But despite his words to Lara a moment ago, something tightened his chest and his throat. Longing. Anticipation.
A woman swung down from her landscaping truck—
cora’s floras was painted on the side—to sign for a pal-let of mulch being offloaded from the ferry. Iestyn caught a flash of blond braid beneath her cap and stiffened like Madagh spotting a hare.
Lara glanced over quickly. “Is that her? Lucy Hunter?”
He took a second, longer look. Sure, there was a resemblance, but . . . This woman’s face was too ful , her eyes too green. “No.”
“I thought I recognized her,” Lara said. “From your dream.”
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She was a Seeker, Iestyn remembered. “You didn’t pick up some kind of vibe?”
Regretful y, she shook her head. “Only with you. Usual y I need physical contact to identify the presence of another elemental.”
His mind stumbled on that
“That’s your plan? Walk around the island groping people?”
“I don’t have a plan,” Lara admitted rueful y. “I was sort of hoping that when we final y got here, it would be like the return of the prodigal son.”
He raised an eyebrow. “ ‘Father, I have sinned against Heaven and in thy sight’?”
Her laughter bubbled, surprising them both. “I was thinking more along the lines of kil ing the fatted calf.”
“Hungry, are you?”
Her cheeks turned pink. “I’m fine. Don’t worry about it.”
She was brushing him off. Just the way he’d brushed aside her concerns on the boat.
He hadn’t given a thought to where they would eat tonight.
Where they would sleep.
For years, he hadn’t bothered to plan ahead. Hadn’t needed to think about anyone but himself. The fact that he was now, that he wanted to now, was something else he’d have to think about. Later.
“I’l take you out to eat as soon as we find a place to stay,”
he promised.
She glanced around the emptying wharf. “Shouldn’t we stick around here? In case someone shows up with the welcome selkies banner?”
“Berth first. Search later.”
“It’s the middle of the season,” Lara said. “It might be hard to find a vacancy.”
2 3 0
V i r g i n i a K a n t r a
He regarded the picture postcard view, the parked cars and storefronts staggering up the hil , the snapping flags and spil ing window boxes. She had a point. He didn’t know much about vacation rentals. But he knew rich people.
Yacht people. There would be a room somewhere, for a price.
He nodded at the big white elephant overlooking the harbor. “So we’l start at the top.”
*
*
*
The Island Inn was undergoing renovations, red-haired Kate Begley told them when she final y answered the bel at the front desk. She was a younger woman, wiry and energetic. Judging from the paint in her hair and under her nails, she was doing at least some of those renovations herself.
“I’d hoped to have more of the guest rooms open by now.
But we do have a king suite available on the third floor,” she said, regarding them over the top of her little black glasses.
“Private bath, great ocean view.”
“How much?” Iestyn asked.
Her gaze flickered to the plastic Walmart bags in his hand.
“The suite lists for three fifty-five a night. But I can let it go for three hundred.”
He winced inwardly, doing the mental calculations. Beside him Lara had the fine-boned, fragile appearance of an angel in a stained glass window, her skin pale and transparent, every shadow showing. After al he’d put her through, she deserved the best the inn could offer. The best he had to offer.
He stil had most of his rol from his last job. He could swing at least a couple of nights.
“One fifty cash in advance,” Lara said.
They both regarded her with varying degrees of surprise and respect.
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