Walking in Fire: Hawaiian Heroes, Book 1 Read Free Page B

with benches and wooden cupboards built into the corners. Malu helped Leilani tie the craft to the moorings, and everyone rose, ready to file off the boat.
    The craft rocked under them. Startled, Melia turned to see a splash as Malu dove into the water. He cut through the water like a big, brown fish.
    “Oh, me too,” squealed Cherie. Melia had to act fast to grasp the sunglasses and flowered beach bag thrust into her hands. The other woman crossed her arms protectively over her breasts and jumped into the water. She and Malu looked like a scene from a sexy movie as they swam through the clear, turquoise water. Melia wished that was where they both were—far from her.

Chapter Two
     
    Recipe for relaxation—take one tourist, place on a tour to remote, tropical spot, add sun, water and snorkel gear. When ready, drizzle with sunscreen.
     
    Melia set Cherie’s bag on one of the tables by the beach, repressing the urge to accidently drop her expensive sunglasses on the ground and step on them. To the sounds of splashing and feminine shrieks of delight, she followed Leilani up the path to the house.
    There she forgot her pesky fellow guests. The house was open and airy, with huge ceiling fans stirring the air in the foyer. A wide staircase rose to the second floor. A few rattan settees and tables were grouped around a large wood carving of a whale leaping from the waves, a study in raw power. She paused for a moment, caught by the beauty of the gleaming wood.
    But then color caught her eye, and she turned, even more enthralled. A large painting hung on the wall, depicting the mountain and the house as she’d seen it from the boat. It was a gorgeous, impressionistic scene, with vivid colors and a deep, mysterious background. Melia stood for a moment, drinking it in. How had the artist managed with such rough strokes to impart both the sheer joy of the little bay and the brooding danger of the mountain behind it? She shivered, as she had looking up at the mountain from the boat. She peered at the signature on the corner of the painting, but it was an unreadable scrawl.
    “You like?” Leilani asked.
    Melia jumped. She’d forgotten all about the other woman. “It’s beautiful. How did you say it? Ka nani.”
    Beaming, Leilani gestured at the wall behind Melia. “There is another.”
    Melia turned. She caught her breath. This painting was much smaller, of a single red blossom. A hibiscus, the state flower. The bright petals shone as if the sun poured over it, the yellow stamen springing exuberantly from the flower’s golden center.
    She sighed. “So pretty. I’d love to have something by this artist.”
    Leilani smiled. “Who knows, maybe one time you will. They’re for sale in galleries.”
    Melia doubted it. She was sure she couldn’t afford even a tiny painting by someone that good.
    “There are more paintings around the place,” Leilani said cheerfully. She led Melia past the staircase to a small room and bath overlooking the side lawn.
    Melia dropped her duffle bag on the rattan bench. The bed was covered in a handmade quilt with traditional Hawaiian flower appliqués in soft peach. With the rattan nightstand and dresser, the settee with flowered cushions added to the tropical ambience.
    And, as Leilani had promised, another painting, this one of a single white plumeria, huge and lush, hung over the bed. She smiled at it. Perfect—her namesake flower. Melia was Hawaiian for plumeria. Her parents had honeymooned in the islands.
    The big, sliding window stood open to catch stray breezes wafting through the tangle of banana trees, plumeria and vines pressing in on the house. The air was heavy with the scent of the waxy plumeria blossoms.
    “Your house is lovely,” she said.
    “Oh, Frank and I just live here, work for the owners,” Leilani said. “They own a big chunk of land here.”
    “It’s so private.” Melia looked out the window at the wild scene. “Does anyone live above you on the mountain, or is