by Нора Робертс
He heard the deep, warning barks of the dog. Still, Declan wasn't prepared for the size and speed as Rufus burst out the door and charged.
"Oh, Jesus," was all he managed. He had an instant to wonder if he should dive through the window of the pickup or freeze when the black mass the size of a pony skidded to a halt at his feet.
Rufus punctuated those ear-splitting barks with rumbling growls, liquid snarls and a very impressive show of teeth. Since he doubted he could beat the dog off with a bunch of daisies, Declan opted for the friendly approach.
"Hey, really, really big Rufus. How's it going?”
Rufus sniffed at his boots, up his leg and dead into the crotch.
"Oh man, let's not get that personal right off." Thinking of those teeth, Declan decided he'd rather risk his hand than his dick, and reached out slowly to give the massive head a little shove and pat.
Rufus looked up with a pair of sparkling brown eyes, and in one fast, fluid move, reared up on his hind legs and planted his enormous paws on Declan's shoulders.
He swiped a tongue about the size of the Mississippi over Declan's face. Braced against the side of the truck, Declan hoped the long, sloppy licks were a greeting and not some sort of tenderizing.
"Nice to meet you, too.”
"Get on down now, Rufus.”
At the mild order from the front doorway, the dog dropped down, sat, thumped his tail.
The woman standing on the porch was younger than Declan had expected. She couldn't have been far into her sixties. She had the same small build as her granddaughter, the same sharp planes to her face. Her hair was black, liberally streaked with white, and worn in a mass of curls.
She wore a cotton dress that hit her mid-calf with a baggy red sweater over it. Stout brown boots covered her feet with thick red socks drooping over them. He heard the jangle of her bracelets as she fisted her hands on her narrow hips.
"He liked the smell of you, and the sound of you, so he gave you a welcome kiss.”
"If he didn't like me?”
She smiled, a quick flash that deepened the lines time had etched on her face. "What you think?”
"I think I'm glad I smell friendly. I'm Declan Fitzgerald, Mrs. Simone. I bought Manet Hall.”
"I know who you are. Come on inside and sit for a spell." She stepped back, opened the rickety screen door.
With the dog plodding along beside him, Declan walked to the porch. "It's nice to meet you, Mrs. Simone.”
She studied him, a frank and cagey stare out of dark eyes. "You sure are a pretty one, aren't you?”
"Thanks." He held out the flowers. "You, too.”
She took the flowers, pursed her lips. "You come courting me, Declan Fitzgerald?”
"Can you cook?”
She laughed, a thick foggy sound, and he fell a little in love. "I got some fresh corn bread, so you can see for yourself.”
She led the way in, down the wire-straight center hall. He caught glimpses of the parlor, of bedrooms-one with an iron crucifix over a simple iron bed-a sewing room, that all managed to be cozily cluttered and pin-neat.
He smelled furniture polish and lavender, then a few steps from the kitchen, caught the country scent of baking.
"Ma'am? I'm thirty-one, financially solvent, and I got a clean bill of health my last physical. I don't smoke, I usually drink in moderation, and I'm reasonably neat. If you marry me, I'll treat you like a queen.”
She chuckled and shook her head, then waved to the kitchen table. "Sit yourself down there and stretch those long legs under the table so they don't trip me up. And since you're sparking me, you can call me Miss Odette.”
She uncovered a dish on the counter, got plates out of a cupboard. While she cut squares of corn bread, Declan looked out her kitchen door.
The bayou spread, a dream of dark water and cypress knees with the shadowy reflection of trees shimmering on the surface. He saw a bird with bright red wings spear through the air and vanish.
"Wow. How do you get anything done when you could just sit here and look all day?”
"It's a good spot." She took a pitcher of dark tea from an old refrigerator that was barely taller than she was. "My family's been here more'n a hundred-fifty years. My grandpapa, he had him a good still out back that stand of oaks. Revenuers never did find it.”
She set the glass, the plate in front of him. "Manger. Eat. What your grandpapa do?”
"He was a lawyer. Actually, both of them were.”
"Dead now, are they?”
"Retired.”
"You, too, huh?" She got out a fat, pale blue bottle as he took the first bite of corn bread.
"Sort of, from the law anyway. This is wonderful, Miss Odette.”
"I got a hand with baking. I like daisies," she added as she put them in the bottle she'd filled with water. "They got a cheerful face. You gonna give Rufus that bone you brought along, or make him beg for it?”
As Rufus was currently sitting at his feet with one weighty paw on his thigh, Declan decided he'd begged enough. He pulled the bone out of its bag. The dog took it with a surprisingly delicate bite, wagged his tail from side to side twice, like a whip, then plopped down and began to gnaw.
Odette put the flowers in the center of the table, then sat in the chair next to Declan's. "What're you going to do with that big old place, Declan Fitzgerald?”
"All kinds of things. Put it back the way it used to be, as much as I can.”
"Then what?”
"I don't know. Live there.”
She broke off a corner of her corn bread. She'd already decided she liked the look of him– the untidy hair, the stone-gray eyes in a lean face. And the sound of him-Yankee, but not prim. And his manners were polished but natural and friendly.
Now she wanted to see what he was made of.
"Why?”
"I don't know that, either, except I've wanted to since the first time I saw it.”
"And how's the Hall feel about you?”
"I don't think it's made up its mind. Have you ever been inside?”
"Hmm." She nodded. "Been some time ago. Lotta house for one young man. You got you a girl back up there in Boston?”
"No, ma'am.”
"Handsome boy like you, past thirty. Not gay, are you?”
"No, ma'am." He grinned as he lifted his glass of tea. "I like girls. Just haven't found the right fit yet.”
"Let me see your hands." She took one in hers, turned it over. "Still got city on them, but you're taking care of that right quick." Her thumb passed over healing blisters, scrapes, the ridge of forming callus. "I got some balm I'll give you before you go, keep these blisters from troubling you. You got a strong hand, Declan. Strong enough that you changed your fate. Took yourself a new road. You didn't love her.”
"I'm sorry?”
"This woman." Odette smoothed her fingernail over the side of his palm. "The one you stepped back from. She wasn't for you.”
Frowning, he leaned closer, stared down at his own hand. "You see Jessica on there?" Fascinating. "Does she end up with James?”
"What do you care? She didn't love you, either.”
"Well, ouch," he said and laughed a little.
"You've got love coming, the kind that'll knock you flat on your behind. It'll be good for you.”
Though she continued to stroke her thumb over his palm, her gaze lifted to his face. Her eyes seemed to deepen. It seemed he could see worlds in them.
"You've got strong ties to Manet Hall. Strong, old ties. Life and death. Blood and tears. Joy, if you're strong enough, smart enough. You're a clever man, Declan. Be clever enough to look front and back to find yourself. You're not alone in that house.”
His throat went dry, but he didn't reach for his tea. He didn't move a muscle. "It's haunted.”
"What's there's kept others from settling in. They'd say it was the money, the time or some such, but what's in that house frightened them away. It's been waiting for you.”
The chill shot up his
spine in a single, icy arrow. "Why?”
"That's for you to find out." She gave his hand a squeeze, then released it, picked up her tea.
He curled his fingers into his tingling palm. "So you're, like, a psychic?”
Amused, she rose to bring the pitcher of tea to the table. "I see what I see from time to time. A little kitchen magic," she said as she refilled the glasses. "It doesn't make me a witch, just a woman." She noted his glance at the silver cross she wore, tangled with colored beads around her neck. "You think that's a contradiction? Where do you think power comes from, cher?”
"I guess I never thought about it.”
"We don't use what the good Lord gave us, whatever talent that might be, we're wasting his gift." She angled her head, and he saw she wore earrings as well. Fat blue stones dangling from tiny lobes. "I hear you called Jack Tripadoe about maybe doing some plumbing work in that place of yours.”
"Ah …" He struggled to shift his brain from the fantastic to the practical, while his palm continued to vibrate from the skim of her fingers. "Yes. My friend Remy Payne recommended him.”
"That Remy." Her face lit, and any mystery that had been in it vanished. "He's a caution. Jack, he's a cousin of my sister's husband's brother's wife. He'll do good work for you, and if he doesn't give you a fair price, you tell him Miss Odette's gonna want to know why.”
"I appreciate that. You wouldn't happen to know a plasterer? Somebody who can handle fancy work?”
"I'll get you a name. It'll cost you a pretty bag of pennies to put that place back to what it was and keep it that way.”
"I've got a lot of pennies. I hope you'll come by sometime so I can show you around. I can't make corn bread, but I can manage the tea.”
"You got a nice manner, cher. Your mama, she raised you right.”
"Would you mind writing that down, signing it? I can mail it to her.”
"I'm going to like having you around," she declared. "You come back to visit anytime.”
"Thank you, Miss Odette." Reading his cue, he got to his feet. "I'm going to like having you around, too.”
The sun beamed across her face as she looked up at him. The angle of it, the amusement in her dark eyes, the teasing curve of lips, shot him back to the dim bar in the Quarter. "She looks so much like you.”
"She does. You got your eye on my Lena already?”
He was a little flustered to realize he'd spoken out loud, so he tried a grin. "Well, we established I like girls, right?”
She gave the table a little slap to punctuate the laugh as she rose. "I like you just fine, Declan.”
He liked her, too. Enough that he decided to buy a couple of chairs after all, so she'd have somewhere to sit when she came by. He'd find something on Saturday, he thought as he went back to prepping the kitchen walls. He could hunt some down in the afternoon, before he was due to have dinner with Remy and Effie.
Then, he'd cap off the evening with a drink at Et Trois.
And if Lena wasn't working that night, he'd just walk back out and throw himself in front of a speeding car.
He worked until well after dark, then treated himself to a beer along with his Hungry-Man chicken dinner. He ate sitting on a sawhorse and admiring the progress of the kitchen.
The walls were stripped, repaired and prepped for paint. His pencil marks on them indicated the measurements of the cabinets he would start to build the next day. He'd even tried his hand at pointing up the bricks in the hearth, and didn't think he'd done a half-bad job of it. The old pine flooring was exposed and protected now with drop cloths. He'd finally settled on the traffic pattern, and had earmarked the spots for the range and the refrigerator.
If he couldn't find the right china cabinet for the long wall, he'd damn well build that, too. He was on a roll.
He carried a bottle of water upstairs, took his now-traditional nine-minute shower, then stretched out on the bed with his notes, drawings and books. Halfway through adjusting his plans for the front parlor, he conked out.
And woke, shivering with cold, in full dark. The baby had wakened him. The thin cries were still in his ears as he sat straight up with his heart banging like a hammer against his ribs.
He didn't know where he was, only that he was on the floor instead of in bed. And it was cold enough that he could see the white mist of his own breath pluming into the inky dark.
He rolled over, gained his feet. Reaching out like a blind man, he felt at the air as he took a cautious step forward.
Lilies. His body shuddered as he registered the scent. He knew where he was now– –in the room down the hall from his own. The room, like the one on the third floor, he'd so carefully avoided over the last several days.
He was in it now, he thought as he took another shuffling step. And though it was insane, he knew he wasn't alone.
"You can scare me. But you won't scare me away.”
His fingers brushed something solid. He yelped, snatched them back an instant before he realized it was a wall. Taking several steadying breaths, he felt his way along it, bumped over trim, tapped over glass. Fumbling, he found the knob for the gallery doors and flung them open.
The January air felt warm and heavy against his chilled skin. He stumbled forward, gripped the rail. The night was like the inside of a cave. The old adage was true, he decided. There was no dark like country dark.
When his eyes adjusted to it, he turned back, pulled the door to the room firmly closed.
"This is my house now." He said it quietly, then walked down the gallery, opened the door of his bedroom, and went back inside.
"Sleepwalking?" Remy scooped up another forkful of rice.
"Yeah. I went through it for about six months when I was around eleven." Declan shrugged, but couldn't quite dismiss the weight of it.
He hadn't meant to bring it up, at least no more than in passing. The dinner Effie had fixed in Remy's Garden District apartment was welcome, as was the company. But somehow he'd gone from telling them about the progress of the rehab to his nighttime adventures.
"It must be terrifying," Effie said, "to wake up and find yourself somewhere else.”
"Spooky anyway. It's funny I'd end up at the two rooms that make me the most uneasy. Or, I guess it's logical. Some subconscious deal.”
"As long as you stay inside the house," Remy put in. "I don't want to hear you've sleepwalked your way into the swamp.”
"That's a nice thought. Thanks.”
"Remy." Effie slapped his hand. "I think you should see a doctor," she told Declan. "You could take something to help you sleep better.”
"Maybe. Been there a week, and it's only happened twice. Anyway, taking a couple of tranqs isn't going to do anything about the ghost.”
"It's just drafts and old wood settling.”
Remy grinned. "Effie doesn't believe in ghosts.”
"Or in tarot cards or reading tea leaves or any such nonsense." Her voice was prim, and just a little defensive.
"My girl, she's very grounded in the here and the now.”
"Your girl just has good sense," she shot back. "Dec, it just stands to reason you'd have some strange feelings, staying way out there in that big old house all alone. And I bet you're not eating right, either. You ought to live here with Remy for a while, until you get used to things.”
"She won't." Remy jerked his head in Effie's direction.
"I'll live with you when we're married, and not before.”
"Oh, but, chиre. May's so far away. I miss you when you're not here." He took her hand, kissing it lavishly as he spoke.
"Tell you what, Effie, you come out and stay with me for a few nights. Strictly platonic," he said with a grin as Remy narrowed his eyes. "I bet you shift your stand on ghosts after one or two nights.”
"Sorry. I'm a city girl. What do you do out there all by yourself, Declan, when you're not working?”
"Read. And speaking of that, I need to come by the library, see if you can help me dig up more about Manet Hall. I've been tak
ing a few whacks at the garden, too. Take walks. Drove over to visit Miss Odette.”
"You met Miss Odette?" Remy asked as he polished off his dinner. "Something, isn't she?”
"I really liked her. Truth is, the house is keeping me so busy I usually drop off by ten at night. I finally got a TV hooked up, and I never think to turn it on. But I did buy a table and chairs this afternoon, and some other things.”
It was always a mistake, he chided himself, to let him through the door of an antique shop.
"We're not going to have you locking yourself out there and working yourself to the bone," Effie decided. "I expect you to come into town and see us at least once a week from now on. And Remy, you should start going out there on Saturdays and giving Dec a hand. Spending too much time alone," she declared as she pushed back from the table. "That's what's wrong with you. Now, y'all ready for pie?”
Maybe she was right, Declan thought as he hunted up a place to park. If she wasn't right, Effie was certainly definite. He'd try mixing it up a little more. He could drive into town once or twice a week for a real meal. Maybe have Remy and Effie out for one-a very informal one.
He could spend an evening reading something other than research.
More, he thought. He was going to gear himself up soon and push himself through the mental block he'd erected about the third-floor room.
He had to park a block and a half from Et Trois, but when he stepped in, saw Lena at the bar, he thought the walk had been worth it.
He couldn't even snag a stool tonight, but he did manage to squeeze between customers and claim a corner of the bar. The music was loud and lively, and so was the crowd.
There was a blond behind the bar tonight in addition to its owner and Dreadlock Guy. Each of them was hopping.
Lena flicked him a glance as she served two drafts and a gin fizz.
"Corona?”
"Better make it a Coke.”
She looked just as good as he remembered. Just exactly as good. She wore blue tonight-a shirt that was unbuttoned low and rolled to the elbows. Her lips were still red, but she'd scooped her hair back on the sides with silver combs. He could see the glint of hoops at her ears.
