Джерри Хилл - Gulf Breeze

Carly was still trying to recover from her encounter with the insufferable Pat Ryan when Elsa knocked on her door.

"I thought I heard you," Elsa said. "You've been banging."

"The photographer is a jerk," she said.

"A jerk?"

"Yes. She probably voted for Bush. She cares nothing about this."

"I thought she volunteered."

"So did I."

Carly couldn't understand why she let the woman upset her so. It's not like she'd not met hundreds of others just like her. But the fact that she made her living taking pictures of wildlife without having an inkling as to the destruction around her was just something Carly could not comprehend.

"So, we're still looking for a photographer then?"

"No. She's going to do it. We don't have time or money to find someone else."

"Okay. But do you even know what kinds of pictures she takes? I mean, she might suck," Elsa said.

"She's a wildlife photographer. Surely she can manage this."

"But still, we should check her out," Elsa said, moving to Carly's computer.

"What are you doing?"

"Maybe she's got a website," Elsa said and she was already doing a search when Carly looked over her shoulder.

"Pat Ryan Photography. Port Aransas."

Elsa clicked on the link and Pat Ryan's blue eyes appeared on the screen, staring right at Carly.

"Dios," Elsa murmured. "She's a goddess."

Carly had to admit that she was quite attractive. It was only when she opened her mouth that she became insufferable.

"Check out the pictures, Elsa," Carly said lightly, pointing to a link.

Then they both laughed as a startled Great Blue Heron appeared before them, snake and all.

"She took that?" Elsa asked. "I've seen that photo several times. In fact, I think I have a coffee mug with it on it."

Other photos lined the page and Carly's eyes were drawn to a doe and fawn, hiding in the trees in the early morning. The doe's head was turned, across the fawn's back, looking right at the camera, the big, brown eyes full of trust as if knowing the photographer would not harm her baby.

"Great shot of the Whooping Crane," Elsa said, pointing to one where the sunrise engulfed the beautiful white bird.

Carly stood up and nodded. Pat Ryan certainly had talent, that much was evident. She should be happy to have her working on this project. She looked again at the photos, all so carefully constructed, as if she'd set a stage for the wildlife she'd shot. If she didn't know better, she'd say that all the photos were made with love of the animals and the nature surrounding them. Not by some woman who barely gave notice to the destruction of the very things she took photos of.

"Well, I suppose I'll have to tolerate her views. You're right. She's good. We can't very well turn down talent like this. Maybe just having her name on this project will help with donations. She's obviously successful." She didn't add that she, too, had a coffee mug with the heron's face embellished on the side.

"Come on. Let's go out to the site and I'll show you around. Time to get to work."

"Hey, Pat."

"Angel," Pat drawled, pulling out a bar stool and leaning her elbows on the counter.

"What brings you here in the middle of the day?"

"I need a beer."

"Ah. Coming right up. Want lunch, too?" she asked as she filled a frosty mug with draft beer.

Pat thought for a moment, knowing there was nothing at her place to eat. So she nodded.

"Shrimp Po'boy, extra tarter," Angel called to the kitchen. "So, what's up?"

"Just trying to recover from a meeting," she said. "I met the most obnoxious woman today. An environmental wacko, the type that you just want to muzzle to get them to shut up."

"A Mrs. Davenport clone?"

"If only," Pat said with a smile. Angel had never met Mrs. Davenport, but she'd heard all the stories from Pat. "Aunt Rachel volunteered me to shoot photos at that new wildlife thing outside of Rockport."

"What's that?"

"The old Thompson Ranch. Habitats For Nature bought him out and they're turning it into a preserve."

"Well, that'll give you another place to work, won't it?"

Pat narrowed her eyes at Angel and gave her best scowl, only causing Angel to burst out laughing.

"Your tough-guy act doesn't work on me, remember?"

Pat grinned and sipped from her beer.

"Yes, it'll give me another place to work," Pat agreed stiffly. "Only I'm working for free, it seems."

"So, what about this woman? You usually don't let anyone get to you."

"Oh, she's just so gung-ho. Got all upset with me just because I'm not active in the environmental movement. Hell, I like wildlife as much as the next one, probably more. But I'm just not all out there, you know? She just rubbed me the wrong way."

"I see that."

"And to top it off, she's damn attractive," Pat said, finally uttering the thing most bothering her. If the woman had just kept her mouth shut, Pat might have considered asking her out.
"Oh. So not Mrs. Davenport."

"No. She's probably younger than I am. Dr. Carly Cambridge."

"Doctor?"

Pat grunted. "Some environmental degree, no doubt. And I'll be spending the next several weeks if not months, out there working for her."

"Oh, well. Can't be that bad," Angel said and moved away to another customer.

Not that bad? Please…the woman would drive her insane.

Pat used the gate key Dr. Cambridge had given her and drove down the dirt road just as the sun was rising over the bay. She stopped and stood on the back of her Jeep, camera pointing to the sunrise. She captured the dunes as they glowed pink, then hurried on past the Visitor's Center and stopped where the trail snaked down to the water. She jogged the last few yards, then fell to her knees, taking several shots of the water as it shimmered with the red and pink reflection of the sun as it rose, seemingly still dripping with water as it hovered above the bay. When the colors changed, she put her camera down and watched, unconscious of the smile that appeared on her face as pelicans flew across the bay.

She had seen more sunrises than she could count but they never failed to thrill her by their beauty. Finally she stood and dusted the sand off her knees and walked slowly back to her Jeep, eyes scanning her surroundings for any sign of movement. She spotted a few seagulls as they started their hunt for food and then the ever-present vultures that left their roost in the oaks. In the winter, she could imagine Osprey as they fished, wings spread beautifully as they soared over the bay. She grudgingly admitted that the preserve was a wonderful idea. The Thompson Ranch had been around forever but the public was never allowed on the property. Now, this part would be opened up for others to enjoy, just as she had enjoyed the sunrise.

She went back to her Jeep and drove the rest of the road until it stopped where the marshes were going to be reconstructed. Earth-moving equipment was already present but no work had begun yet. She took several shots of the flat grassland, trying to envision what it would look like with water instead of grass. Carly had told her they would restore this area first, so that visitors could see their progress and eventually move inland to restore the fifty-something acres that had been filled in by the Thompsons over the years.

She walked on into the woods, trying to get her bearings. She assumed she would spend many mornings out here, hiking. She swatted at a mosquito that was trying to have her for breakfast and knew the number would increase dramatically when the marshes were back. But, food for the birds, she knew. And, it was one of the curses to living near the bay. She had no problems with them on the island.