The Way Home (7 page)

After a quick check to confirm what she saw, she motioned Ty closer. When their kayaks gently bumped, she handed him the glasses.

“Two o’clock. Off the tip of that jutting stretch of shore.” She held the kayaks together as he lifted the glasses. “Past the white rock. In the water heading toward shore.”

He focused, searched, and grinned. “Bear.”

“Yup. A sow and twin cubs. They’re swimming right behind her.”

“Wow,” he said, still grinning. “That is amazing.”

“Blueberries are getting ripe, so they swim from island to island filling their bellies.”

“Are they a threat?”

“Black bears? Not so much. Not unless you corner them or get between a momma and her cubs, which we definitely are not going to do.”

He handed her back the glasses, and she took her turn watching the bears, even though they were close enough now that they could see them without the help of the magnification.

They watched until the lumbering trio disappeared into the island’s thick undergrowth. Tyler took a pull on his water bottle while she packed the glasses away.

“And that just made my day complete.” He pointed overhead.

A full-grown bald eagle bore down on them, its wingspan at least seven feet, talons extended.

“He’s fishing,” Jess said, and right then, the eagle swooped down to the water’s surface about ten yards ahead of them, reached deep, and came up clutching a wriggling fish.

“Man, oh, man. That is so freaking cool!” Ty exclaimed on a laugh.

She agreed. It was cool. So was he. She liked it that he didn’t try to hide his excitement. And she found herself taken again by how easy he was about everything.

“So you’re a nature boy.”

“Unapologetically.”

“How is it, then, that you ended up in Florida?”

“Ever been to Key West?”

“Nope. North Carolina is as far south as I ever got.” She’d lived on a few military posts as an Army wife. Most of the time, it was she and the other wives holding down the fort while the men were deployed.

“There’s more wildlife in Key West than you’d think. Especially at night.” He grinned. “Truth is, while I like it there—crazy tourists, cruise ships, Keysie ways, and all—it’s not the area I’d have chosen to set up shop. But I didn’t pick it. It picked me.”

“How so?”

“You really want to hear this?”

“I do.”

They’d increased their stride again and were easily moving toward Nashata Point and Stalinsky Bay. The promised conversation about J.R. and Maya hadn’t begun yet, but they had the rest of the day. Frankly, she felt fine talking about anything else except J.R., although she couldn’t help but be curious about Ty’s story.

“When I separated from the Navy, I was at loose ends for a while. Really didn’t know what I wanted to do. I had some time on my hands and knew one of my old commanders had retired in Key West. And when I say old, that’s a relative term. He was fifty. He’d always told me to come and see him when I got out. So I did. Turns out he’d started an air charter business a few years back, then expanded to air cargo.”

A pair of loons surfaced ten yards to their left and, apparently not bothered by their presence, cruised around for several seconds before diving again.

“As it also turned out, he was looking for a pilot. He wanted to expand his fleet and his routes. Asked me to join him. So I did.”

“How long ago was that?”

“Almost five years now. Three years ago, though, he got a wild hair and decided he wanted to pack it in and retire—for real this time—in Tahiti. He offered me a sweet deal on the business, so I bought him out, and that’s how I ended up in Key West.”

“It sounds exotic. Jimmy Buffett. Margaritaville. Surf. Sand. Sun.”

“Humidity, hurricanes, spring break, and a nightmare of federal regulations that make my teeth ache. Don’t get me wrong. I’m grateful. And business is good. But being here . . . well . . .”

He paused, and his silence compelled her to look at him.

“Being here is special,” he said, with a smile that was far more intimate than a conversation about Minnesota should be. “And not only because of the wildlife and the scenery.”

“There’s a little beach where we can put in on the north shore,” she said, knowing she was blushing again and hoping he’d think the exertion and the sun were at fault. “I thought we’d stop there and have lunch before heading back.”

“Show me.”

She pointed to an inlet about a hundred yards away.

He smiled that “I’ve got your number” smile again, and she felt that roller-coaster rush she experienced far too often since he’d shown up in her store yesterday afternoon.

“Race ya.”

It should have come as no surprise that he’d be competitive. “You’ll lose,” she promised, and, glad for the diversion, she dug deep with her paddle.

Behind her, he laughed. “Who said go?”

“Already looking for excuses?” she yelled over her shoulder.

“No, ma’am.”

She could hear his paddle rhythmically break water as he raced after her.

“Just so we both agree: winner gets to pick a prize.”

“Fine. And loser gets to start the fire and roast the hot dogs.” She didn’t look back. She focused on the shore and gave it everything she had. “Hope you were a Boy Scout.”

Another laugh. “Hope you’re a good loser.”

T
Y WATCHED
J
ESS’S
very tidy backside as she bent over the round iron fire ring and lit a match to kindling. “You can tell a lot about a person by the way they handle a good trouncing.”

“That was not a trouncing. You beat me by a nose.”

“A win’s a win.” He smiled, knowing he shouldn’t be enjoying this so much. The lady was a contender. He liked it. But winning the race had cost him. He’d had to dig really deep, tested some muscles he hadn’t tested for a while, and he could feel it in his lower back now. Not the smartest thing he’d ever done. Not that he planned to let her see he was in pain. “I could have let you win, but then you wouldn’t have respected me.”

She snorted and gave him an indignant look, but he could tell she enjoyed their little back-and-forth. “Should have warned me that you were a gloater.”

“One of many things you don’t know about me. Yet.”

Yeah, that’s right
, he thought as she got real busy with the fire.
Get used to it. You’re going to get to know me. And you
are
going to talk to me.

Feeling pretty smug, he lay back on the blanket she’d produced from the dry hole in her kayak along with a soft-sided cooler filled with fresh grapes, hot dogs, all the fixings, and two cans of soda.

The woman was nothing if not resourceful. But then, he’d already known that. She’d brought kindling and newspaper and matches, the Park Service had provided the fire ring, and together they’d gathered enough deadfall wood to get a nice fire going.

“I like my dogs nicely browned, not burned, by the way.”

“You’ll like ’em the way I fix ’em.” She straightened and dusted her hands together, then shot him a look that made him laugh.

“Yes, ma’am. I believe I will.”

She sat down on the blanket beside him while they waited for the fire to get good and hot. They’d both worked up a bit of a sweat during the race. She’d stripped down to a tank top and shorts, and he’d tossed his long-sleeved shirt and pants aside in favor of the T-shirt and shorts he’d worn beneath them.

The day was postcard-perfect. As she’d promised, it had warmed up; the sun burned bright, and a gentle breeze stirred up and swept a little ripple on the water. What had once been a mirror of glass was now a softly crinkled surface sparkling like multifaceted diamonds.

“So what happened to your back?” she asked, breaking into his thoughts with the equivalent of a sledgehammer.

He wasn’t ready to go there yet. “What makes you think something’s wrong with my back?”

She pulled her knees to her chest and hugged them. “I’m a nurse, remember? I noticed the limp last night. And yes, you hide it well. You didn’t do yourself any favors playing king of the kayaks, though, did you?”

He didn’t want to talk about his back. Was angry that he'd given himself away. He looked back out at the lake. In the very far distance, a fishing boat skimmed across the water, leaving
a white rooster tail in its wake. It was only the third boat he’d spotted since they’d left this morning.

“I also saw the scars,” she said quietly. “Your T-shirt rode up when you shucked your other shirt. I recognize surgical scars when I see them. Is that what ended your military career?”

He set his jaw and wrestled with the idea of telling her.

“Sorry,” she said, saving him from sharing the gory details. “I didn’t mean to pry. I just want to make sure you’re OK.”

“I’m fine.” And basically, he was. Now. Bottom line, though, if he expected her to open up, he’d have to do the same. “I’ll tell you what. Since this whole outdoor adventure is about getting to know each other, and we’re both reluctant to talk about certain aspects of our lives, let’s do rock, paper, scissors to decide who gives up a secret first.”

“Rock, paper, scissors? Seriously? I haven’t played that since I was a kid.”

He smiled. “My brother, Mike? That game was his way of solving everything. Come on. Live dangerously. Winner gets to ask a question. Loser has to tell.”

“You’re big into competition, I see.”

Another engaging grin. “Go big or go home.”

J
ess didn’t give him an
answer right away. Instead, she got up, stirred the fire, pronounced it ready, and loaded a stick that he’d sharpened with hot dogs.

He let her have time to think. She liked that about him. OK. What didn’t she like about him? Telling herself that no matter that her gut told her this was a good guy, the truth was she didn’t know enough about him to answer that question.

So they talked about the lake, about the Park Service—she was oh so good at the tour-guide shtick—and then, with their stomachs full and the sun warm, they both lay back on the blanket with a comfortable distance between them and indulged in the summer day.

“Where are all the mosquitoes Minnesota is so famous for?”

“They don’t like the sun. Walk ten yards into the woods, though, and you’ll find them—or they’ll find you.”

He seemed content to be lazy for a while. She liked that about him, too. J.R. had always been a neutron-charged mass
of energy. He couldn’t sit or stand still. Ty, apparently, had an off switch . . . or at least, a low setting.

She wasn’t altogether sure, but he actually seemed to have fallen asleep. He’d thrown a forearm over his eyes and his other arm above his head. He had one knee cocked, and his breathing was deep and steady.

She could do with a nap herself. She hadn’t exactly slept well last night. Truth was, she’d hardly slept at all.

I’ll tell you about Maya. And you can tell me about J.R.

She kept replaying his words in her mind, too antsy to sleep. Being around him kept her on a mid-level adrenaline high. She was so aware of him. Of how his eyes softened when he watched her. How his smile came so quickly and how he could easily direct it at making fun of himself or teasing her. And this close beside him, she became hyperaware of the muscle and mass of him, the sweat and heat of him, the utter maleness that had been missing in her life for so long.

She rolled to her side and looked at him—the way she’d wanted to look at him for what seemed like a very long time. Only looking got her into more trouble, because there were so many physical complexities and perfections that it made her antsy in another way that had nothing to do with nerves and everything to do with chemistry.

She wanted him in her bed. There. She’d admitted it.

And that fact scared her as much as it excited her. And made her very, very warm, suddenly.

Careful not to wake him, she stood, then walked to the edge of the water. She’d worn her swimsuit beneath her clothes, so she stepped out of her shorts and tossed them and her top back onto the sand. Then she waded in slowly, biting
her lower lip to keep from gasping as the cold water started to engulf her.