Midnight in Ruby Bayou by Elizabeth Lowell Read Free Book Online Page A

only sisters could, but it was different now. It always would be.
    Until Faith had been left behind, she didn’t appreciate just how close she and her nonidentical twin were.
    â€œNext one?” Walker said.
    He was holding out the neatly wrapped package to her, gemstone safely inside again. Something about the look he gave Faith made her realize that he had tried to get her attention more than once.
    â€œSorry,” she muttered, “I was thinking.” She pushed the small box of packets down the bench toward him. “Help yourself.”
    While he did, Walker wondered what thoughts had dimmed the gleam in Faith’s silver-blue eyes and put a downward curve on her soft mouth. He wondered, but he didn’t ask. It was none of his business. The fact that he wanted it to be his business just told him how much of a fool he was.
    Silently he filed the old packet, took a new one from the box, and removed the gem from its paper wrapper. Moments later he was back in the ruby universe where everything was pure color, glorious light, and reassuring imperfection.
    Completely magnificent.
    He had nearly been killed in hope of finding untreated rubies of this quality. The irony of discovering them in Faith’s belly drawer made him want to swear and smile at the same time.
    With a soft, rustling sound, Faith pulled out her sketch pad. Quickly she flipped to the back. Walker’s absentminded, oddly soothing whistle told her that he was caught up in the new ruby. She grabbed a mechanical pencil and began reworking a sketch for a client who was as fussy as he was rich. The man wanted something more “important-looking” than the spare yet lyrical elegance that had become the hallmark of Faith’s designs.
    Frowning, she studied the sketch. The customer wanted something lush yet not baroque, rich but not clunky, “impressive” but not heavy. The exotic sensuality of Lalique was “too feminine.” The geometries of the late twentieth century were “too masculine.”
    With a corner of her mind, she wondered if she would end up refusing the commission. Some clients simply couldn’t be pleased.
    Grimacing, Faith went to work on a new sketch. Gradually she forgot where she was, forgot Walker standing only a few feet away, forgot everything but the compelling curves and shadows of the design she was creating. Flaring lines suggested ferns uncurling in solid gold, with an opal moon cradled in the fronds and smaller opal raindrops caught randomly near the tips of each frond. The design could be a pendant or a brooch, a bracelet or a ring, earrings or a belt buckle. Only the size and delicacy needed to change.
    For a time the only sounds in the room were the rustle of paper, Walker’s low whistle, and the occasional shout of a self-appointed world saver holding forth in Pioneer Square.
    Finally Walker put back the thirteenth packet. He looked at the belly drawer and the elegant blonde who wasn’t aware of anything but her sketch pad. When she absently moved the valuable chunk of lapis lazuli to clear more space to draw, he shook his head in disbelief. She really didn’t have the faintest idea of what kind of trouble the Montegeau rubies could be.
    Saying nothing, he went to the front door of the shop, locked it, and flipped the sign to CLOSED.
    â€œWhat are you doing?” she asked without looking up from her sketches.
    â€œNot me. We.”
    Faith’s head turned. The gooseneck lamp Walker had abandoned lit her face from the side and turned her eyes into silver-blue diamonds. “Excuse me?”
    â€œI need some equipment from my apartment. I can’t be in two places at once, so you’re coming with me.”
    â€œI have to work.”
    â€œBring the sketch pad with you.”
    â€œThis is ridiculous! I’ve spent a lot of time alone in my shop and never—”
    â€œIf you have a problem,” he cut in, “take it up with your family.