Page 20 of For the Love of Lilah
In any case she always enjoyed this seaside stroll, listening to the murmur of pebbles drifting in the surf or the echoing call of gulls, discovering for herself and the tourists what treasures lurked in the tide pools.
The breeze was light and balmy, carrying that ancient and mysterious scent that was the sea. Here the rocks were smooth and flat, worn to elegance by the patient ebb and flow of water. She could see the glitter of quartz running in long white rivers down the black stone. Overhead, the sky was a hard summer blue, nearly cloudless. Under it, boats glided, buoys clanged, orange markers bobbed.
She thought of the yacht, theWindrider, and though she searched as she had on each tour, she saw nothing but sleek tourist boats or the sturdy crafts of lobstermen.
When she saw Max hiking the nature trail down to join the group, she smiled. He was on time, of course. She’d expected no less. She felt a slow tingle of warmth when his gaze lifted from his feet to her face. He really had wonderful eyes, she thought. Intent and serious, and just a little shy.
As always when she saw him, she had an urge to tease him and an underlying longing to touch. An interesting combination, she thought now, and one she couldn’t remember experiencing with anyone else.
She looked so cool, he thought, the mannish uniform over the willowy feminine form. The military khaki and the dangle of gold and crystal at her ears. He wondered if she knew how suited she was to stand before the sea while it bubbled and swayed at her back.
“At the intertidal zone,” she began, “life has acclimated to tidal change. In spring, we have the highest and lowest tides, with a rise and fall of 14.5 feet.”
She went on in that easy, soothing voice, talking of intertidal creatures, survival and food chains. Even as she spoke, a gull glided to perch on a nearby rock to study the tourists with a beady, expectant eye. Cameras clicked. Lilah crouched down beside a tide pool. Fascinated by her description of life there, Max moved to see for himself.
There were long purple fans she called dulse, and she had the children in the group groaning when she told them it could be eaten raw or boiled. In the dark little pool of water, she found a wealth of living things, all waiting, she said, for the tide to come in again before they went back to business.
With a graceful fingertip she pointed out the sea anemones that looked more like flowers than animals, and the tiny slugs that preyed on them. The pretty shells that were mollusks and snails and whelks. She sounded like a marine biologist one moment and a stand-up comedian the next.
Her appreciative audience bombarded her with questions. Max caught one teenage boy staring at her with a moony kind of lust and felt instant sympathy.
Tossing her braid behind her back, she wound up the tour, explaining about the information available at the visitors’ center, and the other naturalist tours. Some of the group started to meander their way back along the path, while others lingered behind to take more pictures. The teenager loitered behind his parents, asking any question his dazzled brain could form on the tide pools, the wildflowers and, though he wouldn’t have looked twice at a robin, the birds. When he’d exhausted all angles, and his mother called impatiently for the second time, he trudged reluctantly off.
“This is one nature walk he won’t forget anytime soon,” Max commented.
She only smiled. “I like to think they’ll all remember some pieces of it. Glad you could make it, Professor.” She did what her instincts demanded and kissed him fully, softly on the mouth.
Looking back, the teenager experienced a flash of miserable envy. Max was simply knocked flat. Lilah’s lips were still curved as she eased away.
“So,” she asked him, “how was your day?”
Could a woman kiss like that then expect him to continue a normal conversation? Obviously this one could, he decided and took a long breath. “Interesting.”
“Those are the best kind.” She began to walk up the path that would lead back to the visitors’ center. Arching a brow, she glanced over her shoulder. “Coming?”
“Yeah.” With his hands in his pockets, he started after her. “You’re very good.”
Her laugh was light and warm. “Why, thank you.”
“I meant—I was talking about your job.”
“Of course you were.” Companionably she tucked an arm through his. “It’s too bad you missed the first twenty minutes of the last tour. We saw two slate-colored juncos, a double-crested cormorant and an osprey.”
“It’s always been one of my ambitions to see a slate-colored junco,” he said, and made her laugh again. “Do you always do the same trail?”
“No, I move around. One of my favorites is Jordan Pond, or I might take a shift at the Nature Center, or hike up in the mountains.”
“I guess that keeps it from getting boring.”
“It’s never boring, or I wouldn’t last a day. Even on the same trail you see different things all the time. Look.” She pointed to a thatch of plants with narrow leaves and faded pink blooms. “Rhodora,” she told him. “A common azalea. A few weeks ago it was at peak. Stunning. Now the blooms will die off, and wait until spring.” She brushed her fingertips over the leaves. “I like cycles. They’re reassuring.”
Though she claimed to be an unenergetic woman, she walked effortlessly along the trail, keeping an eye out for anything of interest. It might be lichen clinging to a rock, a sparrow in flight or a spray of hawkweed. She liked the scent here, the sea they were leaving behind, the green smell of trees that began to crowd in to block the view.
“I didn’t realize that your job kept you on your feet most of the day.”
“Which is why I prefer to stay off them at all other times.” She tilted her head to look at him. “Tell you what though, the next time I have an afternoon, I’ll give you a more in-depth tour. We can kill two birds with one stone, so to speak. Take in the scenery, and poke around for your friend, Caufield.”
“I want you to stay out of it.”
