Mystic Memories by Gillian Doyle, Susan Leslie Liepitz Page B

Masters conveyed his apologies and wished you a good evening.”
    “I see.” She did understand his avoiding her, but knowing this didn’t stop the part of her that felt the sting of his rejection. Something had happened between them that was more than physical, more than lust. She had reached through the darkness and touched the depths of his soul, if only for a brief instant. It frightened him. And her.
    “Mrs. Edwards? If you don’t mind, I need to collect the dishes.”
    “Of course.” Brought back from her thoughts of Blake, she noticed Keoni had dropped the heavy accent of the islands. “Just give me a minute.”
    After putting on the shirt, Cara let Keoni inside the cabin to collect the plates, waiting at the open doorway. Bud followed him to the table, obviously hoping for more meat to be thrown his way.
    The cook shook his finger at the dog. “ E hele aku ‘oe i kahi ‘ē! ”
    Bud tucked his tail and slunk over to her. She leaned down to console the animal. “What did you say to him?”
    “I told him he will be on this platter tomorrow night.”
    “You didn’t!” She blanched, then looked up at him as she covered the dog’s ears. “Tonight’s dinner? That wasn’t . . .?”
    “ ʻĪlio ? Dog-meat?” The Kanaka gave her an impish grin. “ ʻĪlio good eating.”
    “Keoni!” Her stomach churned up more than acid indigestion at the possibility that she had eaten one of man’s best friends. “Tell me you’re lying. Please!”
    “Aww—,” he scoffed playfully. “You know how to ruin good joke, lady.”
    Cara straightened and walked over to the Hawaiian. He was a good six inches taller than Blake, so she had to tip her head back to look up at him. “Don’t do that to me again, Keoni.”
    The grin remained on his face. “You one tough wahine , eh?”
    “When it’s necessary.”
    “Not necessary with me.”
    “Oh, I think it’s mandatory with you.”
    His laughter nearly caused him to drop the dishes in his hands. Chuckling to himself, he set the stacked dishes back down on the table. “Sit. We talk. Get to know each other betta, eh?”
    Initially suspicious of his underlying meaning, she gazed into his open face and realized that Keoni was more than a big, handsome Hawaiian with a charming smile and an extra-large dose of self-confidence. Despite the glint of flirtation in his black eyes, she did not feel threatened that he would behave inappropriately toward her. Beyond the taunt and tease, he was respectful of her. Of all women, she sensed.
    She stepped back and gestured with a flip of her hand for him to sit down. But she was too restless to take a seat. Instead, she walked over to one of the tiny windows and looked out upon the darkened sea. The sun had gone down, but she hadn’t noticed when.
    “What time is it, Keoni?”
    “Six bells, ma’am. That would be seven o’clock to you.” His voice came to her in a softer, gentler tone. She glanced back, noticing he hadn’t opted for a chair either. Instead he had perched one hip on the edge of the table, his arms folded across his barrel chest. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up, revealing a glimpse of bluish marks on his skin.
    She shifted about to face him. “Is that a tattoo like the captain’s?”
    He nodded. “It is.”
    “You two go back a ways together, don’t you?”
    “We do.”
    “I thought you said you wanted to talk. Now all I can get out of you are a couple words.”
    “I want to get to know you. You get to know me. I didn’t say I would help you get to know my kaikaina .”
    “Why do you call him that? What does it mean?”
    “Little brother.”
    “He’s not, is he?”
    “ Kanaka? Would that make a difference to you?”
    “Of course not. And if you knew me, you’d know I don’t judge people by their race or color.”
    His big shoulders lifted in a shrug. “Tell me more about you, then. I want to know the mysterious widow who washed up on shore.”
    “Why? So you can report back to