What I Wasn't Looking For (EXCLUSIVE TEASER)

Exclusive Teaser

I held my hands out in front of me and tried to ignore the way my fingertips tingled. It could have been a result of the lotion, but I knew it had more to do with the feel of his skin under my palms. I flipped the faucet but hesitated, loathe to wash away the memory of touching him. Instead I rubbed my hands together until the lotion was absorbed, then took a deep breath and turned around to face Austin.

"I can't believe I got so burned," he was saying. "I spend plenty of time in the sun, but I can't remember getting a sunburn like this in a long time."

"Beach burn. It's different than anywhere else." I laughed as I laned back against the counter. "I remember this one time when I was a teenager, we were here with my dad. Mom was coming later that night. My younger sisters spent all day long out on the water on their boogie boards. All. Day. Long. Dad watched us the whole time, being sure none of us drowned or anything. But he never once thought about putting sunscreen on us."

"Oooooh." He cringed and shook his head. "On the water?"

"Yep. They were blistered the next morning. Mom was furious." I shook my head. "Still, those were good times."

"So, you grew up here?"

"Well, I grew up coming here on weekends," I told him as I pushed off and headed towards the door. "My parents rented cabins until they eventually bought some land and built their own. But like a lot of the folks here, I'm actually a transplant to Louisiana. I'm a Texan."

I couldn't help the pride in my tone when I said I was from Texas. That was the thing about people from the Lone Star state; we were taught from infancy that it was the best state in the Union. And even though I lived here in Southwest Louisiana these days, I was still devoted to my home state.

"I should have known you were a Texas girl," he said, and waggled his eyebrow in a teasing gesture. "So, are you ready?" he asked, and when I nodded, he motioned me out the door ahead of him and then quickly followed.

"C'mon, you two!" A voice called out to us from several cabins down, and I waved a greeting.

"We're coming, Luke! Just hold your horses."

"You know, I was supposed to try to look someone up while I was here," Austin said as we trudged slowly through the sand dunes. "Maybe you or one of your friends knows him. James Fitzroy."

I wasn't caught off-guard by his question. Luke had told me about the inquiries he was making all around Porpoise Beach. I sniffed, then shot him a bewildered frown. "James Fitzroy? Doesn't sound familiar to me."

"No one seems to know. I was told he might be staying here. He's in his late sixties, probably."

"No, never heard of him." I shook my head, then rushed ahead of him when we arrived at our destination.

Luke Rodin was standing over the propane fryer, dipping out pieces of fish and placing them on the paper-towel covered platter his wife Lacey was holding. She smiled at me, then motioned toward the coolers out on her back patio.

"Ready for that beer?" I asked Austin, and on his nod, I grabbed two cans of Shiner.

"I thought you said he was a Texan," Jimmy Bennett muttered from the corner where the old timers were chatting. He held up his can of Lone Star in a taunt. "Real Texans don't drink that German shit."

"Real Texans don't drink watered-down shit," Austin quipped back. All of the old men began to cackle.

"And real men don't drink apple cider," Perry Davis said to John Guillot, and I immediately knew they had been involved in some sort of heavy discussion before we arrived.