by JoAnn Ross
“I’m looking forward to it,” Donovan said. And realized it was true. When the topic had come up during the dinner, the only draw had been Lani. Now he realized he was looking forward to all the promised festivities. And spending more time with Lani’s family, who was the polar opposite of his own.
“You’ve a real fan in there, Kai,” he said as the tea planter accompanied them back through the floral maze to the Jeep.
“It’s mutual. How many entrepreneurs do you know who’d start a new business at her age? Especially when it takes three years before you can harvest plants grown from seed. Which she insisted on doing.”
“Tutu’s a firm believer that people die when they stop having new projects to keep them interested and alive,” Lani said.
“Thus the tea house and garden ideas,” Kai said. “We’re at blueprint time for the house now, and she’s interviewing landscape architects, so there’s no way she’s going to run out of challenges anytime soon.”
“She’s a doll, and I adore her and admire her energy, but Tutu does bounce back and forth between the past and future sometimes without warning. Maximilian Heinrich von Schiller, by the way, passed on twenty years ago. Fortunately, Kai has amazing patience.”
Kai shrugged. “I like her. A lot. Plus, I get my own house on the plantation and a salary that’s way more generous than I could’ve gotten if I’d taken the offers to teach at the university or that job growing tea for Starbucks. I’ve been doing some pretty heavy investing and should be able to retire before I’m forty. Not that I’d want to. But since there’s a lot of down time in the tea business, I also get time off for surfing. Thanks to your grandmother, my life is pretty freaking perfect.”
* * *
Lani was quiet as they drove back to the cottage. To Donovan’s surprise, she drove at less than the speed of light and seemed thoughtful. Not wanting to intrude on whatever was going through that bright and busy mind, he remained silent, content to watch the scenery.
It was incredible, he mused, now able to understand her belief in magic. Jagged mountains sloped down to gorgeous bays through valleys carpeted with sugarcane and pineapple and dappled by shafts of reflected sunlight. The narrow winding road curved through lazy, sun-drenched villages where placid Buddhas kept eternal watch in Oriental cemeteries. Wind and wave, rain and river had sculpted the tropical island into a kind of fairylike reality that was magical. Donovan almost found himself believing in the mystical powers of rainbows.
“Thank you,” she said after a time.
The sky was turning saffron and purple as Donovan dragged his attention away from the brilliant sunset. “For what?”
“For being nice to my grandmother.”
He shrugged off her appreciation. “She’s easy to be nice to. I like her. Actually, now that you bring it up, Lani, I like your entire family. A lot.”
That wasn’t supposed to be how her test turned out, Lani thought with a sinking heart. He was supposed to be shocked by her family’s individual and collective eccentricities. Appalled. He wasn’t supposed to want anything further to do with her. This new Donovan Quinn, the future FBI special agent or possible Portland Chief of Police, was turning her entire plan upside down.
“You didn’t have to lie about seeing her Marco Polo movie.”
“I didn’t.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Give me a break here, Donovan. You may be able to fool an old lady but not me.”
“It was shown at a film festival the Police Benevolent Association sponsored for charity,” he answered amiably. “Your grandmother’s reputation and talent contributed to a lot of beds for Portland’s homeless.”
“Oh. You’ll have to tell her that at the luau. It’ll be a great Christmas gift to know that her movies are not only remembered but helping others.”
“I’ll do that.” He reached out, putting his hand lightly on her thigh. “So, what are the plans for the evening?”
“Evening?”
“Evening. You know, that quiet, romantic time after the sun goes down. When the world slows down to catch its breath. Evening,” he repeated patiently.
She glanced over at him in surprise. “Since the twilight dinner sail is obviously out with Ford still being MIA, I hadn’t made any other plans.”
Donovan ruffled her hair in a carefree, affectionate gesture. “Don’t worry,” he said with a bold grin that reminded her of one of the pirates who once sailed these seas. “I’m sure if we put our heads together we can think of something.”
Lani found the unexpected turn of events, not to mention his provocatively husky tone and the lambent flame gleaming in his deep blue eyes, far from comforting.
Strangely light-headed, she returned her attention to her driving, ignoring Donovan’s deep, self-satisfied chuckle.
9
Donovan felt his plans for a romantic evening for two disintegrate like fog under a bright Orchid Island sun when they approached the cottage and found Thomas Breslin waiting on the front lanai.
“Aha!” Thomas called out, waving his straw hat in welcome. “You’re back. I was just getting ready to leave.”
Donovan cursed his decision not to have Lani stop so he could take a picture of the neatly squared rice paddies and taro patches along the river they’d passed. From the vantage point afforded by the highway, the peaceful scene had reminded him remarkably of the Orient. If they’d only stopped for five minutes—three, even—he could have avoided what he knew was going to be a long evening listening to Lani’s father wax philosophical about the arts.
“I brought the painting over in the SUV,” Thomas said, lifting up a large, bulky package wrapped in brown paper and tied with string. His next words confirmed Donovan’s worst fears. “As well as a portfolio of some of my favorite sketches. I thought as a fellow art aficionado, you’d undoubtedly enjoy an artist’s view of the island.”
Donovan ignored Lani’s low chuckle. “I can’t think of anything I’d enjoy more,” he said weakly.
Lani patted his arm. “Have fun,” she said cheerfully as she turned to head down the beach to her own cottage.
Unwilling to allow her to escape quite yet, Donovan wrapped his fingers around her wrist. “What would you say to my dropping by for dinner after your father leaves?”
They were moving too fast. She needed time to think. Time to figure out what she was going to do with this man. “Sorry,” she said with far more aplomb than she was feeling, “I’m going to bed early. I have to work tomorrow.”
“Putting in my tile?” He found the idea of Lani puttering around the cottage all day extremely pleasing.
“No, the library’s open tomorrow and it’s children’s reading day, so I’m working. And you have to get up early to have breakfast with Taylor.”
“Where?”
“Pronto Lanai on Kapoli Bay. I’ll have Kenny Palomalo deliver a GPS equipped car with first thing in the morning because you’re going to be needing your own transportation while you’re here.”
“I didn’t think there was a rental car agency on the island.” Which had resulted in his less-than-satisfactory cab experience.
“There isn’t an official one because, unlike the other islands, we’re not that into becoming a crowded, hectic tourism destination.” She flashed a quick grin. “Call us selfish, but we prefer to keep our beaches to ourselves. But Kenny’s a car dealer who rents used cars and trade-ins on the side to the occasional tourist who does show up. Or someone who needs a loaner.”
“What time?” he asked resignedly, suspecting the meeting was going to be nothing but a waste of time. Even if the missing fiancé hadn’t returned home, he’d listen to Lani’s friend’s story, then, after assuring her that she was undoubtedly too good a woman for the guy, he’d be on his way. Although those study books were calling, maybe he’d drop by the library to take Lani to lunch. Better yet, a picnic on what he was already beginning to think of as “their” beac
h.
“Ten,” she said. “Call me after you talk to her?”
Ten was early? Not wanting to get into yet another discussion about differences in time and life-styles, Donovan merely nodded. “Sure.”
She smiled up at him. “Thank you. It’s very nice of you to jump in like this when you have important things of your own to do.”
“Nothing as important as you.” Which had become the truth. “Thanks for the tour.”
“Don’t mention it. Orchid Island may have broken away from Hawaii during the first King Kamehameha’s wars to unite the islands, but far be it from me to give you the idea that we Orchid Islanders aren’t overflowing with the aloha spirit.”
For not the first time since meeting Lani, Donovan felt unreasonably powerless as she turned on her heel and began jogging down the expanse of sand.
“She’s more complex than she appears at first glance,” Thomas offered as he came up beside Donovan. “People look at Lani and fall in love with the free spirit, never guessing there’s an intelligent, flesh-and-blood woman living inside that attractive packaging.”
Donovan didn’t feel it prudent to tell Thomas Breslin that what he was feeling for the man’s daughter was a great deal more basic than love.
“She’s got a lot of her grandmother in her,” he murmured instead.
Thomas looked at him with renewed interest. “So she took you to visit Margaret, did she? Last time you were here, you only met her in passing, when she arrived at the house just as you and Nate were off to go surfing. What did you think?”
“I think that you must have had an extremely interesting childhood.”
Thomas threw back his head and laughed heartily. “What a wonderfully circumspect answer,” he said, throwing a friendly arm around Donovan’s shoulder. “ Interesting ,” he chortled. “That’s one word for it.”
They entered the cottage and were sipping white rum on ice when Lani’s father turned the conversation away from a rundown of the island sights Donovan had been shown that day.
“I’m a bastard.”
Donovan wasn’t fooled for a moment by Thomas’s casual tone. The gleam in those intelligent eyes revealed that it was a test, and both men knew it.
“You shouldn’t be so hard on yourself,” Donovan drawled. “From what I’ve witnessed so far, you’re an amiable enough man.”
Thomas nodded, accepting the ball as it returned to his court. “That’s what all my patients say,” he acknowledged. “However, I was speaking in the biblical sense. My mother was never married to my father.”
Donovan shrugged, unconcerned. “So?”
“It ruffled more than a few feathers back in those days. It doesn’t bother you?”
“Not a bit,” Donovan answered honestly. “Does it bother you?”
“Of course not,” Thomas answered impatiently. “But as you’ve already pointed out, my childhood was not exactly the norm. My mother’s circle of friends could be described as bohemian at best and more than one of my surrogate relatives was blacklisted during the McCarthy era. Including my birth father.”
Donovan thought he knew where this was going. He put the glass down on a rattan table beside the chair. Leaning back, he rested his elbows on the arms of the chair and linked his fingers together.
“We’re not really discussing your parentage here, are we?”
Appearing uncharacteristically uncomfortable, Thomas Breslin tossed back the rum. When he returned his gaze to Donovan, he was no longer smiling.
Donovan had seen that same expression on Lani’s face from time to time. Secrets, he mused. The Breslin family definitely had its share.
“She’s my daughter, Donovan. And I love her.”
“Of course you do.”
Thomas stared down at his empty glass, as if wishing it could magically be refilled. Then he lifted his head to give Donovan a warning look. “I don’t want her hurt,” he said with a low forcefulness that was at direct odds with the cheery, carefree character he’d seemed last night.
“What makes you think I’d do anything to hurt her?”
“You wouldn’t mean to,” Thomas allowed. “I can tell you’re a decent man, and Nate’s always spoken highly of you. But you’re going to. I can see it coming, and damned if I know how to stop it.”
“I have no intention of hurting her. Yet, as I’ve already told Nate, she’s a grown woman. She’s also smart, self-aware, and capable of making her own decisions.”
“That’s true. But there’s no future for you and my daughter. How likely do you think the FBI would be to hire a special agent whose wife’s father testified before the House Un-American Activities Committee?”
“Are you asking me my intentions?”
“No. I’m asking you not to use my daughter as a diversion,” Thomas responded with a burst of heat. “Something to while away a tropical holiday before you return to Oregon and move on with your life.”
“I don’t want to argue with you, Thomas, but our relationship really isn’t any of your concern.”
The older man dragged his hand wearily over his face. “I didn’t think it would work,” he muttered as he rose and made his way to the door.
“Then why did you bother to make the attempt?”
He turned in the doorway, looking as if he had suddenly aged a lifetime. “She’s my child,” he said simply. “I love her.”
With that he was gone, taking his portfolio but leaving the wrapped painting. Donovan stood in the doorway, watching until Lani’s father was out of sight. Then, pulling out his phone, he called the mainland.
10
Nate plowed his hand through his hair as the phone across the room rang. Having been working on the same chapter for the past two days, the last thing he needed was a damn interruption. Leaving the caller to get sent to messaging, Nate continued to stare doggedly out over the windswept cliffs of Sunset Point, demanding his muse to come through and help him out of the corner he had managed to write himself into.
The phone chimed again. And again. Finally, going over to scoop it up, he recognized the number and swiped it open.
“I hope you realize that you’re interrupting a literary genius at work.”
“That’s nothing compared to what you’ve done to me,” Donovan complained on a gritty tone. “I thought you sent me down here to relax.”
“That was the idea,” Nate agreed.
“So how the hell am I supposed to relax when I’m surrounded by your crazy family?”
“They’re getting to you, huh?” Nate asked with a low chuckle. “Which ones?”
“Which ones?” Donovan repeated. “Name one who isn’t. I take that back,” he said after a fleeting moment’s consideration. “Your mother, so far, has been grace personified. However, it wouldn’t surprise me in the least if she dropped in at any minute with some lightly veiled warning to keep my roaming hands off your sister.”
“She’d call first. She may be an artist, but my mother could give Miss Manners a lesson when it comes to social protocol.” He paused to fill in some features on Tess, who he was absently sketching.
“Regarding my sister, have your hands been roaming since we talked this morning?”
“Like I told your father, who warned me away from her in no uncertain terms, that’s none of your business.”
“I thought it was strange when he called me a while ago,” Nate said. “Dad usually stays out of our personal lives. So what did you do to get my usually easygoing father so uptight?”
“Nothing yet.” Donovan’s voice was sharp with obvious frustration.
“Aha. The plot thickens. I assume Lani’s receptive to whatever you’ve been up to?” Nate added some fullness to Tess’s upper lip. Although his writing paid for his Victorian cliff-side home, Nate enjoyed sketching. His father had always claimed credit for that particular talent, and Nate had never thought it necessary to correct him.
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“Are you asking as a friend? Or Lani’s brother?”
“That’s a rough one. A friend,” he decided. “I’ve already given you my big-brother spiel.”
“I think she does. Correction, I know she does. But every time I think I have her figured out, she throws me a curve.”
“We all have issues. She might come off like some fairy sprite at times, but that doesn’t mean she’s any different. Give her time,” Nate advised as he added an arch to Tess’s brows before using the side of the pencil to draw in long dark waves that kissed his fiancée’s cheekbones. “Get to know her. After all, you’ve only been on the island a couple days. Things move slower down there.”
“So I’ve been told,” Donovan muttered. As a detective, he was used to sifting through mountains of evidence for the single missing piece that would nail a bad guy. Since arriving on Orchid Island, he’d discovered an impatience he hadn’t known he possessed.
“Then what’s the problem?”
“Hell. To tell you the truth, I’ve no damn idea why I called.”
Impulse, Donovan decided. He’d done the first thing that came to mind after Thomas had left. But that was totally out of character. Not only had he developed a respected reputation for thinking before he acted, he’d never been one to discuss his personal life with anyone, even his best friend.
He and Nate regularly discussed careers, politics, the state of the world, and sports. But they had never, in his memory, had a conversation concerning either of their dealings with a woman. Not a specific one, at any rate. Not even about Tess, whom he’d casually dated before she’d fallen in love with his best friend.
He’d assumed that she’d told Nate that nothing had ever happened between them. He’d certainly never brought the topic up, and neither had Nate. So, what the hell was Lani doing to his mind?