Barefoot in Pearls (Barefoot Bay Brides Book 3) (10 page)

“Your grandfather wasn’t a Native American?”

She shook her head. “Irish. My mom’s only half-Native American, and I’m a quarter. Anyway, my grandmother felt that the protest was more important than her family, her husband, anything. It cost her, but she said it was worth it.” She smiled. “Grandma Good Bear never met a Native American cause she didn’t love.”

“And you’re telling me this because…?”

Because she wanted him to know her. “I’m telling you because I know what it’s like to think someone who cares about people who died thousands of years ago is”—she circled her finger around her head—“cuckoo.”

He didn’t argue, but the faintest hint of a smile gave away that he’d been thinking exactly that.

“I spent a lot of time with Grandma Good Bear, more than my brother or sister ever did, and we were very close.” Her voice rose, ready to defend the woman she loved unconditionally. “And I know what she’d want me to do. What she
wants
me to do,” she amended. “Because I do believe her spirit is here.”

At least he didn’t roll his eyes, but he did give a resigned shrug. “I get it.”

He didn’t, not fully. “My grandmother taught me that my feelings matter. They matter a lot. And sometimes you have to pay a high price and lose someone because those convictions and beliefs aren’t, well, concrete.”

“I like concrete,” he admitted softly.

“You would. You’re a builder.”

He smiled again. “Thanks for telling me, Ari.”

Distance again. She answered with a soft sigh. He mustn’t be The One after all, because he’d know it, right? He wouldn’t put up a wall, would he? He’d reach out and put his arms around her and hold her close and tell her he got it and they should spend the day tomorrow getting to know each other.

But he didn’t do any of that. He just looked at her like he wasn’t at all sure what to say, do, or think.

“Well,” she said. “Good night then.”

“I’ll call you after I meet with the mason tomorrow.”

She reached up and touched his jaw, purely unable to resist touching him. All the sparks were still flying, the lights inside her head were still flashing, the numbness and quivering…all still there.

So he
felt
like The One but didn’t
act
like The One. Grandma never covered this contingency in her tales of a fated mate.

He turned his head enough to put the tiniest kiss on her thumb. But he might as well have licked her it sent so many lightning bolts through her.

“I don’t know what it is about you, Little Mermaid,” he whispered. “You’ve
got
something. You
are
something.”

Her only consolation was that he was as confused as she was.

Chapter Seven

Ari blinked into the lavender tones of dawn that slipped through the wood shutters on her living room windows. Disoriented for a moment, she shook her head to clear it, lifting her face from the rough tweed of her sofa, rooting for an explanation as to why she wasn’t in her bedroom.

Luke
.

Just thinking his name sent a little bombshell of awareness through her, waking her up. Of course, he wasn’t there, she thought sleepily, pushing herself up. She’d fallen asleep around three in the morning, alone, after a shower, some tea, and a few hours of sifting through the Cracker Jack box of treasures.

Even in the dim light of early morning, she could see the fruits of her middle-of-the-night labor, rows of shells, tools, utensils, and items she’d classify as art all laid out on her table and the kitchen counter, then onto the floor when she ran out of surface space.

She’d painstakingly lifted each item out of the crate, carefully set it on tissue paper, and taken a photograph to catalog it. With her laptop open, she’d done research on the fly—enough to be genuinely encouraged her find was authentic proof that Calusa Indians had been living there long before Balzac Valentine.

Ari stretched again, eyeing her half-empty teacup, working out a painful crick in her neck. But what about the ache in her heart? She put her hand on her chest as if she could actually gauge the status of that delicate organ through her pajama top.

The state of her heart was…disorderly. Chaotic. A little bruised from the push-pull of last night. She’d met a great guy—understatement of the year—and he no doubt thought she was a lunatic to be avoided at all costs.

The snap of her door latch made her whip around. For a second she didn’t breathe, half-expecting Luke to come through the door she knew she’d locked, but it was his sister’s green eyes that popped wide when their gazes met.

“Oh, you’re up,” Gussie said, dangling the master key the three women had made to get into each other’s apartments. “I thought if I knocked, I’d wake you.”

“No, I’m awake.” Not quite coherent, though. She waved her friend in. “What’s up?”

“My brother—”

“What about him?” Oh, man. Did she have to sound so breathless and eager?

Apparently, Gussie didn’t notice as she dropped the key on the entry table. “He’s a milk-siphon, that’s what. He drank every drop I had, and I will die if I have to drink black coffee.” As she got farther into the apartment, she squished up her face, looking from Ari to the table, counter, and floor and back to Ari again. She lifted one eyebrow in question. “Shell collecting now, are we?”

Ari pushed down frustration. They weren’t shells. “Didn’t Luke tell you?”

“He was gone by the time I got home, which wasn’t even twenty minutes ago. Left the empty carton on the counter, too, the jerkwad.” She grinned. “Have I mentioned how much I love having him here? Because I do.”

He’d left for the job site already? Judging by the light, it couldn’t be seven o’clock. A little niggle of disappointment wormed around Ari’s chest, but she pushed it away. Did she really think he’d come up here, knock on the door, and invite her to go with him?

Yes. But he didn’t want her there. “Where’s Tom?”

“Working this morning. He had to go over to Miami at the crack of dawn to test the morning light for a photo shoot he has coming up there. He’ll be back later today.”

“You still on cloud fifteen, Miss Engaged Woman?” Ari asked.

“More like cloud fifty, but, Ari, what is all this?” She took a few steps to the counter and reached out.

“No, don’t touch!”

Gussie’s hand jerked back like she’d been burned, and she shot Ari a disbelieving look.

“They’re not seashells,” Ari said.

Gussie pointed to a finely sharpened conch. “Could have fooled me.”

“They’re Native American tools, every one an ancient, valuable, museum-quality artifact.”

“Really?” Gussie eyed them closely, holding up her hands to show she wouldn’t touch. “Where on earth did you get them?”

Ari sighed, almost too exhausted to tell the story, but she had to. If anyone could help her figure out what to do about Luke and his building plans, it would be his sister. “Do you have time to have your coffee here?” she asked.

“Of course. Alex just crawled into my bed and went back to sleep,” Gussie said, referring to Tom’s twelve-year-old niece, who completed their newly formed family. She wandered along the counter that separated the kitchen from the living area, studying each item. “Wow, I’d never guess these things were valuable. They look like stones and shells and sticks to me.”

“They would to anyone who hasn’t studied Native American art and history.”

Gussie shot a brow up. “I know you like all that stuff, but you know it that well to know what these things are? Or were?”

“I’m no expert, that’s for sure, but my grandmother was. And there’s plenty of online information. What I read last night makes me think these could be three thousand years old.”

“Three thousand?” Gussie gasped. “Holy crap, no wonder you don’t want me to touch them. You still didn’t tell me where they came from.”

“Inside the house your brother was going to demolish.” And still might, if Ari didn’t stop him.

“These were in that creepy old house?” She blinked as what Ari said hit her. “Wait. You were in that house? With my brother? When?” With each question, her voice rose with disbelief and interest.

“Last night, after the wedding.”

Green eyes grew wide with surprise. “Spill the beans, baby, and I don’t mean coffee.”

As Ari made two cups of Nantucket Blend in her Keurig, she told Gussie what had happened the night before. Mostly. She didn’t mention meeting Luke on the hill earlier in the day, or that Luke was the man she’d meant yesterday when she’d told Gussie she’d met The One.

Because Gussie would be all over that.

Gussie curled into an oversized chair, holding her mug, rapt, while Ari finished the story and pointed out a few of the most amazing tools, such as the tapered bone-colored shell so sharp that it had to have been used as a needle.

“Isn’t it amazing?” she asked, holding the instrument up gingerly.

But Gussie was looking at Ari, not the needle. “So you basically want to stop his whole entire project because of these…things?”

Ari closed her eyes. “Surely you can understand the historical significance of these
things
. Whole museums are built to house these
things
.”

“Cool. So give your shells to the Smithsonian, let them name the exhibit after you, and then let Luke do his job.”

“The hill could be a burial mound, Gussie. Weren’t you listening?”

“Yeah, but there has to be a way around that. Maybe Cutter Valentine will agree to leave the hill as is and put the house somewhere else so his view isn’t blocked. There has to be another solution rather than Luke losing this job.” Her voice was tight in defense of her brother, and Ari understood that, but this was bigger than one guy’s building assignment.

“The whole place should be sacred and untouched,” she said. “It’s hugely significant in the history of the Calusa tribe.”

“You’re not a Calusa.”

“No, but there is Native American blood in my veins, Gussie. I appreciate that you don’t understand the meaning of that, but you have to trust me, it matters. My grandmother…” She shook her head to fight the emotion. “This…
things
like this”—she gestured toward the table of tools—“were her whole reason for living. Her own children stopped caring about their heritage, but I can’t do that. I know it mattered to her, so it matters to me. I have to do everything I can to preserve and protect this land.”

Gussie put the cup down on the table with a resounding knock, leaning forward. “Ari, listen. Obviously, the land should be checked before plowing it, but if Luke says that’s been done and whoever is supposed to sign off has signed off, then you shouldn’t get in the way of his project. If none of that stuff has happened, then you have to trust Luke to do the right thing, along with whatever government agency is involved.”

Ari puffed a breath, pushing up to walk around her array of treasures. “The United States government hasn’t always been a friend to Native Americans.”

“Yes, but Luke can be trusted. Look, I know that your history and bloodline were a huge cause for your grandma, and I’m not saying you shouldn’t do the right thing, but if the building project gets put on hold, or worse,
canned
, Luke will most likely move away. There’s no work for him in Mimosa Key.” Gussie’s voice lost all lightness, fading into dead serious. “Then I’d lose him again.”

“You wouldn’t lose him, Gussie, not now that you’ve found him again. And why couldn’t he just find another job here if he wants to stay?”

“His contracting license is temporary, and once it’s lost, it’ll be really hard to get another Florida license. That’s just how it works in this state. Believe me, he’s looked into it. Then he’d have to move, and I don’t know where he’d go, but it could very well be back to France where he has a license and a guaranteed income.”

“What? Why not just get a license here and stay?”

“It isn’t that easy. You can ask him about it, but it has to do with mountains of rules and regulations in this state, because of the hurricanes and bad contractors who swoop in to make a fast buck.”

“Luke would never do that.”

“Of course not, but his license is temporary and for this one job only. If the job stops and he loses the work, I don’t know what he’ll do, but it won’t be in Florida.” Gussie looked stricken, pulling back her honey hair to show the concern on her pixie-like features. “Ari, he’s my
brother
. I haven’t lived on the same continent with him for fifteen years. I want him in Barefoot Bay. I want him close.”

“I totally understand that,” Ari agreed. “But couldn’t he do something else?”

“He was a builder in France, and he says it’s all he knows, though I never expected it would be his career. When we were kids, he wanted to be a cop or an FBI agent, but that…” She sighed. “Didn’t happen.”

Ari knew the story well enough, and having talked to Luke about what happened after, she understood even more. “If he wants to be in law enforcement, he could go to school to do that now and stay here in Florida.”

Gussie shook her head. “I suggested that once, and he totally shut me down. I guess he thinks having been in a mercenary army like the Foreign Legion isn’t the kind of thing that impresses the FBI.”