Eleven
Sophie Saunders jerked so violently, the whisk flew out of her hand and added more splatters to the already speckled cupboards. Dune leaned against the kitchen wall, bemused by what he’d heard.
The lady had mentioned marriage.
That was the last thing he’d expected to hear when he’d loaded up his parents’ Tahoe at the crack of dawn and driven down from Tampa.
He’d been anxious to see Sophie.
She’d recently rolled out of bed, he guessed, taking in her loose-fitting nightshirt and oversized shorts. Her hair was mussed. He noticed her toenails were painted purple, which made him smile.
She stood by the stove in a face-off with her mother. He figured her “marriage” comment was meant to get Maya off her back, nothing more. Sophie hadn’t planned on him hearing her bold words. Her blush was cute.
“Your front door was unlocked.” He pushed off the wall and crossed to her. “I didn’t have to use my key,” he said, conspiring with her.
“You’re not living here, are you?” asked Maya, her eyes widening.
“I’m not fully moved in, but I soon will be.” He met Maya’s sharp gaze. “Good morning to you, too.”
The older woman massaged her temple. “Dune,” she said, acknowledging him with a brief nod.
The families had met, but there’d been little bonding. Time had yet to heal the rift between them. Maya had lost Trace to his sister Shaye. The thought of a second pairing obviously gave her a migraine. She stood stiff, silent, and antagonistic.
Dune curved his arm about Sophie’s shoulders and gave her a reassuring squeeze. “How are the fur balls?” he asked.
She pointed down the hallway past the sliding glass doors. The plastic ball bounced off one wall and banked the other. “They exercise, sleep, and eat. Not always in that order.”
“Their names?” he wanted to know.
“Still pending.” She glanced at her mother. “Any thoughts?”
Naming the hamsters was beneath Maya, but she couldn’t resist one final jab. She moved at the sliders and cut Sophie a hard look. “I like Good-bye and Gone.”
The hamsters would stay, and Maya would get on with her day. Dune saw that something brown and sticky traveled with her. It looked like peanut butter on the heel of her right pump. Peanut butter and suede were not a good match.
He bent down and kissed Sophie’s brow. “Balls to the wall before breakfast?” he asked.
“I’m strengthening my spine.”
“Your mom’s a workout.”
She covered her face with both hands. “I didn’t mean for you to hear—”
“That we’re getting married?” He raised a brow.
“I used you as a buffer and I apologize for that.”
“You can use me any way you like, Sophie.”
He eased her around to face him fully. She lowered her hands. She was fresh-faced, flushed, and uncertain. She hung her head. He sensed something had changed between them; something that went beyond her confrontation with her mother.
Where did her apprehension stem from? He’d been gone only a couple days. He’d left town feeling good about their relationship. He’d wanted her to jump into his arms, excited to see him on his return. Instead she stood stiffly, unable to look at him.
“I missed you,” he said.
“Thank you.”
Thank you? Not the comment he’d expected from her. She was suddenly shy, polite, and distant. She appeared afraid that he would rebuff her.
He rested both hands on her shoulders, looked down at her and said, “I hear you and Mac made dinner last night.” His partner had left him a message on his cell phone.
“I’m learning to cook.”
“Mac burns meat loaf.”
“We cleaned our plates.”
“I ate with Will—”
She glanced up, her eyes wide. “Hot Willow?”
He nodded. “That was her tag on the tour.”
Sophie hesitated. “What do you call her now?”
“Willow Stacy-Grant.”
Sophie blinked. “She’s married?”
“To one of my biggest rivals, Dean Grant.”
She seemed relieved. “You never—”
“No, I never.” He understood her concern. “Who told you about Willow?” Only his family was aware of his youth volleyball camps and his out-of-town connections.
“Mac might have mentioned her.”
Dune rubbed the back of his neck. His partner often spoke without thinking. Mac needed a filter. While Dune had nothing to hide, Sophie wasn’t prepared to hear his name linked to another woman. Apparently Mac hadn’t mentioned that Willow had a husband. She and Dean were happily married.
Had Sophie been jealous? he wondered. It fed his ego to think so. He lifted her chin with a finger, then brushed the edge of his thumb over her bottom lip. “I’m seeing you and only you,” he told her. “Let’s see where it goes.”
“I like that idea.”
He drew her close, only to have her pull back. She tilted her head and listened. “I don’t hear the plastic ball.”
A mother’s instinct. Sophie was worried about her girls.
He glanced around the kitchen; there was no sign of them. She shot down the hallway toward the bedrooms, while he checked the library and living room. They were nowhere to be found.
“Dune!” She screamed his name, panic in her voice.
He hurried back to the kitchen. The sliding glass doors were shoved wide. Immediately, he saw the plastic ball floating in the deep end of the pool. The ball was rapidly filling with water.
His heart slammed when Sophie jumped in. She couldn’t swim, but she was out to save her hamsters. Dune dove in right behind her. He quickly reached her. She was bobbing and instinctively treading water. She held the plastic ball over her head.
“Don’t let them drown,” she sputtered. The water in the ball was dangerously high. The hamsters were swimming for their lives. The slightly larger of the two climbed on the back of the smaller one, holding her down. The air pocket in the ball was a few short breaths from disappearing.
Dune grabbed Sophie under her arm and did the sidestroke until they reached the edge of the pool. He boosted her and her hamsters onto the side. He then hoisted himself up.
In frenzy, she struggled with the top of the ball. It wouldn’t twist off. He took the ball from her. The cap was definitely stuck. The hamsters had little time left. They were wet and frantic.
He took off for the kitchen. He set the ball down in the sink, jammed the stopper in the drain, then pulled a paring knife from the slotted cutlery block. Next, he inserted the tip of the knife into the leaky seal. The plastic cracked open and water spilled out.
Sophie grabbed a dish towel. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she carefully picked the Dwarfs up and patted them dry. There was nothing more pathetic than a damp hamster.
“Do you know CPR?” She choked back tears.
Dune was worried. He could perform the lifesaving procedure on humans, but he had no experience with small creatures. Fortunately, their tiny chests began heaving up and down as they took in air. “They’re coming around,” he noted with relief.
Sophie was beside herself. “What if they’d died?”
“They didn’t,” he was quick to say.
“What if they catch colds?”
“Then we’ll take them to a veterinarian.”
“Maybe we should take them right now as a precaution.”
We, she said. He’d helped save them, and she now included him in the hamsters’ care. He’d never been a “dad” to Dwarf hamsters. He rather liked the idea.
“I think they’ll be fine, Sophie,” he assured her. “Do you have a hair dryer?”
She nodded, then hurried down the hall and returned with one. He plugged it in and gently blew warm air on the Dwarfies. He’d never pictured himself blow-drying hamsters, yet he was doing so now. Both girls perked up. “Why don’t you feed them?” he suggested.
Clutching them in the towel, Sophie took them to their cage. She filled their bowl so high, it would take a week for them to consume all the seeds and pellets.
The ordeal buckled Sophie’s knees. Her skin had air-dried, but her clothes still clung to her, wet and droopy. Apparently, she didn’t care. Dropping onto the sofa, she stared at the hamsters for a long, long time. So long, Dune joined her.
Forgetting about her soggy clothes and wet hair, he drew her across his lap. She was soft and shaking. He absorbed her sigh. Her breath warmed his neck. He felt the race of her heart against his chest. He gently rubbed her back, then massaged the nape of her neck.
“My mother didn’t completely close the sliding doors when she left,” Sophie softly surmised. “That’s how the girls escaped.”
“It was an accident,” Dune assured her. “They’re safe now.”
“I went after the hamsters and you came after me. You saved our lives.” Her appreciation came with a kiss. “Thank you.”
He held her close until all the tension had left her body. When she’d completely relaxed, she requested, “Teach me to swim?”
“We’ll begin tonight.” After her morning leap, he’d been about to suggest she drain her pool or buy a fiberglass cover until she learned to dog-paddle. Treading water didn’t count. Learning freestyle swimming and the breaststroke would benefit her greatly.
She glanced toward the wall clock designed as a medieval castle. “I’m going to be late for work.”
“I can give you a ride to the T-shirt shop.”
“Change of plans.” She grinned, her excitement evident. “I’m headed to the rickshaw hut. I start my pedicab tours after a two-hour training session.”
“Pedaling can be strenuous and hard work.” He didn’t want to burst her bubble, but fact was fact. Sophie was small and her passengers would outweigh her. She’d gotten sore from riding on the back of his motorcycle. Hauling tourists up and down the boardwalk for several hours at a stretch would leave her stiff and hurting.
He could always give her a massage. He liked touching her. Intimacy appealed to him. He was good with his hands.
She slipped off his lap and he followed her back to the kitchen. Their body heat had nearly dried their clothes. His shirt had stretched out and Sophie’s baggy shorts hung loose on her hips. She tightened the drawstring.
She moved to the stove and scrunched her nose. “So much for my scrambled eggs.”
Her eggs were charred and stuck to the skillet.
“Cereal makes for an easy breakfast,” he suggested.
“I’ll pick some up later today.”
“Buy Wheaties,” he advised on his way out. “The breakfast of champions.”
Two hours later, Dune stood on the boardwalk and took in the sights. There were a lot of people milling about for a Wednesday. Most of them carried purchases. Business was good.
He loved being home. Southwest Florida was paradise. He appreciated the clear skies and crystal blue water. A hint of a breeze broke the humidity. Seagulls screeched overhead and several pelicans toddled down the pier. The countless footprints in the sugar sand indicated the tourist trade here was alive and well.
Vacations were expensive for most folks, but the Cateses were personable and welcoming. Barefoot William came recommended as a destination of choice. No one could resist the gift shops and amusements. Children and adults alike got a thrill riding the roller coaster or carousel at midnight. A moonlit beach invited romance. Sleep came in second to the nightlife.
A tap of fingernails on his shoulder turned him to the left. A blonde in a skimpy black bikini stood beside him. The curve of her hip bumped his thigh. She smiled, he nodded, but he didn’t encourage conversation. He wasn’t interested in anyone but Sophie. The blonde eventually moved on.
No strings attached had been his motto for many years, yet Sophie had gotten under his skin. He’d never met anyone so sweet and kind. She was overcoming her shyness and fears. Her blushes made her special. He wanted to protect her.
Their relationship had been born of a pro/am volleyball tournament. Strange, he often felt he’d known her longer than a year. Something about her took him back to his youth. He never could pinpoint the time or place. It remained a mystery to him.
Still, she brightened his days. They were friends and would soon be lovers. They’d already had a heated encounter the night she’d pushed him into her pool. His groin tightened at the memory. The feel of her skin against his had been slick and wet. Her body had responded to his touch. Tonight he’d bring condoms.
Dune subconsciously rubbed his wrist. He and Mac had scheduled volleyball practice for one o’clock that afternoon in the high school gym. The Huntington Beach Classic was ten days away. He hated it when his joints ached before his first serve. He’d play through the pain. He’d done it before and he would do so again.
He forced himself to stay positive. Shifting his stance, he transferred the take-out container he carried from one hand to the other. He’d stopped at Molly Malone’s for breakfast. Word had spread fast that Sophie was giving pedicab tours. Everyone would be on the lookout for her.
They’d cheer her on.
His aunt had put together a survival kit for Sophie packed with bottled water, an apple, a banana, and several nutrition bars, all designed to hydrate and energize her.
His relatives wanted her to be successful.
So did Dune, in whatever she chose to do.
He’d texted Shaye twice, asking if Sophie had left the rickshaw hut. He thought about being her first customer, but decided against it. He was a big man. He didn’t want her expending all her energy on him. He also couldn’t guarantee he could keep his hands off her. He didn’t want to prove a distraction. She had a long day ahead of her.
Shaye took her sweet time messaging him back. She indicated Sophie had pedaled off a half hour ago. Barring any problems, she should’ve reached Dune’s location by now.
He squinted down the boardwalk. There was no sign of her. Where the hell was she? The ticket booth for the pedicab tours stood beside Old Tyme Portraits. The drivers waited in the nearby parking lot for their fares. The entire excursion lasted thirty minutes, sometimes less.
He started to pace up and down. Maybe she had a flat tire. Maybe she’d worn herself out after the first block. Maybe she’d gotten an ornery tourist. Maybe—
“Are you waiting for Sophie?” Mayor James Cates asked as he approached Dune. His uncle gave him a knowing, amused look.
Dune nodded, not the least embarrassed. “She started a new venture today. I thought I’d look out for her.”
“She won’t be here for quite some time,” James said. “I saw her earlier when I stopped by the ticket booth to thank her for taking my son under her wing. Randy’s a new kid since she took an interest in him. He’s even helping out around the house.”
The mayor took a moment to greet several beachgoers. He promoted the town with a good word and strong handshake. “I hung around the parking lot for a while to see how Sophie handled the tour,” he went on to tell Dune. “She’d gathered quite a crowd before I left.”
“What happened?” Dune had to know.
The mayor unbuttoned his suit jacket and loosened his tie. He dabbed his handkerchief to his brow. “Once Sophie was assigned her first fare, she began her tour right there in the parking lot. She didn’t wait until she was halfway down the boardwalk, like so many of the drivers tend to do. She caught everyone’s attention right off the bat, relaying facts about the corner shop and how it was the original store built by William Cates.”
James looked at Dune. “Did you know it took three weeks to have the concrete and lumber shipped by boat from Tampa?” he asked. “The shop first opened as a fruit and vegetable stand. A few fishermen sold their catch in the back.”
This was all new information to Dune.
The mayor shielded his eyes, then pointed north. “Here comes Sophie now.”
Dune looked hard, but he couldn’t find her in the crowd. It took several seconds for him to locate her. She pedaled slowly but steadily in the middle of a throng. An elderly lady rode in her rickshaw, while the others walked alongside her. It was eerily quiet as people listened to her every word. Everyone within earshot was getting a detailed history lesson. Dune caught the next part of Sophie’s presentation as she drew nearer to where he waited for her.
“How would you like to live your life without shoes?” she asked those around her. The tourists nodded, smiled. A few raised their hands. “William Cates did just that. He was a farmer from Frostbite, Minnesota, who suffered the worst of winters. Just after the turn of the century, he sold his farm, then hand-cranked his Model T and traveled south until he reached this isolated stretch of beach. He removed his boots and walked knee-deep in the Gulf. Waves slapped his legs and the sun warmed him. He waded in the water until his face got sunburned. He immediately called Florida home. He swore never to wear shoes again.”
“Never?” The woman in the rickshaw sounded skeptical.
“Only on Sundays when he and his wife Lily Doreen went to church,” Sophie amended. “He noted in his journal that the moment he left God’s house he immediately shucked his shoes. The soles on those oxfords never wore out. He put them on once a week for sixty years.”
The tourists chuckled and Sophie smiled. The closer she got to Dune, the clearer her voice became. She was in her element and enjoying herself.
“William Cates had six children,” she continued. “His hound dog Buddy was his constant companion. William went out on his fishing boat in the morning and governed the city from the one-room courthouse in the afternoon. He was the first elected mayor.” She paused for effect, then said, “Twelve votes were cast. It was unanimous.”
Dune took it all in. He knew so little about his ancestors. Sophie was a human history lesson.
“William was prone to late afternoon naps,” she went on to say. “No one disturbed him. He rested in a hammock strung between two palms in his backyard. His wife woke him for dinner. His favorite meal was stone crab claws.”
She was ten feet from Dune now. She gave him a small wave as she slowed down beside him. He noticed she wasn’t huffing and puffing. She could handle the pedaling.
She didn’t wear the usual driver’s uniform consisting of a tan polo shirt and khaki shorts. Instead, she’d covered up with a floppy white hat, long-sleeve blouse, slacks, and tennis shoes. Sunblock whitened her nose.
“Meet Dune Cates, everyone,” she said by way of an introduction to all those gathered around her. “He’s a fifth generation Cates. Dune’s a professional beach volleyball player, for anyone who doesn’t recognize him. He’s the number one seed on the circuit.”
Excited murmurs flew around him as tourists took his picture. Dune smiled, then signed autographs on the back of the city tour pamphlets.
“Standing beside Dune is Mayor James Cates,” she said. More cameras flashed. “In spite of tough economic times, our illustrious mayor has managed to control the town’s growth and uphold William’s vision.”
“She’s good,” the mayor said to Dune, praising Sophie after she’d pedaled on.
Dune was too stunned to speak. Shy, sweet Sophie had hit her stride. She wasn’t afraid of public speaking. Not by a long shot. She was a natural born tour guide.
“She’s found her niche.” Dune had no doubt what he said was true.
“I hope you’re right,” his uncle said. “I want to run something by you, Dune, if you have a few minutes.”
Dune took the time. He leaned back against the blue pipe railing and listened. He was interested in what the mayor had to say.
“Dog-eared Pages, the used book store around the corner from Molly’s diner, is going out of business,” James began. “Clinton Cates wants to retire. I’d prefer the shop didn’t stand empty long. I want to try something new. Barefoot William deserves its own museum. I’d like to offer Sophie the position of curator. She knows more about us than we know about ourselves. She’d be perfect for the job.”
The idea appealed to Dune, yet there was a catch. “She’s a Saunders.”
“Not a problem for me or anyone else,” his uncle assured him. “Everyone on the boardwalk likes her. Your sister married Sophie’s brother Trace. In a roundabout way, that makes her family.”
Dune nodded. This could be her dream job. He felt a surge of excitement for her.
The mayor glanced at his watch. “I need to get back to the office,” he said, straightening his tie. “Run the idea by Sophie and see if she’s interested. If so, have her stop by my office and we’ll talk further.”
His uncle departed and Dune went after Sophie. He planned to save his conversation about the mayor’s proposal for later that evening. It was more important that he deliver her survival kit.
Her forty-minute tour had stretched to ninety minutes. He located her near the pier. The crowd swelled despite the heat. Sophie suffocated at its center.
Dune made his way over to her. People frowned, but let him pass. They didn’t want to lose their places. Sophie wasn’t nearly as wilted as he’d expected. Her blouse was slightly wrinkled and her face was flushed. She fanned herself with the floppy brim of her hat.
He opened the take-out container and passed her a bottle of water. She was grateful. He then slipped the kit under her seat.
“How are you holding up?” he asked.
She took a long sip of water before answering him. “I’m ready to head back to the rickshaw hut,” she said. “I hope Shaye won’t be angry.” Her concern for her job was evident on her face. “I got carried away and went over the allotted time.”
Dune glanced around. No one had moved. All eyes were on Sophie. “You have an appreciative audience.”
She smiled. “I’m having fun.”
“Are you sore?”
She rubbed her thigh. “A little.” She didn’t complain further. She poured a few drops of water onto her palm and blotted her face. The droplets immediately dried. “I’d better go,” she told him.
She cut the front wheel sharply and made a U-turn. Fortunately, she didn’t run over anyone. Dune fell in with the crowd, keeping to the rear. He wanted to hear what Sophie had to say as much as anyone.
Along the way, he learned that William’s younger brother had established the first local newspaper in town. The Sun was printed once a week and was a one-page news sheet. William’s eldest son was instrumental in the construction and extension of the First Southern Railroad. The one-rail line brought a slow stream of commerce to town. William’s youngest daughter ran a bakery out of her home kitchen. She baked the best apple pies in the county.
He also discovered that his great-great-grandfather had had polio and his great-aunt had died of scarlet fever. They had no town doctor for many years. The local women applied stitches and used home remedies to treat the common cold and pneumonia.
The crowd grew bigger and Dune fell farther behind. He came across Mac outside the T-shirt shop and stopped to talk to his partner. Mac held a large soda and two corn dogs.
Something was definitely wrong, Dune thought. Mac had a cast-iron stomach and went through food as if life was an eating contest. Yet at that moment, both drink and dog went untouched. They had one hour before volleyball practice. Dune hoped he wasn’t sick.
“You standing or stalking?” he asked Mac.
Mac pointed to a fissure in the foundation. “I’m holding up the wall.”
“Three Shirts isn’t falling down,” Dune informed him. “The crack’s been there for fifty years.”
“I’m here in case it caves in.”
Dune narrowed his gaze. “That’s an interesting way to spend your morning. Is Jen aware of your Herculean strength?”
“She looked out the door and scowled at me,” Mac said. “A few minutes later that boy Randy delivered a glass of warm tap water.” Mac liked his drinks packed with ice.
Dune shook his head and smiled.
“What are you smiling about?” Mac demanded.
“The fact that we’ve stood here for five minutes and you haven’t made one comment on women’s waxing.” Beautiful women strolled the boardwalk. Most wore tiny bikinis. They flashed a lot of smiles and skin.
Mac cut his glance to the next three sunbathers coming their way. “Brazilian, bikini, bikini,” he said half-heartedly.
“Nice jersey, Ace-hole,” one of the two bikini babes said to Mac as she passed.
Mac nodded. “It’s one of my favorites.”
“Mine, too,” Dune stated, eyeing the familiar jersey. Mac often raided his closet when they were on tour or vacation. He’d paid a sizeable amount for the vintage 1925 Packers football jersey. He should’ve framed and preserved the shirt, but he enjoyed wearing it when Mac didn’t confiscate it.
Mac rolled his shoulders. “I ran out of clothes.”
“Ever hear of a washing machine?”
“I put out my laundry, but Frank has yet to run a load.”
“You’re his guest,” Dune reminded him. “Be considerate of my grandfather.”
“I’m family,” Mac said. “Frank calls me ‘son.’ ”
“Son of a bitch when you’re out of earshot.”
“I’ve heard that, too.”
Dune glanced at his watch. “Jen or the gym?” he asked.
Mac considered his options. “Jenna hates my guts and won’t speak to me. I can work off my frustration at practice.”
Dune turned serious. He seldom poked his nose into Mac’s personal business, but Jen was family. “Are you into my cousin?”
“Who wants to know?”
“I’m asking, you’re answering.”
“True confession?” Mac asked.
“Be honest with me. I don’t want to see her hurt.”
“She’s the one being shitty to me,” Mac said.
“You bring out the worst in people.”
“I’m a freakin’ nice guy,” he defended. “I want—”
“Someone you can’t have,” Dune said flatly. He went on to remind Mac, “We’re leaving town shortly. My family is close. We look out for each other. Don’t do something so stupid you get banned from our community.”
“What do you consider stupid?”
“Don’t mess with Jenna’s mind.”
“What if she screws with me?”
“You’d deserve it.”
Mac said a bad word.
Dune motioned to him. “Enough said. Let’s walk.”
Mac had finished one corn dog and half his soda by the time they reached the Tahoe. He dumped the remainder of the food in a trash receptacle; then Dune drove them to the high school gym. He knew the coaches well and had reserved the facility for two hours.
Dune shouldered an athletic bag inside. He’d brought them each a change of clothes. Dressed in gray tank tops and athletic shorts, they took to the indoor court. He’d have preferred to practice on the beach, but they’d draw a crowd there. He didn’t want media publicizing his injury. He slipped on his brace.
They each took a side to practice their serves. Dune soon realized that Mac’s mind wasn’t on the court. Ace-hole was in his own world. His serves were unfocused, his placement sloppy. Dune needed to jar his ass back to reality.
Dune strained his wrist, but he got his message across. He aimed an overhand slam at Mac’s head. Strong and accurate, it served his purpose.
“What the f*ck?” Mac jumped, ducked, and was forced to chase the ball down. “I’m your partner, for Christ’s sake. You nearly took off an ear. I don’t want to be the Vincent van Gogh of volleyball.”
“Concentrate,” Dune shouted over the net. “We need to be ready for Huntington.”
Mac narrowed his eyes and set his jaw. His return serve blew Dune away, landing beyond his reach.
“Nice,” Dune admired.
“How’s your wrist?” Mac asked. “Am I going to have to carry you in two weeks?”
Dune hoped not, but he was afraid Mac might. “Be ready for anything.”
“I’ve got your back.”
They went through a series of two-man drills. Hot and sweaty, they called it quits at the end of ninety minutes. Dune bought them each an apple juice from the vending machine. He tossed Mac a towel from his athletic bag. They sat on the bleachers and cooled off.
“I may be leaving town earlier than I planned,” Dune confided in Mac. “My orthopedist called. He has a treatment for my tendonitis he wants to try, one that could strengthen my wrist.”
“Solid,” said Mac. “What’s the procedure?”
Dune rubbed the towel across the back of his neck. “I get shots of platelet-rich plasma created by my own blood injected in the ruptured tendons.”
Mac winced. “How long does it take to work?”
Dune rolled his wrist. “I’m a speed healer. I should see results within a day.”
“Yeah?” Mac asked, curious.
“I should have more flexibility in my wrist and less inflammation,” Dune said. “I’ll stay on for observation and additional therapy. If all goes well, I’ll be in top shape for the tournament.”
Mac exhaled slowly. “You’d no longer face retirement. We could continue on the tour.”
“That would be the best scenario.”
They both knew the worst, but neither wanted to go there.
“What about Ghost?” Mac asked.
“He’ll stay with my grandfather until I return. Frank could use the company.”
“I’ll take him for walks and give him snacks.”
“No pepperoni, potato chips, or peanut butter. Otherwise—”
“He farts,” Mac finished for him.
Dune cut Mac a look. “No more tricks, either. You taught him how to play dead. He lay like roadkill on our last walk. I had to carry him home. I also don’t like the fact he can twist doorknobs with his mouth. He occasionally sneaks in and sleeps on the floor in Frank’s bedroom. My grandfather trips over him in the morning. I don’t want Frank hurt.”
“No more tricks,” Mac promised.
Dune knew he lied.
Mac nudged him with an elbow. “Does Sophie know about your injections?”
“Not yet, but I plan to tell her before I leave.” He rubbed his brow. “She’ll feel worse than I will if the treatment doesn’t work.”
“She cares for you.”
“She’s cute when she blushes.”
Mac grinned one of his more annoying grins.
Dune’s neck heated. “What now?” he asked.
“You’re crazy about her. C’mon, admit it.”
He kept his feelings to himself.
“She’s going to miss you,” said Mac.
“She won’t even know I’m gone.” Dune then told Mac about his chat with the mayor. “Sophie knows the town better than anyone. I’m sure she’ll accept the challenge.”
“There’ll be no more adventures.” Mac sounded disappointed. “I truly thought she’d make a great mime.”
“I’m relieved she’s out of harm’s way,” Dune admitted.
“You’ve been concerned about her.
“Yeah,” Dune admitted. “Sophie’s special.”
Mac finished off his juice and stood up. “I’d ask her out if you weren’t seeing her,” he said. “I still might once you leave town.”
“You’re such an ass.” Dune pushed to his feet, then stepped off the bleachers. “You need to fix things with Jen.”
“I will eventually,” Mac conceded.
“I need your A-game at Huntington.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll bring it.”
Sophie Saunders brought a pair of goggles, a nose clip, hand paddles, flippers, a snorkel, a kickboard, and a waist strap with foam blocks to her first swim lesson.
She answered the door in her blue tankini and full aquatic gear. Dune couldn’t help staring. “You’ve been shopping,” he noted.
“I got outfitted at Diver Dan’s.”
She’d gotten the works. He was surprised the salesclerk hadn’t sold her a wet suit, air tank, and speargun. “All you need is me, Sophie.”
She deflated. “Think I overdid it?”
He didn’t want to hurt her feelings. “Maybe just a little,” he said. “The items you purchased are for swimming in the Gulf. We’ll be in the shallow end of your pool, where you can stand.”
“I’m scared,” she confessed.
“You jumped in twice.”
“Both times without thinking.”
Dune evaluated their situation. She’d been excited about her swim lesson earlier in the day, yet she’d had hours to dwell on her decision. She’d worked herself up and he needed to calm her down.
He dropped his athletic bag on the aqua marble floor and drew her close. He wanted to feel her against him. Six inches of foam block kept them apart. The lifebelt dug into his groin. He sucked air. Shifted his stance.
Despite their separation, Sophie stretched and wrapped her arms about his waist. She slapped him on the back with her hand paddles. Her flippers tromped his bare feet. Her eyes looked twice their size behind the goggles. The nose clip forced her to breathe through her mouth. She puffed air.
Dune gently set her back. “Let’s strip down to the basics,” he suggested. “Swimsuits only.”
He helped her remove her goggles. She blinked up at him. Her expression reflected her every emotion. She was self-conscious in her swimsuit and deathly afraid of the pool. Color drained from her face. She needed reassurance.
He brushed her hair out of her eyes.
She leaned her cheek into his palm.
He kissed her lightly.
She managed a small smile.
He wanted her relaxed. He soothed her further. He skimmed his hands over her shoulders and down her arms. Her skin was as soft as living silk. “It’s going to be fine, Sophie, trust me.”
She nodded, and he removed her nose clip. She inhaled deeply and tried to rub her nostrils. She nearly poked her eye out with the end of a hand paddle. Dune massaged the bridge of her nose until the red marks faded.
Off came the foam block belt and paddles. He then knelt down and helped her remove the flippers. They fit her feet tightly. Her toes were pinched. He noticed she’d changed the color of her toenail polish from purple to a glossy red. He smiled to himself. She was going for sexy.
She stood before him now in only her suit. He could sense her apprehension as she fought her nerves. Dune had never been afraid of anything in his entire life. He wanted to infuse that kind of confidence into Sophie.
He took her by the hand and led her down the hallway. She dragged her feet. He caught sight of the hamsters. Sophie had purchased them a new plastic ball. They cornered the kitchen and rolled straight toward them. The girls appeared to have grown overnight.
Sophie perked up. “I named the darker of the two Scarlett,” she said, “as in Scarlett O’Hara. I love Gone with the Wind and think Scarlett is a brave name.”
Dune agreed. “She looks like a Scarlett.”
“I want you to name the other.”
The honor carried a huge responsibility. He gave it some thought. “How about Glinda,” he said, “after the Good Witch of the North in The Wizard of Oz.” He figured the movie would appeal to her.
And it did. “Glinda is perfect!” She seemed pleased.
The Dwarfies did a U-turn and followed them all the way to the sliding glass doors. Their little legs were churning fast. Dune and Sophie slipped out before the girls could follow them. He then secured the sliders. The hamsters reversed their direction. There’d be no repeat of the ball in the pool incident.
He drew Sophie across the pool deck to the shallow end. The night was quiet, the air calm. The inside lights reflected outward. The glow was both intimate and private.
Dune tugged on her hand, hoping she’d take the stairs down into the water alongside him. Instead, she held back. He scooped a handful of water and splashed her.
She glared at him.
He laughed at her.
“Ease up, Sophie,” he teased. “The pool is as warm as bathwater.”
She gripped his hand tightly. He was her lifeline. One step down and an inch of water covered her ankles. He was sure she’d hyperventilate.
“Take deep breaths,” he instructed her.
Her eyes were wide. She trembled.
He continued down the stairs ahead of her. He now stood on the floor of the pool. Their clutched hands and outstretched arms connected them. He squeezed her fingers.
“I want to kiss you,” he enticed her.
“Come back to the steps.”
“No, you come to me.”
Her expression nearly did him in. She wanted him, would do anything for him, yet fear paralyzed her.
“Three steps, Sophie,” he encouraged her. “You can do this.”
She blinked and a tear escaped.
He felt awful.
She probably felt worse.
Her breathing deepened as she gathered her courage. The stairs were forgotten as she took a wild leap. She landed in his arms. He collected her to him. She buried her face in his neck and her heartbeat raced against his chest. Her thighs tightened like a vise at his waist. She wasn’t ready to be kissed. Her full concentration was centered on not drowning.
He ran his hands down her back and cupped her bottom. He needed to distract her. He shifted the conversation from the pool to her pedicab tours. He rested his forehead against hers and asked, “Any soreness from pedaling?”
She leaned back slightly. “Shaye limited my tours. I only did three. She mentioned buying a trolley so I could ride easily and reach more tourists.”
“That’s my sister, the businesswoman. She’s always thinking of ways to benefit our town,” he said as he eased the two of them beyond the stairs. He hoped Sophie wouldn’t notice. She didn’t. Not yet anyway.
“I made sixty dollars in tips,” Sophie said. “I plan to give the money to the animal shelter.”
“They’ll appreciate every dime.”
“I stopped by Three Shirts and paid Randy before I left the boardwalk. He bought his sunglasses and a T-shirt for his sister. He plans to purchase something for his father with his next paycheck.”
“Speaking of his dad,” Dune began. She’d given him the perfect opening to convey his conversation with the mayor. “My uncle wanted me to pass on a message.” He laid out James’s plans for the museum.
Sophie had loosened her death grip on him by the time he finished. She was wide-eyed and interested. “Barefoot William deserves a museum,” she agreed. “I’m honored James thought of me for the curator.”
“Stop by his office for the details,” Dune said.
“I will tomorrow.”
Water sloshed between them. She looked around. “No deeper, Dune.”
Busted. He kissed her at that moment to take her mind off the depth of the water. Her breath was sweet and moist. For all her fears, Sophie liked kissing. She slipped him her tongue. Dune let her tease and taste. She took pleasure in his mouth.
He slowly broke their kiss. “Back to your swimming lesson,” he said. “It’s time for you to stand on your own.”
“How deep are we?”
“The water will reach your chest.”
She glanced down on her breasts. “I’m not feeling very buoyant.”
Dune chuckled. Sophie had a quirky sense of humor. She’d begun to relax. He released her, and she slid down his body. The slide was pure torment. Every inch of her brushed and bumped and he became as hard as her kickboard. He pushed back a step.
Panic flashed in her eyes. “Don’t leave me, Dune.”
“I won’t,” he assured her. “It’s time for you to bounce a little, get a feel for the water.”
Her bounces were controlled. He figured most of the ripples were caused by the shakiness of her body. It was slow going, but Dune had all night. He’d stick it out until Sophie learned the basics and she could survive in the pool on her own.
She was receptive and did her best to follow his instructions. Dune credited her for all she attempted. He taught her breathing techniques and how to float. She struggled through the arm strokes and kicking and developed her own style of swimming.
He finally stood off to the side and let her go it alone. Sophie couldn’t swim a straight line. She zigzagged back and forth across the shallow end. She kicked like a champion, but she had little momentum.
She wore herself out. She clung to the side of the pool, hung her head, and exhaled. “I’m tired,” she said.
He’d grown weary just watching her. “Let’s call it a night.”
She scooted her hands along the edge toward the handrail. She was halfway there when he saw her face contort. She hunched over as if she were in pain. What had happened?
He made a mad splash through the water to reach her. “Sophie, are you okay?” He didn’t wait for her to answer. He circled her waist and lifted her up onto the side of the pool. “Where does it hurt?” he asked.
“A cramp. My left calf.” Her voice shook.
He ran his hands from her knee to her ankle, kneading, palming, and seeking the knot. He made several attempts to find it, but he felt nothing but her smooth skin.
“Flex your foot up, then straighten it.”
She did. “It hurts.” She closed her eyes, moaned.
Dune studied her. Something was off. Her moan didn’t sound real. It seemed forced and robotic. What the hell? He caught her squint and knew instantly she was playing him.
He ran one hand down his face. “You got me good,” was all he could say.
She bent her knee, placed her foot on his chest, and shoved. He flopped back and flailed his arms for effect. She grinned. “When you prank someone, chances are good they’ll prank you back.” She tossed his words back in his face.
He’d started it and she’d finished it. He’d fooled her when he’d pretended to drown, but Sweet Sophie now pulled her own practical joke. He liked this side of her. She seemed quite pleased with herself, too.
She inched toward the handrail and started up the steps. Dune caught her from behind and dragged her back into the pool. She slipped underwater. She came up sputtering. He tucked her into his body. She squirmed, then settled against his chest, her legs wrapped around his hips. He shifted his stance and she went suddenly still.
“You poked me,” she said.
“No, I didn’t.”
Then he realized he had. Sophie turned him on and his dick was rigid. The head of his penis now bumped her sex. She was fascinated by their fit in the water. It wouldn’t take much to slip off her bikini bottoms, drop his board shorts, and slip inside her.
That would be too quick.
He wanted their first time to be as close to perfect as he could make it. She deserved a lot of foreplay.
“That’s just the nature of the beast,” he said ruefully. “I want you, and my body gives me away.”
He’d expected her to blush, but she surprised him. “I like a sure sign in a man,” she said softly. “There’s no mistaking your need.”
He looked down on her. Her pulse quickened at the base of her throat and her nipples puckered. Female instinct rocked her hips. She was as ready for him as he was for her.
The time was now.
“Your bedroom?” he asked.
“Follow the hamster ball,” she said. “I just saw their shadows pass the sliders.”