by Cathryn Cade
“Oh.” She stared at the white spire presiding over the bay, chilled by this grim fact. Every school kid had heard of the famous explorer, but she hadn’t realized he’d been killed here. The original Hawaiians must have been a fierce people.
Gazing at the wild bay, she saw a flash of silver in the water of the bay. Another flash, and another. “Look, what’s that?”
Dane turned to look, then shrugged. “Just dolphins.” He tipped his head back in the sun.
“Nai’a, spinner dolphins,” answered Malu again. “They come into the bays to rest during the day.”
“Ooh, dolphins,” cried Cherie. “I heard you can swim with them.”
“Yes,” agreed Leilani, who was sitting near Melia. “Although you must be careful not to bother them. They are wild creatures. Still, if they like you, they’ll surface to breathe right next to you.”
“Hawaiians believe the nai’a a tribe equal to mankind,” Malu said. “They live and play together, even working as one to hunt. They have a language all their own.”
“Sounds like you communicate with them,” Dane joked. Although he was smiling, he lifted a challenging brow at Malu. “Maybe you can teach us how to speak dolphin.”
Melia turned back to Malu. His face gave nothing away. “Not me. Others do.”
His voice was calm, but a shiver ran over Melia’s skin. There was an odd note in his voice—a warning, perhaps?
“I’d be afraid, unless Malu was with me,” the redhead cooed.
He murmured something Melia couldn’t hear. His two acolytes giggled. Turning away, Melia rolled her eyes, then saw Leilani twisting her lips as if hiding a grin. Oops—she needed to keep her feelings to herself. Her hosts apparently knew Malu well if he helped them with the boat. He didn’t seem to be an employee, so that left friend or perhaps neighbor catching a ride.
Melia watched the dolphins until they were out of sight. They looked so happy and carefree. She continued to lean on the rail as they motored south, the sail snapping in the wind over her head. The colorful rainbow stripes rose against the clear azure sky like a flag of adventure.
South of the bay, a long, black streak ran down the mountainside, cutting through the verdant green. A recent lava flow. As they passed another point, she saw the flow had reached the sea, covering everything in its path. It was a harshly beautiful reminder that the island had been created in fire. Melia looked up to where the top of Mauna Loa hid in a cap of misty clouds and hunched her shoulders. Despite the heat of the day, she felt a nervous chill.
“Is the volcano still erupting?” she asked Leilani.
The other woman shook her head. “No, Kilauea is our active volcano, but she’s quiet now. The last eruption was several months ago. Are you nervous of Pele’s volcanoes?”
Melia grimaced. “A little, I guess. We have volcanoes back home, but they’re different. They don’t pour molten lava. And we can get away from them,” she added, trying turn her apprehension into a joke.
Leilani shrugged. “No lava flowing near here. All over on the other side of Kau Forest.” She gestured over the south end of the island toward which they were traveling. “Ka nani. Very beautiful.”
Melia smiled politely, but she eyed the mountain with caution through her tinted lenses. The lava might be flowing on the other side of the island now, but the black streak showed clearly that it had come this way in the recent past, and might again.
She shook herself mentally. Thousands of tourists visited here every year, and the Hawaiians lived on this mountain. They would certainly know if danger threatened.
The next bay held a lovely surprise, a flat, sandy point with a traditional village and heiau, or traditional place of worship. The blocky heiau, built of lava rock, rose dark among the steep-thatched roofs of the village. Wooden kii gods, faded to silver by the sun, scowled fiercely from the beach.
“The traditional home of the king,” Leilani told her. “Also known as Puuhonua o Honaunau, Place of Refuge. In the old days, if a Hawaiian broke kapu, the law, he would die unless he could reach this place safely; then he was pardoned of his crime. It’s a national historic park now, to protect the site.”
The black lava rocks around the other side of the bay were lined with sunbathers. A tour boat floated in the center of the bay, surrounded by small groups of snorkelers, bright snorkels poking up from the water.
“Some of the best snorkeling on the island here,” Frank called. “We can come back if you want.”
“Sounds great,” Dane answered genially. “Whatever my friends want to do.”
Melia wanted to tour the historical village too. She looked back wistfully as they passed. If only she had a month here instead of just a week.
After several more miles of increasingly rugged coastline with few signs of habitation, they rounded a point clustered with palm trees. Frank slowed and turned the boat into a small bay.
“Here we are,” he called. “Welcome to Nawea Bay.”
Melia caught her breath in delight. Palm trees framed an idyllic scene. Black lava rock rimmed the turquoise water of the little bay, punctuated by a small beach. Behind the beach, tables and chairs sat around a fire pit. A green lawn sloped up to a two-story yellow house with a deep roof and shady lanais set in masses of flowering shrubbery. Above loomed the mountain.
Frank guided the boat to the side of the cement dock on the left end of the bay, alongside another, much smaller boat with a single engine and enclosed cockpit. An array of fishing rods were secured upright along the back, and two large outriggers were folded neatly back along the sides.
“That your boat?” one of the twins asked Frank.
He nodded. “Fish out of her four or five days a week.”
Melia looked dubiously at the small boat bobbing on the waves generated by the catamaran’s slow approach. He took that out on the ocean? She had enjoyed the ride here on the cat, but the other boat looked more suited for Portland’s Willamette River.
A traditional thatched grass roof shaded most of the dock, with benches and wooden cupboards built into the corners. Malu helped Leilani tie the craft to the moorings, and everyone rose, ready to file off the boat.
The craft rocked under them. Startled, Melia turned to see a splash as Malu dove into the water. He cut through the water like a big, brown fish.
“Oh, me too,” squealed Cherie. Melia had to act fast to grasp the sunglasses and flowered beach bag thrust into her hands. The other woman crossed her arms protectively over her breasts and jumped into the water. She and Malu looked like a scene from a sexy movie as they swam through the clear, turquoise water. Melia wished that was where they both were—far from her.
Chapter Two
Recipe for relaxation—take one tourist, place on a tour to remote, tropical spot, add sun, water and snorkel gear. When ready, drizzle with sunscreen.
Melia set Cherie’s bag on one of the tables by the beach, repressing the urge to accidently drop her expensive sunglasses on the ground and step on them. To the sounds of splashing and feminine shrieks of delight, she followed Leilani up the path to the house.
There she forgot her pesky fellow guests. The house was open and airy, with huge ceiling fans stirring the air in the foyer. A wide staircase rose to the second floor. A few rattan settees and tables were grouped around a large wood carving of a whale leaping from the waves, a study in raw power. She paused for a moment, caught by the beauty of the gleaming wood.
But then color caught her eye, and she turned, even more enthralled. A large painting hung on the wall, depicting the mountain and the house as she’d seen it from the boat. It was a gorgeous, impressionistic scene, with vivid colors and a deep, mysterious background. Melia stood for a moment, drinking it in. How had the artist managed with such rough strokes to impart both the sheer joy of the little bay and the brooding danger of the mountain behind it? She shivered, as she had looking up at the mountain from the boat. She peered at the signature on the corner of the painting, but it was an unreadable scr
awl.
“You like?” Leilani asked.
Melia jumped. She’d forgotten all about the other woman. “It’s beautiful. How did you say it? Ka nani.”
Beaming, Leilani gestured at the wall behind Melia. “There is another.”
Melia turned. She caught her breath. This painting was much smaller, of a single red blossom. A hibiscus, the state flower. The bright petals shone as if the sun poured over it, the yellow stamen springing exuberantly from the flower’s golden center.
She sighed. “So pretty. I’d love to have something by this artist.”
Leilani smiled. “Who knows, maybe one time you will. They’re for sale in galleries.”
Melia doubted it. She was sure she couldn’t afford even a tiny painting by someone that good.
“There are more paintings around the place,” Leilani said cheerfully. She led Melia past the staircase to a small room and bath overlooking the side lawn.
Melia dropped her duffle bag on the rattan bench. The bed was covered in a handmade quilt with traditional Hawaiian flower appliqués in soft peach. With the rattan nightstand and dresser, the settee with flowered cushions added to the tropical ambience.
And, as Leilani had promised, another painting, this one of a single white plumeria, huge and lush, hung over the bed. She smiled at it. Perfect—her namesake flower. Melia was Hawaiian for plumeria. Her parents had honeymooned in the islands.
The big, sliding window stood open to catch stray breezes wafting through the tangle of banana trees, plumeria and vines pressing in on the house. The air was heavy with the scent of the waxy plumeria blossoms.
“Your house is lovely,” she said.
“Oh, Frank and I just live here, work for the owners,” Leilani said. “They own a big chunk of land here.”
“It’s so private.” Melia looked out the window at the wild scene. “Does anyone live above you on the mountain, or is it all preserve?”
“A few locals,” Leilani said, moving toward the door. “Frank will show you trails, but you don’t hike up too high, okay?”
“Oh, I wouldn’t want to bother anyone,” Melia agreed.
Leilani went out, leaving Melia looking after her thoughtfully. There’d been an odd note in the other woman’s voice when she mentioned the “locals” on the mountain. Well, maybe it was her family. Many Hawaiians must resent having tourists traipsing everywhere. If she went for a hike, she’d be careful not to trespass.
Inhaling a deep breath of the plumeria scent, Melia lifted her hair off her neck, damp with perspiration. She couldn’t wait to get in the water.
Unzipping her new turquoise duffle, she pulled out the swimsuits she’d purchased in Kona and laid them on the flowered quilt. One was her usual style, a modest green tankini with a small leaf pattern and a matching sarong. The other was a bikini of soft coral with a flowered sarong. She fingered it, tracing the edge with her fingertips. Then she shook her head resignedly. Who was she kidding? There was no way she had the nerve to wear the bikini. She’d bought it on a whim, full of exuberance at being in the tropics, but it was just too daring.
She stripped off her clothes and wriggled into the green suit. There was no full-length mirror in the room, and she smoothed her hands a little nervously over her flaring hips. Then she rolled her eyes at herself as she tied the sarong around her waist. The tankini had looked fine in the boutique mirrors. She could use some more tan, but her skin was smooth, and she was in pretty good shape. The top made her breasts look nice.
Besides, no one was going to be looking at her with the other two girls around. Smoothing sunscreen lotion on her bare skin, she pictured Malu turning to look at her as she stepped into the water, and let out a huff of frustration. Why was she even considering his opinion of her appearance? He was just eye candy. Probably a man-slut, like Grant.
The thought of her ex-boyfriend tightened her face as she picked up the brightly flowered beach towel laid out on the rattan side table. This trip had been planned for the two of them. She hadn’t wanted to spend so much on her ticket, but he’d charmed her into it. Except she’d walked into Grant’s apartment early for a dinner date a few weeks ago and found him with his buxom brunette sous-chef—naked. They’d had a laptop out, but they weren’t exactly using it to go over recipes.
To top it all off, he’d told Melia that if she were more spontaneous, ready to try new things, he wouldn’t have had to turn to another woman. It was only later, when the hurt and humiliation subsided with the help of her best friends and a bottle of wine, that Melia realized he’d tried to justify his sleazy misbehavior by blaming her.
Bella and Claire had sympathized, handed her tissues and offered to trash his apartment and decorate his sports car with cheap lipstick. Actually, Claire had offered to break his nose. She could probably do it too. Of the three of them, she’d done the best in the self-defense class they’d taken together, a gift from Bella’s mother Grace, who worried about the three of them in the big city. Melia had regretfully turned down the offers of mayhem but let them convince her to keep her reservations. Grant could eat his ticket, for all she cared.
Neither of her friends had been able to come with her—Bella had reservations to go to Maui the next month herself on business, and Claire was a cash-strapped grad student who could only dream of the islands for now.
Melia looked around the room with a determined smile. She was an adult. She didn’t need a girlfriend to lean on. And if she did, they were only a text away.
She would enjoy the experience, the beautiful island, and even the resident Hawaiian hunk. She just needed to remember he was part of the island magic, to be sampled with caution, like the mangoes that gave her a rash if she ate too many. Not that she planned on eating him. Whoa, down, girl.
After thrusting her feet into her leather flip-flops, she grabbed her things, and hurried out of the room.
The others were all in the water, swimming and floating around the shallow turquoise waters of the bay. Frank was on the dock, sorting out piles of snorkel gear for them.
Melia dropped her towel on one of the rustic lounge chairs grouped on the upper edge of the little beach. Small tables sat between the chairs, and she smiled as she saw someone had placed shells on each one, filled with sprays of plumeria and some silvery grass.
As she untied her sarong, it slithered out of her hands onto the sand. Bending over to pick it up, she saw a plumeria blossom on the sand. She lifted it to her nose and inhaled the sweet fragrance.
Her skin prickled with self-consciousness, as if someone were watching her. She looked around quickly, but no one was paying attention to her. Jacquie squealed as one of the men splashed her, and Cherie was smiling at Malu.
Feeling silly, Melia dropped the flower on her sarong and walked through the foaming surf line into the water. It was cool on her hot skin. Rocking in the shallow waves, she walked out farther, gasping as the water hit her midriff. She scanned quickly for any unwanted underwater visitors before she went in any farther. The clear water revealed only clumps of lava rock dotting the bay and a turtle paddling at the far end of the shoreline, moving its flippers lazily in the water.
Jimmer and then Clay surfaced a few feet away and grinned at her, water streaming from their tanned faces.
“About time you got here,” said one, swiping water from his face.
“Yeah, if you need any help with strokes, let me know,” said the other. Good grief, did they do everything together, even hit on women?
“Thanks, guys. I’m a pretty good swimmer.” It was nice to be noticed, but neither of them interested her. Diving in, she let the sea envelop her, her hair floating out behind her as she kicked underwater as far as she could go, then rose to the surface, tipping back her head and wiping the water off her face with her hands. She licked the salt taste from her lips, smiling. Of course she’d known the ocean was salty, but the taste still surprised her.
She lay back in the water, letting its natural buoyancy cradle her as she moved her a
rms and legs just enough to stay afloat. Oh, this was heaven. She could spend the whole day in the water. The ocean off of Oregon stayed chilly, suitable only for quick dips on the hottest days of summer.
The scene was idyllic, the yellow house framed in green foliage and bright flowers, the mountain a bulwark of green and black behind it, the bay with its frame of rocks, surf and palm trees. Over it all soared the sky, a bowl of blue reflected in the deeper color of the sea beyond the bay. The only clouds were those capping the mountain, and a few wisps over the south end of the island.
And through the middle of it, Malu sauntered down the path in his red swimming trunks, the embodiment of Hawaii. He carried a small cooler in one hand, an open bottle of beer in the other. He was still wet from the sea, his brown skin glistening. As he set the cooler down on one of the graceful metal tables and took a drink from his beer, his gaze met hers over the bottle.
She pointedly turned her back on him and swam across the bay to the far side. She looked carefully before putting her hands and feet on any of the natural steps in the rock. According to the guide book she’d pored over on the plane, sea urchins liked to live in small crevices and stung when touched. As she turned to sit on one of the smooth lava boulders, Dane was there, levering himself up beside her. He was lean and fit in his sleek flowered trunks. He swiped his wet hair back with one hand, and she noticed several little leather bracelets knotted around his wrist.
“Feels great, doesn’t it?” he asked.
“It does,” she agreed. “Thanks for inviting me along. Leilani told me you reserved the house for your group. Are you sure you won’t let me pay for my share?” This place must cost a bundle to rent. Maybe he’d inherited money, or maybe he was one of the young dot-com millionaires.
“Nah, it’s my treat. Always room for a pretty wahine,” he said and waggled his eyebrows at her.