“Get your groove on.”
“Were you evenalivewhen that song came out?” she demanded.
“We are the digital generation,” Sally Mae said. “All media, past and present, is at our fingertips.”
“I don’t know whether to be terrified or impressed,” Maddy admitted.
“Do you guys suddenly get the impression she’s stalling?” Donna interjected.
“You’re totally right,” Louisa agreed. “Hey, Miss Maddy, Colonel Sanders called. He wants you back on the job.”
Maddy blinked. “And now I’m lost again.”
“You know”—Louisa rolled her hand—“Colonel Sanders. Kentucky Fried Chicken?”
“Yeah. So?”
“So we’re sayin’ that now that ya know SEAL McStudly wants to butter your muffin, you’re bein’ a total chicken,” Sally Mae finished.
“I’mnotbeing a chicken,” Maddy insisted.
“Then go make like Paula Abdul,” Louisa challenged.
“I am goin’ to help him withlookoutduty,” Maddy insisted haughtily, sniffing like the Queen of England. “There will benoPaula Abdul-ing about it.”
“Bok, bok, bok!” Louisa said.
“Fine! I’m goin’!” Maddy turned on her heels and fled like the lily-livered coward she was. When the sound of giggles followed her, a grin tugged at her lips. It was good hearing the teens laughing.
Even if it is at my expense.
Careful on the worn bricks, she made her journey along the top of the parapets, thinking about what the girls had said and feeling a sense of vindication. Despite Bran trying to pretend like there was nothing between them, it was obvious to everyone—including three teens—that, in fact, therewas.
Fueled by that knowledge, she lifted her face to the warm wind. The sea had a particular aroma at night. There were still the smells of salt water and fish. But underneath that was something sweeter. Something older. Something darker and more mysterious.
At night the sea smells like the secrets it holds, her father told her when she was eleven and commented on the phenomenon.Like lost souls and fantastical creatures and the sunken treasure of millennia.
Maddy had always fancied that explanation.
She breathed deep and thought of the treasure that Bran and his friends were hunting. TheSanta Cristina.The holy grail of sunken Spanish shipwrecks. It was so romantic. So exciting. So…Bran-like.
She blinked as the lighthouse made its revolution, momentarily blinding her. But when her eyesight returned, she located Rick at his post atop the west wall. The barrel of the machine gun rested against his shoulder, and he marched back and forth in a tight pattern, reminding her of an old-timey soldier.
Biting her lip, she started in his direction. Not once since this whole hellacious night began had she stopped to ask him how he was doing, if he was okay—probably because he’d been such a trouper about everything—but she planned to remedy that right now. Except, when she stopped beside him, he beat her to the punch.
“Are you okay?” The moonlight showed the concern in his eyes.
Lord, he’s adorable. If I were ten years younger…
You wouldn’t have a chance at Bran,her conscience reminded her.
Right-O. Plus, you couldn’t pay her to repeat her early twenties. She’d been so young and silly, caught up in college and sorority functions and her boyfriend who, although he’d been a really nice guy, was more interested in going to see local bands play than he was in going to class and making sure his parents’ money was well spent. It wasn’t until she went to work for her father that she came to realize the true meaning of life, which, as far as she could figure, was about living each day to its fullest and helping your fellow man along the way as best you could.
“Shouldn’t I be askin’youthat?” She gave Rick a self-deprecating smile.
“Why?” He frowned.
“Well, because you’re a park ranger, not a commando. Yet here you are on guard duty with a machine gun in hand.”
