Amber Beach (22 page)

“Is that where you got the amber I saw on your desk?”

“No. Kyle sent it to us.”

Jake’s hands tightened on the helm. He didn’t say a word.

“All our brothers keep an eye out for interesting stuff for us to use”, Honor continued. “Even the Donovan collects for
us.”

“Are your father and brothers in business with you?”

“With mere females?” she retorted. “Bite your tongue. Donovan International is the last of the Old Boy Clubs.”

Though her voice was sardonic, there was no real anger in her words. She and Faith had learned to be grateful they were women. In some ways it made getting out from under Donald Donovan’s benevolent tyranny much easier. Archer had fought for his freedom with a ferocity that was still legend in the family. Lawe and Justin had double-teamed the old man and worn him down that way. Kyle was still struggling. He had the added burden of being the youngest male, which meant that sometimes he had to fight his older brothers, too.

“Donovan International”, Jake said slowly, looking at the radar. Three boats showing now. Apparently Snake Eyes had managed to find the bright orange of the Coast Guard again. “I’ve heard the name somewhere…” As he had hoped, Honor took the bait. “On Wall Street, likely”, she said. “Dad’s company discovers, recovers, buys, and/or sells metals and rare minerals.”

“Nice setup. Your brothers will never lack for a job.”

“Lousy setup. They want to be boss.”

“Every Eden has a snake.”

“Well, my brothers bypassed the old serpent and started their own company, Donovan Gemstones and Minerals.”

Jake smiled despite the raw male hunger prowling through his blood every time he thought about Honor’s soft mouth and softer body. “The sons went into competition with the old man, is that it?”

Honor winced, remembering. “That’s it. The salsa really hit the fan when Dad discovered that he had been outmaneuvered by his own sons.”

“Did he disinherit them?”

She looked shocked. “Of course not. Dad is bullheaded and stiff-necked, but he’s not vicious. The Donovan males went head-to-head for a year on various mineral surveys and such. When Dad was convinced the boys would make it without him, he offered a palace alliance.”

“Did they take it?”

“Sort of. They do work for him on a contract basis, but never enough that Donovan International is their only customer, or even their best one.”

“Smart.” But then, Jake had already known that. The Donovan males he had met were as intelligent as they were hardheaded.

“I suppose. Sure makes for some interesting Thanksgivings and Christmases, with Dad praying at every meal for stray lambs to return to the fold and said lambs running as hard as they can to stay out of reach of the old wolf.”

The idea of the Donovan brothers as “lambs” made Jake laugh out loud.

“Are your holidays like that?” Honor asked.

“Like what?”

“Fighting off family.”

“Nope. We can’t get far enough away from each other.”

“Sounds… lonely.”

“You know what they say about freedom.”

“No, what?”

“Another way of saying nothing left to lose.” Jake changed course, ducked around a little island, shot across a narrow strait, and shut down to an idle at the base of a rugged stone cliff. He punched
a
button. The fish finder glowed in blue and red on the lower screen.

Honor didn’t bother to ask where they were. Even with a chart, she had a hard time sorting out which San Juan island was which. There were a lot of islands, many so small they were barely rocks. She had tried orienting herself with the chart while they raced from place to place, but all she got for her efforts was a headache and a sour stomach. “Hot damn!” he said. “They’re here.” She leaned in for a better view. The screen looked like somebody had been drawing yellow dashes on it between forty and ninety feet. Before she could ask if the random clumps of color were fish, Jake was gone. She followed him out into the stern well and watched while he started the kicker engine and set up the fishing rods. The gear didn’t particularly interest her. Watching Jake’s easy, economical way of moving did. He mistook her presence for a desire to learn more
about fishing.

“We’ve dragged all the dead herring through the water that I’m going to for today”, he said. He bent over the white plastic bucket and picked up a lure that had been dangling from the rim. “Know what this is?”

“Looks like two little hooks from here. Incredible. I don’t know if I can stand the excitement.”

But there was no real sarcasm in her voice. She was having too much fun watching Jake enjoy himself. And she knew he was enjoying. It was there in his voice, in the brilliance of his eyes, in the springy way he moved. The man loved fishing.

Well, she reminded herself, nobody is perfect. I’ve got some industrial-strength flaws myself.

“The hooks”, he said, “are attached to a nifty, semi-flexible lure called the Tormentor. I’m going to bend it just enough so that it imitates the action of a cut-plug herring. Now I’m going to attach the Tormentor’s leader to the dodger and…”

“Foul!” she interrupted. “What?”

“You aren’t going to teach me fishing. I signed on for boat handling, period.”

“I didn’t think you really meant it.”

“Wrong.”

“Okay.”

Just like that, Jake went back to setting up the fishing gear. After a few minutes he started whistling. The sweet clarity of the sound reminded Honor of a nightingale at moonrise. It was startling to hear something so beautiful coming from the lips of such a hard-looking man.

Then Honor realized there was something else about Jake that was surprising. If he had been one of her brothers, she would have been in for a battle of wills over the issue of learning or not learning to fish. But Jake not only accepted her decision without a fight, he didn’t sulk.

Very quickly there were two fishing lines in the water, Jake was in position at the aft station, and they were creeping past the cliff at a pace only slightly faster than that of grass growing.

Jake looked up, eyes narrowed against the glare of the descending sun. The
Zodiac had
taken up a position a hundred feet out to sea, paralleling the
Tomorrow.
The Bayliner with Ellen aboard was even farther out. No other boat was within sight. Either Snake Eyes had gone home or he was off the scope somewhere.

Ignoring the escort, Jake looked back at the arch of the
fishing rods and the subtle, hypnotic dip and sway of the rod tips as each responded to its dodger.

“Now what?” Honor asked.

“We fish.”

“Goody. Like watching paint dry, only less exciting.”

“You’ll change your mind as soon as you feel a salmon on the other end of the line.”

“Be still my beating heart.”

Shaking his head, Jake looked at the shoreline. There were no houses or cabins to interrupt the wildness of the place; there were only stone cliffs, wind-twisted fir trees, and a clean, cloud-layered sky. Between the clouds, random, slanting shafts of sun spotlighted rocks and water. A bald eagle soared overhead and the boat swayed gently beneath his feet. For the first time in weeks, a sense of peace curled through Jake.

Honor looked at the softened line of his mouth and knew she was getting in over her head. Just seeing his pleasure made her want to smile and hold out her arms.

Stop looking at him,
she warned herself.
Do something useful. Anything. Just stop thinking about Jake Mallory.

But as soon as she did, thoughts of Kyle and amber and death haunted her. Now she just wanted to crawl into Jake’s arms and be comforted.

Merde,
she said silently, disgusted with herself. She went back into the cabin, pulled a sketch pad and pencil out of her backpack, and flipped to the design that was still eluding her. Af
ter a few minutes she took
a box out of the backpack, opened it carefully, and stared at the amber inside. No inspiration came.

Gently she picked up the amber, cradling it in her hand, turning it slowly. But no matter how hard she stared at the tantalizing lines, creative lightning didn’t strike. Maybe direct sunlight would help.

She tucked the amber into the pocket of her wind shell, grabbed pad and pencil, and went outside. She discovered that the engine cover made a surprisingly comfortable seat. She settled in with her back against the stern. Without taking out the amber, she began trying variations on her design’s basic theme, working from memory alone.

Jake stood in the doorway, driving the boat from the aft station while watching the fish finder in the front of the cabin.

Soon a rill of nightingalelike notes rose into the quiet afternoon. Though there was no obvious melody in his whistling, Honor found it both relaxing and mentally stimulating, rather like listening to Gregorian chants. Her pencil flew over one page, then another, then another, trying out various ways of balancing line and shape, evocation and representation, creating the blend of flow and meaning that made her creations unique.

Belatedly she
realized
that the whistling had stopped and Jake was watching her. She looked up.

“Sorry”, he said. “I didn’t mean to distract you.”

“You didn’t. The whistling actually helped me to concentrate. I only noticed when you stopped.”

It must be something in the Donovan genes, Jake thought wryly. Kyle had enjoyed “dueling whistles” – Kyle with his pennywhistle and Jake with only his lips.

“What are you working on?” he asked. “Or is asking like peeking over your shoulder?”

She smiled. “It’s not peeking if I show you.” She turned the pad so that it was right side up for Jake.

“That’s the piece of amber you had at the cottage, isn’t it?” he said, recognizing the shape and combination of smooth and rough surfaces. “The one I caught before it hit the floor.”

“You have a good eye.”

“You’re a good artist.”

“Illustrator.”

“Buttercup.”

She shot him a sideways glance out of eyes that were
nearly as golden as amber touched by slanting, late-afternoon sun.

“Most people can’t tell one chunk of amber from another
at a glance”, she said. “I suppose so.”

“But you can.”

Jake shrugged, hating to spoil the peace of the moment with evasions and half-truths. “Amber is an interest of mine. Has been since I was a kid.”

“Really? Is that why you asked so many questions about the amber Kyle is supposed to have stolen?”

Jake nodded, but he was cursing silently. Honor was too quick. The less he said right now, the better off he would be when she found out. On the other hand, it was getting tiresome to always teeter along the sharp edges of half-truths and lies, wondering when he was going to be pushed off and cut himself to the bone. If he had liked living that way, he and Ellen would still have the same boss.

“What attracted you to amber when you were a kid?” Honor asked curiously.

“I felt sorry for the flies stuck in the past. What are you
drawing?”

She could tell by looking at Jake that she wasn’t going to get anywhere if she pursued the subject of why a child would identify with insects trapped in amber. So she answered his question instead of asking another one of her own.

“I’m drawing what Faith will sculpt. Kind of.”

“Kind of?”

Honor looked back at the sketch. “I mean, the piece won’t be a real sculpture, finished in three dimensions. More of a bas-relief.” She frowned at the paper and admitted, “Actually, I’m beginning to think it’s a mistake. I’m not getting there
from here.”

“What do you mean?”

Without answering, she reached inside the loose pocket of
her wind shell. When her hand came back out, a hunk of amber gleamed on her palm like every hope of sunlight and warmth ever dreamed by a cold, shivering man.

Jake whistled softly. In the pure light, the amber showed its true worth. It was transparent but for a swirl of tiny bubbles and intriguing flecks of ebony. Polished on one side and delicately
crazed
on the other, the amber had a satin radiance that redefined the word
golden.

It burned.

“Ardent stone”, he said softly.

“What?”

“That’s what amber means. Stone that burns. May I? I didn’t really get a chance to look at this piece before.”

“Sure, but there aren’t any flies in it.”

He didn’t say a word. He just held the amber between himself and the descending sun.

Honor caught her breath at the sudden, incandescent beauty of the gem. It was as though she had never really seen it before. The random swirls suggested a man’s closely cropped hair and beard, and the ebony flecks evoked half-opened eyes as deep as the human soul… a man caught forever in amber, free only because he had no more to lose.

“Don’t move!” she said urgently.