Page 18 of Tropical Heat

“I can understand why you like her. I'm more of a southern rock guy myself.”

“Makes sense. Especially since you grew up down here.”

I asked next about her favorite movie. “Don't laugh. It's an old one, but my grandmother was a huge Humphrey Bogart fan and had all of his movies on tape. I must have seenThe African Queena hundred times and still love it.”

Hmm, interesting. I filed the information away for later. “That’s a good one, but personally, I prefer the movies he made with Lauren Bacall. LikeThe Big Sleep.”

“Are you really a Bogie fan or are you just pretending, because you know I like him?”

“You tell me, would someone who was pretending know that his middle name was DeForest?” I gave her a wink. “Another piece of trivia you may not know is that until they made the movie there, Key Largo was called Rock Harbor.”

“All right, I believe you," she said, and I could not help but notice how much more relaxed she had become. As we rode along, we continued to compare favorites—books, holidays, foods—and discovered we had many interests in common.

We were halfway to Big Pine Key when Morgan looked out the window and saw where we were. “I don't even remember going over the bridge. You had me so distracted with conversation.” Her eyes flickered with understanding. “You did that on purpose, didn’t you?”

I smiled silently as she returned her hand to my thigh.

“You’re going to want to keep your eyes open. We’re still a few miles away from the Refuge, but this area usually has a few deer near the road.”

“Wait a minute, you brought me down here to see deer?”

“That’s one reason,” I confirmed

“You know I grew up in West Virginia, right? I've seen deer before.”

“Not like these you haven’t.” Key Deer, at only thirty inches tall, are the smallest deer in North America and only found in the Florida Keys. Considered an endangered species, only about seven hundred of them still exist, most of which live in the National Key Deer Refuge.

As far as I was concerned, the best place to see them was Wagner Trail. The three and a half mile stretch on No Name Key is little known to anybody outside the area, as it doesn't appear on most maps. That, along with its diverse mixture of foliage, makes it a favorite spot for mother deer and their nursing fawns.

“The trail’s pretty rugged.” I explained, exchanging my topsiders for a pair of Pumas. “Think you can handle it?”

“I run three to five miles every day.” Morgan smirked. “I think I'll be okay.”

Once we were about a quarter mile past the unmarked trailhead, I whispered, “Keep your eyes peeled. They blend in really well with the vegetation.”

She scanned the tall grass, like an eagle looking for a meal. “Over there.” Morgan excitedly pointed at a fawn not much larger than your average beagle. She pulled her phone from her pocket and snapped a picture. “So cute.”

The mother deer saw us and moved her tiny charge deeper into the underbrush. We saw more deer the further on the trail we went. I pointed out the various plants and trees, such as red mangrove, thatch palm and batis.

“You’re quite the plant savant.” I wondered if that was her way of telling me I was boring her.

“I come here a lot and the visitor center has pamphlets that help identify the various wildlife. My older sister is the actual expert. Stephanie’s a botanist at the Smithsonian. My younger sister, Paula, is a lawyer and works as a legislative assistant in Tallahassee.”

“Do you see them very often?”

“Not as often as I would like, but we stay in touch by text. How about you? Any brothers or sisters?”

“I had a sister.” She bit her upper lip. “She died a few years ago.”

“Oh, I am so—”

She cut me off with a finger to my lips. “I know. You are very sorry. And probably wondering what happened. But we’re having such a good time and it is a painful memory. How about you just impress me with more talk about plants?”

Although I had never lost a sibling, there were parts of my life I did not enjoy talking about. “This one over here is Zillow Milo..”

“You just made that up.” She laughed and punched me on the arm. “Even I recognize a chanterelle mushroom.”

As we walked, she reached out and took my hand. “You may be the sweetest man I've ever met.” Then gave me a kiss on the cheek. I blushed and could not help thinking how wrong Dante had been. It paid to be a nice guy sometimes. When we reached the end of the trail, I told her I usually jog back.

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