The half hour of play made up for her not having shown up at lunch. After their meal he went outside to work under the porch light. Serena brought out a kitchen chair to keep him company. He handed her a pair of foam earplugs.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m making a cameo,” he said. “Of you.”
She peered over his shoulder. “But I’m naked,” she squeaked.
“Yeah.” He leered at her. She was. The little mermaid’s generous nude breasts were tipped with rose. They glinted through the fall of pastel curls. Everything would glow when he had all this outer material removed. He scraped gently at the horny periostracum with the tip of the drill.
“I’m not wearing that out in public,” she said fiercely.
“I guess not.” He shook his head and tried to explain. “The shell wants to look like this. But it will have to be a very private token. I’m not in favor of waving my fated mate’s body around for any passing male to drool over.” In fact he thought it was going around his own neck, no more on view than his dog tags were, and even more precious.
“Maybe you should be working on a fetish that would change a mer-king’s mind,” she said wistfully.
The last scrap of mottled shell chipped off. He held the shell up to the porch light. Light shone through the flattened oval he had exposed lighting up his mate. He switched to a sanding wheel and began to buff the bare area on the back.
“What are you doing now?”
“Polishing it smooth so that the light will pass through more evenly.”
“Oh.”
“You ready to tell me why you needed a mental health day?”
She touched her belly. “We were careless last night.”
“Yeah. You know I’ll marry you in a heartbeat, don’t you?”
“I promised his majesty I wouldn’t marry without his permission. I can’t break my word, Anton.”
“Think he’ll agree if you’re about to become an unmarried mother?”
“No. Yes. I just don’t think you would survive the honeymoon. Lot of deep water around here.”
He raised his brows at her. “Your father isn’t murderous.” Probably. The mer-king was fiercely protective. As he had every right to be. Would he kill to keep Serena safe from Anton?
“I’m worried about him. His feelings run deep. I know he’s high-handed, but he’s my father, and the king, and I love him.”
Of course she did. Wouldn’t be his one true love, if she didn’t.
“Even if he bumped me off, you could still have a half-breed in your tum.”
“I suppose so. But he might not figure that out in time.” Her voice wound down wearily.
“Did you spend your entire day chasing that thought like a hamster on a wheel?” He did not succeed in keeping the disapproval out of his voice.
“Nope. I went to the library and tried to find my brother.”
Well, dang. “Did you? Any luck?”
“Not really. I found a painting that reminded me of his stuff. No photo of the artist and it wasn’t Carlyle’s name signed either.”
“Interesting.” He turned off the buffer. “Got a picture to show me?”
She pulled out her cell. “Of course.”
The seascape was lovely. A turbulent sea flung itself against tall rugged rocks. The sun sank behind clouds streaked with plum, violet and apricot. The low light sparkled on the waves racing toward the wet rocks. In the foreground, a long spiral seashell sparkled on golden-white sand, drawing the eye. Its glossy whorls were encrusted with what appeared to be pearls of every color. The rays of the dying sun turned the seashell to orange and purple.
Anton whistled. “It would take quite a critter to make a shell that size.”
Serena laughed. “I guess. But mollusks come in all sizes, you know. Do you see how the outside looks like that shell you are working on? As if all the horny material on the outside has been stripped away to reveal the mother-of-pearl?”
He peered closer. “Maybe it’s just supposed to be wet?”
“It’s awfully shiny for just wet. And that long tube looks as though it’s been filed off to make a mouthpiece. It sure looks like a conch-horn. Anyway it just seems like too much of a coincidence.”
“You mean you telling me about the lost conch last night, and then finding a painting with what might be a look-alike, today?”
“That too. Last night I dreamed about Carlyle. He was leading us out in the unmarked, deep ocean to find the great conch. And there it is. On the beach at Sunset Cove.”
“Huh.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Roger~
“Well, where in tarnation is she?” Roger howled.
Interim Sheriff Walter Babcock set the station phone down. “Harbor Master says that Anton Benoit’s truck left on the morning ferry. He doesn’t know if your daughter was with him.”
Since a ticket to West Haven was always a two-way proposition, there was no ticket booth on the island. Just a pier where the ferry docked. And once the ferry pulled away no one manned the dock. But there were always people loitering by the water.
“Well, can’t you find out? There are always goldarned layabouts on the pier,” Roger cried.
Walter’s watery blue eyes were sympathetic. His voice was calm. “I’ve already exceeded my authority by asking Evan Scopes if Miss Serena left on the ferry. Your daughter is a grown woman. If she wants to go away for the weekend, she has every right. And that goes double for Sgt. Benoit.”
“Unless that son of a bear kidnapped her.”
“You don’t believe that, Roger.” But Wally picked up the phone again. “Hey, Phyllis, it’s Wally.” He and the Tidewater Inn’s desk clerk exchanged amenities while Roger fumed.
“Just wondered about that bear staying in Sunflower. Paid up through next week, did he? Until next Sunday? Did he say where he was headed this morning? Well, thanks.” Wally hung up.
“Well?” demanded Roger impatiently.
“Benoit came into the inn with Miss Serena to pay his cabin rent. As far as Phyllis knows he’s returned to Sunflower afterward.”
Roger’s heart sank. “Which we know isn’t so. He’s taken her. And not just for a dirty weekend either.”
Wally hid his blush behind his hand. When he took it away, his expression was bland. “Benoit didn’t check out. He paid for another week. Looks like he and Miss Serena went to Friday Harbor. Pretty spot, even in the winter. I shouldn’t worry. They’ll be back.”
Roger ground his teeth. Sure as shooting that danged bear had eloped with his daughter.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Friday Harbor
Serena~
She hadn’t realized just how tightly wound she had been until they disembarked in Friday Harbor. “Do you think this Richard Constantine is Carlyle?” she asked Anton on the way to the airport and their connecting flight to Portland.
His response dashed her hopes. “Nope. If Steve Holden says Dr. Constantine is a retired dentist, then that is precisely who he is. It think the initials are just a coincidence.”
“Oh.”
“Don’t worry. We’ll find your brother. Locating that seascape was a stroke of luck or genius. Holden will have the gallery owner falling all over himself to divulge where his anonymous painter lives.”
“On a Saturday?”
“When money talks, the art world listens.”
“Is your boss that rich?”
“Ever hear of B&B Oil?” he asked.
“Of course. Largest privately-owned oil company in America.”
“And don’t you forget it. Steve is one of the heirs of the founder. And married to another. Rich doesn’t begin to describe the Bascoms.”
“Oh.”
“Want to know a sad truth?”
“What?”
“The other B in B&B is Benoit.”
She laughed. “Does that make you a multimillionaire?”
“Heck no. It means that old Clive Bascom’s mom was a Benoit. H
e came from French Town if you can believe.” He shook his head. “We meet up someplace on the family tree, just not on the same twiglet*.”
“I’m glad you’re not rich,” she said fiercely. Just folks was fine by her.
“I do okay.”
* * *
Portland
Anton~
Dr. and Mrs. Constantine lived in one of Portland’s older suburbs in a sprawling mock Tudor set off with manicured lawns. A gardener was clipping the hedge at the side of the two-story house.
“Wow, this place is quite something,” Serena said as Anton parked the rental in the curving driveway. “Is that why you went for the flashy SUV?”
“Yeah.” He grinned. “Holden has already told Constantine that we’re interested in the work of this RC. Turns out the Constantines want to sell. We have to look like we can afford it.”
She glanced down at her simple blue and white sundress and white sandals. “I don’t look like a wealthy art collector.”
“You look beautiful. Add a smile and you’re good to go.”
She checked her lipstick. “Maybe he’s met Carlyle.”
Anton held her hand as he walked her up to the front door. “Maybe.” He tried to keep his doubts from showing.
The dentist and his wife served them coffee in their living room. The room was overstuffed with pale furnishings. The glowing four-by-six canvas in its plain ivory frame dominated the room. The Constantines sat on the couch underneath it, while he and Serena sat facing it.
In person the oil was even more spectacular. The waves seemed to move. The radiant shell in the foreground pulsed with potential. Serena was so buzzed he figured she was convinced it was her brother’s work. Anton sipped his coffee and waited. She flicked him a sideways glance. He kept his attention on the older couple.
“So how did you find out we wanted to sell?” Richard Constantine asked.
“Your dealer posted the painting online,” Anton said noncommittally. “Why do you want to sell? I mean, it’s a magnificent example of the artist’s work.”
Mrs. Constantine patted her stiff blonde curls with a hand that dripped with diamonds. “I want something a little more subdued for this room. It just doesn’t go.”
It seemed to him as if the neutral peach and off-white room would go with anything. On the other hand no one walking into this elegant room would look at the other art on the pale walls, much less the expensive rugs, tables, sofa and chairs. Maybe that was what she meant.
Dr. Constantine cleared his throat. “What Wendy means is that we bought it as an investment. RC’s work has escalated in value recently. The time has come to recoup our investment and buy again.”
Anton was not prepared to haggle. It would be too easy to lose the purchase. Still he took his time examining the canvas. Looking at the back and using a loupe to study the initials. Once he had scrutinized the paperwork and confirmed that the painting was the one that had been bought six years earlier in Los Angeles, and that the Constantines didn’t know the artist’s true name, he offered what Holden had said it was worth.
Dr. Constantine smoothed his fringe of gray hair, exchanged a glance with his wife who nodded once, and accepted it. They shook hands. Mrs. Constantine got up in a flurry of peach-colored lounging pajamas and produced bubble wrap and brown paper. Dr. Constantine found the crate the piece had been transported in.
“What now?” Serena asked as they drove away.
“Lunch. A call to Holden. Then we find a secure place to stash this valuable object and move on.”
“You paid too much, you know,” she said frowning. “Where did you find so much money so fast?”
“Don’t you worry, my love. That money was just sitting in my account waiting for the markets to fall,” Anton assured her. “This is a better investment. Your Dad is going to love it.”
“My dad?”
“Can you think of a better Christmas present for the mer-king and queen?”
“You can’t just give them something worth that much!”
“Sure I can. Haven’t you heard that it’s better to give than to receive?”
She snorted. “In my family we each buy one present worth under twenty bucks and draw lots to see who gets what. It’s a lot of fun, but museum quality art will not fit in.”
“Then we’ll just have to give it to them early. Maybe they’ll have a little gift for me,” he teased.
She didn’t look convinced. “What?” Dad and Mom weren’t rich by any means. Comfortable. But not wealthy.
“You.”
Her mouth shut with a snap.
This weekend was going to make one heck of a crater in his savings, but it was worth it. If his gamble paid off, he was going to have a bride and a baby and some delirious in-laws. When you came right down to it, he had no better use for his money.
Serena still looked worried. “Where are we going?”
“Like I said, lunch. We have to wait to see what Holden has found out. It could be we’ll have to spend the rest of the weekend in Portland and continue our hunt for your brother another time.”
“Oh.” She drooped.
“Investigations are four parts waiting and connecting the dots, and one part swooping in on your subject.”
“I was thinking I’d see Carlyle soon.”
“Depends on your definition of soon. This summer for sure. After fifteen years, that’s pretty soon.”
“I guess.”
“You’ll feel better after you have some food. And then we have a little errand to run while we’re in the big city.”
*The Billionaire Oil Bearons subseries of Bear Fursuits follows the romantic adventures of Clive’s great-grandchildren.
CHAPTER FORTY
Serena~
“We need a nice big stone,” Anton instructed the saleswoman in the jewelry store.
The saleswoman took out a tray of rings with pea-sized diamonds. Her hands caged the black velvet holder on either side as Anton looked them over. Her censorious eyes passed briefly over Serena’s bright topknot and trailing ringlets. Her shudder was swiftly repressed but all too evident.
Serena had forgotten how peculiar people outside of Mystic Bay found her my-little-pony hair. Too sparkly, too pastel, too weird, the saleswoman’s tight-lipped expression said. No money. This riffraff is wasting my time. Serena felt her cheeks heat.
Anton put an arm around her waist. “Do you like any of these, sweetheart?” His tone suggested he did not.
“They’re kind of flashy,” she whispered. “But truly I don’t need four carats on my hand.”
“I think it’s the settings,” he told the saleswoman. “They all look kind of angular.”
“Angular.” The saleswoman bridled. She put her tray away and took out another with smaller stones.
Anton shook his head. He picked up Serena’s hand and kissed it. “I want something that will complement my fiancée’s skin tones, and not look dinky on her hand.” He glanced at the name tag on the woman’s blouse. “What can you show us, Mrs. Grant?”
Serena’s hands were as plump and large as the rest of her. She tried to take her hand from his, but he held her just tightly enough to prevent her retreat without hurting her. He kissed her knuckles again and chuckled against her skin. Deep inside, she felt the drumbeat of arousal start up again.
“Behave yourself,” she hissed. Anton gave one of his deep chuckles and kept tight hold of her hand.
“Perhaps a colored stone,” suggested Mrs. Grant with another critical glance at Serena’s rainbow topknot.
“Maybe.” Anton didn’t sound convinced.
Serena tried on emeralds, sapphires, rubies, and topazes. She liked an oval amethyst surrounded by small diamonds. Anton shook his head. “It’s pretty, but it doesn’t say, ‘This woman is taken’. Let’s see something else.”
Honestly. ‘This woman is taken!’ He was such a primitive. And her heart shouldn’t leap at the possessiveness exuding from every pore and hanging heavy in his voice. Mrs. Gr
ant tucked the tray containing the amethyst ring away and locked the case.
Serena took advantage of their momentary distraction to leave Anton’s side. A display of dark pearls had her leaning over the glass counter. From a distance, they appeared almost black, but up close they were darkest gray, purple, navy, or teal. Every color of the rainbow shimmered in their depths. Just like mer hair.
“What about these?” She tapped the glass case.
Mrs. Grant’s thin chest heaved. Her lips got narrower. “Those are even more expensive.”
But Anton was standing beside Serena with a pleased expression. This was one happy bear. “I like that gnarly blue-green one with the shimmery swirls.”
“Me too.”
“These black pearls are natural. Their slight deviations from oval or round are part of their charm,” Mrs. Grant informed them stiffly. Serena guessed ‘gnarly’ wasn’t a jeweler’s term.
The pearl Anton had selected was not a smooth sphere, but it was large. It stood high and proud in a white gold setting reflecting green and violet lights. The small diamonds set into the braided gold band, reflected the colors twisting in the nacre.
“Do you want to try it on, sweetheart?”
It was so beautiful! “Don’t I get to pick?” Serena teased.
Anton looked hurt. “Of course.”
Mrs. Grant reluctantly took the tray out of the case. Serena tried on the ring. It slipped over her knuckle and nestled on her hand as if it had been made for her. On her hand the pearl glowed a deep sea-green.
She gazed into the coiling patterns in the pearl. Opalescent colors struck fire in the depths of the nacre, flowing as a mermaid’s unbound hair did in water.
Anton beamed. “That’s what I had in mind.”
It did seem to suit her hand. Serena glanced in the mirror. Somehow, despite its size and brilliance, it did not look gaudy as the other rings had done. “I’d have to take it off to go to work,” she warned. She spent all day washing her hands.
“Be the same no matter what ring we buy. The important thing is that you like it.” Anton dismissed her concerns.
Beloved by the Bear: A Shifters in Love Fun & Flirty Romance (Mystic Bay Book 3) Page 14
