In Over His Head

Chapter 11

"You have got to get yourself out of this funk," Darla said two weeks later, striding into Lexie's kitchen, her arms laden with the fixings for margaritas and nachos.

"I'm not in a funk," Lexie lied, listlessly following Darla's energetic form.

Darla plunked her supplies on the counter and immediately made herself at home, dragging the blender out of a lower cabinet. "Well, if you're not in a funk, then you're doing a hell of an imitation of it. And since you wouldn't come out and party with me, I brought the party to you. Tonight it's just the three of us-you, me and-" she patted the bottle of tequila "-José Cuervo."

"I would have gone out, but I've been busy."

"Busy moping. The same as you've been for the past two weeks." Reaching out, Darla gave Lexie's hand a sympathetic squeeze. "I know you're hurting, Lex, and that's why I'm here. I'm the Official Un-Funker, DeMoper. After a few margaritas, fattening snacks and girl talk, you'll feel better. And look at this." She handed Lexie a folded section of newspaper. "There's a huge beach gear show at the convention center next week, guaranteed to draw lots of eligible men. We're going. The best cure for a broken heart is a new man. And you're not going to find one hiding out at home."

"I'm not interested in finding a new man, Darla. In fact, if I never see another man again, it will be too soon."

"Oh, boy, that statement proves you're still in Phase One of a breakup," Darla said, her eyes filled with concern. "I knew we shouldn't have waited this long to have a heart-to-heart. I should have yanked you out by your hair the minute Josh left town. And I would have if you'd answered your phone."

Proud that she didn't even wince when Darla mentioned his name, Lexie said, "I got your messages. I called you back."

"Yeah, and left messages on my machine saying you were fine. Which you are not. Two weeks after the guy is gone, you should have moved on to Phase Two. Maybe even Phase Three."

Lexie didn't ask what Phases Two and Three entailed-it didn't matter, she didn't care, and she wasn't up to doing them, whatever they were. Unless they were crawling into bed with the remote and a drowning-the-sorrows pint of double-chocolate-fudge ice cream. If so, she was in.

"I really am okay, Darla. Just busy. I've been putting in a lot of extra hours before and after work, giving private swimming and scuba lessons."

"I'm glad. But one look at you and it's clear to me-who knows you very well-that you're operating on autopilot. And it's high time you reengaged your gears. And to help you do that, I have some good news for you. But I'm not going to tell you until the nachos and 'ritas are ready. So go turn on the TV, or read a book or something while I get busy."

"I could help," Lexie offered, dubiously eyeballing the packages of meat and seasonings.

"Lex, the last time you helped, you burned the nachos." She made shooing motions with her hands. "Go."

Heaving a resigned sigh, Lexie walked into the living area, plopped down on the sofa, then flicked on the tube. She mindlessly channel surfed, trying unsuccessfully to push from her head the one thing that occupied every corner of her mind.

Josh.

Damn it, how long before she stopped hurting? Before this crushing ache lessened so it didn't feel as if an elephant sat on her chest? Before she stopped thinking about him several hundred times a day, in turns recalling their time together, then wondering what he was doing-and the even more agonizing, Who was he doing it with?

The high-pitched whirl of the blender sounded from the kitchen, and she grimaced. Yup, that's just what she felt like-as if she'd jumped heart-first into an ice-cube filled blender then pushed Frappé.

The aroma of spicy meat filled the room, but did little to interest her. She stared blindly at the images blinking past on the screen as she clicked the remote without enthusiasm.

Well, this pain had to lessen soon. It had to. All she had to do was to stop thinking about him. Stop recalling his smile. His laugh. Stop calling to mind the feel of his hands on her body, the texture of his skin against hers.

Stop seeing him on TV.

Her fingers froze on the remote and she stared at the image of Josh. Her gaze flicked to the bottom corner of the screen, noting by the logo that this was one of those nonstop sports channels. Heart pounding, she upped the volume.

"In other sports news," came the commentator's voice, "Josh Maynard won the International Charity Rodeo held earlier today in Monaco. Maynard, winner of the most All-Around Cowboy titles in history, came out of retirement for the event. He bested rival Wes Handly, who came in second."

As the commentator spoke, footage showing Josh atop a bucking bull flashed. Lexie's breath stalled as she watched what the sportscaster called a "brilliant" ride. Then the picture changed to a grinning Josh, holding a huge gold belt buckle above his head, circling slowly around the center of the arena, waving to a wildly cheering crowd.

"Here's your drink," said Darla, setting a colorful plastic glass on the glass-top coffee table. She plopped next to Lexie on the sofa, then pointed toward the TV. "Hey! Isn't that Josh?"

Unable to speak around the lump in her throat, Lexie nodded. He looked wonderful. And happy. And uninjured-thank goodness. Aching loss raced through her. If only things had been different-

But they weren't. It was over between them. The program switched to baseball and Lexie turned off the television.

After several seconds of silence Darla asked, "You okay?"

Lexie took a shaky breath. "To tell you the truth, I've been better."

"The fact that he won the competition… maybe that means he'll come back and-"

"No," Lexie interjected more sharply than she intended. "It only means that he fulfilled one of his goals. I'm happy for him and wish him all the best. I'm even glad I saw his moment of glory on the TV. But his goals and mine are light-years apart. It's over."

"But-"

Lexie's vehement head shaking halted Darla's words. "No buts. Now, what's this good news of yours?"

It was obvious from Darla's expression that she didn't want to change the subject, but, after heaving a dramatic sigh, she said, "I had lunch today with a Realtor friend whose broker has been contacted by the owner of the property you're interested in. If all goes well, the land will be on the market very soon. Maybe within the next few days."

For the first time in two weeks, a spark of interest stirred in Lexie. "How much?"

Darla named the asking price and the spark of interest flared into real hope.

"Believe it or not, I can actually swing that!" Lexie said.

"You'll need to move fast," Darla warned. "I understand from my friend that other buyers have shown an interest. We'll make a written offer and, hopefully, the owner will accept it right away. If so, you'll have your half acre of heaven." She handed Lexie her margarita. "And something to keep your mind occupied."

"Something to keep my mind occupied would really be welcome," Lexie admitted before she could stop herself.

Darla jumped on the opening like a flea onto a hound. "I'm so sorry things didn't work out for you and Josh. I feel sort of responsible. After all, I'm the one who urged you to go for it."

Knowing she couldn't forever avoid having the "Josh conversation" with Darla, Lexie decided to bite the bull let and just get the ordeal over with. "You didn't urge me to do anything I didn't want to. And it's certainly not your fault that he's gone."

An image of Josh, staring at her just before he left her house, flashed through her mind. It was the last time she'd seen him. When she'd arrived at work the next morning, she learned that he'd checked out of the resort late the previous night.

She should have been relieved, glad his early departure had erased any chance of running into him again, forcing an awkward confrontation or conversation. Instead it had felt as if she'd been sucker punched in the heart.

"Still, I feel like I talked you into dating him," Darla said, her eyes troubled.

Lexie gave Darla what she hoped passed for a reassuring smile. "Look, I'm twenty-eight years old. A big girl. I have no one to blame but myself for the heart bruise. I knew going in he wasn't right for me, but I stupidly followed my heart instead of my head."

She sucked down several long mouthfuls of margarita. "Well, never again. I've made the same mistake twice. Now it's time to make a different mistake. I'm not sure what that mistake will be, but one thing's for damn sure-it will not involve another adrenaline junkie. If the guy so much as rides a bicycle without a helmet, he's history."

"That's the spirit," Darla said approvingly. "The fact that you're talking about another guy means you're inching toward Phase Two. Now all we need to do is find you some sexy guy to have a fling with and you'll be all set."

The word "fling" hit her like a cold, wet washcloth. The mere thought of another man touching her made her feel queasy-or maybe that was just from her freedom with the margarita on an empty stomach. Still, it seemed as if every pore ached with missing Josh.

She mentally thunked her forehead. Josh. Josh. Josh. How to erase him from her mind? Her heart? Being at home was torture-memories of him filled every room of her house, yet, except for work, she could barely stand the thought of going out. And work offered little refuge since every time she looked at the pool or the beach-on average a few hundred times a day-she visualized Josh swimming or walking along the shore.

Damn it, it was time to crawl out of this self-imposed exile. She'd mourned long enough. She hadn't heard a word from Josh-not that she'd expected to. But lying awake in her empty bed during the long nights, she hadn't been able to extinguish the foolish hope flickering in the deep recesses of her heart that he might call or write.

Well, clearly he'd moved on with his life, and based on his obvious happiness on the TV, he was thriving. Now she needed to do the same. Surely this breath-stealing ache would diminish with time.

And as for a man? Phooey! She didn't want or need a man cluttering up her life. And that was fine-she didn't have to have one. But it was time to pull herself up, dust herself off, and start living for herself again.

"I'm not ready for a fling, but I'm ready for me," she said out loud, her head swimming a bit from the potent drink. "Who needs Josh anyway? With him gone, it's one less bell to answer, one less egg to fry."

"No offense, Lexie, but you don't know how to fry an egg."

"Well, I'm going to learn. And I'm going to buy my piece of land and build a house on it. And stay right here in Florida. And be happy, damn it. Happy."

Okay, her head-marinated though it was in margarita-was convinced. Now she just had to work on her heart. And she'd do that. As soon as she found all the pieces.

Josh stood in the center of the arena, listening to the thunderous applause. Accepting the gold buckle, he held the trophy above his head and circled slowly. Wes Handly, who'd come in second, tipped his hat, and Josh returned the gesture of mutual respect. He circled again, absorbing the moment, recording it in his memory, storing it alongside all his other great rodeo memories. And that's exactly what they were-memories. Now officially part of his past.

"Stick a barbecue fork in me, I'm done," he murmured to himself. He'd beaten Wes, and he could leave the arena for the last time with no regrets. It was time to start making some new memories. And he knew exactly where and with whom. He just needed to tie up a few loose ends, and then the rest of his life could begin.

With a final wave he exited the arena, pausing to shake Wes's hand.

"That was a great run, Josh," Wes said. "You gonna give me another shot at you?"

"No way. You're on your own. I'm restin' on my laurels."

"And your bruised ass," Wes said with a laugh.

Josh grinned. "It ain't as bruised as yours."

"True." Wes settled his Stetson back on his head. "A bunch of the boys are headed out to one of them fancy casinos. Wanna join us?"

"No, thanks. I've got other plans."

"Oh, yeah? Blonde, brunette or redhead?" Wes asked with a knowing smile.

"Bright red. And she's real sleek and trim and fast. Just the way I like 'em."

"What's her name?"

"The Quest."

Wes grimaced. "That's a heck of a name for a woman."

Josh slapped Wes on the back and grinned. "I reckon it would be. But it's a real nice name for a sailboat."

Lexie sat in her kitchen, listlessly dunking her tea bag up and down in her favorite yellow ceramic mug. A shaft of sunlight fell across the kitchen table, and a sigh escaped her. Here it was, a beautiful morning, blue skies, warm sunshine and her day off-and she was utterly miserable.

She looked down at the burned fried eggs on her plate. What sort of culinary curse afflicted her that she couldn't cook an egg without it coming out of the pan looking like a hockey puck? She'd offered the blackened mess to Scout who had reacted with a feline hiss of outrage and a baleful glare at Lexie.

Her glance wandered toward the calendar hanging on the cream-colored wall next to the refrigerator and another sigh eased past her lips. He'd left exactly one month ago today.

An entire month. Damn it, why did she still hurt so bad?

Because you love him, you jerk, her pesky inner voice chimed in.

Damn, she hated that inner voice. It never shut up. And it was always right. How annoying was that?

All right, she loved him. But surely the feeling would go away soon. Wouldn't it? Nope, said her inner voice with brutal honesty.

Great. Her love for Josh was going to stick around like a bad rash. What she needed was an antidote for love. Like serum for a poisonous snakebite.

How was it that her breakup with Tony-a man she'd loved and had planned to marry-hadn't come close to hurting like this.

Because you didn't love Tony the way you love Josh. Because with Tony you knew you'd done the right thing and this time you're not so sure.

Okay, the damn voice had to go. In an effort to shut it up, she pulled the newspaper toward her and flipped through the pages. A small item on page ten caught her attention: Swimmer Suffers Shark Bite. She scanned the words. A fifteen-year-old boy required seventy-two stitches to close a wound to his calf when a shark attacked him the day before in the shallows off a beach about ten miles from the Whispering Palms.

Josh's words came back to her in rush. Sharks are dangerous… a bull might break your leg, but he won't bite it off… every time I see you going off in that boat for a scuba excursion, my gut gets tight. But I wouldn't ask you not to do it.

A frown pulled down her brows. Maybe he'd had a point. Maybe her job did involve some danger. But surely nothing like climbing onto the back of a pissed-off, two-ton bull. Every time her mind replayed the TV footage of him riding that beast, the butterflies in her stomach grew queasy.

The phone rang and, relieved to have her thoughts interrupted, she reached over to snag the handset from the counter. "Hello?"

"Lexie, it's Darla."

Her heart fluttered at Darla's voice. Could this be the call she'd been hoping for? She'd made her offer on the piece of land yesterday, but she hadn't expected to hear back so soon. "Do you have news?"

"I do."

Even though Darla only spoke those two words, something in her tone skittered dread down Lexie's spine. "Please don't keep me in suspense."

"I'm afraid that the owner accepted another offer, Lexie. I'm so sorry."

"Another offer?" she echoed in confusion. "But I offered the asking price!"

"And unfortunately another buyer offered more."

"Well, I'll just make another, even higher, offer," she said, her mind frantically trying to calculate how much more she could afford to spend.

"There's nothing we can do. The owner has already accepted the other offer."

This could not be happening. Lexie pressed her palm against her forehead in a vain effort to stem the throb setting up behind her eyes. "Maybe the other deal will fall through?" she suggested in a hopeful voice.

"That is, of course, always a possibility," Darla said slowly, "and I would certainly let you know, but I don't want you to get your hopes up, Lex. The other buyer is paying cash, so the deal can close quickly. Within a few weeks."

"I see." She felt like a balloon someone had just let all the air out of. "Who's the buyer?"

"I don't know… but does it really matter?" Darla asked, her tone gentle and sympathetic.

Darla had a point. "No."

"Listen. I'm going to scour the listings and we're going to find you another piece of land. A better piece. I'll print out some possibilities today at work, then we'll go out for dinner tonight and look them over. There's a lot of land for sale in Florida, Lex."

True. But she'd only wanted one, tiny piece of it. One tiny specific piece. And now it was gone. "Thanks, Darla, but-"

"No buts. We're going out tonight and that's final. I'm showing up at your door at six sharp. Wear something sexy, because after dinner we're hitting a few clubs."

"But-"

"No buts. The only excuse I'll accept is if you already have a date with Ben Affleck. Do you?"

"No." The word came out as a snarl.

"Then chin up, and I'll see you at six."

Before Lexie could say another word, the dial tone sounded in her ear. Clicking off the phone, she closed her eyes, then dragged her hands down her face.

She wanted to cry, to scream out her frustration, maybe even get up and smash a coffee cup or two, but she remained dry-eyed, silent and seated, trying to come to grips with the numbing, knee-buckling fact that her dream of building her house on her cove was gone.

She wasn't certain how long she stared off into space before the insistent ringing of her doorbell roused her. She rose and made her way to the door on leaden legs. With the way her luck was running, this was probably someone coming to tell her that her car had fallen into a sinkhole.

But what the heck. Her heart was broken, her land was gone, and she forgot to apply sunscreen yesterday so her damn nose was peeling. How much worse could this day from hell get?

She pulled open the door and instantly discovered the answer.

A whole lot worse.