by Ranae Rose
“Where to now?”
“I’m going to share one of the island’s best-kept secrets with you.”
“Oh?” She sipped her mocha and arched a brow.
“Uh-huh. Best sandwiches in South Carolina are up this way, at this little stand on the corner of Roman and Lovell.”
“That’s news to me.”
“Told you – it’s a secret. The police and court house workers have been trying to keep it quiet since the place opened a year ago so that they don’t have to wait in line for too long on their lunch breaks.”
Still, when they arrived, there was a line despite the fact that it was past two o’clock in the afternoon. They waited hand in hand, iced coffees melting.
“Any recommendations?” Belle nodded toward the menu.
“Far be it from me to make your decision for you, but people have fought and died over this place’s Cubanos.”
“Seriously?”
“A couple of my co-workers almost came to blows once over who got the last one when the lieutenant bought lunch for everyone to celebrate our platoon receiving an award from the mayor.”
“Wow, and I thought you all were supposed to be peace officers.”
He shrugged. “It was the last time the lieutenant bought us lunch.”
“Well, you’ve sold me on a Cubano.”
“Good choice.”
Eventually, they walked away with hot Cubanos wrapped in wax paper. There was a park nearby, and they settled on a bench next to overflowing flowerbeds.
“Careful,” he said as she unwrapped her sandwich, “they go a little crazy with the mustard.”
She spread a napkin on her lap, protecting her white dress.
“Iced mochas, Cubanos… You really had your heart set on taming my ire with food, huh?”
“It’d work on me.” He shrugged. “But this is just so you won’t be hungry during the day’s main event. You haven’t seen anything yet.”
* * * * *
Belle rode in the passenger seat of Jackson’s car as he drove to the northeast edge of the island, past the public beach and scattered palmettos, then outcroppings of rock. The island had a wild look here – undeveloped and beautiful. There was an aquarium, and a half mile past that, the South Island Sea Turtle Hospital.
“I haven’t been here since we visited on a field trip when I was in junior high.” She peered out at the building, its siding a pale blue against the darker color of the sea.
Curiosity welled up in her as Jackson pulled into the little lot and parked in a space designated Sponsor.
After they climbed out of the car, he opened the hospital’s front door for her, and a bell jingled.
A woman in a blue polo shirt materialized in the short hallway just past the empty reception desk.
“Hi.” She flashed him a big smile. “You must be Mr. Calder.”
“That’s right.”
She seemed to have been expecting him. “And you’re Belle?”
Belle nodded, taken aback when the woman addressed her by name.
“Nice to meet you, Belle. I’m Antonia. Why don’t I take you back and introduce you to Coral?”
Belle shot Jackson a questioning look, but he merely took her hand and walked down the hall, following the woman in the polo.
She took them into a room where several turtles swam in a huge tank. In a smaller one – a plastic tub, really – was a baby turtle relaxing in a foot of water, its shell about the size of a Frisbee.
“Belle, meet Coral. She’s a juvenile loggerhead. Last fall, she had a run in with a boat. See those lines on her left flipper?”
“Yes.” The appendage was clearly marked with long, thick lines.
“Those scars are all that’s left over from the accident. Her flipper was pretty mangled when she was brought in – a small section was almost completely severed and had to be surgically reattached.”
A pang of pity struck Belle, but Coral looked serene now, lounging in the shallow tank with her dark eyes seemingly watching the humans looking down at her.
“We had to treat her for pneumonia, too. Between the antibiotics and the surgery, she had it rough for a while. Today though, she’s fully rehabilitated and ready to be released.”
“Wow.”
Antonia smiled. “Mr. Calder sponsored her rehabilitation on your behalf: the surgery, her medication and food – everything. We thought you might like to help us release her.”
Belle’s gaze snapped up, locking with Jackson’s.
He flashed her a smile but said nothing.
“Really?” Belle asked.
“You bet. We’re almost ready to go. Before we leave, though…”
She led Belle and Jackson back out of the room and to the waiting area they’d passed through. Above a handful of chairs, the wall was lined with bronze plaques.
“Here’s yours,” the woman said, pointing to one that gleamed near the far right.
Belle stepped closer, her eyes flying over the familiar form of her own name.
Belle Morrissey
Rescuer of: Coral
She smiled, her heart fluttering beneath her ribs as she turned to see Jackson looking pleased with himself.
“What do you think?” he asked.
“This is so sweet. I never in a million years would’ve guessed what you had planned for today.”
He grinned. “Guess I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“I’ll be just a few minutes if you want to wait here,” Antonia said, “then we can get a start on Coral’s release.”
“What gave you this idea?” Belle asked when she and Jackson were alone.
“Remember that night a couple months ago when we walked out onto the Blue Mile Pier and someone caught that shark?”
“Yeah.”
“You said they should let it go. I figured if you felt sorry for that ugly thing, you’d fall head over heels for a baby turtle. And now you can let her go where she belongs.”
Belle grinned, her heart melting.
“After the ticket ordeal, I thought this might be a good way to show that I’m not a heartless ass. So was it a good idea, or just cheesy?”
“It’s not cheesy at all. I love it.” She glanced at the plaque on the wall, noting how high it’d been placed, above most of the others. Most of the ones below it simply read Sponsor below the contributor’s name instead of declaring them the rescuer of a particular turtle.
She didn’t ask how much he’d spent on Coral’s rehabilitation, but knew it had to have been a lot, especially with the surgery.
Rocking up onto her toes, she laid a hand on his arm and pressed a kiss against his jaw. “Thank you.”
He looked chagrined, but eventually laughed.
“All this would’ve been a lot nicer if you hadn’t had to pay that fine,” he said.
She shrugged. “I’m sure you spent more on Coral than I did on that ticket. And I was speeding.”
Before Jackson could reply, Antonia reemerged, accompanied by another woman and a man in matching polo shirts. “We’re all set. Ready to get Coral back where she belongs?”
Belle smiled. “Yes.”
CHAPTER 25
Antonia offered to let Jackson help release Coral, but he declined, pulling his phone from his pocket and training it on Belle instead. Along with the rescue workers, she carried Coral across a deserted section of beach near the hospital and waded into the surf.
The skirt of her white dress brushed the waves, its edges darkening with salt water. She forged ahead, a big smile on her face. Coral seemed calm in Belle and Antonia’s hands while the other two rescuers trailed close behind.
He snapped picture after picture, capturing the way Belle’s dampened skirt swirled above her knees and the way her face lit up as she and Antonia eased Coral into the water.
They held her there for a moment, letting the sea water wash over her. Then Coral stretched her scarred flippers and slipped into the sea as if she’d never been taken from it.
Belle watched her go, and Jackson watched Belle. It’d all been worth it just to see her standing in the water in that white dress, the skirt floating at mid-thigh when the water swelled around her. She looked like a goddess.
“Well, there she goes,” Belle said, wringing her skirt out when she reached Jackson on the sand. “Coral’s wild again.”
“Maybe I should’ve told you to wear shorts,” he said, although he loved the sight of her in that dress.
She shrugged. “It’ll dry quickly in the sun.”
When he took her hand, sea water ran down his wrist.
“I figured we could spend the evening on Blue Mile, maybe grab something to eat. What do you say?”
She nodded. “Sounds great.”
He took her to Blue Mile Beach, where he spread a blanket he’d packed in the trunk of his car on the sand. It was barely evening; the sky had only begun to dim and soften over the water. They sat side by side and watched the waves roll in, blue-grey.
The sea was one of the most beautiful things on the face of the planet, and it was for everyone – a great equalizer. That was what had allowed him to get to know Belle in the first place, when they’d been younger. Everyone on the island had come to enjoy the beach – rich, poor and in between. It was timelessly appealing, and it was free.
Walking Blue Mile had been different than walking the streets, even when he’d been a kid – there, he’d enjoyed the same things as everyone else and hadn’t had to worry about the cost of feeling the sun on his back or the waves washing over his shoulders. It was that sense of freedom that had made him feel as if maybe Belle wasn’t so hopelessly far out of reach – that had allowed him to indulge every desire, every fantasy, on that night when they’d finally caved beneath the pressure of their mutual attraction.
Every fantasy except the one where she was his. Even before they’d slept together, he’d entertained thoughts of what it might be like to know she was just a phone call, a text or a touch away. After they’d had sex, he’d dwelled on it in the back of his mind, the current of his desire intense beneath the surface of his other thoughts.
But she’d been faraway out of state, laying the foundations for another life.
Now, she was back and he was living the dream he’d given up on.
“Hey, Princess…”
She shifted her gaze from the water to him, her dark eyes reflecting the evening light. “I thought you forgot about that little moniker.”
“Not a chance.”
She tilted her head, smiling. “What is it?”
“You look so good in that dress.” It was only the tip of the iceberg when it came to what he wanted to say to her, but he needed to be sure that when he told her how he felt, she was ready to hear it.
He’d waited six years to have her again – he could wait a little longer to tell her just how deep his feelings for her ran. They’d lived very different lives; she’d been taught to look to the future while he’d lived in the moment, surviving.
They were more alike now, but old habits died hard. She’d probably prefer for them to spend more time together – do more stuff like this – before he laid the truth on her. Especially since her last serious relationship had blown up in her face.
He’d never betray her like that, never hurt her, and he’d put in the time to demonstrate that. He’d show her how much he loved her before he told her.
“You don’t look so bad yourself.” She smiled, her gaze drifting down over him.
Seconds later, she laid her head on his shoulder.
They stayed like that, together on the beach, until the stars came out, piercing the smoky blue sky with white light.
And when they couldn’t stand waiting any longer, they went home to her place.
* * * * *
“Well, you survived. Was it as bad as you thought?” Mariah beamed at Belle from across the café table.
Belle glanced down at the neon green bandage wrapped around her elbow and shrugged. “Pretty standard fare for a Monday, I guess.”
“That’s what I like to hear.” Mariah wore a matching bandage, the self-adhesive wrap holding a gauze pad against the crook of her arm.
“You just want to win the blood donor referral contest at work.”
Mariah held up half a dozen fingers. “Five referrals plus myself, and I get double points for recruiting you, since you’re O negative.”
She put up one more finger, looking triumphant.
“What do you get again if you win?”
“An extra day of vacation time. It’s cumulative, though – they don’t tally up the donor totals until the end of the year. So, feel free to donate again in December, when the blood bus does another drive in the hospital parking lot.”
“Maybe … I did talk my boss into giving me an extended lunch break since I was donating blood.”
Mariah nodded. “So, we both benefited from this. Perfect.”
“Who else did you talk into donating?” Belle finished one half of her turkey sandwich and picked up the other.
“Neighbors, plus my hair stylist. She was easy to recruit – I just smiled a lot while she was cutting my hair, then left a big tip before handing her one of the flyers. Some of my neighbors were tougher – I had to do a little bartering.”
“What do you mean?”
“This one guy wanted me to look at his rash, so I did that while in the process of talking him into donating blood.”
Belle snorted.
Mariah shrugged. “All’s well that ends well, right?”
“What about his rash?”
“I recommended my dermatologist to him, but I’m pretty sure it was just heat rash.”
“I can believe it.” September was by no means the end of summer on the island. Not if temperature was a measure of the season, anyway.
As Belle was finishing up her sandwich, Mariah asked her what she and Jackson had been doing lately.
Belle’s pulse sped as she took a sip of her sweet tea. She didn’t have a lot of time before she had to return to work, but…
She told Mariah about Coral and the misunderstanding about the speeding ticket.
“I bet you wish he’d told you sooner that he wasn’t going to show up to court instead of trying to surprise you.”
“I don’t mind how things worked out.” Belle shrugged. “I liked the surprise.”
Mariah laughed. “I can just see you guys years from now when you’re past the honeymoon phase, having arguments. You’ll always have that ticket card up your sleeve. Remember that time you wrote me a ticket, Jackson?”
Belle exhaled, her lips quirking despite her best efforts not to laugh. “He meant well.”
“Yeah, you remember that when he does something to make you mad.”
The idea of her and Jackson staying together long enough to fight wasn’t inconceivable. Every hour she spent with him seemed to compound her feelings for him, leaving her breathless beneath their weight.
She knew she should pace herself, slow down before she fell head over heels into a puddle of commitment.
But it was too late. Her life was better with him in it – he’d have to do something much worse than write her a speeding ticket to dull her desire for him. She didn’t have to wait any longer to be sure of that.
* * * * *
Jackson missed dayshift. Nightshift meant that his and Belle’s schedules were at odds, which cut down on the time they could spend together. Before she’d reentered his life, he hadn’t minded working nights.
Now, there was no amount of coffee that could make nightshift seem as good as day. Not that that stopped him from throwing the stuff back as if it were water – the first few days of changing shifts were always rough.
The city was a dark island strung with jewels – lights that glowed through a mist that rolled off the sea. For the first time all summer, he felt a hint of fall approaching. Steering his cruiser down a quiet street, he patrolled his assigned area until his MDT chimed.
The call was nothing
that warranted lights or sirens – just a citizen reporting some stolen yard ornaments. Why anyone would wait until midnight to call in something so petty was beyond him, but he took the call anyway.
The caller flashed photos at him, phone snapshots of a cutesy little wooden wishing well and a few luridly-painted flower pots. Immediately, he pictured a thieving great-grandma sneaking through the night in an all-black twinset, helping herself to her neighbor’s lawn décor.
Probably not the case, but the missing items were kitschy enough that he doubted they’d end up in any of the pawn shops on the island or across the bridge in Charleston.
“They were here when I left for work this morning,” the homeowner said, throwing up her hands, “and gone when I got back.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” he said, trying to add gravity to his expression. “I’ll make a full report. You call the department’s non-emergency number if anything else like this happens, okay?”
The woman had called 911 over her missing well and pots, flagging herself as one of the millions of people who obviously had no idea what an emergency was.
“Okay.” Her reply was little more than a huff of breath, and she crossed her arms when he bid her goodnight and turned back to his car.
There, he pulled out into the street just in time to take another call – one more pressing than the last.
There wasn’t much traffic, so he turned on his lights but left his sirens off as a courtesy to sleeping citizens as he turned his cruiser toward Mead Avenue, where a neighbor had called in a domestic dispute at the house across the street.
According to dispatch, there’d been cursing and screaming, which had scared the neighbor badly enough to call 911.
As always, Jackson took this sort of call seriously.
When he got close, he shut off his lights, pulled up to the curb two houses away and listened for a few seconds through his half-opened windows.
All was quiet. He asked dispatch to double-check the address, and sure enough, it matched with the number on the single story house with the white siding that Jackson was watching.
