Waterdreamer (The Emerald Series Book 2)

by Kimberly James

  “You’re welcome.” He leaned over and kissed me. When he lifted his head, he tongued his lips. “Those are pretty good. Give me one.”

  He opened his mouth and I stuffed it full, laughing as a couple of bright blue and yellow worms hung over his bottom lip. I leaned over and nipped one out with my teeth.

  He’d parked under a stand of palm trees, half in the grass, half on the pavement. Unless it was raining we were always top down, and when he pulled from the makeshift parking spot, it stirred a warm breeze.

  We were about to turn out of the parking lot onto the highway when a truck roared down on us from the right. Noah slammed on the brakes. Not that we were going that fast but it was fast enough the tires squealed. The hood of Derrick Nash’s jacked-up Ford sat inches from ours. He had his window down, blaring some kind of hair-raising country music. He sat higher off the ground than us, and I imagined him sneering at us through his sunglasses under his flat-billed ball cap.

  He laughed, put his foot to the gas and fishtailed in front of us, barely missing the front bumper of the Bronco. He flipped us the finger as he sped by, empty beer cans rattling in his flatbed.

  “Hasn’t he graduated yet?” Noah asked with the irritation one might feel for a jellyfish sting.

  “Unfortunately, no,” I said, my tone filled with more annoyance than I intended. Noah didn’t miss a beat. Gone was my carefree golden boy. Eyes hard as glaciers, his expression clouded over, proving he could brood with the best of them.

  “You have any classes with him?” Noah pulled out onto the highway, turning the opposite direction Derrick had gone.

  “One. Calculus.” I wasn’t about to share what I knew Derrick made on the test I failed.

  Noah cut his eyes between me and the road as though waiting for me to elaborate. I wasn’t saying a word. Noah would not let the tripping incident go. Not that I cared one way or the other what happened to Derrick, but I wasn’t about to cause any trouble for Noah. Not after what happened with Sol. Noah was too busy saving the world without having to deal with a peon like Derrick.

  “Is he messing with you?” There was definitely a lilt of hope in his voice.

  “No, he’s not. Everyone is being very nice.” I crowded my mouth with another worm and laid my head back on the seat to relax as the sun warmed my legs and the wind teased my hair. The gulf was so close now, I could hear the turn of the waves, smell the salt. My mouth watered, skin tingling in anticipation.

  Three minutes later, Noah pulled up behind Maggie’s shop and cut the engine. My eyes drifted back open and my head fell to the side to meet Noah’s kiss. His mouth tasted sour and sweet, his lips slightly sticky.

  “You’ll come swim with me, won’t you?” I asked needlessly.

  “Yes,” he said, kissing me again.

  I smiled when he lifted his head, his face so close to mine, his eyes so bright it felt like I was already out in the water. “My dad left town for the rest of the week. You want to sleep over?”

  “Yes.” Another kiss, this one less playful than the one before. He hooked his hand on the back of my neck and his gaze locked with mine. He didn’t look as dazed as I felt. “You’d tell me if Derrick was messing with you, right?”

  I kissed him, quick and hard, then stuffed another worm in his mouth. “He’s not messing with me. Come on. I’ll race you.” I jumped out of the car and started running for the beach.

  Of course, he caught me within twenty yards then scooped me up and ran with me the rest of the way. But then that had been the whole point.

  Noah was not only sweet, he was predictable.

  Three

  Maggie’s first love was crafting jewelry. Her shop, Deep, named for the place most of the pearls she worked with came from, displayed her stunning creations. Her work was featured in magazines, and just last week she’d sold some of her more ostentatious pieces to a country music star, news of which circulated all over the local news publications and social media.

  Along with her jewelry collection, she carried a selection of scented candles provided by another local artist. A hermit type that shipped the candles by UPS to the store twice a month. There was also a section dedicated to different kinds of oils used for everything from cooking to skin care.

  And then there were the lotions. I’d bought my first jar of lotion from her my first week here and it had been the start of a love affair. On slow afternoons, which were par for the course this time of year, she gave me free rein of her workroom. We hadn’t gotten as far as her teaching me how to use heat to extract the oils from the plants, but there were enough already stored in the airtight glass containers to keep me busy experimenting. The possibilities were endless. Learning to perfect their consistency, finding the right balance of ingredients so none overpowered the other. According to Maggie, the secret to creating the perfect lotion lay in the subtlety of the scents. The goal was to entice, not to overpower. A trail of hints and whispers should follow the wearer just enough to be intriguing.

  It was harder than it sounded to get the combinations just right. I’d spent the afternoon testing my own theories as to which scents would go together and which wouldn’t, starting with the more accepted combinations of melon and cucumber to the more decadent like cacao and cherries. The process was surprisingly fun, the sense of accomplishment at creating something new was an added bonus. I had a particular scent in mind, it was just proving itself elusive. Like the memory that inspired it.

  I gave the concoction I’d painstakingly devised one last vigorous stir, my nose full of so many smells I couldn’t tell them apart anymore. I was so immersed in my experiment it took a minute for the sound of the rain curtain moving behind me to register in my brain. The waterfall sounds were just beginning to fade when I turned on the stool. I expected to see Noah since Maggie had peeked her head in earlier to tell me she and Felix, her English bulldog and store mascot, were leaving. Noah was my willing guinea pig and wasn’t afraid to tell me if my creations smelled like Felix’s butt. The exact words he’d used to critique my last offering. Which was in no way an endorsement considering Felix was notorious for the potency of his fart bombs.

  “All right, what do you think about this?” I held up the jar and looked up into the face of a man I’d never seen before. I bit back a yelp of alarm.

  “I’m sorry. I see I’ve frightened you. I called out, but there was no answer.” His smile was meant to disarm even as his eyes roamed my face in an unsettling manner, taking his time lighting on every feature as if he were committing them to memory. My skin prickled with unease and my heart set up a beat that had my pulse thrumming in my neck.

  “I’m sorry, but this is a private office.” I slipped from the stool, a defensive edge to my voice, still clutching the jar in my hand.

  “I beg your pardon, I’ve made you uncomfortable.” He stepped back and bowed slightly, an oddly formal gesture to go along with his formal style of speech. He was rather finely dressed. Casual. But his shirt was silk, his pants a fine linen, and the loafers he wore looked like they were made of ultra-soft leather. He half-turned toward the curtain. “I’ll wait for you out here.”

  The light caught on the pearl between the lapels of his shirt, a cool blue, just like his eyes. They stood out against his rich sienna skin and nearly black hair held at the nape of his neck in a smooth ponytail. He inclined his head then he was gone, wading back through the curtain.

  Finally, I could breathe again. I smelled him on the air. A rich, salty twang. I’m not sure why I was surprised. Noah said there were nearly two thousand of us spread along the coast that were considered part of our tribe. I hadn’t gotten into the politics of what that meant, if it meant anything, or even if it mattered. I figured tribe affiliation was based on geography and nothing more. All I knew was he smelled different. Like he came from somewhere deeper. Darker.

  I put the jar on the table. Smoothed my hair more from nerves than anything. I didn’t know what I was nervous about exactly. Maybe the way he studied me
so intently. His ultra-fine manner. He’d done nothing overtly aggressive, if I discounted him barging into a private space. Though barging was hardly what he’d done. He didn’t seem like the kind of man to barge anywhere.

  He stood close to the door beside one of the display cases, eyes perusing the wares underneath the sparkling glass with calculated deliberation, much like the way he looked at me. The faint smell of lemon still hung in the air from the cleaner Maggie used on the display cases. Felix’s doggie bed was empty, his mat still wearing the imprint of his body.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t hear you,” I said, stepping through the curtain and fully into the shop. The beads pinged behind me and my spine tingled at the sound. Or it could have been in response to the weight of his eyes on me, the purposeful stare. He stayed where he was as though he were afraid he might spook me again. “What can I do for you?”

  His smile was easy, the light from overhead reflected off his skin, setting off his lapis eyes. He appeared to be my father’s age, maybe a few years younger and like all of our kind, he was extremely fit, a contrast to his delicate clothes. One of his eye-teeth was a bit crooked. I wondered that he would tolerate the slight imperfection, though it added a sense of character to his otherwise flawless appearance.

  “I’m afraid I’m not sure. I need a gift, and I was referred to this place by a friend who vouched for your reputation.”

  “Is it for your wife? Your girlfriend?” I prodded, my eyes scanning through the front window. It had to be nearing closing time and I was relieved knowing it wouldn’t be long before Noah came to pick me up.

  “My daughter. I’ve started this habit of bringing her a gift every time I travel on business. She expects it now. She’s a little spoiled perhaps. But her sixteenth birthday is coming up and I wanted something extra special.” He shrugged, a liquid movement that transformed the gesture into something elegant.

  “What did you have in mind?” Having seen the pearl he wore, I couldn’t see him wanting to purchase a piece of jewelry. While I’d never been big on wearing jewelry—my ears weren’t even pierced—I’d been eyeing several pieces myself until Noah had given me the bracelet I wore for my birthday. Maggie’s pieces were beautiful and the pearls precious, but they couldn’t compare to the treasure that was on my wrist. It would be like wearing zirconium instead of perfectly cut diamonds. I vowed the night Noah put the bracelet on my wrist, I’d never take it off. It was like wearing a part of him with me all the time. To even think about wearing anything else didn’t feel right.

  “I was hoping for something custom.” He reached into the pocket of his shorts and pulled out a black velvet pouch cinched with a black silk ribbon. “May I?” He indicated an oval display box.

  “Of course.” I slid the shallow box in front of him, the soft fabric gliding silently across the glass. He distributed the contents of the pouch into the box with great care.

  “These are stunning,” I said truthfully, not able to hide my breath of awe. Not just for their beauty, also for what they represented. I knew for the males of our species, their pearls were personal. Like cutting your chest open and letting someone peek inside. Just looking at them, he felt less like a stranger. They were a royal blue without being overly bright. Maggie could do a lot with these.

  “I wasn’t sure how many you would need. I was thinking a bracelet with a necklace and maybe earrings to match.”

  I met his gaze over the glass. “You really need to consult with Maggie on this. She’s the owner and the artist. I’m sure she can make some pieces you’ll be happy with.”

  “What if I said I trust your judgment. You can’t be much older than my daughter. Sixteen? Seventeen?” he prodded, one dark eyebrow arched.

  “Eighteen.”

  “See,” he said, reaching across the glass, the movement slow and measured, “yours is lovely.” His fingers brushed my hand and the pearl on my wrist warmed at his inadvertent touch. “A gift from someone who cares for you deeply.” His intent stare, his touch, skirted the line of uncomfortable before he retracted both. “I should introduce myself. My name is Sterling Flores.”

  “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Flores,” I said, holding to politeness. “Caris Harper.”

  “Please, Caris, call me Sterling.” He eyed me speculatively, head cocked to the side. His dark hair gleamed like polished wood, so smooth, not a single hair out of place. He really had pretty hair, but then most of us did. “Harper. I’m not familiar with that name.”

  I remained silent, being as my family history wasn’t my favorite topic. I kept my smile open, but my mouth resolutely shut.

  “I understand. I’m a stranger and of another tribe.” A cloud seemed to pass over his face. “There was a time when that wouldn’t have mattered. Anyway, back to the topic of jewelry. Something similar to what you’re wearing.”

  “This is one of the more simple designs. I can show you some others so you can get a better idea of what can be done. Maggie is gifted.”

  Maggie created some fairly elaborate designs and we perused each case before I led him to the case I thought would be appropriate for a sixteen-year-old. The same designs I liked. Simple. Designs that showcased the pearl and made them the focal point and not mere accessories.

  I took some out of the case and laid them out for his inspection.

  “I like the coins on this one,” he said, leaning in to inspect further. “Those Spanish, always letting their gold slip through their fingers. Your Maggie must have a very clever supplier.”

  The coins in question were rare, a recent find of Noah’s. He was not only good at finding people, he was a master at finding treasure. Of course the price of such pieces reflected it, but something told me money wasn’t an issue for Sterling Flores.

  “But still, l like yours.” He stood tall, dismissing the offerings I’d laid out. “There’s something cleanly sophisticated about it, don’t you think?”

  “I like it,” I offered with a tilt of my shoulders.

  “And I think my daughter will as well. I’m quite comfortable letting you communicate to Maggie on my behalf.”

  “Yes, sir.” I reached under the counter for a bead box and carefully placed each pearl in a velvety crevice to protect them from one another, almost loathe to get my fingerprints on them. The box would then go in the safe, as it held a veritable fortune.

  I took one of Maggie’s cards and offered it to him. “Our number is on the bottom. You might want to give Maggie a call in the morning to discuss a time frame. She’s usually prompt, and I know she doesn’t have any other custom orders right now.”

  “Excellent. Thank you for your help.” He took the card between his fingers then made his way toward the door. “It was lovely to meet you, Caris. I look forward to seeing you again.” He inclined his head then turned to open the door.

  Before his hand could close around the handle, the door opened from the outside, igniting the lyrical tune. Noah stopped abruptly as did Mr. Flores. They locked eyes, the impact like hot lava pouring into a cool ocean. Tension hissed in the air, sudden and palpable. Noah’s hand clenched around the door he held open, the muscles of his forearm straining. His chest expanded in a defensive posturing. The tune over the door continued to play. As soundtracks go, I would have chosen something darker, heavier on the bass, with a deep, hollow drum beat. Heat burned my skin at the wrist as Noah’s pearl blazed to life.

  I wondered how long they could go on staring at each other when Mr. Flores turned his head in my direction.

  “It’s your young admirer, is it not?” Flores looked at me expectantly, his expression not as pleasantly passive as it had been before Noah showed up, but he didn’t look like he wanted to headbutt anyone. I couldn’t say the same for Noah.

  “Yes, this is Noah Jacobs.” Hostility shone in Noah’s eyes. I delivered a warning glance but it was wasted since he wouldn’t look at me. “Noah, this is…”

  “Sterling Flores,” Mr. Flores said before I could finish.

  For some
reason I’d stumbled over his name. He offered his hand and Noah ignored it. I had no idea why they would take an instant dislike to each other but at least Mr. Flores was trying to be polite about it.

  Finally, Noah took Flores’ hand. A simple handshake would have been too much to ask. It went on too long. I thought maybe I should offer to clear off one of the display cases and let them arm wrestle. Noah’s hostility I could maybe understand. Maybe. He tended to be over protective. Mr. Flores was a different matter. And I didn’t think his open hostility was only in response to Noah’s. It was mutual. Noah dropped his hand on the door and stepped inside. Releasing Flores’ hand, he came to stand in front of me, never once breaking eye contact with him.

  “Jacobs. Now that’s a name I’m familiar with.” Flores’ expression was deadly pointed. “Take care of her,” he admonished, then he was gone and the tune over the door finally stopped, leaving it eerily quiet.

  I thought for a second Noah was going to follow him. He watched Mr. Flores through the window until he was out of sight.

  “Why is Sterling Flores in Maggie’s shop?”

  “Commissioning some jewelry.” I picked up the box of pearls to put in the safe, ever aware of the fortune I held in my hands. Noah shadowed me, his leg bumping my back when I bent to the safe. “Why? Do you know him?”

  “Everybody knows him. At least by name. He’s kind of a big deal in some circles, I guess.” The crease in Noah’s forehead hadn’t eased and his demeanor remained agitated.

  “A big deal how?” I dialed the combination to the safe and slid the box inside the steel square before sealing the door, double checking to make sure it was secure.

  “In a political sense you could say he’s the closest thing we have to a regional authority. In his mind anyway.”

  “But I thought as a tribe we were for the most part autonomous? That there wasn’t any kind of authority.”

  “We are, but that’s not true of every tribe. And it doesn’t mean there aren’t people that want some kind of more organized ruling body.”