Islands of Flowers by Nora Roberts(2).pdf

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C h a pter O ne
Laine’s arrival at Honolulu Internatio nal Airport was
traditional. She would have preferred to melt throu gh the crowd, but it
appeared traveling tourist class categorized her as just that.
Golden-ski nned girls with i vory smiles and vi vi d saro ngs bestowed
brilliant colored leis. Accepting both kiss and floral neckl ace, Lai ne
wo ve t hrough the milling crowd and searched for an informatio n
desk. The girt h of a fellow passenger hampered her journey.
His yellow and orange flowered shirt and the twi n cameras which
joined the lei around his neck attested to his determination to
enjo y his vacation. Under different circumstances, his appearance
would have nudged at her humor, but t he tensio n in Laine’s
stomach stifled any amusement. She had not stood on Ameri can
soil in fifteen years. The ripe land wit h cliffs and beaches which
she had seen as the plane descended brought no sense of ho
mecomi ng.
The America Laine pictured came in sporadi c patches of
memory and through t he perspective of a child of seven. America
was a gnarled elm tree guardi ng her bedroom window. It was a spread
of green grass where buttercu ps scattered gold. It was a mail box at
the end of a long, winding lane. But most of all, America was
the man who had taken her to imaginary African jungles and
desert islands. However, there were orchi ds i nstead of daisies.
The graceful palms and spreading ferns of Honolulu were as
forei gn to Laine as the father she had traveled half the world to
find. It seemed a lifeti me ago that divorce had pulled her away fro m
her roots.
Laine felt a quiet desperatio n t hat t he address she had found
among her mother’s papers would lead to emptiness. The age of
the small, creased piece of paper was unknown to her. Neit her did
she know if Captain James Simmo ns still lived on the island of
Kauai. There had o nl y been t he address tossed in among her
mother’s bills. There had been no correspondence, nothi ng to
indicate t he address was still a vit al one. To write to her father
was the practical thi ng to do, and Laine had stru ggled with
indecision for nearl y a week. Ultimatel y, she had rejected a letter
in
favor of a personal meeting. Her hoard of money would barel y see her
throu gh a week of food and lodging, and t hough she knew the
trip was impetuous, she had not been abl e to prevent herself.
Threading through her doubts was the shimmering strand of fear that
rejection waited for her at the end of her journe y.
There was no reaso n to expect anyt hing else, she lectured
herself. Why should t he man who had left her fatherless
duri ng her growing-u p years care about the woman she had beco
me? Relaxing the grip o n the handle of her handbag, Lai ne
reasserted her vow to accept whatever waited at her journey’s
end. She had learned long ago to adjust to whatever life offered.
She concealed her feelings with the habit develo ped during
her adolescence.
Quickl y, she adjusted the white, soft-brimmed hat over a halo of
flaxen curls. She lift ed her chin. No one would have guessed her
underl ying anxiet y as she moved with unco nscious grace t hrough
the crowds. She looked elegantl y aloof in her inherited traveling suit
of ice blue silk, altered to fit her slight fi gure rather t han her mother’s
ampl e curves.
The girl at the information desk was deep in an enjo
yable co nversation wit h a man. Standing to one si de, Laine watched
the encounter with detached i nterest. The man was dark and
intimi dati ngl y t all. Her pu pils would undoubtedl y have called
him séduisant. His ru gged features were surrounded by black
hair i n curling disorder, while his bronzed ski n pro ved hi m no
stranger to the Hawaiian sun. There was somethi ng rakish in his
profile, so me basi c sensualit y which Lai ne recognized but di d not
full y co mprehend. She thought perhaps his nose had been broken
at one time, but rather than spoiling t he appeal of the profile, the
lack of symmetry added to it. His dress was casual, the jeans well
worn and frayed at t he cuffs, and a denim work shirt expo sed a hard
chest and corded arms.
Vaguel y irrit ated, Lai ne stu died him. She o bserved the easy flow
of
charm, the i ndolent stance at the counter, the tease of a smile on his
mouth. I’ve seen his t ype bef ore, she t hought with a surge
of resentment, ho vering around
Vanessa like a crow arou nd
carrio n. She remembered, too, that when her mother’s beaut y had
beco me onl y
a shadow, the flock had left for younger prey. At that moment,
Laine could feel o nl y gratitude that her co ntacts with men had been
limited.

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