Barefoot in Pearls (Barefoot Bay Brides Book 3) (21 page)

He nodded, spotted hands lovingly caressing the coral-encrusted piece. “This is…amazing.”

“I know, right?” Ari beamed at the man, then up at Luke. “I told you!”

Luke smiled back, her enthusiasm infectious.

Dr. Marksman finally stood, wiping his hands together excitedly. “We’ll do carbon dating on these and some microscopic examinations. These could be thousands of years old, or as recent as a few hundred. We can probably narrow some down to within a century, I think.” He put a fatherly hand on Arielle’s shoulder. “Miss Chandler, this is truly an extraordinary find. Please tell me I can set up an archaeological team to investigate further.”

Whoa.
Whoa
. “You’re turning the property into an archaeological dig?” Luke asked.

“If that’s where these samples came from, how can you do anything else?” the man asked.

“Because someone owns the property and wants to live there,” Luke said, knowing already that this was probably a lost cause.
Shit
.

He gave a look to Arielle, seeking support. They’d agreed he’d save the house and have the other company look at the samples, but they’d never talked about an archaeological dig.

“You are aware of the laws surrounding this,” Dr. Marksman said, obviously unaware of any of those arrangements. “Under the Native American Graves Protection and Repatriation Act, private-property owners are not forced to turn over land for archaeological inspection unless actual remains are found in the ground or the artifacts are considered sacred.”

“A mortar and pestle are sacred?” Luke asked. “A fishhook?”

He shook his head. “No, they would not qualify. The decision to turn over the land and, point of fact, the artifacts, is up to the owner. Is that you?”

“No,” Luke said. “I’m the builder.”

For a moment, none of them spoke, but the gazes of the other two were firm on him, as if to say,
Well, you know the right thing to do.

His life and situation didn’t matter, not as much as a little boy who now had only one leg because of a decision Luke had made on one dark, dark night.

Blowing out a soft breath, Luke looked down at the bag from the core sampling. Wordlessly, he picked it up. “Why don’t you take some of this, too, and run your tests on it? We need to know if these are just broken shells or something…sacred.”

Arielle looked up at him like he’d hung the moon and painted her name across it. “Oh, Luke.”

He gave a quick
it’s nothing
wave. He didn’t deserve her admiration or her affection or her hero worship. He was no hero. Quite the opposite, in fact.

Chapter Sixteen

They didn’t exactly avoid each other for the next several days, but Ari and Luke managed not to tempt fate by spending any time alone. Their meetings were still charged with an undercurrent that Ari was only starting to get used to, but with friends and family around, they managed to keep their hands off each other and their conversations light.

Ari tried to throw herself into work, even going in to catch up on e-mails and correspondence on a Sunday morning, like she was now.

But no matter how busy she kept herself and how casual she kept the conversations when she saw Luke, her feelings only intensified. Along with her questions. Was this real or imagined? Was he The One or just a hot guy who stole her attention? Would she go through with trying to stop the work at the property and ruin his chances of building a career here? And if he left, would she lose Gussie’s friendship, too?

Ari pondered the questions over and over, but the only answer she got was the loud rumble of hunger in her stomach reminding her she’d missed lunch.

“I could fix that.”

She spun in her desk chair toward the sound of Luke’s voice, startled and stupidly happy to see him.

“How about a picnic up on Barefoot Mountain to silence your starvation?”

Speaking of starvation. One look at him, at his slightly sly smile and slightly crooked nose and not so slightly sexy body, and she was…hungry. And not for a picnic.

“I’d love that.” She was up and snagging her handbag in a flash. “What’s the occasion?”

“I’ve spent the last few days on the mainland, in offices, meeting with subs, and haven’t been to the property in quite a while.” His smile deepened his dimples. “And I haven’t been alone with you for two, no, make that
three
days.”

He was counting. “Is that a long time?”

He slipped an arm around her and led her out the door. “Interminable. Plus, I lost a bet with myself.”

Laughing, she let him lead her out. “Who does that? Bets himself and loses?”

“Apparently, me.”

“What did you bet?”

He grinned as he opened the door for her and leaned close to her ear to whisper, “That I could make it four days without kissing you.”

She almost melted. “I meant, what was on the table?”

“Oh, you’ll see. I brought the winnings for you. But I don’t have lunch, which is a key part of any picnic. We can stop at the convenience store and get sandwiches, okay?”

She’d probably have agreed to eat leaves at that point. “Sandwiches and a nice grill from Charity, the owner of the Super Min.”

He gave her a questioning look. “There’s a grill in there?”

“Not the kind you’re thinking of.”

They chatted about nothing on the way, but every word felt weighty. Everything he said seemed to matter, regardless of the topic, and when she replied, he appeared to hang on whatever she said. Why was everything so intensified with him? Was it always like this, or just because they hadn’t been alone in several days?

Who cared? Right now, she just wanted to bury her unanswered questions and enjoy Luke.

At the convenience store, he parked and got out, coming around as always to open her door, a spark in his eyes as he let his gaze travel over the simple T-shirt and jeans she’d chosen for a no-meeting day at work.

“Is it ridiculous to say I’ve missed you?” he asked.

Not in the least. She took his hand and climbed down to the cracked asphalt parking lot, stealing a whiff of his familiar, masculine scent. “I missed you, too.”

Satisfied with that, he walked her inside, the welcome bell dinged, and they got the usual stare-down from Charity Grambling, as Ari had expected. The older woman’s steel-gray gaze shifted to Luke and stayed there, curious and questioning, also as expected.

Charity lifted a heavily drawn brow, making Ari smile as Luke guided her toward the cold drinks and wrapped sandwiches. At the refrigerated case, Luke leaned closer to whisper, “Why does she keep staring at me?”

“Because you’re new in town and she is the nosiest and most opinionated person on the entire island,” she replied under her breath. “She wants to know your name, occupation, closest relative in Barefoot Bay and, most importantly, who you spend nights with. Be prepared, that information will be filed, evaluated, and shared with the next six customers.”

His lips drawn into a tight line, he nodded. “Good to know.” At the counter, he set down the purchases and finally met Charity’s exacting gaze.

“Luke McBain.” He reached his hand out. “Brother of Gussie, and”—he glanced at Ari and grinned—“my overnight company is still TBD.” He leaned over the counter and winked. “Can I let you know tomorrow?”

Charity was not amused, but Ari’s stomach took a drop down an imaginary roller coaster.

“You forgot your occupation,” Charity said dryly, then pierced Ari with a look. “You whisper quite loudly, you know.”

“You’ll have to guess,” he said.

She curled a lip, looking him up and down. “Well, you’re not one of the high-flying billionaires, obviously. And not built like a baseball player, so you can’t be one of them. Military? Friend of that Navy SEAL trying to pound out the great American novel?”

“Not a billionaire, baseball player, or current military. I’m a builder.”

She adjusted her glasses, showing mild interest. “Whatever you’re building, it better be to code or you’ll have the town council to answer to. And by that, I mean me.”

“Trust me, if there’s a hoop, I’m jumping through it.”

“What are you building?” she demanded.

He stared at her, and Ari laughed softly. “She won’t ring us up until she knows, Luke.”

He angled his head in acknowledgment. “A house. In North Barefoot Bay.”

“On the old Valentine property?” The woman’s many wrinkles deepened as she frowned. “You’re not the builder.”

“New builder,” he corrected, nodding to show he was impressed by her skills. “The last one was fired.”

Charity’s jaw dropped with a soft gasp. “What? No one told me.”

“And that’s a felony, I bet,” Luke joked.

But she refused to laugh. Instead, she leaned forward, her silvery eyes tapering to slits as though the whole challenge of the game turned her on. “Man died up there. You know that, Mr. Smartass?”

“I’ve heard.” Luke slid a look to Ari as if to plead for help. She shrugged. There was no getting around Charity Grambling. If you wanted to buy something at the Shell Gas Station and Super Mini Mart Convenience Store, you had to go through interrogation by either Charity Grambling or her sister, Patience Vail, and neither one was charitable or patient.

“I met that man,” she said, sounding miffed that the previous builder hadn’t reported in to tell her he’d lost the job. “He had a nasty black tattoo on his shoulder.” She almost smiled. “I nailed him but good.”

“How so?” Luke asked.

She folded her arms. “His tattoo read, ‘Only God can judge me.’ And I pointed right at the words and said, ‘Yet, here I am.’” She laughed, but it dissolved into a smoker’s wheeze.

“Clever,” Luke said.

“Been a lot of action up there, I hear,” Charity said when her cough ended.

“Not enough,” he replied.

“Then maybe you don’t know your own job, honey. Because there was some other guy in here at the crack of dawn yesterday on his way up there to do work.”

“I think you’re confused.”

That got him a deadly look. “I might be old and ugly, Green Eyes, but I am not confused. Guy stood right here, bought a Red Bull and a
Mimosa Gazette
, and asked if I knew any way up to Barefoot Mountain other than the road that goes past the resort.”

“Is there?” Luke asked.

“Sure, if you’re crafty and lived here long enough.” Apparently satisfied, she tapped fiery-orange nails on the cash register, and then held out her hand, demanding money.

“To pay for the privilege of being cross-examined,” Luke joked as he handed her a twenty.

She snapped it out of his hand. “I prefer to think of it as small talk,” she said. “What military?”

“’Scuze me?”

“You said ‘not current military.’ So, what branch of the military were you in?”

He didn’t answer, but stared at her as if he resented the question. But Ari knew him well enough to know he just didn’t want to answer it.

“I think you’ve interrogated this poor man enough for one day,” she said, the need to protect him strong and sudden. “And you haven’t even asked me about Willow’s wedding. Don’t you want to hear who got sloppy drunk?”

“No one. I already had five people in here telling me it was all classy and upscale and la-di-dah. Also heard that the other bridal consultant”—she pointed a talon at Luke—“your sister, roped that big-time photographer into marrying her.” Charity crossed her arms, swimming in smug. “Guess who introduced those two right here in the Super Min?”

Ari snagged the sodas while Luke took the bag of food. “I’m sure they’ll want to get married here,” he said. “And you can officiate.”

For a moment, Charity almost smiled, but then caught herself. “I like the way you think, Green Eyes.”

Ari gave Luke a light push toward the door. “You never know, Charity. We plan all kinds of weddings.”

They were out of target range and in the parking lot a few seconds later.

“Is she for real?” he asked with a mix of humor and dismay.

“She’s a fact of life around here.”

Luke held the truck door for her and offered his hand to help her climb up, but Ari didn’t move. “Can I ask you a question, Luke?” She punctuated that by putting her hand in his.

“I feel like I’ve been asked enough.” But he closed his fingers around hers, and his eyes registered the same bolt of electricity that she felt every single time they touched. “Go ahead,” he said.

“Why are you so hesitant to tell people you’ve been in the French Foreign Legion? I mean, really, I understand you think it’s not super all-American and people don’t really understand what it is, but it feels like it’s more than that.”

He puffed out a breath that billowed his cheeks and darkened his eyes. “I don’t like to talk about it to anyone.”

She smiled. “I think we’ve been over this. I’m not anyone.”

“I know.” He looked long into her eyes, taking a slow breath and squeezing her hand. “You’re right.”

“I’m right that I’m not anyone, or I’m right that it’s more than that?”

“Both.”