“You can get adventure somewhere else. Right now I have to go, and when I get back I want you out of our house.”
Preston stood, the towel slipping. Cynthia looked away. “The towel please, Preston.”
“Oh, right.” He grabbed it tight around his hips, and shuffled out of the bathroom mumbling, “And to think that Quaid fellow promised me free dinners at Slim’s for as long as I stayed here. Now I have to find a new place and—”
“Q…Quaid paid you?”
Preston looked at Cynthia over his shoulder. “He said it was part of the deal as long as I was here. And a nice perk, if you ask me.”
Cynthia growled, “This is not the house of perks and is none of Quaid’s business.”
Ida asked, “Why would Quaid do something like promise dinner? I don’t understand.”
“I intend to find out what’s going on.” Cynthia headed for the front door and Ida called, “You’re leaving me here alone like this? There’s not a speck of brandy in the whole blessed house and my sensibilities have been seriously upended over this intrusion.”
“Try hot chocolate, Mother.”
“Without brandy? Sacrilege.”
Cynthia grabbed her purse and made for the Buick. People thought living in New York was stressful and totally out of control. They should live at Ivy Acres. Everything was nuts or maybe it was just her. And to think she expected some R and R when she came home. Ha!
The night attendant had already taken over for Quaid down at the docks by now, so she turned toward the big white rambling frame that the four O’Fallon men called home. A house of all males? Even going near the place with her Landon Women’s Curse was risky.
She parked the car in front of the driveway. The night was still too hot and humid to stir. Moonlight slipped through the branches of the big oaks in the front yard as bullfrogs courted, crickets serenaded and a heron barked like a chihuahua with a stomachache—least that’s what they always sounded like to her.
With the porch light on she could see Quaid sitting in a wicker chair, feet propped on the railing. She’d recognize his silhouette anywhere, especially since she’d just spent a half hour intimately pressed to it. She still didn’t have panties on in case she forgot just how intimate that pressing was.
Well, she’d better have enjoyed it because there’d be no repeat performance of sex on the dicks…docks! Oh dear God! She meant docks!
She was so not up to facing Quaid again tonight and telling him she wanted nothing more to do with him no matter what. Being a complete coward, she backed the car down the road and headed for home, saying a little prayer that Quaid didn’t see her, that he was asleep in that chair.
She needed time—a century might be enough but at least till tomorrow to get herself together, her brain working because one look at Quaid now and she’d cave, tackle him to the floor of that porch and have a repeat performance of the office situation right out there in front of God and everyone.
Couldn’t the man have a pimple, a big old scar, a gold front tooth that would turn her off just a little? Those things wouldn’t help. She’d be attracted to the man—gold tooth, scar and all.
The bottom line was there could not be any more situations. Men were poison to her and tomorrow she’d be stronger and make that clear to Quaid no matter what it took.
Chapter 5
The next evening Cynthia drove the Buick into the O’Fallon driveway and parked right in front of the house. It had taken her all day to get up this much nerve, but there’d be no backing out this time and she didn’t want to confront Quaid with Lawrence around. She had to get things straight between her and the local hunk and then she’d forget about him. No more night visions of Mr. Hunk on top of her when she was trying to sleep. No more remembering the two of them huddled behind the desk. When he was out of her life for good, all that would go well…right?
Walking up the steps she nearly tripped over a big yellow dog sprawled out like some welcome mat. He had a bandana around his neck. Super Dog. This was no doubt Max and she patted his head, his tail wagging in appreciation. Guess she smelled enough like Lawrence not to cause a barking frenzy. She rapped on the front door, remembering when Lawrence was a baby and how she’d contemplated homicide when someone rang a doorbell waking him from a nap.
Quaid answered, surprise slipping across his rugged, incredibly handsome face. “Hi,” he said with a smile. “I’m glad you’re here.”
“Well, you won’t be.” She folded her arms, trying to add some menace to her words that she didn’t feel at all. Hard to be stern with Quaid right in front of her. This was much easier when she practiced in the hall mirror. “I’m here on business, personal business, between-us business.”
“Sounds serious.” He came outside, closing the screen door quietly behind him, another member of the napping baby club. His familiar unique scent of hot sexy guy filled her head, making her a bit dreamy, until she caught the aroma of…“Oh my God.” She walked past Quaid and pressed her face to the screen door, not caring that it left little tic-tac-toe marks on her nose. She inhaled deeply. “Fried chicken. Real, honest-to-goodness fried chicken.”
“Well it isn’t rubber.”
“I know, I had that one over at my house last night.” She sniffed in another lungful. “Any leftovers?”
“You came here for Dad’s chicken?”
“Not exactly.” Maybe a little.
“Kitchen’s down the hall to the right. Chicken’s in the fridge.”
She glanced back at Quaid but the lure of fried chicken dragged her onward and she followed the scent to the fridge in the neat yellow and blue kitchen. She pulled a drumstick from the platter covered with plastic wrap and eyed a thigh that somehow found its way into her other hand. She took a bite, euphoria washing over her and she nearly succumbed to one of Ida’s swoons.
“Good?” came Quaid’s voice from behind her.
“Terrific,” she managed around a mouthful while nudging the fridge door shut with her hip. She took another bite. “I’m starved.”
“You’re not eating over at your place?”
“Ida and I can’t cook. Totally suck at it. Pea soup for dinner, tasted like beebees. Rocks for rolls. Very sad.” She licked her thumb.
“Lawrence told you about Dad’s chicken, didn’t he?”
“He might have mentioned it in passing, right after telling me about steak on the grill, but that’s not why I’m here.”
With his index finger he wiped a smudge of gravy from her cheek. “Could have fooled me.”
He licked the gravy from his finger and for a moment all she could imagine was doing the same thing, then maybe tasting him all over. He had a great all over, she was sure, and she didn’t get a chance to lick one single part on the dock, but she’d like to do it now. Except she was preoccupied with the chicken and this was business. Business, business, business. She wagged the half-eaten drumstick at him. “You sent Preston to Ivy Acres. And you bribed him to stay by offering him free dinners at Slim’s. What in the world were you thinking?”
Quaid propped his hip against the counter. “That you run a bed and breakfast and he needed a place to stay and you could do with a little extra cash? And the dinner wasn’t a bribe so much as an incentive. Dad hired Preston, and springing for some food seemed like the right thing to do.”
“Well, last night Mr. Wright sprang into the shower with Ida, doing the full Monty, and his head ruined a perfectly fine antique vase that was my great-grandmother’s.”
“Preston did all that?” Quaid stood straight. “Damn. He doesn’t seem like that kind of guy. Rory checked him out. He’s a retired teacher, impeccable reputation. Oh, he’s got this Magnum thing going on but he’s harmless. Is Ida okay?”
“She’s fine, but I want you to butt out of our lives. The Landons are not a charity case. We just can’t cook.” She stiffened her spine, suddenly aware that she probably looked beyond charity and more like something the cat dragged in that happened to be hungry. Landons were proud, they wer
e better than this…until lately. She hated lately, but she really loved the chicken. “We may not be the high and mighty O’Fallons, but we can still manage on our own. Lawrence does not need your money and neither do Mother and I and—”
“Hey, hold on. I apologize if Preston didn’t work out but leave my family and Lawrence out of this. I wanted to help you out, that’s all there is to it.”
Oh, no! she thought. What if he…She jabbed the drumstick in the direction of the docks and lowered her voice. “You didn’t…I mean we didn’t…because you felt sorry for me?”
“Holy hell, Cynthia.” He raked his too long black hair. “Did I act like I was feeling sorry for anyone?”
Well, thank heavens for that. She tipped her chin. “So, I owe you a coat and something for this chicken that I just scarfed down and then you and I are through. I told you when a man finagled his way into my life everything went wrong and that’s what’s happening now. I got you, then we got Preston. Package deal. Who knows what else will turn up next, so I have to get you out of my life right now.”
“So that’s what this is all about. Not very rational, didn’t you say that before?”
The tip of his fingers touched her chin and he tipped her face to his and looked into her eyes as she felt herself getting lost in his. She stepped away, feeling dizzy, a direct result of being near Quaid, the lure of fried chicken suddenly not enough of a distraction. “You’re getting a coat if I have to tie it around you with a rope. This debt gets paid off, making us officially uninvolved.”
“And you think that will disengage the curse?”
“That’s the plan. You are not the first man in my life to activate a bad situation and I intend to cut my losses and get away from you before the roof of our house caves in or there’s an earthquake that swallows up Ivy Acres, or whatever else the fates can dream up.”
“You know this makes no sense.”
“Sense isn’t the issue, bad karma is and I have a lifetime of proof that the curse not only exists but is thriving and hereditary.”
Quaid’s brows rose. “You inherited it?”
“Genes are amazing.” She tramped down the hall and elbowed open the screened door since she still had the chicken in her hands.
She wasn’t sure what made her madder, Quaid interfering in her business or that she made love to him last night and completely enjoyed it even though she shouldn’t have.
Quaid suddenly caught up with her on the porch. “Wait, I’m going to make this easy for you so you don’t have to fabricate crap about a curse.”
His mouth smiled but there was a hint of hurt deep back in his eyes and the only reason she recognized it was that she’d felt it herself when she realized how Aaron had betrayed her. “You think I’d lie about all this? Trust me, I don’t have that good an imagination.”
“The real deal is I’m not in your class.”
“Okay, that’s part of it. I’m older. When you were in the second grade I was in—”
“Not that kind of class. I’m not good enough for you. That garbage before about the high and mighty O’Fallons was just a cover for the high and mighty Landons.” He shrugged. “Not a problem, I understand.”
She was so tempted to just let him believe that and then he’d stay away from her and all would be well, but she couldn’t. “Look at me, Quaid O’Fallon.” She held out her arms, chicken in each hand. “I’m broke, pilfered your food, haven’t had a decent manicure in months, my hair’s all roots, I drive a fourteen-year-old blue Buick, my father’s reputation is in the toilet and I have a mother who thinks brandy is the fifth food group. Class? What class?”
He shrugged again. “You live in the big white house on the hill and I’m always going to be the adopted river rat.” He lowered his voice. “That you had sex with me is probably not setting too well with your blue blood right now.”
“You arrogant creep!” She flung the drumstick and it bounced off his forehead and fell to the porch floor. “Here I am, baring my soul after I bared a lot of other things to you on that dock, and you think I’m telling you about this damn curse because I’m a snob and don’t want to associate with you?” She resisted throwing the thigh; he wasn’t worth it. “I swear I will never understand men if I live to be a million.”
Quaid watched Cynthia stomp her way to the car. That was one damn ugly ride and she may be broke but the Landons would always be the Landons and he would always be the badass. Rory strolled out onto the porch, Bonnie in one arm, diaper bag in the other, the screen door slamming shut behind him. “What’s that baloney about some kind of curse?”
“Eavesdropping?”
“Hell, yes. Every chance I get. How do you expect me to find out what’s going around here with you kids? I missed the part about what happened on the docks, but what’s with you not thinking you’re good enough for the likes of Ms. Cynthia Landon?”
“Caught that too, did you?”
“You’re good as anybody, boy, and better than most. Though you could do without the gravy smear on your head.”
“Thanks.” Quaid grinned, took a tissue from the diaper bag and wiped off the gravy.
“You don’t need to thank me, just believe it.”
Taking Bonnie from Rory, Quaid held her up and blew raspberries on her soft tummy. Nothing in the world sounded as happy as baby giggles. Rory gave him a long look, the kind dads give their sons, making them squirm no matter how old the son or how old the dad. “You’re an O’Fallon through and through, you know that.”
Quaid kissed Bonnie’s head, her curls soft against his cheek. What a gift. “I know.”
“Your brain does, but what about in your gut?”
“My gut’s just fine.” He nodded at the diaper bag. “You and Bonnie off for a night on the town?”
“Hastings House. More plumbing problems.”
Quaid cradled Bonnie, the warmth of her little body next to his incredible. He’d never felt more protective of anyone in his life. “That plumbing’s been acting up for a while. You spent the whole day up there. Want me to take a look? Maybe a fresh eye—”
“I’ll take care of it. Conrad’s in New Orleans and I don’t mind helping Thelma with a few things now and then. Since I got you here to mind the docks and take care of the business I can do that much for her. She’s family. You can always trust family and that’s mighty important.”
“Want me to watch squirt here?”
“To tell you the truth, you look like a man who could do with a drink. Tell Slim I said the pie’s in the oven and he can stop around for a piece if he has a hankering. Always good to catch up on what’s going on around town. These are troubled times.”
“What pie?”
“Up at Hastings House, of course. You just tell Slim, he’ll know. Don’t forget.”
Weird request. Rory’s gaze met Quaid’s. The baby stirred in his arms and Rory’s brow arched a fraction. Rory spent more time at Hastings House than in his own house. He always had Bonnie with him when he went there, and always seemed in a hurry to get back. Interesting. Quaid said, “Plumbing problems, huh?”
“Yeah.” Rory winked and gave a little smile—the action safer than a conversation, the message the same. In the age of electronics Rory wasn’t the only one who could eavesdrop around this house.
“Take Max with you. He likes to run the fields up at Hastings House.” And there wasn’t a better watchdog anywhere. Quaid followed Rory down the steps to the Suburban and strapped in Bonnie as Rory lowered the tailgate for Max. Rory started the engine and Quaid leaned into the rolled-down window and whispered under the hum of the engine, “Watch your back, Dad. Is that why you hired Preston?”
“He’s Magnum, attracts all the attention and we get none, leaving us to do our own thing, like take care of plumbing problems.” Rory gave a little salute then drove off, leaving the peace of night in his wake. Only the sounds of nature and the rumble of tows out in the river broke the stillness.
Quaid’s survival senses went on full
alert. Three desperate men wanted Mimi out of their lives permanently, and the link to finding Mimi was through Rory and Bonnie. The bad guys had already kidnapped the baby and would not stop with one foiled attempt. Millions were involved, not to mention years in prison. Being Bruno’s prison bitch was not how the presidents of River Environs intended to spend their golden years.
Quaid turned on a light in the house, set the alarm and headed on down to Slim’s. Rory was right about keeping up on the latest talk around town, new folks coming and going, and the way to do that was to make everything seem normal as…pie.
He crossed the deserted road and made for the red neon Budweiser sign in Slim’s window. The old shack had been perched above the Mississippi as long as Quaid could remember. In contrast a load of fresh-cut lumber in the side parking lot hinted things were about to change. Sally said something about adding outside seating. Sounded stuffy…like Cynthia Landon.
What the hell was he thinking, getting involved with her? That woman was so far out of his league he couldn’t touch her with a ten-foot pole. Except he did touch her and she touched him, and not just physically. If that’s all there was to it he’d be contented to love her and leave her. But dammit all, he liked her.
He liked the way she smiled and the way she smelled, and he really liked the way her eyes sparkled when she talked about Lawrence. He admired the way she handled all the mess that had hit her right upside the head. The only thing he hated was her making up that lie about being cursed. Why the hell didn’t she just stay away from him? He would have gotten the message that sophisticated gals didn’t mess with badasses from the wrong side of the tracks. Rory O’Fallon may have dragged him over to the right side but that didn’t erase the past, his roots. Never would.
Even with the door closed the mellow beat of BB King reverberated outside of the bar. From the corner of his eye he caught movement in the shadows behind the lumber pile. Two people making out. He smiled, then stopped dead. Demar? Quaid recognized his profile, and the gal was tall and lanky and definitely not Sally.
I’ll Be Seeing U Page 7
