by Lynn Shurr
One nice thing about standing six-foot-three and having a pint-sized wife was the easy lifting. He raised her on his hips and braced her against the tiled wall away from the spray of the water. As he entered her deep, Nell wrapped her legs around his waist and clutched his broad shoulders. Holding back as best he could, Joe ran a slippery finger into her cleft repeatedly until she began to arch and push back. He drove hard for the goal line. Score!—and an extra point for making Nell come, too. No one, not even the many women from his man whore days, could say Joe Dean Billodeaux failed in being a generous lover.
Nell slid down the wall and rested her head on his still soapy chest. “Wobbly,” she said. “I think I was as ready for that as you were. And I’m sorry we won’t be alone today. Rinse. We have to take care of a few problems downstairs.”
She already had her clothes on by the time he dried off and pulled on clean garments, the hell with shaving. Nell put on a pink and white checked shirt over the sports bra and tied it at the waist. Sure, she’d had a nip and a tummy tuck after giving birth to the triplets, but she worked hard in the gym to keep her waist slim and sexy. Joe appreciated that. Running after all those children kept her trim, too, he guessed.
As Nell drew a comb through her short, practical hair, the doorbell sounded its mellow chimes. Macho, their oversized ranch dog, began barking in a mean basso that only fooled strangers. Quickly, she glossed her mouth with a little pink lipstick. No time for makeup. Shoving her feet into flip-flops, she headed to the bedroom door.
Joe stopped her. “Nell, I just had a frisson, me.”
“No time for the cute Cajun routine, Joe. Someone let Macho in, and he’ll scare Teddy to death, not to mention whoever is at the front door.”
“We should stay in bed like we planned and not go down there. I got this bad feeling it’s going to be another one of those off-seasons, the kind with bad problems we have to fix.”
“Are you telling me the great Joe Dean Billodeaux is afraid to face an off-season?” Nell raised her eyebrows at him.
“No way. Okay, we move on the count of three.” They went through the doorway together.
Chapter Two
From the top of the stairs, Joe and Nell gazed down on chaos. Macho, huge, yellow-furred, curly-tailed, black-muzzled, and white-pawed, dragged Teddy’s red wheelchair back and forth across the shining burgundy tiles before the front door. The boy, strapped into his chair, had a tight grip on the dog’s wide leather collar and a large smile on his small face. The mutt stopped barking and paused to snuffle along the sill. The bell rang again setting off more furious woofing and pacing. The people on the other end of the onslaught had no way of knowing Macho would embrace them, paws on their shoulders, and slurp their faces once he got loose.
“Teddy, let go of the dog’s collar!” Nell cried. “He’ll tip you over. How did Macho get in here?” Fearlessly entering the maelstrom, she headed rapidly down the stairs. The toe of her flip-flop caught the edge of the runner, but Joe grabbed her elbow before she tumbled.
Adam’s broad face looked up apologetically. “My bad, Mrs. Joe. He was scratching the H out of your kitchen door so I let him inside. He went right over to the kid to get his ears rubbed. No problem. They were getting along great. Then the bell rang, and they both took off. Want me to kick the mutt out?”
“Just put him in the kitchen and close the door for now.”
“Aaah, we was having fun,” Teddy said as Adam wrested the collar from his grip and attempted to drag the dog to the kitchen. Macho dug in his rear paws. His claws scraped the waxy surface of the tiles. Finally, the cornerback grasped the canine under the forelegs, pressed him to his broad chest, and walked the dog to the other room to be confined. The barks turned to pleading whimpers.
“That’s better,” Nell said. “This can’t be the Rev or Mintay. Macho recognizes them. Besides, they are dealing with their own situation this morning. Knowing them, they’d come to help anyway.” Nell placed her hand on the deadbolt to open the door.
“Wait.” Joe peered out a curtained sidelight. “Airport limo. How did it get up the drive?”
“Sorry,” Adam said, this time hanging his head and showing them the part in his outrageous mane of frizzy, black curls that extended well below his shoulders. “The guy said their need to see you was most urgent, his exact words. I buzzed them in since you were—um, busy upstairs. I mean we all know how you like to spend the first day of your off-season. I shouldn’t have come.”
Nell looked at her husband with astonishment and measured her words carefully in front of Teddy. “You told the team what we do to celebrate the off-season?”
“Might have slipped out,” Joe admitted and stepped out of the range of her fist. “Let me get the door in case it’s some new paparazzi trick.”
The bell chimed again almost apologetically. “Please, sir, call off your hounds and allow us to enter. I have grave news to relate,” a very proper British voice implored on the other side of the heavy, dark oak door.
“He thinks our mixed breed Texas cur is hounds,” Joe snickered. He raised his voice and asked, “What do you want here?”
A tall, long-faced form with an impressively large nose placed itself before the sidelight. His hands rested on the shoulders of a beautiful female child. Nell took a peek.
“Good Lord, I think that’s my niece. At least, she looks like the picture on the Christmas card Emily sent last year. Open the door.”
Joe did. The odd pair entered. Nell held out her hands immediately in greeting. “I know you must be Anastasia. That would make you Prince Stefan. Where is my sister?”
“No, madam, I am not the prince. So sorry to confuse you. This, however, is the Princess Anastasia Marya Polasky, his daughter. I am Clive Brinsley. I served the prince as both valet and butler.”
“So happy to have you both here. I’ve asked Emily to send Anastasia to visit her cousins often, but I wish she had let us know you were coming. We would have met you at the airport.”
The child declined to step into Nell’s embrace. Instead she stared at her aunt with blue eyes like Teddy’s, but hers were narrowed, sharp and bright as broken bottle glass. A pert nose and pouty lips made up the rest of her face. Dark blonde curls held back by a pink ribbon cascaded around her thin shoulders and down her back nearly to her waist. She wore a pair of tan suede boots with fringe around the top, pink leggings, and a short pink and white polka-dotted dress belted low on her childish hips. The twins would be envious of the clothes their cousin sported, hipshot like a model poised at the end of a runway.
“What a pretty outfit,” Nell said. Still trying to lure the child closer for some affection, she stepped toward her. The girl put her off with a remark.
“Mommy said you didn’t know how to dress. I can see that is true.” Anastasia eyed the yoga pants and flip-flops.
Behind Nell, Adam Malala sucked in his breath and issued a rebuke. “You do not talk to your elders that way.”
“Golly, yes. That woulda got my mouth washed out with soap or a pretty good slap from Newt,” Teddy chimed in.
“Is this one of my cousins? Mommy said they were backwater Cajun hicks with a rich daddy who got lucky playing American football.”
Nell reined in her outrage for her children. A cruel statement like that defined Emily’s personality. No matter that her sister had put the moves on Joe more than once and would gladly have married him or anyone else on the Sinners team. Joe placed his hands on her shoulders and both looked out at the limo where the driver unloaded a pyramid of pink luggage with a tan leather trim and one large, black suitcase. A small curly heap of a dog pressed its nose to the door of its carrier on top of the baggage and yapped in sharp, little barks.
Joe’s fingers dug into Nell’s flesh. “Compared to a smart-mouthed brat like you, my kids are angels. Since we’re so basse classe, why don’t the two of you get back in the limo and return to Italy and mommy dearest right now. I’ll pay your way with some of my lucky money.”
/> The butler’s long, serious face became grim as his thin lips turned downward. “Please, sir, allow me to address the situation.” He bent over Anastasia. “Princess, a cultured person does not repeat what they have overheard, especially if hurtful and rude. I cannot remain in the service of one who does.”
Instantly, the superior blue eyes released a waterfall of tears that cascaded down the dimpled cheeks and onto the dress to mingle with the polka dots. Anastasia buried her face in the dark pants leg of the servant and cried as if her world had come to an end.
Joe shifted with discomfort. Nell knew he had a weakness for crying children. Heaven knew his own daughters tried that ploy often enough, but the girl’s emotion seemed genuine.
“I didn’t mean to make her cry,” Joe said. “You are welcome to visit, but no more mouth about your cousins or Aunt Nell, you hear.”
“Perhaps, the princess could take Titi from her crate and give her some water and a short walk while we talk,” Clive Brinsley said. “Go along, Anastasia. Get her lead and let her out. Think of something other than yourself.”
Anastasia accepted a clean handkerchief from her butler and patted her face dry. She turned to the mound of luggage. Teddy wheeled up beside her. “I can help you.”
“What could you possibly do?” The girl, a trifle older, looked down on him.
“Lots of things. I can already read Harry Potter. We could tie her leash to my chair and just roll along together—if someone will help me down the front steps.”
Adam simply lifted the chair and the boy and set them on the ground, only two easy steps for him, one from the doorway and one off the verandah, but impossible for Teddy. “Thank you, sir,” he said politely.
“You’re a good kid, Teddy,” Adam replied gruffly, implying by his expression that the other child was not.
The girl took a leash, a plastic dish and a water bottle from a carry-on bag and opened the little dog’s crate. The animal bounded into her arms and lavished affection with a small pink tongue, wiping away the remnants of the salty tears.
“Can I hold her while you pour the water? I’m a good holder.”
“I guess so.” Anastasia placed the pup into his lap where Titi gave him an identical welcome.
The limo driver lurked beside the passenger door of his black vehicle. “I guess that’s all the luggage.” He made no move to leave.
Adam glanced back at the mansion with its tall, white pillars a la Scarlet O’Hara. None of the other adults still stood in the open doorway. Apparently, his babysitting days were not over. He took out his wallet and plastered two twenties in the driver’s hand. “That do it?”
“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. Aren’t you Adam Malala? I know this is Joe Dean Billodeaux’s place. They use our service sometimes, but this is my first trip here. These your children or his?” He held out his receipt book hopefully, and Adam gave him an autograph.
“No and no. Guests.” As if his own children if he ever had any would be so light-skinned.
“Oh, must be one of the crips Joe works with, but that other one is a piece of work, let me tell you.” The driver made that statement as if little kids had no ears.
That irritated Adam no end, especially on Teddy’s behalf. “You’d better get going,” he said in a way that caused opposing players to beware and made the man step lively to the other side of the car.
“I need someone to open the gate again.”
“I got it. You two don’t go anywhere until I get back, okay?”
Both children nodded as they watched Titi lapping water as if it were dog ambrosia. Adam headed straight for the kitchen as the limo sailed down the long drive. He forgot about the dog, the huge one. Macho bowled him over and skittered for the open front door. How humiliating for a Pro Bowl cornerback. Adam dashed across a devastated kitchen: milk jug spilled on the floor, cookie packet empty, sandwich plates, one broken, knocked down and licked clean. He hit the button, swiveled, and turned on the speed as he raced back to avert another disaster.
Macho beat him to the entry and plummeted down the steps right to the water dish. Titi squeaked. Macho barked once sharply. He sniffed under the intruder’s feathery tail, then moved to the other end of the little fur ball and touched his big, wet nose to the little black button that protruded from the mound of fluffy hair. Adam stooped to pick up a landscaping stone from the flowerbed. Seeing that monster eat the bit of fluff would not be good for the children. Before he could chuck his rock at Macho, the top dog nudged the other aside and finished off the water in several slurps of the bowl. Evidently, peanut butter and cookies made him thirsty and spilled milk did not do the trick. Finishing his drink, Macho trotted off to raise a leg against the trunk of one of the massive live oaks that dotted Joe’s property. The toy dog followed and sniffed, obviously impressed by the aroma and output. Both lay down in the shade.
Anastasia went to sit by her puppy and spread her skirt out on the layer of brown fallen oak leaves as neatly as if she were on a picnic in Tuscany. Teddy gamely pushed his wheelchair through the duff and took up a place next to Macho. The dog placed his huge head in the boy’s lap and offered his ears for scratching.
Adam sank down on the porch step and rested his elbows on his knees. He wondered how long he would have to wait to have that heart-to-heart talk with the man the team called Daddy Joe. He could not go back to Samoa without some sound advice about women. On that topic, Joe Dean Billodeaux was the acknowledged expert.
Chapter Three
In Joe’s vast den, actually now the family room since the children came along, Clive Brinsley perched on the very edge of one of Joe’s leather recliners. Joe relaxed into a matching chair while Nell seated herself on the long sofa.
“Now, Mr. Brinsley, what is the problem?” Joe began.
“Simply Brinsley, sir. A butler is addressed by his last name only. I bring grievous news.” He turned to Nell. “I am so sorry to report that your sister and her husband perished in an automobile wreck two weeks ago. While the prince and Mrs. Polasky were not given to planning ahead, they did leave a will naming you as guardian of their only child. Rather than pay a solicitor, they asked me to be their executor. I’ve brought Anastasia here at my own expense.”
Nell, stunned and thrust suddenly into the disbelieving stage of grief, said, “How could that be? No one called us. Do my parents know, my brother and his family?”
“No one. A matter of misplaced pride, I believe. The madam specified if she should die in Italy, she wanted a cremation and her ashes scattered privately in the Adriatic Sea from the terrace of the palazzo. Only afterward was her family to be informed. You see, the creditors were at the door ready to strip the place down to the mosaic floors.”
Nell rubbed her forehead as if shoving the facts inside her brain. “Do you think they committed suicide?”
“Not your sister. She had too much spirit for that, but the prince, perhaps. He was given to mercurial moods, charming one moment, morose the next.”
“Yes,” Nell agreed. “I doubt Emily would leave this earth willingly. She’d go out kicking and complaining. When my parents visited after she gave birth to Anastasia, they had doubts about the prince and his temperament.”
“That’s not all,” Joe said. “I paid to have this Prince Stefan investigated to ease their minds. The report found his royal lines to be completely faked. He made his living gambling and escorting rich women. By the time the child came along, too late to do anything much about it unless Emily divorced him by her own choice.”
Brinsley nodded sadly. “I suspected as much. The madam often jested that she met the prince in Monaco when she’d gotten down to her last million. He used her funds to restore her fortune in the casinos—and his. Until recently, he played adeptly at cards.”
“My fortune, you mean. We paid the damn—Nell’s sister that money for a donation of eggs to make our family. She took the cash and ran for Europe. Never came home. We got her wedding announcement, another one for the baby’s birth, a
nd an annual Christmas card. She didn’t stick around to see Nell through any of the difficult births, had no interest in meeting the children. That’s how much she cared about family.” Joe socked a fist into his palm.
“Please, Joe. Emily is gone now. She did save my life with a bone marrow transplant when I was a teenager. Remember that. We wouldn’t have most of our children without her donation either.” Nell went over to his chair, pried open his fist and placed her hand inside.
“Yeah, right.”
Brinsley continued. “I can tell you on the day of the accident, they went to visit a vineyard and imbibed a great deal. Witnesses said they argued about their circumstances. On the return home, the Maserati went over a cliff and burst into flames. Cremation was the only option regardless. I allowed Anastasia to help me scatter the ashes as we all need closure. Not long after, the banca seized the house, and the rest of the creditors, the furnishings. One vile specimen attempted to take Titi from the child. He thought he could get money for the dog, but I would not allow that. Other than the pup, we left Italy with only our personal belongings. I paid for our fare from my savings.”
“I see what you’re getting at, Brinsley. How much do we owe you? Add in some extra for your trouble.” Joe rose to get his checkbook.
“Not necessary, sir. Anyone who would abandon a child in need would be a very low creature indeed. My expenses should have come out of the estate, but the estate vanished in a matter of days. Being butler to the Polasky family was not an ideal situation, but I have always stood by my employers. Having saved prudently over the years, I had the means to help, and did so. However, I would ask one favor. I would like to stay on with your family for a short time until Anastasia has settled. The dog and I are all she had left of her former life besides her personal possessions.”
