Chapter Two: Beaching It

"Sweetness! You'll never guess what!" Miss Audrey was sitting in the middle of the common area lounge in her sparkly red wheelchair. Her eyes were as bright as the noon-day sun and in south Florida, that's pretty bright. She waved what looked like a letter at me.

"Sugar is coming!" she cried.

"Sugar?" I had no idea who Sugar was. Miss Audrey had a penchant for nicknames. One care-giver's nickname was Lazybones. I bet you could figure out why.

"Yes, one of my grandsons. He's coming to see me."

"When?" I'm always interested in new people.

She peered down at the letter and said, "After he sells off his cattle, it says."

"His cattle?"

"Yes. He's a rancher out Montana way. He had a good offer on his land and so he's selling up and moving."

"Why, Miss Audrey, your grandson is a cowboy?" I had visions in my head of a grizzled Hoss Cartwright, complete with ten-gallon hat and a wad of tobacco in his cheek. Or maybe he'd be more of a Sam Elliot? Who knew?

"Well, he grew up on his Granddaddy's ranch and worked it after the old man died. Sugar is my daughter's son, by the way. Her husband was never interested in running the farm, but Sugar loved it, and so the old man left it to him."

"It's too bad he had to sell it, then," I said.

"Naw. Those high falutin' developers are buying up all the land out there to build resorts for people who have more money than sense. Besides, ranching winters are rough in Montana. The work is hard and making a profit every year isn't a guarantee. It made no sense for Sugar to hold on to it. His Granddaddy would call him a fool not to sell."

I nodded. "Well, I'm excited for you, Miss Audrey. Is he moving to Parma, do you think?"

"I'm not for sure but my daughter would love to have him close by. I don't think he's made plans, yet." She flapped the letter at me. "The only thing he says is he's coming for a visit."

Just then my friend, Jess, walked by. Miss Audrey called out to her, "Lazybones! Guess what!" and off she went telling Jess all about the impending arrival of her grandson. Jessica hated her nickname but what was she going to do? When you're one-hundred years old, you can call people what you want. Besides, even if she promised not to call Jess Lazybones anymore, she'd forget. Miss Audrey's daughter was always cringing when her mother would say whatever was on her mind—no filters used, but that's the privilege of age. One day, I'll be there and act just like Miss Audrey. Couldn't think of a better role model, to be honest.

Weeks passed and my life went on in its usual rut: wake, Angie, work, Angie, sleep-day after day after day.

Actually, that's not true. I did have my days off and so one sunny June day, I decided to go swimming. During the off season, which is the summer in Parma, you could bring your pup to the gulf shore, so I brought Angie-girl with me to enjoy the sand and the surf and the 85-degree water. She really didn't like the water, but she enjoyed digging in the sand after sand crabs and chasing the birds. I pitched our umbrella, set up our chairs—Angie had her own—and sat back and enjoyed the pure bliss that is the Parma beach in summertime. It was beautiful, for sure, with white sand, green water, blue skies, fluffy clouds and blessed warmth, but what I liked the most, introvert that I am, was that there were no freaking people to intrude upon my paradise—or hardly any. If you stayed away from the public parks, you could pretty much have the beach to yourself, especially first thing in the morning.

And so, there I was, minding my own business when one of them disturbed my peace.

A Boy.

I didn't notice him—or rather—them at first. I was reading my latest beach book fluff. After a protracted sand crab chase, Angie had hunkered down in her chair and was contentedly snoring.

Suddenly, Angie sat up in her chair and wuffed. I heard someone yelling, but before I could figure out why something big and black exploded onto Angie's chair, knocking her and her chair into me and decanting me with my dog onto the sand.

"WHAT THE HECK?!" I could have used a stronger word but, truly, I was too surprised to be explicit.

The big, black projectile turned out to be a large dog. A large, excited dog who decided to tackle me and my girl in an overabundance of friendliness. He was currently sitting on my chest and trying to lick me to death while Angie was squirming to try to get out from under the both of us. I was fending the beast off as best I could as I heard running footsteps come closer.

"COOTER! NO!" Oh, that probably was the source of the yelling I had heard. But wait. What had he called me?

In a fit of outrage, I was able to shove the dog off my chest and sat up. And there he was. A Boy. In the worst possible boyish permutation. Tall, broad shouldered, messy haired, and ridiculously handsome. Those kinds of boys were the worst. They were so used to letting their looks grease their way, they never had to work for anything and used to getting everything. I knew the type too well.

He reached over and grabbed the dog's collar. "I'm very sorry, Ma'am. He got away from me."

I ungracefully scrambled to my feet trying to brush the sand and slobber off as I gave him the evil eye. "What did you call me?" Angie was dancing at my feet, giving Fido her own version of the evil eye. As a part of the Beagle Brigade, she was used to doing the ambushing not the other way around and I think she was a little miffed.

Confused, the boy/man gaped and then said hesitatingly, "I called you 'Ma'am'?"

"No. Before that."

Evidently, my question had caught him off guard, but he quickly regained his balance. "Well, Ma'am, as we hadn't been properly introduced, I don't believe I had called you anything." He flashed a mega-watt smile, but I noticed he just barely kept his eyes from drifting down from my face to check out my assets. Grrrr.

"No, I heard you yelling 'Cooter!'"

He chuckled, "That's the dog's name. Cooter. It's a freshwater turtle, pretty prevalent around these parts, I reckon. I was trying to grab him before he decided to introduce himself to you ladies. He's just a young'un and hasn't learned his manners yet."

My own mouth gaped. First, who would name their dog after a turtle? Second, who would name their dog something that also is slang for a woman's vajayjay? I'll tell you who. A Full-grown Boy/Man of the rottenest kind. My spidey senses were tingling off the chart. In a huff, I turned and started packing up my stuff. Beach time was over for now.

"Now, Ma'am, I'm right sorry for the dog's behavior. I certainly didn't mean for him to plow you ladies over. Can I make it up to you?"

Oh, no. This was all a come on. Nope. Not taking that bait.

"No, thank you." I bent down and grabbed my towels, folded my chairs and took down the umbrella.

"You sure? I feel like I owe you something for the trouble."

"You don't. I'm fine. We're fine."

He chuckled as he helped me slide the umbrella into its storage sleeve, "In my experience, when a woman says she's fine, she's anything but."

"I promise you, sir. You can take me at my word. I am fine!"

Wheeling around, I picked up my stuff, called Angie to heel, and stomped off. Well, I stomped off as much as you can on a sandy beach. I'd had enough of this dude.

Before I climbed the stairs that led to the parking lot, something told me to turn around. And there he was, a gorgeous, infuriating, Boy/Man and his moronic dog, watching me walk away. As our eyes met, a slow smile curled the corner of his mouth, and he flicked his fingers at an imaginary hat brim in goodbye.

I spun around and this time was able to successfully stomp across the parking lot. In just a few short minutes, he had managed to infuriate me, but he also left me weirdly unsettled.

As I let Angie into the car, I muttered under my breath, "Boys!"

Notes:

I'm finishing this chapter up in the Minneapolis/Saint Paul airport having just had the time of my life at TFMU, otherwise known as Twilight Fanfiction Meet Up. I highly recommend this annual event to anyone who loves Twilight Fanfiction and would like to commune with fellow Twific lovers—writers, readers, betas, all. A more affirming event I've never know.

And a Cooter really is a turtle.

'