New Honey in Town

by Cathryn Cade

  "I know, right? Hilarious. But the goddess, she's like your Pele, huh?"

  He shrugged and slowed for the turn to Nawea. "Kind of."

  They headed down the hill, and his passenger drummed her fingers on the armrest between them. "So, do you believe in Pele, and whatnot?"

  Moke thought this over. "Yeah, can't help it when you're born here, grow up here. Part of us, part of our culture."

  At least for those who didn't get sucked into fucked-up versions of Christianity, and run off to live in a fucking commune, leaving their families and all their responsibilities behind—like his own mother.

  He braked hard at the gate to Nawea Bay, the tires skidding on the asphalt, and reached out to punch in the code, stabbing at the keypad with his finger.

  Moke's phone vibrated in his pocket as he stopped the truck outside the garage at Nawea House. He slid out of the truck and palmed the phone. It was T-Bear. He lifted the phone to his ear as he moved to retrieve Shelle's pack out of the truck bed—again.

  "Where the fuck you been, bro?" T bellowed in his ear. "Been worried about you, y'know. Your volcano's spouting again, all over the news and you don't answer your damn phone?"

  Moke held the phone away from his ear, tracking Shelle as she walked around the truck, then looked to him, her expression closed off again. Shit, she'd finally opened up a little and he'd fucked up somehow. Shouldn't have showed his irritation at his parents. Thinking about them always got him in a knot.

  He tipped his head toward the front doors of the house in invitation and slung her pack over his arm as he led the way.

  "I'm fine, brah," he said into his phone. "Just been down south on an errand. Cell reception's shit in the valley there."

  T grunted his displeasure. "Well, keep eyes on the ground, bro. You see that lava shit coming, go dive in the ocean or something. I ain't runnin' this garage without you."

  Moke heard a stifled snicker behind him. Yeah, Shelle could no doubt hear every word outta T's mouth. His friend had two settings—asleep and loud.

  "I'm fine," Moke repeated calmly. "This is a big island. Volcano on one side, me on the other." Hefting the pack over his shoulder, he input the code into the keypad beside the front doors, and heard the locks snick open. He waved to Shelle to go in first.

  "You get that overhaul done for old man Hanson?" he asked as he followed her inside and closed the heavy, wooden door after them. It was the busiest time of year at JJ's Auto, and he'd left T with a full slate of work. Fucking Timo—hadn't been for him, Moke would be at JJ's Auto, working alongside his partner, not here chasing his pop, who might as well be a menehune, the fabled little people who hid in Hawaiian forests.

  "Yeah, all done, and Manda did the invoice for us so we're all good." T groaned the way he did when he was stretching his back. "Oh, thanks babe. Right there—ow. Hurts so good."

  "Hi, Manda," Moke called, his tension easing. Sounded like T was getting a backrub. The sweet strawberry blonde calmed the big, wild-ass ginger down, and helped out at JJ's when she wasn't working as a barista at a local coffee kiosk. Plus T-Bear was gone over her. When he was with her, he wore a sappy look that made him look like a golden retriever.

  "Hi, Moke," Manda called back, a smile in her voice. "T-Bear, quit that. Lie still, or we're done."

  "Don't see why I can't enjoy myself while you rub my back," T grumbled.

  "Da fuck," Moke said, grinning. "You call me up so we can have a three-way, or what?"

  T snorted. "Not likely. You ain't gettin' any second-hand thrills off my old lady. Just wanted to know you're alive, bro. Also, what the fuck'd you do with that carburetor for the Jones' Le Sabre?"

  Moke thought about this as he closed the front doors behind him, and dropped his shoulder to let Shelle take her pack off his arm. Her knuckles drifted down his bare forearm, sending a little shiver of pleasure through his skin. Made him want to follow her up the stairs and ask her pretty please to touch him like that some more—preferably with his shirt off.

  "Probably still in the box," he said to T. "Third shelf up on the right, over my workbench."

  "'Kay, I'll find it," T said, and then yawned audibly. The mainland was three hours ahead of Hawaii, which meant it was late evening there, and T and his old lady were in their half of the duplex they shared with Moke. Their side was all homey, with throw pillows and shit that Manda scored at the discount stores.

  Moke's side looked like what it was, the pad of a single biker. He slept and ate there and had just enough furnishings to accomplish those things. He sure as hell didn't have toss pillows. And he wouldn't get to keep the duplex if he didn't find his father and get this land deal rolling.

  "I'll be back soon as I can," he promised.

  "Nah, enjoy the sun and sand," T-Bear mumbled sleepily. "Get some action of the fun kind. All them sweet bikini babe tourists are just waitin' for some hokey-pokey Hawaiian-style."

  Hmm. Was there a bikini in that pack Shelle was lugging up the stairs? Moke's board shorts were suddenly feeling tight in the groin again at the image of Shelle wearing one of the tiny ones with little strings that came untied so easily. "I'll look around, see if any bikinis show up," he said, his gaze on her ass. "I do appreciate that kinda view."

  She gave a huff of feminine disgust, and he grinned. Yeah, she heard that.

  "That's right, bro. And don't hurry back," T said. "We're doin' just fine here."

  "Right. Manda, don't let him near the shop computer, yeah?"

  "I won't."

  "Like I wanna mess with that thing," T grumbled. "Email is an invention of the devil, and I ain't talkin' the Flyer kind. Why can't everyone just text, like me?"

  “’Cause if everyone texted like you,” T’s little blonde told him, “business arrangements would be like ‘I’mma sell it. U want it? Kay, meetcha at the bank. Kay, later.”

  “Hey,” T rumbled, trying to sound injured. “Anyways, make life a lot simpler if they did.”

  Moke just chuckled. "Talk to you soon. Bye, Manda."

  "Bye, Moke," the couple chorused, T in a teasing sing-song that Moke would've punched T in the arm for, if he was there.

  Moke shoved his phone into his pocket, and stopped in the doorway of the bedroom he'd chosen for Shelle the day before. His was next door, their bathrooms abutting each other.

  She set her pack and purse down, and lifted her mane of long hair away from her neck. She looked hot and tired. Frazzled, as Manda would say. Most women hated to sweat, unless they knew a shower or a swim was imminent.

  "So how about it?" he asked. "You got a bikini?"

  Yeah, that snapped her out of her funk. She straightened, her hair falling over one shoulder as she frowned at him. "No. And if I did, wouldn't wear it for you. Go find one of your bikini babes to hokey pokey with."

  "Nah, I don't hokey pokey," he said. "Always put my right foot in when it's s'posed to be my left."

  She rolled her eyes, but one side of her mouth snuck up in a grin. She must be getting at least a little more comfortable with him. Now if Lele would show up and ease the rest of the tension. Well, except for the tension in his shorts—that, only some hot, sweaty sex would cure. And that wasn't gonna happen—yet—so he either needed to go jerk one off, or get his mind out of her Daisy Dukes.

  He moved to the door. "Well, I'm going for a swim. There's chairs and towels down there if you wanna nap, or whatever."

  "I don't have a swimsuit," she said, her lower lip pushing out. "I ripped it on the rocks when I was... camping out."

  Moke shrugged. "Just swim nude, then. Or wear panties and a tee. No fashion critics here."

  But he sure hoped she came down, even if it was just to go wading, 'cause he'd give cash money to see her in skimpy panties. Even if it did mean he'd be hard as a lava rock all evening.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Being hot and grumpy when she could be dabbling her toes in the ocean was just stupid. Shelle decided.

  And considering all she'd seen Moke in was a black tee s
o old and faded the logo was pretty much gone, green board shorts also faded, and leather flip-flops, she figured he was no fashion critic. But still, what to wear? Her swimsuit hadn't just ripped a little—the whole ass was ripped out, so she'd thrown it in one of the big garbage cans at the public beach.

  She dug around in her pack and found a pair of black panties, which at least wouldn't be see-through when wet. Her bras were both see-through lace, from the final markdowns at Nordstrom Rack, so not for swimming. Too bad she didn't own one of those sports bras, but since she got all her exercise at work, she'd never owned one.

  Finally, she decided to just wear her olive-green tank top over the black panties. The tank would be revealing when wet, but then so were the bikinis that Moke liked so much. So he could see her nipples through the tank, so what? Wasn't like he was gonna get to touch them.

  And through the bedroom window, she could see the little beach, the palms waving in the breeze against the yellow sand and clear, blue-green water. Sun glittered off the waves beyond the reef, and white spray beckoned like cool, lacy fingers.

  But when she pulled her top off, a corner of her bandage caught on the fabric and came off with a rip of adhesive tape.

  Shelle gasped, and turned to the bathroom mirror, ready to view a messy, partially healed cut.

  What she saw dumbfounded her. The area of the deeper cut on her chest was reddened, puckered and swollen—so ugly! But the skin was closed, as if it had been healing for weeks instead of days.

  She reached up with trembling fingers to touch the area. That felt okay, so she smoothed her fingers over it. The healing skin was raised in a red welt, but there was no pain, and no open sore or even a scab left. She grasped the bandage on her arm and pulled gently. The same there, although far less of a welt

  "What?" she whispered, shaking her head. "How...?"

  A breeze swirled through the open window of the bathroom, stirring her hair first one way and then another as it swirled around her. And was that some kind of native music she heard? No, it was gone. Still, goosebumps danced over her skin, and she flinched as if someone had brushed their fingers over her skin. She caught sight of her face in the mirror—her eyes wide, mouth open like a character in a scary movie.

  Not a good look for her, but it was getting a little weird up in here. She touched the healed skin one last time, awed.

  "Thanks," she whispered. "Uh, whoever did this." She believed in God, sure, but she didn't exactly go to church or have regular convos with him or her—except for her desperate prayers while she'd been in her apartment with a biker smashing her door open, of course.

  Still, maybe someone up there did listen? She'd gotten away from those bikers by herself, but she was pretty sure infected cuts like these should have taken weeks to heal so well, not a few days. Especially since according to Moke, they had been badly infected. So badly that that was why she'd felt like crap, and why she'd fainted at his feet like an historical romance heroine.

  Wow. Just...wow. She got busy and changed into her improvised swimwear. Although one look in the mirror at her nipples poking through the tank had her pulling it off, and donning her bra under it, lace or no lace. She put the tank back on, wrapped the flowered pareo around her waist, grabbed her sunglasses and phone, and padded downstairs.

  Later, she'd think about how ugly her scars would be, and how they'd show every summer when she wore tanks, swimsuits or camis.

  And how badly she wanted to harm the damn biker who'd marked her this way. Even thinking about him make her fists clench, and a deep, hot fire—molten as the lava boiling in the local volcano—start to burn in her middle.

  Definitely time for a cooling swim.

  Moke was already in the water, swimming out toward the reef.

  Shelle hesitated on the edge of the small, half-moon beach. Graceful loungers and small tables were set invitingly in the shade of the palms. On the right side of the cove a dock jutted out. A portion was covered with traditional thatched roof. Under this, wooden shelves held recreational equipment—paddle-boards, snorkel equipment, fishing gear and more.

  These Ho'omalus were wealthy, whoever they were. Moke was lucky to have friends like them. And she was lucky to be here, even for such a short time.

  She eyed him, suddenly self-conscious about being mostly naked with a man who was, despite his gruff kindness, still a virtual stranger. But down here at the beach, he seemed less threatening. Just a local enjoying the water. Thus, when he ignored her to dive under the water, she dropped her pareo and walked into the water.

  The sea water felt delicious on her hot, damp skin, just barely cooler than skin temperature, and so clear she could see the bottom all around her. That was nice—she may have grown up on the Sound, but she hadn't spent any time in the ocean, too cold. Vicky had insisted all her foster kids have swim lessons at the Y, so Shelle could swim, but rarely had the chance.

  Shelle held her nose and ducked under, then popped up, her wet hair streaming as she tipped her head back. She smiled with pleasure, and lay back, moving her arms and legs through the water just enough to stay afloat.

  "Hey," Moke called, "You gonna c'mon out to the reef?"

  Lounging on the rocks in water to his waist, he reminded her of Jason Momoa as Aquaman...another sexy Hawaiian. Okay, maybe Moke wasn't as smoldery as Jason Momoa, but he was equally as big and muscular. Hauling car engines around must be hard work.

  And this man did have a certain edge to him. Laid-back as he'd been today, he could be scary too. She really did not want him hollering at her again the way he had when he'd caught her camping on the beach to the north of here.

  "When I'm ready," she told him.

  "Oh, when you're ready," he mocked. "Take your time. I'll just be out here, watching all the pretty fish. Yellow tang, and humo-humo, and oh look, there goes a little turtle."

  Fine then. Shelle swam toward him. She kept her distance, stepping cautiously up onto the smooth black rocks a few feet away from him. "Oh, my God," she whispered, looking down into the water. "There are fish everywhere."

  They darted about like flashes of living color, their shapes wavy with the movement of the water. It was like peering into a giant aquarium. She'd caught glimpses of color in the surf when she'd camped out, but nothing like this.

  "They must really like this reef."

  "Yeah. Wait till you snorkel," he said. "Puts you right down in their world."

  She nodded, watching the school of yellow fish dart away.

  "Hey," he barked. "Where's your bandages?"

  Shelle started violently, and then scowled at him, swallowing the urge to whimper. "Don't yell at me!"

  He had the grace to look chagrined. "Sorry. Didn't mean to scare you. But you shouldn't be swimming again so soon, if those cuts are still open."

  She swished her feet in the water instead of flying at him and smacking him with her fists, which is what part of her wanted to do. He'd scared her, damnit. And that just made her so mad.

  "I know that," she snapped.

  He sighed. "Sorry. I just don't want you getting those cuts infected again. You were in bad shape. Clean as the ocean here is, anybody gets cut on coral or rock, they gotta clean it up right away. An open sore...that's like an invitation to all the little bacteria."

  Okay, she got that. "I know, but...it's weird, but the cuts are healed over already." She wasn't about to show him the one on the swell of her breast, but she lifted her arm to show him the smaller scar. "See?"

  He leaned in, looking closely at her arm, and then sat back. His gaze met hers. "Fuck," he said. "The other one too?"

  She nodded. "Weird, huh?"

  They stared at each other for a long moment. And Shelle could have sworn she saw her own uneasiness reflected in his dark eyes.

  "Well, fast healing is good, right?" He smirked, as if throwing off the strange mood. "And FYI, wahine, you were yelling right back at me."

  "Oh, so mature," she muttered. “You started it.”

  He
made a face that meant 'So?' Then, by mutual consent, they went back to watching fish, instead of each other. And if she was more aware of him, even with beautiful, exotic fish darting about at her feet, well, that was something she did not care to admit even to herself.

  "Moke!" called a voice.

  Shelle looked for the owner of the voice but saw no one at first. Moke lifted a long arm, his face lighting up as he looked up toward the house.

  Shelle blinked.

  Wow, that was some smile. It transformed his square, somber face, creasing his cheeks, twinkling in his dark eyes and revealing strong teeth, white against his dark skin. She felt a tiny twinge of jealousy that smile wasn't for her.

  "Mo'oleleana," he bellowed. "Get yo ass down here to da water!"

  "Okay, Moke." Shelle turned to see a tall, plump Hawaiian girl jogging down the lawn toward them. Her long, dark hair flew around her as she ran, and her smile flashed. Her coltish movements marked her as a teen.

  These Hawaiians definitely had the power of the smile, like the sun coming out from behind the clouds.

  Shelle sat silent, feeling like an interloper as Moke slid off the rocks and forged through the shallow bay to meet his cousin in the water. He bent to hug her, and she hugged him back, giggling.

  "Chee, you grow up since I seen you," he said.

  "You betta believe," she returned. "No see you fo years, whatchu tink I gonna do?"

  They laughed and let go of each other, but continued to talk as they waded out toward Shelle. She listened, uneasy but charmed by the way they'd both slipped into what sounded like island lingo. What had Vicky called it? Pidgin, the informal language of modern Hawaiians.

  "We tink you don' like us no moa, you no come visit," Lele was complaining. "Too busy wit dem cahs and trucks? O dem mainland haole bradduhs of yours?"

  "No come visit 'cause I'm busy, yeah," he said. "You busy too, bus ass work here at Nawea, yeah?"

  "Yeah. An up at da B&B on corner. I work plenny, save money fo buy cah. Now, you introduce me to your girlfriend, o what?"

  She grinned at Shelle as she said this last, so cheekily that Shelle had to smile back.