by Cathryn Cade
About prospecting with the MC there, and patching in, becoming one of the band of brothers.
"So now I have a partner, and we want to buy the garage where we work," he told Lenny, who listened with obvious interest, sipping his tea. "But to do that, we need money."
Lenny nodded. "And that brings you home?"
"Yeah," Moke said, his spirits sinking. "Not that it's doing me any good." He told Lenny about his search for Timo, how he wanted to talk to his dad about selling the property, because Moke didn't live here anymore, and Timo wasn't taking care of the place.
The old man lowered the ice tea he'd been about to sip, and stared at him. "Why you need to talk to Timo about it? Just do it."
"Because he's part owner," Moke said, wondering if the old man had slipped a few gears.
"Hoo, boy." Lenny set his glass down, and reached up to rub his eyes. "Dis worse than I thought. No wonder you had to come to me. I see it now."
He set both hands on his knees, and looked Moke in the eyes. "Brace yourself, boy. Timo don't own any of that property. You do."
Moke stared, his brain fogging. He set his glass down before he dropped it, and cocked his head. "Come again?"
Lenny waved a hand. "I thought you knew. Thought you'd remember. When your mother left to move onto the church place, she left the property—house and land, to you. Guess she figured Timo wouldn't care, and you would."
The old man shook his head slowly. "So that's why you walked away and never came back, eh? People here wondered. Never thought a boy like you would turn his back on a gift of the land."
His words flowed over and around Moke like water burbling over lava rock. He took them in, but his mind was still focused on the first part.
"My mother left the land to me?" he repeated, a hand to his chest. "To me?"
Again, Lenny nodded. "Yup. Went down to the courthouse and had it notarized, even. Asked me to come along and witness it, so the Ahuelos couldn't argue. Guess she wanted to leave you something, when she went and moved in with those crazy fools."
"And Timo knew this?" Moke asked. Something was rising inside him, something too big and powerful and wild to be contained. "He...knew?"
"A’e, yes. I'm sorry, boy. He knew. Told her don't expect him to take care of her family's land, 'cause if she left he was done with her, and da land. Don't think she believed him."
"Or she didn't care," Moke muttered. She figured if she left her son the land, it balanced out her walking away and leaving him with a shiftless father. Which essentially meant leaving him to fend for himself, or depend on the kindness of neighbors and extended family.
Lenny sighed heavily. "Always thought Herman Ha’alemu, the pastor of dat sorry church, brain-washed her. And the other fools living up on his commune. Find weak people and play on their desires, that's what he does. "
"That's what all cults do," Moke said. He'd always been fascinated by documentaries and articles about cults, struggling to understand why his own mother had chosen to live in one, instead of staying with him, and his father. With the wisdom of years, he could look back and see she was weak, that she'd rather live her life with someone else in charge than to make her own decisions, own her own mistakes. Didn't make it hurt less that she'd turned her back on him, but it helped him understand her.
Lenny slapped his knees. "So. Now you know the truth, boy. Only one thing left to decide. Whatchu gonna do about it?"
Moke stared unseeingly at the bunch of green bananas hanging upside down on the tree nearest him. What was he going to do? Slowly, resolution hardened in his gut. He focused on Lenny, his jaw set, his mind made up. "I'm gonna do what I should have done years ago. Take over the land from Timo, boot his ass off of it."
Lenny shrugged. "You waiting for me to disapprove, don't. Timo's like me. A kanaka 'ona, a drunk. Only difference is, I choose every single day not to drink. He chooses to wallow in it, and to disrespect his family and da land. Time you stood up to him and took what's yours. You don't wanna care for da land, pass it on to someone who will."
"Ah," Moke shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "If I sell, can't guarantee who'll end up with the place." Probably a wealthy haole, one who lived in Seattle or Cali, just wanted to build a vacation home with a view.
"Use Lalei Kai-Ho'omalu's husband to sell it," the old man said. "He's some bigshot wit’ WorldWide Realty. Give you a better chance of finding a good buyer, yeah?"
"Yeah, maybe." Moke rose. "Well, mahalo, Lenny, for everything. I gotta go. Left a, uh, friend working at the property. She'll be waiting for her lunch."
Lenny's eyes twinkled. "Waiting for her hoapili kane, more like it. All right, boy. You go on. Come see me again sometime."
"I will." With a lift of his hand, Moke turned to go.
He walked around the house, and back up the hill to his rental truck, his mind exploding with possibilities. He could do it—sell the land, buy the garage, pay off his duplex. It was all within his grasp now. Everything he wanted.
Well, almost. Unbidden, Shelle appeared in his mind's eye, the way she'd looked that morning after they fucked. Draped across the big bed, her skin golden against the white sheets, her hair a mess, and her eyes heavy, her mouth soft and swollen from his kisses. But what the hell, Seattle wasn't that far from Spokane, and it wasn't like she had a job to go back to. Plenty of waitress jobs around Spokane.
She'd look hot in a tight tee from The Hangar. He imagined walking into Pete's brewpub after a long day at JJ's and having her sashay over to his table, a cold beer in hand and a special smile on her face just for him.
Oh, yeah.
Thinking about her almost made the aching hollow left by his parents' betrayals go away.
She texted him as he climbed into the truck. 'Hey, u ok out there? Need me to come rescue u this time?'
He grinned to himself. 'No, but u can help eat this lunch I got. Back in twenty.'
'I'll be here. Since my boss stranded me.'
'Smart guy. That way u can't get in trouble.'
'?? Sersly? I can always find trouble. Now bring me my lunch & there better be cookies.'
'Oh, I'll give you something sweet.'
'Uh...we're not back to that ball-licking thing, r we??'
'Only if u ask nice.'
He was laughing as he drove up the road to the highway.
Life was looking good. His father was still awol, but now Moke knew something that had him in control. Timo wanted to play games, let him. Moke had what he wanted.
He'd take Shelle to dinner in Kona to celebrate. She'd like that. She hadn't had a chance to go out since she'd been here.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Over their lunch, eaten in their shady spot at the upper edge of the property, Moke shared with Shelle what he'd learned from Lenny.
She stared at him over her ham-and-cheese sandwich, her eyes wide. "You mean..." she waved a hand at the area around them, and the coffee plantation falling away below. "You own all this?"
He nodded, unable to help the pride swelling his chest. "I do. Gonna stop and pick up the papers from the attorney later."
She blinked and looked out at the view again. "Wow," she breathed. "That's wonderful, Moke. This place is...it's so beautiful."
His mood plummeted. "Yeah," he said shortly, stuffing his empty sandwich wrapper in the cooler. "Should sell for a good price. And fast, which is what I need."
"Oh," she frowned in sympathy. "Hard to let go, hmm. But if you sell, you and your friend can buy JJ's."
He nodded. "Yep. That's what important now." His path forward in life lay away from Hawaii, not back here. Time to let go.
"Can't have it all, right?" she said quietly. "It's the shits, but..."
"That's the way it is," he finished, and crushed his empty soda can in his fist, then tossed it in the cooler. "So, time to celebrate. Soon as the guys come back, we'll load up the last of the brush I cleared. Then you and me will head out. Go get cleaned up, and go on into Kona town. Have a nice dinner out."
&
nbsp; She smiled slowly, her gorgeous eyes lighting up. "Okay. Let's do it."
He grinned back. "Good. Now, I gotta phone T, let him know the good news."
"Okay. I'll go see if I can talk to my friend Tawny."
She made to rise, but he waved her back. "You stay here, enjoy the shade."
He walked back toward the shack, thumbing T's contact on his phone.
"Good news, brah," he said when his friend answered. "You talking to the owner of the Ahuelo property."
He shared what he'd learned. T-Bear was so relieved he got choked up. "Man, bro...that's—that's just...wow."
"'S okay," Moke said. "We're good. We sell the place, we won't need a loan at all. I'll let you know more as things move along."
"Okay, brother," T said. "Sorry you gotta sell the place, though. Real pretty from the pics you sent."
"Eh," Moke said, staring at nothing. "Can always visit here. Don't need to own a place."
"Yeah, guess that's true. Fuck...wait till I tell Manda about this—and JJ. We gotta call him, he’s gonna be so tickled."
"Yeah." The old man would be happy to hear his two employees were now able to buy him out. He could relax, fish, and know that his business was in good hands.
"Hey," T called. "What's this we hear 'bout you hookin' up with some chick on the beach? Stick said you're gettin' some of that bikini action."
"Oh, did he?" Moke said dryly. This was Stick's way of getting even for interrupting his time with Sara. He could picture the smirk on the big Russian's face right now as he lifted his whiskey glass in a sarcastic salute.
"Well, how 'bout sharin' some pics of that scenery?" T demanded. "Don't leave a brother hangin' here."
"Go tell Manda to slip into her bikini," Moke retorted. "You can turn the sprinklers on, watch her run through it."
There was a short silence. "Y'know, that ain't a half-bad idea," T said. "I'm on it. Later, bro."
"Later." Moke clicked his phone off, and turned.
Shelle sat on the rocks, one knee up, elbow propped on it as she talked on her phone. She laughed softly, and tipped her head. The breeze lifted a few long curls straying from her messy bun. Even in her old tee and shorts, she was the prettiest part of the view.
He lifted his phone and snapped a couple of shots. Just to remember her by.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
A few hours later, Shelle sat across the table from Moke in possibly the coolest restaurant she'd ever been in.
The Kona Inn wasn't that much from the outside, just open double doors leading in from Kona town's walking mall. A big stuffed fish with a crazy-long snout hung above the entrance, and more hung inside, including a few stuffed sharks—brrr.
But walking down the steps into the restaurant was like stepping into old Hawaii. Everything in the place was crafted of tropical woods polished to a high gloss. The seaside was entirely open to a green lawn and a view of the bay. On the low ceiling, huge wooden fans whirled slowly, stirring the warm air.
Shelle and Moke were shown to chairs with tall fan-backs, at a table for two.
Moke grinned at Shelle as the hostess walked away. "Pretty cool place, huh?"
She nodded, smiling back. "So much cool."
And the big Hawaiian was part of that. He wore his shiny, black hair pulled back into a man bun, and instead of his usual tee and board shorts, he wore a black polo and plaid shorts. Against the woven rattan of the big chair, he looked like an ad for a sexy tropical vacation, at one of those singles resorts or something.
"You're the prettiest woman in here," he told her. "I like that dress."
"Thanks," she said, rolling her eyes because the other women present were all over the age of fifty, at least.
He chuckled. "No, I mean it. You look real pretty."
Good he thought so, because she wore the only dress she'd brought with her, a fitted green-and-white stripe knit with tiny cap sleeves. Also, she'd taken the time to do some things she'd been neglecting. Nothing like buffing up to make a girl feel better.
First she'd trimmed her hair a bit. She'd learned—thank you YouTube—how to hold the long pieces just so and snip just the ends. That accomplished, she blew it dry and admired the healthy shine as it fell around her face and shoulders. Next, she plucked her eyebrows—also overdue.
Finally, she gave herself a manicure and pedicure with the supplies an earlier guest had left in the bathroom cabinet. Bless women with enough money that they left sets of personal care items behind. Now her nails were a pretty pale green, with a protective coat of clear finish.
So, yeah, she did look nice. And if he didn't stop looking at her that way, with heat smoldering in his dark eyes, and his head tipped to one side as he looked her over, she was going to do something really stupid, like jump him in that sexy chair.
"Evening, folks," a silver-haired man in an aloha shirt and slacks held out large menus. "Drinks?"
Moke looked to Shelle. "Better get one of those fancy ones, with the little umbrella," he told her, his eyes dancing.
The waiter smiled. "Our mai tais are famous. And they definitely get the umbrella."
"Okay." Sounded pretty fancy to her.
"And for you sir?"
"Local brew-IPA if you have it."
Shelle tipped her head at Moke. "So you're not a fancy drink guy. How did I guess that?"'
"Hey, I drink good whiskey now and then."
"Just no umbrellas?" She leaned on her hand, grinning at him. "Not manly enough for you?"
"Hell to the no."
So of course when her drink arrived, she had to get a photo of him regarding it with extreme disgust. This meant that when he took a pic of her holding it, she was snickering, the tiny paper umbrella and spray of fuschia orchid quivering next to her lips.
"That's a good shot," he approved, and laid her phone down on the table to pick up his beer. "Here's to getting what we want."
She drank to that, and hmmed with pleasure as she tasted the sweet, fruity concoction in her glass.
He took another drink and set his beer down. "So, what do you want? Stay in Seattle or move on? Your life—you’re the one who gets to decide."
She tensed, some of the pleasure of the evening leaking away. "You’re right. It’s time for me to get out of SeaTac. The good things, like theater, shopping—I don't have the money for those anyway."
He grunted. "City's no place to be poor, that's for fuckin' certain."
"Spokane's a better place to do that, huh?" she waited, almost holding her breath as she waited for him to answer.
He gave her a look full of heat, and reached for her hand. "Sure it is, when you got friends. Good friends. People to party with, and have your back when you need 'em. I think you'd like it there."
His hand enveloped hers, gentle despite his strength. It felt good, and made her want those hands other places where she knew they felt good too. She twined her fingers with his, and nodded. "Maybe I would."
Something fragile bloomed in her chest, and beat velvet wings as it climbed into her throat. She bit her lip, wishing she really could climb on his lap and kiss him, lose herself in physical sensation and quell the other emotion spiking sharp and chill in her middle.
It was fear.
Because, what the hell was she doing, even thinking of following him clear across a fucking state? She didn't know him, not really. And besides, she was Washington state's worst at picking guys to hang her heart on. They always left. Everyone left, sooner or later.
But she really, really wanted to try with him.
Loud laughter punched through their bubble of intimacy as a party of sunburned tourists walked by their table, headed for a larger one nearby. Shelle looked over at them. They were all forty-ish, the women wearing fresh leis over their stylish resort wear, the men in bright polos and shorts. They all bore drinks in hand and had clearly begun partying some time ago.
Moke gave her hand a squeeze and let go. "You ready to order? I'm hungry."
She blinked. "Oh, yeah.
Me too." Whatever that had been between them, it was over, for now. And she wasn't sure whether to be relieved or disappointed.
She picked up her menu and forced herself to focus on the choices. Lots of fish with exotic toppings, a few steaks, and the old reliable—chicken.
"Like to hear our specials?" the waiter asked, stopping by their table.
"Sure."
They ordered, a steak for Moke and fish for Shelle. The waiter gone, Shelle opened her mouth to say something, and the new arrivals broke out in a raucous laughter again at something one of the men had said. Moke and Shelle laughed, and she shrugged.
Dinner was delicious. Shelle drank a glass of white wine, Moke another beer. By the time they were done, she wasn't tipsy, but she had a pleasant little glow.
It lasted until he put a hand on the small of her back to escort her out of the restaurant. The tourists looked at them as they passed. One of the men gave Shelle a full once-over, and then raised his glass to Moke in one of those silent male kudos. Moke's hand tightened on her hip as he gave the guy a chin lift.
Shelle's dinner lurched in her stomach.
Onlookers saw them as a couple. This made her feel...really nice, like 'Yeah, he's mine, ladies!' kind of nice.
Except he wasn't hers, not really. A few days of working together, having awesome sex and chatting did not a couple make.
Lifting a hand, she rubbed the heel of her hand on her chest, and took a deep breath. Okay, she was fine. Just fine. She was not getting emotional, and she was definitely not going to panic.
And she was not giving in to the urge to do something stupid to relieve her emotions.
Shit, shit, shit. She'd been doing so well. Even with all she'd been through the past week, she hadn't relapsed once.
Of course, it was easier at Nawea Bay. Even though there were pretty things sitting around, things she'd love to have, she could admire them and leave them alone. But away from there, like out here in a shopper's paradise...uh-oh.
They walked out of the restaurant, and Moke paused. "You want to look around for a bit?" he asked her. "Spend some of your cleaning wages?"