For a man used to living in crowded Southern California, this was like being in Brigadoon.
He smiled to himself at the thought. He wouldn’t even have had that reference if not for Lucas’s wife. She had been watching the old movie one Saturday when he stopped in to beg a meal. In exchange, Rose had forced him to watch the damn thing with her.
So, that magical village in Scotland, where everything was beautiful and everyone was happy seemed a pretty appropriate comparison.
He could see why Walter protected this island so staunchly. Sean paused to look around, letting his gaze take in the people, the flowers, the quiet sense of tranquility—and then tried to imagine the village swarming with cruise ship tourists. He shuddered just thinking about the influx of loud voices and clacking cameras.
No, it was better this way, he thought, enjoying the otherworldly quiet and the soft, cool breeze that eased the heat of the sun. Unlike most of the Caribbean islands, the trade winds blew almost constantly across Tesoro, keeping not only the heat—but the flying insects at bay. Which, Sean told himself with a smile, would make their future guests happy.
He wandered along the village street, peering in shop windows, taking pictures with his smartphone and sending them via text messaging to his brothers as he went. Rafe and Lucas had both been here, of course, when they tried to make a deal with Walter. But those meetings had been over so quickly, they hadn’t been on Tesoro long enough to really look around. It was Rico who had stayed on the island several years ago and ever since had been planning his return.
For the longest time, Sean hadn’t understood Rico’s fascination with this place. But the more time he spent there, the more Sean got it. There was just something about Tesoro that seemed to reach inside a man and untwist the knots he carried around within. Knots he hadn’t even been aware of until they dissipated.
He shook his head at his own rambling thoughts and put it down to pre-wedding nerves. Because God knew, he had a lot more to be anxious about than most would-be grooms. After all, he wasn’t getting married for the usual reasons. No more than he had before. Been there, done that, didn’t even get the T-shirt, he thought wryly.
A couple of laughing kids charged past him on the sidewalk, and Sean jolted, then laughed at his own idiocy. If he didn’t pay attention to what was going on around him, he could end up walking right off a cliff.
The distant, muffled roar of a boat’s engine didn’t stand a chance against the shouts of a shopkeeper, yelling at the kids to go home. Sean smiled again. Even postcards come to life had a few problems, he supposed, which only made this place more real.
When he spotted the jewelry store, he paused, caught by the display of rings, necklaces and bracelets in the window. There were diamonds and rubies and other gemstones, naturally. But there were also pieces with the blue-green stone Sean had seen Melinda wearing the night they’d had dinner and sealed their bargain.
“Well,” he mused aloud, “can’t get married without a ring.”
Fake marriage or not, it had to at least look real. He stepped through the open door and walked slowly inside, his boot heels hitting the gleaming wood floor like taps from a hammer. It wasn’t a big shop, but the display cases were filled with dazzling jewels. He was struck by the flash of color that surrounded him, all of it artfully arranged to show the pieces at their best.
But Sean paid no attention to the ordinary offerings, instead walking directly to a case where the blue-green stones glittered behind a sheen of glass.
An older man with gray hair and a permanent squint—probably from staring into jewelry loupes for too many years—stepped up with a smile. “You must be Sean King.”
Sean started. “Word travels fast.”
The man gave an eloquent shrug. “It’s a small island and the fact that you and Melinda Stanford are getting married is big news.”
“Yeah, I guess it would be.” No paparazzi on the island, but apparently the gossips were hard at work anyway. Couldn’t really blame people for talking though. Everyone here knew Melinda. Knew the Stanfords. Of course they would be interested in a surprise wedding.
Offering his right hand, he said, “Nice to meet you.”
“And you, Mr. King. I’m James Noble, and this is my shop.”
“You have some pretty things,” Sean told him and watched as pleasure lit the older man’s eyes. “And since you know about the wedding, you’ll know I’m going to need a ring.”
An even wider smile greeted that statement. “Of course. What can I show you?”
“Well,” Sean said, going into a squat in front of the display case. “I really like these blue-green stones. They’re…different.”
And he already knew they looked great on Melinda. But then, he admitted silently, what wouldn’t look good on her? She was beautiful and as coolly elegant as the old hotel where she lived. She walked, and he was captivated by the sway of her hips. She smiled, and he thought about kissing her. She was…taking up way too many of his thoughts, Sean thought with a frown.
“They certainly are,” James told him. “The Tesoro Topaz is found only on this island, and we are the only shop to carry it.”
“Tesoro Topaz?” Sean asked, straightening up as James lifted a white velvet tray out of the case and laid it atop the glass counter.
As Sean took a closer look, the man talked. “The stone is mined here, on the island. Apparently formed millennia ago by volcanic activity. As to why the stone is found only here, I believe it has something to do with the chemical makeup of our lovely island and how it reacted to those now long-dead volcanoes.”
Sean looked up at the man and smiled. “Sounds like you’ve given that speech before.”
The man relaxed a bit and returned the smile. “Often,” he agreed. “But honestly, most people only care about the stone itself, not how it was formed.”
“The stone is pretty, but the craftsmanship of this ring is amazing,” Sean said, picking up a ring that had several of the topazes set into a gold band that was etched and detailed so beautifully, it almost looked like lace.
“Ah, yes.” James nodded. “The artist is local, and her work is truly breathtaking. Her designs are always in demand.”
“I can see why,” Sean told him, and took a closer look at the ring. It was small, but then Melinda’s fingers were long and narrow. It would probably fit and if it didn’t, she could bring it back in here and the artist could size it for her. “I’ll take this one.”