"What shall I do until then?" she asked reasonably, refusing to be put off by his rudeness. She liked to plan and wanted a timetable she could work around. He'd mentioned yesterday that she could work to earn some money. So be it. The sooner she started, the more she would have to get back to the yacht with.
"No shops, no theaters, so you can't find anything to do?" He focused his gaze directly on her, his voice sarcastic, condemning.
"I didn't say that. A schoolteacher's salary doesn't provide for constant visits to stores or theaters. But I can't just sit around all day and stare at the water. You said I could earn some money. How?"
"Why did you come here?" He placed the report down, his full attention on her.
"Here? On this island?" She blinked, confused by the unexpected question. “I told you. I found a quiet beach--”
“No, how is it you were on that boat to begin with?”
Mary-Kate took a sip of orange juice. "I took the job to see the south Pacific. I thought it was the best way to get a vacation I could never otherwise afford. I was stranded here when you sent the others away and they forgot me." Or left me. She refused to consider that they had deliberately left her behind.
"How fortunate for you," he murmured, his eyes growing cold. “Only I find that hard to believe.”
"Why?"
"They'd been warned away yesterday morning. They knew chances were high that they'd be sent away on their next visit. You came on that second trip, then immediately hid so that when they were sent away you remained."
"Why would I do such a thing?" She was totally dumfounded at his accusation.
"I wonder myself. I told you last night I'd play the game any way you wanted it."
"That's silly. I came for a swim from the beach, to explore around a tropical isle. I did put some distance from those adolescent studs to avoid fighting them off. Once they began drinking everyone became fair game—even old maid schoolteachers."
"And are you? An old maid?" Dane's gaze dropped to her throat, the creamy skin of her shoulders, the soft swells of her breasts.
"Well, that was their nickname for me. I'm not that old, only twenty-seven. But I have never married," she snapped.
"So now you're on the prowl for a husband?"
"Not some self-centered, egotistical male who thinks women plant themselves where he works to make a play for him! I never heard of you before you opened the door yesterday."
"I'm not exactly unknown around here."
"Well, you are in Iowa," she retorted, angered at his thoughts.
Dane opened his lips, but the words never came.
"Now doesn't it do my heart good to see you taking a minute of time for breakfast and with such a pretty girl, too!" Nora's cheerful voice broke in as she pushed through the swinging door and brought croissants and rolls. She was oblivious to the tension in the air, the two people glaring at each other across the polished table.
Mary-Kate dropped her eyes to her plate, avoiding Nora and Dane. Her breath came fast as she tried to get her emotions under control. He had no business thinking she'd stage being left just to try to get him interested in her. Was he chased so much that he thought every woman who breathed was after him?
Good grief, he'd kissed her last night, not the other way around! And his comment that he was only trying to be accommodating was ridiculous and insulting. What she wanted to do was leave.
Did he really believe her skinny-dipping had been a ploy? How was she to know he'd be strolling along the beach at some point? He probably even held her accountable for his kiss.
Finally Nora walked back into the kitchen and Mary-Kate glared at Dane.
"All I want is to get off this island. I want to get back on the Lombard yacht or head for Honolulu," she spat. "I never meant to be stranded here, whatever you think. Your manners are abominable, and apparently living here cut off from the rest of the world does weird things to your thought processes. I'm not chasing you."
Dane blinked in surprise at her outburst, then frowned at her.
"No one asked you here to disrupt my life."
"I'm not disrupting anything. And if you'd do something to help me get off, I'd be gone so fast you'd think I was a dream!"
He stared at her for a moment, as if lost in a trance. Finally, slowly, he shook his head. "I've got work to do."
"Nora said you had a shortwave," Mary-Kate persisted, appalled at how rude she had been. But he was getting on her last nerve. She ought to apologize, but didn't know how to do so without having him think she was trying to placate him.
"Nora's right, but it's on the blink right now. We're awaiting a part from the supply boat. Anything further, Miss O'Donnell? Or may I get to work?" His silky voice held a hint of annoyance.
Without another word, Dane gathered up his papers and pushed his chair back from the table. He gave her a hard look. "I'd have an easier time trying to believe you if you were more subtle in your technique. Standing in the sunlight silhouettes every delectable curve—the light cotton of the dress is too fine to do any covering." He watched in satisfaction as the color rose in Mary-Kate's cheeks, a gleam in his eye.
"I'll avoid the sun in the future," she mumbled, her anger almost palpable.
"That'd be a shame," he replied as he left the room.
"Arrogant," she whispered after him, her cheeks burning with heat. She glanced around to the window, knowing now why he had been staring at her earlier. Maybe she'd eat in her room in the future. There were only so many dresses to be borrowed.
He still hadn't answered her question about what she was to do with herself all day, and had not responded at all about a job.
Never one to mope around, Mary-Kate decided she'd wander around on her own, explore what she could of the island, maybe meet some of the two hundred people who lived here, and have someone explain to her how they ran the plantation, what the different jobs were, and what she might help out with until the supply boat arrived.
When Nora bustled in a few minutes later, Mary-Kate smiled up at her. "Need any help?" she asked hopefully.
"No, I've been doing this for years. Why don't you go over to the village, see the pineapples? It's a nice walk, and you'll see something of Manahakaloi."
"'Man-aha-ka-loi?'" Mary-Kate stumbled over the unfamiliar word. It was beautiful, melodious, and sounded Polynesian.
"This island is Manahakaloi. It's not far to the village; turn left when you leave the driveway and follow the road."
Mary-Kate took the narrow road she'd seen Dane come on the night before. She hadn't gone very far, before one of the dogs bounded up to her, barking and tail wagging.
"Hi, want a walk?" she asked, when he sat beside her. "Which one are you? Rames? Or Marco?"
At the sound of his name, Marco cocked his head, his tail wagging.
"Okay, Marco, want to show me the island?"
Glad of the company, Mary-Kate started walking again the dog at her side.
Rows and rows of pineapple stretched out on both sides of the hard-packed dirt road. There were few weeds in the neat furrows. The pineapple plants themselves were squat and bushy with thin, spiky leaves. As she walked she noticed that the center of each plant contained the fruit—soon to be harvested, if their size was an indication.
The sun beat down hot and relentlessly, and before long Mary-Kate wished she had a hat and sunglasses. She didn't know how far it was to the village, but she was already thirsty. She hoped Nora's idea of a short way was the same as hers.
Just when she was beginning to think she'd made a mistake, she spotted some rooftops in the distance. As she drew closer, she saw what looked like a small town. There was a big wooden shed easily the size of an airplane hangar. A dozen small houses lined each side of the road, their roofs of corrugated tin. The sea was on the left. On the far end of the small village was a wooden dock, tall cranes, and a row of warehouses clung to one side of the inlet. A cinder-block building was to the left of the dock.
The flat area in front of t
he cinder-block building bustled with activity. Dozens of men unloaded freshly cut pineapples from two pickup trucks pulled up by the door. The fruit disappearing into the building. More trucks piled high with pineapples lined up behind the first two, waiting their turn. From the building itself came the clank of machinery, the hum of voices, and the sound of laughter.
Marco seemed unconcerned and not distracted by the activity, so she continued, wanting to see more. Just beyond the cinder-block building, down a small incline, Mary-Kate studied the sea. An inlet cut itself into the island, appearing sheltered and deep. One edge extended into the water, a point for ships to be wary of. But the bay was wide, easily accommodating a good size vessel.
She moved to get a better view of the small harbor, barely conscious of a clanging noise near by. In contrast to the simplicity of the town, the dock seemed to hold enough equipment to do almost everything. It reminded Mary-Kate of the port in Honolulu, on a smaller scale.
"Look out!" A hard arm encircled her waist, pulling her violently against a rock-hard body. The two of them spun around just as one of the large trucks backed up, right where Mary-Kate had been standing!
Shocked, she looked up into the steely hard eyes of Dane Carmichael. Her heart sank.
"Are you deaf? The driver had his back-up chimes on. You were right in his blind spot; he couldn't see you. That's why we have the damned indicators." Dane's voice was angry.
Reaction set in as Mary-Kate became conscious of his arm around her, strong as steel, pressing her tightly against him; his chest was like granite, his long, muscular legs braced to support them. His fingers were warm and hard against her ribs. She swallowed hard, afraid to say anything as her breathing became constricted. Her body grew warm against his. She pushed against him, and was disappointed when he released her.
"I'm sorry. I—thank you for pulling me away. I was trying to see the harbor. I didn't realize what the noise was. There's so much going on."
With the cacophony of noise from the engines, the men yelling, laughing, and the sounds of machinery in the building, she hadn't known the clanging had even emanated from the backing truck. Nor what it meant.
"Stay close by and stay out of trouble," he grumbled, turning to stride beside the line of waiting trucks. Mary-Kate paused for a moment; afraid she hadn't heard him correctly. Then she hurried to catch up. If he was going to show her around, she didn't want to miss a minute.
Dane spoke to each driver, verifying the loads, noting the figures on a clipboard he carried, asking about the work in the fields. Mary-Kate watched fascinated as he discussed yield and harvest rates and schedules. When he finished with the last truck, he cut across the yard and entered the large building.
Mary-Kate was hotter than ever as she hurried across the packed earth, the heat and fumes generated from the trucks adding to the inferno. Where was the cool breeze from the ocean? She wiped her forehead.
Dane glanced down at her as she tried to match his longer stride. "You should wear a hat."
"I don't have one. Besides, you don't."
"I don't need one; I've lived here most of my life. But you'll burn if you're not careful."
His tan was dark and even. Mary-Kate's skin was pale by comparison. She would love to return home looking as tanned as he did. She vowed she'd work more on her tan while she was here; there didn't seem to be much else to do.
"I'm fine," was all she said. Where would she get a hat if there were no stores around?
"Suit yourself."
"I am thirsty, though," she admitted a few seconds later.
He smiled, almost friendly, and her heart turned over. She had wondered what he'd look like if he smiled; now she knew—devastating and sexy. Maybe there was a reason he had women chasing after him.
"You'll love this, then. Come on over here."
She followed him into the huge building. It was the processing plant. Men and women and teenagers were standing by rows of conveyor belts, heavy machinery at one end. Endless fresh picked pineapples rode shakily along the constantly moving belts. Some pineapples were picked up, wrapped in a light foam pad, and placed in cartons. Others were tossed on to a different conveyor belt. The noise level rose as they drew nearer.
Dane passed by the sorting section, leading to another area of the plant. Here huge machines stripped the prickly skin from the pineapple on that belt, coring it in the process. Dozens of women sat at high tables, slicing the fresh fruit into rings or large chunks. At another area rows of cans stood receiving the fruit. Beyond that was the juice room.
Dane led her there, and siphoned off a glassful of fresh juice and handed it to Mary-Kate, his eyes watching her closely as she drank.
It was delicious, sweet, cool and thirst quenching.
"Wonderful!" She smiled up at him, her eyes sparkling at the unexpected treat. "Much better than from cans," she murmured, holding her glass out for more.
"I've never tried it canned. I've been around pineapples all my life, first on the Big Island of Hawaii, then here. It's always been fresh."
"Canned juice tastes tinny." She sipped with real enjoyment. Her eyes surveyed the plant; many of the two hundred people he'd talked about must be here. Women cutting and packing, men and women testing the juices before filling the containers, others spot-checking the finished cans before they were sealed. Boxes upon boxes of packed pineapple, canned pineapple and juice containers were stacked by a loading door at the rear.
The noise level was high, the activity fast-paced and flowing.
"More?" Dane asked, his voice clearly heard above the din.
Mary-Kate smiled and nodded, holding out her glass. It was delicious. When she'd finished, he led her out of the plant to the rear, the side nearest the harbor. Two large forklifts shuttled pallets of boxed pineapples to the loading docks. Men on the docks covered the pallet-loads with heavy tarpaulin, then moving the pallets beneath a shelter to keep them from the sun.
"That's where you ship from?" Mary-Kate asked, watching as men moved the finished pineapple product to the overhang by the wharf. The entire operation was finely orchestrated, and larger than she'd expected.
And Dane owned it all. She looked at him again. Another wealthy man. She'd had her fill with Rob, his father, and those rich kids who had been on the boat. She didn't want to be around people like that any more. But she was stuck here—stuck for a couple of weeks.
"Right. We ship daily. This is the peak season, and ships are coming and going all the time to take it off while it's still fresh. During the rest of the year, production falls and the cargo ships don't come as often."
"Could I go on one of these ships?" Her voice brightened. The sooner she was away from this disturbing man, the better her chances of staying heart-whole and fancy-free would be. She was not looking for a summer romance. But if she had been, a voice inside suggested, Dane Carmichael would be the perfect choice.
He turned away, still walking toward the wharf. "Afraid not. We're the last stop before the journey to Japan. A lot of our produce goes west, not east. Anyway, these ships don't take passengers."
Mary-Kate was strangely relieved. She cast him another glance beneath her lashes; maybe she didn't want to leave. She scoffed at her thoughts, and asked how deep the water was where the ships docked.
Fifteen minutes later she was sated with facts and numbers showing the size of the operation.
"Have you owned this a long time?"
"Fifteen years. This will be the biggest year so far. I think we've reached capacity. If so, subsequent years will be about the same, if the weather cooperates."
He walked slowly back up the incline, eyes darting from time to time to the operations around him. Mary-Kate knew he saw everything that went on, could anticipate problems and emergencies, had solutions ready.
Beyond the large yard of the processing plant started the rows of brightly colored cottages.
"Is this where everyone lives?" She was enchanted; the houses were small but in excellent condition. The
y were brightly painted in pretty pastel colors, and almost all of them had flowers in the front garden. It was a tiny town but utterly charming.
"A few live over on the north end of the island, the rest live here."
"What does everyone do for entertainment?"
Dane's face grew hard, and he stopped abruptly.
"We manage. We spend a lot of time out of doors, swimming, snorkeling, and surfing over on the west side. The people here talk to each other, care for each other. We don't need constant expensive, artificial activity and excitement to be content." His face was closed, his eyes steely gray.
Mary-Kate bit her tongue, wishing she'd never spoken. The friendly man of seconds ago had vanished, and only the remote, distant host she'd first met remained.
"I assure you that you'll be back in civilization before the end of the month," he went on harshly. "I think you can find your own way back? I've work to do!"
He strode off toward the plant, leaving Mary-Kate to stare after him, dozens of words trembling on her lips. She hadn't asked him to show her around; he'd offered. Everything had gone well until she'd asked about entertainment, and she certainly hadn't been complaining of any lack of it.
Actually, she liked what she'd found so far. There were big differences between her life and that which she'd seen on the island. She liked those differences. She wished she could meet some of the other people here; then she'd have someone to talk to. It was hard to talk to Dane; she had to guard her every word around him. Was he deliberately trying to find fault with everything she said?
The few minutes they'd spent touring the facility had been enjoyable. She liked the way Dane had explained things, made sure she understood, hadn't laughed at any of her questions—and some of them must have seemed dumb. All had changed in a flash with her last question. What was wrong with asking about entertainment?
She started back to the big white house. Her canine companion of earlier was not in sight. "Probably sitting in the shade somewhere," she said out loud. She passed the large doors, glancing in the processing plant to see if she could spot Dane. He was nowhere to be seen. Feeling let down, she started on the dirt road back to the big house.
Destination Romance Page 20