have to go. My son found his way out of his playpen. Little tyke’s getting much too clever. I’ll find you later, when you can talk.” She gave him an apologetic grimace and was gone.
Doyle blinked and realized that Violet was no longer at his side. He rose, skirting around the college girls, and began walking toward the bow in search of her. He thought he’d seen a merrow. But why would one of the mer-folk want to harm Violet?
Violet exited the head, pointedly avoiding his gaze as she returned to her seat, and Doyle sighed. Apparently he’d upset her again. He’d have to figure out how to make it up to her later. Right now, he needed to get his passengers back to shore.
“Ready to pull anchor, amigo?” Manny clapped him on the shoulder.
“Let’s take her in,” he grumbled.
Chapter Two
Violet couldn’t believe the nerve of the man. He’d followed her off the boat asking if they could get together later. When she declined, he asked for her address and phone number, claiming it was for insurance purposes. All the while, those two little blondes had been lurking behind, waiting for him.
Well, they could have him!
She felt a pang of regret, remembering his gentle touch and the way her entire body had tingled to life at the prospect of kissing him. But no. It didn’t matter how sexy his accent was, or how amazing his eyes were, or how much she wanted to run her fingers through that soft honey-brown hair and feel what it was like to have his thick arms band around her as their lips joined.
He was obviously some kind of playboy, and she wasn’t going to allow herself to become one of his toys.
She opened the white picketed gate and made her way up the cobblestone path that led to her parents’ glass-paned front door. Bougainvilleas bloomed in a riot of fuchsia, purple and orange, towering over the trellised fence to either side, intermingled with red and yellow trumpet vines. She really should get someone in here to cut them back, she thought, as she fitted the key in the lock. Maybe she’d ask that nice neighbor who had offered to help her box up her parents’ things if she knew of a good yard service.
Violet sighed as the door opened and a blast of cool air washed over her. She moved into the living room and dropped her backpack on the hardwood floor, sagging onto one of the couches. It was upholstered in a thick weave fabric that had been dyed royal blue. The other couch was dark red, and a forest green recliner completed the set, a tribute to her mother’s eclectic taste. Mom had loved to mix and match colors and styles, and somehow she had always seemed to make it work.
Which reminded Violet, she’d intended to finish packing up her mom’s hat collection today. She allowed herself to rest for a few minutes more, then she rose and trudged toward her parents’ bedroom, her feet dragging as she made her way to the walk-in closet. There were already a couple of boxes waiting on the floor, and she began carefully transferring the hats from the shelves down into them.
Her mom had owned hats in every color and style imaginable. Some had feathers or veils. Others were decorated with buckles, flowers, bands or pins. She found two almost identical berets made out of shiny red vinyl. Violet smiled and shook her head, wondering how a person could possibly find the occasions to wear them all. But her mom had probably worn every single one without worrying whether or not they matched the occasion. Both Vicky and George Hendrickson had been the types of people to live for the moment and experience all the joy that life had to offer.
The magnitude of their loss slammed into Violet, combining with the vestiges of her earlier fright in the water, leaving her too overwhelmed to fight her grief. She sank to the floor of the closet, between the boxes of hats. Her fingers clutched at one of her dad’s favorite Hawaiian shirts, pulling it off its hanger as she went.
She cried until the shirt was wet with her tears and her nose was too stuffy to smell the lingering scent of his aftershave.
∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞
“I’m sorry I didn’t see the lindita go under, hermano.”
Doyle looked up from hosing off Ocean Magic’s deck. He’d been staring at the bench where Violet was sitting earlier, lost in thoughts of her. “It wasn’t your fault, man.”
Manny eyed him doubtfully. “I was supposed to be watching the group, no? And you been cranky as a wet gato ever since. If you no mad at me, then what’s eating you, hermano?”
Doyle exhaled heavily as he debated how much to tell Manny. The Costa Rican was a stand-up guy and a good friend. They’d been partners for ten years now, and Doyle trusted him almost as much as he trusted his best friend, Pat. But he’d never entrusted any human with the knowledge that he was sidhe, descended from a noble line of immortal warriors that made their homes in the faerie realm.
He settled, as always, for giving his friend a partial truth.
“I like her, man,” he said simply. “I liked her from the moment I saw her. I wanted to ask her out, but those two blondes kept after me and I think she got the wrong idea.”
Manny’s face broke into a huge grin that pushed his cheeks up into rounded pouches. “You had me worried there for a minute, hermano. I was wondering how come you did no want to sample what those two were offering.”
Doyle smirked as he bent to pick up a discarded soda can left behind by one of the passengers. “I’ve got my mind set on sampling something a bit more exotic than those two, and I’m afraid Miss Violet Hendrickson is the only thing that will do.”
“I know what you mean, hermano. I have been dating this new chica for several weeks now, and no other can turn my eye from her. I think I am in love.”
Manny crossed his hands over his chest and raised his face heavenward.
“I hope she feel the same. Her name is Melody. Beautiful, no? I will bring her to meet you some time soon.”
Doyle smiled. “I’d love to meet the woman who’s finally stolen your heart, brother.”
They finished cleaning the boat in companionable silence and agreed to meet back at the docks in a couple of days for their next round of tours.
Doyle walked the few blocks to the secluded, residential street where his old-Florida-style house was situated on a two acre lot. It was a white rectangle of a building, with a low, flat roof and green-trimmed windows with jalousie shutters.
Coconut palms dotted the property and a veritable forest of waxy-leaved sea-grapes fenced it in. Grass grew sparsely at best in the sandy soil, but it was less for him to mow and it gave the place a distinctly tropical feel. As soon as he opened the slat-paned front door, his Irish wolfhound, Bruno, nearly knocked him over in a frenzied, slobbery rush to get outside.
“Sorry buddy. Couldn’t make it back for your afternoon walk. Tourists kept me busy all day. I met a bonnie one, though.” He rubbed the pony-sized dog’s soft ears and Bruno looked at him reproachfully before trotting out into the yard.
Doyle grinned and went inside, knowing the dog would return to the door when he was ready to come in. He dropped his keys next to a pile of mail on the shelf in the entryway, kicked his shoes off, and made his way barefoot across the cool tile toward his bedroom to take a shower. Manny had helped him lay
