Grasping Darla's hand, Lexie shook on it. 'Agreed.'
Chapter 1
With his heavy canvas duffel digging into his shoulder, Josh Maynard watched the taxicab that had just deposited him at his destination disappear into the distance. Pushing his favorite Stetson back a few inches, he turned in a slow circle to survey his unfamiliar surroundings.
Whew. He sure wasn't in Montana anymore. Not a mountain or stately pine tree insight. Instead flat green land greeted his gaze and palm trees soared toward the cloudless azure sky. And man, it was hot. And humid. This heavy, damp Florida air surrounded him like a sticky, wet blanket. The moist heat radiating upward from the asphalt made him feel as if he were rotating on a barbecue spit.
He turned his attention to the hotel that would be his home for the next few weeks. Bright turquoise lettering on the gleaming white stucco exterior proclaimed Whispering Palms Resort. Colorful pink and orange blooms climbed up wooden trellises, and what seemed like hundreds of flowers and shrubs dotted the verdant lawn and well-manicured grounds.
But the resort was more than just a place of beauty, which is why he'd chosen it. Based on the Internet research he'd conducted and the enthusiastic recommendation of his travel agent, the Whispering Palms boasted a reputation of running the most comprehensive water activities program in the area. Their staff was reported to be professional, with impressive credentials.
He also liked that the resort was located a bit off the beaten track-close enough to Miami to be convenient, but far away from all the crowds. And he'd liked the more intimate size of the place. He hadn't wanted one of those mega-resorts with thousands of guest rooms.
He breathed deeply and his nostrils twitched at the unusual scents. Not a whiff of horseflesh, leather saddles or rodeo arena anywhere. This air smelled… tropical. Fruity and sweet, with the underlying tang of the ocean. He rocked back on his boot heels. Nope, this place was nuthin' like home.
But that was the whole point.
He eyeballed the minimally dressed guests wandering in and out of the resort's open-air entrance, then glanced down at his own attire. No doubt about it, he looked as out of place as a tumbleweed among hothouse flowers. His long-sleeved denim shirt and Wranglers would definitely have to go. He'd stood outside here less than two minutes and already an uncomfortable trickle of perspiration dampened his back.
His gaze lowered to his feet, and he heaved a sigh. His beloved Tony Lamas would have to go as well, he supposed. Not much call for boots on the beach. Good thing he'd bought himself a pair of Nikes before leaving Montana, although he couldn't say he much cared for them. Still, a man had to do-or in this case, wear-what a man had to wear.
He'd waited a long time to start on this adventure, and he wasn't about to let a little thing like trading in his comfortable Western wear for surfer-boy beach clothes scare him off. No sir. Sure the obstacles were high, but he'd conquered higher. Had the gold belt buckles from the Professional Rodeo Cowboys Association-and the scars-to prove it. Except for that last competition, of course. Damn it, coming in second to Wes Handly still chapped his hide. If only-
Josh sliced off the irritating thought before it could take root. That part of his life was over. He'd hung up his spurs and it was time to conquer new worlds. Such as this beachy, suntan-oiled, palm-treed, flowery, mountainless, oceany-smelling… place.
Inhaling a fruity-scented resolute breath, he adjusted his Stetson, settled his duffel higher on his shoulder, then walked toward the entrance of the resort, his senses trying to take in all the new sights, sounds and smells at once.
A huge birdcage dominated the parquet-floored lobby. The largest parrot Josh had ever seen-not that he'd seen many-sat perched on a wooden swing, its long, bright red, yellow, and green tail feathers cutting a colorful yard- long downward swath. Big-leafed plants sprang from porcelain urns painted with tropical scenes featuring flamingos and multihued fish. Salmon-colored walls glowed behind the long, dark green granite reception desk. Craning his neck to look beyond the reception area, he caught a glimpse of a sparkling pool, then the white beach and blue ocean beyond. A pleasant breeze blew through the lobby, cooling his overheated skin.
By God, Dad would have loved this place. The bright colors, the salty air, the squawk of gulls. And wouldn't he have just gotten the biggest kick out of that huge parrot? A sharp pang of regret stabbed Josh, halting his steps, hitching his breath. His fingers clenched around his duffel strap, the coarse material and metal clasp biting into his palm. Damn it, would the grief ever stop sneaking up on him? Hitting him like a bull's kick to the head? Most likely not. But maybe after he'd accomplished what he'd come here to do… maybe then the ache would lessen.
He looked out toward the sandy beach and deep blue water and swallowed hard. Yup, Dad had wanted his whole life to come to a place like this, but he'd never even gotten the chance to see the ocean. His dad's crinkle- eyed smiling face rose in his mind's eye, and his raspy voice echoed through his mind, so clearly it seemed as if Bill Maynard stood next to him.
A ghost of a smile tugged at the corners of Josh's mouth as he recalled teasing his dad.
A loud parrot squawk roused Josh from his thoughts and he resolutely tucked his memories away. It was time to check in, unpack his bag, throw on some beach-wear, and start fulfilling the dream Dad had instilled in him three decades ago.
Squaring his shoulders, Josh approached the registration desk. He would set about conquering the seven seas, just as he'd conquered the inside of countless rodeo arenas. With hard work, determination, perseverance and heart.
Of course, in spite of all the reading he'd done about sailing, he'd still need to start with the basics. But it shouldn't prove too difficult. The staff here was topnotch, and he was an intelligent man. Had the college degree to prove it. And he was a world-class athlete. Had those gold belt buckles to prove that.
His gaze skimmed over the turquoise pool, then settled on the azure ocean beyond. A ripple of unease trickled down his spine, but he firmly pushed it aside. Nothing to worry about. The waters here were advertised as calm and crystal-clear.
Besides, how the hell hard could it be to learn to swim?
Lexie smiled and waved goodbye to her class of young swimming students. 'See you tomorrow,' she called after them. The youngest, four-year-old Amy, turned and blew Lexie a kiss.
Lexie snatched the invisible offering from the air. 'Got it!' she said, planting the 'kiss' on her cheek, much to the child's delight. She would definitely miss adorable Amy when her family left the Whispering Palms at the end of the week.
Hoisting herself out of the pool, she grabbed her towel and dabbed at the water clinging to her skin as her gaze wandered over the beachfront landscape she loved. Dozens of people frolicked in the gentle surf while a group of youngsters built an enormous sand castle. Parents, singles, honeymooners and teenagers reclined on aqua-and- yellow-striped lounge chairs, sunning themselves, reading, napping, chatting, sipping frothy tropical drinks, complete with paper umbrellas, each enjoying their vacation in their own way.
As Activities and Sports Director at the resort, she took great pride in the wide variety of activities the Whispering Palms offered its guests. Water sports ranged from tame snorkeling and inner-tubing, to the more
