The Man Next Door

by Gina Wilkins

  Though Rachel offered, Teague insisted on carrying his own bag inside. It took everything he had to keep from groaning when he lifted the case, even though it wasn’t overly heavy. And he was aware that he limped rather badly as he made his way up the steps to her front door. Both women politely pretended not to notice.

  He almost groaned again when he saw the staircase that led up to the bedroom where he would be staying, but he told himself he could do this. He was beginning to think he should have stayed back in Little Rock and nursed his wounds in solitude, despite the opportunities of alone time with Dani.

  Rachel took one look at his expression and sighed. “Okay, there comes a time when a guy can overdo the machismo. Give me the suitcase and I’ll carry it up to your room. You go sit in the den and prop up that bad foot. I’ll bring your coffee once I’ve carried your bag to your room.”

  “Oh, that’s not—”

  She shook a finger at him, silencing him effectively. “Never argue with an older sister,” she warned him. “We’re innately bossy, and we insist on having our way.”

  Dani laughed softly. “She’s right about that, Teague. You might as well give in.”

  He surrendered the suitcase without further argument. “Where’s the den?”

  “End of the hallway. Three easy steps down. Make yourself comfortable.”

  As he made his way to the den, Teague was reminded that Rachel was a professional decorator. Everything in the house was immaculate, perfectly coordinated and yet warmly inviting. It was very much a home, not a magazine showplace.

  The den was an oasis of comfort. Anchored by a large, dusty-blue sectional sofa piled with colorful throw pillows, the room included a state-of-the-art large-screen plasma TV mounted over a fireplace, espresso-stained tables, comfortable-looking swivel rockers, a wet bar in one back corner and an octagonal game table with leather-padded chairs in the other corner. A Turkish rug, blue and tan with a dark-red background, provided warmth to the wood floor. One wall was mostly tinted glass, looking out over the huge, multi-tiered patio behind the house.

  Oh, yeah, he thought, heading straight for that welcoming sofa. A guy could be very comfortable in here.

  He had just settled into the cushions, propping his sprained ankle on a padded footstool, when a dark-haired, green-eyed man in a blue shirt, blue and gray tie and gray dress slacks wandered through the door.

  “No, don’t get up,” the newcomer said, when Teague automatically started to rise. “I heard the girls chattering upstairs and I figured I’d come in here to introduce myself. I’m Mark Brannon.”

  “Teague McCauley.” Shaking the extended hand, Teague added, “This is one comfortable couch.”

  Loosening his tie, Mark chuckled. “That was my prerequisite for buying all the furniture in this house. It had to pass my ‘sprawlability’ test.”

  “You’ve got a nice place here. Dani told me you met Rachel when you hired her to decorate this house.”

  Grinning, Mark settled into one of the rockers. “Best investment I ever made. So, you’re Dani’s neighbor back in Little Rock.”

  It wasn’t a question, but Teague nodded anyway. “I moved into her building a few months back. Wouldn’t do me any good to buy a house, since I’m not home that much.”

  “FBI, right?”

  Teague nodded.

  “Tough job.”

  “No tougher than doctoring, I’d think,” Teague drawled.

  Mark snorted. “I haven’t been beaten up by any of my senior-citizen patients lately,” he said, nodding toward Teague’s battered face. “I assume you’ve seen someone about those?”

  “Saw my doctor yesterday. Mild concussion, a few cracked ribs, a twisted ankle, assorted cuts and bruises—but other than that, I’m in great shape.”

  Mark laughed. “Yeah, I can tell. You taking anything for pain?”

  Teague named the medication he’d been prescribed, adding that he’d only had one that day, halfway through the long car ride. “I don’t like taking them unless it’s necessary. They make my head feel sort of fuzzy.”

  “Yeah, it would. I can give you something not quite as strong, but still pretty effective, if you need it.”

  “Thanks, but I’m okay right now.”

  Mark gave a somber, doctor-type nod, then changed the subject. “You like football?”

  “More than life itself.”

  Grinning, Mark waved a hand toward the large-screen TV over the fireplace. “High definition and surround sound. You and I can settle in here tonight while Rachel and Dani catch up on their gossip.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” Teague said heartily, very relieved that the evening’s arrangements weren’t any more strenuous than that. “But won’t Dani want to see the rest of her family?”

  “I’ll see them tomorrow,” Dani answered for herself, entering the room with her sister in time to hear Teague’s question. “I just called Mom and told her we’d arrived safely, but that we were both tired from the trip. She understands. And Grandma’s having a holiday party this evening with her bingo buddies, so there’s no need for us to leave here again tonight. Rachel and Mark have invited us to join them for dinner, and I think Mark plans to spend the rest of the evening watching football, if you’d like to join him in here while Rachel and I catch up.”

  For all Teague cared at that moment, he would be content never to leave that comfy couch again. Especially when Rachel brought him a steaming mug of coffee and a couple of over-the-counter painkillers.

  “Dani thought you might need these,” she said, holding the plastic bottle in front of him. “She said you haven’t had anything in quite a while.”

  “These will be fine, thanks.” He swallowed a couple of the tablets, then washed them down with a few of sips of excellent coffee. Oh, yeah, he liked it here just fine.

  It didn’t take Teague long to realize that Rachel was still reserving judgment about him. Every once in a while he would catch her watching him, studying his expressions, and especially his interactions with Dani. Though she was perfectly polite to him, being an attentive and gracious hostess, something made him suspect that she had reservations about him. Specifically, about his relationship with Dani. He detected both wariness and protectiveness in her eyes when she didn’t realize he was watching.

  He wondered what made her so distrustful. Was it only an “older sister thing?” The Dani he’d observed during the past few months had been perfectly capable of taking care of herself where men were concerned.

  He’d watched her with her “lap puppy” escorts, skillfully sending them away when she no longer desired their company, manipulating them with slight smiles and a few well-chosen words. She didn’t seem to be the sort of woman who’d let herself get tangled up with the wrong sort of guy—but he wondered if there was some specific incident in her past that had made her so guarded and determined to be in control.

  The more he learned about Dani, the more he found himself wanting to know. For a guy with commitment issues of his own, that realization was enough to make him a little nervous.

  Chapter Seven

  Dani turned off the engine of her car and then sat staring at her mother’s house, her hands seemingly locked on the steering wheel. She was having a little trouble unclenching her fingers.

  Beside her in the passenger seat, Teague cleared his throat. “So, were you planning to go in, or is your family’s big Thanksgiving meal served by carhops?”

  She tried to smile in response to the quip, but she suspected her sudden attack of nerves showed in her eyes. “We’re going in. I was just working up the courage.”

  “Something scary in there? Should I take my weapon?”

  His teasing began to have the intended effect. Her shoulders relaxed a little, and her smile felt more natural this time. “You won’t need a gun, but it wouldn’t hurt to be armed with a thick skin. My mother and grandmother could be interrogators in a prison camp. There’s nothing they love more than a fresh face at the table to give them
a new life to pry into.”

  He laughed. “Do they use torture to get their answers?”

  “Nothing stronger than endless questions.”

  “Then don’t worry, I can take it.”

  She almost asked if he’d ever been questioned with more violent means. A glance at his bruised face made her swallow the question, deciding she didn’t really want to know.

  Someone tapped on the window glass. Mark and Rachel, who had come in their own vehicle, passed Dani’s SUV, both carrying dishes of the food they’d brought for the Thanksgiving meal. “Y’all coming?” Rachel called through the glass.

  Dani drew a deep breath and opened her door. “On our way.”

  Teague reached out to lay a hand on her arm. “It’ll be fine, Dani. Don’t worry.”

  She felt the tingle go through her arm where he touched her, even through the red cashmere sweater her mother had given her for Christmas last year. She looked at his hand, and then slowly up at his face. His beautiful, battered face. And her mouth went dry.

  Something flared in his eyes. His fingers tightened a bit, turning the tingle into a jolt. “Dani—”

  “Dani! Are you coming in or what? Don’t keep our guest sitting out here in the car.”

  Swallowing hard, Dani opened her door the rest of the way. “We’re coming in now, Mom. We were just talking.”

  Gillian Madison stood at the bottom of the steps that led up to her porch, her hands planted on her full hips as she frowned at them. Her hair was a little too full, a little too stiff, a little too strawberry blond, her makeup was a little too heavy and her black pants a little too tight, but at almost fifty-three, there was still evidence of the pretty young girl she had been. Her mom was attractive, Dani thought in fond exasperation, just somewhat clueless when it came to making the most of her assets through clothing and makeup—and not particularly interested in learning.

  Gillian’s decorating tastes were just as unconventional as her personal style. She carried country kitsch to extremes, with kittens, chickens, bunnies, birdhouses, sunflowers and apples painted, appliquéd or decoupaged on nearly every item in her small, blue-shuttered, white frame house.

  Two large wicker rockers sat on the front porch. A big vase held orange chrysanthemums, and a huge ceramic cat sat by the front door. In honor of the season, the welcome mat was printed with pumpkins, and real pumpkins sat on the steps and in the flower beds. A grapevine wreath on the blue front door was decorated with little gourds and berries and silk leaves and flowers. All very different from Rachel and Mark’s understatedly elegant home, but very much in line with Gillian’s effusively maternal personality.

  Gillian watched Teague’s approach with undisguised curiosity. Dani was aware that her mother was not above playful flirting with an attractive younger man, but Gillian’s first instinct with Teague was suspicion rather than approbation. Gillian had never trusted her younger daughter’s taste in men—and okay, Dani had to admit there’d been a few good reasons for that wariness in the past.

  Dani had tried to make it clear that she and Teague were only neighbors and casual friends, and that there was no reason for her family to get all protective this time, but she’d known all along that her family would have doubts. She could only hope that the way she and Teague behaved around each other—with no real intimacy or flirtatiousness at all—would put to rest any misconceptions.

  She tried not to think about that moment in the car, when merely the touch of Teague’s hand on her arm had been enough to make her heart do flip-flops.

  There would be no more moments like that, she vowed as she carried the dish she’d brought toward her waiting mother. At least, not if she could help it.

  She made the introductions, and her mother and Teague shook hands. “We’re so glad you could join us today,” Gillian said graciously. “I’m sorry you were hurt.”

  “I appreciate the invitation,” he replied, equally formal. “It’s been a few years since I had a traditional Thanksgiving dinner.”

  “Oh? You don’t have family nearby?”

  “I don’t really have any family still living.”

  Gillian’s guarded expression immediately softened. “Please come inside. I’m sure you want to get your weight off that injured foot.”

  Dani managed not to roll her eyes, but it was obvious that Teague had unintentionally chosen the tight tact. Now Gillian saw him as a poor, wounded orphan alone for the holidays—never mind that he was a thirty-five-year-old FBI agent. Gillian might still have doubts about whether he was suitable for her daughter, but Teague would be treated very well during his visit.

  The rest of the family waited in the living room. Dani noticed that Teague didn’t react at all to all the cutesy decor surrounding them, other than to tell her mother that she had a very nice home, which visibly pleased her.

  Grandma Lawrence, an older, heavier, grayer version of Gillian, descended immediately on their visitor. “You’re really an FBI agent?” she demanded as soon as the introductions had been made.

  “Yes, ma’am,” he replied with a quick, wry glance at Dani.

  “Have you ever shot anyone?”

  He had probably expected that from her kid brother. He had probably not anticipated her eighty-something-year-old grandmother asking the question with a gleam of avid curiosity in her bespectacled eyes. “Um—”

  “Grandma.” Dani shook a finger at her grandmother. “Please behave yourself.”

  Grandma Lawrence looked indignant. “I just wanted to know if his job’s anything like that television show I like. You know, the one with the brothers, and one of them’s a good-looking FBI agent and he’s always chasing down bad guys.”

  “That’s television, not real life.”

  Looking pointedly at Teague’s bruises, Grandma Lawrence snorted. “Looks to me like real life can get pretty exciting in his line of work.”

  “More exciting than I like at times,” Teague admitted with an easy smile. “But I can’t really talk a lot about it, you know.”

  Dani almost winced, wondering if he was aware that he had just all but issued her grandmother a challenge.

  Twenty-one-year-old Clay, his fashionably shaggy hair hanging in his eyes and the goatee he’d sported for a couple of years neatly trimmed for the holiday, shook Teague’s hand then. He tried to be a little more subtle than his grandmother, not wanting to look uncool, but he was obviously just as fascinated by Teague’s job.

  “I’m taking business classes at the university,” he informed their guest. “I’ve thought about talking to the FBI when I start looking for a job.”

  Though his mother immediately frowned at this news she was hearing for the first time, Teague merely nodded. “I’d be happy to tell you anything you want to know about the job, as long as I don’t discuss the details of individual cases I’ve worked on.”

  “Why don’t we let Teague sit down while Dani and I help Mom with the final meal preparations,” Rachel suggested, motioning toward the sofa. “Grandma, you’d better come with us,” she added on an afterthought. “We might need you.”

  “Humph.” Grandma reluctantly moved toward the doorway, muttering, “You just don’t want to leave me here in case I start asking more questions.”

  Rachel laughed and draped an arm around her grandmother’s slightly rounded shoulders. “I’ve always said there’s nothing wrong with your mind, Granny.”

  “Dang straight. And don’t call me Granny.”

  Seeing that Teague was comfortably settled with the other guys in front of the game playing on the TV, Dani made herself join the other women. Maybe Teague had been protected from an inquisition for a little while, she thought glumly, but that wouldn’t protect her from being questioned the minute she entered the kitchen.

  “That,” Grandma Lawrence said the minute Dani entered the room, “is one fine specimen of a man. Bet he’s really fine when he doesn’t look like he stopped a few punches with his face.”

  Ignoring the mental echo of the
“Agent Sexy” nickname she had given him when she’d first seen him, Dani responded nonchalantly, “You think so? He’s not bad, I guess.”

  “Not bad? Either you’re trying too hard to pull the wool over my eyes, or something’s gone wrong with your own while you’ve been down there in Arkansas.”

  “Okay, Grandma. I’ve noticed that he’s attractive. But Teague and I are just friends, okay? And barely that. The only reason I brought him here with me is because he was hurt and he had nowhere else to go for the holiday. I just thought it was the charitable thing to do.”

  “Some charity,” Grandma muttered.

  “So, what did you bring for our meal?” Gillian asked, peeping into the covered dish Dani had carried in. Though Gillian had told Dani it wasn’t necessary to bring anything, since she had to travel so far, Dani had insisted on preparing a dish, saying she would use Rachel’s fancy kitchen. Gillian had given in, probably expecting a serving dish of some frozen or canned vegetable.

  “It’s a pretty fancy eggplant gratin dish,” Rachel reported, having watched in fascination as Dani had chopped, broiled, sautéed and baked the ingredients for the rather complicated dish. “I’ve got to say, it looks delicious.”

  Dani had brought the ingredients to Georgia with her—eggplants, red and green peppers, capers, pine nuts and seasonings—parsley, oregano, salt and freshly ground white pepper. She had topped the layered dish with bread crumbs she’d crushed herself and carried in a zip-top bag, then decorated it with laced anchovies, pimentos and black olives. Truth be told, it was one of the most complicated dishes she had ever made, and she’d practiced it a couple of times at home before attempting it here—but she’d wanted to do something that might impress her family with her newly acquired cooking skills.

  “I think it’s still warm enough to serve, since I brought it in this insulated carrier,” she said nonchalantly. “I thought it would be nice to try something different than the usual frozen corn or green peas.”