He pressed it into her palm, closing her fingers around it. As it touched her she felt a jolt like electricity that ran through her hand and up her arm. The stone felt alive in some way she couldn't explain. Through the pounding in her ears she heard him speaking, quickly and in a low voice.
“This is chalcedony. It's a-good-luck piece. If you're ever in trouble or danger or anything like that, if there's ever a time when you feel all alone and no one else can help you, hold on to it tight-tight”-his fingers squeezed hers-“and think of me.”
She stared up at him, mesmerized. She was hardly breathing, and her chest felt too full. He was so close to her; she could see his eyes, the same color as the crystal, and she could feel his breath on her skin and the warmth of his body reflecting the sun's heat. His hair wasn't just red, but all sorts of colors, some strands so dark they were almost purple, others like burgundy wine, others gold.
Different, she thought again; he was different from any guy she'd ever known. A sweet hot current was running through her, a feeling of wildness and possibility. She was trembling and she could feel a
heartbeat in her fingers, but she couldn't tell if it was hers or his. He had seemed to hear her thoughts before; now she felt almost as if he were in her mind. He was so close and he was looking down at her…
“And what happens then?” she whispered.
“And then-maybe your luck will change.” Abruptly he stepped back, as if he'd just remembered something, and his tone altered. The moment was over. “It's worth a try, don't you think?” he said lightly.
Unable to speak, she nodded. He was teasing now. But he hadn't been before.
“I've got to go. I shouldn't have stayed this long,” he said.
Cassie swallowed. “You'd better be careful. I think Jordan had a gun-“
“Wouldn't surprise me.” He brushed it off, stopping her from saying anything further. “Don't worry; I'm leaving the Cape. For now, anyway. I'll be back; maybe I'll see you then.” He started to turn. Then he paused one last moment and took her hand again. Cassie was too startled at the feeling of his skin against hers to do anything about it. He turned her hand over and looked at the red marks on her wrist, then brushed them lightly with his fingertips. The steely light was back in his eyes when he looked up. “And believe me,” he whispered, “he'll pay for this someday. I guarantee it.”
And then he did something that shocked Cassie more than anything else had during that whole shocking day. He lifted her wounded hand to his lips and kissed it. It was the gentlest, the lightest of touches, and it went through Cassie like fire. She stared at him, dazed and unbelieving, utterly speechless. She could neither move nor think; she could only stand there and feel.
And then he was leaving, whistling for the dog, which romped around Cassie in circles before finally breaking away. She was alone, gazing after him, her fingers clenched tightly on the small rough stone in her palm.
It was only then she realized she'd never asked him his name.
Three
An instant later Cassie came out of her daze. She'd better get moving; Logan and Jordan might be coming back any second. And if they realized she'd deliberately lied to them…
Cassie winced as she scrambled up the sloping dune. The world around her seemed ordinary again, no longer full of magic and mystery. It was as if she'd been moving in a dream, and now she'd woken up. What had she been thinking? Some nonsense about silver cords and destiny and a guy who wasn't like any other guy. But that was all ridiculous. The stone in her hand was just a stone. And words were just words. Even that boy… Of course there was no way he could have heard her thoughts. No one could do that; there had to be a rational explanation…
She tightened her grip on the little piece of rock in her palm. Her hand was still tingling where he'd held it, and the skin he'd touched with his fingertips felt different from any other part of her body. She thought that no matter what happened to her in the future, she would always feel his touch.
Once inside the summer cottage she and her mother rented, she locked the front door behind her. Then she paused. She could hear her mother's voice from the kitchen, and from the sound of it she could tell something was wrong.
Mrs. Blake was on the phone, her back to the doorway, her head slightly bowed as she clutched the
receiver to her ear. As always, Cassie was struck by the willow slimness of her mother's figure. With that and the fall of long, dark hair worn simply clasped at the back of her neck, Mrs. Blake could have been a teenager herself. It made Cassie feel protective toward her. In fact, sometimes she almost felt as if she were the mother and her mother the child.
And just now it made her decide not to interrupt her mother's conversation. Mrs. Blake was upset, and at intervals she said “Yes” or “I know” into the mouthpiece in a voice full of strain.
Cassie turned and went to her bedroom.
She wandered over to the window and looked out, wondering vaguely what was going on with her mother. But she couldn't keep her mind on anything but the boy on the beach.
Even if Portia knew his name, she would never tell, Cassie was sure of that. But without his name, how would Cassie ever find him again?
She wouldn't. That was the brutal truth, and she might as well face it right now. Even if she did find out his name, she wasn't the sort to chase after a boy. She wouldn't know how.
“And in one week I'm going home,” she whispered. For the first time these words didn't bring a surge of comfort and hope. She put the rough little piece of chalcedony down on the night-stand, with a sort of final clink.
“Cassie? Did you say something?”