Kona Winds Page 6

  "Obviously you've never seen a cane field burned." He released her arm. "It's something every island visitor should see." He gave her a considering look. "Can you ride a horse?"

  "Fairly well, yes," she nodded.

  "Go and change into some jeans and I'll have a horse saddled for you. We'll ride over so you can see first hand how it's done," he said.

  "It'll only take me a minute," Julie promised, certain her rush of enthusiasm was for a new experience and nothing more.

  Again she raced through the house for the stairs. In record time she had changed into a tan blouse and denim jeans and a pair of flat-heeled boots. She hurried down the stairs. Her foot was on the last step as Ruel walked through the front door.

  "Ready?" His gaze skimmed her for his own confirmation.

  "Yes." She was slightly out of breath, but it didn't interfere with the eagerness of her smile.

  "The horses are all saddled and waiting outside." He held the door open for her and followed her out. "You can ride the gray. He's well trained and docile.

  Ruel held the bridle while Julie mounted, and the horse stood quietly. It was an unusual experience to be looking down at Ruel when his superior height generally demanded that she look up.

  "How are the stirrups? Are they short enough?"

  Julie shifted a bit in the saddle checking the length. "Fine."

  A blaze-faced chestnut snorted softly at Ruel when he looped the reins around its neck. It stood as quietly as her horse had when he mounted. Reining his horse around, Ruel started toward the trees and Julie followed.

  She discovered a barely discernible trail wound through the trees. On the other side was a stable with two more horses in the corral. They came whinnying to the fence as they rode by. Once they were out of the trees, onto rolling but relatively flat terrain, Ruel urged his horse into a canter.

  The smoke was clearly visible now. Julie expected the field to appear any minute over the next rise as Ruel angled toward it. But it was farther away than it looked. Julie didn't mind. It was an exhilarating ride. Her gray horse had a comfortable gait and kept up easily with Ruel's.

  Finally they topped a hill and she saw the burning cane field below. Ruel reined in his horse and stopped it on a small knoll overlooking the field, and Julie halted her mount beside his.

  "This is close enough for the horses," he said. "If we get any nearer to the fire, it might spook them."

  Julie nodded her understanding. She noticed the way the gray's ears were pricked toward the crackling sounds of the flames. Its head was held alertly high. The tradewind was blowing the smoke away from them.

  Half of a green field of sugar cane was blackened by the fire. Where the flames ate into the new territory, it glowed orange red. Julie frowned at the sight. Towering stalks of cane with their mauve tassels were being destroyed by the fire.

  "What's wrong with the field that you have to burn it?" she asked.

  "We burn our fields before we harvest the cane," Ruel explained.

  "I know this is probably a dumb question," Julie said ruefully, "but why?"

  "There are several reasons. The fire destroys the debris and excess plant life. At the same time, it seals sugar juice in the stalk. Plus it gets rid of all the insects and vermin that have been living in the field."

  "You mean rats and snakes and such?" Julie was glad she was watching from the knoll and wasn't down where the creatures came scurrying out.

  "Not snakes. We don't have any snakes in Hawaii," Ruel corrected.

  "Do you mean this is an Eden without serpents?" she quipped.

  "Not the reptile kind anyway," Ruel conceded, the edges of his mouth deepening in amusement. "We do have scorpions, though. They're usually very abundant in the cane fields as well as rats."

  "I don't suppose there's much you can do about either of them." Her gaze was drawn to his face, liking the look of it now that his mood was not so withdrawn and cynical.

  "A plantation owner some time back tried to do something about eradicating the rats. He imported the mongoose from India, but it was a dismal failure. The mongoose sleeps at night, which is when the rats are out. Now the island has another pest—the mongoose." That suggestion of a smile remained on his mouth as his gaze locked onto hers in quiet contemplation.

  The gray stamped a restless foot. Julie smoothed a hand over its neck and glanced toward the burning field. "How long does it take to grow sugar?"

  "From eighteen to twenty-four months, depending on the amount of moisture. It takes two thousand pounds of water to make one pound of sugar. Tourists are usually fascinated by such statistics," he observed dryly.

  "Is it true?"

  "Yes, it's true," he said. Resting an arm on the saddle horn, he looked at her with those cool, cynically mocking blue eyes. "So you think this is the perfect garden of Eden, with our shadowless days and absence of serpents?"

  "Shadowless days?" Julie frowned at this term.

  "Yes. The Hawaiian chain of islands is officially located in the tropics, the Tropic of Cancer. Since we're so near to the Equator, there are days in the summer when the sun is so directly overhead that an object—building, tree, or person—is incapable of casting a shadow."

  "How fascinating!" she marveled.

  Ruel glanced at his watch. "We'd better start back or you'll miss your breakfast."

  Julie started to say that she didn't care, but she realized that he probably had more important things to do than show her around, so she turned her horse around and pointed it back toward the house.

  Her tour of the Kahuku Sugar Mill that afternoon enforced what Ruel had told her and elaborated on it. Also she learned how the sugar cane was processed when she toured the restored mill and saw its colorfully painted giant flywheels turning and grinding. The tour was fascinating and informative, but not equal to the horseback ride to the burning cane field.

  After church on Sunday, Julie went to the Waimea Park. It was a lush, green valley with a rippling stream and exotic plant growth. There were several historic sites being excavated—ancient moss-covered rock formations offering clues of the past. The singing water of the falls itself was worth the trip, with its natural swimming pool at the base.

  It was a short walk from the falls entrance to Waimea Bay beach park. Julie had crossed the road and was walking in that direction when a van went by.

  She heard somebody shout, "California! Hey, California!"

  There was a squeal of brakes and she turned to see what was going on. The van had stopped on the shoulder and Frank Smith, the surfer she had met at Sunset Beach, was climbing out. Someone handed him his red board before the van took off. With his surfboard under his arm, he dashed across the highway to where Julie stood.

  "Hey, California, where'd you run off to the other day? I thought you were going to wait for me. I came back out and you were gone," he accused.

  "I don't remember saying I was going to wait for you." Julie was positive the subject hadn't even been raised.

  "Maybe not, but I thought you would," he grinned at his own conceit. "You can't imagine what I've gone through. I don't know where you live or where you work."

  "I'll bet you were really upset," she mocked. "You don't even remember my name."

  "Julie Lancaster. Fooled you, didn't I?" His gaze bored into hers, his dark eyes fairly leaping with fire.

  "I thought you had forgotten." Julie found his intensity a little unnerving. She started to walk again. "Nobody has ever called me California before."

  "That's what you look like to me. All sunny and golden, like California." He fell in step beside her.

  "That description would fit Hawaii, too," she countered.

  "No, Hawaii is dark hair and dark eyes," Frank assured her.

  "I see." She couldn't help smiling.

  "Where are you going?" he asked.

  "I thought I'd go for a swim in the bay and spend a couple of hours in the sun." Her answer was candid. With that surfboard under his arm, she doubted if Frank would sett
le for such a tame afternoon.

  "Any objections if I come with you?"

  "It's a free beach." The shrug of her shoulders said she couldn't stop him.

  "Hey, California," he frowned, "are you playing hard to get or don't you really care whether I come along? What I really mean is, do you like me or not?"

  His demand put her on the spot. She didn't really know what she felt. "I guess I like what I know about you, but—"

  "If I was just interested in making time with you, I wouldn't remember your name after three weeks," he stated.

  "No, I guess not. I'm sorry, Frank," she apologized.

  "See? You even remember mine. That's a good sign."

  "I suppose so," Julie laughed without really knowing why. It didn't make any sense, but then it didn't have to. It was a beautiful day and it seemed right to share it with someone.

  When they reached the long, wide stretch of white coral sand Frank covered her beach bag with his surfboard before they both waded into the water. They swam and floated and played around for more than an hour before Julie finally pleaded exhaustion.

  "Do you know what I miss?" he said, sinking to his knees on a corner of her beach towel. "The seagulls," he said, answering his own question.

  "Seagulls." Julie suddenly realized she hadn't seen any. "Why aren't there seagulls?

  "Something to do with the fact that there's hardly any difference between high and low tide here, I think. So it doesn't give them any place to find food."

  "No, I guess it wouldn't," she agreed.

  "I'd ask you to come out with me tonight, but I have to work," Frank said suddenly.

  "I have to work tomorrow," she responded.

  "What do you do?"

  "I'm a teacher." She swept the wet length of her hair behind her neck letting the water trickle down her back.

  "No kidding! Which school? Maybe we can have lunch together at noon," he suggested.

  "I'm not teaching at a school. I'm privately tutoring a young girl who was injured in a car crash and won't be able to go back to school for a while. She doesn't want to fall back a grade in the meantime," Julie explained.

  "Sounds like you've got it made."

  "It's a good job," she agreed. "I work five days and have Saturday and Sunday off."

  "Where do you live?" Frank noticed her hesitation. "Hey, California, I'm not going to let you get away from me without knowing where to find you again."

  "It isn't a secret," Julie tried to correct that impression. "Miss Emily Harmon hired me to tutor her niece Debbie Chandler. I live there."

  "Chandler," Frank repeated. "The same Chandler that has that sugar plantation about a mile or so back off the highway?"

  "Yes, that's the one."

  He whistled silently. "After moving in that circle for a while, I imagine it's quite a comedown to be seen with a beachbum like me."

  "Don't be silly. They're very nice people. Besides, I only work for them." Julie found herself becoming defensive, but in the last month she had begun to feel very close to Debbie and her aunt. She avoided thinking about Ruel; he was an unknown quantity.

  "It was just envy creeping out." Frank shrugged away his previous comment. "Well, your job rules out noon lunch dates. So how about next Friday night? There's always a party going on somewhere. And I don't have to work."

  "All right," Julie agreed after only a momentary hesitation. "Friday night. What time?"

  "Eight o'clock? Is that too early or too late?"

  "It's fine."

  "Wait until the fellows find out I have a date with my California girl," he grinned at her. "They're beginning to think I made you up out of my head—but you're real." He cupped her chin in his hand as if to reassure himself, then leaned over and kissed her.

  It was a warm, exploring, first kiss, typical of many Julie had known, and she returned it in the same unaffected fashion. When Frank started to deepen the kiss, introducing passion, Julie placed a checking hand against the muscled hardness of his tanned shoulder.

  His mouth lifted an inch from hers, his breath warm against the faint dampness of the sea water cooling her cheek. "You're beautiful, California," he murmured.

  "Don't rush it, Frank." She liked the casualness of their present relationship. She didn't want to plunge into something more serious until she tested the water.

  Reluctantly Frank resumed his former position on the towel. The expression on his boyish handsome features said he was prepared to wait and not rush it as she had requested. With relative ease, he began talking about himself—telling Julie of the places he'd been and the things he'd done. He'd spent some time in Boston, and they began exchanging personal observations about the city.

  By the time the afternoon drew to a close, Julie had enjoyed every minute of Frank's company, and it was with a degree of reluctance that she began gathering her things to catch the bus home.

  Just as she was ready to go, Frank said, "Watch my board, California. There's one of my buddies down the beach. I'm going to see if I can't borrow his wheels."

  Before she could respond, he was trotting off across the sun-bleached sand. The gusting tradewinds carried the name he called away from Julie's hearing. Thirty yards away, a pudgy young man turned and waited for Frank to reach him. After a brief conversation, Frank came trotting back, his tanned feet kicking up small sprays of sand. A set of keys jingled from the key ring in his hand.

  "I've got it. It's parked in the lot," he told her, and hoisted his surfboard under his arm. Grinning, he added, "We haoles stick together."

  "Haoles?"

  "Caucasians," he explained, and slipped a hand under her arm. "There are so many good-looking Hawaiians—you know the kind, dark and handsome—that when one of us gets a girl, we close ranks."

  For some reason, Julie thought of Ruel Chandler, despite the fact that his hair was a burnt shade of brown and his eyes were blue, neither were the gleaming black of the true Hawaiian race. So she simply smiled at Frank's comment and said nothing.

  The borrowed car was an aging dune buggy. Its yellow sides were splashed with red mud. The yellow stripes on its canopied top had been bleached to a cream color by the tropical sun. After stowing his surfboard in the back, Frank hopped into the driver's seat. He glanced at Julie to be sure she was safely in and started the motor. It rumbled quickly into a deafening roar. Julie suspected there was a hole in the muffler, or else no muffler at all.

  "It's no Mercedes!" Frank shouted above the din, and shifted it into gear.

  "Who cares." Julie retorted at an equal volume.

  The dune buggy rattled and roared onto the highway. Since the vehicle possessed only a front windshield, the tradewinds whipped through the open sides, churning Julie's long hair like an eggbeater. She pushed the whirling strands away from her eyes and leaned back to enjoy the wild sense of freedom.

  There was a moment of misgivings when the dune buggy roared up the circular drive. Julie could well imagine Emily Harmon's reaction when she heard the noise outside. After her veiled warning about young men, this vehicle wasn't going to make a good first impression for Frank. In spite of that, Julie smiled.

  "Here you are, all in one piece," Frank declared above the loud idling of the dune buggy.

  "Surprise, surprise," she laughed.

  His expression turned serious. "Don't forget, Friday night at eight sharp."

  "Eight o'clock," Julie agreed.

  His hand cupped the back of her neck and drew her toward him. His mouth settled onto hers—warmed by the sun and tasting of the sea. It was a hard kiss, faintly possessive but altogether pleasant. When it ended, there was a slight lift to the corners of her mouth in pleasured satisfaction. But she didn't linger for a repeat.

  Stepping out of the vehicle, she offered in goodbye, "I'll see you Friday."

  As the dune buggy rumbled and clattered away, she ascended the short flight of steps to the front door. Turning, she waved to Frank. In answer, he pushed the horn. A-oogah! A-oogah! The strident sound made Julie
wince, then laugh. That would really impress Emily Harmon!

  Upon entering the house, Julie was almost immediately met by her employer. The older woman's mouth was drawn in a disapproving line, although she tried to conceal it. Meanwhile Julie was trying to hide the amusement glittering in her light brown eyes.

  "Someone gave you a ride home." Emily's observation was more in the order of a question.

  "Yes, a man named Frank Smith. I met him a couple of weeks ago," Julie explained so the other woman wouldn't think she had been hasty in accepting his attention.

  "At the beach?"

  "Yes, he was surfing," she admitted. "He works nights," she added to assure her he wasn't a layabout. "He has this Friday night free and has asked me out."

  "Did you accept?" Emily was still hesitant.

  "Yes, I liked him. He seems nice and intelligent." Although it sounded like it, Julie wasn't really defending her decision. "I think I'll go and shower away this salt water."

  As she glanced toward the stairs, she saw Ruel on the lower landing, and something told her he had been listening to the entire conversation. Until that moment, Julie hadn't objected to Emily's interrogation. Looking into his strongly cast features, she felt a rush of antagonism. His intelligent blue eyes regarded her with an aloof kind of amusement that was somehow challenging and insolent. After the ride in the dune buggy, she knew she looked tousled and windblown. But did she looked kissed? Ruel's expression said so.

  "I do hope you're right about him," Emily remarked, "for your own sake."

  "I am." Julie's response was impatient and short.

  She crossed the entryway to the stairs, trying desperately to ignore the man who had started down. Her carriage lacked its usual free and easy grace. She was too conscious of the tension fluttering over her nerve ends. Forced to acknowledge his presence, she met his gaze but it was indifferent, and that fact seemed to irritate her all the more.

  Tight-lipped, she passed him and hurried up the stairs. It was no use telling herself that her reaction was absurd. It was there and she couldn't change it. She swept into her room and dropped her beach bag on the floor, mindless of the granules of sand it scattered.

  She marched straight into the bathroom and stripped off the tent dress belted at the waist and the bikini she wore underneath. Without taking the time to adjust the water temperature, she stepped into the shower and was blasted with cold water. Gradually it warmed to a bearable degree and she stayed beneath the hammering jets of water until she felt her muscles relax.