THE MANATEES WERE BEAUTIFUL. ANGEL HAD ALWAYS
thought so. So serene. Content to bob among the shoreline vegetation, these creatures never seemed bothered by any-thing. They took life as it came, floating with the waves, bumping into each other for comfort. Talk about babysit-ters. Any child of the sea was always safe in their care.
She still kept in touch with the herd her parents had hired to watch her and her siblings when they’d vaca-tioned off this coast when they were younger. Matter of fact, she thought she recognized a familiar face or two, but luckily, by pretending to have a pebble in her shoe, she had the chance to ask the manatees to treat her as they would any other Human.
The birds, however, were another matter.
“Can you talk to animals? I saw that in a movie.” Michael asked as a cardinal flitted down from the trees to tweet at them for the seventh time, swooping from one side of the path to the other, garnering her more interest than she cared for.
“Of course she can’t, Michael,” Logan said, swatting as the bird almost flew into his hair. Uh oh. It was a good thing Logan didn’t understand the shrill chirps the bird sent him. “Doctor Doolittle is just a story. People can’t talk to animals.”
Well, actually they could. And she did. Sea creatures and birds. She could understand most languages but
couldn’t vocalize in all of them, so in the interest of interspecies harmony, all creatures capable of doing so used the universal language of English when not in the presence of Humans.
Thank the gods, though, that the cardinal hadn’t lapsed into it, which meant her message had segued from the manatee community to the winged one.
It also meant that Rod would know what she was up to fairly soon if he didn’t already. Oh, well. There was nothing she could do about it except get all her ducks in a row and give him one kick-tail pitch for the director’s position.
The cardinal was overly tenacious. Probably the first time he’d seen a Mer, or maybe it was the royalty thing. While Angel was used to a starstruck attitude from youngsters and usually chatted with them to show she was just like them, she couldn’t do that now. Now, she just wanted him to go away.
“He sure seems to like you, Angel.” Michael pointed out what she hadn’t wanted his father to notice.
“How about if we chirp along with him, Michael? Maybe he wants a couple of backup singers.” And she could politely tell the bird he was causing her trouble.
“Okay.”
Cardinal chirps were fairly simple and weren’t re¬ally singing. If she kept her part short and sweet, her voice wouldn’t have any effect on Logan or the other men around.
Thank the gods a warbler hadn’t sought them out. Logan had already commented on the men falling at her feet yesterday; he’d definitely notice if dozens of them started following her around.
Q
Roger knew that voice.
The crane lifted his red-topped head from the spilled popcorn in the garden by the penguin enclosure. He’d hate to be those poor, flightless birds. Sandhill cranes had such a better life—a life that was seriously in trouble if that was who he thought it was.
“I told you Angel was here.” Ginger nudged him with her sexy beak. He loved the sensuous curves in it. “She’s going to ruin everything, Roger. You have to do something.”
He certainly did. He had a good thing going with Ginger. The wife didn’t suspect a thing; after all, he agreed with her every time she laughed about what dodos flamingos were.
If she only knew what flamingos were capable of.
Ginger in particular.
“I’ll handle it. Don’t worry your pretty pink feathers about it, Ginger.” He ruffled his wings, girding himself for the task. “Why don’t you head back to the beach? The Humans who work here are a little too interested in a free-roaming flamingo. We wouldn’t want you to get locked up, would we?”
“Depends on who’s doing the locking up, Rog.” Ginger cocked her head with that half smile he loved.
He swatted her breast feathers. “Get going, doll. You’re mine and no one else’s. I’ll take care of our interloper.”
He knew just the fish to tell to get the job done.
Q
Logan had to admit that having Angel around made life easier. Because of her, Michael was chattier, more
outgoing, and more willing to hold his hand, so if he had to order his eyes off her curves every other minute, it was worth it.
Logan let go of Michael’s hand so his son could hop along a low stone wall by the path, and he also— finally—let go of the angst he’d carried around for the past four days. Things had been so awkward between Michael and him. Stilted. Tense. Due, no doubt, to his cluelessness about raising a child and Michael’s sense of abandonment by Christine, not to mention the “complication” thing Christine had probably scarred him with. Logan had tried to make Michael feel at home, to show him he cared, but the lack of good role models in his own upbringing had him second-guessing every decision.
Angel must have fared better with her parents; she knew just how to act with Michael. How to talk to him. To joke and tease and laugh and play paper animals with him. And how to get Michael to become comfortable with him. He owed her for that.
“Come on, Angel! You do it!” Michael scrambled up the steps cut into a flat-topped rock, sat in an enclosure that had obviously been designed for hyperactive six-year-olds, and patted the space next to him. “Sit here! You can see everything!”
Angel licked her lips. Again. Unconsciously sexy, yes, but she did it when she was nervous or unsure. Logan wouldn’t have realized the reason except for the accompanying sideways glances she gave him beneath her lashes whenever she did it. Those, he couldn’t help but notice.
She was giving him one now.
“Need a hand up?”
Relief sparkled in her aqua eyes. “Thank you.”
He interlaced his fingers and caught her foot. It was small, just like her. And when he lifted her and she was so slight, protective instincts he never knew he had flared to life.
The adorable backside in front of him had something else flaring.
Then her hair brushed his face as she moved and Logan just had to inhale. Deeply. The floral shampoo he’d bought for the guesthouse mixed with the hibis¬cus that seemed to be her personal scent, and suddenly Logan wanted to bury his face in her hair like he had last night.
He remembered how it’d felt between his fingers, sweeping his cheek, trailing over his arms. How he’d wanted it wrapped around him with nothing between them…
“Come on, Angel. You’re close!” Michael said the words he’d love to utter.
And also reminded him where he was and what was going on.
What was going on?
Angel climbed to the top, and Logan watched the two of them sit there. She was a stranger. They didn’t know her. By rights, Michael shouldn’t be this comfortable with her. By rights, Logan shouldn’t be this uncomfort-able with her.
So what was it about Angel that had worked this magic on him and his son?
“What are those, Angel?” Michael pointed beyond the trees toward something Logan couldn’t see.
“Egrets.”
“And that? Is that a chameleon?”
“No, sweetie. It’s an iguana. It looks more like that anole from last night.”
“Oh. And what about that?” “A sandhill crane.”
“It’s awfully big. Is that why the trucks are called cranes? They’re big, too.”
“You know? I don’t know. Maybe your dad does.” Two pairs of expectant eyes turned his way, and
Logan smiled at them. At Michael because he loved him and at Angel because—
“Logan?” Michael’s question stopped that thought at the same time a memory surfaced.
“Ridiculous.” It was. He couldn’t have those kinds of feelings for her. He’d just met her. And as for that memory…
“Logan?” Angel’s voice wasn’t the sweet one she’d used with his son. “You want to rethink your last comment?”
He looked at her, her hair shining like a halo around her, but her face was anything but angelic. “What?”
“That last comment. I think there’s a better way to answer your son’s question.”
Answer Michael’s question? He hadn’t answered— Michael’s crestfallen expression said otherwise.
Oh, shit. Ridiculous. He had answered him—at least in Michael’s eyes. And in Angel’s, too, apparently.
“No, Michael, I didn’t mean your question was ri-diculous. A thought I had was ridiculous. It had nothing to do with your question. I think you’re on to something. The birds were around long before the trucks, so, sure, that could be why trucks are called that.”
It was a patchy repair job, but it seemed to do the trick. He got a halfhearted smile from Michael and a bigger one from Angel—and, no, he wouldn’t dwell on her smile nor the thought that had prompted his ridicu-lous comment. As for that memory…
No way Nadia had been right. His fortune-telling mother was a master at inventing predictions. Nothing he’d ever seen growing up could convince him that she’d actually had psychic ability, especially when she’d come up with a prediction that he would fall in love with a woman from the sea.
Just because Angel had climbed out of the sea and onto his boat didn’t mean Nadia was right. It certainly didn’t mean he was in love with Angel either.
That’s what he kept telling himself as Michael and Angel climbed off the rock. Nadia’s prediction and Angel’s appearance were coincidences.
He held out his hand, thankful Michael still wanted to hold it. But that was the only body part he was of-fering to anyone, anywhere. No more offering to help Angel up. No more brushing by her. No more inhaling her scent.
He didn’t care what Nadia said. Falling in love with someone at first sight wasn’t normal, and Logan was all about normal.