PLEASE NOTE: This story contains profanity, mild violence, and some adult situations. Reader discretion is advised.

CHAPTER 1 (Free Preview)

Halfway up the irregular and eroded southern face of the Nohoch Mul pyramid at Coba, Ryan waited, crouching in the shade of a pile of rubble as he wiped the lenses of his binoculars. The jungle was a rolling carpet of mossy bracken on every side, a wavering cloud of heat causing the furthest trees to scintillate in his vision.

He checked the binoculars, spotted her. He still had a moment to get ready.

Ryan opened a tin canteen and poured water carefully over himself, creating blobby triangles on his chest and back. He spilled enough into his short, strawberry blonde hair to run down his neck and cause his forehead to drip as if sweat-soaked.

He lay back against the pile of rubble with his legs splayed out before him in an attitude bereft of dignity. He began to breathe heavily, working himself into a wheezing, plaintive pant.

He checked his watch.

Sandy staggered up to Ryan's ledge, eyes on the stones as she bent over to catch her breath. A fjord-like birthmark stained her right cheek. Without seeing him she craned her head up and gazed toward the summit of the pyramid, a frown of grim determination tightening her lips. She straightened and secured two long brunette braids behind a kerchief, wiped clean her glasses, and then resumed the climb.

Ryan was in the midst of working up the air necessary to pant even louder when Sandy stumbled on the next riser. She pinwheeled backward, threatening to overturn and plummet down the stone steps to the jungle floor.

Ryan caught her.

"Oh my God," she squeaked.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

"Thank you," she said.

Ryan let go of Sandy and shuffled backward to lean against the pile of rubble again, mopping at his brow ineffectually with the loose front of his sopping polo shirt. "You almost gave me a heart attack," he said. "And I was sitting here worrying about that anyway."

"I'm sorry," said Sandy quickly. She crossed her arms, hugging her own biceps absently. The sun winked off a simple silver crucifix hanging between breasts which were heavy for her slight frame, her back self-consciously curved to minimize their prominence.

"Don't be sorry," said Ryan. "I'm glad I was here, thank Jesus. Otherwise -- sheesh. Could've been a nasty fall."

"Sheesh is right," agreed Sandy. "Thanks again."

She smiled awkwardly and started to turn back to the steep stone risers. Ryan coughed.

"I hate asking this, but you wouldn't happen to have any water, would you?" He was good at being sheepish. He looked down, shrugged, spread his hands. "I thought I'd be a hero and get right up to the top easy as pie, but it turns out I'm in worse shape than I thought. I'm just dyin' here."

"Sure, yeah," said Sandy, fumbling at her canteen, expertly concealing the right side of her face. "Okay."

Ryan drank swiftly, but was careful to leave some in the bottom. He gasped in exultation as he handed the canteen back, wiping his mouth with his wet forearm. "Thanks a lot," he said. "I'm afraid there isn't much left. I feel terrible."

"I'm sure it'll be enough for me," said Sandy amicably, hearing it slosh. "Don't worry about it."

"That's very nice of you," said Ryan.

"No problem."

Ryan picked up his knapsack and binoculars. "Well, I'm ready. Let's beat this pyramid. Um, unless you're planning on sprinting -- I don't want to hold you back."

Sandy smiled uncertainly, then shrugged. "No, I don't mind. Let's go."

They took in concert the next series of narrow, crumbling risers slaves of the Maya had erected centuries before, hacked free from the jungle by the grad students of archaeologists only in the last decade. The climb was steep and the feeble, moist breeze was heavy -- reluctant to refresh, an air like hot breath.

As they proceeded Ryan measured Sandy's pace and then gradually exceeded it. After a few minutes he paused and looked back apologetically. "I'm rushing you."

"No," breathed Sandy, waving dismissively. "Keep going. It's good for me."

"Well, okay," he conceded.

He pressed the pace faster for the final push to the summit, ultimately having to hoist her up to the top platform with a firm, steady grip. They were both too winded to speak. They leaned against the walls of a tiny, broken temple. Sandy unscrewed the top of her canteen and offered it to Ryan.

"I couldn't," he said, shaking his head. "You drink it. It's yours."

"I feel bad."

"Don't," said Ryan. "I'll live. Drink. I insist."

She drank. "I left you a little," she said, handing him the canteen.

He emptied it, and then offered his hand to shake after wiping the perspiration off on his shorts. "My name's Ryan Billing. It's good to meet you."

"Sandy," said Sandy, taking his hand.

Ryan smiled. Sandy smiled too. The game was on.

CHAPTER 2 (Free Preview)

Ensenada de Arcos Iris Villas & Resort stood on the southern coast of Quintana Roo, nestled in a shallow cove protected from the ocean's worst by the trailing edge of Cozumel's coral wall. The buildings all followed a common faux-Maya style, complete with frescoes of pictographic warriors dancing around pyramids. The walls were white stucco, the metal roofs covered in bales of decorative thatch.

Every room had a slowly turning ceiling fan, lending the establishment a common, lazy beat of throbbing air.

This slow rhythm was desecrated by Ryan as he attempted to juggle a beach bag, a roll of towels and a fold of clothes while fishing around for the key to his tiny villa. Playing to a unique but precise tempo, Ryan dropped two thirds of his bounty and stumbled just as Sandy rounded the corner.

"Damn it!"

Without turning around he gathered up nearly everything and then appealed over his shoulder for help with his key. Sandy picked up the key and unlocked the door to Ryan's room. "Fanks," he said, a towel in his mouth. Then he looked up. "Hey -- ith you."

Sandy smiled, turning away the birthmarked side of her face. "Hi again," she said. "Are you okay there?"

Ryan walked inside as he replied, leaving Sandy dangling at the entrance, crossing her arms over her navy blue bathing suit. Ryan dumped his beach bag and towels on the sofa. "I got it now, thanks Sandy. That's two I owe you now, isn't it?"

"Oh, not really."

"You can come in, never you mind," he said firmly, which caused Sandy to take a step or two into the hall of the compact, two-storey guest villa nearly identical to her own. "But seriously," continued Ryan, "you have to let me make it up to you. First the water, now this. And since we're both here at Arcos Iris the least you can do is to let me buy you dinner."

Sandy blushed. "That's really not --"

"No no, I insist. You can't leave me feeling obliged to you like this. It isn't right."

"I'm sorry, I don't mean to."

"Listen, if you're travelling with somebody they're absolutely invited, too. Any friend of yours I'd be happy to buy dinner for. Let me do this, Sandy. You gave me your last drop of water -- you have to let me make right. Fair is fair, isn't it? I mean, come on: isn't it?"

"Well, yeah, fair is fair..."

"So let's do it. We can meet right outside here, on the walkway. Say...six o'clock?" Ryan grinned and opened his arms in appeal.

Sandy giggled despite herself. "Six is okay, I guess. Just outside here...?" She pointed vaguely behind her.

Ryan nodded, then waited patiently. Sandy hovered nervously and then looked down. "Okay well I guess I should go," she said. "I was going to have a shower and stuff."

"Until six then, Sandy," said Ryan warmly, eyes still on her, brow open.

Sandy coloured under his scrutiny, smiled again, made a false start left and then turned right and shuffled out into the sun again, closing the door gently behind her. "Sorry," she mumbled about something.

Ryan waited a moment, then relaxed. "This one's going to be easy," he chuckled aloud, sinking into the sofa and propping his feet up on the matching Guatemalan-quilted ottoman. "...So easy."

CHAPTER 3 (Free Preview)

Sandy and Ryan were led to a table by the patio-lantern guilded edge of the Yum Caax Restaurant, the only non-buffet option offered to guests of Ensenada de Arcos Iris Villas & Resort. The centrepiece of the space was an intimidating statue of a fierce warrior with what looked like a cat's head crouching on top of his human face. The warrior appeared to be carved from dark wood but was, in fact, fabricated from fibreglass.

"Who's that?" Sandy asked.

"Yum Caax," replied Ryan breezily, pulling out her chair for her. "A god of the hunt."

"He doesn't look very happy." Sandy sat down. "Thanks."

"Hunting requires focus, I imagine." Ryan took his seat and then appraised his companion across the candle-lit table. Her long chestnut chair was down, pushed casually behind her shoulders; she wore a yellow dress, chaste but fitted. "You look ravishing, Sandy. Will anyone else be joining us?"

"Um, no," she smiled hesitantly, touching her glasses. "Just me. Disappointed?"

"Absolutely not."

They dawdled over their menus, Ryan staring fixedly at the pages while Sandy glanced up and down, anxious to seize the next cue for how to proceed. The names of the dishes failed to mean anything to her. Her gaze flicked across the beach, hanging on a couple walking hand in hand, their pants rolled up out of reach of the sussurussing surf.

She turned back to see Ryan watching her. "It's beautiful, isn't it?" he said.

"What is?"

"There's nothing like a tropical sunset."

"That's so true," she agreed readily. The sun had sunk behind a bank of thick, sagging cumulus clouds, illuminating them from within with a ruddy, golden glow. "This is the first time I've ever been to Mexico."

"Me too."

"Really?"

"Oh yes. I won this trip -- or earned it, I suppose. It's a reward for performance from the office; also, their not-so-subtle way of forcing me to take a vacation. And I'm glad they did." He looked at Sandy warmly. "What about you, Sandy? What brings you to Quintana Roo?"

Sandy covered the birthmark on her right cheek as she looked down. "Oh, my family just thought I could use a rest. You know: things get crazy sometimes."

"You have a stressful job?"

"Not really. I'm just a teller. A bank teller, I mean. But I've been on a leave of absence, um, looking after my husband. He was very ill."

"But you've come alone? He's not well enough to travel?"

"He passed away, actually."

"Oh sweet Jesus, I'm so sorry," said Ryan, reaching across the table and touching her hand. "I didn't mean to open a painful subject. Forgive me, Sandy."

"Nevermind. I'm sorry."

"Never be sorry," he said lightly. "Girls who are both kind and pretty have no cause. Do you mind if I select a wine for us?"

"I'm not pretty. Um. Go ahead, about the wine. Um, thanks."

Ryan chose a Chilean Merlot which arrived promptly. He swirled a dollop in the bottom of his glass, sniffed it. "Very nice," he told the waiter, giving the nod to fill the lady's glass and then his own.

Sandy played with the stem of her glass, watching ruby reflections from the wine slide on the tablecloth. "So...what kind of work do you do?"

"I work in adoption, actually -- arranging connections between orphaned children and prospective parents. I don't want to go on and on about it, but let me just say it's very rewarding work. I wouldn't trade it for the world. Every day is another chance to touch someone's life for the better."

"That's a wonderful thing to do," said Sandy. "God -- my job makes no difference for anybody. I have a sneaking suspicion I'm going to be replaced by one of those new automated tellers any day now."

"What's an automated teller?" asked Ryan, folding his hands and leaning forward with frank fascination.

Sandy blushed at his interest. "Oh, it's just a stupid thing -- a machine that gives out cash. They have an experimental one at our branch and it's always broken."

"Maybe I've seen them, never paid attention."

"They say they'll be everywhere soon."

"Isn't that something? You can't stop the future, can you? Back in New York they're moving all of us over to computers now. You'd think the office would be quieter without all those typewriters, but it's just as loud -- with people swearing at their computers."

Sandy laughed. "I bet. We're moving to computers, too, at the bank. It's such a headache. Did you say you work in New York?"

"Yes. Our offices are in Manhattan."

"Wow," said Sandy. "I've never been to New York."

"It's a spectacular city," Ryan assured her. "Where are you from, Sandy?"

"Just a little place called Sackville. Outside of Halifax."

"That's in Nova Scotia, right? In Canada?"

"That's right."

"Beautiful country up there."

"Oh yes."

They sipped their wine and were considering entrees when a young, sun-burned couple approached their table. "Mr. Billing!" said the woman, smiling. "We were just going back to our villa and we saw you and thought we'd say hi. And thank you."

Ryan stood up. "Why don't you join us for a glass of wine? This is Sandy, a fellow Canadian. Sandy, these are the Cuthbertsons, from Ontario."

"We don't want to interrupt your dinner," said the man, offering Sandy his hand to shake. He was muscular, and filled with a certain anxious energy that caused him to continually shift his weight from one foot to the other.

"Nonsense," said Ryan. "I've been helping out Kate and Jules with an adoption situation, Sandy. I know I'm on vacation but -- well, I just couldn't help it. They've had such a run of bad luck."

"We really appreciate everything you've done," gushed Kate. "I've been on the phone with my mother all afternoon, and so we should have that certified cheque ready for you by tomorrow."

Ryan nodded. "The important thing is that we've started processing the application. I had the papers you signed couriered off to New York this morning."

"This is so exciting," said Kate.

"Why don't you sit down?" Ryan invited again, reaching for a spare chair.

"No no," said Jules, shaking his head. "Enjoy your dinner. We'll talk tomorrow."

"It was nice to meet you, Sandra," added Kate.

"Have a nice night," said Sandy. As the couple departed she said to Ryan, "They seem nice."

"I'm expediting their adoption process, putting it through our own private screeners. It costs a bit more, but it'll save them a lot of hassle in the end. They're trying so desperately to build a family -- I just couldn't leave them hanging. It's my job, after all."

"That's very kind of you," said Sandy. "It must be amazing to be able to help people like that."

"It makes me feel good as a Christian," agreed Ryan earnestly.

Sandy touched her crucifix absently. "Do you have kids?"

"You know, it's funny," said Ryan, eyes cast out over the darkening water. "I spend all my time helping people put happy families together, but I don't have one of my own." He turned back and shrugged. "I suppose I'm a bit of a workaholic. I never seem to find the time to meet someone."

"That's too bad," said Sandy.

"Let's not brood," he interrupted, raising his hand. "We're having a nice dinner. We're in paradise. Aren't we supposed to leave our problems back home? In fact, I propose a toast."

Sandy picked up her glass and held it aloft, watching him expectantly.

"To new friends, and helping make dreams come true," pronounced Ryan seriously.

"To new friends," echoed Sandy. They drank.

After dinner they took the meandering way back to the villas, walking along the beach and then among the fragrant gardens tended by elusive Maya in matching polo shirts who bowed out of sight at the sound of Ryan and Sandy's footfalls on the flagstones, keeping to the shadows like faeries.

"I think there's somebody in the bushes," whispered Sandy.

"Don't worry. He probably works here."

"Do you speak Spanish?"

"Yes, but they don't."

"What do they speak?"

"Mayan."

At the walkway between the rows of villas they slackened their pace. "I had a really nice time tonight, Ryan," she said, swinging her purse distractedly.

"I think that's the first time you've said my name, Sandy."

He could feel her blush, even in the dark. "I guess we're even now, huh?"

"I'm still in your debt, for your fine company tonight," said Ryan breezily. "I'm not trying to push anything on you, but -- you know, I'm around. If you ever need a friend, I mean."

"That's very nice of you."

"As a matter of fact I'm thinking about taking a tour to see the ruins at Xcaret tomorrow. Have you already been?"

"I haven't, actually."

"Well, think about it. You know where I'll be. But there's no pressure: you're on vacation -- do whatever suits you best."

"Thanks, Ryan."

He bowed courteously and then turned toward the walkway to his villa. Suddenly remembering something Sandy wrenched open her purse and fished around inside. "I still have your key!" she called.

Ryan paused. "Ah, yes. I'd been wondering where I left it."

"I'm sorry. I guess I just wasn't thinking, earlier, when I had it in my hand. I'm so stupid. I hope I didn't cause you a big problem."

"Not at all. The front desk loaned me a spare."

Ryan waited patiently until Sandy stepped closer and held out the key. He took it gingerly, allowing their fingers to briefly meet. Sandy shivered, then looked around awkwardly. "So, goodnight I guess. Thanks again. And sorry about the key."

"Goodnight, dear Sandy. And God bless."

Sandy waved, hid behind her hair, and scurried up the walkway to her own villa. Ryan watched her go, a smirk flickering across his lips an instant before he turned on heel and sauntered home...