Mr. Harden appeared in thought.
"Sorry, what did you ask? I'm still trying to keep those dynasties straight."
"Late Ming is 17th century, Ching is 18th, and Japan's Meiji is 1868 to 1912," she explained, trying to speak slowly.
She took a deep breath, filling her lungs with oxygen, and noticed that his eyes roamed over her legs. She realized her pumps weren't touching the ground and scooted forward in the chair until she felt terra firma.
"I was wondering how your uncle became interested in Asian culture and art. He appears to have been quite knowledgeable, with a good eye," she said.
"Oh." He shifted his eyes to her face. "He always loved to travel to exotic locations. I think his father started accumulating items at the turn of the century, or maybe it was the 1920s. I'm not sure. Anyway, Uncle Hank, my grandfather's brother, expanded his holdings in the '70s. I remember going to his New York apartment when I was a kid and just feeling overwhelmed by all this stuff. I must have shown an interest, although I don't remember, because when he died a couple of years ago, he left his art to me. It's taken almost two years to get the estate settled, and I really had no idea how many pieces were entailed."
"Do you mind if I inquire what your plans are for the collection?" she asked.
"Sell it. Make room for ranch equipment in the shed."
His attitude disgusted Kiki. Didn't he understand how special this was?
"Then why did you bother hiring us, Mr. Harden? One of the large auction houses could have handled everything for you right in New York. No shipping charges!" she said, her tone acrid.
His brows inched closer together as he scrutinized his art expert's face with his piercing blue eyes. She fought back the urge to squirm.
"To tell you the truth, I felt like those New Yorkers just assumed I was some kind of bumpkin from the backwoods."
His words stung.
He continued, "Mr. Jen took me seriously. Besides, I liked the name of your company, Tsang Fine Arts Consulting."
The cowboy glanced down, straightening the tomes on his desk. He jotted something in his notebook, then stared Kiki in the eye.
"Tsang means a relationship between great-grandchildren and great-grandparents. It seemed apropos, since everything came from my great-uncle," he concluded, rising from his chair, but still holding Kiki's gaze.
The laser-like, intent look he gave seemed to probe deep inside her. She wanted to look away but found she could not. He stood still for several moments, delving into her soul with his eyes. At least, that's how it felt to Kiki. Finally, she coughed, taking the opportunity to look away, and rose from her seat.
"I'll stop by later to have a look at your progress," he said dismissively.
Kiki marched from the study without looking back. Had she bothered to look over her shoulder, she'd have caught him displaying a satisfied smile while admiring her backside.
Chapter 5
-How Bad Can A Storm Be?-
Walking across the yard, she realized the temperature had dropped since she'd made the trip to the big house for breakfast. A strong wind from the northwest blew her jacket open, revealing a black satin lining, in spite of the chain the designer sewed to its hem for weight. Her powder pink suit with black brocade trim and pearl buttons had been a present from her parents when she earned her graduate degree, one of many gifts to celebrate her achievements. Kiki tugged the garment's edges over her ebony blouse and trotted, with care, back to her lodgings. She'd need a coat today.
She grabbed the winter jacket Peg had helped her select at the mall, pulled it over her outfit, snatched her laptop, and headed to the barn-cum-art warehouse. Four similar items, discovered when reorganizing the collection, demanded further investigation. Since the cowboys were all out on the range, today would be the perfect opportunity to examine these unique pieces without interruption.
Kiki used great care when transporting the bowls from the shelves to her table. She had an idea they had great value, but she couldn't be sure yet. She removed a soft toothbrush from her tool kit and began working the dust and grime from the intricate carvings on the biggest vessel. A little larger than a grapefruit, the piece resembled mahogany. She had not been able to find any documentation for these items. They remained a mystery, and that got Kiki's motor running.
When a gust of icy air hit the art expert's back, she checked her watch. She couldn't believe it was noon already. She turned her head and saw Louis Harden struggling to close the door. She'd heard the wind howling around the shed but hadn't given it much thought. She was too engrossed with the object she'd been cleaning.
"Lunch?" he asked, lifting a large paper bag in her direction.
"Sounds good," she replied, placing the antique back in its small crate and clearing an eating space on the table.
The cowboy removed his hat and coat, placing them on the rack near the door. Harden then marched her way. She couldn't help noticing his long, powerful strides. He pulled the chair out opposite hers and with one swift move, swung his left leg over its back, then sat down. A silver belt buckle provided a brief flash of light.
Show off.
The seat's back came above Kiki's waist. She'd never be able to pull off a maneuver like that, even in her four-inch pumps. Once platform shoes came back in style, the petite girl gained an extra inch in stature. She loved the boost, and the fact that it came under the ball of her foot meant no extra work for her Achilles tendon.
"I hope you like ham," he said with a grin.
She was sure he could care less about her tastes. Still, that smile proved devastating. She indulged in a quick glance at his torso. It only took a split second to identify rock hard abs and chest muscles lurking behind his waffle knit Henley. The shirt's blue color brought out darker flecks in his eyes and accentuated the highlights in his dirty blonde hair. His open navy and tan plaid flannel shirt, sleeves rolled to just below the elbow, revealed large forearms, his veins popping. She shifted her gaze back to his eyes and noticed his long, dark lashes.
Not fair.
"That's fine. We eat a lot of pork in Hawaii."
Louis cocked an eyebrow at her.
"You're from Hawaii? Which island?" he asked.
"Oahu. But we have a place on the Big Island too. I spent a lot of time there growing up. Have you been?"
He pushed a brown paper wrapped package across the table at her, then produced a can of root beer from his grocery sack and a small bag of potato chips. He nodded, then undid the paper around his own sandwich and took a bite.
She examined his features as he concentrated on his meal, chewing. His large, square jowl, covered as always with a fine stubble, was well defined by a sharp jaw line. His mouth, set hard into a thin line when not speaking or smiling, revealed that he'd not had a completely easy life. A mark positioned on his left eyebrow added to his hard scrabble appearance, and his big, calloused hands proved he performed physical labor. She fought the urge to rub her thumb over his scar. Laugh lines trailed from the outer corners of his eyes towards his ears.
"Spent some time upcountry, learning the ways of the paniolos. Competed in Paniolo Days in my early twenties," he said between bites.
"Really? What year?"
He put his sandwich down and rubbed his chin.
"Oh, two thousand eight or nine."
Kiki did a quick calculation in her head. Most years, she and her parents made the parade during Paniolo Days.
"If you rode in the parade, I probably saw you," she volunteered.
A disarming grin spread across the cowboy's face.
"How old were you then, about five or six?" he asked, chuckling. "Were you wearing a hula skirt?" he added in a playful tone.
"No! I was likely on summer vacation from Washington State, in cutoffs."
He took a swig of his soda.
"Spend much time in Waimea?" he asked.
"Yes. My dad has good friends upcountry. It's a beautiful part of the island."
"Beautiful," he repeated,
scanning her face with those gorgeous blue eyes.
His tone made Kiki uncomfortable. Luckily, her potato chips provided a distraction, as she struggled to open the bag. She could feel a blush rising to her cheeks.
"There was a ranch I took a fancy to, just outside of Hawi, up north. Have you been to Hawi?"
She could guess which ranch appealed to him. The owner was an old friend of her dad's.
"Yes, I've been to Hawi. It's a charming part of the island."
"I'd say. I tried to get my father interested, but he wouldn't bite. The place had this magnificent view of the channel and Maui. One of the paniolos took me over to see it one afternoon, trying to cheer me up after getting my keister whipped in the competition. Those little cowboys have amazing skills."
Kiki laughed. Paniolos did possess incredible talent. They had to have special abilities when roping cows in dangerous terrain. First arriving in Hawaii to corral mean, wild steer, only the best were successful. She watched as he shook his head, removing the disappointment from his face.
She knew the owner of that ranch would never have considered selling. He was the third-generation titleholder of the property. That meant something in Hawaii. She didn't think this cowboy from Texas would fit in on the Big Island, anyway.
Harden gathered up his empty chip bag, sandwich wrapper, and soft drink can, depositing them in a trash bin near the door. Kiki had only taken a bite of her meal, yet he'd already finished his. She watched as he placed his cowboy hat on his head and grabbed his coat from a metal hook. She shook her head. No manners, not even so much as a goodbye. She slipped her headphones on and cranked up the music, drowning out the annoying sound of the wind whipping around the building. She never heard the warning he shouted over his shoulder as he left the shed.
Kiki spent the rest of the day cleaning the odd object d'art. She took a jewelry polishing cloth to the underside of the bowl. She didn't want to wear off any important patina, but she had to make sure what the item's true color was. If Katrina saw this, she might swear it was Bakelite. Her best friend had become an expert on costume jewelry, due in part to her obsessive collecting.
After polishing a small area on the bottom, the piece still looked like it had been carved from mahogany or rosewood. It's dark reddish brown color gave no clue to its makeup. The bas relief carvings, covering the sides of its exterior, appeared Chinese in origin. Two shallow handles, carved by a master craftsman, took the form of small dragons, and Kiki was certain she recognized characters from Chinese mythology in the figures fashioned upon its surface. She'd need the assistance of the internet, as nothing quite similar appeared in her reference books. She checked her watch. Already six, it would be dark out by now. White Wedding blasted through her earphones, reminding her of James.
She turned the music off and removed the headset, noticing the wind had grown even more fierce. The trip to the business office would be a pain tonight, but she couldn't deny her curiosity. She grabbed her coat and opened the door, prepared to make a run for it. She wasn't prepared for what happened next.
As soon as she turned the knob and the latch released, the door flung open with a force that knocked Kiki on her rear, hard. Snow and an icy wind momentarily blinded the girl, making her eyes water. She shook her head, the truth of her situation dawning. The sound was deafening as she scrambled to her feet and leaned into the continual frigid gust. She worked her way beside the metal door, which had slammed into the wall of the shed, the wind pinning it in its current location. Barely able to pry the door a few inches from the side of the building, she slid behind it. A tremendous pressure temporarily kept her from moving. She knew she had to get the door shut, if she hoped to survive the blizzard. Already, she felt herself stiffening from the cold. Her coat had been blown somewhere out of sight by the bluster. She should have put it on before turning the latch. No sense crying over spilled milk.
Kiki hated to do it, but she kicked off her shoes, instantly sensing the cold from the frigid cement creeping through her feet and ankles. She braced one foot behind, against the building's wall and braced a knee against the door, shoving hard to create more space. At least she could breathe now. She planned to hold her position until there was a slight break in the wind, then use all her might to slam the door closed. She prayed for the gusts to cease, if only for a second.
Immediately, she felt the door give a little. Kiki lunged forward, one hand on the knob, the other against cold metal. The door swung shut and latched just as she felt resistance from a polar air current. She slid to the floor, her back against the shed's entrance. The entry pushed against her with each new gust of wind. She caught her breath and prayed the roof would not blow off the structure. What little she'd seen outside was all white. When she heard about the storm this morning, she'd imagined a southern California weather system. She figured it would be a fizzle, just like the tempest predicted earlier in the week. How foolish she'd been.
She realized she was hyperventilating and concentrated on relaxing her breathing. She needed to find her coat and collect the papers that had blown all over the building. Her bum hurt. She'd have a nasty bruise where she'd hit the cement floor. When her teeth began to rattle, she crawled to her work table and hoisted herself to a standing position. She located her shoes and put them back on. At least they provided a little protection from the cold, but her feet and clothes were now wet from the snow that blew inside when she'd tried to leave. Then, she went in search of her coat.
* * * * *
The girl came running from another room, unaccustomed to having her boss yell at her.
"Yes, Mr. Harden?"
"Where's Kiki?" he demanded.
Peg looked around the kitchen. It was obvious she had no idea.
"Nash, come with me. Sam, get some of that nylon rope I keep in the garage. Peg, try and reach her by her cell phone," he ordered.
"But—"
"I know there's no reception. Let's just make sure in case the storm's affected signals in some weird way, all right?" he interrupted the housekeeper, softening his tone when observing the girl's terrified expression. "Keep trying, even if you get nothing, okay?"
He waited for Peg's nod, then left the room with his ranch manager.
"Where do you think she's at?" Nash asked in the great room.
"I think she's still in the shed. If she tries to make it here now, she won't."
Nash drew in a deep breath, realizing the seriousness of the situation.
"It's possible she went to your house, fell asleep there, or just decided to hunker down and wait it out," he suggested.
"Yeah, it's possible. Which means I'll have to check there first. But I'd lay dollars to doughnuts she's in that shed with her precious clay pots. I'll never forgive myself if—"
"This long enough, Boss?" Sam held up what appeared to be a long strand of red nylon rope, looped over itself in countless circles.
Louis shot Nash a look, then nodded at Sam.
"There's fifty yards there. Enough for me to make it to the house."
"Sam, go see if Peg's had any luck calling the girl," Nash instructed.
Sam jogged for the kitchen.
"We'll secure one end to the corner post on the porch. I'll climb down and head towards my place. When I make it, I'll give two tugs. Under no circumstances is anyone to come after me. That's an order, Nash."
"No luck," Sam shouted from the doorway to the kitchen.
"We could both go. Might have better luck should something go wrong," he suggested.
Harden placed a hand on his manager's shoulder and smiled.
"Nothing doin'. Someone's gotta take care of these knuckleheads while I'm gone. No telling what they'd get up to. Once I get her safe, I'll give three tugs. One-two-three, just like that." He demonstrated. Louis continued, "If she's in the shed, I'll try and get her back to my place and we'll hole up there. Don't panic if you don't feel the tugs right away. I've done this once before, and it's easy to get confused in these conditions. It may ta
ke me a while. Rotate the boys out on the porch every few minutes so no one freezes to death. Got it?"
Nash nodded and went to the kitchen to round up the help he'd need. Louis said a prayer and waited for his manager to return. He then located both ends of the rope, tying one to his belt with a double knot. Then he grabbed a scarf from the coat stand near the front door and pulled his hat snug on his head.
"Let's do this," he said as Nash and the ranch hands entered the great room.
Surprisingly, the front door opened easily, and Harden, Nash, and Sam made their way to the north corner of the porch. They stayed close together while the others watched from windows, several faces plastered against each pane of glass. The sound of the wind was deafening, so they used hand signals to communicate. After Nash tied the loose end of rope around the pillar, Louis scrambled over the railing and dropped from sight. He'd made it a few steps from the big house when his hat blew off. He cursed, then continued in the direction of his home, Kiki's lodgings. No use crying over spilled milk.
A few yards further, and he turned to look at the big house. He could detect no structure, no lights. Snow blew vertically into his face from every direction. He lowered his chin and continued on, hoping to reach his place soon. He didn't even want to guess the temperature or the wind chill. He tried to pull the scarf up over his ears, but his gloved hands proved awkward with the wool garment. He hoped his lifelong good sense of direction would not fail him now.
It seemed he walked directly into the strongest part of the gale. Not surprising, since he headed north. Still, wind direction could be tricky in a blizzard. He estimated he'd marched about twenty-five yards when the rope went taught. Struggling against the wind exhausted him. Could he have misjudged the distance? Had he traveled in the wrong direction? In circles?
Harden stood still and drew in icy oxygen. It hurt his lungs to breathe the stuff. He said another quick prayer, asking for guidance and strength. The idea occurred to him that the line might have gotten tangled, shortening the available length. In this wind, it was probable.
A Lone Star Romance: Book 2 in The Only Love Series Page 5
