3

      THE BAHAMIAN SUN seemed even brighter and warmer than the one in St. Paul. Especially now that fall was moving in, rendering the air crisp and the skies muddy. But here in this strange world, the air was muggy and warm even at seven-thirty in the morning.

      Lucy’s heels clicked loudly across the concrete and echoed off the buildings as she made her way to the park’s office. At lunch she would go shopping for something casual. She had resolved that under no circumstances would she even glance at Liberty’s pool, but her gaze drew right to it. And right to Chris. All she could see of him was that head of curls and his shoulders gleaming in the early morning sun. Instantly she remembered his sultry words about seeing him naked. Worse, her body remembered, too, becoming hot and steamy itself. He wasn’t serious. And just because he was sexy didn’t mean she wanted to see him naked. As he started to glance up at the noise her shoes created, she averted her gaze to the wooden shutters of the office.

      The air was warm and stale inside, without sign of an air conditioner anywhere. Just one old-fashioned fan that made the articles taped to the walls flutter. She propped the door open with a pink conch shell filled with cement. Once safely inside the office, she opened those shutters and peeked out over the other pools to Liberty.

      “Good morning, Miss Lucy!” Bailey said in a loud, cheerful voice that made her jump.

      Her fingers involuntarily slammed the shutters closed with a loud clack. She turned to his beaming face and tried not to look irritated, or worse, guilty.

      “Good grief, Bailey, make some noise before coming in like that.”

      “Sorry, ma’am. I jus’ wondered if you needed any help with the figures, or deciding on whether to keep the place open.”

      “No, but thank you. Being left alone will be the biggest help.” She opened the shutters again, but did not look out. “I see the wicked man is back.”

      “Yah, in the wee hours this morning. I t’ink the man is part fish.”

      “That would explain a lot.”

      “Huh?”

      “Nothing. All right, I’ve got to get to work.”

      It was easy to reduce her father’s park to numbers. Business was her life, even if the creative side was her favorite part. Here, making it a business meant not looking at it as something her estranged father owned, and perhaps loved. Well, as much as a man like that could love something. He’d told her a few times that he’d loved her, too, but she felt neglected as perhaps Liberty was.

      Silvery reflections from the Touching Tank danced across the walls like restless ghosts. Her gaze went out the window again, where Chris’s long arms were outstretched and water splashed up to sparkle in the air. In some ways he reminded her of Sonny, or at least of the image she’d always had of him: seafaring, wandering and a loner. She wondered if he had ever been lonely, her father, and what he felt inside, and then she realized she was thinking about Chris and not her father at all.

      “Hellooo,” Bailey said in a singsong voice as he poked his head in the doorway a few hours later. “I didn’t scare you dis time, did I?”

      “Not much.”

      He stepped inside, looking crisp and professional in his white uniform. “Are you going to close us down?”

      “I’m still looking at the numbers.”

      “I t’ink you were looking out da window, Miss Lucy,” he said with a solemn nod.

      She felt a warm flush and hoped he hadn’t seen exactly where she’d been looking. “I was thinking. Now go away and let me think some more.”

      “Yes, Miss Lucy.”

      He disappeared, and she caught herself smiling. Miss Lucy. Her lips quirked even more. Miz Lucy. Chris only called her that in fun, but something in the way he said the words rippled through her. Ridiculous. Back to the numbers.

      Not thirty minutes later, Bailey was back in the doorway with that white grin. “Decision yet?”

      “No, and go away!”

      BAILEY HELD OUT until almost noon this time.

      She glanced over at her notepad full of numbers and calculations, then up at his hopeful face. “It doesn’t look good.” He dropped into one of the chairs in front of her desk. She felt as though she were firing the man, like she’d fired a few people back home. They looked the same way, and she felt the same way: bad. “This place was scraping by as it was. I don’t know how long even Sonny could have kept it going. Without the star attraction, I don’t see that it has a chance.”

      “We could buy another dolphin fish,” he said.

      “No, I’m afraid we can’t afford one, no matter what they cost. Besides, unless we get better facilities, Mr. Maddox will be back to take him away, too.”

      Bailey lifted an eyebrow. “You could beg him, you know, bat your eyelashes and say pretty please can we keep the dolphin fish?”

      She lowered her chin. “Have you been talking to a particular bartender at Barney’s?”

      He looked innocent enough. “No, why?”

      “Never mind. Anyway, I’m not the kind of woman who can convince a man to do things he doesn’t want to do.”

      “Sure you are. You’re very pretty.”

      “Thank you, but pretty isn’t going to cut it. It never has, to be honest with you. Anyway, forget the begging thing. I’m not going to ask him to leave Liberty because I already know he won’t.”

      “You’re right,” another voice said from the doorway. “You could be Marilyn Monroe reincarnated and you wouldn’t get me to give Liberty back to you.”

      That flush Lucy experienced earlier was nothing compared to the full fire that lit her face now. She met those green eyes that reeked of smugness. “How long have you been standing there?”

      “Since the begging thing.”

      She made a sound that combined embarrassment and irritation and wasn’t ladylike by any means. “What do you want?”

      Bailey made a quick exit, mumbling something about feeding the squid. Chris wore that bathing suit that had to be illegal on a body like his, moving up to her desk and planting his hands on the edge. His long fingers were shriveled underneath. He wore a band made of colored threads on his right wrist, though sun and water had faded it a little.

      “I was wondering if Sonny kept any records on Liberty. Medical, training…anything like that.”

      If the person behind the desk was supposed to emit any kind of authority, she was doing a poor job. “You’re dripping on my desk,” she finally said, standing to face him.

      He glanced down at the droplets of water swirling down his curls and puddling on the Formica surface. “Sorry.” He stood, forcing her to look up at him again.

      “I’ll look around.”

      He glanced down at the paperwork scattered across the desk. “I can look if you’re busy.”

      “I need a