Barefoot in Pearls (Barefoot Bay Brides Book 3) (7 page)

“Which of those would dig into this mound and search with the care of an archaeologist?”

None. “Core sampling has to be done if there’s restructuring of geography, then—”

“Restructuring of geography?” She sputtered the words. “That’s what you call destroying an ancient burial place?”

Irritation churned in his belly. “You found a necklace, Arielle,” he said. “For all you know, some Realtor could have dropped it.”

“Or it could have been unearthed in the hurricane, along with bones or tools or artifacts from four thousand years ago! You don’t know. But I can’t sleep until this land has been properly and carefully excavated and inspected. Can you?”

He thought about that for a moment, considering which was worse: pissing off Cutter or a code violation that could blow up in his face. He had only a temporary general contracting license, which Cutter had helped him get by pulling a few strings and using his famous name. One mistake, and that could be ripped away. Lose the temp license and he might never get another one, giving up any chance of staying here and working in the States. Working as a contractor, at least, and that was all he really knew.

But if he couldn’t deliver on his promise to Cutter Valentine, the big-ass-deal ballplayer would likely say,
Thanks, no thanks, I’ll find someone else.

Shit, he was in a bind.

“Look, I’ll find the paperwork and show it to you tomorrow. I promise it will put you at ease.” He hoped.

Another bolt of lightning crackled, highlighting her face for one quick second, long enough for him to see doubt and distrust in her dark eyes. “And they won’t start bulldozing tomorrow?”

“There’s no bulldozer. They use a backhoe,” he corrected, purposely not answering the question.

“So will they start backhoeing?”

Actually, they might. “I’m not sure.”

Thunder rolled, the storm closer now.

“Luke, you can’t!”

“Look, I promise that all the paperwork has been done already, and I’ll—” The first fat raindrop splatted on his head. “We’re going to get soaked.”

“Promise me,” she insisted, not moving. “Promise me you won’t destroy the land until you know it’s just that—land.”

An archaeological inspection could take weeks—even more. To get the job, Luke had promised an estate home ready in five months. When he made that assurance, he knew he was pushing the limits, but it was a job, and a good one, on American soil.

Possibly
Native
American soil. He huffed out a breath and ignored the next few drops on his head. “I’ll look into it.”

She shook her head, hard. “That’s a lackluster promise.”

“Arielle, listen to me.” His frustration increased with the rain. Why was he standing out here in a pending storm with a crazed woman? “All of the routine inspections are done. If something was wrong, we’d—”

“
Wrong
? I’d hardly call land that was designated as hallowed ground centuries ago as ‘something wrong.’”

“I mean if something’s not right with the paperwork, then I’ll do some digging—”

“Damn right you will.” She dropped to her knees and pressed her hand to the ground as if she wanted to start
digging
right then. Barehanded. Even in the dark he could see her color was high as she challenged him. “I have a feeling about this.” She looked up at him, her hair spilling over her shoulders.

“A
feeling
?”

She closed her eyes as if he’d hit a nerve. “It’s just a feeling, yes, but it’s strong and real. To me.” She added the last two words with a slight note of apology and just enough self-doubt to touch something inside him.

Very slowly, he crouched down and got face-to-face with her, in exactly the same position, and possibly the same place, he’d taken with her this afternoon. And the same force field rolled off her and damn near pushed him over.

What
was
it about this woman?

Another bolt of lightning bathed them in an instant of searing white light, followed by a loud thunderclap not two seconds later. She looked up at the sky, possibly to gauge how far away the storm was, possibly to commune with someone or something. His whole body reacted with a mix of sexual desire and the urge to…help her. To hold her. To give her claims credence and…God, he wanted to kiss her.

This was
insane
.

He put his hands on her arms instead, trying to pull her up. “Let’s go.” The rain picked up with the next strong breeze, pelting them.

“Not until you promise me you’ll look into it.”

Two bolts of lightning cut overhead, so close they both startled. He stood as the ground rumbled under them, grabbing her shoulder with a little more force. “Come on, it’s not worth getting struck by lightning over.”

But she didn’t move, her fingers digging into the dirt as if she could hold on to the ground and refuse to move. “
Make the promise
.”

“Or what? You’re going to stay out here and…test the universe?” He spat the last word, and she flinched, making him feel moderately bad, but still ticked off enough to make his point.

The only answer was a crack of lightning so close the hair on his arms stood up. “Let’s go!” he said. Without waiting for a response, he swooped her up, clamped her kicking legs and flailing arms, and tossed her over his shoulder like a sack of flour.

“Damn it, Luke! Put me down!”

He ran full-out to the path, using the lightning to guide him to the bottom of the hill since his hands were too full of furious woman to get that flashlight.

The last bolt struck right between the hill and his truck, so he didn’t even take a millisecond to think. He tore through the wide-open doorway of the house and practically slammed Arielle’s feet onto the ground.

He didn’t know which was worse—the deadly lightning or the look of rage on her face. Guess he was about to find out.

Chapter Five

Ari didn’t know whether to throw her arms around him or smack his smug-ass face.

Instead, she slammed her hands on her hips to keep herself from doing either one, glaring so hard at him she couldn’t believe sparks didn’t actually ignite in her eyes.

“You threw my butt over your shoulder like a caveman.”

“I saved your butt from getting fried like a steak kabob.”

A massive lightning-and-thunder combo lit and shook the structure as rain poured in the doorless entry behind him. “I am not afraid of nature. Not in the least.”

“You should be.” He gave her a soft nudge deeper into the front room. “Get in that hallway. I’m not sure this house can weather another storm.”

She stumbled over something on the floor, but got her footing, letting him guide her to a narrow, dark hallway. He shouldered the first door open and pulled her to him.

“It’s a closet,” he said. “That means there’s no metal and no wiring, so we won’t sizzle if the house gets hit.” He looked up at the ceiling as if he thought it might collapse any second.

“It’s just a little thunderstorm,” Ari said, still stinging from being hauled down the hill. “You better man up if you’re afraid of them, because we get a storm almost every day for half the year down here.”

“Man up?” He snorted softly. “I fought wars in jungles, Arielle. My masculinity isn’t in question.” He gave her a look like her sanity was, however, up for debate. Then he pointed to the ceiling. “You haven’t seen the specs on this structure. It wasn’t exactly built to code.”

The tiny closet smelled musty and damp, the scents going to battle with the rain—and frustration—she could still sense on Luke. His wet shirt brushed against her bare shoulder, making her shiver despite the airless heat.

“If being built to code is important to you, then making sure you’re not breaking the law by building in the first place should be, too.”

He sighed softly, his breath ruffling her hair. “Got your point, Ari.”

The use of her nickname tweaked her heart a little. Darn. She missed the way
Arielle
rolled off his tongue. Missed the flutter in her stomach when he said it the way he did, with the barest, slightest,
infinitesimalest
whisper of an accent from his years in France.

That was the problem with this guy. All the primal, visceral, physical stuff was off the charts and exactly how she’d been led to believe she’d feel when she met The One.

But why would the universe set her up to meet him only to have a problem of this magnitude separating them? Shouldn’t things with her perfect mate be problem free? Wasn’t that part of the promise of fated love?

Maybe Ari had dreamed the whole damn thing up out of desperation because her friends were falling in love left and right, and she was still alone. Her whole life she’d fought this battle. Certain of what she felt, uncertain of how right it was. It was as though her practical, rational, non-spiritual mother pulled at one hand and her mystical, supernatural, otherworldly grandmother pulled at the other. And sometimes it felt like she was split in half.

“So, do you believe in ghosts?” he asked in between rolls of thunder, almost as if
he
were the mind reader now.

“Not Casper, if that’s what you mean. I don’t think old man Balzac is about to jump out of the dark hallway and scare us. But…” She took a slow breath. Talking to unbelievers was hard. She knew she sounded wack to them. But she wasn’t going to lie to this man and pretend she was as pragmatic as he was just to impress him. No way.

“I believe there are spirits,” she finally said.

“Spirits?” The word was laden with skepticism and amusement. “What’s the difference between that and a ghost?”

“Ghosts have bad reputations. Spirits don’t bother people or show themselves. They live…on their own plane.” She closed her eyes, knowing she sounded like…the woo-woo girl.

But he didn’t laugh or tease, not yet, anyway.

“I believe in a lot of things that you can’t see,” she finally said after a beat of silence. “I don’t think that everything that exists is…tangible. Therefore, I put a lot of stock in my feelings, which can’t always be put into words, but they are very real.”

“I believe in feelings,” he said, as if she’d accused him otherwise.

“I don’t mean feelings like love and hate and anger. I mean intuition. Gut instinct. The perception that something is real even though it is not…possible.”

“And that’s what you’re basing your request to me on?” he asked. “You want me to throw a huge monkey wrench into this project because of an
intuition
you have?”

“And this necklace.” That was real, wasn’t it?

She felt him inch back and resented the loss of his warmth. “Fine. Go have that checked out by an expert,” he said. “If they say it came from a thousand-year-old Indian jewelry maker, then we’ll talk.”

“What if it’s too late?”

He huffed again. “Get it done fast and I’ll do what I can to slow things down a day or two.”

A day or two? “Building on native burial mounds is illegal in most states. Probably all.” She actually didn’t know that for a fact, but it was a safe bet. “So you could be saving your client a whole heap of fines and possible jail time.” Again, a guess she hoped sounded authoritative.

“If he looks at it that way.”

“What other way is there to look at it?” she demanded.

He crossed his arms, leaning against the wall, the only sound throughout the tiny house the pounding rain and a howling wind through the glassless windows. “He fires me and finds himself another builder,” he murmured. “I mean, if you hadn’t found that necklace today, then we would have built and no one would have been the wiser.”

“Depending on what you found when you backhoed.”

“They don’t stop and inspect the ground covering, Arielle. They haul it to a dump.”

“My point exactly. And I did find the necklace, and I found it for a reason.”

She caught the whites of his eyes as he looked upward.

“Don’t roll your eyes at me.”

“You’re a cat who can see in the dark now?”

She let out a sigh, and instantly, his hand found her shoulder with a touch that softened that comment. “Look, things don’t happen for a reason, Arielle. They just happen, and then you deal with them. At least, I do.”

“Fine. This happened, so deal with it by doing the right thing.”

He was stone silent, letting the pounding the house was taking by the storm answer for him. For a few slow heartbeats, they stood less than six inches apart, draped in darkness and the tension of his silence.

“You do respect the dead, don’t you?” she asked.

“I have a hell of a lot more respect for the living.”

A gust of wind screamed through the living room window, along with another flash of lightning and a deafening crack of thunder. Instinctively, she grabbed hold of him. Strong, solid arms wrapped around her and pulled her close into a chest that felt even bigger than it looked.

“It’s okay,” he whispered. “Don’t be scared.”

She wasn’t scared, not of the storm. Grandma Good Bear had taught her to love storms. No, she was scared of how much she wanted to press against this man who rolled his eyes and teased her about being a witch. She was scared he really was The One…and absolutely terrified he wasn’t.