in the group. But she’d seen the admiration in his eyes when they’d rested on her. That was something she didn’t want to encourage. The idea of a new friend was an unlooked-for pleasure. Anything more, even without the complication of her feelings for Sylvester, was out of the question.
Matt glanced down at her once or twice, but remained silent until they reached the top of a small hill. Looking back, they could see the house and the beach, ahead of them another tiny bay and a cluster of small buildings.
“It looks like a miniature village,” Connie said.
“I suppose it is, in a way,” Matt agreed. “Looking after an island like Corazón takes some work. This is the staff quarters. It was where the landscapers, house maintenance staff, boat keepers, fishermen, dive experts lived. The list used to be a long one.”
“Used to be?”
“As technology has advanced, the number of staff has reduced. Many services are brought in. Now there are just four permanent, live-in staff. Vega and Roberto, whom you’ve met, and two others who do more general roles,” Matt said. “I know so much about it because my father’s firm oversees a lot of Sylvester’s contracts.”
“And the curse doesn’t bother the staff who live here?”
“The curse was aimed at the family, remember? Also, Sylvester pays well, which takes some of the sting out of the old legends.”
They continued on the downward path, reaching the bottom of the hill and finding themselves among a group of small, thatched huts and a larger, wooden building that was open to show kayaks stored inside. Two men at the water’s edge were working on a traditional-looking canoe and, as Matt approached, they greeted him with pleasure.
“Stranger,” one of them said in a teasing voice. He was younger than the other man, but the likeness between them meant they could only be father and son. “We thought you’d lost your directions for how to get here.”
“Connie, this is Juan and his son Nicolás. They are responsible for all things water-sport-related on this island. If you want to try water-skiing or kayaking, you know where to come.” Seeming unaware of her look of horror, he looked over the craft they were working on. “What model is this?”
“Mark four.” Juan eyed the canoe with pleasure. “We think this is the one.”
“You said that about the last three.”
“Care to put your money where your mouth is?” Nicolás challenged.
“No, because when you sink between here and Cuba, how will I collect my winnings?”
Connie looked from one to the other. “You are going to Cuba in this?” Her surprise cut across their banter.
“That’s the plan.” Nicolás laughed at her expression. “How long has it been your ambition to do this, Dad? Thirty years?”
“At least. And it has been done before. We are trying to replicate the voyages undertaken by the Calusa in their hollowed-out cypress logs. There is plenty of evidence to show that they reached Cuba and even possibly Mexico in vessels such as this one.”
“Dad likes to think he’s a Calusa at heart.” Nicolás quirked an affectionate brow at his father.
“Were they your ancestors?” Connie remembered the book she’d been reading that morning and the fascinating stories it contained. Could these two men with their weathered, brown skin be descended from that ancient tribe?
“No.” The voice came from behind them and they swung around. None of them had heard Sylvester’s approach. Not even Connie, who prided herself on having a sixth sense for people approaching her from behind. “There are no living descendants of the Calusa.”
“We’re from Cuba,” Juan explained. “Where some people like to claim they have Calusa blood. They think it makes them sound fierce and interesting. What do you think, boss?” He pointed to the boat.
“I think you’re going to die.”
Juan certainly did look fierce as he turned away with a scowl, Connie decided. That was about the only thought she had to spare, since Sylvester’s presence instantly took up every part of her awareness, her senses, her very being. She remembered a solar eclipse when she was young, and her father telling her solemnly that she mustn’t look directly at the sun because it would burn her eyes. I can’t look directly at Sylvester. He burns my heart. Just as they had done with that long-ago eclipse, her eyes refused to listen to the instruction. They kept finding their way back to the source of the danger.
Sylvester had taken Juan aside and was talking to him about sporting equipment. No doubt warning him there were some very persistent guests who might not necessarily put their own safety first. Matt was still teasing Nicolás about their bet.
Connie wandered a few feet away along the edge of the water. The shells were plentiful here and she stooped to pick a few up, examining them, marveling there was once a society built upon their fragile beauty. There are no living descendants. Sylvester’s words saddened her way beyond anything she should feel for a people to whom she had no connection beyond one book she’d browsed a few hours earlier. It made her feel unbearably sorry to think such a proud people no longer existed. The closest feeling to which she could compare it was one of mourning.
She was turning back when Sylvester fell in step beside her. Okay, I can do this. I can ignore the pounding of my heart and make polite conversation. He is just being a considerate host. She reminded herself Sylvester had no idea of the impact he had on her. Or perhaps he did? Perhaps he knew women became fluttery and tongue-tied whenever he approached them? “It’s sad to think of a whole complex civilization being wiped out. How did it happen?”
“They were mighty warriors, and they fought the Spanish bravely. But they were not equipped to fight the diseases the Europeans brought with them. When the Spanish arrived in South Florida in the 1500s, it is estimated there were twenty thousand Calusa here. By the time the English gained control in 1763, their number had been decimated and only a few hundred of the Shell People remained. It is believed those survivors left Florida for good, following the Spanish to Cuba. So, perhaps Juan is right and there may be a few descendants in his country...your country, too. Wasn’t your father Cuban?”
She blinked slowly at the sudden question. How did he know about her father? “Yes, although he had lived in this country most of his life.” She gave a self-conscious laugh. “He used to call me Constanza, while my mother insisted on Constance. In the end, they compromised and I became Connie. I always felt it lacked the romance of his version and the dependability of hers.
“My father certainly never believed he was descended from the Calusa. Or, if he did, he never mentioned it.” She turned the subject back to her original question. “Was it disease that wiped out the Calusa who lived on this island?”
“The story on Corazón is a different one...because of Máximo de León’s wife.” He paused, turning to face her. His eyes were bright, almost demanding, as they examined her face. It was as if he was gauging her reaction as he said the next words, expecting something from her. “She was a Calusa.”
* * *
Sylvester saw Connie’s eyes widen at the mention of Máximo’s wife and the shells she held slipped from her fingertips back into the water. Nothing more. What did you expect? And what the hell are you trying to do here?
“Theirs must be quite a story.” Her eyes were fixed on the horizon.
“It’s an epic saga that would sound like a work of fiction if it wasn’t well documented. Máximo and his Calusa maiden had to travel across two continents and face some formidable opposition to be together.” He kept his eyes on her profile. What was she thinking and feeling?
“But they did it.”
“Was that why they were cursed? Because they came from different worlds?”
Before Sylvester could answer, Matt approached. “This looks like