right back.

  “In your car?”

  “Yup. Why do you ask?”

  Engrossed in the action on the other side of the window, Monica appeared not to notice the sudden tension.

  “This could be a long night, so if you don’t want to wait I can drive her home when we’re finished.” Jack didn’t flinch at Cosby’s stone-cold expression.

  “That so? Well, thanks for offering,” he replied, “but I’m here for the duration.”

  Cosby turned his attention back to Monica, but in his peripheral vision he saw Jack glaring. Cosby put his arm around her and drew her tightly against him. She gave him a distracted smile and asked, “You sure you want to stay?”

  “Positive.”

  Less than an hour into the endoscopic procedure, Dr. Laramie, assisted by GSA’s Dr. Abby Maguire, removed the first object with a surgical needle holder and held it up so everyone could see.

  Cosby asked, “Is that…”

  “Yes, it’s a hoop earring,” Monica confirmed. “A guest must’ve lost it while leaning over the rail around the lagoon. Staff and volunteers know better than to wear jewelry when they’re working directly with the animals.”

  Sometime later, Dr. Laramie finished removing a second hoop earring from Dolly’s esophagus. He had to snip this one into pieces to get it out without injuring the turtle further.

  “The thing in her stomach will take even longer,” Jack told Monica without looking at Cosby. “How about we go sit in the break room for a bit, get some coffee or a soda or whatever?”

  “No, thanks, I’m fine. Cosby, you want anything? Jack can show you where the vending machines are or bring something back for you. Right, Jack?”

  “Uh, yeah, I guess.” His lack of enthusiasm earned him a quizzical look from Monica.

  Cosby whacked the other man on the back harder than necessary and said, “I’ll go with you so we can get better acquainted.”

  Monica didn’t see Jack’s uncertain expression. She’d already resumed watching the surgery. Cosby fisted his hand in the back of her colleague’s shirt and propelled him forward. When they were out of earshot, Cosby stopped abruptly and growled, “Is there something you’d like to say to me?”

  Jack shook off Cosby’s hand and glowered. “Like what?”

  “Like instead of giving me dirty looks and trying to get rid of me, why don’t you tell me what the hell your problem is.”

  “I don’t have a problem, Crosby.”

  “Oh, Jake, I believe you do. Out with it, before you really piss me off.”

  “You don’t deserve her,” the biologist blurted.

  Cosby barked out a laugh totally lacking in humor. “And I take it you do?”

  “I didn’t say that. I just think she can do better.”

  “You may be right, but that’s up to the lady to decide, don’t you agree?”

  Jack gave him a sour look.

  “Look, buddy, I don’t give a royal rat’s ass what you think of me, but I care a lot about Monica. And I don’t appreciate you trying to come between us. So back the hell off, understan
d?”

  When Jack’s eyes narrowed, Cosby stepped forward until their noses nearly touched.

  “I said, do you understand me?”

  “Yeah, man, get out of my face.” Jack pushed him, but Cosby barely moved.

  “I don’t suggest you put your hands on me again.” A deceptive calm tinged his voice.

  Jack backed up and apparently thought better of challenging Cosby once more.

  “Hey, I think we got off on the wrong foot. Let’s just go to the break room and get what we need, all right?”

  “Will I have to worry about you causing trouble behind my back?” Cosby asked.

  “No, of course not. I know you’d kick my ass. Monica probably would, too. She doesn’t believe in interfering in people’s business like that anymore.”

  Cosby wasn’t entirely convinced that Jack wouldn’t be a problem in the future. So to reinforce his message, Cosby thumped him hard enough on the shoulder that Jack winced and sucked in a breath.

  “Wise decision,” Cosby observed. “Now, show me where the soda machine is.”

  * * * *

  Jack felt like an absolute idiot. He’d been there for Monica whenever she’d needed someone in her corner, but she was never going to fall for him. This wasn’t a revelation but a sad reality he’d be wise to accept before a bigger, stronger guy like Cosby jammed a boot up his butt.

  Cosby brought Monica a cup of coffee and a pack of crackers, and she thanked him with an appreciative smile that made Jack want to knock his own head against the wall. She’d turned down his offer of a snack, Cosby had brought her something anyway, and she’d acted grateful, not irritated that he’d disregarded her wishes.

  How am I supposed to know what women want when they say one thing and do another? Jack wondered.

  He watched her with longing and not a little jealousy as she giggled at something Cosby said. After Tanner Presley had dumped her and public opinion mounted against her, Jack thought he finally might have a chance and took her to dinner a few times. They’d had a wonderful time. Well, at least he had, anyway. When he finally mustered the nerve to kiss her, she’d politely but firmly told him she valued his friendship and that was as far as it would ever go between them.