Obsidian (3 page)

And that was an ominous thought for a man who believed heavily in coincidences.

Solitude closed in on Shelby like an enveloping mist. The wind picked up, carrying across the tops of the trees, and the crack of the waves hitting the shore did little to soothe the ache filling her heart tonight.

It was an unusual habit she had, walking the shore at night. It was an especially strange habit for someone terrified of the ocean.

She considered her unreasonable fear. Her conscious mind could clearly see she had nothing to be afraid of, but it was the dreams at night that filled her subconscious, keeping her from restful sleep, and chasing her—driving her to walk the beach like some haunted image in search of peace.

Shelby Teague shivered, pulling her thin coat closer around her. The warmth of the daylight had given way to the still cooler autumn nights. Maine in September was unpredictable at best. It could snow, or rain, or just about any other kind of condition in between.

She picked her way out to her own private spot high up on the cliffs. The jagged rocks stretched down, slashing into the ocean and cutting into the darkened waves. She stayed back a safe distance, settling herself back against the rocks and pulling her feet up under her for warmth. She sat in silence for a long time as the wind buffeted her. She wouldn’t find any peace here tonight.

It had been a whole year since Tommy’s death. It'd been a year of change, a year of loss, and a year of moving on alone.

She shivered as the cold seeped beneath the folds of her jacket. She should head home. It was getting late, too late to walk the beach alone. Besides, if she didn’t return soon her uncle would get worried about her.

At first, the gentle buzzing she heard above the wind was no more than a minor distraction. But as it increased, growing louder by the second, the noise filtered through her consciousness until she couldn’t ignore it.

Shelby put her hand to her ears, cupping them against the wind as she strained to find the sound. Through the darkness the lights of a small plane emerged, dipping in toward the cove and skimming over the water like a giant bird.

Stupid fool, this was not a night for anyone to be out
flying. The plane circled the point, making a wide arch until it came around once again. A large black form dropped from underneath, the image blurring in the night. Shelby held her breath as a splash sounded above the tremor of noise.

The whir of the engines increased as it turned, not going over the land, but heading out again low toward open water.

Shelby scrunched her eyes, scanning the waves for any sign of a package floating among the waves. Perhaps, it was her mind playing tricks on her. The darkness and the wind conspired to make her think she’d seen something. But what had she seen?

She pulled her coat back around her again and began edging her way along the rocks toward the water. The rocks were slippery with seaweed and the jagged edges bit at her hands. Fear trampled through her mind, impeding her investigating. The sound of waves crashing filled her ears and she got as close as she dared before trying to look out over the surface of the water again. But all she could see were the sharp outline of lobster buoys dancing in the waves. There was nothing there. No floating boxes. There were no bodies washing ashore. Nothing.

It was her mind.

She scrambled back to safety. She should go home. She had the distinct feeling that whatever she’d seen tonight was not meant for her. The best thing to do would be to report it and let someone else investigate it in the daylight. But then, who would believe her?

Picking her way back across the rocks, Shelby took the wooded inland route toward home and civilization, deciding to come back in the morning. In the light, she’d either find the evidence she was looking for, or realize this had only been a dream.

Shelby set down the plastic crate she was struggling with and held up a hand to shield her eyes from the sun as her brother’s boat moved out past the moorings, heading toward open water.

Stretching, she put her hands at the small of back. Her muscles ached from the heavy hauling, but it was a good kind of ache that came with the satisfaction of hard work.

She looked up at her store. It resembled an oversized cottage that clutched tenuously against the ledges above the wharf. The old roof was in need of new shingles and the siding had worn to a faded gray. But the painting and shingling would have to wait. Soon enough she’d be busy getting ready for the winter. Before long, the snow would come and then they’d be stuck inside for the endless months of cold.

Shelby threw her heavy, rubber gloves into one of the plastic bins and headed up the path. The store was her domain, a virtual family landmark in Chandler. For eighty years, her family had tended to the people of Chandler, and now it was up to her to keep it going.

The gravel crunched beneath her feet as she made the short climb up the hill. Most days, she left the wharf operations to her uncle. She had some help in the store a couple of days a week, enough to free her to do things around the house, or keep the books. Still, some days she’d have liked nothing more than to curl up in a chair with a good book and dream the day away.

Her uncle met her in the doorway. John Case’s usual gentle gaze was guarded as he stared past her at the departing boat.

“I saw Josh head out.”

Shelby shook her head. “He’s done hauling for the day and he’s gone to try some urchin diving.”

As always, she thought of Tommy when diving was mentioned. But even with her husband's death her brother had no such misgivings about diving.

“Your brother is a stubborn fool.” The trailing wake of her brother’s departing boat settled into gentle waves. “He’ll be hard pressed to find what he’s looking for out there.” His lips thinned into a long grim line.

“What do you mean?” Sometimes, she sensed caution in her uncle. He’d taken on the role of protector, watching over her and her brother since their father’s death.

“Josh takes too many risks. I don’t need to tell you that what he’s doing is dangerous, especially when there’s as little experience as he’s got.” He shook his head once again. “Josh hasn’t got sense enough to stay out of trouble.”

“Don’t worry, he’ll be okay.” Shelby gave her uncle’s hand a quick reassuring squeeze.

But he was right. Josh was risking his neck to make a fast dollar, and he was forgetting the most important thing, diving was dangerous when the skill wasn’t there. Something Tommy had found out and Shelby couldn’t forget.

She placed a hand on her uncle’s shoulder. He turned to look at her, forcing the frown from his face and replacing it with a smile.

“He’ll be alright,” she said. He had to be.

“I hope you’re right.”

He looked down at her, for the first time taking in the orange rubberized coveralls and cotton shirt. He raised an eyebrow at her as she stepped back from his scrutiny.

“I’m not dressing to impress. I’m dressing to work. I can’t haul buckets and barrels in a dress.” She gave him a sigh. “What?”

“Nothing.” The quiet in his voice made his words honey smooth. “All I’m thinking is we might do a bit more business if you had a dress on inside of those coveralls instead of one of your husband’s shirts. Who knows you might even get a date once in a while.”

Shelby shook her head. “You know I’m not looking to date. And even if I were, it wouldn’t be anyone in Chandler.”

“That’s good,” her uncle chuckled. “Because with that outfit the only thing you’re likely to attract is a bunch of seagulls.”

Shelby propped the lid of the tank up over her arm while the latch dug into the soft spot between her shoulder blades. Inside the tank, the noise of the ailing pump filled her ears as she struggled to keep the tubing in place. This was the second time in, as many months that she’d had to replace the pump on the holding tank. She should be a pro at it by now.

Her uncle’s words about her clothes had struck a nerve in her. It’d been a long time since she’d paid any attention to her looks, never doing more than a quick glance in the mirror as she headed out the door. There was little use for fancy dresses in her line of work, but his words still irked her so much that she’d put away the coveralls for now. At least until she needed them again.

She looked down at the water below her in the tank. A lobster with its spiny antenna eyed her back, waving a banded claw in her direction.

“Watch it or you’ll be lunch.” The lobster backed away as if he’d sized up his opponent and found her lacking.

Her hand slipped off the black, rubber filter tubing. Shelby fumbled against the edge of the tank as she fought with the slippery hose.

The place was starting to fall apart around her. She did her best, but sometimes it was much more than she could handle on her own. Someday, it would be nice to have someone to share some of the duties around here with her. Her uncle did his best to help out where he could. But at times like this, it would’ve been nice to have someone to share the responsibilities.

She repositioned her feet in the gravel trying to reach a little further into the tank. Her soft-soled boots slid against the rocks and she struck out to steady herself. Her hand came down hard in the tank, splashing water and sending up a soaking spray into her face. Water dripped off her bangs and into her eyes. Great, just what she needed.

“Can I help you with something?” Her head hit the underside of the tank lid with a thump and she pulled back, letting the lid slam down behind her. She looked up, half expecting to see uncle’s stout form. Instead, she froze in mid-motion, her shirt tail still gathered in her wet hands as water dripped down her cheek.

He was tall and long, lean and wiry, a good five or six inches taller than most of the men she knew. She dropped the edge of her shirt.

The stranger wore jeans that had faded to a summer sky blue. His tee shirt was blinding white, in stark contrast to the dark hair that hung in waves above his collar. Clearly, she’d have remembered someone who looked like him.

“May I help you?” She tilted her head to the side and squinting against the glare of the afternoon sun.

A pair of sunglasses hid his eyes. The black metal frames outlined a burst of bright colors. She looked past him to the motorcycle he’d parked next to her truck. A large canvas duffel bag was tied to the back and the flashy paint job was covered with a layer of road dust.

She definitely would’ve remembered someone like him.

“I believe I was offering to help you. You looked like you could use some.”

Shelby smoothed her hands against her jeans self-consciously. The rough texture rubbed beneath her fingers and suddenly she was very aware of her less than feminine appearance.

“Thank you, but I’m fine.” Her words sounded sharp even to her own ears. Maybe her uncle was right. Maybe she was becoming uncivilized.

He smiled. “I can see.” He pulled a handkerchief from his back pocket and held it out to her. “Here, take this. I don’t have a towel on me, but this should help.”

Shelby took the scrap of blue fabric, wiping at the water on her hands and her face.

He waved her off as she reached out to hand it back. “Keep it. It looks as if you might need it again.” She wasn’t sure if she was insulted by the stranger or pleased at his politeness.

He raised his sunglasses, resting them against his hair. He had nice eyes, a smoky cross of gray and blue. But there was edginess in his gaze that kept the smile on his lips from reflecting in his eyes.

A thin-white scar ran from the corner of his eye to disappear beyond his hairline. It did nothing to distract from the man’s good looks. Instead, it intensified the air about him, adding to his dangerous appeal.

Shelby widened her stance, bracing herself against the sudden weakness in her legs.

He raised an eyebrow at her, giving her a one-sided charmer smile, a mere quip of the lip. But it was enough to step up her pulse a notch.

She really did need to get out more.

“I’m looking for a job and I was told I should try here.” His voice was slow and languid, sending a fresh shudder up her spine. It held a slow caress of a southern twinge that slid down the length of her and settled at her toes. It was sultry, deep and not from Maine.

He moved closer, covering the distance between them in a few easy steps. His height blocked the sun from her face and allowed a rather up close and personal look at his features. He was handsome.

Still, he was a stranger and in a town the size of Chandler, there were few who welcomed outsiders, especially ones that looked too pretty to get themselves dirty doing hard work for a living.

“I’m afraid that you’ll be hard pressed to find work around here unless you know something about baiting traps or hauling lines.”

“You don’t think I’m suited for it?” He gave her a hard unnerving gaze that settled upon her face. He smiled the same slow, one-sided grin he’d offered before.

“Well, looks can be deceiving, can’t they? When I pulled up I thought you were a man.” His words slid between them before he added. “But you are definitely
not
a man.”