by Lyn Cote
Even if he didn’t feel like giving her any attention, he had to look approachable, smile and talk to people. Doing his impression of Ebenezer Scrooge wouldn’t win him any friends or contributors. She had to loosen him up and do it without anyone noticing. She’d never had to do anything like this before. How did one get a man to laugh? Her mind brought up the picture of her youngest sister surrounded by a circle of jovial young men. How would Doree handle this situation? That was easy. Doree always did the unexpected.
After a moment’s consideration, Spring reached into her beach bag and pulled out her sunscreen lotion. She mustered her courage and brooked no cowardice. Still aghast at what she was about to do, she rose and perched on the edge of Marco’s lounger, forcing him to make room for her.
His eyes flew open.
“I know you probably won’t burn—” she kept her tone light “—but I will. Would you put sunscreen on my back, please?”
He stared at her as if she was speaking Swahili.
Her nerves jiggling like soft-set gelatin, she shoved the tube into his hand, lifted her long hair and turned her back to him. Get with the program, Marco!
She waited. Finally, he snapped open the tube and she felt his firm hand on her back. The lotion felt cool, but her already sun-warmed back heated up as if it were blushing. Could backs blush?
“Be sure to put a thick coat on or I’ll burn,” she murmured from under her hair, as though men applied lotion to her back every day. She tried to reel in her reaction to his touch, but the task proved hopeless. Marco’s touch was lovely. “Put a good coat on my shoulders, too.”
Marco paused, then followed her instructions.
“Hey! That looks like hard work. Need any help?”
Spring thought she recognized the man’s voice. Still holding her hair over her face, she looked up sideways. Yes, it was unfortunately the person she had thought it was. “Marco’s doing just fine, Pete. No need to help.”
Pete grinned with mischief in his eyes. “You missed a spot. Is it, Marco?” Pete offered his hand.
Marco paused just long enough to make Spring worry. Would he make polite conversation or be brusque? But after rubbing the excess lotion onto his muscled thigh, Marco took Pete’s hand and shook it. “Marco Da Palma.”
“Peter Rasmussen, Class of ’91.”
“Class of ’89,” Marco responded.
“Yeah, I thought you looked familiar. About time Spring dragged someone along with her. You’d think she’d have better luck getting dates—Oof!”
Spring had stopped his teasing with a punch to his middle. “You’re getting soft, Pete. Maybe a few laps in the pool will get you back into shape.”
Pete raised both hands in mock surrender. “Touchy, touchy.”
Spring straightened, letting her hair fall over one shoulder. Marco handed her the tube. She motioned Marco to turn his back to her.
He stared at her without moving.
Doree never took no for an answer, so Spring quickly turned his shoulders the way she wanted them and applied a quick coat to Marco’s shoulders and the back of his neck, the areas that her father always sunburned.
As though still unsettled, Marco cleared his throat. “What line of work are you into now, Pete?”
Spring wiped the leftover cream on Marco’s nose, then moved back to her own lounger, breathing a silent sigh of relief.
“I’ve moved back to Florida and have just opened a law practice with another alumnus, Greg Fortney. Did you know him?”
“The name sounds familiar,” Marco admitted.
“He graduated with your class.” Pete called out, “Hey, Greg, come on over and meet Marco, the lucky man who came with Spring.”
“Spring?” A tall lanky man stood up and walked over. “Not Spring Kirkland, the Snow Maiden?”
Spring hated the nickname she’d been given at college. But she tried hard to look as if she didn’t care. Otherwise, Greg and Pete would tease her mercilessly.
Marco shook hands more firmly than he usually did with Greg. He’d heard Spring called this sobriquet, the Snow Maiden, at college. He hadn’t liked it then. He liked it less now. But he took his cue from Spring. She was smiling at Greg, so Marco went along. Just don’t say anything else “cute,” Greg.
“What are you doing for a living, Marco?” Pete asked.
“I’m in private practice in Gulfview Shores.”
“Law?” Greg asked.
“Family medicine.”
For the next few minutes, Greg and Pete grilled him about med school and told a few law school stories. Marco tried to look interested, but so far they hadn’t said anything he’d taken time off to board a ship to hear.
“Limbo break!” a feminine voice proclaimed.
Pete and Greg joined in the general shouting of approval. Before Marco could bow out, he’d been towed into line with most of the people who’d been lounging around the pool. He glanced around for an escape route.
“This will give us an appetite for dinner tonight!” Pete announced.
Spring turned back to Marco and murmured, “Would you rather not? It’s always a lot of fun.”
Her enchanting expression, a mixture of hope and doubt, made it impossible for him to refuse. He smiled for her benefit. “I don’t think I’ve ever limboed before.”
She chuckled. “I never last long, but watching the last few squeeze under is hilarious.”
“Okay.” He’d take his turn, fail, then just become an onlooker.
One of the cruise’s social directors, a tall brunette in a yellow bikini and a dangerous-looking tan (hadn’t anyone warned her about skin cancer?), stood by the stick that would be lowered inch by inch, and named the prizes for the person who could bend backward the lowest. The distinctive melody for the dance boomed out. Marco hadn’t noticed the many speakers around the lounging area until then.
Pete started the chant. “Limbo! Limbo!” Soon it competed with the blasting, raucous music.
Lithe and graceful, Spring moved along in front of Marco. He had a hard time keeping his mind on the dance. He didn’t want to stare at her. It would embarrass her. Fortunately, she’d chosen a discreet one-piece suit in a bold blue. If she’d selected one of the brief bikinis some of the other female alumni sported, he’d have been forced to feign seasickness and go back to his cabin.
Spring’s turn came. The pole was at chin height, so she slipped under it easily. Marco followed her and made certain he didn’t disturb the pole by accident. If he messed up too early, it would make him even more noticed.
Pete and Greg hot-dogged under the pole amid laughter. The bouncy melody played on as the line made another circuit, another, another. Bumping the pole off its supports, Spring laughed at herself, then clapped in time with the music.
Caught up in the rhythm and gaiety, Marco bent backward and eased himself under the pole. By now, the line of contenders had thinned to less than a dozen.
When the pole touched Marco’s waist, he decided he could blunder now and disappear into the crowd. He bent backward and began inching under the pole—
“Hey, Snow Maiden,” Greg called from behind Marco. “Bet I can outdo your boyfriend!”
Marco gritted his teeth. Not on a bet, Greg! The pole grazed his navel—
Pete catcalled, “You’re gonna lose it, Marco boy!”
Marco bent back and shuffled his feet forward inch by inch…then he was on the other side! Cheers went up.
Marco’s face blazed with exhilaration and the unaccustomed experience of being the recipient of applause.
Spring patted his arm in approval.
Marco suffered her touch—sweet agony.
She started another chant. “Marco! Marco!”
The limbo melody played on. One by one, the remaining dancers were eliminated. Finally, only Pete, Greg and Marco competed for the prize. Giving in to defeat, Pete leaped over the pole, which now came knee-high to him. Greg grunted and bent backward, moving forward. He nearly made it, but his incipient pa
unch did him in. The pole clattered to the ship’s deck.
Marco faced the pole. Should he just quit and let the prize go to the last person who’d made it through? A glance at Spring’s hopeful face routed this idea.
Everyone fell silent as he flexed his knees as low as he could, bent his shoulders back as far as they would go, then began to bounce forward on his feet. The pole passed over his knees, his thighs, his navel, his chest—then he faced his greatest obstacle, his chin. Closing his eyes, he extended his neck back as low as it could go. He bounced forward, the silence around him suffocating. The pole shaved his nose, then skimmed his forehead— He cleared it!
The result was bedlam.
He stood up, blinking.
“You did it! You won!” Spring threw her arms around his neck.
In a natural reflex, he wrapped his arms around her. A ship’s photographer snapped a victory photo of them. Pete and Greg thumped him on the back, shouting their congratulations.
Marco could hardly breathe. The combination of being the center of attention for the first time in his life and the sweet sensation of Spring in his arms swept away any conscious reactions.
“This is going to be fun!” Mimi shrilled in Marco’s ear, or just below his ear. The four of them— Mimi and her husband, John, Spring and him—had just disembarked from the cruise ship onto the wharf of an island stop. The tropical sun blazed down on them, glinting off anything chrome or metal.
Spring’s old college roommate, Mimi, didn’t even come to Marco’s shoulder. Her bubbly personality had irritated him at first when John and Mimi had joined them for dinner the night before. But Mimi had proved a delightful companion, funny and sweet. John appeared to stand back and enjoy his wife’s easy charm. Marco had felt accepted and drawn into the good company in a way he’d never before experienced. He tried to analyze it but couldn’t.
Now he gave Mimi a smile, then glanced to Spring. Her face glowed with her excitement as they put distance between themselves and the ship.
“I want to find something totally outrageous for my sister Doree’s birthday,” she said.
“Is she still in Madison at the university?” Mimi tugged at John’s hand.
“Yes, she’s a sophomore.” Spring pulled at Marco’s hand, too.
“What’s the hurry?” Marco asked, enjoying the vacation-happy Spring beside him. “We’ve got the whole morning.”
“It might take all morning to find something outrageous enough for my sister!”
Marco felt a twinge of conscience. He really didn’t know much about Spring’s family—just that her father was a pastor and they weren’t rich. “Do you have any other siblings?” he murmured for her ears only.
She gave him a startled look. “Just Hannah, the food writer.”
He grimaced. “Now I remember. You were telling Paloma about her on the way to Mamacita’s.”
She gave him a dazzling smile. “You remember that?”
He nodded, feeling guilty he’d made her remind him.
“Maybe you should find something for Paloma?” Spring suggested with an uncertain expression.
“You’re right. She’d love something from here.” Why didn’t I think of that? Spring’s constant thoughtfulness touched him. What a gentle heart she had.
He glanced around at the island thoroughfare they had just started down. Tropical shades of peach, pink, turquoise, tan and yellow decorated the tourist street on the island. Venders roamed along the street hawking their wares—straw hats, colorful stuffed animals, parrots, fresh flowers in bunches. Little open-air shops touted postcards, huge fun sunglasses, dried starfish and sea horses, and seashells.
“Will you help me find something for Paloma?”
“Of course.”
When Spring took his hand, it seemed natural. Being away from their family and the town where he practiced medicine had stripped him of his reticence. He felt like a different man from the one who spent his days walking hospital hallways. Spring had been right to insist he come.
A break once in a while could be more than beneficial. Now her soft hand in his filled him with a wonder he could hardly process. I’m holding hands with Spring and we’re on a tropical island.
After browsing in a series of crowded tourist shops, Marco chose a colorful toy parrot for Paloma, then dropped back behind the ladies with John, as their foursome went from store to store.
John, at his side, gave him a friendly grin. “Hope you’re wearing comfortable shoes.”
Marco lifted an eyebrow.
“We may end up walking up and down every street on this island. Mimi never stops shopping till she drops.” John gave his wife a loving glance.
Daunted by this remark, Marco looked down the long street of shops.
Glancing around, John halted when he saw Mimi go into yet another one. “How about we stay out here and have something to drink and wait for the ladies?” John motioned toward an open-air café on the opposite side of the dusty street.
“Sure.” After calling their intentions to Spring and Mimi, Marco followed John to a table shaded by a woven canopy. They ordered chilled mineral water and sat back. The cadence of happy voices, reggae music in the distance, the brilliance of the sunshine—all combined to make a tranquil setting.
Marco sucked in a long cooling draught. He couldn’t remember feeling so relaxed. “I hadn’t expected to enjoy myself.” The words slipped out before he took time to consider each syllable the way he usually did. What would John think?
“Yeah, there’s nothing like a cruise with old and new friends.” He lifted his bottle to Marco. “I wouldn’t take the time to do this kind of stuff, but Mimi always keeps tabs on what’s going on and when I need a vacation.”
“You’re lucky.” And Marco meant it.
John chuckled. “And you’re the envy of half the guys on the cruise. I can’t believe Spring still isn’t married.”
Marco stiffened, but he could read no ulterior message in John’s face, his easy smile. “Spring is a very special lady.”
“You’ll get no argument from me.” John swallowed the rest of his water and motioned for another. “I hear you’re trying to raise funds for a free clinic.”
Marco searched John’s expression and began tentatively. “Yes, I’d like to be able to offer emergency and short-term care for people who don’t have medical coverage, for whatever reason.”
“Mimi says you’ve got a site chosen?”
Instead of tensing up as he had when Spring had first discussed his asking for contributions, the words, the plans flowed from Marco. John sounded interested and asked intelligent questions. One, then two, then three other guys from the cruise, including Pete and Greg, stopped by and joined in the discussion.
Marco absorbed the camaraderie, something he’d rarely experienced before. He seldom attended the hospital’s social functions. Why was he accepted now, when he hadn’t been in college?
He looked up to find Spring standing just outside the café watching him. Everyone seemed to accept Spring and him as a couple. The fact had astounded him at first, but the idea was becoming more agreeable hour by hour. He waved.
She smiled.
Tenderness for her flowed warm inside him. Spring, is it possible? Do I have a chance with you?
The ice sculptures glistened in the low light of the ship’s large dining room. Spring sat at an oblong table beside Marco. The dinner buffet—succulent prime rib, Cornish hen, duck, lobster and King crab—had been sumptuous, as usual. She’d eaten more on this cruise than she had ever eaten before! The waist of her pale pink evening gown circled her a bit tighter than it had last year.
Tonight was the last night of the cruise. The thought saddened her. Would the special closeness she and Marco had shared here disappear when they returned to Gulfview Shores?
The cruise had been all she’d hoped for and more. Marco had relaxed and he’d begun to behave differently—as if he had finally noticed that she was a woman. Did she have a chance with M
arco, after all this time? Tomorrow morning when she stepped down from the gangplank, would she turn back into a disenchanted Cinderella?
The live band struck up another romantic ballad. John took Mimi by the hand and led her to the dance floor. Soon every other couple at their table had moved onto the dance floor or to other tables to chat.
Marco looked to her. “Would you like to dance?”
“You dance?”
He grinned. “Paloma taught me for a hospital benefit.”
Unable to trust her voice at the thought of being held in Marco’s strong arms, she nodded.
He took her hand and led her through the maze of tables to join the other couples. Then he faced her, and his hand settled on the small of her back.
Thrilled at this dream-come-true intimacy, she rested one hand on his broad shoulder and clasped his hand in the other. In the dim light, she focused on his dark intense eyes and the feel of being so near the man she loved. She closed her eyes then and let herself revel in his embrace.
Marco felt as though his heart were being drawn from his chest. Her fragrance of gardenias, the low lighting, the mellow music, the soft form in his arms intoxicated him more powerfully than any wine he could have sipped. Spring Kirkland in my arms. The melody carried him on, dreamlike.
He thought of Spring’s gentle care of Tía Rosita, her sympathy toward Paloma in the vice-principal’s office, her enthusiasm for his free clinic. Most men only noticed the lovely package Spring came in, but her kind, generous heart had proved even more exceptional.
The dance ended.
Spring gazed up at him, her eyes glowing with tenderness.
For him? What could she see in him?
“Let’s go outside and walk the deck in the moonlight,” she murmured.
He nodded, unable to speak.
She took his arm.
Brushing past other couples, he piloted her through the crowded room, then out onto the deck. The warm night breeze caressed his face. He led her away to a quiet spot. A phrase came to his mind so inadequate to the moment, but he voiced it anyway. “It’s a beautiful night.”
