“His tail wag is Olympic-worthy. He’s fast as a mustang and smarter than I’d expect for a half-pint city pooch. I’d bet he burns more calories than I do.”
With a tilt of her head, she grinned, but only as a consolation prize. “You are very charming. Both Henri and I appreciate your understanding.” She dropped her purse to the ground and picked up her abandoned sketch pad. “I hope you enjoy your visit in Paris.”
Another dismissal. Not yet. A reluctant smile wasn’t enough. He wasn’t going to let her go until he scored a date. After all, he was charming. She’d said so. And Paris owed him something for all his grief.
Boot heels dug into the scant grass barely growing in the heavy shade, he stooped and scratched his new best friend behind the ears. “Obviously, you weren’t raised here. You speak English, to my relief by the way, but I do detect a hint of a French accent.”
“I don’t see the purpose—”
“It’s casual conversation. Nothing more.”
Her lips parted and took in a quick breath, but he didn’t give her a chance to use it on another protest.
“Your half-pint thief not withstanding—after the morning I’ve had, I could use some conversation. Pleasant conversation. Right, Henri?”
At the sound of his name, the dog slapped both paws on Zane’s thigh and nuzzled into his middle for deeper petting. He dropped to his knees and stroked the dog.
“Come on, Cutoffs.” He glanced up, begging her with his eyes, a temptation no woman ever resisted. “Would you seriously turn away a man on his knees?”
Chapter Five
The defiance in her stare might have discouraged a lesser man, broken his confidence. But Zane sensed something vulnerable and needy behind the façade.
Cutoffs needed a release as much as he did. What she needed as a release he wasn’t sure, but he’d wait her out and see. So far she’d piqued his interest more than any woman he’d met in a long time.
She arched one eyebrow and assessed him with her dark eyes. So serious. So in need of what he intended to offer. “You can stay for five minutes.”
“Ten. It’s all I’ve got to spare anyway.”
“Fine. And only because Henri likes you. He has a wicked streak, but he is reputedly the best judge of character in the Seventh Arrondissement.”
The dog barked on cue.
“Thanks, Bud,” he said to the dog. “Now tell me. What’s your deal, Cutoffs?”
She sighed through her delicate nose. “My mother is French, but I was born and raised in New York City.”
“What a coincidence. I’m here from a big East Coast city.”
She rolled her eyes to the clear blue sky. “Don’t lie to me. You’re not going to get anywhere, Cowboy.”
But he would. Eventually. He dropped his ass onto the ground and leaned against a tree as the dog jumped up on his belly. He groaned, but slid the leash possessively between his fingers. “I hadn’t planned on going anywhere. For ten minutes.” He wound the long blue cord around his hand. “Right, Henri?”
The dog snorted his pleasure and settled down.
“So, Cutoffs, why the move to Paris?”
A pause preceded her answer. “I’m caring for my grandmother.”
“Kind of you. But not much of an answer.”
She looked at her watch. “Nine minutes.”
“Elaborate. Quickly.”
“Family takes care of family.”
That one offhand line filled in a good chunk of her personality and sobered him right up. No wonder she didn’t flirt. Only steady women, real women, put others needs ahead of their own.
He sat up on his elbows, more intrigued than ever. “Is she bedridden?”
“Heavens no.” She waved him off and then lowered to the grass, sitting cross-legged in front of him, until all he could see was faultless, tan skin. All arms and legs and face. “But she has some issues with her heart. Before I came, she was eating rich restaurant food every day and shuffling all over town by herself in a taxi or on a subway, no less. I’m a health nut and an ace driver.”
“Ace? As in aggressive?”
“Gotta be in Paris or you won’t get anywhere.”
“Remind me never to get in a car with you.”
“So you were the one teenage boy that never raced a car?”
“Sure, I raced. Cars. Motorcycles. Horses. On open road. But not in the city. Too congested. Too crazy.”
“You get used to it if you try. And traffic wasn’t so bad this morning. Thankfully, the board meets early.”
“Board?” The word alone chapped his ass and set his senses on high alert.
“Yes. She’s been on the board of directors for the museum since before I was born. Never misses a single meeting. Not for any reason.”
Whew. Art people. Not Hell Runners.
“You left out one of your duties, Cutoffs.”
“What?”
“Dog sitter.”
She laughed, the honest kind, not polite. Lips curved in a generous, luscious bow, and her cute little chin dimple reappeared. “Henri’s an escape artist. Minding him is the one thing I’m not good at.”
“No shit.” He leaned her way. “Ya know, I’m good with animals.”
“Of course. You’re a cowboy. You have unfair advantage.”
“I could teach you how to handle Henri.”
“I’m sure you have better things to do while you’re in Paris. Seven minutes.” The eyebrow arched again. “My turn. What brings you here? And how did you gain entry into the museum so early?” She said it like she was in charge of protecting the property.
Tough question and he wasn’t prepared for it. Respond and scare her off with the truth, which was forbidden anyway, or offer an obvious lie that would send him packing.
No lies. Just simple.
“Work. I’m here for my job.” Enough. Let her draw her own conclusions. People always did when not given enough information.
“From where?”
“Philadelphia. No lie. I swear.”
“Well, you’re not from Philly originally. Country boy transplanted to the big city?”
“Yep.”
“Out west, I assume? You don’t look like a cowboy wannabe. Those boots have seen work.”
Breathing in, he caught the scent of her. Or maybe it was just the summer gardens. Either way, he could see her there, on the ranch, as if transported home by thought. Her black hair ruffled by a breeze against a sheet of blue sky and granite, mountain peaks.
Clearing his throat to clear his mind, he answered. “Home is Montana.”
“I’ve heard it’s beautiful. Tell me about it.”
“Shit. Beautiful isn’t strong enough. You should see it. The sky is as wide and blue—”
“As your eyes?”
He felt himself blush, though he shouldn’t. More women than he could count had told him that. “Yes. The mountains are majestic and rugged, and the air is so crisp, it hurts my lungs. At least when I haven’t been there in a while, which I haven’t.” A pang of homesickness knifed into him. “Pretty sure God saved his best for the west. Whole clan still lives there, even the grandfolks. Everyone except for my brother, Boone. He’s with me.”
“With you in Philadelphia or in Paris?”
“Both, unfortunately.” Somehow she’d taken control of the conversation. He pushed upright, adjusting the sack-of-dog onto his lap. His gaze fell on the open sketch pad and her amazing rendering of Rodin’s bust of Victor Hugo looming above and behind her head. “Hey, that’s good.” Feeling brazen, he stretched his long arm until he could pick it up. “Real good.” Her lines, clean and decisive. “You’re a professional artist?”
She pinched her bottom lip with the tips of her teeth. Way too pensive for a stranger’s criticism. “Not one yet. In the meantime, I teach art therapy in the psychiatric wing of a hospital. At least I was. And the way things have been going—” She stopped abruptly and gingerly extricated the pad from his hands. “Sorry. I’m not incline
d to share second rate work.”
“Second rate? Bullshit. I’m not here because I want to learn about art. I know art.”
“Merde is correct young man,” a matronly voice commented from above. “But she doesn’t believe me when I tell her.”
Thanks to a million crisscrossed shadows from the surrounding trees, they hadn’t seen or heard the woman arrive. Full-figured, wearing a cobalt-blue suit too tight for her shape, Cutoff’s grandmother leaned on a three-footed cane. Her hat, an oval of blue fuzz with a wad of ugly bric-a-brac tacked to it, tilted dangerously off to one side of her curled gray hair. Though much shorter than her granddaughter and slightly hunched, she exuded regal authority.
Instantly, Henri perked up, and the pup began sharp yapping in rapid succession—the same way before he swiped the bag.
“Mamie, I didn’t hear you walk up.”
The dog bounced off Zane’s lap, tail wagging frantically as his little feet pranced in place. Free from the dog, he got to his feet immediately and offered Cutoffs a hand. Surprisingly, she took it and he pulled her to her feet.
“Obviously.” Her gaze as sharp as her granddaughter’s sized him up, but her smile was easier won. “Can’t say as I blame you,” she said in English.
“Why didn’t you call me to come get you?” She extracted her hand from his grip, smooth skin slipping over his palm and leaving a warm trail behind.
“I enjoy a slow stroll and didn’t want to disturb you too soon, but apparently someone else has broken your concentration.”
He removed his Stetson, meeting her dark brown eyes for a moment. “Ma’am.”
“You should see more of her work. She draws. She paints. She sculpts. Like a master.” Her free hand caressed the air as she bragged. “But I should have expected it. Gifts of that magnitude are passed through bloodline. Luckier than most, she possesses the singular drive of her American upbringing, yet retains the suffering artist’s soul of the French.”
“I don’t suffer.”
The old woman winked at Zane. “She gets her modesty and talent from my late husband’s side of the family.”
“Mamie,” Cutoffs projected a definite warning.
“I have neither.” The elderly woman said through a sigh.
“And no shame.”
“Ma fifille, you should be proud to be a Claudel.”
“Wait. Claudel?” Cutoffs became more interesting by the second. “As in Camille Claudel, Rodin’s lover?”
“Oui.” The elderly woman glowed with pride. “Unlike her mother, Delphine can’t ignore her gift. I’d have given anything to possess half her talent.”
“You are biased, Mamie.”
“Not biased. Green with jealousy. I’m not on the board only because I paid to be there.” She tapped her crow’s feet. “I’m also highly respected for my artistic eye.”
More than an artistic eye studied him from brim to boots. No doubt calculating his value the way she did artwork. Her expression was hard to read until her eyes lighted on the mess of paper and crumbs.
With a tsk, she scooped up the little dog into the crook of her arm. “I see that Henri was bad again.” She let go of her cane to rub the dog’s head.
“Not again. Always. He stole from this man.”
“This man? He doesn’t have a name?”
“We didn’t—”
“This is an American trait I do not like. Name first, then I must make restitution.”
Before he could reply, Cutoffs jumped in.
“I already tried Mamie. He insists on running up his company’s tab at the café.”
Her eyebrows furrowed and her lipstick-red lips thinned. “Company account. And an early riser.” She said it almost to herself while ambling to the nearby bench. She set Henri onto the seat, and then she turned to him. “I need more than your name if you’re going to be spending time with my Delphine. Please present the photo identification the museum issued upon your arrival.”
His heart jolted, a mixture of elation and warning. The old woman assumed he’d already scored a date when he hadn’t yet asked. His sights darted to Cutoffs. No, not Cutoffs. Delphine. A name far more suiting of her grace and stature. Her cool, unreadable gaze met his.
“He’s not spending time with me. In fact, his time’s just about up.”
Delphine’s granny tapped her cane on the gravel pathway, drawing his attention.
“As a protector of my granddaughter and this estate, I must insist,” she said, royally curt. She probably mistook his momentary distraction for wariness.
Without hesitation, he reached into his back pocket for the plastic card and handed it to her. The cheap identification didn’t notate Hell Runners Society anywhere—they were secret after all—simply privileged visitor and the name of his hotel. But as a member of the museum board for probably the better part of her life, he wondered if their secret remained well kept from a woman so entrenched in the museum activities.
The subtle warning he’d felt in his chest grew in strength.
“Zane Gideon. A true cowboy name if I ever heard one. It suits you.” She flashed him a warm grin, showing the tips of teeth yellowed by time.
“Thank you, ma’am.” He eased a little and took his identification back. “And you are?”
“Solange. And this young woman is Delphine.”
“Pleased to meet you both.” He nodded and then replaced his hat on his head.
Pursed lips. Smoky eyes. The look Cutoffs shot him reeked of unspoken sarcasm.
“Privileged. Visitor.” Solange enunciated each word with a great deal of ceremony. “You must be with the business that rents the conference room. Oui?”
Curiosity or a test? Probably both.
“Yes.”
“Then I’m sure you’re very busy.”
What was it with women dismissing him today?
“True, but not too busy.” He smiled at Delphine in full-dimple mode. “I didn’t get my full ten minutes. Will you be here again tomorrow?”
She hesitated. Hesitation wasn’t a no.
“Ten minutes?” Her grandmother plopped down beside the dog.
“The deal we struck for Henri stealing my breakfast. I believe I have five minutes left on our date.”
“Ten minutes is not a date, young man. In my day, a date constituted at least two hours flirting and supper, paid for by a gentleman, before getting anywhere near my bedroom.”
“Mamie,” Delphine warned with an exhausted roll of her eyes.
“Oh come now, Delphine. Don’t be such a prude. Life is too short. I’d shave years off my life for your talent and your youth. Not to mention the attention of a genuine cowboy. You are genuine, aren’t you?” The old woman curved her lips into a smile, reeking of deliberate mischievousness.
Zane liked her instantly. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Is this your first time in Paris, Mr. Gideon?”
“Yes, ma’am. It is and I’ve only just arrived.” Still holding his ID card, he swished the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand.
“Since you’re both disadvantaged by your generation, I’ll help get you started.” She nodded to her granddaughter. “He’s very tall and has good manners. Considering you didn’t keep an eye on Henri, I believe you owe this man a legitimate repayment.” She leaned forward on her cane and waved a hand toward the museum. “Would you like a private tour of the Hotel Biron? Delphine is an excellent docent.”
Dimples and grin on full display, he turned his head in Cutoff’s direction. “I would like that. Very much. Especially from an artist’s point of view.”
She was either blushing because he’d called her an artist or turning pink because she was pissed off at being manipulated. Either way, he knew she wouldn’t refuse her grandmother’s direct order.
“Of course,” she said, all business.
“I have meetings in the morning, but I can swing the afternoon if that’s okay?” He didn’t know if he’d be forced into guard duty again, but he’d get Boon
e to cover his shift even if he had to pull rank.
“It will be very hot and very crowded,” she commented.
If she was looking for him to politely back out, she was SOL. “Then how about tomorrow evening? Say six? My pass allows me to be here after hours. We could catch a late supper too. Anywhere you want, my treat.”
The old woman tapped her cane again. “Now that’s a respectable date. But you must take Henri with you as a chaperone.”
“Perfect. I’ll teach him to behave while we’re out.” He tilted his head and raised his eyebrows in question at Delphine. “What do you say?”
At last, she smiled. “I say, if you can teach Henri to behave, it will make the evening worthwhile.”
“See you then.” He nodded at her grandmother. “Ma’am. Nice to meet you,” he said and took off for his post.
Worthwhile. A challenge if he’d ever heard one.
And not for the silly pup.
Miss Delphine Cutoffs needed to be swept off her feet.
Cowboy style.
Chapter Six
Delphine flung her feet over the edge of the daybed and bolted upright, her heart pumping hot fear through her veins. Every breath a struggle, her lungs ached to be filled to capacity.
With the room’s single window open, all she needed to do was walk a few feet and then stick her head out and breathe. Breathe and clear her aching mind. Clear away the night terror.
Determined, she gripped the edge of the mattress with both hands and flung her weight forward. Unsteady on her numb feet, she thrust her arms out for balance. Through the filmy haze covering her sight, the spare bedroom of her grandmother’s Paris flat tilted and rocked.
Sick to her stomach and terrified of face planting, she dropped back onto the bed and lolled onto her side. There’d been too many sleepless nights. Body and mind wasted, she wanted to give out. Completely.
She allowed her heavy lids to close. Instantly, the nightmare took advantage of her weakened state. The grotesque phantasm flooded back in a collage of suffering. She scrambled upright. Eyes wide and throbbing, she considered never sleeping again.
Dream Breakers, Oath Takers Page 4
