Dead Over Heels

The Whiskers are trying to survive in a hostile new area after being evicted from their manor by the vicious Commandos.

—MEERKAT MANOR, ANIMAL PLANET

SURVIVOR: noun. 1) One who lives through affliction. 2) One who outlives another. 3) An animal that survives in spite of adversity.

Just sit right back and you’ll hear a tale,

A tale of a fateful trip

That started from this tropic port

Aboard this tiny ship.

—“THE BALLAD OF GILLIGAN’S ISLAND,” by George Wyle and Sherwood Schwartz

For my children,

who got me hooked on Animal Planet.

Now you’ll all have to suffer for it.

Author’s Note

The events of this novella take place after Swimming Without a Net, the second Fred the Mermaid book.

Chapter 1

This is Con ‘Bad Baby’ Conlinson. I’m just like you . . . only I’m on TV. I’ve gotten really close to the summit of Everest, spent the night in the Everglades (Motel^TM), faced down numerous angry dogs and cats, gotten thrown out of no less than seven—seven—bars, surfed the insanity of Lake Ontario, stayed dry in Seattle, and been audited twice.

“I’ve been through it all, and I’ll show you how to survive all that and worse in . . . Con Con the Survivin’ Man (pronounced ‘mahn,’ or so I keep reminding my producer). Tonight’s episode, Con Conlinson stupidly tells the crew to take their boat and separate, resulting in THE GIANT FUCKING MESS I find myself in this evening.”

Newly stranded, Animal World™’s Conwin Edmund Conlinson sighed and stared at the sky. The glorified rowboat rocked and swayed in this, a more or less unoccupied stretch of the Pacific Ocean.

And it hadn’t seemed like that much of a storm, either.

Con sighed again. When he stretched out, the boat was a foot longer than his head and his feet. The craft itself was little more than a couple of life jackets, a tarp, a first aid kit (which he hadn’t needed; he’d come through the storm without a scratch . . . or a crew), a knife, a flint, a notebook that he took to be some sort of log, and a box of blue Bics.

No food, of course. Or fishing gear.

Or land.

Just that silver coconut that had managed to keep a perfect distance between him and his boat for the last several hours, no matter where he drifted. He watched it bob, bored. He supposed he could start a diary. But he was a TV guy, not a journalist. TV guys weren’t known for their writing skills. But give ’em a teleprompter and they went to town! Yeah!

And what would he write about, anyway? How, in his arrogance, he’d wanted a smash-bang season opener of Con Con the Survivin’ Man (mahn), how he’d insisted on keeping distance between his little boat and the larger rig, the one with the camera crew, the producer, and the food.

How he’d ignored the storm, instead shouting survival tips to the camera over one shoulder while braving the squall. How he’d lost his balance and gone sprawling, how everything had gone starry and dark, and by the time he sat up, the crew boat was nowhere in sight. The storm had howled and nothing was in sight, and for a while he’d assumed he was in real trouble. And all this before sweeps week!

But just as suddenly as it had sprung up, the storm disappeared, leaving him stranded.

Yeah, he’d write all about that. He could see it now: The Memoirs of Captain Dumbass. Chapter One: I forget every single nautical rule of safety and survival.

No, he was in a mess of his own making, and writing about it wasn’t going to help. He and the silver coconut were on their own.

And where did that come from?

Well. It was the only thing to look at, for one thing; small wonder most of his attention was fixed on it. Wherever he looked he saw the endless ocean, the cruel unrelenting sea (hey, that was poetic, kinda, he should remember it for his triumphant comeback show), no islands, no greenery, no birds . . . just the silver coconut.

The survival expert flopped back into the bottom of the boat and realized that he had never seen a silver coconut. And the nearest tree was probably a zillion nautical miles from here. He studied the sky, which was an irritatingly cheerful blue. A “no dumbass got his bad self abandoned on my watch” kind of blue. The most annoying blue in the world, come to think of it. Arrggh.

He sat up, scowling. Better to look at the coconut. Which was quite a bit closer. Maybe the tides had changed? No, that didn’t make any sense. Maybe—

The coconut had a face. The coconut was a severed head!

Chapter 2

Oh Gawwwwwwd help me!” he cried in a baritone that would have sent gulls screaming from their perches—if there had been any gulls. He flopped back down in the boat.

Just what he needed. Tom Hanks’s character in Cast Away had Wilson the volleyball; he, Con Conlinson, would have Silver Severed Head. He should have listened to his mother. She’d wanted him to take the Civil Service exam and stay the hell out of showbiz.

He peeked over the rim of the boat. The head was very close now. He could see at once why he’d mistaken it for a silver coconut . . . the face was very pale, the eyes wide open, with silver pupils and long, flowing silver hair. Not old lady silver. Silver silver. The color of old nickels, polished by an obsessive. It was sort of striking and frightening at the same time.

The cold, dead lips opened. The silver eyes blinked. “Do you require assistance, biped?”

He flopped back down in the boat. Day two, and already the hallucinations were setting in. No fresh water, no food. What had he been thinking, taking the smaller, poorly equipped boat? He hadn’t, that was all. After all, the crew was always there to pull him out of a jam. Why should last weekend be any different?

“Excuse me?” the severed head said, much closer. “Are you all right?”

He flopped an arm over the edge and heaved himself off the bottom of the boat, making it rock alarmingly. The severed head was very close now, only a few feet away. And . . .

“Holy shit, a mermaid!”

“If you like. I am of the Undersea Folk. And you have not answered my question.”

“A friggin’ mermaid, right here next to me! I thought you were a severed head!”

The mermaid swam cautiously closer, easily parting the water with her long, pale arms. Her silver hair streamed behind her. She was sleek and pale and sweetly plump; her round face was set in a frown. “I think you have been exposed overlong to the sun.”

He stuck his hand over the side of the boat. She stared at it. “I’m Con Conlinson. Well. Just Con.”

Tentatively, she reached up and brushed his fingers with her cool, wet ones. “I am Reanesta.”

He burst out laughing. Maybe he had been in the sun too long. “Seriously? That’s your name? Reanesta? It sounds like a prescription sleeping pill.”

“I do not know what that is. And you have not answered my question, which, in a way, answers my question.”

“Huh?”

She disappeared with a flip of her silver tail and reappeared seconds later on the other side of the boat. She shook her head so that her long hair fell back, and blinked water out of her eyes. “Your craft is intact,” she announced, startling him so that he nearly fell overboard. “And you have the means to propel yourself elsewhere.” She gestured to the oar. “So are you harmed? Or ill?”

“No, I’m fine.” Also: dazzled, besotted, horny. Those eyes. That hair. Those—

“Then why are you still here?”

“Where am I gonna go?”

She seemed taken aback and made a vague gesture, one encompassing the ocean. “Where would you not go?”

“Uh . . . I don’t have a tail. Not that I have anything against tails. Particularly yours. In fact, yours is gorgeous,” he hastened to assure her.

“Gorgeous?” she repeated doubtfully.

“Gorgeous.” It was the color of candlefish, all sleek silver, wider at the hips and narrowing to wavy silver fins. “In fact, you are really gorgeous.” And those tits! He was having a terrible time maintaining eye contact. She was delectably curvy, and her breasts bobbed sweetly in the water, the nipples so pale a pink they were almost cream colored. She was like a ghost . . . or a dream.

“No, I am ugly,” she replied simply, as if she were explaining that two and two made four. “And I think you must be ill. Perhaps you should rest. Or eat.”

“Ugly!” He nearly toppled out of the boat again. “Are you shitting me?”

“I . . . do not believe so.”

“You’ve at least got some meat on your bones, unlike all those anorexic big-mouthed Hollywood brats. Your hair—your tail—your eyes—your ti—your brea—you’re the best-looking woman I’ve ever seen. Ugly! Sheee-it!”

“Well,” she said, swimming idly around the boat, “my blubber does keep me warm.”

“We’re in the South Pacific,” he said, feeling stupid. “What do you need to keep warm for?”

“I travel all over. And if you swim to the bottom, it can be chilly. But my coloring is bad. My friends are yellow and blue and green and anything you can imagine. I am”—she looked down at herself—“I’m a noncolor. I am practically not here.”

“Noncolor, my Alabama butt.”

“Your—what?”

“Where I come from, silver’s just about the most precious thing there is. We use it for money. It’s really valuable. And pretty.”

“The habits of bipeds are not known to me,” she admitted, rolling over on her back. She idly splashed with her tail, and yawned. “That is why I followed you for the last two days. When you seemed, ah, confused, I thought I might offer assistance.”

“Well, that was nice of you.” Two days? “Appreciate that.”

“Due to recent events among my people, we are allowed to show ourselves now.”

“Get outta here!”

“I beg your pardon.” She splashed, harder, and he was instantly drenched from eyebrows to belt buckle.

He coughed for five minutes while she watched impassively and finally wheezed, “Sorry, it’s a biped saying meaning to express shock or amazement. I remember, I saw it on CNN! You guys have been in hiding for, what, centuries?”

“Indeed. But our great king, in his wisdom, has decreed that if we wish to show ourselves to surface dwellers, we may. But you are the first one I’ve seen so close.”

“Well, I’m honored.”

She seemed oddly pleased. “Thank you.”

“So, you live around here?”

“I live all over.”

“Ever been on land?”

“Yes.”

“Ever been to an Alabama barbeque?”

“No.”

“That was a joke.”

She frowned. “It wasn’t funny.”

“Well, I’m tired. And thirsty. And starving. Shouldn’t have mentioned barbeque. I—hey, where’d you go?” Because she’d disappeared, dropping out of sight with a flash of her tail.

“Well, sheee-it,” he muttered. “Meet the prettiest gal ever and scare her away in five minutes. Nice work, Con.”

It didn’t seem to be his week, that was for damned sure.

Chapter 3

A couple of minutes later, she was back. “Say, hi there!”

“Hello again.” She tossed shiny things into his boat. Tiny . . . headless things. Fish. She had caught and killed three small silver fish for him.

“I am aware that bipeds can be unusually squeamish,” she said, picking a scale out of her unusually sharp teeth, “so I killed them for you.”

His gorge rose, and he fought it down. This wasn’t a meal, this was bait! “Uh, thanks, Ree.”

“Reanesta.”

“Yeah, I’m stickin’ with Ree. I, uh, it’s not that I’m not grateful, but I can’t eat these like this.”

“Like what? Shall I bite the fins off for you?”

“No!” he shouted. Then, more quietly, “I mean, no thank you. Listen, I couldn’t never even eat sushi without wanting to puke.”

She frowned at him. “But you need the moisture as well as the protein.”

“I know. But I can’t. It’s a mental block thing.”

“You require them cooked?”

“Yup.”

“But we have no fire. So you must eat them as they are.”

“Yeah, but I can’t.” Inwardly: Some survival expert! Well, what his viewers didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them. “See, usually my crew has food, and I don’t have to actually do the things I tell people to do.”

“Watch me, Con. It’s easy.” And she reached into the boat, snatched up a fish, and crunched. He watched, wide-eyed, as she demolished the thing with her small, sharp teeth, wiping a dot of blood off her cheek when she was finished. “Ah! Delicious. See?”

He leaned over the boat and retched. Oh, you’re making a great impression, asshole! he thought as he barfed.

“Oh, dear.”

“Please don’t do that again,” he begged.

“I foresee problems ahead.”

“Ya think?”

“Let me do so,” she said. “I will come back.” And she was gone again.

He lay back in the boat and thought about what an idiot he was.

Chapter 4

He must have dozed, because a gentle rapping on the lone oar woke him up. He sat up and there was Ree, holding out a fistful of what looked like puffy seaweed.

“We call this Traveler’s Grass,” she explained. “It grows in salt water, but it won’t dehydrate you and will fill your stomach.”

“Well, I never was a salad man, but you know what they say about beggars and choosers.”

“No.”

“Never mind,” he said, accepting the clump of seaweed. He put some cautiously in his mouth, chewed, then took another bite.

“Slowly,” she cautioned, “or you will vomit again.”

“Don’t wanna do that,” he said with his mouth full. This . . . wasn’t bad. A little briny, sure, but his stomach wasn’t resisting and that was the important thing. And the more he ate, the more he wanted. He finished the fistful in less than a minute. “Wow, thanks, Ree! God, I feel better.”

“I will bring you more. I will come back.”

“Not one for long good-byes, are you?” he shouted at her disappearing tail.

In another minute she’d brought an armful and plopped it into the boat. “Perhaps once you’ve had more of this, you’ll be sensible about the fish. You must have fresh water.”

“For such a pretty gal,” he said, chewing, “you’re a pretty big nag.”

“And for such a helpless biped, you’re remarkably unwilling to save your own life.”

“Hey, I bet you’ll find people all over the world who don’t eat raw fish.”

“Stupid people. Dead people.”

“Aw, go bite the head off another fish.”

“Perhaps I will!”

“Well, who’s stopping you?” he yelled, still chewing.

“No one at all,” she snapped back, and vanished again.

Which was fine with him.

Er, right?

Chapter 5

Reanesta guiltily swam back an hour later.

Yes, he had annoyed her with his helpless ways and silly prejudices, but he was sick and, even if he wouldn’t admit it, already dying. She had been wrong to take offense and leave.

So she swam up to the boat, which had drifted but not so far she couldn’t find it, and politely knocked on the oar again.

His stubbled face popped over the side and he smiled when he saw her, showing those odd, flat teeth common to bipeds. Maybe that’s why he couldn’t eat the fish. It was a wonder they managed to eat anything with those dull things.

“Ree! You came back!”

“Yes. I apologize for arguing. You’re ill and unaware of your irrationality.”

“Uh . . . thanks, I think.” He was looking down at her with those dark eyes, his cheekbones prominent and the stubble on his cheeks an interesting reddish brown. His hair was as dark as his eyes. Like her, he had very ordinary coloring, but she found him interesting all the same.

He was the first biped she’d had the courage to approach. And, she had to admit, she liked that he liked her. Perhaps that was part of his appeal.

“Here.” She handed up a fistful of Lallyflowers, the ones that grew in shallower waters, which she was fairly certain he could eat. “Try these.”

“Thanks,” he said gratefully, and chomped into the yellow petals without hesitation. “And thanks for coming back.”

“I was wrong to leave.”

“Naw, I was being a jerk.”

Privately she agreed, but said nothing.

“These aren’t too bad, though if I get out of this I’m never eating a salad again.”

“Do you think,” she said tentatively, “now that you have something in your stomach, you might try a fish?”

He looked guilty and said around a mouthful of petals, “I chucked ’em after you left.”

She inwardly cringed at the waste. No wonder the planet was such a mess! Perhaps her folk should take it away from the bipeds. “If I brought you more?”

He hesitated, then said, “Yeah, okay, I’ll give ’er a try. Can’t promise to keep ’em down, though.”

“Excellent! All right, I will get some. You stay here.”

“I wasn’t planning on going nowhere,” he said dryly, and she flushed, embarrassed—what a stupid thing to say!

“I will come back,” she promised, which was something she had never said to anyone in her forty-five years, but which she had said many times to this man. It was very strange.

“I’ll be waitin’.”

She vanished into the water, darting for the bottom, looking for something he might try to bite. She ignored the manta rays—too big—and the barracudas (same reason), although she knew for a fact both were delicious. She finally settled on a wrasse and two small parrot fish, snatching them and biting their heads off before they could evade her. Then she arrowed back up to the boat, watching as the silhouette got bigger and bigger until she popped out of the water.

“Oh, great, you’re back,” he said with a marked lack of enthusiasm.

“You said you’d try,” she scolded him gently. She handed him one of the parrot fish.

He sniffed it, shuddered, and nibbled on one of the fins.

“No, no. You have to bite. You’ll never get any protein that way. I know! Hold it over your mouth and squeeze and at least drink the blood.”

“You’re being,” he said, “the opposite of helpful.”

“Oh, for the king’s—” She seized the side of the boat, switched to her legs, and heaved herself into it.

He stared at her. “Silver hair, uh, all over, I see.”

“Yes, yes. Like this.” She grabbed the fish and leaned toward him, holding it over his mouth. He was still staring at her. “Open your mouth,” she said, trying not to lose her temper, and, obediently, he did. She squeezed, and blood trickled into his mouth, over his silly flat teeth and down his throat. She squeezed the fish dry, then dropped it on the bottom of the boat. “Oh, hooray! You did it! Oh, well done!” She bounced and clapped, but quit when the boat started to rock.

“Huh? Did what? Bleeeccchh! What the hell did you do?” He spit over the side.

“You drank the whole fish!”

“I did what? No fair!” he accused. “You distracted me with your nudity.”

“And a good thing, too,” she said primly, folding her arms across her chest and crossing her legs. “Otherwise you’d be dead of dehydration. Now. Ready to try another one?”

“Another what?” he said absently, but opened his mouth again, and drank both fish, and afterward they had a terrific argument about the diabolical use of her feminine wiles—whatever that meant—and she jumped overboard and swam away again.

Chapter 6

An hour later, he was still spitting, but couldn’t deny he felt better. But it was pretty damn diabolical of her to use her body like that to distract him into—eecccch!—drinking fish blood.

And it had all started so innocently, too! He’d been minding his own business, working on not staring at her tits, when all of a sudden she had legs (and like the song said, she knew how to use them) and was clambering into the rowboat.

She was all flashing pale skin and long hair and silver eyes. Her lips were moving, but he had no idea what she was saying; he was too busy hoping she wasn’t noticing his hard-on.

And the next thing he knew, his mouth had tasted like blood and she was cheering, which made her breasts bounce in a really charming way, but didn’t lessen his feeling of being tricked.

So they had another fight, and off she went. And good riddance!

But he wasn’t entirely surprised when she came back. It seemed she was doomed to always come back. This time she didn’t bother knocking, just popped up out of the water and said, “What are feminine wiles?”

“They’re when you grow gorgeous long legs and flop into the boat like a wet dream come true, and I’m so busy trying not to stare at your bush and your legs and your boobs and your eyes that you can pretty much talk me into anything.”

“And a ‘wet dream’?”

“Forget about it.”

“But you feel better now, yes?”

“Yes,” he grumped.

“Then I think it is past time you left.”

He waved his arms around, trying not to fall out of the boat. “We’re in the middle of the South Pacific! And I’ve only got one oar.”

“So jump in,” she said with barely concealed impatience.

“I, uh, can’t swim.”

She blinked and said nothing.

“Okay,” he said, “I’m well aware of the irony of a survival expert who gets his ass stranded, can’t stand to eat raw fish, loses an oar, and can’t swim. I’m aware, ’kay? But see, I’m the star. I don’t have to do those things, I just have to be able to tell people about them.”

“I had no idea,” she marveled, “that bipeds were so completely helpless.”

“You shut up.”

“And in fact,” she pointed out, “you do have to do those things.”

“Well, I can’t,” he grumped, “so stop with the nagging.”

“That’s all right,” she soothed.

“You’re in a good mood.”

“I’ve never had a pet before.”

He had just flopped back down, but now bolted upright in outrage. “I’m not your goddamned pet!”

“You are a creature who would die without my help, who needs constant tending, and who cannot get out of trouble on his own. Is that not a pet?”

He sputtered and fought the urge to seize a handful of her long hair and yank. Dimly, part of him realized that he was overreacting, that he was getting in real trouble and needed to get to land and protein pronto, but most of his brain was consumed with rage.

“I am not your fucking pet!”

“Oh, but you are,” she went on with maddening cheer. “Do not fear; have I not taken excellent care of you so far?”

He seized the lone oar, wrenched it out of the oar-lock, and smacked her over the head with it.

“Ouch!” she cried, while he stared at the cracked oar. She really did have a head like a coconut. “Bad, bad biped!”

“Jeez, I’m sorry, I don’t know what . . . came . . . over . . .” Then everything fuzzed out and he collapsed back into the boat.

Chapter 7

Reanesta shook him gently, and he eventually opened his eyes and grinned dizzily at her. “Hey, you’ve got legs again!”

“It was the quickest way to get into the boat. I think you’d better actually eat some fish now, instead of just drinking the bl—the fluids.”

“I’ll tell you, I could murder a steak right now. Oh, and I’m really, really sorry I hit you. You should whip my ass.”

“You are not yourself. I was wrong to tease you about being a pet.”

“That was teasing?”

“I am not funny,” she informed him.

“No, no, it was hilarious.” He forced a giggle. “I just, uh, wasn’t tracking very well.”

“See here,” she said. “I have descaled this fish and broken it into small chunks. Won’t you sit up and try some?”

“I don’t think I can.”

“Please, Con?”

He wasn’t sure if it was the “please,” or her use of his name, or sheer desperation, but whatever it was, it changed his mind. “Okay,” he said, and sat up too fast, and the bow dipped and swayed (more than usual) and the sky spun a crazy blue until things settled down. “Oooooh, boy! What day is it?”

“Thursday.”

“Really? You guys keep track of the days of the week?”

“Stop stalling and chew.”

He opened his mouth to protest, and she stuffed a slimy, fishy chunk inside. He held his nose and chewed, gagged, chewed more, swallowed, gagged again, held his head over the side of the boat, and threw it up.

“Again,” she said impassively, but he was so tired and wrung out, even the sight of her breasts hanging in his face failed to distract him, or even interest him that much.

No question: he was dying. The day he didn’t take notice of a terrific rack was the day they’d—

“Again,” she said, and stuffed another chunk into his mouth. He held his nose again, chewed, swallowed, gagged . . . and kept it down.

She fed him for about half an hour, occasionally disappearing for more fish, which she beheaded, scaled, and chopped up (with her teeth? He didn’t want to think about it) before getting back into the boat. He managed to keep about a dozen pieces down.

“I’m sorry,” he groaned, tossing his cookies (his rainbow fish) once again. “This must be so disgusting for you.”

“It’s fine. You’re doing quite well. Fear not, you will be home soon.”

“Naw, I won’t. But you’re sweet to say so. I’m gonna nap now, ’kay?”

Her lips were moving, but he had no idea what she was saying, and then his eyes slipped shut and he knew no more.

Chapter 8

When he woke up, the sun was setting and he felt much better. Ree was swimming aimlessly around his boat, and when he sat up she swam straight over.

“How are you?”

“Better. Almost human and everything! Except for the smell. Whoo! How do you stand it, honey?”

“You cannot help it,” she said with typical bluntness. “Listen, I have a plan. Perhaps I could try to find another of my kind and we could get help.”

He peered at her. “How come you sound so doubtful?”

“You were correct; we are in the middle of nowhere. And my telepathic range is very limited. It might take days to find help and by then you’d—ah—”

“Telepathic—oh, right! I read about that, in News-week I think. How all you mer-guys are telepaths. That must come in handy.”

“Right now,” she said grimly, “it seems a fairly useless talent.”

“Aw, don’t be so hard on yourself. I—what’s the matter?”

For she had turned her head and was looking off into the distance, straight (or so it seemed to him) into the setting sun.

“That hammerhead shark is back,” she said casually.

He nearly shrieked. “Hammerhead?” Then, “Back?”

“Yes, it occasionally noses around, mostly while you’re uncon—asleep. I keep warning it away.”

“Oh—the telepathy. You talk to fish, too?”

“Of course. But she’s heavy with pup and is not inclined to listen. I—oh, in the king’s name,” she said, exasperated, and this time he could see the fin arrowing out of the water toward Ree.

“I will come back,” she said, and dived to meet it.

“Ree!” he screamed. “Get in the boat with me!” But she couldn’t hear him, so he lunged over the side—and sank like a stone.

Chapter 9

Luckily, he’d taken a big breath before hitting the water, and even better, the water was warm, but the salt stung his eyes and for a moment he couldn’t see anything.

Then he saw Ree darting to meet the shark, which looked like it had about a zillion teeth. He wished he was telepathic; he’d tell her to get the fuck away from it. He wished he’d thought to grab the oar on the way down. He wished he’d taken those swim lessons at the Y.

He clumsily swung his arms in the water and made about half a foot of forward progress. Meanwhile, Ree had deftly caught the shark—an eight footer!—by the jaws and was holding them open. Then she reared up, let go of the jaws, and grabbed it by the hammer-thing. It snapped, but Ree was too quick and it missed her tail by about four inches.

Then—he wondered if the salt was blinding him, because he was having trouble believing his eyes—still holding onto the hammer, Ree somehow lunged forward—and took a bite out of the shark’s back!

The shark tried to rear away from her and she let it, giving it a smack on the fin as it sped away from her, trailing blood. Then she turned and her eyes widened as she saw him.

He managed a wave, still sinking, trying to drown without being too much trouble, and she arrowed toward him, seized him under the armpits, then darted toward the surface. He was amazed; she was swimming, with his bulk, even faster than he had sunk.

They popped to the surface and he took a breath, then coughed. “Lucky I was there to save your ass,” he gasped, suddenly conscious of her breasts pressing against the back of his T-shirt.

She heaved him into the boat like a sack of potatoes—Christ, she was strong!—not once letting up with the scolding. “What were you thinking, stupid Con? You cannot swim! You would have had no chance against a pregnant shark, particularly that breed. She was starving, which is the only reason I did not kill her, but if she comes back I will kill her, and you, too, if you do such a foolish thing ever again.”

“Couldn’t let you get eaten on my account.”

“We are the top of the food chain in the ocean, as you are on land, stupid Con! I was in no danger.”

“Now you tell me,” he mumbled.

She paddled agitatedly around the boat for a minute, then said, “I cannot put this off any longer. You need land.”

“Now you tell me,” he said again.

“I do not know how long it will take. It may take too long.”

“Whatever,” he said, yawning.

She seized the bow (or was it the stern?) of the boat with one hand and started to swim. Slowly, the boat started to move. He tried to sit up, thinking he could help row with the (broken) oar, but saw at once it was no good—he’d cracked it too thoroughly on her head.

So he flopped back in the boat and dozed. He had no idea what she was up to, but felt perfectly safe. Anyone who could fight off a hammerhead in ten seconds could certainly manage his destiny.

Chapter 10

He woke up to a gorgeous sunrise, to see Ree stumbling through the surf, dragging the boat behind her. “We are here,” she croaked, looking at him with enormous dark-ringed eyes. She staggered forward onto the sand of the small beach and collapsed, deeply asleep almost at once.

He scrambled out of the boat (which she had considerately hauled up on land for him) and went to her, gently touching her shoulder. She must have hauled the boat all fucking night, he thought, appalled and amazed. And was out cold from sheer exhaustion.

He stripped off his shirt and covered her with it, then went to look for firewood. The island was tiny—he could walk the length of it in less than ten minutes—but had lots of shrubbery and trees, and he had no trouble finding plenty of kindling and firewood. Then he went to the rowboat and found the matches.

One thing he could do was start a fire with a minimum of matches, and the wood was nice and dry. By the time Ree woke up, he had a nice blaze going.

“Oh, good, now you can cook,” she said groggily, sitting up and shaking the sand out of her hair.

“I can’t believe you towed the boat all night! You’re an angel!”

“Oh, well,” she said modestly, but looked pleased. “I am a hungry angel. I will come back.”

“Wait!” He pressed her back into the sand. “Aren’t you pooped? Maybe you should rest awhile.”

“No,” she said firmly, removing his hands from her shoulders. “I have responsibilities.”

“I’m not your damned pet!”

“Yes, but you have no fishing gear and are still starving. Also, did you find the fresh stream on the north side of the island?”

“Yes,” he admitted. “But there’s plenty of coconuts we can eat; they’re all over the ground.”

“Cooked fish will be better for you.” She stood, shaking out her long hair. Then seemed to remember something. “I, ah, apologize for my appearance.”

He goggled at her. “Huh?”

“I am aware of your cultural taboo against nudity. If I had clothes I would wear them, so as not to offend you.”

“Uh, Ree, where I come from, a gorgeous woman walking around naked is not offensive.”

She relaxed. “Oh. Perhaps I was misinformed. Very well. I will come back.”

“I’ll be here,” he promised, watching her dart into the surf and make the cleanest dive he’d ever seen. Her legs went in and he saw a saucy flash of her tail and then she was gone. Again.

He flopped back down in the sand. God, it was so great to be on land and out of that nasty little boat! And with fascinating company, no less. If he ever got out of this mess, he’d have the most amazing comeback show in the history of the channel! He’d tell them all about Ree and how she saved his life and fought a shark and tugged the boat to an island and brought him food. And—

Wait.

If he got out of this—if he was rescued—he doubted Ree would come with him. And what would he do without her? He’d die without her.

Wait.

Once he was back on land, he wouldn’t be in any danger. He wouldn’t need Ree.

Except that felt like the biggest lie on land or sea.

Chapter 11

Reanesta felt much better once she hit the water. It had been a long, exhausting night and for a while she feared she’d lost her bearings and wouldn’t find the island. But her sense of direction had not deserted her, and just as the sun was coming up she spotted it. By then she was so tired her limbs were shaking and she feared she might vomit like Con frequently did.

Instead, she dragged the boat up on shore and immediately went to sleep. When she woke, it was to burning brightness and she realized that her helpless biped could do at least one thing. Besides make her feel strange in her stomach.

The strangeness was probably impatience, she thought, snatching two wrasse and three pinfish. He was definitely the most infuriating creature she had ever met. Were all bipeds like that? she wondered. What had Fredrika Bimm gotten them into?

She was still pondering that when she sloshed back up to the beach. She knelt by the fire, trying not to wince away from it, expertly spitted the fish on a long branch, and planted the branch in the sand, occasionally turning it so the fish cooked evenly.

Con came loping out of the darkness, and already looked much improved. The fresh water, she decided, and now he smelled like coconuts, so his stomach was full. That was good. Of course, just about anything would have been an improvement.

“Any problems? Look who I’m asking!” he cried, answering his own question. “Like there’s anything you can’t handle. You should have the survival show.”

“Mmmm,” she said, turning the fish again.

“God, that smell is driving me crazy,” he said, flopping down on the sand. “I—are you okay? Your eyes are all squinty. It’s the fire, isn’t it? It’s bothering you?”

“A little. They aren’t common at the bottom of the sea,” she said, trying another joke.

“Well, ooch over, I’ll cook.”

“Uh—”

“I’m not that helpless,” he said, exasperated. He nudged her in the ribs and she obediently moved over a foot. Instantly her eyes felt better. “You think they’re done yet? They’re done, aren’t they?”

“Not quite.”

“I got a dumb question, here.”

“I,” she teased, “am not surprised.”

He smacked her on the thigh and she laughed. “How do you know how to cook on land?”

“We have banquets—great parties and celebrations—on land. And there is much cooked food at these feasts. The prince in particular enjoys cooked food, so we all learn how to make it when we’re still pups.”

“Pups? Baby mermaids?”

“Yes.”

“What’s the prince like?”

“Infatuated,” she said shortly, picking up a stick and drawing her name in her own language, a complicated grouping of loops and swirls incomprehensible to anyone but her own kind.

“Oh, yeah? You jealous?”

She snorted. “Hardly. I have only met him twice. I do not know him well enough to be jealous of his love affairs.”

“Affairs, plural?”

“But because he fell in love with the half-breed—I mean, Fredrika—” She blushed at her rudeness. After all, she had been at the Pelagic, hadn’t she? And Fredrika had handled herself quite well under the circumstances. She had a startling manner about her, a grimness cloaked in sarcasm, but still—she had acquitted herself well at the Pelagic, well enough that—

“Ree? Hello? Come back, Ree.” He was snapping his fingers before her face in an extremely irritating matter. “Fell in love with the gal who basically talked the king into letting you guys come out of the closet,” he prompted. “Read it in People.”

“Well. Yes. She has a great deal of influence with the royal family and I—I am not sure that is the best thing for my people. After all, she spent nearly all of her years on land, being raised by your kind. She knows nothing of Undersea Folks. And,” she added in a mutter, “she comes from bad blood.”

“Oh, yeah? What’s that mean? My daddy was a trucker.”

“Her ‘daddy’ was a traitor. But the prince—and the king—turn a blind eye to this, and, as I said, she has great influence with the royal family.”

“Well, it’s a goddamned good thing she does, otherwise I’d be dead of dehydration by now.”

“Now that is a good point,” she said, cheering up. “I never would have dared approach you even six months ago.”

“Months? You have calendars?”

“Don’t be absurd. The fish are done.” She yanked the stick out of the sand, popped a fish off, and tossed it to him. He tore into it, ingesting a good deal of scales along with the cooked meat, but there were no complaints this time. He wolfed down the second, as well.

“Don’t you want the last one?”

“I ate while I was hunting.”

“Oh, good.” He sucked down most of the last fish, then let out a small, contented burp. “Oh, man, that is so much better.”

“You look better,” she informed him. “Of course, you could hardly look worse.” He smelled better as well; she assumed he had splashed about in the surf and cleaned up a bit. He was shirtless, but still had those—what were they called?—blue jeans?—on.

“Thanks for that. And for the fish. Delicious.”

“They’re just fine raw,” she muttered. “Stupid Con.”

“I love your little pet names.” He was leaning back in the sand, picking his teeth with a fish bone. “God, isn’t this great? A friggin’ island paradise with a beautiful woman who brings me food and cooks and has a great set of—never mind.”

“Are you talking about my ‘rack’ again?”

“Uh, yeah. Sorry.”

“I don’t mind. I am the one breaking your nudity taboo. Besides, you have a nice rack, too.” And he did. Shirtless, she could see the tanned skin, the firm muscles, the light fuzz of chest hair that tapered down to a straight line leading to his groin.

He laughed. “Oh, darlin’, you’re gonna get in trouble if you keep talking like that.”

“You mean you might like to mate with me?”

He choked on the fish bone.

Chapter 12

It’s all right,” she hastily assured him after pounding him on the back and extracting the bone. “I don’t expect you to mate with me. Why would you ever want to?”

That was enough of that crap, he decided, and seized her by the back of the neck, yanked her close, and kissed her. She was so surprised her mouth popped open, which delighted him, and he plunged his tongue inside. Given that he hadn’t brushed his teeth in a few days (and who knew if mermaids did?) the kiss was amazing.

He eased her down on the sand and did what he had been longing to do since he’d first seen her: pounced on her breasts. The breath popped out of her lungs (gills?) as she laughed, and then gasped when he sucked a pale pink nipple into his mouth.

He lavished attention on her creamy mounds, licking, nibbling, sucking, and even (very, very gently) biting. Beneath him she wriggled in the sand and clutched his shoulders with surprising strength. In fact, he was fairly certain he’d have bruises. Not that he gave a good damn.

He slipped his hand between her cool, chubby thighs and she parted her legs and pulled him to her as he thrust into her moist warmth. Her thighs gripped him, again with that astonishing strength, and she rose to meet him. Now they were both gasping and groaning in each other’s arms, and he cut his tongue on one of her teeth and didn’t care.

“Oh—you’re—bleeding—”

“Don’t—care,” he gasped.

“Sorry—sorry—maybe we—should—stop?”

“Shut. Up.”

This time he didn’t think it was an accident when his tongue got punctured, but he had it coming so that was all right. In fact, it was so all right he laughed into her mouth, a noise which was instantly cut off as she tightened all over (all over) and shivered with the force of her orgasm.

That sent him right over the edge, and he knew it was going to be no use thinking about baseball or saying the alphabet backward. He came so hard he actually shuddered from heels to throat, and then unceremoniously collapsed over her.

Chapter 13

After about ten minutes had passed, Reanesta worried he had passed out, or was bleeding to death from a punctured tongue. So she tapped him on the shoulder.

“Sleepy,” he yawned against her throat.

“I am a patient woman, as I think you have noticed. But you’re squashing me.”

He snorted, but rolled off her—and yelped when he nearly rolled into the fire, which had burned down to embers. He tossed a few more sticks on, then said, “Where the hell did my jeans go?”

“Oh. I, uh, was, um, anxious to, ah, mate with you before you changed your mind.” She held up denim shreds. “I do apologize.”

“You did this with your hands? Jesus!”

“I apologize,” she said again, blushing.

“No, shit, it’s impressive as hell, I’m not bitching. About this, I mean.”

She giggled. “A welcome change.”

He stuck his tongue out at her. “Ith it ee’ing?”

“Not anymore.”

“We’re going to have to practice French kissing.”

“We are?” she asked, delighted.

“Shit, yeah. Otherwise it could get downright dangerous. You don’t see a blood bank on this island, do you?”

“Very well. We shall practice.”

“Starting right now,” he said, and pounced on her like a big land cat.

“Again?” she asked, delighted. “You wish to mate again?”

He sighed. “Ree, I’ve never known a woman so strong, smart, efficient, rude, and dumb at the same time.”

“Thank you?”

“Even if you weren’t gorgeous—which you are—you’d be a catch for any man. And I’d think that even if you hadn’t saved my ass. Multiple times,” he admitted.

“You’re so nice, Con.”

“I get off on being ‘nice,’” he said dryly. “In fact, I feel like being ‘nice’ right now.”

And he was. Extremely nice.

Chapter 14

The next few days passed like a dream. A hot sex dream in which he was the star and the prettiest woman in the world was his costar. (He had to stop thinking in terms of movies and television.)

They bathed together, walked to the freshwater stream together, and she started to teach him to swim. She also disappeared periodically and returned with fish, which they cooked and ate.

He tried not to worry about her—in fact, given that he’d seen her in action it was stupid to worry about her—but couldn’t help it. The ocean was a big place. What if—what if a bunch of sharks ganged up on her? What if she ran into a bunch of merman bullies?

So he was always relieved to see her return, and she was always surprised at his relief. And she always said the same thing before she disappeared: “I will come back.”

He missed his show, but had to admit that life on a deserted island with Ree was a pretty damned nice consolation prize.

They made love as often as humanly (mermanly?) possible; he didn’t think he would ever get tired of her body. And she was indefatigable, not to mention inventive and uninhibited. He supposed a culture that swam around naked probably didn’t have a lot of hang-ups about sex.

They gorged on fish and coconuts and she occasionally brought him fistfuls of that odd, puffy seaweed. He longed for a steak, or a burger and a beer, but again, life with Ree on the island had plenty of advantages.

And one big disadvantage.

After about a week, he tackled the problem that was troubling him. “Ree, it’s not that I’m not grateful—”

“Oh, dear, more of your ‘bitching.’”

“—and it’s not that I’m not loving our time here, because I am.”

“I can tell,” she said, smiling and pointing at his groin. He’d decided nudity was the way to go as well, but had saved his boxers and T-shirt . . . for what, he wasn’t sure.

“Stop that, I’m being serious. But Ree, how long are you going to stay with me? Don’t you have a family . . . people worried about you?”

“No.”

“So you’re just going to . . . I mean, I might never get rescued.”

“Are you suggesting I just swim off and leave you?” she said, aghast.

“Well. Uh. I don’t want you to leave—”

“I thought you liked me.” Oh, Christ! Was that—it was! A tear was trickling down her left cheek.

“Ree! I do like you, I adore you, I worship you!” He pulled her into his arms and, luckily, she decided to be pulled (he had estimated that she was at least twice as strong as he was). “But this isn’t any kind of life for you. I’m just saying I don’t expect you to give up everything to stay on this little spit of sand for God knows how long.”

“I’m not leaving you,” she said, her voice muffled against his chest.

“All right, all right. Quit cryin’, will ya?” He was in a near panic. He hadn’t thought she had tear ducts! “I’m glad you want to stay, okay? It’s just . . . something that’s been on my mind for a bit, that’s all.”

So that was settled, and things went on as they had: idyllic and fun and lots of sex.

For a while.

Chapter 15

About a week later, Ree came striding out of the waves looking distracted and carrying five fish.

“Run into trouble?”

“Not . . . exactly.”

“What’s that mean?” he said, spitting the fish.

“I think—I think I heard someone. One of my folk.

So I—so I called him.”

“Oh.”

“Perhaps he can aid in your rescue.”

“Oh.” He thought that over for a second. “Jeez, thanks! I guess it’s a long shot, but thanks for trying.”

“Mmmm.”

She was distracted the rest of the morning, and although he got the shock of his life when a man with vivid green hair and purple (purple!) eyes strode out of the waves, Ree only looked resigned.

“Greetings, Reanesta,” he said in a deep baritone, naked as a newt. “Were you calling me? I am Jertan.”

“Yes.” Instead of shaking hands, they sort of clasped each other’s elbows. “Thank you for coming. This is my—my friend, Con.”

“Hello, Con.” Jertan looked curious and (odd, given that he was a good three inches taller and at least thirty pounds heavier, all of it muscle) even a little wary. Con reminded himself that the Undersea Folk (for so Ree called them) were new to walking up to ordinary folks. “Are you the biped Conwin Edmund Conlinson?”

Con felt his eyebrows arch in surprise. “Yeah.” He stuck out a hand and Jertan shook it carefully. Con took his hand back, relieved none of his fingers had been crushed. “How’d you know?”

“Why, many bipeds are searching for you! They fear you have been lost forever. When I see,” he added, with a sly look at Ree, “that you are in fact doing quite well for yourself.”

“Watch it,” he said mildly.

Jertan grinned, showing the same startlingly sharp teeth Ree had. “I will indeed. In fact, I will return to my home on the mainland and give them the coordinates of this island.”

“That’s—thanks.”

“Our people must learn to get along,” Jertan said carelessly. “Reanesta, may I be of further assistance?”

“No, Jertan,” she said colorlessly. “It was kind of you to come.”

“Courtesy to my folk is no kindness. I am going now,” he said, and without another word turned and walked back into the surf.

“You guys really aren’t into saying good-bye, are you?” he asked, watching the guy disappear into the waves.

Ree shrugged.

“Well!” he boomed with false cheer. “You’ll be rid of me in a few days. That should be a load off your mind.”

“Yes, indeed.”

“Pretty soon you’ll be free, and I’ll be back on TV.”

“Yes.”

Then why did he have such a sick feeling in his stomach, and why did she look so strange?

Chapter 16

The rescue boat showed up three days later. Reanesta watched it, wondering if she might vomit. Could she be carrying Con’s pup? She’d been ill the last few mornings, but it was too soon to tell—and frankly, just the thought of Con disappearing forever was enough to make her feel ill. And she would fight a thousand great whites before trying to keep him on the island when he so obviously wanted to get back to his life. His show.

His stupid, silly survivor show. Survivor! Ha!

Con was waving madly, having hurriedly dressed in his shorts and shirt. The large boat honked twice in response, anchored, and then she could see men preparing to lower a smaller boat into the water.

“I don’t want them to see me,” she told him quietly. “I will leave now.”

“Wha—now? Now now? But I wanted to introduce you to my crew!”

“I,” she replied, “do not wish to see them.”

“Oh.” He rubbed his jaw, which was sporting a reddish brown beard after all this time. “Like that, huh? Done with your little pet project, now?”

She didn’t know what he was talking about. He was the one who couldn’t wait to leave. “I will not be back,” she said, and turned to leave.

“Wait!” he snarled, snatching her elbow. She coolly considered breaking his wrist and decided that would be unusually—what was the word? Bitchy. “Jeez, you just can’t wait to get out of here, can you? I gave you the chance last week! You said you wanted to stay with me.”

“And you,” she said coldly, “love your show more than you love any living creature.” Couldn’t he see her pride? Didn’t he understand she couldn’t ask him to give up his life to stay with her? “Now remove your hand, before I remove your lungs.”

He let go of her like she was hot. “Fine,” he snapped. “Thanks for saving my life and for all the sex.”

“You are most welcome,” she replied icily and walked around to the far end of the island where the small boat couldn’t see her, and when she hit the water it was a great relief because the salt water nicely camouflaged her tears.

Chapter 17

Con! Babe! We’re all set to start shooting for sweeps. Your comeback is going to be the lead for the week. We’ve already sold all the ad time,” Alan, his producer, burbled.

“Super.”

“Con! Babe! You’ve been moping ever since we picked you up off of that godforsaken island.”

“Don’t call it that,” he snapped. “It was a very nice island.”

“Con! Babe! What is your damage? Although thank heavens you finally shaved; that mountain man look was just too awful.”

“Nothin’,” he muttered. They were lounging in his trailer, it was six days later, and he was belatedly realizing that leaving Ree behind was the biggest fucking mistake he had ever made—and that included getting his sorry self shipwrecked in the first place. “Got a lot on my mind.”

“I can imagine. After your dreadful experience, which of course we’ll re-create so you can show the audience how you survived—”

He sat bolt upright, and Alan’s watery blue eyes, magnified behind the glasses he affected to make him look older than his twenty-six years, widened. “That’s just it, Alan. I didn’t survive. I mean, I did, but only because a mermaid helped me.”

“A”—Alan goggled—“a real live mermaid? One of those Undersea Folk they’re talking about on CNN?”

“Yeah. Her name was Ree and she saved my life about nine times. Towed me to that island where you found me. Telepathically called for help and this guy named Jertan came to the rescue, which is how you heard where I was. She did everything for me. And I—I just left her there.” He buried his face in his hands. “I left her.”

Alan’s hand was on his shoulder. “It sounds like you two got kind of close.”

“I sort of fell in love with her,” he said hollowly, “when she bit the hammerhead.”

“When she did what? Never mind. Let’s find her!”

“Find her?” Alan’s enthusiasm could be exhausting. “She’s long gone. She lives all over the world, all by herself. And the ocean’s a big damn place.”

“We’ll use the show,” Alan said excitedly, actually jumping from one foot to the other. His blond hair fell into his eyes and he shook it back. “Every show, you’ll open by talking about—Ree, was it?—by talking about her and asking people to help you find her. Cripes, the guy she called for help—maybe he watches the show!”

“He did know who I was,” Con said thoughtfully. “I didn’t even get a chance to introduce myself.”

“There you go!”

Con felt cautious optimism. “It’s worth a shot.”

“Great! I’ll go tell the writers to redo the opening.”

“Oh, they’ll love that.”

“They will obey or be killed,” Alan said cheerfully, pushing his glasses up on his nose. “You watch. This will work.”

Chapter 18

This is Con ‘Bad Baby’ Conlinson and yup, I’m back. I’m just like you . . . only I’m on TV. I’ve gotten really close to the summit of Everest, spent the night in the Everglades (Motel™), faced down numerous angry dogs and cats, gotten thrown out of no less than seven—seven—bars, surfed the insanity of Lake Ontario, stayed dry in Seattle, and been audited twice.

“And now I’m back after being shipwrecked for a couple of weeks, and I’ll show you how to survive like I did. But first, I need you to bear with me ’cuz I’ve got some personal business to clear up.

“I want to tell Ree that I love her and I’m sorry I left and I want to marry her if she’ll only agree to live with me. We’ll vacation all over the world, you can come on the show if you want, or not, and wherever we go we’ll make sure there’s salt water nearby.

“Y’see, folks, I didn’t survive on my own at all. A beautiful mermaid named Ree helped me. She saved my life. She fought off a hammerhead shark for me, and made me eat raw fish so I wouldn’t die like a dog in that rotten rowboat. I owe her my life, and I was stupid to leave her when I got rescued. She’s the real survival expert, and I’m really hoping she’ll agree to forgive me for leaving and come on the show and show y’all how to get along in the middle of the ocean.

“So, if anyone out there watching knows Ree—her real name’s Reanesta and she has silver hair, silver eyes, and a silver tail—could you please tell her to get in touch with me? We’ll run my contact information in a constant stream, as you can see, on the bottom of your screen. And Jertan, if you’re watching, I’ll be your slave forever if you get word to Ree that I miss her and I need her.

“Well, thanks, folks, for putting up with that. Now let’s get to the season opener of Con Con the Survivin’ Man.”

Chapter 19

After the show had been airing for two weeks, Con decided Ree wasn’t coming. Well, that was her prerogative, and it wasn’t like he didn’t have it coming, leaving her like that for his stupid career. He got the shakes every time he thought of how stupid he’d been, how he’d thrown happiness away with both hands and never even looked back. Stupid Con! Ree had been right all along.

“Con?”

But he was going to keep up the appeals, and if the crew had a betting pool he was pretending not to notice, and if his producer was starting to think it was time for a new angle, he didn’t give a shit.

“Con?”

“No autographs right now, hon,” he said, walking by whoever-it-was. No, he couldn’t worry about fans right now, his heart was breaking and he was—

“Stupid Con!”

He whirled on his heels and—there was Ree!

“You’re wearing clothes,” he gasped. “No wonder I didn’t recognize you.”

“Well, I could hardly come to your set in my usual manner,” she said. “May I have some water? I’m dreadfully thirsty.”

“You—water? Water! Right!” He seized her hand, thinking that he preferred her nude, although she looked nice in her jeans, sandals, and dark blue T-shirt. Her silver hair was pinned up; he preferred it down. Cripes, he’d been aching for her for weeks and had walked right by her. He wondered briefly where she got the clothes, then dragged her to his trailer.

Once inside he seized her and kissed her until they were both gasping. Then he fished around in the fridge and handed her two bottles of water, which she glugged in twenty seconds.

“Oh, thank you. Much better. Also, I am carrying your pup.”

“My—you’re pregnant?”

“Yes. And I thought you said lovely things about me on your show. And you must be Jertan’s slave, because he told me you were looking for me. How he found me off the coast of Fiji I’ll never know,” she added in a mutter, “but he did. And here I am.”

“You’re pregnant?”

“Yes.” She eyed him warily, silver eyes narrowing. “That troubles you? You do not wish a half-breed child?”

“Troubles me?” He whooped and spun around in a circle. “I’ve got you now, Ree! You’re stuck with me forever! Ha!”

“That is sweet,” she said. But she looked doubtful. “Well, shit, you don’t seem very fuckin’ excited about it!”

“I do not wish to trap you, or make you give up your lifestyle. And I am willing to live with you and be your mate—more than willing. But I need the sea, Con. I need to see it, smell it, be in it, every day. Or I’ll die, as you would have died.”

“No problem,” he promised instantly. “We’ll move the studio to the California coast. We don’t have to stay in Alabama. And you can come on-site whenever you want.”

“I shall have to,” she said dryly, “if only to make sure the father of my pup doesn’t expire of dehydration, malnutrition, or shark attack.”

“You can be my costar,” he said eagerly. “You’re the real survival expert. I’ve been telling everybody that.”

“Yes, I saw.” She smiled at him. “That’s why I came back. When you admitted your—ah—failings. To your audience. And your crew. I do not require credit. You may be the survival expert in the family, and the television star. But if you ever leave me again, I will hunt you down and break your silly biped legs.”

“Agreed,” he promised fervently. “Great. No problem. Man, wait’ll I tell my mom! Will the baby be a mermaid, too?”

“I do not know,” she replied. “I only know she— yes, it’s a girl—will be part me, and part you. And I never knew I wanted that, until I had it.”

He snatched her to him and kissed her again, then let go like she was radioactive. “Oh, shit! Did I hurt the baby when I did that?”

“I hate to tell you this, but the baby will likely be stronger than you the moment she reaches her weaning year.” Then, “You have a mother?”

“Yup.”

“Oh.”

“Don’t worry, she’ll love you. And so will all my brothers and sisters.”

“All your—how many—”

“Seven.”

She sat down as if all the strength had gone out of her legs. “But I don’t know how to be in a family!” she wailed. “My folk died when I was still in my nursing year!”

“Well, babe, it’s time you learned. You didn’t think I was gonna let you wander the ocean alone forever, didja?”

“Well. For a little while, yes.” She smiled again. “But then I saw your show. I almost didn’t recognize you without the beard.”

“And I didn’t even notice you with your hair up and clothes on. Which reminds me”—he pointed—“off!”

She obliged, seeming happy to be rid of the clothing, and unpinned her hair, and he pounced on her. Then he hesitated. “This won’t hurt the baby, will it?”

“Stupid Con,” she said, and kissed him so hard, his mouth was bruised for three days.