“You’re incorrigible, Mr. Carson.”
With a slight bow of his head, he murmured, “Why, thank you, Ms. Dawson.”
After she got all the passengers in, Kulani circled her aircraft, looking for any telltale leaks or anything else out of place. Satisfied the helicopter was air worthy, she climbed into the left-hand seat. More than a little aware of Jack Carson staring at her from behind his sunglasses, she felt the side of her neck prickling pleasantly. All the rest of the passengers were smiling and chatting excitedly as they put on their protective earphones, hardly able to contain their anticipation over the forthcoming adventure.
Dev watched as Kulani’s hands flew with knowing ease across the instrument panel, switching on this or that toggle. He put his earphones on his head and heard soft classical music in the background. No detail was too small for her, he realized. As the rotors on the aircraft began to turn faster and faster, the vibrations went through him. He was enjoying watching her—maybe a little too much. Kulani Dawson was more than a looker; she was enigmatic, he decided. And he had seen her assessing him, too. Being able to coax one tiny smile out of her made him feel like Mark McGwire when he’d hit his seventieth home run.
Suddenly, Dev felt happier than he could ever recall. Since his devastating divorce years ago, a pall had hung over him. But simply by being in the general vicinity of Kulani Dawson, he felt his life take on a new, keen joy. It was something Dev had never experienced before. As the aircraft lifted off the tarmac and headed upward into the deep blue sky, he laughed softly and sat back. Morgan Trayhern sure as hell knew how to pair him up with the right woman. But Dev would never have her as a merc team member. Now, as far as a relationship was concerned, that was another matter—a honeyed one oozing with promise.
Chapter Three
Kulani began her formal introduction to her eager passengers as she gently lifted the helicopter off the asphalt tarmac of Lihue Airport. Ascending quickly to one thousand feet, the prescribed altitude for her aircraft, she started off on her usual route. Kulani wasn’t surprised to hear gasps of pleasure from the women passengers as the immense size and grandeur of Kauai came into view. They always appreciated Kauai’s incredible green beauty.
“Kauai is called the Garden Island for good reason,” she said as she moved her aircraft toward the western, drier side of the island. “You can see the magnificent dormant volcano—Mount Waialeale which we’ll visit later—in the middle of the island. As we fly around it, south to west, you’ll find a lot of sugar cane being grown below.”
“Not pineapple?”
Kulani’s neck prickled pleasantly. Jack Carson’s deep voice was like the rough lick of a cat’s tongue on her flesh. It wasn’t unusual for passengers to ask questions, but she’d never had such a response to a question before. “Not pineapple, Mr. Carson. Just a lotta sweet sugar cane on this island.”
She continued her talk. Kauai Community College sped by beneath them and they crossed the major road that encircled two-thirds of the island, the Kaumualii Highway. “As we go south, it gets a lot drier. There’s not as much rainfall down here as up on the north coast of Kauai. The main tourist hotels down in this part are located around Poipu. You can see the clear turquoise and emerald colors of a healthy ocean below us.”
“How about whales?”
It was Carson—again. He was leaning forward in his seat, his camera balanced between his very large hands.
“They come in from about November through May every year to calve their babies here. The north shore, the Na Pali Coast area, is where most of the sightings take place.” She licked her lips. Carson was so close. She felt vulnerable to his warm, vibrant presence. As if sensing her unease, he sat back in his seat. Internally, Kulani breathed a sigh of relief. Trying to concentrate on the changes of terrain taking place beneath her, she urged her helicopter toward the western side of the island.
The land below turned from green to the many different colors of dried earth. “What you see coming up beneath us is Waimea Canyon. When Mark Twain was here, he called it the Grand Canyon of the Pacific. The layers of earth represent different eruptions and lava flows. The canyon is ten miles long and one mile deep. For those who are hikers, you can actually walk thirty-six hundred feet down into the bottom of it.”
“I’d like to take that hike with you. You look like you could handle it.”
Carson—again. Kulani found his intrusions unsettling. Not in a bad way; rather, a good way. She absorbed his low, vibrating voice into her body and, surprisingly, into her heart. Maybe it was just because she was feeling vulnerable. After all, they were getting close to the Na Pali Coast, and Kulani dreaded this part of the trip. Already, her chest was beginning to feel as if a band were around it. And Carson’s voice somehow, almost miraculously, had dissolved her fears—if only momentarily.
“I don’t do hiking, Mr. Carson. I like to fly,” she teased back, her voice a bit off-key.
He chuckled deeply and took a few snapshots out the window. “If I pack the sandwiches, the bottle of wine and bring along some great desserts, will you go with me?”
The other passengers all chuckled at his joking. Kulani felt heat crawling up her neck and flooding her face. Blushing! Of all things. It didn’t look very professional, she was sure. Keeping her focus on the instruments before her, she laughed a little. “I know a whole lotta ants that would love to take you up on your offer, Mr. Carson.”
“Shucks, shot down again.” Dev grinned at his audience, who were all smiling and laughing with him. He saw the redness creep into Kulani’s soft, golden skin and he saw one corner of that incredibly luscious mouth pull slightly upward. Sensing that he had his foot in the door, he decided to work on getting her to go out to dinner with him tonight. One way or another. Right now, he felt like a hunter on the track of an animal he wanted to bring down. There was always the thrill of the chase for him where women were concerned, but Kulani wasn’t just any woman. She was unique. Sultry. Enigmatic. He didn’t quite know what was going on in that head of hers. He wished he could look her in the eye, but from this angle, all he could see was her clean, aristocratic profile.
They flew over the canyon, then on toward the northern part of the island. Clouds that were forming like white cotton candy along the green-clad slopes mesmerized Dev. The whole scene was beautiful.
“What you’re seeing right now,” Kulani said, “are the misty forests of Koke State Park, woodlands that surround this incredible canyon. We’re going to rise and follow the brush-and-tree-clad slopes to the top, on the other side of which is the Na Pali Coast.” Her throat closed. She felt grief surge through her. Automatically, her hands tightened around the collective and cyclic. Her heart began to beat a little harder as the helicopter began to climb the verdant slope toward the top of the ridge that separated the canyon from the coast.
“Hey,” Dev said, pointing his finger between Kulani and the passenger seated beside her, “isn’t that a hiking trail right on top of this ridge?”
Shaken by his sudden closeness and his intensity, Kulani said, “Why, yes, it is…thousands of tourists hike that trail every year. It’s a slippery track made of clay, and it’s always misting rain up there. A lot of people get hurt because they don’t wear proper foot gear or they’re not prepared for the changes in temperature and weather, which happen almost hourly at that elevation.”
Dev was less than twelve inches away from Kulani. He heard the breathlessness in her voice. He saw the corner of her mouth dig inward, as if she were hurting. And as he perused her more closely, he saw tiny dots of perspiration standing out on her brow. She was having a reaction to something. Him? He hoped not. His ego wouldn’t be able to handle the possibility that he bothered her. The feeling around her was one of tightness. Even her lips were compressed, no longer soft and accessible as before.
“Is it possible,” he asked, “to climb from that path down into the Kalalau Valley? It looks like the trail stops at the top of the ridge.”
&nb
sp; Stunned by Carson’s question, Kulani felt an incredible surge of pain in her heart. She brought the helicopter to a hover well above the trail so that her passengers could get their first look at the Na Pali coastline. “Uh, yes…yes, I guess you could.” Swallowing hard, she rasped, “The trail is a point where a climber could choose to scale that wall and descend into the valley below. It’s a highly dangerous climb. The valley is twenty-two hundred feet deep, with steep, vertical, black lava walls on three sides. Your handholds are minuscule—little holes and cracks here and there. As the lava cooled, the rock became bumpy and concave, and you might get a handhold if you’re lucky. You must rely on lines and pitons to scale it. It’s very risky. People have died trying to descend from that trail into the canyon.”
Dev heard the rattling in her low voice and saw her face go ashen. He frowned as he glanced out at the red clay trail that zigged and zagged along the top of the ridge forming the northern lip of Waimea Canyon. On the other side of the ridge was one of the most photographed spectacles in the world.
The Na Pali Coast looked as if, millions of years ago, a giant had dug his sharp fingernails into the lava cliffs, leaving five gouged-out valleys in their wake. All were clothed in an incredible verdant splendor, with stubborn brush, grasses and orchids clinging to the sheer walls. Down below, he noted, was the Kalalau Valley—his target. His heart beat a little harder in anticipation as he perused the area with the eye of a mountain climber. Kulani was right: the vertical walls were covered in greenery—mostly ferns from what he could make out at this altitude. Gazing out the window toward the cobalt-blue Pacific, he saw a small trail winding across the landscape.
“What’s that other trail to the right?” he asked, pointing toward it.
Kulani gulped and tried to get a handle on her galloping pulse, her grief. She wanted to get away from the coast as soon as she could. She used Carson’s question to do just that. The deep, wide valley of Kalalau opened up beneath them in gaping splendor. On the valley floor was a river that splashed over smooth gray and black boulders, tumbling toward the ocean. “That’s known as the Kalalau Trail.”
“How do you get to it?”
“You can drive to it by going around the east end of the island. It’s a two-mile hike into Kalalau Beach—one of the toughest trails anyone will ever try. I advise good hiking boots, rain gear, a hat, water and food.”
“Not to mention a first aid kit?” Dev joked as they drew closer. They swept out over the blue-green ocean, which looked both emerald and aquamarine, depending upon the depth. White, foamy waves crashed against newly minted gold beaches uninhabited by human beings. The Na Pali Coast was forbidding from a mountain climbing perspective. But negotiable. Dev hadn’t climbed El Capitan in Yosemite for nothing. The walls of lava were just different, that was all. He felt confident he could climb down into the box canyon where the anthrax lab was reputed to be.
Kulani tried to smile, but didn’t succeed. “Yes, a first aid kit is very advisable. We get hikers all the time who trip over exposed tree roots or fall on the rocks and break an ankle.” She wanted to cry every time she saw the Kalalau Valley. It held too many bad memories and she was still tied to it emotionally, whether she wanted to be or not. Aiming her aircraft in a southeasterly direction, she brought it inland and headed toward the center of the island.
“Next, we’re going to fly very close to Manawaiopuna Falls. For those who saw the movie Jurassic Park, you’ll remember the opening sequence. This is the waterfall they shot for the picture.” Kulani concentrated on doing her job. She banked the aircraft. Below them and to her right was the spectacular waterfall.
Normally, the waterfall, which fell a thousand feet, thundering over gray and brown lava, always lifted her heart. Today, for some reason, it did not. And then she felt the gentle touch of a man’s hand on her right arm. It wasn’t a hard squeeze, but one that instantly soothed her grief.
“Ms. Dawson, any chance of hovering for a sec while I get a photo of this beauty?”
Jack Carson—again—only this time, she craved his touch. For as big a man as he was, with obvious strength and power exuding from him like a ten-million-watt sun, his touch was surprisingly gentle. He was a surprise, Kulani realized. As his fingertips left her arm, she stammered, “Well, s-sure…” and she halted the helicopter and turned it so that he could get a full view of the waterfall. There was a rainbow down below, in the mist near the oval pool at the waterfall’s base, and she knew the shot would be breathtaking.
“Thank you, Ms. Dawson.” Dev grinned broadly. He saw her nod, although her eyes never left the control panel in front of her. He felt the aircraft move gently to the left. What had possessed him to touch her? And he had liked doing it. In fact, his hand had been itching like fire itself to reach out and touch her. He was surprised at the firmness and muscle beneath that silky blouse she wore. The moment he’d touched her, she’d responded, and he had felt her strength, realizing there was nothing weak about this woman.
“I want to take you to the heart of my island,” Kulani said in a softened, husky tone. “The heart of the Hawaiian people is bound by everything around them—the air, the birds that fly in it, the life-giving ocean, the fish and the land creatures.” She banked the helicopter toward a large crater clothed in olive, avocado and emerald colors. “I’m going to take you inside the middle of Mount Waialeale, our largest dormant volcano. Only this isn’t just any volcano. This is the soul of Kauai, and of our people,” she continued in a hushed tone.
Dev was instantly snared by her low, honeyed voice as she told the story of her people, at the same time taking the helicopter downward. He saw a circular shaped, cavernous hole coming up. It looked like a dark, gaping wound in the landscape.
“Waialeale is the heart of our island, of our spiritual link with nature. Just enjoy as I slowly move the aircraft down into the central cone, where once, millions of tons of red-hot lava spewed out….”
Dev tensed. That crater was a good thousand feet deep. The walls were slick, gleaming with moisture provided by the clouds that hung above the volcano. The lava inside the walls was either black or a reddish, rusty color.
Kulani’s control of the aircraft was impeccable, for they moved smoothly over the lip and then sank down, down, downward. The shadows deepened, and as he looked up, he saw bright blue sky and sunlight far above him, but now they were in the embrace of the volcano. The shadow swallowed them up. The sky began to recede more and more as they descended deeply into the sacred crater.
“I’m sure all of you can feel it,” Kulani said with reverence. “We call this manna. It is the energy of spirit—of this volcano, of the old gods and goddesses of Hawaii, who still live here. We are privileged to experience it, to feel it….” She watched her instrument panel closely. The volcano crater was wide, but she only had about a fifty foot clearance on any side, so any abrupt move on her part would send them crashing into the mighty lava walls and tumbling to their deaths.
“In the olden times, when a king died, his body was dropped into this volcano. It was a sign of his greatness, and the living on of his mighty spirit.” Kulani gently touched the controls, turning the helicopter in a complete circle. She heard the gasps of pleasure, the cries of “Look!” and she smiled. Some of the pain she’d felt earlier was loosening its grip on her. Just being able to descend into this volcano was a healing for Kulani. And she found herself thinking that Jack Carson was healing, too. His touch had had a profound effect on her, whether she wanted to admit it or not.
Then, just as slowly, Kulani urged her aircraft up and out of the crater. Moving the cyclic and collective gently, she flew up and out of the cone to hover above it, so that the people on board could take pictures of a view they’d never forget.
As she rotated the helicopter in a semicircle, three different waterfalls could be seen, each falling three thousand feet, from the volcano’s massive shoulders to dark blue pools below. The crater was, indeed, a mystical place where dream met reality. Ku
lani loved this part of the tour. She could hear the soft sighs, the thrill in their voices, and she knew all of them had felt the manna, the power of the gods and goddesses. No one was left untouched by the ancient Hawaiian spirits in this experience—not even her.
Dev tried to quell his disappointment. All too soon, they were flying back to Lihue Airport. He checked his watch as they landed and saw that it was 5:00 p.m. Just in time for dinner. He smiled a little as Kulani shut down the engine after they’d returned to the tarmac of the busy little airport. Kulani was his—she just didn’t know it yet, that was all. So he waited like a patient wolf who had his quarry in sight. He saw her open the door and give the okay to disembark once the rotor blades had stopped turning.
Everyone climbed out, breathless and excited. Dev stood over by the fence and watched as Kulani snapped shot after shot of guests standing beside her colorful aircraft. It was a nice touch, a great way to advertise. The trade winds were soft and warm, moving through her ebony hair and catching the blue highlights now and again. Dev feasted his gaze upon her. Her every move was so graceful, and again that photo of Kulani dancing the hula came back to him as he waited for the last patron to leave the tarmac and head across the street, the adventure at an end.
Kulani’s back prickled. There was one customer left. Jack Carson. Slowly turning, she saw him leaning languidly against the cyclone fence, one foot lifted against it, his massive and muscular arms crossed in front of his barrel chest. There was so much power and masculinity in this man. Yet Kulani had felt his touch, and it was anything but that. He knew how to be tender. Few men did, and that was a travesty. That was why she was drawn to him—that incredible sense of care and tenderness radiating like a beacon from him.
Kulani literally felt as if she were blanketed by his watchful gaze. Tilting her head to one side, she looked at him.
“Do you want your photo taken with my bird, Mr. Carson?” She saw a slow smile ease across his lips. He had a nicely shaped mouth and that careless little-boy hitch on the left side endeared him to her. Wishing once again that he’d take off his sunglasses so she could see his eyes, Kulani laughed at herself. It had been a long time since she’d been genuinely interested in a man. Any man, as a matter of fact.
Hunter's Pride Page 4
