Hurricanes in Paradise by Denise Hildreth (web ebook reader .TXT) 📕

heels, placing her hand awkwardly on her hip, and scrunched her lips. “Oh . . . this evening . . . well. That soon?”

He reached out and touched her arm. The hair on her arms shot to attention. She hadn’t been touched with this effect in a very long time. Old Mr. Tucker, who directed housekeeping and loved to touch her arm, had never caused quite the same reaction.

“If tonight doesn’t work, we can pick another night.”

She knew if she hesitated, she’d talk herself out of it. “No . . . no . . . tonight would be great. But it’s probably too late notice to get a sitter for Gabby.”

“Bring her. We’ll have a blast.”

She studied his face. But the inflection of his voice had convinced her he meant it. He let his hand fall to his side. She resisted the urge to grab it and put it back. “Yeah?”

“Sure. There’s this great little place over on Nassau. It’s where the locals hang out. Is that okay? It’s really casual.”

“Gabby and I do casual very well.”

“Can I pick you up at six thirty?”

“Yeah, six thirty will be fine.”

He reached up and patted her arm again, grabbing it slightly as he did. “It will be fun. Thank you for saying yes.”

“Sure. Yeah. No problem.”

She watched as he headed around the walkway and back up toward The Reef. His brown leather flip-flops slapped against the concrete and reverberated on her insides. She bit her lip. “Sure? Yeah? No problem? Are you an idiot?” she whispered as she headed back toward her office. “You get asked out on your first date in fifteen years—by a beautiful man, no less—and you say, ‘Sure. Yeah. No problem.’ You are an idiot.” She shook her head and turned toward the pool. Fear dropped with a thud in her gut. It pressed harder with each step she took. By the time she reached Laine’s cabana, it had taken over, verifying one thing. She would not be going out with Christian Manos tonight. Or any night.

2

Saturday afternoon . . .

The customs agent nervously wiped at the black ink now smudged across the Formica countertop, glancing up at her with an awkward smile.

Tamyra smiled at him and simply held out her hand to retrieve her passport. “Have a great afternoon,” she said as she walked toward baggage claim.

She didn’t acknowledge the heads that turned as she walked out the doors. But she knew. She had turned heads since she was in diapers. She just drew people in. It was one of her gifts. She retrieved her two large bags and headed toward the exit, where a distinguished Bahamian gentleman stood with a sign that had her name written across the front in black block letters.

“Hello,” she said, nodding at him as she exited. She glanced at his name tag, which read Roy Rogers. “Nice name.” She chuckled.

His smile took over half of his cheeks. “Good American name, isn’t it?”

“Your mother must have liked Westerns.”

He walked her toward the waiting car. “She loved Roy Rogers,” he said, giving her a wink as he opened the back door.

“Well, you, Roy Rogers, are far cuter than the original,” she said, patting the top of his hand that held on to the doorframe.

A flush of red was visible even on top of his black skin. “And you, Miss Tamyra, are a very astute lady.” They both laughed. He paused a moment as if studying her. Then he spoke. “Did you know that these here Bahamian waters are known as healing waters?”

Tamyra felt the blood rush from her face. She was grateful she was sitting down. She gripped the edge of her seat.

If he noticed, he didn’t let on. “But there’s something else you need to know. A person has to believe healing is possible.” He stopped as if to let the words sink in. “Enjoy your stay, sweet Tamyra.” He closed the door.

Tamyra rested her head against the black leather headrest. Bahamian music filtered softly and rhythmically through the car. Why had he said that? What was the purpose? Did she look like she needed healing? Or was God so cruel that He enjoyed rubbing it in? She turned her now-furrowed brow to the window and forced her attention to the new world outside. But if she was honest, every day seemed like a new world. Nothing was as it used to be. Since the day she left the doctor’s office with heartbreaking news, nothing about life or even her own body, her hands, her face, was the same. The only thing that remained the same was the callous soul of the world. It stopped for no one’s pain.

Her family was worried sick. She knew that. But no matter how many times she had come to the brink of telling them everything, something held her back. She was here to continue processing her new life. For no other reason. Least of all healing waters.

The palm trees that lined the winding streets cruised past her. They looked as if they were waving. The car drove through the downtown area of Nassau, and she watched as visor-clad tourists ambled down streets on Caribbean time. Even though this was hurricane season and rumor had it one swirled around nearby, no one seemed to care. She certainly didn’t. One could sweep in and wipe the whole place off the map and she’d be grateful. Remarkable what four words could do to change your life.

She swatted at the tear that burned its way down her face and turned quickly so the driver couldn’t see her crying in the rearview mirror. The ocean lapped at the sides of a concrete barrier that ran the perimeter of the road. It surged with force but then rolled back as it met the unmovable wall. Her tears did the same thing.

Her heaviness lifted slightly as the car pulled into the tropical and breathtaking setting of the Atlantis. The rich coral towers seemed to welcome her, and when the young man opened the door of the car, salt air rushed through as if it were desperate to reach