by Cathryn Cade
Then she carried her backpack and purse down the stairs. Even in the cool house, she was sweating by the time she reached the bottom of the stairs. Guess she wasn't completely back to normal quite yet.
He was waiting for her, leaning on the side of the wide door into the kitchen, thick arms crossed over his chest, the scowl back on his face. "You don't have to take off just to prove a point," he said. "Glad you're healing up, but you might wanna take it easy for a day or two."
Panting, Shelle deposited the heavy pack on the floor. "I'm not trying to prove anything. Thanks for helping me out, but I'm fine now."
Miraculously, she was, and she still did not have a handle on that, because the cuts had been infected and gross, but now the pain was gone along with the fever and chills.
But she'd think about that later, once she got gone. She did not want to be alone with a stranger. Yeah, he may have carried her up here, and treated her with care, but how did she know he meant to keep it up? He might be lulling her into feeling safe, until he was ready to lock her in a dark room and do bad things to her.
"So I'm gonna go," she said, keeping her pack between them as she scanned the foyer for the way out. He said nothing. Okay, fine. She headed for the big double doors to the right. They must lead to the street, or at least a road.
"'Kay den," he said. "But you can't walk it—too far in the August heat. I'll take you." He grabbed a set of keys off a side table and took her pack.
Shelle hesitated for a long moment. His heavy brows drew together, and he threw open one of the heavy, wood doors, indicating the sunbaked driveway outside. It curved away up the hill, lined with flowering shrubs. "C'mon, if you're coming," he said.
Somehow, the return of that scowl was reassuring. He wasn't trying to seduce her, that was for sure.
She followed him out into the heat of the afternoon, to a shiny, red Toyota pickup. "Oh, careful with my pack," she said quickly. "My laptop is in there."
He nodded, setting her pack carefully in the back, and walked around to get in, leaving her to hop in herself. Nope, no seduction here. Just a grumpy guy getting rid of an annoying interloper.
They rode in silence up the curving drive. She couldn't help but admire the scenery, even though she was getting nervous for a whole new reason. She had no fah-reakin' idea where she was going to go, or where she’d stay until Vicky got back.
They pulled to a stop at the highway, busy with traffic headed both ways. Well-to-do tourists in their shiny rental cars and expensive sunglasses, off to the beach or shopping, and then back to their cool and comfy hotel rooms. Must be nice. She might could afford to stay a couple nights at a hostel, if she only ate two meals a day. Small ones.
Finally, she realized Moke was staring at her.
"What?" she asked, lifting a hand to her face. Did she still have barbecue on her face, or something?
"Which way?" He waved a hand to indicate right or left.
Shelle flushed. "Oh, sorry. Uh, she lives in Kaleo. So turn right." And she knew it was this way, because she’d studied a local map she’d bought in Kona.
"Kah-lay-oh," he corrected. The truck accelerated, and they pulled out into traffic, headed along the mountainside.
"Kaleo," she repeated. "Okay." Okay, she repeated silently to herself. She was okay, everything would be okay. She'd find a hostel, then Vicky would be home in a few days, and boom. Okay, maybe boom wasn't the right word to use when stuck on an island with an active volcano.
They rolled over the long rise, and down around a few sharp turns into a small town sprawled on both sides of the road. Typical of this humid area, any metal on homes and businesses showed signs of rust. Houses were painted in pastels. They passed a school, a grocery store and a bakery wafting delicious smells out into the warm, damp air.
Shelle peered along the road, also the main street. Up ahead, a painted, wooden sign shaped like a pineapple rose, framed in surfboards. Faded letters read HOST_L. "There," she said, pointing.
Her driver grunted. "A hostel? Great place to make new friends—if you like bedbugs and roaches. You get real lucky, you get your stuff stolen."
"Well, aren't you a ray of sunshine." She glared at him. "It's just a place for you to drop me off, okay? I'll walk to her place from here."
He gave her a look, and her cheeks burned. So he didn't believe her. Not her problem.
"Okay, that's what you really want. Lemme get your backpack out, though. Drag it, might scratch the paint on this rental." He pulled in by the curb and stopped the truck. Shelle hopped out and waited, making a conscious effort not to jitter back and forth on her feet from sudden nerves as he walked around to hoist her pack down for her.
He handed the pack to her and straightened, looking down at her. Gah, why did he have to smell so good, like clean man and ocean? She backed away, hoisting her pack over her shoulder, then stopped. "Thank you, for everything...Moke. Uh, so I guess I'll see you." Or not, because if he mostly hung out down at that luxe beach compound, and she was over here at Vicky's little place, nope. Their twain wasn't likely to meet.
And if that left a little hollow inside her chest, she could bury that the way she did every other disappointment in life. He was the last thing she needed right now. No men of any kind, no way, no how.
He lifted his chin, and that corner of his mouth kicked up again. "No problem, Shelle."
Gah, he said her name with a sort of island lilt that made her want to hear it again. But when his dark eyes grew intent with a certain look that she recognized, having seen it on plenty of guys' faces, she realized she'd smiled back at him. She turned it upside down, and took another step back. Time to go, past time to go.
Turning her back on him resolutely, Shelle walked along the sidewalk, turned the corner and walked down the steep side street. Just past the hostel was a storage area fenced in stained, corrugated fiberglass, with huge monstera leaves climbing one end. Next came a little pink house which seemed to lean into the hill for support. Just past this, a small grove of banana trees grew in messy profusion under a soaring tree, purple-flowered branches spread out like a giant, lacy umbrella.
Shelle walked behind the banana trees, set her pack down on the leaf-covered ground, and perched on a big rock. Then she waited.
When she judged that Moke had had enough time to get turned around and headed back to his beautiful private bay, she trudged back up the hill to the hostel. Whew, it was hot. Her clothes were sticking to her, especially her shirt under her pack.
Several moments later, she stalked back out of the hostel, scowling over her shoulder at the skinny, blonde surfer-girl working the front desk, who had looked way too pleased to inform Shelle they were all full up. Skank, probably saw Shelle as competition for the surfers. Little did she know she could have 'em all, with Shelle's compliments.
But up on the main street again, she stopped short.
A familiar, over-large Hawaiian leaned against a bright red truck, long legs crossed, one arm draped casually over the open passenger door. He didn't seem at all bothered by the heat. Of course, he wouldn't be, he was a native here. "Your auntie lives in a hostel, huh?" he asked.
God, he was annoying. "No, of course not. She's out of town, I told you that. Had to take her husband over to Honolulu to a specialist."
"So, get in, I'll drive you to her house. She leave a key under a planter, or something? That's what people do around here."
Ugh. He just would not give up. "No, I can't go to her house. It's in the lava zone, or whatever. They're not letting anyone in except residents with local ID."
He shook his head at her. "'Bout time you admitted that. You definitely don't wanna go there, even if they would let you in, wahine. Lotta homes already lost, and more gonna go. Dangerous place to be. So, whatchu gonna do? Look for a little nicer place than this to stay?"
She shifted uncomfortably, her gaze sliding away. "Don't worry about me. Like I said, I'll be fine. You can go back to your place."
He made a deep sound th
at sounded like maybe a chuckle. "It's not my place, wahine. I'm just watching it for some friends. You don't remember, but it was their uncle who fixed you up. Anyways, he said you can stay for a while, if you want."
Shelle blinked. "Oh, no. That's...really nice, but I couldn't do that."
"Why not? You looking to get back out, camp on the beach some more? Little hot for that, seems to me. And no offense, but you look better when you're not crusted with salt and sand."
She frowned up at him, her cheeks burning. "Oh, funny guy. No, of course I don't want to camp out again."
His mouth quirked up at the corners. "So, what's keeping you from staying at a nice beach house instead?
"Well, because," she said. Was he even for real? "I don't know you. And you don't really even know me. Why would you want me to stay?"
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Was she for real?
Moke's brows rose. Why would any guy want her around—to look at, if nothing else. He'd hook up with her in a hot, sweaty minute if he thought she'd go for it. Which he didn't, because she really only seemed comfortable with him when she was pissed at him.
He shrugged. "Eh, you're someone to talk to, anyways," he said. "And when you're feeling better, you can pay me back."
She backed away from him, her lip curling. "Shyeah, I don't think so. I'm just gonna go and... look for another place here in town. Uh, thanks. Bye."
Moke watched as she stepped off the cracked sidewalk onto the edge of the road. Those legs of hers, so ono. "What?" he called after her, "You don't do yard work?"
She stopped in her tracks and looked back at him, her mouth open. Then it snapped shut, and she glowered at him.
He grinned, 'cause giving her shit was more fun than he'd had with a wahine in a long time. She'd totally thought he meant pay him back with sex.
"I can do lots of things," she said. "I just... I'm fine on my own."
Yeah, she might be. She could rough it here in this little town and be okay. Or she might get jumped by some low-life, like whoever had given her those cuts.
He set his jaw. Not on his island.
And yeah, a part of him was giving himself the side-eye, and reminding him that only yesterday, he'd wanted to do nothing more than get her gone.
But instead of being a whiny opportunist like the two squatters he'd run off the family place, this woman was embarrassed by her circumstance, and yet practically dared him to get her to stay and accept help.
At that moment, a siren pierced the quiet afternoon. It started low, and rose in an eerie whoop, then repeated.
Shelle turned and jogged back to him, her big pack bumping on her back. Her face was pale, her eyes big. "What is that?"
Moke was already moving to meet her. He put a hand on her back. Traffic was slowing on the road as drivers peered from their vehicles. "It's the volcano. Might be another fissure opening up, or might be gas blowing this way. C'mon, you don't wanna stay here. Too close to the eruption zone."
He grabbed her pack, set it in the back of the truck again, and motioned for her to hop into the cab.
Clutching her purse, she did, and sat big-eyed as he jogged around the truck and got in. "But...where will we go?"
Moke hit the key fob to start the truck up, and shifted into gear, scanning for a space to do a quick U turn. "Let's get outta here. We'll talk on the way."
He hit the gas and turned the wheel, and they scooted out into traffic, headed back toward Nawea. Patrons of the local businesses were out in the parking lots now, squinting up at the mountain as if they could see Kilauea's activity from here. They were locals, not much perturbed by the sirens.
But when they headed up the hill, Moke shook his head. "Idiots," he muttered to a blond, sunburned young couple who had stopped their rental SUV right in the middle of the road, while they peered around with phones held up. He rolled down his truck window as he slowed by their vehicle. "Hey!" he bellowed, "You wanna take video, pull off the road—now!"
The young man stared at Moke, his eyes wide. "But, ees volcano!" he called in a heavy European accent.
Moke shifted into park and pulled his truck door open part way. "Yeah, and you need to move. You need some help with that?"
"Yeah, geev-um, brah!" A Hawaiian called from his beat-up truck behind the tourists. He was grinning widely. He laid on his truck horn, adding to the siren's cacophony.
The blond girl waved her hands, jabbering away at her guy, eying Moke like he might leap at her. Finally, the guy put their SUV in gear, and they drove on.
People were coming out of the little grocery store now, and the post office next to it. A toddler started to cry, and his mother picked him up and hurried for the parking lot. Others followed.
"What will happen?" Shelle asked him, her voice shaky. "I mean, will it blow up, like—kablooey?"
"Nah," Moke said. "This is mostly fissures opening in the earth, hot lava bubbling out and down the mountain. But if there's a house in the way, it's gonna burn."
"Oh, no." She clapped a hand to her mouth. "I hope Vicky's rental is okay."
He glanced over at her. "Yeah, so do I. She right in the eruption zone?"
"I don't think so. She said they're above that neighborhood a ways."
"That's good. She been over there long?"
"No. She moved over from Tacoma a year ago November, with her new husband, uh, Dave. She loves it here. Says she feels warm for the first time in forty years."
He snorted. "Lot hotter here than Sea-Tac, 'specially this time of year. That where you're from too?"
"Yeah." She leaned back, shifting in her seat, curling her long legs toward him, and fiddled with one of her sandals. "Yep, I'm a Tacoma girl." She looked over at him. "How about you, have you ever been there?"
He couldn't help chuckling. "Yeah. I don't live here anymore. I'm just here to visit. Live in Eastern Washington state now."
"Oh," she breathed. "So you don't own the beach place?"
"Nope. Belongs to some friends, the Ho'omalus. They're on Maui right now, asked me to stay and watch the place for a few days."
"Ho'omalu," she repeated, and reached up to twirl a long curl around her finger, even as she peered in the rearview mirror, keeping an eye out behind them. "I love Hawaiian names. Do you have a Hawaiian last name? 'Cause you're from here, you said."
"Yeah," he said. "I'm from here. My name's Ahuelo."
"So what does Moke mean then? Is it your middle name?"
He snorted. "No. First name’s Matthew. Moke just means... a guy. A big guy, like 'Hey, kanaka, don't beef wit dat moke, he tear you up.'"
She laughed, a husky sound that hitched in the middle. "I beef wit you, you gonna tear me up, Moke?"
Moke stopped as the car in front of them braked, waiting for someone up ahead to turn left. He cast a look over at her and shook his head. "That's a no. Can think of things I'd do with you, wahine, but none of them would be that rough."
Her eyes widened, and she ducked her head, letting her mane of hair fall forward to hide her face from him, but not before he saw her near cheek flush dusky pink. He was grinning to himself as traffic flowed again and they drove on, slowly.
She didn't stay still for long, craning her neck to look behind them. "So will everyone have to leave Kaleo, too?"
"Nah," he said. "Siren's just to let 'em know keep an eye out, things are happening over the mountain, so be wary. And watch out for the laze, it can be toxic. Now hang on, I'm gonna go around this guy. Longer we're on the road, more chance we have of getting caught in a traffic jam."
She hung onto the door handle as he drove off the pavement. The truck rocked into a shallow ditch and back out, around a dump truck waiting to turn left. After that, traffic moved more quickly.
"So, like, hot lava isn't going to pour down this side of the mountain?" she asked, jigging one leg nervously. "I mean, I don't know why I'm asking you, you're not a volcano expert, right?"
"No, but I am Hawaiian. Grew up on dis island. So I know a fair amount about
Pele's fire. The current eruption is flowing down the east-southeast side of Mauna Loa. We're on the south end of da mountain now, but we're headed northwest, so we're going away from the flow."
She nodded. "Okay, that's good, at least."
As they curved around the flank of the mountain, the sirens faded in the distance. They drove up a long grade, and broke over the top, with the South Kohala district spread out before them. The mountainside rolled in a long slope, a patchwork of greens down to the blue waters. The white afternoon surf dashed against the shores, flying up like white lace and falling back again. Fishing boats and tour boats were white specks out on the blue.
Shelle twisted in her seat, gazing out the back window again. "I can see smoke, or steam, but that's all."
Moke glanced in the truck's side mirror. A low greyish-white cloud hazed into the blue sky behind the mountain. "Yeah, we're not gonna see anything from over this side. Wait a bit, you can watch it on the internet news, or YouTube. They get that shit online fast."
She settled back in her seat as they headed across the mountain, tall trees masking the view behind them. "I know, right? I watched a YouTube video of people out in boats, watching the hot lava pour into the ocean. It was so cool."
"Right? Pele's volcanoes are different than the mainland. Mt St Helens made a helluva blast in Washington state. But our volcanoes mostly bleed molten lava. Pele's tears, we call it."
"That's a pretty name for such destruction."
He shrugged. "How these islands were built. And she's not through with this one, not by a long shot. The youngest island in the chain, and still growing."
"So Pele, she's the local goddess, right? Like in Moana?"
He raised his brows at her. "You saw that?"
"Yeah, it's an awesome movie. You saw it too? Aw, a big Hawaiian moke watching the Rock be another big Hawaiian moke."
"Kids had it on at the clubhouse, I ended up watching with them." And with T-Bear, who'd laughed his ass off, probably because Maui in the movie was a lot like T himself—big, full of tricks and full of himself. "The Rock did a great job."
