Waikiki Wedding
Book Eight of the Aloha Series
Chapter One
"Oh. My. God," Amy Pratt shrieked. Her cell phone fell to the floor. Turning, she faced her two roommates. She couldn't breathe. Doug. Her brother Doug.
Linda hurried to her side. "What?"
"Oh, my God" seemed to be the only words Amy was capable of forming.
"Oh, for heaven's sake." Linda scooped the phone from the floor and hit Speaker. "Hello?"
Still unable to find words, Amy looked up at her friend.
"Amy?" a deep male voice asked.
"No. This is Linda, her roommate. How may I help you?"
"Nice to meet you. I'm her brother Doug."
"You're sure? What's the name of her favorite stuffed toy? The one she's had since she was a baby."
"That would be Pop. She couldn't say puppy."
Linda's jaw fell open, and her eyes rounded before she too dropped the phone and screeched, "It's him."
Amy gulped a breath and then let out a resounding hiccup. Already familiar with the scenario, Linda rushed to the kitchen for some water.
"Oh, for the love of God." Amy's other roommate, Carrie, stepped around the two and retrieved the phone. Damn good thing Amy's cell had a glass protector and a heavy-duty case that would survive an atomic blast.
"Excuse me," Carrie said, the phone still on Speaker, "I'm going to apologize for my roommates. This is a big shock. Amy will be right with you. When she gets overly excited, she gets the—"
"Hiccups. Still?" Doug asked.
Carrie chuckled. "She's finishing a glass of water. Just give her another—"
This was insane. Amy was full-grown, and here she was behaving like a starstruck teen. Stomping over to Carrie's side, she stuck out her hand. "Give me that phone." Gripping the device with enough strength to whiten her knuckles, she sucked in a fortifying breath and blew it back out slowly. "Hello?"
"So you still get the hiccups?"
"Uh-huh."
"I heard you've been looking for me."
She sucked in another breath. "I didn't think you'd ever find me." She hated the tremble in her voice.
"I thought you'd be better off without me."
"You what?" Now her voice came across strong and loud. "How could you think such a thing?"
"I—" he started.
"You're my brother! How could you think I—"
"I've been known to have an occasional lapse in judgment."
"I bet." She blew out another sigh. Years of wondering, worrying, daydreaming came rushing back to soften her tone. "How are you?"
"I'm good. And you?"
"Good. I want to see you."
"Do you have any vacation time coming up?"
"Some." Between her job and the final stages of her masters degree, some might be a bit of an exaggeration. "But if you come here, I can show you around, and you can meet my friends and see where I live and—"
"I thought I'd send you an airline ticket."
Maybe after this semester she could sneak some time off. Find some way to work out taking a trip.
"I live in Hawaii," he continued.
"Oh. My. God."
* * *
“So this is paradise.”
Ray Varner handed his rental car key to the valet and, grabbing his sister’s suitcase as well as his own, stared in wonder at the palm trees, the beach, the ocean nearly close enough to touch. The almost-winter sun warmed his bare forearms like June in Oklahoma. If this wasn’t paradise, it was damned close.
Apparently oblivious to the splendor, Tish texted on her phone. “Courtney’s coming down to the lobby to meet us,” she said, shoving the phone into the pocket of her white pants.
Courtney. The bride, if he remembered correctly. Waving away the bellman’s help, Ray wheeled the two-roller bags through the glass doors of the imposing hotel and barely avoided colliding with a trio of bronzed bathing beauties. He breathed in the coconut scent of sunscreen. He could get used to this.
“Welcome to the Aloha Hotel.” The stunning native woman at the desk wore a sarong and a large flower in her hair. He’d heard that Polynesian women were the most beautiful on earth. So far, the claim seemed well-founded.
Ray eyed the murals painted on the walls—colorful scenes of Hawaiian history—as Tish handed the reception clerk their printed confirmation. The woman quickly found the reservation on her computer and produced two key cards.
“First visit to Hawaii?” The receptionist spoke to both of them, but her gaze was clearly focused on Ray.
“Yes.” Not counting his brief stop in Los Angeles, this was his first visit anywhere that didn’t grow corn or wheat. “It’s beautiful.”
Though she probably heard that a dozen times a day, the woman beamed as if he were the first person to ever compliment her island. “Enjoy your stay, Mr. and Mrs. Webster.”
“I’m not—”
“About that.” Tish placed her key card on the reception desk. “I believe I requested a king bed. Can we change that to two doubles?”
The woman stole a quick glance at Ray before answering. “Certainly, Mrs. Webster. But it will take a few moments before another room is ready. Would you mind waiting in the lobby? Or you can grab something to eat on the terrace. We can hold your bags for you.”
“Thanks,” Tish answered. “We’ll wait here.” Grasping the handle of her own bag, she led Ray toward an arrangement of comfortable chairs.
“Tish! You made it.” An attractive brunette coming from the elevator headed their way. The two women hugged as if it had been months since they’d seen each other instead of days. “And Brady—” With her arms already poised to embrace him, the woman stopped and backed away. “You’re not Brady.”
“This is my brother Ray.” Tish linked her arm around his waist. “The director called Brady back to India at the last moment to shoot a few extra scenes. So Ray is filling in as my plus-one.”
“We’ll miss Brady, but I guess that’s the glamorous life of an actor.” The brunette shrugged, then smiled at Ray. “Nice to meet you. I’m glad you could join us.” She extended her hand for a shake, then, thinking better of it, opened her arms again and wrapped him in the hug she’d originally started.
“Nice to meet you, Courtney. I’m honored to attend your wedding.”
“Oh, I’m not the bride.” The brunette moved out of Ray’s arms.
“This is Lisa,” Tish explained. “She’s the groom’s sister. And the maid of honor.”
“Sorry.” Ray hoped his smile made up for his mistake. “I’ll study harder for the quiz.” He’d need a cheat sheet to remember all the names of Tish’s friends and their husbands.
“No problem.” Lisa waved away his embarrassment. “I just came down for a snack."
But, apparently in no hurry, the brunette—Lisa, maid of honor, he reminded himself—continued to chat with his sister about the bridesmaid’s dresses, the bachelorette party, and all things wedding.
Shifting his weight from one foot to the other, Ray watched the hotel guests milling about as if they had no place to go and time had no meaning. A middle-aged man wore the Hawaii tourist uniform: shorts, tennis shoes, and a floral shirt. His wife balanced a huge floppy sun hat on her petite head. A young couple, obviously honeymooners, took every step in rhythm, arms locked around each other’s waists, gazing into their beloved’s eyes.
At the lobby bar, a couple of young guys cased the female population, like wolves on the prowl. The Aloha lobby was a great hunting ground. Almost everywhere Ray looked were bikini-clad women of assorted sizes and shapes, all of them beautiful in their own way.
But the woman who caught Ray’s eye sat at a table on the terrace, fully clothed, wearing a bright yellow blouse and a flowing white skirt. Lost in her own space, she tapped away on her phone, then studied the tablet in front of her, her gaze darting every few seconds to the lobby. Unlike the relaxed tourists, she seemed intense. Focused. The only person in his view who didn’t blend in with the scenery.
Suddenly her gaze shifted and met his, followed by an embarrassed smile. He grinned back. Her attention recaptured by her phone, she started tapping again.
Ray stretched his shoulders. “You know, while we’re waiting, I think I’ll check out the beach.”
His sister and her friend nodded without a pause in their conversation.
Ray walked slowly toward the shore, even slower as he crossed the terrace where the serious, attractive blonde sat. But she didn’t look up from her phone. Shrugging, he continued on toward the rolling ocean waves.
His tennis shoes sank into the soft sand, creating small craters wherever he stepped. Ray bent to untie his shoes, slipped out of them, and then took off his socks. He wanted—needed—to feel the sand between his toes. Clutching the laces, tossing his sock-stuffed shoes over his shoulder, he dug his feet deep into the gritty warmth. Oh, man. For a guy from the center of the country who’d never seen the ocean, this was like a trip to heaven.
He shuffled past rows of beach chairs and blankets packed with sun worshipers, tots with pails and shovels, kids building sand castles. Salty air filled his nostrils. When he reached the strip of darker, harder, cooler sand at the water’s edge, Ray dropped his shoes and rolled up the cuffs of his jeans—and glanced back at the terrace.
The woman who’d smiled at him still sat at the corner table. As Ray tried unsuccessfully to catch her eye, she jumped up from her chair, nearly knocking it over. With a delighted squeal she sprang toward a handsome young man sprinting toward her and fell into his arms.
Ray let out a long breath. Gotta figure she wasn’t here alone.
He turned back to the ocean. A light mist sprayed his face, teasing, inviting. Shading his eyes from the sun’s glare, he gazed into the endless blue expanse. The Pacific Ocean. He was standing at the edge of the freakin' Pacific.
A bald older man with his belly extending over his Speedo waded a few feet from the shore. Farther in, people floated on rafts, and kids roughhoused in the water. Bracing himself for icy wetness, Ray stepped into the ocean.
The water was pleasant. Hiking up his cuffs all the way to his knees, he waded in and let the rivulets wash over his ankles, then his shins. He sighed. This was paradise. He couldn’t imagine anything more relaxing, more peaceful.
The two boys playing in the waves ahead of him were splashing and shouting in some foreign language. So much for the idyllic sense of peace. Wait a minute. Only one of the boys was screaming now, and the other was … Shit. The boy’s head disappeared underwater, then bobbed up and went under again.
Ray forged into the water with long strides. It should have taken seconds to reach the drowning kid, but the tide pushed him back. Using his arms as oars, he sprinted forward with his fastest gait from his running-back days, fighting his way through, as if the waves were a pack of defensive linemen.
He reached the boys just as the smaller one went under and didn’t bobble back up. Ray wrenched the young boy from the ocean’s arms and threw him over his shoulder, pounding his back, moving at top speed to the shore—this time helped by the waves.
Laying the boy on the sand, Ray heard unintelligible shouts all around him. He straddled the kid and applied mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. Breathe, dammit. Receiving no immediate response, he pressed his hands against the boy’s chest. When he heard a gurgle, he placed his ear to the boy’s heart and heard it beat. Yes!
He turned the boy’s face to the side. Water trickled, then streamed, from his mouth. Ray heaved a huge relieved sigh. Not until the kid actually sputtered and coughed did he notice the shrill shrieking voice and look up.
An Asian woman tore down the beach, holding an old-fashioned sun parasol, yelling something he couldn’t understand. She made a beeline toward Ray, and, before he could stand up, the petite woman closed the parasol and pounded him in rhythm with her shrieks.
What the hell? “Ma’am, please.” She must be the boy’s mother. But, instead of thanking him for rescuing her son, the woman continued swatting the side of his head. Ray rolled onto his back. Sunspots blinded his eyes.
The woman raised her umbrella again.
From a blanket nearby, a swarm of screaming Asian women ran toward them. Ray covered his face to fend off the aggressors, but, instead of attacking, the women grabbed the umbrella lady and pulled her away before she could land another blow.
Ray lifted himself on his elbows to make his escape, but here came the umbrella woman back to his side. Shit. He’d never struck a woman before but …
The woman fell on him, wrapping her arms around his neck and smothering him with kisses. “Aregato, aregato. Hi-ro.”
Clasping the petite woman by the waist, Ray stumbled to his feet. What a strange place this paradise was.
* * *
Amy couldn't believe she was in paradise. The terrace restaurant attached to the hotel had a beach view to die for. She could almost envision the Polynesian beauty rising from the crashing waves in the opening scene from the TV show Hawaii Five-0.
Even more remarkable was that, any minute now, she would be standing face-to-face with her big brother. She could remember the day almost twenty years ago when she'd been ripped from his side. Though her adoptive family, the Pratts, were fantastic parents who had loved and nurtured her and given her a picture perfect life and a baby brother, she'd never forgotten her Doggie. Her phone pinged. Another text. Doug had his bag in hand. Excitement zinged in her for the umpteenth time.
"Is everything fine? Would you like a refill?" the waiter asked.
"Yes, please." The fresh-squeezed lemonade was a treat. She'd ordered lunch but now realized she was too excited to eat.
The first time Doug had called her a few months back, she'd nearly screamed his ear off. The dream of her lifetime had finally come true. It took all the self-discipline she had not to say, screw her MBA classes, and catch the first flight to Kona to see her big brother in person, but Doug had refused to allow her to ditch her classes or to delay her degree. Instead they spoke often, catching up on the details of each other's lives. She knew, by the shift in his voice from time to time, that he'd been holding something back, but she wanted to know every little thing about every single second she'd missed not growing up with her big brother.
Unfortunately stealing even a long weekend to slip away had proven nearly impossible for Amy. Reality had been an irritating pain in the ass. When Doug told Amy that he and his fiancée, Emily, could carve out a few days for a short visit to San Francisco, Amy’s roommate Carrie had announced a change in her wedding plans. Carrie and Bryce, her fiancé, had decided to ditch the huge wedding her mom had been organizing, along with all the headaches. The new plan—a smaller, more intimate affair in a tropical oasis at the first available date for all the roommates to escape to—just happened to be the same weekend Doug and Amy had scheduled their visit.
Reality really had a nasty sense of humor.
Amy’s other roommate Linda had been the one to come up with the solution, and it took little persuading to convince Carrie, the bride-to-be, that Hawaii was the perfect wedding venue. The appeal of Waikiki and Diamond Head was enough of a draw for Carrie and Bryce. So now, arriving a couple of days ahead of the rest of the bridal party, Amy sat anxiously waiting for Doug to drive in from the airport.
She looked down at her phone once again. Doug was in the cab and on his way. The urge to squeal almost won out over her sense of decorum. Even though there was no chance in hell of him arriving for at least a few more minutes, she focused on the front doors, watching the people mill about the lobby. Most were on their way to or from the beach. One couple stood surrounded by bags. New arrivals.
Another ping. This time from Linda. She was packed and counting the hours until her flight tomorrow. Amy answered with a smiley face, then looked up to the front doors again. Her gaze collided with a handsome man by the suitcases, tall and blond. He smiled. He had a very nice smile. And he also had a very pretty wife. Sighing, Amy told herself she would find her match someday.
Her phone pinged again, this time from Doug. WHERE ARE YOU?
Almost kicking her chair out from under her, she sprang to her feet, scanning the front door. TERRACE CAFÉ CORNER TABLE, she responded.
And there he was, walking through the triple glass doorway, a small bag in hand. She knew the second he spotted her. A broad smile took over his face, and his pace quickened to a near trot. Scooting around the table, she felt herself scooped into a strong bear hug. For a few long seconds she just held on. All the memories of her brother holding her tight, telling her everything would be all right, rocking her back to sleep when she'd had a nightmare, came flooding back. "Doggie," she mumbled in his ear.
"You realize"—he lessened his hold and leaned back—"you can't keep calling me that."
Water pooled in her eyes.
"Okay, never mind," he said in a rush. "You can call me anything you want."
She swiped quickly at the escaping tears. "No. It's not that. I just can't believe you're here."
"In living color."
Once again they drew together in a comforting embrace before she pulled back, making one more pass at brushing away the joyful tears. "You must be hungry."
"Always. Let me check in and drop off my bag, then we can head out to the base. There's a great restaurant by the shore. You can even watch the airplanes landing and taking off."
Not really wanting to retreat from him, Amy forced her feet to move and to retrieve her belongings from her table. Her brother, however, hadn't budged. His stance went from casual to stiff. Removing his Ray-Bans, he stared at the water, his brows creased in a deep frown, reminding her of a guard dog on alert.
"What's wrong?"
He shifted his weight forward, like a cat preparing to pounce, then, just as suddenly, he relaxed and smiled. "Nothing. Everything appears under control now."
"What?"
Once again her brother's eyes narrowed, and he took a step forward. Following his gaze, Amy spotted a beehive of activity where a crowd had gathered by the shore. She could barely make out a young boy, sitting hunched on the sand, coughing. Soaking wet, the handsome man she'd noticed earlier in the lobby, kneeled over the child. Somehow the guy had become the target of one very petite and clearly very angry woman, who, yelling in a foreign language, whacked him repeatedly with an umbrella. "Oh my."
The crowd chimed in, and, just when Amy thought her brother would leap over the railing to help the guy, the tiny irate woman threw her arms around the now-standing man and, still hollering, clung to him.
Amy shadowed her eyes with her hand. "I wonder what's going on."
"My Japanese is a little rusty." The tension in Doug's shoulders slipped away, even as his gaze remained fixed on the hubbub of activity on the beach. "But, from what I can tell, the fireball is the boy's mother. She didn't see the blond guy pull her son out of the water. All she saw was him doing compressions—to expel the water from her son's lungs—and freaked."
"Do you think the boy will be okay?"
"If he's strong enough to sit up, he'll be fine. I'd be more worried about the kid's rescuer. It wouldn't surprise me if the way that woman was attacking him, he has a concussion."
"Never underestimate a mama bear protecting her cubs." Amy tried for a hint of humor.
"I'd rather face a band of terrorists." Doug smiled as he spoke, but the words left Amy cold. From anyone else the statement might have been funny, but she'd heard enough about her navy brother to know he knew exactly what he was talking about.
"Oh. My. God," Amy Pratt shrieked. Her cell phone fell to the floor. Turning, she faced her two roommates. She couldn't breathe. Doug. Her brother Doug.
Linda hurried to her side. "What?"
"Oh, my God" seemed to be the only words Amy was capable of forming.
"Oh, for heaven's sake." Linda scooped the phone from the floor and hit Speaker. "Hello?"
Still unable to find words, Amy looked up at her friend.
"Amy?" a deep male voice asked.
"No. This is Linda, her roommate. How may I help you?"
"Nice to meet you. I'm her brother Doug."
"You're sure? What's the name of her favorite stuffed toy? The one she's had since she was a baby."
"That would be Pop. She couldn't say puppy."
Linda's jaw fell open, and her eyes rounded before she too dropped the phone and screeched, "It's him."
Amy gulped a breath and then let out a resounding hiccup. Already familiar with the scenario, Linda rushed to the kitchen for some water.
"Oh, for the love of God." Amy's other roommate, Carrie, stepped around the two and retrieved the phone. Damn good thing Amy's cell had a glass protector and a heavy-duty case that would survive an atomic blast.
"Excuse me," Carrie said, the phone still on Speaker, "I'm going to apologize for my roommates. This is a big shock. Amy will be right with you. When she gets overly excited, she gets the—"
"Hiccups. Still?" Doug asked.
Carrie chuckled. "She's finishing a glass of water. Just give her another—"
This was insane. Amy was full-grown, and here she was behaving like a starstruck teen. Stomping over to Carrie's side, she stuck out her hand. "Give me that phone." Gripping the device with enough strength to whiten her knuckles, she sucked in a fortifying breath and blew it back out slowly. "Hello?"
"So you still get the hiccups?"
"Uh-huh."
"I heard you've been looking for me."
She sucked in another breath. "I didn't think you'd ever find me." She hated the tremble in her voice.
"I thought you'd be better off without me."
"You what?" Now her voice came across strong and loud. "How could you think such a thing?"
"I—" he started.
"You're my brother! How could you think I—"
"I've been known to have an occasional lapse in judgment."
"I bet." She blew out another sigh. Years of wondering, worrying, daydreaming came rushing back to soften her tone. "How are you?"
"I'm good. And you?"
"Good. I want to see you."
"Do you have any vacation time coming up?"
"Some." Between her job and the final stages of her masters degree, some might be a bit of an exaggeration. "But if you come here, I can show you around, and you can meet my friends and see where I live and—"
"I thought I'd send you an airline ticket."
Maybe after this semester she could sneak some time off. Find some way to work out taking a trip.
"I live in Hawaii," he continued.
"Oh. My. God."
* * *
“So this is paradise.”
Ray Varner handed his rental car key to the valet and, grabbing his sister’s suitcase as well as his own, stared in wonder at the palm trees, the beach, the ocean nearly close enough to touch. The almost-winter sun warmed his bare forearms like June in Oklahoma. If this wasn’t paradise, it was damned close.
Apparently oblivious to the splendor, Tish texted on her phone. “Courtney’s coming down to the lobby to meet us,” she said, shoving the phone into the pocket of her white pants.
Courtney. The bride, if he remembered correctly. Waving away the bellman’s help, Ray wheeled the two-roller bags through the glass doors of the imposing hotel and barely avoided colliding with a trio of bronzed bathing beauties. He breathed in the coconut scent of sunscreen. He could get used to this.
“Welcome to the Aloha Hotel.” The stunning native woman at the desk wore a sarong and a large flower in her hair. He’d heard that Polynesian women were the most beautiful on earth. So far, the claim seemed well-founded.
Ray eyed the murals painted on the walls—colorful scenes of Hawaiian history—as Tish handed the reception clerk their printed confirmation. The woman quickly found the reservation on her computer and produced two key cards.
“First visit to Hawaii?” The receptionist spoke to both of them, but her gaze was clearly focused on Ray.
“Yes.” Not counting his brief stop in Los Angeles, this was his first visit anywhere that didn’t grow corn or wheat. “It’s beautiful.”
Though she probably heard that a dozen times a day, the woman beamed as if he were the first person to ever compliment her island. “Enjoy your stay, Mr. and Mrs. Webster.”
“I’m not—”
“About that.” Tish placed her key card on the reception desk. “I believe I requested a king bed. Can we change that to two doubles?”
The woman stole a quick glance at Ray before answering. “Certainly, Mrs. Webster. But it will take a few moments before another room is ready. Would you mind waiting in the lobby? Or you can grab something to eat on the terrace. We can hold your bags for you.”
“Thanks,” Tish answered. “We’ll wait here.” Grasping the handle of her own bag, she led Ray toward an arrangement of comfortable chairs.
“Tish! You made it.” An attractive brunette coming from the elevator headed their way. The two women hugged as if it had been months since they’d seen each other instead of days. “And Brady—” With her arms already poised to embrace him, the woman stopped and backed away. “You’re not Brady.”
“This is my brother Ray.” Tish linked her arm around his waist. “The director called Brady back to India at the last moment to shoot a few extra scenes. So Ray is filling in as my plus-one.”
“We’ll miss Brady, but I guess that’s the glamorous life of an actor.” The brunette shrugged, then smiled at Ray. “Nice to meet you. I’m glad you could join us.” She extended her hand for a shake, then, thinking better of it, opened her arms again and wrapped him in the hug she’d originally started.
“Nice to meet you, Courtney. I’m honored to attend your wedding.”
“Oh, I’m not the bride.” The brunette moved out of Ray’s arms.
“This is Lisa,” Tish explained. “She’s the groom’s sister. And the maid of honor.”
“Sorry.” Ray hoped his smile made up for his mistake. “I’ll study harder for the quiz.” He’d need a cheat sheet to remember all the names of Tish’s friends and their husbands.
“No problem.” Lisa waved away his embarrassment. “I just came down for a snack."
But, apparently in no hurry, the brunette—Lisa, maid of honor, he reminded himself—continued to chat with his sister about the bridesmaid’s dresses, the bachelorette party, and all things wedding.
Shifting his weight from one foot to the other, Ray watched the hotel guests milling about as if they had no place to go and time had no meaning. A middle-aged man wore the Hawaii tourist uniform: shorts, tennis shoes, and a floral shirt. His wife balanced a huge floppy sun hat on her petite head. A young couple, obviously honeymooners, took every step in rhythm, arms locked around each other’s waists, gazing into their beloved’s eyes.
At the lobby bar, a couple of young guys cased the female population, like wolves on the prowl. The Aloha lobby was a great hunting ground. Almost everywhere Ray looked were bikini-clad women of assorted sizes and shapes, all of them beautiful in their own way.
But the woman who caught Ray’s eye sat at a table on the terrace, fully clothed, wearing a bright yellow blouse and a flowing white skirt. Lost in her own space, she tapped away on her phone, then studied the tablet in front of her, her gaze darting every few seconds to the lobby. Unlike the relaxed tourists, she seemed intense. Focused. The only person in his view who didn’t blend in with the scenery.
Suddenly her gaze shifted and met his, followed by an embarrassed smile. He grinned back. Her attention recaptured by her phone, she started tapping again.
Ray stretched his shoulders. “You know, while we’re waiting, I think I’ll check out the beach.”
His sister and her friend nodded without a pause in their conversation.
Ray walked slowly toward the shore, even slower as he crossed the terrace where the serious, attractive blonde sat. But she didn’t look up from her phone. Shrugging, he continued on toward the rolling ocean waves.
His tennis shoes sank into the soft sand, creating small craters wherever he stepped. Ray bent to untie his shoes, slipped out of them, and then took off his socks. He wanted—needed—to feel the sand between his toes. Clutching the laces, tossing his sock-stuffed shoes over his shoulder, he dug his feet deep into the gritty warmth. Oh, man. For a guy from the center of the country who’d never seen the ocean, this was like a trip to heaven.
He shuffled past rows of beach chairs and blankets packed with sun worshipers, tots with pails and shovels, kids building sand castles. Salty air filled his nostrils. When he reached the strip of darker, harder, cooler sand at the water’s edge, Ray dropped his shoes and rolled up the cuffs of his jeans—and glanced back at the terrace.
The woman who’d smiled at him still sat at the corner table. As Ray tried unsuccessfully to catch her eye, she jumped up from her chair, nearly knocking it over. With a delighted squeal she sprang toward a handsome young man sprinting toward her and fell into his arms.
Ray let out a long breath. Gotta figure she wasn’t here alone.
He turned back to the ocean. A light mist sprayed his face, teasing, inviting. Shading his eyes from the sun’s glare, he gazed into the endless blue expanse. The Pacific Ocean. He was standing at the edge of the freakin' Pacific.
A bald older man with his belly extending over his Speedo waded a few feet from the shore. Farther in, people floated on rafts, and kids roughhoused in the water. Bracing himself for icy wetness, Ray stepped into the ocean.
The water was pleasant. Hiking up his cuffs all the way to his knees, he waded in and let the rivulets wash over his ankles, then his shins. He sighed. This was paradise. He couldn’t imagine anything more relaxing, more peaceful.
The two boys playing in the waves ahead of him were splashing and shouting in some foreign language. So much for the idyllic sense of peace. Wait a minute. Only one of the boys was screaming now, and the other was … Shit. The boy’s head disappeared underwater, then bobbed up and went under again.
Ray forged into the water with long strides. It should have taken seconds to reach the drowning kid, but the tide pushed him back. Using his arms as oars, he sprinted forward with his fastest gait from his running-back days, fighting his way through, as if the waves were a pack of defensive linemen.
He reached the boys just as the smaller one went under and didn’t bobble back up. Ray wrenched the young boy from the ocean’s arms and threw him over his shoulder, pounding his back, moving at top speed to the shore—this time helped by the waves.
Laying the boy on the sand, Ray heard unintelligible shouts all around him. He straddled the kid and applied mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. Breathe, dammit. Receiving no immediate response, he pressed his hands against the boy’s chest. When he heard a gurgle, he placed his ear to the boy’s heart and heard it beat. Yes!
He turned the boy’s face to the side. Water trickled, then streamed, from his mouth. Ray heaved a huge relieved sigh. Not until the kid actually sputtered and coughed did he notice the shrill shrieking voice and look up.
An Asian woman tore down the beach, holding an old-fashioned sun parasol, yelling something he couldn’t understand. She made a beeline toward Ray, and, before he could stand up, the petite woman closed the parasol and pounded him in rhythm with her shrieks.
What the hell? “Ma’am, please.” She must be the boy’s mother. But, instead of thanking him for rescuing her son, the woman continued swatting the side of his head. Ray rolled onto his back. Sunspots blinded his eyes.
The woman raised her umbrella again.
From a blanket nearby, a swarm of screaming Asian women ran toward them. Ray covered his face to fend off the aggressors, but, instead of attacking, the women grabbed the umbrella lady and pulled her away before she could land another blow.
Ray lifted himself on his elbows to make his escape, but here came the umbrella woman back to his side. Shit. He’d never struck a woman before but …
The woman fell on him, wrapping her arms around his neck and smothering him with kisses. “Aregato, aregato. Hi-ro.”
Clasping the petite woman by the waist, Ray stumbled to his feet. What a strange place this paradise was.
* * *
Amy couldn't believe she was in paradise. The terrace restaurant attached to the hotel had a beach view to die for. She could almost envision the Polynesian beauty rising from the crashing waves in the opening scene from the TV show Hawaii Five-0.
Even more remarkable was that, any minute now, she would be standing face-to-face with her big brother. She could remember the day almost twenty years ago when she'd been ripped from his side. Though her adoptive family, the Pratts, were fantastic parents who had loved and nurtured her and given her a picture perfect life and a baby brother, she'd never forgotten her Doggie. Her phone pinged. Another text. Doug had his bag in hand. Excitement zinged in her for the umpteenth time.
"Is everything fine? Would you like a refill?" the waiter asked.
"Yes, please." The fresh-squeezed lemonade was a treat. She'd ordered lunch but now realized she was too excited to eat.
The first time Doug had called her a few months back, she'd nearly screamed his ear off. The dream of her lifetime had finally come true. It took all the self-discipline she had not to say, screw her MBA classes, and catch the first flight to Kona to see her big brother in person, but Doug had refused to allow her to ditch her classes or to delay her degree. Instead they spoke often, catching up on the details of each other's lives. She knew, by the shift in his voice from time to time, that he'd been holding something back, but she wanted to know every little thing about every single second she'd missed not growing up with her big brother.
Unfortunately stealing even a long weekend to slip away had proven nearly impossible for Amy. Reality had been an irritating pain in the ass. When Doug told Amy that he and his fiancée, Emily, could carve out a few days for a short visit to San Francisco, Amy’s roommate Carrie had announced a change in her wedding plans. Carrie and Bryce, her fiancé, had decided to ditch the huge wedding her mom had been organizing, along with all the headaches. The new plan—a smaller, more intimate affair in a tropical oasis at the first available date for all the roommates to escape to—just happened to be the same weekend Doug and Amy had scheduled their visit.
Reality really had a nasty sense of humor.
Amy’s other roommate Linda had been the one to come up with the solution, and it took little persuading to convince Carrie, the bride-to-be, that Hawaii was the perfect wedding venue. The appeal of Waikiki and Diamond Head was enough of a draw for Carrie and Bryce. So now, arriving a couple of days ahead of the rest of the bridal party, Amy sat anxiously waiting for Doug to drive in from the airport.
She looked down at her phone once again. Doug was in the cab and on his way. The urge to squeal almost won out over her sense of decorum. Even though there was no chance in hell of him arriving for at least a few more minutes, she focused on the front doors, watching the people mill about the lobby. Most were on their way to or from the beach. One couple stood surrounded by bags. New arrivals.
Another ping. This time from Linda. She was packed and counting the hours until her flight tomorrow. Amy answered with a smiley face, then looked up to the front doors again. Her gaze collided with a handsome man by the suitcases, tall and blond. He smiled. He had a very nice smile. And he also had a very pretty wife. Sighing, Amy told herself she would find her match someday.
Her phone pinged again, this time from Doug. WHERE ARE YOU?
Almost kicking her chair out from under her, she sprang to her feet, scanning the front door. TERRACE CAFÉ CORNER TABLE, she responded.
And there he was, walking through the triple glass doorway, a small bag in hand. She knew the second he spotted her. A broad smile took over his face, and his pace quickened to a near trot. Scooting around the table, she felt herself scooped into a strong bear hug. For a few long seconds she just held on. All the memories of her brother holding her tight, telling her everything would be all right, rocking her back to sleep when she'd had a nightmare, came flooding back. "Doggie," she mumbled in his ear.
"You realize"—he lessened his hold and leaned back—"you can't keep calling me that."
Water pooled in her eyes.
"Okay, never mind," he said in a rush. "You can call me anything you want."
She swiped quickly at the escaping tears. "No. It's not that. I just can't believe you're here."
"In living color."
Once again they drew together in a comforting embrace before she pulled back, making one more pass at brushing away the joyful tears. "You must be hungry."
"Always. Let me check in and drop off my bag, then we can head out to the base. There's a great restaurant by the shore. You can even watch the airplanes landing and taking off."
Not really wanting to retreat from him, Amy forced her feet to move and to retrieve her belongings from her table. Her brother, however, hadn't budged. His stance went from casual to stiff. Removing his Ray-Bans, he stared at the water, his brows creased in a deep frown, reminding her of a guard dog on alert.
"What's wrong?"
He shifted his weight forward, like a cat preparing to pounce, then, just as suddenly, he relaxed and smiled. "Nothing. Everything appears under control now."
"What?"
Once again her brother's eyes narrowed, and he took a step forward. Following his gaze, Amy spotted a beehive of activity where a crowd had gathered by the shore. She could barely make out a young boy, sitting hunched on the sand, coughing. Soaking wet, the handsome man she'd noticed earlier in the lobby, kneeled over the child. Somehow the guy had become the target of one very petite and clearly very angry woman, who, yelling in a foreign language, whacked him repeatedly with an umbrella. "Oh my."
The crowd chimed in, and, just when Amy thought her brother would leap over the railing to help the guy, the tiny irate woman threw her arms around the now-standing man and, still hollering, clung to him.
Amy shadowed her eyes with her hand. "I wonder what's going on."
"My Japanese is a little rusty." The tension in Doug's shoulders slipped away, even as his gaze remained fixed on the hubbub of activity on the beach. "But, from what I can tell, the fireball is the boy's mother. She didn't see the blond guy pull her son out of the water. All she saw was him doing compressions—to expel the water from her son's lungs—and freaked."
"Do you think the boy will be okay?"
"If he's strong enough to sit up, he'll be fine. I'd be more worried about the kid's rescuer. It wouldn't surprise me if the way that woman was attacking him, he has a concussion."
"Never underestimate a mama bear protecting her cubs." Amy tried for a hint of humor.
"I'd rather face a band of terrorists." Doug smiled as he spoke, but the words left Amy cold. From anyone else the statement might have been funny, but she'd heard enough about her navy brother to know he knew exactly what he was talking about.
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