He'd waited a long time to start on this adventure, and he wasn't about to let a little thing like trading in his comfortable Western wear for surfer-boy beach clothes scare him off. No sir. Sure the obstacles were high, but he'd conquered higher. Had the gold belt buckles from the Professional Rodeo Cowboys Association-and the scars-to prove it. Except for that last competition, of course. Damn it, coming in second to Wes Handly still chapped his hide. If only-

Josh sliced off the irritating thought before it could take root. That part of his life was over. He'd hung up his spurs and it was time to conquer new worlds. Such as this beachy, suntan-oiled, palm-treed, flowery, mountainless, oceany-smelling… place.

Inhaling a fruity-scented resolute breath, he adjusted his Stetson, settled his duffel higher on his shoulder, then walked toward the entrance of the resort, his senses trying to take in all the new sights, sounds and smells at once.

A huge birdcage dominated the parquet-floored lobby. The largest parrot Josh had ever seen-not that he'd seen many-sat perched on a wooden swing, its long, bright red, yellow, and green tail feathers cutting a colorful yard-long downward swath. Big-leafed plants sprang from porcelain urns painted with tropical scenes featuring flamingos and multihued fish. Salmon-colored walls glowed behind the long, dark green granite reception desk. Craning his neck to look beyond the reception area, he caught a glimpse of a sparkling pool, then the white beach and blue ocean beyond. A pleasant breeze blew through the lobby, cooling his overheated skin.

By God, Dad would have loved this place. The bright colors, the salty air, the squawk of gulls. And wouldn't he have just gotten the biggest kick out of that huge parrot? A sharp pang of regret stabbed Josh, halting his steps, hitching his breath. His fingers clenched around his duffel strap, the coarse material and metal clasp biting into his palm. Damn it, would the grief ever stop sneaking up on him? Hitting him like a bull's kick to the head? Most likely not. But maybe after he'd accomplished what he'd come here to do… maybe then the ache would lessen.

He looked out toward the sandy beach and deep blue water and swallowed hard. Yup, Dad had wanted his whole life to come to a place like this, but he'd never even gotten the chance to see the ocean. His dad's crinkle-eyed smiling face rose in his mind's eye, and his raspy voice echoed through his mind, so clearly it seemed as if Bill Maynard stood next to him. When I retire from ranchin', I'm gonna satisfy this itch of a wanderlust, son. Learn to sail, then buy me a boat. Go places and see things I've only ever read about or seen on TV. I'm gonna sail around the Mediterranean. Eat whatever I catch for dinner.

A ghost of a smile tugged at the corners of Josh's mouth as he recalled teasing his dad. Eat whatever you catch for dinner? You'd better add "learn deep-sea fishing" to your list of things to do, Dad, or you're gonna starve. Won't be the same as pullin' trout from a mountain stream.

I plan to learn, son. And you can learn with me. I can picture it now. The two of us sailin' on the crystal-clear water, grillin' up the day's catch.

I look forward to it, Dad. But I'll bring along some steaks. Just in case.

A loud parrot squawk roused Josh from his thoughts and he resolutely tucked his memories away. It was time to check in, unpack his bag, throw on some beach-wear, and start fulfilling the dream Dad had instilled in him three decades ago.

Squaring his shoulders, Josh approached the registration desk. He would set about conquering the seven seas, just as he'd conquered the inside of countless rodeo arenas. With hard work, determination, perseverance and heart. Don't worry, Dad. I'll see all those places you wanted to see, all those places we talked about. And that sail we dreamed of taking together? Well, it's as good as done.

Of course, in spite of all the reading he'd done about sailing, he'd still need to start with the basics. But it shouldn't prove too difficult. The staff here was topnotch, and he was an intelligent man. Had the college degree to prove it. And he was a world-class athlete. Had those gold belt buckles to prove that.

His gaze skimmed over the turquoise pool, then settled on the azure ocean beyond. A ripple of unease trickled down his spine, but he firmly pushed it aside. Nothing to worry about. The waters here were advertised as calm and crystal-clear.

Besides, how the hell hard could it be to learn to swim?


* * *

Lexie smiled and waved goodbye to her class of young swimming students. "See you tomorrow," she called after them. The youngest, four-year-old Amy, turned and blew Lexie a kiss.

Lexie snatched the invisible offering from the air. "Got it!" she said, planting the "kiss" on her cheek, much to the child's delight. She would definitely miss adorable Amy when her family left the Whispering Palms at the end of the week.

Hoisting herself out of the pool, she grabbed her towel and dabbed at the water clinging to her skin as her gaze wandered over the beachfront landscape she loved. Dozens of people frolicked in the gentle surf while a group of youngsters built an enormous sand castle. Parents, singles, honeymooners and teenagers reclined on aqua-and-yellow-striped lounge chairs, sunning themselves, reading, napping, chatting, sipping frothy tropical drinks, complete with paper umbrellas, each enjoying their vacation in their own way.

As Activities and Sports Director at the resort, she took great pride in the wide variety of activities the Whispering Palms offered its guests. Water sports ranged from tame snorkeling and inner-tubing, to the more adventurous sailing, waterskiing, kayaking, scuba diving and parasailing. Was exercise your thing? Aerobics were offered twice daily. Biking? Single and tandem bikes were available, as well as tricycles for the tykes. Trampoline? Got it. Beachcombing walks? Check. Water or beach Volleyball? You betcha.

Yes, indeed, everything an "in need of rest and relaxation" vacationer could possibly want was available at the Whispering Palms, and pride filled Lexie that she'd played a major role in setting up, then implementing, the activities program. Of course, now that the tourist season was ending, things would slow down until they picked up again around Thanksgiving. She'd miss the hectic pace and the jovial crowds, and she'd definitely miss the additional money she earned during the summer by working evening and early morning hours at the resort's Camp Kid's Club or giving private swimming and scuba lessons. She squirreled away every dollar she could, waiting for her piece of heaven to be listed for sale.

An image of the palm-shaded, waterfront cove she'd fallen in love with rose in her mind's eye. It was private, peaceful, perfect. And when it was finally listed for sale-she refused to consider that it wouldn't eventually be-her piece of heaven would definitely be pricey. And according to Darla, once that prime strip of land was listed, it wouldn't last long. Lexie would need to have enough money ready to act fast.

Speaking of acting fast… Lexie glanced at her trusty waterproof Timex. She was scheduled to accompany a snorkeling group in half an hour. No time for daydreaming if she hoped to grab some much-needed lunch at the outdoor Marine Patio. She finished drying off, slipped on her neon-green T-shirt that read Whispering Palms Activities And Sports Director in bold black letters across the front, the matching shorts, then crammed her wet "pool hair" under her favorite Florida Marlins baseball cap. She was about to reach for her water shoes when she halted, her attention grabbed by a masculine figure standing in the breezeway leading to the lobby. Pushing her Ray Bans higher on her nose, she peered through the dazzling sunshine, then pursed her lips in involuntary appreciation.

He'd clearly just checked in as he held the colorful trifold pamphlet outlining the resort's amenities and containing the room key-card given to new guests at the reception desk. Decked out in a Stetson hat, long-sleeved shirt, snug jeans, what appeared to be the biggest belt buckle she'd ever seen and cowboy boots, he wasn't dressed for the beach, but even at this distance there was no doubt he filled out those denims very nicely.

She squinted at him, but the shade cast by the brim of his hat prevented her from seeing his face. Just then, he turned and headed across the lobby toward the bank of elevators leading to the guest rooms. Hmm. He filled out those jeans as nicely from the back as he had from the front. However, since the temperature hovered somewhere near ninety-five in the shade, hopefully Mr. Cowboy would change into something cooler before venturing outside.

As she made her way toward the Marine Patio, she couldn't help but wonder what he'd look like out of those jeans.


* * *

Twenty minutes later she found out. He looked damned good.

Leaning back in her chair as she washed down the last bite of her tuna salad sandwich with a sip of iced tea, she caught sight of him entering the pool area from the lobby doors. Even though he now wore a bright white T-shirt and a pair of dark blue swim trunks, and the Stetson had been replaced with a baseball cap, there was no mistaking he was the same guy. The way he moved, with that smooth, athletic, confident gait, was a dead giveaway. As was the fine physique.

He appeared to be searching for something or someone as he walked around the pool, weaving his way among the lounging sunbathers.

Stirring her iced tea with her straw, she watched him pause, settling his hands on his hips. With his eyes narrowed against the sun's glare, his gaze slowly panned the pool area. Her own gaze slid over him and again her lips pursed with female appreciation. There was no doubt he fell squarely into the "hunk" category. Tall and broad-shouldered, he had a ruggedly attractive face that looked as if it came straight from one of those tourism print ads for Wyoming or Colorado.