And Babies Make Four Page 4

  She gripped the Jeep’s roll bar, trying to still the turmoil inside of her. She’d have had more luck calming a hurricane. Too clearly she remembered the feel of his body against hers—his heat, his weight, his rich, masculine smell. She recalled the gentle strength of his long-fingered hands, and the way he’d stared down at her, as if he was staring straight into her soul. And she remembered what he’d called her just before he’d left the room. An old-maid scientist with ice water in her veins.

  Her grip tightened on the roll bar. Of course it didn’t matter what he called her—she didn’t give a damn what he thought of her. Insulting her was probably his way of compensating for his own deep-seated feelings of inadequacy. Yes, that’s it, she thought with a satisfied smile. He felt threatened by her successful career and superior intelligence, so he resorted to adolescent insults to prove his own masculine—

  “I’m sorry I called you an old maid,” he told her suddenly.

  “Wha-at?” she said unsteadily, her neat psychological profile of him crumbling to ruin.

  “It was a stupid thing to say,” he continued, keeping his gaze firmly on the road ahead. “I was just … hell, I don’t know what I was. But I shouldn’t have said it and I’m sorry.”

  She stared at him, searching his shadowed face for some hint of scorn or cruelty, but found none. His apology should have calmed her inner uncertainty—instead it made her more confused than ever. She swallowed, aware that she wasn’t prepared for him to be mature and compassionate. She wasn’t prepared for him to care about her feelings.

  She wasn’t prepared to like him.

  Her troubled thoughts were cut short as he palmed the wheel, turning down a graveled side road. “We’re here,” he announced.

  Looking ahead, she saw a small white building nestled in the indigo shadows of the mountainside. Dozens of torches licked its sides with light, making the old structure blaze like a star in a black velvet sky. The effect was breathtaking. “Why, it’s a church!”

  “Was,” Donovan corrected as he pulled his Jeep into a cleared area beside the building. “The Jesuits abandoned it in the last century, when they consolidated their efforts on the larger islands. A priest still shows up twice a year to perform baptisms and marriages. But it’s one of the few buildings on the island large enough to hold a meeting, so Papa uses it the rest of the time.”

  The Jeep shifted as Donovan got out to walk around the front, but Noel hardly noticed. She was staring at the strange, exotic, and somehow enchanting structure. The shattered tiles on the roof and the patched and repatched plaster sides told her that the old building had seen better days. Yet the walls had been scrupulously whitewashed, and the eaves and alcoves had been dressed up with dozens of garlands of rainbow flowers. Noel couldn’t look away. It jarred something deep within her, something true and elemental, and not altogether tame. Like the deep, wild jungle. Like the warm breezes that poured life into her. Like the flowers, the sea, Sam—

  “Jolly-mon!”

  She looked around and saw a group of torch-bearing islanders waving and smiling at her guide. Despite her anxiety, her mouth pulled into a hesitant smile. “Some of the island’s ruthless cutthroats?”

  “Okay, so not everyone on St. Michelle is a desperate criminal,” Sam admitted as he helped her out of the Jeep.

  It was the first time he’d touched her since he’d stalked out of the bedroom. It lasted for only a few seconds, yet the feel of his strong, sure fingers on her bare arm laced through her like ribbons of fire. Dammit, I’m not supposed to feel this way. Not about him.

  “They called you Jolly-mon,” she said in an attempt to redirect her thoughts. “The man at the airport called you that, too. What does it mean?”

  “It’s from an old island story. Jolly-mon was a wandering storyteller who was loved by man and beast alike. He was captured by pirates and pushed overboard, but the dolphins had heard his stories and wouldn’t let him drown. They carried him over the waves on their backs until they set him on the shores of this island.”

  He sighed, turning his face to the stars. “Papa Guinea gave me that name when I first arrived here two years ago. I’m not sure why—I wasn’t very easy to love at the time. I was about as far down as a man can get.”

  “Why?” she asked before she could stop herself.

  Slowly, as if in a dream, he lowered his gaze to meet hers. Torchlight pooled in his eyes, revealing an old pain too deep for healing. For a moment she thought he might open up to her, and it surprised her how much she wanted him to. But at the last instant he looked away, his mouth forming into a hard, self-mocking line.

  “It’s ancient history, sweetheart. I won’t waste your time—or Sheffield’s money—talking about it. Now stick close.” He started to stride toward the church. “Whether you believe it or not, there are plenty of dangerous characters in this crowd.”

  He wasn’t kidding about the crowd. The entire population of St. Michelle seemed to be packed into the little church, along with some of their livestock. Pigs, goats, and chickens vied with their owners for elbow room, adding their snorts and squeals to the general din. It was an amazing assembly. The place was brighter than day, lit by a thousand candles stuck in almost every nook and alcove of the plaster wall. Figures also decorated the walls, festively painted statues of Catholic saints standing side by side with stone carvings of ancient gods. Noel gawked like a tourist at the gaudy pageantry of the walls until a deep-timbred voice close to her ear whispered, “Careful, sweetheart. If you don’t close your mouth one of those hens is gonna make a nest in it.”

  She stiffened, momentarily disconcerted by the soft warmth of his breath against her ear, and the intimate, irresistible laughter lacing his words. Irresistible. She snapped her mouth shut and stepped away, wishing she could step away from her uncertain feelings as easily. “Donovan, I’ll thank you to keep your comments to your—”

  Her words ended as she plowed into the belly of a large man wearing a Day-Glo-orange shirt. “Oh, excuse me. I’m—”

  Ignoring her, the big man yelled over her head to Donovan. “Jolly-mon!”

  Smiling broadly, the neon giant pointed to her and chatted to her guide in the lightning island dialect. His smile died as Donovan shook his head and waved him away.

  “What was that all about?” she asked as she watched the slump-shouldered giant lumber off through the crowd.

  Sam shrugged. “Nothing much. He wanted to buy you.”

  “He wanted … really?” She felt unexpectedly flattered. “How much did he offer?”

  Donovan looked at her sharply, apparently surprised by her reaction. Then the edge of his mouth nudged up in one of his rare, sweet, and completely devastating smiles. “Not nearly enough, sweetheart,” he murmured.

  Their gazes locked. Someone jostled her from behind, but she barely noticed. Donovan’s eyes drew her in like a powerful undertow—silent, relentless, seductive, deadly. I’m here for less than two weeks, her inner voice warned. In ten days I’ll leave and he’ll be out of my life forever. Forever …

  “Damn!” he cursed suddenly.

  Noel stiffened, bruised by the rough oath during the tender moment. “Well, I’m sorry I troubled—”

  “Not you,” he answered curtly, nodding toward the other side of the nave. “Them.”

  She followed his gaze. Two men leaned against the wall, one thin and one burly, but both with the same dark menace in their faces. The thin one rested a mud-booted foot on the head of one of the plaster gods while the big one picked his teeth with a knife. Noel shivered, aware even at this distance that there was something vile about those characters. “Who are they?”

  “The Deveraux brothers, Jacques and Emile. Major bad news. Papa kicked them off the island about six months ago, but their mama must have talked him into letting them come back.” He gripped Noel’s shoulders, turning her to face him. “If one of those guys so much as looks in your direction I want to know about it.”

  “I’m not completely he
lpless. I know how to defend myself. Remember this afternoon?”

  “I remember us ending up in bed with me on top of you,” he answered with ruthless honesty. “You telling me you wanted that to happen?”

  “You wish!”

  “Like hell. The last thing I need in my life is a stuff-shirted, opinionated—”

  “Old maid?” she finished icily.

  “That’s not—hell!” he breathed, dropping his hands from her shoulders. He rammed his fingers through his hair, changing the neat style into a wildly tousled mane of gold. “Dammit, Noel, you make me crazier than any woman since—”

  The stately sound of a bell reverberated through the church, cutting short his speech. A hush fell over the crowd like a dropping cloak. “We’ll finish this later,” Sam promised in a lethal whisper as he pointed to the raised platform at the front of the nave. “He’s here.”

  Noel balled her hands into fists, fighting down the temper she hadn’t known existed in her until a few hours ago. Dammit, the man was insufferable. But she couldn’t let herself get involved in his myopic, chauvinist arguments. She had to think of Einstein and PINK, and the Eden Project.…

  Still fuming, she watched a grandly garbed figure enter the room, wearing an ornate headdress that seemed to be made from the feathers of every kind of bird on the island. He moved with stately, ancient grace toward the thronelike chair at the center of the platform, but when he sat down and faced the crowd she realized she’d been mistaken.

  “Why, he’s young,” she whispered, surprise momentarily overcoming her anger. “He can’t be more than twenty.”

  “Nineteen,” Sam corrected. “Age has nothing to do with magical power. Papa was chosen as head shaman by the elders while he was still in his mother’s womb.”

  Her eyes widened. “How could they tell?”

  Donovan shook his head. “I’ve been on this island two years, and I still don’t understand half of what goes on. It’s a mystical, magical place … and sometimes a deadly one,” he added, his gaze narrowing as he focused on the Deveraux brothers. “I’m going up to talk with Papa. Stay put. And for God’s sake keep out of trouble, sweetheart.”

  “I’m not your sweet …” she began, but her words dwindled off as his broad back disappeared into the milling crowd.

  The man irritated her. But she was honest enough to admit that much of that irritation was caused at least in part by an unwanted infatuation. In Einstein’s words, the guy “toasted her jets.” Well, what of it? she thought, squaring her already rigid shoulders. It was a purely physical attraction—he wasn’t her type at all. Revere women didn’t fall for macho men with big muscles and small brains. Revere women were above that sort of thing.

  But then, other Revere women hadn’t met the likes of Sam Donovan.

  She watched him step onto the platform and head toward Papa Guinea. There was a coiled restlessness in his walk, like a tiger on the prowl. No, a lion, she amended, her gaze shifting to his tousled gold hair. A proud, sad lion who paces the world like a too small cage …

  Instantly, she stiffened. Get real, Noel. Donovan is about as far away from the king of beasts as you can get. He’s a glorified beach bum, whose only up there pleading your case because there’s money in it for him. He doesn’t give a damn about you or your project. He’s in it for the money, just like your—

  “Bonjour, pretty lady.”

  She whirled around, and winced as she caught a whiff of stale rum. Her wince turned to real alarm when she found herself staring into the cruel smile of the shorter, built-like-a-tank Deveraux brother.

  “Bonjour,” he repeated, his newly picked teeth gleaming yellow in the candlelight. “I speak English good. I hear you rich, got big-money ’quipment. You come.”

  He reached out to grab her arm. All he got was air. Noel twisted away and started to push toward the front of the nave. “Donovan! Sam! I need you—”

  A loud squeal drowned out her words. Looking down, she saw that she’d stepped on the tender toes of a sow. A large and angry sow. With a large and angry matron for an owner.

  The next few minutes were a blur to Noel as she overturned a bushel of oranges, backed into a flapping, crowing rooster, scattered a litter of piglets through the congregation, and tripped over the rear end of a recalcitrant nanny goat. The whole church was in turmoil. Half the crowd was laughing—the other half was yelling for her blood.

  “Hell,” she cursed as she pulled her bruised body and ego up from the floor. She looked at the dirt-smeared expanse of her designer shirt and the ruined travesty of her hose. So much for making a good impression on the shaman.

  Suddenly she was yanked to her feet and dragged unceremoniously to the side of the nave. “Damn, woman! Can’t I leave you alone for five minutes without all hell breaking loose?”

  “I was trying to get away from a Deveraux. He grabbed me … and then there was this pig—” She broke off as a strange, unfamiliar feeling bubbled up inside her. She tried to speak, but her mouth couldn’t seem to form the right words. All at once she realized she was grinning. Hugely. Un-Revere-like. “Sam,” she said, beginning to giggle, “I stepped on a pig.…”

  He pulled her against him, muffling her unmannerly laughter against his shirt. He nodded toward his friends in the crowd and gestured toward Noel, making the loco sign. It seemed to satisfy them, and even garnered him a few looks of profound pity.

  She was pure trouble, no doubt about it. But her laughter was the brightest thing he’d heard in months—unexpected, unpredictable, and seductive as warm summer rain. It echoed through him, shattering something deep inside him. Unconsciously, he pulled her closer.…

  Her laughter died. She stiffened and stepped away from his embrace, and began to attempt to brush the dirt from her hopelessly ruined shirt and skirt. She didn’t meet his eyes.

  “Thank you for rescu—I mean, thank you for helping … that is.”

  “You’re welcome,” he said harshly.

  “Yes, well … what did Papa Guinea say?”

  She was making for a safe channel. Or so she thought. “He says you’re a bossy woman who talks too much, but he admires your spirit.”

  “I can live with that,” Noel conceded. “Did he say I can take my equipment into the interior?”

  “Yes, but there’s a catch. Despite your mighty spirit, you’re still a daughter of Eve. He can’t let your strong woman’s influence taint the sacred grounds. So he wants to dilute your feminine power. You’ll have to be … cleansed.”

  “No problem.” Her shoulders straightened in growing confidence. “I believe in honoring the local customs. So what does he want me to do? Sacrifice a chicken or something.”

  “Not exactly.” He rubbed his chin. “You’re not gonna like it.”

  “I don’t have to like it,” she stated with a pragmatism that would have done her Yankee forefathers proud. “I’ve got a mission to accomplish—I’ll do whatever it takes to get into the sacred mountains. What does he want me to do?”

  “Not you. Us.” He bent intimately close to her ear. “He wants us to get married.”

  [Received via Local Area Net, direct cable link]

  P-Text: Psst. E, you didn’t power down, did you?

  E-Text: No way, babe. This island’s a jumpin’ place at night. Been scanning local ham-radio frequencies for news, information—

  P-Text: The shopping channel?

  E-Text: [Several nanoseconds pause] Okay, maybe. Anyway, I surfed into something way cool. Seems there’s a wedding going on. Donovan’s the groom, and the bride is a foreign devil with a name that means Christmas. Noel!

  FOUR

  Sam knew she’d be angry. He just didn’t know how angry.

  Her eyes widened in shock, flashing with the fire of an erupting volcano. “He’s kidding. He’s got to be kidding!”

  “Trust me. He’s dead serious,” Donovan promised grimly. “Papa Guinea won’t let an unmarried woman enter the sacred lands. I don’t like it any better than you do, but
if you’ll keep quiet a minute you’ll see it’s not that bad—”

  “Not bad?” Her voice rose with her fury. “A teenage witch doctor orders me to marry a man I barely know, and you say it’s not bad?”

  “Keep it down,” he warned, glancing over his shoulder at the curious bystanders. “Some of these folks understand English.”

  “Great. Then they can translate this to your shaman. I think you are the lowest, crudest, most despicable creature who ever crawled out of the slime—”

  She got no further. Sam yanked her against him and clamped his hand over her mouth—then almost lost his grip when she struggled and tried to take a chunk out of his hand. Why me, God? What did I ever do to you to deserve this hellcat? “Listen little … you know how much you don’t want to marry me? Well, trust me, sweetheart, that goes triple for me. But Papa Guinea is a spiritual authority, not a legal one. He can’t marry people.”

  Her eyes still blazed with emerald fury, but she stopped struggling. At least she was willing to listen to him. Or was plotting her next assault. He figured he had about three seconds to convince her, if that. Leaning down, he whispered low into her ear so that only she could hear him. “The priests come here every six months—they travel in a circuit around the small islands of this area. But six months is a long time for hot-blooded young couples to wait, so Papa ‘marries’ them—and the church fathers make it legal on their biannual visits.”

  She mumbled something unintelligible against his palm. Giving her a look of warning, he pulled his hand away.

  “So we wouldn’t really be married?” she whispered slowly.

  “Not unless you wait around for a priest,” he promised. “Use that Ph.D brain of yours. You’d get to do your research. I’d get my money. Everyone’s happy.”

  “Except it’s not exactly … honest,” she said hesitantly.

  Great. A hellcat with a conscience. “The only thing honest’s gonna get you is a plane ride back to the States. If that’s what you want, fine, but …” His voice trailed off as he looked at the crowd gathering around them. Apparently others had heard about Papa’s judgment and were curious to see what the “crazy foreign woman” had decided. “They’re waiting for you to make the call. It’s up to you, Noel. What’s it gonna be?”