Barefoot in Pearls (Barefoot Bay Brides Book 3)

by Roxanne St Claire

  Ari took a step forward, and Cutter’s gaze instantly shifted, his smile faltering. “Hello,” he said.

  “Cutter, this is Arielle Chandler. She’s—”

  “An interior designer,” she said quickly.

  Luke turned, looking surprised and pleased and relieved, all at the same time.

  “I work at the resort with Luke’s sister, and he said he needed some design ideas.”

  “Awesome,” Cutter replied, meeting her halfway to shake her hand. Everything about the man was bright—his smile, his Wedgwood blue eyes, and his thick hair streaked by sunshine. Everything about him was positive, honest, and real, which made her a tiny bit remorseful about the white lie.

  “Kind of early for a decorator, though, isn’t it?” he asked, his grip as hearty as he was.

  “We’re just getting some ideas and thoughts,” Luke said, coloring the truth as easily as she had.

  Cutter nodded, putting his hands on his hips in a classic baseball stance and looking around. “Demolition looks…thorough.” He beamed at Luke. “I knew this was a good idea, McBain. I had a gut feeling you’d do a fantastic job.” He turned that smile on Ari. “I never ignore a gut feeling.”

  She couldn’t help smiling back, at the man and the sentiment. “I know exactly what you mean,” Ari said. Would his gut tell him that he was right then staring at the biggest roadblock to his new home?

  “I didn’t expect you here,” Luke said to Cutter. “I thought you wouldn’t be able to come down until the holidays.”

  “I thought so, too, but the team owners had some kind of critical hiring decision and flew me in for a quick meeting tomorrow morning, so I thought I’d use the extra time to check on your progress.”

  “I’ve only been here a few days,” Luke said, probably as an apology for the “progress,” and then glanced at Ari as if to say, And there is this small problem of a woman who wants to stop me.

  But Cutter ignored the exchange, looking around again. “Shit’s gettin’ done, and that’s good. We’re going to make the Feb. one deadline, right?”

  “That’s the plan,” Luke assured him. “All I’m doing now is getting all my ducks in a row before the real work starts.”

  Cutter nodded again, then pointed his thumb over his shoulder. “What about the hill? Won’t that eyesore have to be the first thing to go?”

  Eyesore. Ari swallowed her response, trying to see it from his point of view. The hill was gorgeous if you could put a house on it—which, thanks to the mangrove and beach-protection laws, you couldn’t. So it was nothing but a view blocker.

  And, possibly, a sacred burial site.

  “I’m on it,” Luke said. “We’re finishing up the core sampling and some geological testing that has to be done. To be sure, I’m having two additional experts test the soil.” Ari noticed he didn’t mention one was an archaeologist.

  Cutter grunted and looked skyward. “That’s what the last builder said. Everything was wait, wait, wait. I am not a patient man.” He huffed out a breath and gestured toward a missing wall. “Find anything interesting in here?”

  And everything inside Ari zinged. “Interesting?” She stepped forward.

  “You know, anything worth keeping?”

  “What exactly are you looking for?” Luke asked.

  “I don’t know, maybe something of…” Cutter fought a smile. “I feel a little silly saying this, but I will. Have you found anything of value?”

  Ari’s heart kicked up, and Cutter eyed her as if he sensed her interest. Maybe she’d sucked in an audible breath, but her blood was pumping too loud to tell.

  “Maybe you don’t know this, but the guy who lived here was my great-uncle,” Cutter said.

  “I’d heard that,” she said. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

  He snorted. “Don’t be. I never met the guy and didn’t know he existed until some lawyer handed me a couple of beachfront acres and a cryptic message from my Uncle Balls.”

  “Uncle Balls?” Luke and Ari repeated the name with exactly the same bit of surprise and humor.

  Cutter grinned. “Hey, I’m not being disrespectful of the dead. That’s what he called himself. Balls Valentine, short for Balzac. He was some kind of freakish baseball fanatic.”

  “You didn’t know your great-uncle?” Ari asked.

  “‘Great’ is pushing it. He was…” He made a face, thinking. “Let me see, my mother’s third cousin’s father, which might be some kind of great-uncle a couple times removed, but who the hell knows? He said he was my uncle in the will, and no one has contested that.”

  “No one in your family knew anything about him?” Luke asked.

  “Just that after his wife died, he turned into some weird-ass hermit who lived here all alone. No one on my mother’s side ever mentioned the guy, and they all thought he died, or at least they acted like he did. I guess he followed my career and decided I should inherit his land.”

  “And you think there might be something of value here?” Ari came closer, working hard to keep any emotion out of her voice, but probably failing based on the look Luke shot her.

  “That’s what it said in his letter in the will. But…” He held out two hands to indicate the house around them. “This is hardly a gold mine, so I was hoping when he said I was sitting on one, he meant, you know, literally.”

  Luke frowned. “He said that?”

  “Yeah, in this letter he wrote, thanking me for making him so proud.”

  “Did he tell you why he thought it was a gold mine?” Ari asked.

  “No, but he said I’d thank him for the rest of my life and wouldn’t forget him.” He snorted. “Which is pretty ironic when you think I didn’t even know him when he was alive.”

  “It is a valuable piece of property,” Luke said. “Waterfront, on an island, and zoned for residential. You know, you could sell this lot alone for an easy million bucks.”

  “Yep.” Cutter took a deep breath and let it out slow. “And I would have, ’cept I got this job with a team down here.” He grinned at Ari. “How’s that for good luck?”

  It wasn’t luck, she wanted to scream. But this probably wasn’t the time to go into her belief that there was no such thing. She was too stuck on that gold mine. Had Balzac known about the Calusa heritage? Had he stashed away more artifacts? And, if so, who got them?

  “What exactly did he say in his letter?” she asked. When Cutter seemed slightly surprised by her boldness, she opened her hands as if to apologize. “You know, something that might help with a design of the house that would, um, honor his personality.”

  “Sorry, no.” Cutter looked from one to the other, then sighed. “I haven’t been able to find out much about him except he collected weird baseball memorabilia like Cracker Jack boxes and ticket stubs.”

  “Cracker Jack boxes…” Luke said slowly, his emphasis not lost on Ari.

  Cutter gave a self-deprecating laugh. “Oh, I know this place has been looted to hell and back since the storm, and kids drink here, so if anything of real value was here, it’s probably gone now. But I couldn’t help but hope that…”

  When he didn’t finish, Ari and Luke both leaned closer. “That what?” they asked in perfect unison.

  He laughed, at them or at what he was about to say, Ari wasn’t sure which. “Well, he was so certain about it that I thought maybe he’d squirreled away a Honus Wagner card or a signed Babe Ruth jersey. Something like that’s worth more than this land, to be honest.”

  “A baseball card?” Ari asked, her own thoughts so far afield she couldn’t keep the incredulity out of her voice.

  “Crazy, isn’t it? But one of those Wagner cards can go for up to three million, they’re so rare. But…” He shook his head. “It was just a thought. I mean, if something had been found, I think I’d have heard through the grapevine when it got sold. So, forget about it.”

  “Well, if we find anything—”

  “It belongs to me,” he said quickly, then smiled. “But I’ll give
you a cut as a bonus, Luke, if you get the house built by February. Please don’t make me live in that resort. It’s nice, but after all these years on the road, I want to settle in and have a home of my own.”

  “You will,” Luke assured him. “We’re right on schedule, I promise.”

  Cutter nodded and thrust out a hand for another shake and manly hug. “Man, I’m so happy we reconnected. It’s been too many years.” He turned to Ari, slayed her with a smile that no doubt stole as many hearts as his feet stole bases. “Can’t wait to see your ideas for my house, Arielle.”

  “You can call me Ari, and I think my ideas will really capture the true spirit of the land.”

  Out of Cutter’s line of sight, Luke rolled his eyes, but Ari managed to give Cutter’s hand a firm shake.

  Luke walked him out to the white Mercedes parked outside, leaving Ari inside, considering how she felt about the man who wanted to tear down this house, and that hill. The men’s voices floated in through the open doors and windows, and Ari closed her eyes, thinking about Cutter Valentine and the words that came to mind.

  Honest. Cocky. And careful. And yet he claimed to be impatient. She didn’t feel that at all. Why would a careful man want to move so darn fast?

  She met Luke at the door when he came back, searching his face, which was more quizzical than worried about an unexpected meeting with a client.

  “Why’d you lie?” he asked.

  “I didn’t lie. I told you I’d help you with design ideas if you build this house.”

  “If?” He choked softly, turning away so that the rest of his reaction was mumbled but not lost when he said, “I love your confidence in me.”

  But it was confidence in her instinct that made her doubt the house would be built. Something deep in her heart told her that Cutter Valentine was never going to have a house on this property.

  “I am building the house,” he said. “In fact, I’m having dinner with him tonight to go over plans. And I guess we have our answer.”

  “We do?”

  “Someone must have heard rumors of a Honus Wagner card, right? Makes sense to tear this place apart for a possible three-mill payoff, right?”

  It did make sense, but it didn’t feel right. “I suppose.”

  She watched Luke walk outside into the sunshine, which poured over him like liquid gold, touching every inch of him. Oh, to be that sunshine.

  He turned and added to the heart-stopping impact of the image by smiling. “I got my appetite back, Little Mermaid. Let’s go have our picnic lunch.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Arielle changed when they reached the top of the hill, relaxing a little, turning her face to the sun, and letting the breeze flutter her hair. Luke threw a blanket he’d taken from his truck over a grassy section, lowering himself while she stayed standing. Well, not exactly standing. More like revolving—her arms extended as she did a three-sixty turn.

  “Are you communing with the universe?” he asked.

  She smiled, but her eyes stayed closed. “My grandmother believed the wind blows beauty on a person.”

  “Then you must have been born in a hurricane.”

  Laughing lightly, she joined him on the blanket. “You’re sweet.”

  “I’m honest. You’re freaking gorgeous.”

  “You’re not bad yourself, McBain.”

  He unpacked their Super Min-bought lunch. “So tell me more about your Grandma Good Egg,” he said. “Did she do spells?”

  She smiled. “Good Bear. And no, she didn’t do spells.”

  He munched on a chip, then opened his water. “Then how did she convince you to be celibate?”

  She coughed on her drink of water. “What makes you think my dearly departed grandmother has anything to do with my choice to be celibate?”

  He tipped his head, eyeing the way the sun made her hair look even blacker, if that was possible. “You’re not the only one with intuition, sweetheart. Didn’t you say she was a shaman? Wasn’t your whole way of thinking about life and…the universe, as you call it, formed by her? So I’m guessing she’s who convinced you to wait for…” The One. Damn, he couldn’t even say it, let alone be it.

  Which was exactly why he was eating and talking instead of undressing and—

  “Yes, you are correct,” she said. “Awfully impressive intuition skills, I might add.”

  He nodded to acknowledge the compliment.

  “When she was close to…the end, I promised her that I wouldn’t get intimate with anyone until I was certain he was the man the universe meant for me.” After a beat of silence, she grinned. “Something tells me that’s a sentence you never dreamed you’d hear from a woman.”

  And something would be right. He wanted to know more about this destiny love, like the rules and regs, but something kept him from digging deeper. Like maybe he didn’t want to know if he was following those rules or breaking them.

  “So tell me about her,” he said instead.

  She let out a slow sigh, twisting the cap to close her water bottle, and then easing herself back to her elbows. Silent, she stretched out, crossing her jean-clad legs, presenting him with an extraordinary profile of elegant cheekbones and a straight, strong nose and well-defined chin. Her hair fell back, grazing the blanket, tempting him to touch it.

  While she gathered her thoughts, he took time to appreciate every inch of her. And want her even more, which wasn’t helping his determination to keep his hands off her. For a little while, anyway.

  “If you really wanted to understand her, you’d have to see Grandma perform a Native American marriage ceremony,” she finally said. “It was…” She shook her head as if she couldn’t find the word. “Perfection.”

  “Tell me.” He lay down on his side next to her, propping his head on his elbow and plucking a blade of grass to keep his fingers busy with something other than what they wanted to do.

  “She’d take a couple up to a hill, maybe one like this, because you had to have an unobstructed view in all four directions.” She closed her eyes, making long lashes brush against her smooth cheekbones. “Then she’d make them hold hands and turn east, south, west, and north, asking for special guidance no matter which direction life took them. Then…” She sat up slowly, her gaze fixed on a distant memory. “She’d have them touch their joined hands to the ground…” She clasped her hands and pressed them ground. “And promise Mother Earth that they would respect her and take care of her.”

  An unexpected chill crawled up Luke’s back, settling in his chest, stealing his breath. He lay very still, watching her, transported to an imaginary Native American marriage ceremony, her voice like music, her movements graceful and spare.

  “Then they would lift their hands to the breeze.” She stretched all the way up, her long arms reaching gracefully to the sky. “And let the wind blow over their partnership, asking that it always be beautiful, alive, and pure.”

  “Anything else?” he asked, not surprised by the reverence in his voice.

  “Oh, yes. She would pour spring water on their heads, asking that their marriage never go dry, and then, from a flower, she would sprinkle seeds to ask for fertility and many children.”

  Wow. He just stared at her, as speechless over the ceremony as the woman telling him the story. “And then they were married?” he finally asked.

  “Almost. They had to each press their right hand on the other person’s heart, of course, and when they did, everyone would be very, very quiet.” She extended her right hand, palm flat, toward an imaginary partner. “There couldn’t be a single sound, not a breath, so they could actually hear their partner’s heartbeat and then become one.” She let out a sigh, dropping her hand and facing him. “The ancients believed that in that act, in that moment, they exchanged hearts and then they were one. Not ‘the one’ for each other, but just one.”

  “That’s it? No rings?”

  “No rings, but usually the man would place beads around the woman’s neck, with the same idea that t
hey were unending and forever. Oh, and then they’d kiss for a long, long time.” She laughed. “Not sure of the legend behind that, but it’s everyone’s favorite part.” She settled back down next to him. “What else do you want to know?”

  Everything. He wanted to know about her childhood and family, her dreams and desires, her fears and failures, and favorite song. “What about your parents?” he asked. “The daughter of a shaman married to a minister? That’s an unlikely pair.”

  “Exactly,” she said, tapping his arm as if he’d made her point for her. “Grandma used them as proof positive that some people are meant to be together despite the obstacles.”

  Some people…like them?

  “But my mother, especially, doesn’t really buy the theory, but then, she has spent her life trying to ‘un-Native American’ herself. If she’d just relax and give in to the truth, she’d see that she and my dad were meant to be…” Her voice faded as she searched his face. “Wow, you really hate this topic.”

  Was he that transparent? “I don’t,” he said quickly. “I don’t understand it, but I don’t hate it.”

  Dark eyes tapered at him as she sat up again. “What are you feeling right this very minute? Quick,” she demanded. “One word.”

  “I’m feeling…” Scared. Alone. Charmed. Beguiled. Confused. So damn confused.

  She laughed, giving him another nudge. “Luke, how hard can one word be?”

  Hard. “It was the one word that threw me.” He reached for her, coming off his arm to sit up next to her. “I’m feeling like you might be wasting perfectly good Native American teachings on a sensible, unfaithful, hard-core must-see-it-to-believe-it kind of guy.”

  “No teaching is wasted. Someone always learns something, even if they don’t want to.” She lifted her hand, this time to graze his jaw while studying his face. “And you don’t have to hold back on your skepticism or unbelief, although…”

  “Although what?” he prodded.

  She sighed slowly. “Although if the things I hold true and dear in my heart are meaningless to you, then…does that mean you are meaningless to me? I’m not sure I want to know that yet.”