Chain Lightning (13 page)

Mandy nodded.

“Fair dinkum!“ the boy said in astonishment.

Clint spent the time until lunch enthusiastically comparing every variety of coral he found with a slab of limestone that had been battered free from its island mooring during a storm and left high along the margin of the beach. No matter how carefully he looked, he found few traces of the limestone’s previous life as a portion of the living reef.

“How did you learn all that?“ he finally demanded of Mandy.

“School.“

Clint muttered something Mandy wisely chose not to hear. Then he sighed.

“School, eh?“

“That’s right,“ she said cheerfully.

“I want to go to a Yank school. AH they teach in mine is the alphabet and little words and one plus one and smearing nasty colors on butcher paper.“

Mandy hid her smile by turning toward the castle, which had grown until it was nearly as high as the Fish Pond was deep at low tide. The castle resembled an explosion in a pasta factory more than a stately building, but the children insisted that all things built upon a beach were castles, and this mess was no exception.

“I had to go through the gloppy painting,“ Mandy said. “Once you learn how to read – “

“I know how,“ Clint interrupted impatiently. “I’ve known since kindergarten.“

“Then all you have to do is get your parents to take you to a library. You’ll find books there about anything you can think of, and books are very good teachers, because they’re so patient. Anytime you want to learn, there they are, waiting, just stuffed full of things to share with you.“

Frowning, Clint looked from the coral in his hand to the limestone slab. “Wish there was a library here.“

Mandy smiled. “Tell you what. After lunch, I’ll bring some of my books down to the beach and we can look at them together.“

Mollified, the young boy went to scavenging hunks of coral for the growing, teetering castle. After lunch Mandy surprised the kids with two brightly wrapped candy bars. As delighted as they were with the candy, they were even more fascinated by the glossy, full-color pictures in the books Mandy brought from her tent. To Mandy’s surprise, Di was able to read almost as many of the words as her brother could. Mandy was kept very busy trying to translate Latin taxonomy into plain English – and repeating explanations as to why the names hadn’t been in English in the first place.

For once neither child looked longingly toward the tents each time a scattering of adult voices indicated that the dive boat had shuttled in one group of tired divers and had taken off with a fresh batch. Even Clint, who was normally in a fever to go snorkeling with one of his parents, ignored everything but the books and the various chunks of coral he kept retrieving in the hope he would be able to stump Mandy.

Sutter, who had been standing motionless in the shade of the she-oaks since he had come in on an early dive boat, was watching with growing amazement as Mandy identified variety after variety of coral or shell from a piece of bleached remains.

“Bet you can’t guess this ‘un!“ Clint said triumphantly, waving a broken hunk of something beneath Mandy’s nose.

She took the object from Clint and looked at it critically. “Mollusk, not coral,“ she muttered.

“I know that,“ Di said instantly. “There’s no place for the little animals to poke out and feed.“

“What else do you see?“ Mandy asked.

“One side is real smooth.“

Mandy made an encouraging noise.

“And the lines here bend off in a…a…spiral? Is that the word?“

“That’s exactly right, Di. Good for you.“

“You mean good
on
you,“ Clint said.

“I do?“

“You want to learn to talk like a ‘Straiyan, right?“

“Roight,“ Mandy said carefully.

“Good on you!“ Clint and Di said together, laughing.

Smiling, motionless, Sutter enjoyed the easy give-and-take between Mandy and the kids as she taught them Latin taxonomy and they taught her Australian pronunciation, idioms and slang. The more he listened, the more he realized how little he knew about Mandy beyond the fact that she was intelligent, had an irrational fear of small planes and water, a quick tongue, surprising self-discipline for someone who was so timid…and a body that brought every masculine nerve in him sizzling to life.

It had also become obvious to Sutter that Mandy had a knowledge of coral that went beyond that of the books she had open around her on the overlapping beach towels. She didn’t have to look up the corals and shells that were brought to her; she identified them on sight, talked about their place within the larger reef community, and only then did she turn to the index of one of the books to find on which page the creatures were pictured in their living state.

The chunk of shell Clint had just brought proved to be difficult. Di protested that there wasn’t enough of the shell for Mandy to identify.

“It’s bigger than some of the pieces of coral she named,“ Clint retorted.

“That’s because coral animals are smaller than whatever made that silly bit of junk,“ Di said indignantly, standing up for her new friend. “An ant’s an ant but you can’t tell ‘roo from goanna if the piece is only ant-sized!“

“Your sister has a point,“ Sutter said before Clint could argue.

Mandy’s head snapped around. “What are you doing here? Is everything all right?“ she demanded.

“Yes. Why?“

“You’re back early,“ she said simply.

“I told the Townehomes I’d take Clint snorkeling so they could spend more time diving together. It’s their last day here.“ Sutter paused, then looked into Mandy’s golden-brown eyes. “Want to come snorkeling with us?“

“She doesn’t swim,“ Clint said in disgust.

“Really? Then maybe I should stay here and make sure she doesn’t get too close to the water,“ Sutter said calmly. “She could get hurt.“

“She
can
swim,“ Di said in an earnest voice, defending Mandy once again. “She just
doesn’t.”

One of Sutter’s sun-bleached eyebrows climbed upward in silent query, but all he said was “I see.“ He stepped forward and sat cross-legged next to Mandy. “Since you won’t go to the reef, I brought a bit of it to you.“

Mandy looked down at Sutter’s long-fingered, tanned hand. In the center of his palm was a perfectly formed, milk-white shell. It gleamed like the finest bone china against his skin. She made a sound of surprise and pleasure as she picked up the shell.

“A Malward’s cowrie! Do you have any idea how rare they are?“ she asked. “Did you find it while you were diving out on the reef?“

“Yes and yes,“ Sutter said, smiling at Mandy’s pleasure and the reverent way she was handling the shell.

For an electric instant he wondered what it would be like to feel her slender fingers touching his body with half that much pleasure and sensitivity. Ruthlessly he shunted the sensual thought aside. Sitting as he was, wearing only a brief swimsuit, he had no choice but to keep his mind on shells rather than sex. He had no business wanting Mandy. She wasn’t the kind of cool, free-living sex partner he preferred. He couldn’t even honestly say that he liked her; he had spent a lifetime disliking the kind of woman who couldn’t cope with even the luxurious reality of life in one of the most stable, wealthy countries on earth. His mother had been a prime example of a woman too weak to survive without constant pampering. His former wife had been another. It appeared that Mandy, with her host of irrational fears, was yet another.

Now all he had to do was convince his body of what his mind knew to be the truth: Mandy was not for D. M. Sutter.

“Is the shell worth pots of money?“ Clint asked eagerly.

With an effort, Sutter gathered his restless thoughts and focused on Clint.

“Maybe one pot, to a collector,“ Sutter said. “But this shell isn’t going to be sold. I’m not even going to keep it for myself or give it to Mandy, much as I’d like to. Lady Elliot Island is a preserve, which means that all land and sea life is protected.“

“But the shell isn’t alive,“ Clint objected.

“It once was part of a living animal. Have you ever been to a curio shop or any place that sold shells?“ Sutter continued quickly, seeing Clint’s bottled objections in the boy’s frowning expression.

Both children nodded.

“Did you ever think how those shells came to be in the shop?“ Sutter asked.

“Someone picked them up on the beach,“ Di said immediately.

“How many perfect shells do you find on the beach?“ Sutter asked. “And I mean perfect. No chips, no cracks, no faded colors, no missing chunks.“

“Oh,“ the little girl said, understanding. “They only sell perfect shells, right? So where do they come from?“

“Divers find the living animal. The snail is killed and the perfect shell remains. Those are the shells you find in stores and collections.“

Clint frowned. “But your shell was empty when you found it, right?“

“Yes.“

“Then what’s hurt if you keep it?“

“What’s to keep someone from catching live cowries, killing them and then saying they found the shells on the beach?“ Sutter countered. “That’s why no one is allowed to take anything from Lady Elliot Island except pictures. We aren’t even allowed to catch fish for dinner out on the reef.“

Clint sighed and looked regretfully at the glistening cowrie shell. “Still, it seems a blood – er,“ he corrected hastily, “a terrible shame to throw such a pretty shell away.“

Sutter smiled. “We’ll keep it in the tent for two more weeks, then we’ll give it back to the sea.“

“Two weeks? You’ll be here that long?“ Di asked, turning to Mandy.

“Yes.“

“We go home tomorrow,“ the girl said glumly. Then she sighed. “But at least I get the window seat this time, so I’ll be able to see the island and the reefs and the cane fields and all.“

“How nice,“ Mandy said in a faint voice, barely repressing a shudder. She had managed to keep the plane out of her mind very well so far, probably because she was much closer to another fearful object – the sea. Blankly she handed the cowrie back to Sutter and stared at the broken piece of shell Clint had brought to her. “Triton,“ she said.

“What?“ Di asked.

“This is probably part of a triton shell. Like this one,“ Mandy said, picking up a shell that had been brought to her earlier.

The shell was long, fluted, wider than her hand. The shell’s graceful lines were still intact, though the delicate interior colors had long since faded. There was a definite resemblance between both the vague pattern on Clint’s piece of shell and the intact shell held by Mandy. Clint and Di promptly jumped to their feet and went off in search of another bit of debris for Mandy to identify.

“May I?” Sutter asked, reaching for the big shell balanced on Mandy’s palm. He held the opening to his ear and murmured, “Still there.“

“What is? The sea?“

He gave a rumble of agreement that was as low pitched as the voice of the distant breakers.

“You know it’s just the sound of your own blood moving,“ Mandy said.

Smiling slightly, Sutter shook his head. “It’s the sea. Listen.“

With one hand he held the triton’s flared opening against Mandy’s ear. With the other he held her cheek, gently pinioning her between the shell and his own palm. Her eyes widened as she felt his fingers easing into her hair, seeking and finding the living warmth of her scalp. The sudden race of her heart was magnified by the shell held so gently, so immovably against her ear. Like distant storm surf, the sound beat rhythmically through her.

“Hear it?“ Sutter murmured, watching the acceleration of Mandy’s heart in the pulse beating beneath her neck.

“Yes,“ she said, her voice strained. She gasped when his thumb lightly caressed her lower lip.

“You cut yourself. How?“ he asked.

“I – I bit it. In the Fish Pond.“

“Does being in the water frighten you that badly?“

“Yes,“ Mandy said, closing her eyes, not wanting to see the contempt she was certain would be in Sutter’s eyes when he heard her admission.

“Are you afraid of all water or just the sea?“

“All of it,“ she said harshly. “Even my damned bath!“

“Then why did you go into the pond?“

Sutter’s voice was puzzled rather than rough or condemning, and his touch was reassuring, subtly caressing. Mandy opened her eyes. There was no contempt in his expression, simply an intense concentration that was almost tangible.

“I’m trying to get over it,“ Mandy said, her voice low. “I had worked up to my knees and even a few inches beyond, then Clint drifted out of the pond and over the coral knobs and I had to go get him or really hate myself for the coward I am so I just bit my lip and did it“

The rush of words took Sutter a moment to sort out. He remembered Mandy’s puzzling elation at having retrieved her sandal from ankle-deep water. He looked from Mandy’s golden eyes to the transparent glitter of the Fish Pond amid the dark brown carpet of coral that covered nearly all the lagoon. To him, there was absolutely nothing worth fearing there.

Yet there was no doubt Mandy’s fear was real. There was also no doubt she had fought against it, forcing herself to go to Clint’s aid. For a few moments Sutter tried to imagine how being in the small pool had felt to her, how much bigger fear had made the pool, how much deeper, her heart hammering, her teeth digging into her until blood flowed.

“Clint wasn’t in any real danger, was he?“ Sutter asked softly.

“No. Almost none of the coral is alive. Unless he panicked, the worst he would have done is skin his knees.“

“But you went after him anyway.“

Mandy took in a deep breath and let it out. “Yes.“

Eyes as green and fathomless as gems watched her. “Why?“

“Because I have to live with myself,“ she said succinctly. “There was no more danger to me in the pond than if I had been walking across an empty road. My mind knew it. My body…didn’t How would you feel about yourself if you could have saved a child a bloodied knee just by walking across an empty road, but you were too big a coward to do it?“