Night Fire - ISBN 0-7582-2217-3
From The Ashes…
It’s always been Hayley McKeon’s secret passion to make it as a jeweler, to take a perfect stone and create a beautiful work of art. Single again and ready for a change, Hayley decides to abandon the ashes of her old life and embrace her dream.
Excerpt
Feeling more than a little disconnected from the crowd, Hayley McKeon stood off to one side taking in the large, brightly lit event room. Maybe she wouldn’t have felt out of it if she hadn’t worked late last night-Friday, of course-but then maybe being alone among so many chattering groups was responsible.
You can’t do anything about it, kid, she reminded herself. Getting divorced means turning into a “one” again.
Determined not to go down that road today, when singlehood was what she’d wanted emotionally, financially, and in every other way, she took a deep breath. Unfortunately, the air was warmer than she liked and smelled too much of people and whatever they were offering at the food booth. Still not moving, she concentrated on her surroundings. She hadn’t been to a gems and minerals show for a couple of years and had forgotten how exciting yet overwhelming they could be.
As a rough guess, she estimated there were at least forty separate booths in addition to the elaborate, glass-enclosed displays in the middle of the cavernous room. People filed slowly past the central displays while some of those in front of the booths showed no interest in moving on. Much as she wanted to see what was for sale on the various tables, getting close enough to do her own gawking and purchasing was going to be a challenge.
A challenge she had to meet unless she wanted to spend the foreseeable future and beyond gritting her teeth every time her boss at Galpan Enterprises asked/ordered her to work late.
It’s your fault, sis. If you were here, we’d be pushing folks aside and damn the consequences, and I’d be filled with courage, not fear.
However, not only was being scared of her future an all but permanent condition, Saree had called her on her cell phone just as she was arriving to say she’d be a little late-something about needing to pick up a new outfit. Laughing under her breath, Hayley imagined what would happen if her knock-’emdead younger sister walked in wearing a red latex bodysuit with openings for her breasts and crotch. No doubt about it, gems and minerals would come in a distant second to that little show. Thinking about the difference between the way she and her sister paid their bills got her moving. She had no-well, probably no-interest in becoming a porn star. Of course, if she could make enough baring everything she had to get out of debt-
Forget debt today, damn it! Take chances, take control!
Now that she’d joined the milling throng, she took increased note of the throng’s composition. Not only did there seem to be equal numbers of men and women, but all ages were represented, including children, who were repeatedly being told to keep their hands to themselves. A large number of older couples were in attendance, and although her parents had been dead for two years and nearly one year, respectively, Hayley still mourned what she’d lost. At least they hadn’t had to see her marriage implode or explode, depending on how one looked at it.
She hadn’t paid much attention to where she was heading since she figured that as long as she went in one direction, sooner or later she’d see everything there was to see-and hopefully make some put your money where your mouth is purchases. When she’d first heard about the show, she’d told herself to go to it with her mind and imagination and creativity open, that her love of and skill in jewelry creation would guide her.
Well, maybe. However, at the moment, she was stuck behind a noisy group of six women, and waited for them to move away from a booth in the far right corner. Sure, she could come back to it later, but something indefinable kept her in place. Other attendees were interested primarily in what was on display, but going by the women’s animated conversation with whomever was manning the booth, something important or educational or entertaining was being said.
She’d just about given up when a man with a toddler in a stroller backed away, and she took the vacated place. The moment she looked down, she was glad she’d waited because the table was devoted to fire opals. Some had been made into jewelry, and necklaces, earrings, and rings were arranged on a variety of displays, but the majority of the opals had been spread out on velvet in cases with locked glass tops. Lighting had been designed so each box was touched by a slightly different hue, adding to the presentation. For the most part, the boxes had been arranged in color groupings ranging from a translucent crystal to opaque milky white to bold red with a predominance of the orange that was so common to fire opals.
Was it the fire lurking deep in the stones that had always drawn her to opals? Probably, since there was something sensual about finding so much color in such small stones. True, the stories about opals’ place in history was fascinating, particularly the ancient Persian and Central American belief that they were symbols of fervent love, whatever that was, but even without the legends, she’d always loved working with them. Creating a faceted or cabochon piece to display the most fire possible gave her a sense of satisfaction she doubted would ever get old, and she loved holding the finished product in her palm, becoming part of it.
Unfortunately, she hadn’t done as much work with opals as she wanted to, both because she hadn’t had enough time what with life’s recent curves and because she’d been discouraged by the large number of inferior or manufactured stones on the market.
There wasn’t a single marginal gem or opal figment held together in a clear plastic cast here, nothing but the real deal. A virtual gold, or should she say fire, mine.
Excited, she leaned over for a closer look. As she did, she almost swore heat was coming up from the cases and touching her with warmth and energy, calling to her. If only the owner or distributor or whoever hadn’t locked them up, not that she could blame him. Unlike her ex, she’d never taken anything that didn’t belong to her, but Lordy, did her fingers itch to hold one, or more. For the gems to become part of her.
“Be careful,” one woman said as another slipped on a ring. “You don’t want to wind up with bad luck.”
“You don’t really believe that nonsense, do you?” the ring wearer asked of her companion.
“All I know is, I’m not taking chances. What about it? Do you think there’s anything to that business about opals bringing bad luck?”
For a moment, Hayley thought the woman was talking to her. Then she realized she had to be addressing the man behind the table.
“Quetzalitzlipyollitli were sacred to the Mayas and Aztecs,” a deep, strong voice said. “Gifts from the gods.”