by Debra Dixon
“Good. But you and I both know the real test is whether or not I can make gumbo. The only direct route to Mercy Malone’s heart is straight through her stomach.”
“Sad, but true,” Mercy agreed, glad the conversation was back in safe territory. She made a beeline for the stove and pulled the lid off the pot. “I cannot believe you found anything in my kitchen that could produce something that smells this heavenly!”
“Oh, ye of little faith,” Nick accused. “Sister Agatha told me that you were long on doubt and short on faith … where men were concerned. I’ll have to see what I can do about changin’ that.”
“Sister Agatha told you that about me?” she questioned sharply.
“Yeah.”
Mercy was more convinced than ever that the nun was subtly egging Nick on, offering him a challenge, making sure he stayed interested. Worried, she reached for the large spoon beside the pot as she asked, “What else has she told you?”
“That you always had a good heart even if you kept it on a short leash.”
Embarrassed by the unexpected compliment, Mercy stirred the thick, fragrant mixture and inhaled deeply before she answered. “I wouldn’t believe everything Sister tells you. She won’t be happy until every single person she knows is married with children.”
Nick opened a couple of cabinets, looking for bowls, as he asked, “Is that your way of telling me you don’t believe in marriage, or kids, or both?”
“Marriage and children are just fine as long—” Mercy stopped abruptly, biting her lip. Somehow she always said too much in front of Nick.
“As long as you’re not the one with the husband, and the kids aren’t yours,” he finished for her, and slowly retrieved two bowls before turning around.
Meeting his gaze squarely, Mercy denied his interpretation. “I didn’t say that.”
“But I did. You’re a pretty hard case, chère. You’ve got a lot of rules—no doctors, no marrying men, no children. I’m sorry, but I just don’t buy it. You’ve already got the house and the white picket fence.”
“I’m not asking you to buy anything!”
“Does that mean you do think about marriage and kids?”
“Are you sure you went to medical school and not to law school? Let it go, Nick. I’m not going to let you twist me up and confuse me. All I said was that Sister Agatha had marriage on her mind.” Mercy gave the gumbo a good hard stir. Marriage was the problem, not children. “I will admit, however, that you can raid my kitchen anytime if the result tastes half as good as this concoction smells.”
“Does that mean you’re hungry?” Nick took the spoon from her.
“Do alligators live in the bayou?” Mercy asked sarcastically as he spooned rice from another pan into their dishes.
“Indeed they do, darlin’. And you’d best be nice to this ’gator or he’ll take a bite of you to keep for himself. Now go sit down.”
“Gladly!” Mercy took a seat at the oak table and waited for Nick to scoop up dinner. She didn’t mind Nick tossing out orders as long as he stopped asking questions. Of course, she thought, she could always start asking a few. “Is this domestic demonstration for my benefit or do you actually cook for yourself?”
“I’m more of a microwave gourmet,” he confessed as he ladled gumbo over the rice in her bowl.
“You can make a supper like this appear out of thin air, and you don’t cook much?” Mercy asked as she accepted the steaming gumbo. “That’s a shame. Don’t you know that a great cook is a terrible thing to waste!”
Nick licked a spot of rich Cajun stew off his thumb. “Cooking for one isn’t nearly as much fun as cooking for a crowd.”
“Why’s that?” Mercy pretended not to notice the way his tongue laved the side of his thumb.
“No applause when you’re finished,” he joked, and then gave her a half smile. “I’d rather nuke a frozen dinner and toss the tray when I’m done. Besides, setting and clearing off a table for one seems so sad.”
Silently, Mercy agreed and ignored the little twinge in the area of her heart. Aloud, she asked, “Did you cook much in New Orleans?”
Nick returned to the stove and served his gumbo before he said, “Mercy, if you want to know if I walked away from a relationship back in N’Awlins, all you have to do is ask.”
Mercy, who’d been about to take her first bite, put the spoon back down. “Your ego is incredible. I wasn’t asking about your past relationships! I just thought you might have had more friends in New Orleans. More occasions to cook for people.”
“Cook for a woman, you mean.” Nick settled himself across the table and held out a paper towel for her to use as a napkin. “And the answer to all your questions, spoken and unspoken, is no. I didn’t cook romantic candlelit dinners in N’Awlins. I didn’t much feel like it before, but I may give it a try now.”
He waved the towel slightly since she seemed to have stopped in the middle of reaching for it. “I’ve never been married, and I didn’t move to Louisville to get away from a bad relationship.”
Pulling the towel from his grasp, Mercy said, “I wasn’t going to ask any of those questions!” She paused and worried her lip with her teeth. “But since you’ve brought it up yourself, don’t expect me to believe you’ve been leading the life of a monk!”
“I didn’t say I was celibate,” Nick pointed out. “I just wasn’t involved with anyone on a steady basis. I wasn’t much of a long-term bargain in those days.”
The first to look away, Mercy chastised herself for letting his confession get to her. Only a sucker would want to ask questions or delve into his past. She sternly reminded herself that she didn’t want to know anything else about the man. Besides, she didn’t need to ask why he hadn’t been “much of a bargain.”
Nick Devereaux was a doctor, and that was all the explanation she needed. Living with doctors had taught her a lot about long hours, emotional on-and-off switches, preoccupation with patients, canceled vacations, and beepers going off. While she could admire and even understand her parents’ commitment to medicine, she couldn’t understand how their careers made up for all the lost happiness in their lives.
If you know so much about doctors, then why does Nick seem to have plenty of time on his hands? Time he appears to be happy to spend with you?
Unable to answer that question and determined to maintain some distance, she dug into the gumbo with a vengeance. One bite and flavor exploded in her mouth. She closed her eyes to savor the experience. “Mmm. This is heaven.”
“Not quite, chère,” Nick pronounced after he’d tasted the gumbo with the same intensity of a wine connoisseur sampling a fine vintage. “This is adequate, but not spectacular.”
“I disagree,” Mercy told him as she took another quick bite. “You could not improve on this.”
“A clove of garlic would have been nice.”
Mercy shuddered. “Garlic? In this house? Perish the thought. Think of my reputation! Vampires around the world would never speak to me again.”
Smacking his forehead with the palm of one hand, Nick apologized, “How foolish of me not to have realized.”
“Don’t mention silver bullets around here either,” Mercy lectured him with a grin that ruined the effect.
“Yes, ma’am. I forgot for a moment that this is Haunt, Kentucky. I assume every house has a ghost?”
“Every one but mine.”
“What? No ghosts!”
“Ghosts cost extra,” Mercy explained as she wiped the corner of her mouth. “I could barely afford Haunt’s Creaky Noise Package.” After pausing to take a bite, she continued, “Local television personalities are not rolling in dough like most people think. When I bought this place, I had to give up expensive restaurants, vacations that involved airplanes, and my apartment in the city.”
“Are you sorry?”
“Absolutely not.” Mercy shook her head for emphasis. “Not many towns have an atmosphere like Haunt, Kentucky.”
Nick shook his head. “Halloween around this plac
e must be a regular ghouls’ night out.”
Dropping her spoon, Mercy cried, “That’s it!”
“That’s what?”
“Ghouls’ Nite Out. That’s the benefit.” Mercy doubled her fist and pounded the table. “That’s our theme!”
Nick enjoyed the animation in her face. In fact, he’d enjoyed the change in Mercy since she’d come downstairs. She seemed more at ease with him, more willing to let down her guard and treat him like a friend instead of a dangerous adversary. He wasn’t sure what had caused the change, but he enjoyed it.
“Well, say something!” she ordered as she scraped a bite of gumbo from the bottom of her bowl.
“I think it’s a great idea.”
“We can promote it as an evening of black ties and black stalkings.” Mercy spread the fingers on her hand and swept it through the air as though envisioning a theater marquee.
Laughing out loud, Nick pushed his chair back from the table. “Dieu! But you’re quick! Does everything always fall so easily into place for you?”
Self-conscious, Mercy took a swig of iced tea before she answered. “Things like this? Yeah, but usually I have to wait two beats for someone to get the joke, or even worse, explain it to them.” She looked at him thoughtfully. “Except with you.”
“Same wavelength.”
“That’s a scary thought!” Mercy laughed, but groaned inwardly. Sharing a sense of humor with Nick was one more crack in the invisible wall that kept her from crossing the line between friendship and relationship. The last thing she needed was another crack in her wall. Since Nick arrived on her doorstep and pulled off his sunglasses, the damn thing was crumbling faster than she could repair it.
“More gumbo?” Nick asked as he got up to take his bowl to the sink.
Mercy hesitated. “First tell me if it’s still going to taste this good if I warm up some later.”
“Even better,” Nick promised.
“Then I can wait.”
“Patience. Another trait we share,” Nick commented as he held out his hand for her bowl. When Mercy gave it to him, she made very sure their hands didn’t touch. Nick kept his next suggestion very innocent, hoping she wouldn’t instantly recognize it as a ploy to delay his departure. Which of course it was. “What do you say to setting this pot of gumbo in the refrigerator and taking a walk? We can brainstorm about the benefit some more.”
As soon as he said “walk,” Witch materialized from under the table. Her front feet did a Gene Kelly tap dance on the checkerboard linoleum.
“Is this like the tennis ball thing?” Nick asked dryly.
“Yeah.” Mercy nodded as Witch spun in a tiny circle. “You said the magic word and now one of us is going to have to go around the block.” Her expression made it clear exactly which one of them would be going.
“I’m scared of the dark,” Nick lied as he met her amused gaze. “Someone will have to come with me for protection.”
Mercy got Witch’s leash from a hook in the pantry and handed it to him as she said, “You don’t look like you need protection, and you don’t look scared. Besides, you’ll have Witch with you.”
“Oh, but you’re wrong, chère. Sophie Jensen scares the hell out of me, and I don’t think Witch is gonna be much help.”
Cringing at the images that sprang to mind, Mercy agreed, “All right. I’ll come with you. God only knows what scheme you and Sophie would come up with if I left you alone.”
The twilight ebbed into night as they made their second journey around the block. They trailed behind Witch, who drifted along in a zigzag pattern, investigating each edge of the sidewalk. Simultaneously, porch lights and night stars winked on. Nick listened to the familiar cadence created by the opening and shutting of doors, barking dogs, children’s laughter, and a father’s shouted reminder that it was time to come in.
All around him was the sound of community, something he hadn’t even realized he missed. Children’s laughter was one sound he had avoided at all costs since the accident. It reminded him of his sister, Catherine. She had rarely laughed, but when she did, she laughed with such joy and abandon that one by one the rest of the family joined in. Sometimes without ever knowing why, or caring.
Most children acquired nicknames early in life, but his little sister had been Catherine since the day she was born. It fit her the way a ’tit nom never could. He’d been fifteen years old when she was born, and he remembered it like it was yesterday. He remembered pretending to be too cool to fuss over a baby, and then talking nonsense to her when no one else was in the room.
From the time she could walk, she’d followed him around like a gentle puppy. No one ever doubted how she felt about her big brother. No one had been prouder than Catherine that he was going to be a doctor. He missed her. He missed his parents, but losing Catherine had been like losing a child.
He’d been able to put aside the memories during medical school, internship, and residency. The incredible work load had been a blessing, but eventually he’d had to face the real world again. Four years ago, he’d forced himself to go back to New Orleans, and then the insomnia started. He couldn’t deal with the memories. So he withdrew, creating a safe, sterile existence without nosy neighbors, close friends, or laughing children. And the silence woke him up at night.
Nothing surprised him more than to hear the noises of Haunt, Kentucky, and realize he wanted noise back in his life.
“I could learn to like this place,” he said, shortening his steps to match Mercy’s slower pace.
Mercy pulled in a deep breath of summer air, warm and ripe. “Hmm, I know what you mean. I fell in love with this place the moment I saw it. Narrow streets, big trees.”
“Sounds like the perfect place to put down roots.”
“It has been.”
“Must not be very strong roots. You’re already planning to move to Pittsburgh.”
“Who said I was?”
“You did,” Nick reminded her.
“Oh, that. That was career talk.” Mercy rubbed her arms and gave a deep sigh. “I’ll go if Dan pushes me to it, but I don’t think he wants me to go any more than I want to go. I suspect we’ll come to an agreement of some sort. Right now we’re only circling each other, getting ready for the big negotiation.”
Startled, Nick looked at her long and hard. “Excuse me, but I thought career opportunities this good were few and far between. You’re telling me that you’re gonna pass up a chance at the big time to stay in Louisville?”
“Sure. If it doesn’t work out, I can always go to medical school.” Mercy’s grin teased him.
“Oh, I got a picture of that, chère!”
“Okay, so maybe I wouldn’t. I sure didn’t like it the first time.”
Nick stopped dead in his tracks and stared. Witch ran out of slack and turned to investigate why her leash had grown suddenly short.
“Yeah, you heard me right.” Mercy grabbed his arm and pulled him along. “I didn’t actually make it to medical school. I jumped ship my sophomore year of college and switched all my premed classes to journalism and communications.”
“Too bad. You’d have made a wonderful doctor,” Nick told her as they waited for one of Mercy’s neighbors to back out of the driveway. Nick waved right along with Mercy as he said, “I can see you in family practice or maybe pediatrics. You have a way with people. I saw it when you put that orderly at ease and when we toured the ER.”
“Well, all my parents could see was a surgical residency. Dad was really leaning on me to persue neurosurgery, but Mother had pretty much decided on my being a heart surgeon,” Mercy said when they started walking again.
“What changed your mind? Couldn’t be the blood and guts. You’ll see more of that watching horror films than you’d ever see in an operating room.”
“Funny.”
“Thank you.” Nick grinned. “Come on, Mercy. Why did you back out?”
For some reason, Nick’s word choices were beginning to bother her. Mercy reached to unsn
ap Witch’s collar as they walked into the yard. “I didn’t back out. I changed my mind.”
“Why?”
“For lots of reasons.”
“Like what?”
A little exasperated, she said, “You don’t want to listen to old history.”
“It beats goin’ home and staring at the ceiling,” Nick informed her as he took her hand and led her up the steps. “Insomnia and I are old friends. You wouldn’t want to be responsible for another sleepless night?”
“No,” Mercy answered faintly, climbing the steps, her attention focused on the warmth of his hand clasping hers. Friends hold hands, she told herself. His touch meant nothing. The tingling meant nothing. The tiny charge of electricity could be explained by the laws of everyday, ordinary physics or chemistry or something. Just like the shock people got from walking across a carpet and touching something metal.
Then why did holding his hand feel like a dangerous thing to do?
The abrupt halt of their progress brought her attention back to the real world. She noticed two things immediately: One, she hadn’t turned on the porch light before they left the house, and two, Nick clearly waited for a response to something he’d said. Since she hadn’t heard a word out of the last dozen or so, she had to ask. “What?”
“I said—” Pleased, Nick saw the way her eyes kept straying toward their entwined fingers, which meant she must have noticed the perfect fit. He settled himself on the wooden swing without letting go of her hand and then pulled her onto the seat beside him. He would rather have pulled her into his lap, but he didn’t want to jeopardize the progress he’d made tonight. “I said that I’d much rather sit in this old-fashioned swing and listen to ancient history than go home. There’s nothing there anymore except designer cobwebs.”
Carefully, he pushed against the porch with his foot, gently rocking the swing. As the air swirled around them, the scent of the potted nicotiana set along the railing teased his senses. The faint glow of the streetlight illuminated Witch as she found a spot by the screen door and curled up. Nick smiled to himself as Mercy relaxed enough to let her thigh touch his. “You gonna tell me about your brush with medical school or am I gonna have to drag every detail out of you?”
