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turtles laid their eggs. Known nests were marked, but apparently, one loggerhead mommy had braved the tourist-infested shoreline to deposit her brood along a rejected spot on the beach. The lowering sun cast a cheerless light on fresh tracks that marched straight from the sea to a mound in the sand and then back to the ocean, but the turtle itself was nowhere to be found.
    Carefully, Jamie uncovered the loggerhead nest so she could see the multitude of golf-ball sized eggs.
    “Wow, talk about sibling rivalry!” Annie remarked.
    He eyed her curiously. “Spoken like an only child.”
    Annie wondered how he could possibly know that about her, but before she could ask, he added, “It takes about thirty or so years for them to get the maternal itch, but when they do, they travel back to nest on the beach where they were hatched.”
    “Like salmon?”
    “Yeah, I guess … like salmon.”
    Lady sniffed at the nest and Jamie covered the eggs back up with sand. “Folks ’round here try to keep the beach as dark as possible at night.” He winked at her. “Mood lighting, if you will. And sometimes they have to come in and move the eggs to a new location to keep them safe from the tide. There’s so much erosion out here it really doesn’t take a natural disaster but last year hurricane Irene washed out about ten or so nests out to sea. When they get to this point, every last egg counts.”
    Annie watched him carefully pat down the sand. “The mother doesn’t take care of them?”
    He got up to grab a piece of orange tape from a nearby nest and picked up a stick, tying the tape around the tip like a warning flag, watching her while he tied it. “Nah, she lays her eggs and then heads back out to sea, leaving others to deal with them.” He planted the flag alongside the mound. “We just missed her. They don’t usually wander in until after dark. I’m sure someone’s already called, but I’ll call the turtle watch when we get home.”
    Annie stared at the nest, feeling a strange stirring of emotion.
    “Don’t look so sad!” he said. “They’ve been carrying on like this for a good hundred and seventy five million years and trust me, they get a lotta lovin’ from folks ’round here.”
    They left the nest and walked on down the beach, but Annie couldn’t quite shake the feeling of melancholy after uncovering the turtle nest. She chalked it up to the task still had at hand, but some part of her knew it was something more.
    Lady stayed close to Jamie’s side as they walked along the beach. Annie was sure she was responding to that alpha male vibe Jamie put off without even trying.
    Unlike the stretch of sand they’d just left, the west shore was teeming with children—all of them scurrying around, looking for shells, splashing in the water and yelling at their parents to come look at treasures deposited at their feet by the sea.
    “They call this spot the Washout,” he told her as they reached what appeared to be just that—a washed out road and the abrupt end of a row of houses. He stood for a moment, surveying the ocean. “Some serious surfing goes on right here.” For a moment, Annie completely lost his attention to the ocean. “Too crowded to today.”
    “You’re a surfer?”
    He nodded. “I do a little.” He caught himself and amended, “Actually, it’s the main reason I’m here, so I guess you’d say I do it as often as I can. Not sure why I thought this weekend would be any good for it though.” He peered down at Annie, seeming to study her a long moment. “Sometimes you have to go with your gut … know what I mean?”
    Annie really didn’t. Her inner voice was only good for “I told you sos.” But she nodded anyway and sat down on the sand, squinting up at him. “My grandmother was really big on living by her internal compass.”
    Lady plopped herself down at Annie’s side, scenting the salt air.
    Jamie sat down next to her. “Unlike you?”
    Annie’s brows drew together. “Why