Casey's Gamble

by Eve Gaddy

  Casey propped Megan on one hip. The little girl was crying in earnest now. No wonder, Casey thought. She was probably frightened to death. She was only four years old, practically a baby. At least they were safe now.

  “Are you all right?” she asked Esme. When her aunt didn’t answer, she raised her voice. “Aunt Esme, are you hurt?”

  Esme shook her head and moaned again. A moment later, she said shakily, “I’m all right. You see about la jeune fille.”

  The young girl, Casey thought. Even in a crisis Esme couldn’t refer to her nephew’s illegitimate daughter in a more familiar manner.

  She glanced worriedly at the flames. They’d become worse in the few minutes it had taken her to get Megan and Tanya out of the house. Tanya came around the corner, pulling on her dressing gown, a silk confection that made Casey stare even in her preoccupation.

  Megan was crying even harder now, so Casey sat down with her, rocking her a bit and trying to catch her own breath. “Hang on, sweetie. I’m calling your daddy.” With shaking fingers, she speed-dialed Jackson’s cell phone, praying he hadn’t turned it off.

  “Fontaine,” he answered in his deep, familiar voice.

  Relief cascaded through her. Whatever their differences, she could always depend on Jackson to be there when she needed him. Her words came out in a rush. “Jackson, get home right away. There’s a fire at Bellefontaine. It’s the big house.”

  “Fire? Megan?” His voice was sharp with fear. “Is Megan all right?”

  Cursing herself for frightening him, she spoke hurriedly. “Megan’s fine. We’re all okay. Everyone’s outside, but I have no idea how bad it is. I’ve called 9-1-1 and they said they’re sending help. Hurry, Jackson.”

  “I’m close, I’ll be there soon,” he said, and the line went dead.

  Casey glanced at the kitchen, fire blazing from the windows and door. She had to do something, she couldn’t stand to just sit and watch while her home was destroyed.

  “Megan,” Casey said firmly, pushing the little girl’s chin up so she could look into her eyes. “Aunt Casey has to go see what she can do to stop the fire. Will you stay here with Aunt Esme and Tanya? Your daddy’s coming home as soon as he can.”

  Megan nodded and sniffed, her death grip around Casey’s neck reluctantly loosening. She hadn’t been living with Jackson for long, and while she knew and loved her daddy, she still seemed a bit unsure about the rest of the family. And no wonder. Esme for one hadn’t been exactly thrilled when Jackson brought the little girl home with him. It gave Casey a pang that Megan seemed to trust her.

  “Good girl,” she said, and put the child in Tanya’s lap. Casey gave her the phone, as well. “Take care of Megan, and watch Aunt Esme while you’re at it. And call Murray,” she added, referring to their closest neighbor, Murray Dewalt. “I need help until the fire department arrives. The whole house will be lost if they don’t get here soon.” Tanya didn’t respond other than coughing, but Casey saw she was at least hugging Megan. “Call Murray,” she repeated, and gave her the number, though she wasn’t too sure Tanya had listened to her.

  Casey squatted beside her aunt. “Aunt Esme, will you be okay until the paramedics get here?” she asked anxiously.

  Esme waved her away and pulled Toodles closer. “I’m fine, I said. It’s just that my head hurts so.” She rubbed the back of her head and frowned. “Va-t-en! Go see about Bellefontaine.”

  Casey dashed off to turn on the hose. It probably wouldn’t make a dent in the fire, but it was all she could do by herself. Surely the fire department would get here soon. She knew it hadn’t been long since she’d called, but it seemed like hours had passed.

  She found the spigot nearest the kitchen and turned on the water, realizing when she did that the hose lay stretched across the lawn instead of coiled up neatly by the faucet. She pulled on the hose, only to come up short with a length of rubber sliced clean through, about three feet away from the faucet. For a minute she just blinked, her brain too foggy to take it in. The hose had been cut?

  Casey threw it down and ran around front to the other faucet. When she saw that hose stretched across the lawn, her heart sank. It had been cut, too, even closer to the source than the other one. Both hoses were totally useless.

  Now what? She couldn’t just stand around and twiddle her thumbs. Extra hoses. The greenhouse, she thought. There were more hoses there. She ran down the dirt road to the greenhouse. A few minutes later, she had a coil of hose draped over either shoulder as she ran back toward the blaze.

  A large shape materialized in front of her. Casey tried to swerve, but so did he, and she ended up smashing into a chest that might have been made of bricks. Strong hands steadied her. “Damn it, Jackson,” she gasped. “Get out of the way.”

  “Not Jackson,” he said, his voice sounding amused. “Nick. Nick Devlin.”

  Of course it wasn’t her brother. This man was a good bit taller. If she hadn’t been so rattled she’d have realized that immediately. For a moment she simply panted and stared at him, barely able to make out his face since he stood with his back to the fire. “I don’t care if you’re the devil himself, as long as you’re here to help.”

  He laughed and took the hoses from her. “Funny, that’s what some people call me.” The moon emerged from behind a cloud and bathed his face in light. Casey caught her breath, unsure whether the breathlessness was still from running or from the sight of a man she could only describe as drop-dead good-looking. Dark hair, chiseled cheekbones, a full, sensuous mouth that curved farther upward the longer she stared at him.

  “You must be Casey.” He didn’t wait for an answer, but went on. “I’m a friend of your brother’s. I was following him out here.” He glanced at the fire. “Bad timing.”

  “We can use your help.” She was really glad he was carrying the hoses. All of the running and hauling she’d been doing since she first saw the fire was beginning to tell on her. She was exhausted and having a hard time getting her breath.

  “Don’t you have hoses up at the house?” Devlin asked her.

  “We did,” she croaked, then coughed, her throat feeling like sandpaper. “But they’ve been cut.”

  “Cut? Deliberately?” he asked, his tone surprised.

  “Yes, both of them.”

  “That’s odd.”

  “Tell me about it. Where’s Jackson?”

  “Right here,” Jackson said, catching up to them as they neared the house. He took one of the hoses from Nick. “What in the hell happened to the hoses? Why are you dragging more up here?”

  “Someone cut them.” Her eyes and Jackson’s met. “Deliberately.”

  “The hell you say.”

  “I know, it’s crazy but that’s what happened.”

  Jackson shook his head. “I don’t understand, but we can talk later. Right now, let’s hook these up and see if we can do some damage control.”

  Casey went with Nick Devlin to show him where to hook up the other hose. As he finished and turned on the water, a white pickup barreled up the drive and jerked to a stop.

  “I’ll be right back,” she said to Nick, though she wasn’t sure what more she could do with Nick and Jackson manning the only two hoses.

  “Murray, thank God,” she said, as two men climbed out of the truck. “I was afraid Tanya didn’t call you.” She wasn’t surprised he’d come, just that he’d come so quickly. Murray was an old friend and a good neighbor, even if his father did have an ancient feud going with Casey’s parents.

  “Nobody called. Dad saw the smoke,” he said, motioning to his father, Roland. “As we got closer, we heard the alarms.” He took the hand she held out and grasped it warmly. “What in the hell happened here, Casey?”

  “I don’t know. I mean, there’s a fire but the fire department is on the way. Jackson and his friend are using the hoses on it, but it’s like spitting. I don’t think it’s helping any.”

  Murray took a considering look at the blaze coming from the rear of the house. �
�I suppose we could form a bucket brigade,” he said doubtfully. “Using the water from the garçonnière,” he added, pointing to one of the round lighthouse-type buildings flanking the main house. “But I’m not sure how much good that will do, either.”

  Casey shook her head. “Anything’s better than nothing. Will you go get some buckets? There are some in the barn, I think. I’m going to help Jackson.”

  He nodded and went back to his truck. “Dad, I could use some help.”

  Roland, Murray’s father, stood a short distance away, simply staring at the burning building. Casey suppressed a flash of anger. Why had he come over, if he wasn’t going to help? Ghoulish curiosity?

  “Don’t worry.” Murray put out a hand and squeezed her arm reassuringly. “I’m sure the fire department will be here soon.”

  A minute later, she found Jackson aiming the hose at the fire. Casey couldn’t see that it was doing any good at all. She prayed harder for the fire department to show up, but Bellefontaine was some distance from Baton Rouge, so it was no shock they hadn’t arrived.

  “Was Aunt Esme in the kitchen when the fire started?” Jackson asked her. “When I went to see Megan I tried to talk to her, but she wasn’t making much sense.”

  “Yes, I found her on the floor. That’s all I know. I don’t know how it started, either.”

  A few minutes later, Casey left Jackson’s side to check on Nick Devlin. Jackson wouldn’t relinquish the hose to her, so she thought she’d try Devlin. “I can spell you,” she said hopefully.

  He shot her a glance and grinned. “Like hell you can. Go sit down. You’re about to pass out.”

  “I have to help.” She glared at him. It only irritated her more that he’d seen her weakness and called her on it. Fontaines didn’t show weakness. “This is my home. Let me help.” As soon as she said it, she winced. Her voice sounded forlorn rather than demanding.

  He sized her up, then, apparently realizing her need to do something, handed her the hose. “Have at it, princess.”

  Another time she’d have taken exception to the nickname. But she was too tired and too scared to care right now. The only thing that mattered was saving Bellefontaine. She turned back to the fire with renewed resolve.

  From a distance came the sound of sirens. She’d never been so happy to hear anything in her life. Smoke surrounded her, enveloping her in a dense cloud. Her eyelids felt heavy, her head began to spin, and the world went gray.

  Casey opened her eyes slowly. She lay flat on her back in the grass. A man bent over her, dashing water in her face. A very handsome man, she thought, staring at him. She blinked and her mind cleared. Nick Devlin, that’s who it was.

  “What happened?” She struggled to sit up, but he pushed gently on her shoulder to hold her in place.

  “Take it easy.”

  “I can’t. The house, I have to help.”

  “No, you don’t,” he said, his voice surprisingly soothing. “The fire department is here. Let them handle it. They’ve got the equipment and the manpower.”

  “Thank God,” she whispered, trying to ignore the tears stinging her eyes. She wanted to get up, but she was tired. So tired. She closed her eyes, then opened them again. “Why am I lying here? I don’t remember…” Her voice trailed away. The last thing she remembered was praying for the fire department to show up.

  She could hear them—the shrillness of the alarm, the men shouting, the water gushing from hoses, the clang of equipment. The night took on a surreal quality. Was she really lying on the grass talking to a stranger while her house burned down?

  “I brought you around front, away from the smoke. Your family’s still out back, watching the firefighters.”

  The words rolled off his tongue in smooth, rich syllables, dark as night and twice as sinful. He had, without question, the deepest, sexiest voice she’d ever heard. From a man who wasn’t a movie star, anyway.

  His gaze intensified and he frowned. “But now they’re here, you should have the paramedics check you out. Smoke inhalation’s nothing to sneer about.”

  The voice might be sexy but the words did nothing but irritate. “I don’t need any paramedics. I’m fine,” she said, and immediately proved herself a liar by having a coughing fit. When it was over and she’d drunk some water, she sat up and gazed worriedly at the house. “What happened?” she repeated.

  “Well, princess,” he drawled, his smile a wicked flash in the dark. “You passed out in my arms.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  “THEN, HOW FORTUNATE for me you were standing there, cupcake,” Casey said.

  Nick laughed, amused by the nickname. The “princess” comment had obviously gotten to her. “That’s one I’ve never heard. In reference to me, anyway.”

  “Exactly,” she said, her smile wintry this time. “I’m no more a princess than you are a cupcake. Remember it. Now that we’ve cleared that up, I’m going to see what’s happening with the fire.”

  He stood and reached out to help her up. She eyed him a bit warily, but took his hand. He held on to hers a moment longer than necessary, though he suspected it would irritate her. Maybe that’s why he did it.

  So this was Casey Fontaine. Jackson had never talked much about his sister, probably with good reason. Nick’s reputation with women wasn’t exactly one that would make a Southern belle’s mama dream of weddings. But then, Casey didn’t strike him as typical, not in any way, and sure as hell not with soot spread from head to toe.

  She had the voice for it, though. Honey, with an overlay of smooth-sippin’ whiskey. Hoarse from the smoke, she sounded like she’d just crawled out of a man’s bed.

  She pulled her hand from his grasp and strode briskly toward the back of the house. “How did you and Jackson get here so fast?” she asked when he fell into step with her.

  “We were only a few minutes away when you called. We’d been down on the river, on the White Gold.” He’d first met Jackson about seven years earlier, when he was managing another casino, that one on dry land. They’d kept in loose touch throughout the years, enough that Nick knew to look him up when the Baton Rouge opportunity came along.

  Casey’s brow furrowed and she gave him a puzzled look. “That new riverboat casino? I didn’t think it was open yet.”

  “It’s not, officially.” And wouldn’t be for another couple of weeks. He still had a lot to do before the grand opening.

  “Oh. Do you have something to do with it, then?”

  “You might say that.” He’d had it built and had owned it, until a few weeks ago when he’d sold it to Guy Moreau. After he’d found a buyer, he’d come down to Baton Rouge to oversee the initial setup. Nick would hire the staff, and make certain everything was running smoothly and that the new owner could take over when all was ready. The White Gold was Nick’s fifth venture of the sort, and, he’d decided, his last. Variety, that’s what he liked. He shot another glance at Casey Fontaine and smiled. The spice of life.

  She paid no more attention to him as they rounded the corner and saw the chaos before them.

  “Oh, my God,” she said, and halted, staring at the house. She covered her mouth, and he could almost feel the emotion vibrating from her.

  Nick put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed. “Steady. It’s not as bad as it looks.” He hoped. But he told her what she needed to hear.

  The sulfuric smell was strong, and smoke still saturated the air. The wooden exterior of the kitchen, as well as some of the rest of the house, was charred, though there were no more flames. Several of the men had climbed onto the kitchen’s low roof. Nick winced when he realized they’d punched holes in the ceiling to get the water in.

  “Look,” he told Casey, pointing to some firefighters carrying a couple of large machines inside. “That’s a good sign. If they’re taking those reverse fans in to clean the air, then they must believe the fire is out.”

  She gazed at him blankly, then repeated, “You think it’s out?”

  “Yes, otherwise they wouldn’t be ta
king the machines in. See, they’re shutting off the last hoses. But go ask the Fire Captain. He’ll be able to tell you for certain.”

  She headed off, and Nick closed his eyes, unwillingly transported back to a scene too much like this one. Several years before, he’d been staying in an old hotel in Rothenburg, Germany, with a very beautiful fraulein. Someone had fallen asleep while smoking and the entire hotel had very nearly burned to the ground. Luckily Nick was a light sleeper and he’d gotten himself and the fraulein out safely. Others hadn’t been so fortunate. He opened his eyes and shook off the memory. He’d survived. No point thinking about it now.

  Casey had taken him at his word and cornered one of the Fire Captains. She’d apparently conquered her shock and was gesturing at the building while talking.

  “Where were you and Casey?” Jackson asked, coming up to him. “I looked around and you were gone.”

  “Your sister passed out from the smoke, just before the trucks got here. Convince her to see the paramedics.” He glanced at Casey, talking and waving her hands for emphasis. “I tried, but I don’t think she listened to me. She hasn’t made a move in that direction, anyway.”

  Jackson frowned. “That doesn’t surprise me. She is so damn stubborn.” He sighed and added, pride in his voice, “But I guess sometimes that’s good. Casey pulled Aunt Esme out of the fire, and then went back in for Megan and the nanny.”

  “Lucky for them she was around.” So Casey was a heroine. It didn’t surprise him, since she’d sure seemed like a take-charge kind of woman. Still, to single-handedly rescue three people and then take on the fire itself put Casey Fontaine in a class by herself.

  “Very lucky. I should have realized she might be suffering from the effects of the smoke,” Jackson said. “Thanks for the tip. And for taking care of her.”

  “No problem.” Nick wondered what it would be like to have family who worried about you. Cared about you. It was something he’d never had, something he couldn’t imagine ever having. But something he didn’t miss. After all, you couldn’t miss what you’d never had. But he found it intriguing.