Murphy slathered coconut scented sun block across his legs. His sister Tory’s voice replayed in his head. “It’s a different kind of sun in the East Murphy. Buy sunscreen and use it.”
Murphy leaned forward to retrieve another bottle of water from his cooler. The hours passed, early birds packed up, sun worshipers reapplied oil, and turned their chairs to follow the arcing sun. Murphy observed the sixty year old man in cut off Levi’s reclining in a sand chair a few yards away. A beach lifer for sure, the sun bounced from his oiled body. The man’s skin had taken on an orange-ish bronze color that reminded Murphy of well oiled leather. As the man turned to his belly like a rotisserie chicken, Murphy decided, “In few more years and he’d make a fine saddle.”
He had seen enough and decided to call it a day. As he levered himself from his chair, he saw her.
She moved gracefully through the bodies sprawled across the sand. Flip-flops dangled from her fingertips and a hemp knapsack hung simply over her shoulder. The ocean breeze ruffled her loose linen pants and pressed her untucked t-shirt tight against her body. The wind played with her shoulder length brown hair as she scanned the shore line selecting her spot.
Murphy lowered himself back into his chair and decided a few more minutes of beach time wouldn’t kill him.
The woman dropped her sandals, dug a towel from her bag, and sat cross-legged without a care on the smooth sand. She smiled openly as the children raced the receding waves, and then laughed as they squealed when they got caught to close to the next crashing crest. Intrigued, Murphy watched her cuff her pants legs and roll them until they hedged above her knees. She leaned back on her hands and tipped her face to the sun. Several minutes later, she spread out her towel and pulled a novel from her tote. Lying on her side, her cheek resting on her palm, she flipped open the book and began to read. The wind fought with her pages, but she didn’t seem to mind. Idly she drew circles in the sand with her toes, and when she tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear, the sparkle of a simple gold earring winked in the sunlight.
Sunglasses shielded her eyes and Murphy itched to know what color they’d be. He knew he was staring, but he couldn’t tear his gaze away. Her hair wasn’t really brown it was a concoction of color, tawny, russet, even streaks of gold. Not a product of a fancy salon, but sun kissed flawlessness. A healthy outdoor tan brushed over her muscled calves and arms. Murphy would have bet a grand that she worked outdoors. Her only visible frill was a flirty purple polish that tipped her toes. He watched as she stifled a yawn, and stretched her arm out across the warm sand. With her head cradled in the crook of her elbow, sleep claimed her.
Waves continued to lull and the sun crept toward the horizon. Murphy picked up his chair and dragged it closer to the woman. Guarding her, not stalking, he told himself; as he set up his chair and flipped open his magazine. Murphy glanced over at her and felt something tip in his chest. How could a sleeping stranger pull at him without a word?
“Hmm,” she hummed.
Murphy willed her eyes to open just to answer that one simple question. Like magic, her eyes flashed open. Clear and focused, she observed Murphy as he studied her. “Morning,” She said with a lazy smile and hoped she didn’t have drool rolling down her chin.
“Green,” He said in a deep rumbling voice.
“Excuse me?”
“Your eyes. I’ve been wondering… brown, blue, hadn’t considered green.”
Nervously she replaced her glasses and although he was disappointed, he reached out a hand. “Hi, I’m Murphy Keen. I’m not a stalker, even though it may appear that way.”
She shifted to her knees and stretched to reach his hand, “Jess…Jess Thomas.” Much like he appeared, his hand was rough, strong, and all male. A weathered t-shirt stretched across the lean rangy muscles in his shoulders and arms, but it was his untanned legs that gave him away. “Cowboy?” Jess asked as she stuffed her towel into her tote.
“I believe the correct term is Saltwater Cowboy,” Murphy smiled.
Passing through, Jess thought with a twinge of regret. Better that way, she had no time for tangles with a man, regardless of his appeal. Jess gathered her things. “You’ll have a busy week. Good luck,” she said, as she started to stride from the beach.
Murphy tossed his magazine and towel into his chair and folded it all together like a beach chair burrito. “Hold on Jess.” His long legs ate up the distance as he hurried after her. “Want to go to dinner?”
“Not a stalker Mr. Keen?” Jess laughed.
“Bayside Inn?”
Jess sized him up. It had been months since she allowed herself any leisure time as a female. What could it hurt? He’d be gone in days and he was certainly pleasing to look at. “You’re on Mr. Keen, but I’ll warn you, I am starved, so bring your wallet, I like to dance, so wear comfy boots, and I have integrity, so I will not be sleeping with you. No funny business. I’ll meet you at the Inn in an hour.”
“See you there,” Murphy said as she strode across the crushed shell parking lot to a white Jeep.
The Jeep roared to life, and Bon Jovi pulsed from the stereo and she rolled out of the lot.
Murphy rubbed his hand across the ache in his belly recognizing the tug of lust. He shook his head and dismissed it. He was simply going to enjoy a meal, a dance, and no sex with her after all.