Warm Nights in Magnolia Bay by Babette Jongh (best fantasy books to read TXT) 📕

far back on his board for the thing to be stable. “Scoot up to the middle of your board and turn your paddle so the logo is facing the other way.” Huffing with annoyance, Sean managed to comply.

“Now paddle over here, nice and easy. Don’t dig the oar so deep into the water; that’s it… Let me show you where we are on my phone, and then you’ll see why we can’t get lost.” On a map of Louisiana, Magnolia Bay looked like a small slice of blue water with a smooth and definite coastline. But in reality, the bay’s edges consisted of a multitude of small, interconnected waterways that snaked around acres of marshland interspersed with sandbars and cypress tree islands. The GPS map showed exactly where they were among all the nooks and crannies, bayous and byways.

“See?” Quinn held his phone out to Sean, who gingerly paddled closer to take a look. He leaned over—by about two inches—and glanced at the phone without really looking. “Okay, fine. I just hope you know where we’re going.”

“I do.” Quinn tucked his phone (protected by an OtterBox and secured to his board by a lanyard) back into the bungee net. “I know how to get back, too. Are you ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.” They’d barely started paddling down the narrow, marsh-lined channel when Sean freaked out. “Dad! Holy shit! There’s a big fucking alligator on the bank next to us!” Sean started paddling faster, nearly tipping his board over in the process.

Quinn looked back at a huge alligator sunning himself on a small spit of sandy bank just a few hundred yards from the landing where they had put the boards into the water. It looked so much like a fallen log that he probably wouldn’t have noticed it. He hurried to catch up with Sean and reached out to steady his board. “Calm down. He doesn’t care about us.”

“Jesus, Dad.” Sean was a breath away from hyperventilating, his dark eyes so wide Quinn could see the whites all around the iris. “Let’s go back before we get eaten.” He tried to turn the board around by digging the paddle deep into the water, but only succeeded in making the board dip dangerously to one side.

“Sean.” Quinn wrenched the paddle from Sean’s anxious grip. “Look at me.”

Sean’s breathing quieted—just slightly—and he pinned his gaze on Quinn’s, his eyelids flickering with panic. “Shit, Dad,” he whispered, his entire body shaking. “Shit.”

Their boards drifted along with a current that gently guided them farther away from the gator. Quinn had to admit—to himself only—that if the huge-ass alligator had launched himself into the water, Quinn would’ve probably crapped his pants in fear. But the bloated-looking armor-plated creature continued to doze placidly in the afternoon sun.

“Look at him.” He pointed back at the twelve-foot-long alligator who hadn’t so much as twitched. “You see that he’s busy napping in the sun, and that he is completely unconcerned with us?”

Sean turned to look back, his movements jerky with fear. “I guess.”

“Alligators mainly eat big fish and small animals. They don’t go after people, unless those people are flailing around in the water so much that they seem like wounded prey. Alligators are lazy opportunists.” Like some people Quinn could think of. “About the biggest thing they’ll go after is a dog.”

“Can we go back now?” Sean whined. “This isn’t fun. It’s scary.”

Quinn hardened his heart and his voice. “No, we’re not going back. We’re going to paddle to the end of this little bayou, at least. Come here, let me show you.” He held out his phone and showed Sean the map, this time making sure Sean really looked. “When we get here,” he pointed to a small cypress island, “we’ll paddle around the island, then come back to the landing from the other side.”

Sean’s shoulders lifted toward his ears, and he looked back toward the landing with a yearning expression on his face.

“Think of it like this.” Quinn forced a happy note into his voice. “We’ll be going around the long way, but we won’t have to paddle past old Goliath again.”

“Unless he moves upstream,” Sean replied in a tone of doom. “But okay. I don’t want to give him a chance to change his mind about eating us.”

Quinn handed over the paddle he’d confiscated. “Good deal.”

Assisted by a gentle current, they paddled away from old Goliath, but Sean kept glancing over his shoulder. Quinn pointed out turtles and birds. They stilled their paddles to listen to a heavy rustling sound in the dense underbrush of the swampy island bog between them and the bay’s main channel.

“You think it’s a deer?” Sean asked.

“Or a wild hog rooting around,” Quinn answered. “They’re both pretty nocturnal, but out on these little islands where people don’t go, they feel safe, so you can sometimes spot them during the day.”

They never saw whatever it was making noise beyond the trees, so they paddled on. Eventually, Sean’s shoulders relaxed and he started to engage with the natural environment around them. “Look, Dad! Is that a hawk?”

Quinn looked up at the large, majestic bird gazing out from the top of a dead-looking cypress tree dripping with Spanish moss. “Red-tailed hawk, yes.”

The paddle around the island took a couple hours; they weren’t in any hurry. When they’d made it to the tree-lined shade of the bayou that led back to the launch, Quinn unzipped the soft-sided cooler. “Hungry?”

Sean clutched his stomach. “’Bout to die.”

Quinn handed Sean a sandwich and a bag of chips, and they let their boards drift down the bayou. Quinn took a bite of his pickle-laden chicken sandwich, and it was so good he just about groaned. Pickle juice dripped down his chin, and he wiped it away with his wrist. How had she managed to keep the bread from getting soggy? Must be some kind of culinary magic.

“Dad?” Sean asked.

“Huh?” He took another bite; damn, Abby knew how to make food taste good.

“How come you know about all this