About to drift off for a quick nap, she felt something tickle her foot. She pressed her heel into the sand and moved her leg side to side. When that didn’t work, she wiggled her toes. And when that didn’t work, she lifted up onto her elbows to take a look.
“Ahh!” She scrambled backward as fast as possible, away from the reptilian creature staring at her. Wait…it was only a…small turtle? At her sudden movement, the animal hid inside its shell.
Maverick placed the turtle in his palm, his stare full of mirth before he looked down at the creature. “It’s okay, Digger, the pretty doctor is mostly harmless and more afraid of you than you are of her.”
Okay, where to start with that sentence? Maverick’s calling her pretty twisted her stomach into a delicious knot. She never knew exactly what to think when his eyes were on her, so knowing he liked what he saw on the outside was a welcome bit of information. Of course, he probably wouldn’t have kissed the bejesus out of her if he wasn’t attracted to her, but, since she’d never been caught up in the heat of the moment like that before, she didn’t know if looks had factored in. Hormones were potent all on their own.
And then there was the mostly harmless comment. What did he mean by that? Because if she was given truth serum and had to spill the beans on how Maverick affected her, she’d say there was nothing safe about the new emotions creeping in and changing her opinion of him. Did he feel the same way?
Lastly, how cute was the name Digger?
“I think you’ve shocked her silent,” Maverick said. “Good job, buddy.” The turtle poked his head out from his shell like Maverick’s voice reassured him it was safe.
“Hey! I’m just assessing.”
“Assessing?” he asked. “Please don’t tell me this is the first turtle you’ve been up close to.”
“Okay, I won’t tell you.” She leaned forward on her hands and knees for a closer look.
“Shortcake, what am I going to do with you?”
Her eyes jumped from watching the turtle emerge fully out of his shell up to Mav’s incredibly blue eyes. “That’s kind of a loaded question.” She sat back on her haunches with what she hoped was a sexy smile.
He smirked. (Which for the record was quite sexy.) It was hard to believe this was her life right now. Stuck on a sandbar in the middle of a lake with her college nemesis and a turtle named Digger.
“How about you start with telling me about Digger. Did you name him?”
“Jenna did.” He put Digger down on the sand. “She found him and his girlfriend.” He nodded toward something off to Kennedy’s left. She turned her head to find another turtle climbing out of the water. “That’s Scooter. They’re red-eared sliders.”
“How can you tell them apart?” They looked identical to her.
“Males sport a thick, long tail while females have a short, skinny one.”
Kennedy watched as Digger walked to meet Scooter. The red stripe behind their eyes must be where they got their name. Their shells were olive colored with yellow lines. “Do they bite?” she asked.
“No.”
“Scratch?” Digger had elongated front claws she’d rather not get acquainted with.
“Not on purpose. They’re docile creatures who, when threatened, hide inside their shells.”
“Much like people.” “Threatened” meaning anything uncomfortable, uneasy, awkward… Kennedy didn’t hide often, only when it came to her mom and sister. And she hated that. Hated that they made her retreat instead of communicate. No more, she thought to herself.
“I suppose so,” he said, taking off his baseball hat, flipping it around, and putting it on his head backward.
The switch made him even sexier. It added a boyishly handsome quality to his ruggedness she found appealing on every level.
“What?” he asked.
“Nothing.” She practically pulled a muscle in her neck looking away from him. Silently scolding herself to cool her jets, she rubbed the muscles where her neck met her shoulder.
“Whatever you say, Shortcake.” He so knew she was not immune to him, damn it. “How about a race?”
“What kind?”
“The Digger against Scooter kind. Jenna and I race them all the time.”
“Sounds interesting.” Losing her paddle had taken some wind out of her sails, and she was more than determined to prove herself. “I’m in, and there should be a prize involved.” She flashed her straight, dentist-whitened teeth at him. (It helped to know other doctors who gave steep discounts.)
“Of course.”
“Who usually wins?” she fired off.
“If I told you that, you’d have an unfair advantage.”
“But you know.”
“True, so I’ll hold the turtles behind my back and you can pick a hand.”
“Can I make the track?” She felt at a disadvantage no matter what, and this gave her some level of control.
“Sure. They usually race from the sand down to the water.”
While Maverick walked over to pick up the turtles, she did a quick study of the terrain to locate an even decline. Finding it, she shuffled over on her knees and drew a start line in the sand. “Is this distance okay?”
“Should be.” Maverick’s shadow loomed over her. “Pick a hand.”
She stood up, tapped her chin. “Hmm…left.”
He brought his left arm out from behind him. “Looks like it’s girls against boys.”
“Perfect.” She gingerly accepted Scooter in both hands, worried she’d drop the turtle otherwise. She wasn’t much bigger than Kennedy’s palm, but still. Her guiding principle was to keep everyone safe.
They put their turtles down behind the start line but didn’t let go entirely. The animals, obviously accustomed to being held, strained their legs for release.
“On three,” Maverick said. “One, two, three.”
Chapter Seventeen
Two days until the wedding
Digger and Scooter both hit the sand running—or rather fast walking. It was usually hit or miss as to who won their races, and seeing the look of pure delight on Kennedy’s face, Maverick hoped Scooter won. He always hoped whichever turtle Jenna had picked won, too. Being the precocious seven-year-old that she was, though, she told him it built character to lose once in a while. No one wins every single time, Uncle Mav.
“We forgot to pick a prize for the winner,” Kennedy said, bouncing up and down. “Go, Scooter, go!”