With his heavy canvas duffel digging into his shoulder, Josh Maynard watched the taxicab that had just deposited him at his destination disappear into the distance.  Pushing his favorite Stetson back a few inches, he turned in a slow circle to survey his unfamiliar surroundings.
    Whew.  He sure wasn’t in Montana anymore.  Not a mountain or stately pine tree in sight.  Instead, flat grass-green land greeted his gaze, and palm trees soared toward the cloudless azure sky.  And man, it was hot.  And humid.  This heavy, damp Florida air laid on him like a sticky, wet blanket.  The moist heat radiating upward from the asphalt made him feel as if he were rotating on a barbeque spit.
    He turned his attention to the hotel that would be his home for the next few weeks.  Bright turquoise lettering on the gleaming white stucco exterior proclaimed Whispering Palms Resort.  Colorful pink and orange blooms climbed up wooden trellises, and what seemed like hundreds of flowers and shrubs dotted the verdant lawn and well-manicured grounds.
    But the resort was more than just a place of beauty, which is why he’d chosen it.  Based on the internet research he’d conducted and the enthusiastic recommendation of his travel agent, the Whispering Palms boasted a reputation of running the most comprehensive water activities program in the area.  Their staff was reported to be professional, with impressive credentials.
    He also liked that the resort was located a bit off the beaten track--close enough to Miami to be convenient, but far away from all the crowds.  And he’d liked the more intimate size of the place.  He hadn’t wanted one of those mega-resorts with thousands of guestrooms.
    He breathed deeply, and his nostrils twitched at the unusual scents.  Not a whiff of horseflesh, leather saddles, or rodeo arena anywhere.  This air smelled...tropical.  Fruity and sweet, with an underlying oceany tang.   He rocked back on his boot heels.  Nope, this place was nuthin’ like home.
    But that was the whole point.
    He eyeballed the minimally dressed guests wandering in and out of the resort’s open-air entrance, then glanced down at his own attire.  No doubt about it, he looked as out of place as a tumbleweed among the hothouse flowers.  His long-sleeved denim shirt and Wranglers would definitely have to go.  He’d stood outside here less than two minutes and already an uncomfortable trickle of perspiration dampened his back.
    His gaze lowered to his feet, and he heaved a sigh.  His beloved Tony Lamas would have to go as well, he supposed.  Not much call for boots on the beach.  Good thing he’d bought himself a pair of Nikes before leaving Montana, although he couldn’t say he much cared for them.  Still, a man had to do--or in this case, wear--what a man had to wear.  He’d waited a long time to start on this adventure, and he wasn’t about to let a little thing like trading in his comfortable western wear for surfer-boy beach clothes scare him off.  No sir.  Sure the obstacles were high, but he’d conquered higher.   Had the gold belt buckles from the Profession Rodeo and Cowboys Association--and the scars--to prove it.  Except for that last competition, of course.  Damn it, coming in second to Wes Handly still chapped his hide.  If only--
    Josh sliced off the irritating thought before it could take root.  That part of his life was over.  He’d hung up his spurs, and it was time to conquer new worlds.  Like this beachy, sun-tanned oiled, palm-treed, flowery, mountainless, oceany-smelling...place.
    Drawing a fruity-scented resolute breath, he adjusted his Stetson, settled his duffel higher on his shoulder, then walked toward the open air entrance of the resort, his senses trying to take in all the new sights, sounds and smells at once.
A huge birdcage dominated the parquet-floored lobby.  The largest parrot Josh had ever seen--not that he’d seen many--sat perched on a wooden swing, its long, bright red, yellow, and green tail feathers cutting a colorful yard-long downward swatch.  Big-leafed plants sprang from porcelain urns painted with tropical scenes featuring flamingos and multi-hued fish.  Salmon colored walls glowed behind the long, dark green granite reception desk.  Craning his neck to look beyond the reception area, he caught a glimpse of a sparkling pool, then the white beach and blue ocean beyond.  A pleasant breeze blew through the lobby, cooling his overheated skin.
    By God, Dad would have loved this place.  The bright colors, the salty air, the squawk of gulls.  And wouldn’t he have just gotten the biggest kick out of that huge parrot?  A sharp pang of regret stabbed Josh, halting his steps, hitching his breath.  His fingers clenched around his duffel’s strap, the coarse material and metal clasp biting into his palm.   Damn it, would the grief ever stop sneaking up on him like that?  Hitting him like bull’s kick to the head?  Most likely not.  But maybe after he’d accomplished what he’d come here to do...maybe then the ache would lessen.
    He looked out toward the sandy beach and deep blue water and swallowed hard.  Yup, Dad had wanted his whole life to come to a place like this, but he’d never even gotten the chance to see the ocean.   His dad’s crinkle-eyed smiling face rose in his mind’s eye, and his raspy voice echoed through his mind, so clearly it seemed as if Bill Maynard stood next to him.  When I retire from ranchin’, I’m gonna satisfy this itch of a wanderlust, son.  Learn to sail, then buy me a boat.  Go places and see things I’ve only ever read about or seen on T.V.  I’m gonna sail around the Mediterranean.  Eat whatever I catch for dinner.
    A ghost of a smile tugged at the corner of Josh’s mouth as he recalled teasing his dad.  Eat whatever you catch for dinner?  You’d better add ‘learn deep-sea fishing’ to your list of things to do, Dad, or you’re gonna starve.  Won’t be the same as pullin’ trout from a mountain stream.
    I plan to learn, son.  And you can learn with me.   I can picture it now.  The two of us sailin’ on the crystal clear water, grillin’ up the day’s catch.
    I look forward to it, Dad.  But I’ll bring along some steaks.  Just in case.
    A loud parrot squawk roused Josh from his thoughts, and he resolutely tucked his memories away.  It was time to check in, unpack his bag, throw on some beach-wear, and start fulfilling the dream Dad had instilled in him three decades ago.
Squaring his shoulders, Josh approached the registration desk.  He would set about conquering the seven seas, just as he’d conquered the inside of countless rodeo arenas. With hard work, determination, perseverance, and heart.  Don’t worry, Dad.  I’ll see all those places you wanted to see, all those places we talked about.  And that sail we dreamed of taking together?  Well, it’s as good as done.
    Of course, in spite of all the reading he’d done about sailing, he’d still need to start with the basics.  But it shouldn’t prove too difficult.  The staff here was top notch, and he was an intelligent man.  Had the college degree to prove it.  And he was a world-class athlete.  Had those gold belt buckles to prove that.
    His gaze skimmed over the turquoise pool, then settled on the azure ocean beyond.  A ripple of unease trickled down his spine, but he firmly pushed it aside.  Nothing to worry about.  The waters here were advertised as calm and crystal clear.
    Besides, how the hell hard could it be to learn to swim?