The Best Of Me. Tina Wainscott

a thin black man stood by a battered desk, rubbing his temples and clutching the phone. The desk and shelves were cluttered with papers and seashells.

      The man picked up a letter. “But dere has to be some mistake, mon. Yah, I see the man’s signature, but…so I cannot even shoot him? Okay, okay. No, I won’t shoot him, I promise.” The lyrical way he spoke made her smile despite his annoyance. He dropped the phone into the cradle.

      She stepped forward, her hand extended. “You must be Bailey. I’m Lucy Donovan, Sonny’s—”

      “A yu, Miss Lucy! Yah, I see Sonny in you, same brown eyes and hair, same length, too.” She touched her shoulder-length hair, but he rambled on. “Am I glad to see you, yes I am. We have a problem, a big problem. The man out dere is tiefing da big fish. A wicked man, dat one. He come dis morning and say he taking our fish. Nobody will come to da park if dere’s no big fish, and without people you got no money, no money means no park, and no park means no job, no job means no food. I got five childrens to feed, an’ t’ree goats.” He took a deep breath. “Miss Lucy, you got to kick the wicked man outta here.”

      Cleaning out her father’s place and deciding what to do about the park she now owned was part of her agenda. So was finding out what her father was really like at the risk of her fanciful dreams. Kicking out some wicked man was not on the list of things she wanted to tackle.

      “You said a man was tiefing?”

      “Tiefing. Stealing. He be taking our main fish, Randy. Come, I show you.”

      “Wait a minute,” she said, but he kept walking. “How can someone steal a fish?”

      She followed him toward the cluster of people. All she knew about fish was to make sure it was fresh and thoroughly cooked. This knowledge probably wasn’t going to help much. But she did know subordinate workers.

      She slipped on her jacket, effecting her boss persona, and asked Bailey, “Does anyone else work here?”

      “No, jus’ me, Bill, and Big Sonny, him being in da past tense of course.”

      The crowd mumbled and grumbled. “Hey, we paid to see a perr-formin’ dolphin,” a large man drawled. “That guy says we can’t go near him. What kind of deal is this, anyway?”

      “Yeah, I want my money back,” another chimed in.

      “Me, too! I heard about these island rip-off artists.”

      “Nooo, no rip artists here, mon.” Bailey turned to give her a woeful look, then raised his palms and turned back to the crowd. “We’re working on da problem, mon. Go play wit’ da conchs and crabs in da Touching Tank, and we get da big show ready. Go, go,” he said, wiggling his fingers.

      They moved away, but didn’t leave. Obviously they thought a better show was about to be performed. Lucy’s throat went dry, but anger prickled through her at the thought of some man stealing the main attraction. What nerve. She pushed back her sleeves and stepped up to the knee-high fence that surrounded all the pools.

      The man standing in chest-deep water on a platform paid absolutely no attention to anything but the large form circling in the pool with him. He was probably in his early thirties, with blond hair burnished gold by the sun. His curls grazed the tops of strong, tan shoulders. Quite possibly he had one of the nicest chins she’d ever seen, strong and perfectly shaped. Something warm tickled through her. He could be an attraction himself: See Gorgeous Guy in Pool!

      Bailey nudged her, and she blinked in disbelief. Good grief, she was supposed to kick the man out, not ogle him!

      “Excuse me,” she said, leaning over the fence. “Man in the pool.”

      The man pulled a fish out of a bucket. The big fish moved closer and popped its head out of the water. Oh, it was a dolphin like Flipper! Ridges of tiny teeth lined its open mouth, and for a moment she worried about the man’s long fingers. The big fish caught its supper in midair, landing with a graceful splash. The crowd clapped sporadically, but the man didn’t even glance up.

      “Excuse me,” she said, louder this time. “Please get out of the pool so we can discuss this.”

      He glanced up at her then, insolence in vivid eyes the color of the sparkling ocean beyond him. She felt her stomach twist. Before she could even admonish herself for getting caught up in his eyes, he’d turned back to the dolphin.

      The pattern in the concrete made her heels a little shaky, but she stepped over the gate and the sign he’d obviously put up that said Keep Out, and walked to the edge. No one ignored Lucy Donovan. Running her own advertising company had given her an edge of authority, and if she could get past those eyes, she’d have him bowing in acquiescence in no time. The thought of him bowing in front of her also did strange things to her stomach.

      She planted her hands on her hips, and in her best bosslike tone, said, “Out of the pool now, mister.”

      “Lady, if you’re not careful, you’re going to end up in the pool. Some of the tiles around the edge are loose.”

      “You think you can scare me away with a few loose tiles?” She glanced back at the crowd that probably thought this was some kind of skit. “Who are you and what right do you have to be in this pool? This is private property.” Her private property.

      The dolphin popped out of the water and caught the fish again. The crowd clapped. Anger surged. Forget his eyes! This guy is wicked, she thought, walking around to the side behind the dolphin.

      “I want an answer or I’m calling the authorities.”

      “I already explained everything to that guy,” the man said, waving vaguely toward Bailey but not looking at anyone but the big fish.

      She crossed her arms in front of her chest. “Since I’m the owner, why don’t you explain it to me?”

      The strength from her last statement trickled away when he turned those eyes on her, and she saw disgust. “You’re the owner?”

      Her shoulders stiffened. “Yes. And I want to know why you’re molesting my fish.”

      Well, now she had his attention. He swam toward her, the sun glistening off his wet shoulders. She sensed a fight brewing and geared her body toward it. In one slick movement he shoved himself out of the pool and stood to face her. Or look down at her, as it were. Water ran in rivulets down a chest sprinkled with fine, golden hair. He wore one of those little swimming trunk things that outlined everything, and she wasn’t going to look anymore. On a black cord around his neck he wore a shark’s tooth. She looked up to meet his eyes, refusing to be intimidated by him, his height, or his eyes. Or what the deep blue trunks revealed. A warm breeze washed over her, making her aware of the fine sheen of perspiration on her face.

      He crowded closer into her zone. “First of all, that is not a fish. He’s a mammal like you and me, only not as selfish and greedy and inhumane. That dolphin has been living in a chlorinated pool that has bleached his skin white and has made his eyes nearly close. Dolphins are made to swim out there.” He gestured toward the open ocean. “Not in that little swimming pool. His snout’s beat up from bumping against the sides. This very social creature has lived alone for six years. His only company is some guy who makes him do tricks for a bunch of people who think it’s neat to see a dolphin jump and twirl for his meals, which have, up until today, consisted of frozen mullet. To you and me, that’s like eating dog food. Frozen dog food.”

      She didn’t think it was possible, but he moved even closer. “You have stripped from that dolphin everything that makes him a dolphin. His pod and all the hierarchy and social activities that go with it, the thrill of the chase, the feel of the open, endless ocean, the fun of life, and if you want to get right down to it, you’ve robbed his soul. He was going to die in that pool, and you would have been responsible. My name is Chris Maddox. I’m the founder of the Free Dolphin Society, and I’ve been given authority by the Bahamian government to repatriate this dolphin to the wild.”

      He touched his finger to her collarbone, sending little shock waves