Tara cupped one hand over her forehead and squinted through the sun’s bright light. A sigh parted her dry lips. She hated to admit it but she was lost, no library, for that matter, no buildings, except for the squatty, run down shanty holding up the “Diving School” sign, or was it the other way around?

No breeze, no flowers, no birds, no water, nothing to draw a person to linger. Tara slipped on her sunglasses and followed the dirt path around the side of the shack. She stopped midstep and wished she’d spent a moment applying fresh makeup.

A man sat at a table surrounded by the only patch of green grass visible, and he wasn’t just any man. He could grace the cover of HUNK magazine with his nice, strong profile, solid jaw, and a head of brown hair due for a cut and going light at the ends from the sun. The snug fit of his white T-shirt outlined his muscles and tan, all the way down his thick arms to his long fingers playing with a pair of pliers.

Tara guessed he was older than her, but not by much. Late twenties seemed a good fit.

He was working on something with black rubber hoses and shiny metal fittings. It looked like a piece of suba gear. Maybe something divers used to get air from a tank.

He didn’t look up. “I’ll be with you in a minute.” His fingers fiddled with the device, while he ran his tongue along the bottom of his lip like a gage for guidance. “There, she’s done.” He stood up and wiped his hands on a shop towel. “Sorry about the wait. I’m Rod Dayton.”

“Tara...Tara Bradley.”

They shook hands and Rod stepped back, giving Tara a long, slow look from head to toe; long enough to take her from flattered to mildly irritated.

“Let’s see five-feet two.”

“And a half.”

“A hundred and twelve pounds?”

Tara shifted her chin. “Close enough.”

Rod moved to her side. “Good tone. Do you run? Work out?”

“I ride a bike and swim when I can.” Tara toed the grass with a sandaled foot.

We can put a 104 on you for the intro section and go to steel 72s, maybe even 95s for the Full-Cave.”

“What?” Tara shook her head. His conversation had gone beyond the grasp of her ordinary mind. Lost in the recondite subject matter she wondered if he had also switched to a foreign language. “I’m looking for the library.”

Rod scratched his head. “You’re not a diver?”

“Afraid not. I’m researching historic libraries.”

“How did you get way off course? Guess it’s a good thing you’re not a diver following a map in search of hidden treasure.”

Tara planted her hands on her waist. “Seeking out libraries worthy of being discovered is a treasure.”

Rod offered his arm. “Then I’d be glad to take you to your treasure.”

Tara accepted his arm. “Lead the way.” She smiled, knowing she had already found a rare treasure.