The Way U Look Tonight

by Dianne Castell

  “Wonder Dog. You’re going to give him a big head.”

  “Maybe he won’t eat my cat.”

  She leaned back, droplets slithering down her body into crevices she didn’t know she had. She licked rain from her upper lip and thought of the man with the mustache. For some reason he stuck out in her mind, maybe because he got away from the action as fast as possible while everyone else ran toward it. But was that anything significant? Maybe he was simply someone who didn’t want to get involved in a barroom brawl. Besides, what difference did it make now. He was long gone . . . except. . . except she felt as if she’d seen him before, which was impossible because she’d never been to Memphis in her life.

  She shivered. From the guy or the rain? She shivered again and realized she wasn’t sure which. “We’re ruining the interior of your car.”

  “It’s fabric, it’ll dry. I just wonder if we will.” Keefe turned the ignition, bringing the Jeep to life, then flipped on the heat. “I don’t get this wet in the shower.”

  He eased out into the steady flow of traffic, a stream of cars intent on abandoning Beale Street and the surrounding territory. Lightning zigzagged across the inky sky as more rain fell, and windshield wipers did double-time. He played follow-the-leader, rear lights forming a red ribbon toward the expressway. The cat purred harder, warming the spot on her left side. “I wonder what color this cat is?”

  Keefe glanced her way. “Looks like a little dirt ball from here.”

  “He’s just a little dusty is all. We’ll call him that, Dusty.”

  “Better than dirt ball. This rain isn’t letting up. You cannot imagine the river when this kind of storm blows in. It’s like doing battle with the devil himself. Sure hope Dad or Digger checked on the tows at the dock.” He stared into the traffic. “I’m sure not making much progress here to be of any help.”

  Finally they exited the expressway onto the two-lane. Water streamed across the asphalt; visibility shrank as total darkness closed in around them. She felt as if they were the only two people and one cat on the planet. Keefe slowed the Jeep around a bend. She needed to apologize for dragging him into this mess, and now was as good a time as any. Besides, he had to keep both hands on the steering wheel, so he couldn’t make good on his wringing-her-neck idea.

  She petted the cat, and Keefe downshifted the car, slowing more. Rain hammered the roof, the sound like rocks dropped from a high place. “I’m sorry about this, you know. I was really trying to help, so were Sally and Georgette. But it was my idea, and I dragged them into it. You weren’t listening to us, and the hooker idea seemed like it would work, and yours was really rotten. We would have pulled the Perry meeting off if those creeps hadn’t descended on us. But they did, so thanks for showing up early. How did you know to do that?”

  “We realized you were up to something when you and Sally weren’t haranguing us anymore. Neither of you give up that easily. Actually, neither of you give up ever. We put one and one and one together and went to Memphis.”

  “Can you see out of your eye at all? It looks pretty swollen.”

  “It’s been worse.” They started down a hill.

  “Barroom fights a way of life for Keefe O’Fallon?”

  He gave her a Lex Zandor half grin. She knew that sexy-as-hell expression even in the dark.

  “I have two brothers, and we’ve gotten into our share of battles for one reason or another, but usually not with each other and not in bars. When I was in junior high I used to get the crap beat out of me on a regular basis by Butch Longford and his buddies for being the sissy who liked plays instead of baseball. Then big bad Quaid came along and I didn’t get beat up anymore.” Keefe shifted gears and accelerated as they started back up the other side of the hill.

  “I got the feeling there’s something more going on with Quaid than you’re saying.”

  “You’ll have to ask him about that and—”

  Something darted across the road, Dusty hissed and dove for the floor and Keefe veered hard left. “Damn!” Callie grabbed the cat as the Jeep spun, skidded to the edge, then slid over the side into the ditch, airbags deploying.

  “Fuck a duck,” Keefe said as the bags shriveled. He looked at her. “Are you okay? Cat okay? I think this is the night that’ll never end.”

  “We’re fine. What the heck was that in front of us? I couldn’t make it out. Sure spooked Dusty; he puffed out like a scrub brush. Are you all right?”

  “No new bruises here.” He gazed into the dark, his profile sure and strong and dependable. If she had to get stuck in a ditch on a rotten night in the middle of God knew where, she was glad she was here with Keefe. Not only was he good to look at in any situation, but he didn’t go on a testosterone high and pound the dashboard and cuss a blue streak like a lot of guys.

  She hated that; it only made things worse. Keefe was calm in a crisis, a man who got the job done no matter what and who really didn’t care all that much for her. Trouble was she was more attracted to him than ever and couldn’t deny it, no matter how hard she tried. Darn! Did he have to be all the things she admired most? “Want to pound on the dashboard and cuss?”

  He gave her a have-you-lost-your-mind look, then pointed to the road. “Bet it was Grant who ran us off the road. I forgot about him being out here.”

  “A man? In this rain? It didn’t exactly look like a man, more like a blur of something.”

  Keefe sighed. “A blue blur to be exact and it’s General Grant. He haunts the woods around here. Used to quarter his troops at Hastings House just up the drive on the other side of the road. He never really left. Word has it he’s out looking for his troops.”

  “We’re talking Ulysses S., as in the guy who fought the Civil War?”

  “Yeah, the one buried in the tomb. You saw him with your own eyes . . . sort of. Dusty knew. That’s why he freaked out. Animals got this instinct about things. Grant doesn’t like Southerners much, and you’re from Georgia and just got here and on his land. He’s pissed.”

  “And where the heck do you think you’re from, Ontario?”

  “I work in New York, so I’m innocent, and cats don’t count. There’s talk of putting up a warning sign, but ghost crossing seemed a little over the top.”

  Callie massaged her forehead. “I’m so tired I’m willing to believe anything, and what you said actually makes sense. What do you suggest we do now, Yankee boy?”

  “The Jeep has four-wheel drive; we’ll see how well it does in a monsoon.” He put the car in reverse and hit the accelerator. The tires spun, and the car went nowhere in the Mississippi mud. He put the Jeep in drive, and the tires spun again, the vehicle staying snugly imbedded. He looked at Callie. “What I suggest we do now, Southern gal, is walk.”

  Keefe hated to drag Callie back out into the storm, but they sure as hell couldn’t stay in the car all night. Not only would it be damn uncomfortable, but it wasn’t safe with the threat of flash floods, and truth be told, he didn’t want to be in such tight quarters with her.

  In spite of her deception over meeting with Perry and his attempts to get her permanently ticked off at him, he still wanted her more than ever. He admired her for trying to help with Perry, even though her idea had been damn dangerous.

  He hitched his thumb to the right side of the road. “Over there is that driveway I mentioned. It leads to Hastings House. We’ll spend the night there. I don’t see any lights, so the electricity is blown, but I’m sure Thelma is in and probably Conrad, too. It used to be his house till he gave it to Thelma to make up for being a total ass, and he wanted to convince her he loved her. They’re going to be married next month. I’m sure they have some extra beds somewhere.”

  “The way things are going tonight, I’m betting those beds are in a dungeon, and I don’t even care.” She stared ahead, no expression on her face. “When I get done with this assignment I’m going to Vegas and taking a long walk in the very dry desert.” She cut her gaze back to Keefe, sat straight and squared her shoulders. “
Okay, enough whining, I can do this. We have a cat to protect.” She put her hand on the doorknob. “On the count of three we go. One, two—”

  “Wait! I’ll take the cat. I’m not the one running in heels. Maybe I should carry you.”

  “Oh, good grief, O’Fallon. I can do this. Three!” She shoved open the door, scurried out and slammed it shut. Keefe did the same and took off after her. She was running flat out in bare feet, holding her side where she’d tucked Dusty. More lightning cut across the sky, silhouetting her, and he realized he’d never forget Callie Cahill charging up the hill as the wind howled and rain swirled from all directions. The woman was a lot of things, but for her timid and whiny didn’t exist.

  “Over here,” he yelled through the storm as he headed for the front porch, finding the door more from memory than sight. He spotted the knocker in the next blast of lightning and rapped the handle down hard. He hammered it again and again till the door to the huge brick house flew open, and Thelma McAllister stood in the arched entranceway, lit candelabra in her hand.

  “Keefe? Keefe! What... What are you doing here?”

  She narrowed her eyes. “I’ve got a bone to pick with you. You’ve been home what, almost a week, and you’re just getting around to visiting me and—”

  “Can we pick bones later, if you don’t mind. It’s a little wet out here.”

  “You . . . want to come in? Now?” She shook her head as if coming to her senses. What was that all about? She continued, “Oh, heavenly days, of course you do. What am I thinking? Where in the world are my manners? What are you doing out in this cranky weather? Why is your face swollen? Is that a busted lip, and what’s wrong with your eye?”

  She stepped back, and he hauled Callie inside, then followed, Thelma closing the door behind them. Another burst of lightning reflected off the brass chandelier in the hall, fine antiques in the living room and Callie dripping wet and barefoot next to him. Keefe swiped water from his face; he’d been doing that a lot tonight. “We were coming home from Memphis and ran off the road. The eye’s from a skirmish at Kerby’s.”

  “Skirmish my old tomato. You’ve been fighting, and I don’t even want to know why. Bet you got run off the road because of Grant.” Candlelight set a glow to the staircase and polished floors.

  “Callie’s from Atlanta, and you already have Georgette from Savannah staying with you.”

  Thelma tsked. “Lordy, that man and his Southerners. As soon as new ones come to town he goes on a tirade and starts looking for his troops, especially if it rains.”

  She held out her hand to Callie. “Welcome. Sorry I haven’t been around to introduce myself sooner. This place keeps me busier than a paperhanger in a windstorm, but I’ve heard you’re a first-rate fan of our Bonnie.” She glanced back to Keefe. “Uh, how long do you think you’ll be here?”

  “There’s no way I can get the car out. Can we spend the night?”

  She glanced around and bit her bottom lip. “I have an extra two bedrooms.”

  “And a box of litter?” Keefe pulled back the apron around Callie. “Meet Dusty from operation Dumpster rescue.”

  Thelma’s face softened as she stroked the cat. “I’ll put you all on the third floor. There’s a big bath up there, and you can clean him up and yourselves. I have sand on the back porch from repotting ferns for the breakfast room, and I’ll make up a litter box and get this ragamuffin some food and a blanket. That should hold him till—” A door squeaked upstairs.

  Keefe said, “You have guests besides Georgette staying here?”

  “Guests? Yes, yes I do.” She grabbed a candle in a brass holder sitting on the hall table, lit it from her array of tapers and handed it to Keefe. “You’ll be in the Beauregard and Jefferson Davis rooms, right next to each other, bath across the hall for the litter. My other guests are on the second floor, and I don’t want you to wake them.”

  “Yeah, cats can be so damn noisy.” What was up with Thelma?

  She said on a fake yawn, “Now, we better get to bed. You both look beat and cold and tired.”

  She herded them along to the steps, and as they climbed Callie said, “This house is lovely.”

  “It’s big but sometimes not big enough; you’d be surprised.” They turned for the next flight, and Keefe said, “Your guests must have a baby, thought I heard it cry for a second there.”

  “Wind. Just the wind. Here we are now,” she said, drawing up to a door and opening it. They entered, and she lit two candles on the mahogany dresser. “We have our share of power outages, so we’re prepared.” She faced Callie. “You’re in here. It’s a little bigger than the other room. We’ll put Keefe in there since he didn’t see fit to visit till now.” She winked at Callie. That was good because it meant she liked Callie and bad because it meant he’d have to dig himself out of the doghouse with Thelma.

  Thelma continued, “If you need more candles, they’re in the dresser drawers. Make sure you snuff them before you go to sleep. Robes are in the closet. Some older towels are under the sink in the bathroom for Dusty.” She pointed to a door in the wall. “The rooms are connecting. Up here used to be the maids’ quarters.”

  Callie gave an appreciative sigh. “I’ll mind the cat so he doesn’t scratch your things. I think this room is a little piece of heaven.”

  Thelma smiled. “It’s just Hastings House.”

  Keefe asked, “Where’s Conrad?”

  “Drumming up business in New Orleans.” She beamed. “The dry dock’s got a few more boats scheduled for repair, and he just hired a second welder.” She left the door open as she went into the hall and opened the door to the next room. She said to Keefe, “You can stay in here.”

  He held the candle high to cast light around the area, except there wasn’t all that much area. “Don’t think I’ve ever seen such a small bed or room.”

  She harrumphed. “Guess next time you’ll pay me a call when you come to town. Besides”—she lowered her voice—”I figure with that pretty girl next door you won’t be spending all that much time in here anyway.”

  This was not good. He was on the ragged edge of caving and going back to Callie, to beg her forgiveness and confess all. . . though she’d probably tell him to take his apology and shove it. “Maybe I can sleep on your couch.”

  “I don’t think so,” Thelma said in a rush, then turned on her heel and strolled out.

  He listened as her footsteps retreated down the hall. Why was she so agitated, and it wasn’t just his failure to pay a visit. Then again, this storm was enough to set anyone on edge. He started for Callie’s room, stopping in the doorway, not quite trusting himself to go inside and be alone with her. The warm candlelight gave the room a soft vintage feeling, offering safety and comfort from the mayhem outside. That Callie was there made it all the more appealing. He didn’t need an appealing reporter. He needed self-control. “You got the better end of this deal. My room’s the broom closet.”

  She chuckled. “So I heard.” She held Dusty up to the dim light. “Well, him’s a her, and she’s so dirty I can’t let her down. She really needs a bath.”

  Dusty’s eyes shot wide open, her back arched and she squirmed right out of Callie’s hands and hit the floor on a run. Keefe lunged to catch the black streak as she tore out the door. “I think she’s had enough water for one day.”

  He studied Callie. No shoes, wet clothes, shivering. He wanted to make her stop shivering and knew just how to do that. No way! “You get a bath. I’ll go cat hunting.”

  Her brows drew together. “Okay, why are you being so nice to me now when you should be mad as a hornet, and why so rotten last night without any cause? You’re not acting too logical here.”

  When it came to Callie there was no logic, just lust. Well, that wasn’t exactly true; there was more to her than sex appeal. “You have goose bumps the size of small chicken eggs, and you’re going to get sick if you don’t get out of those wet clothes, and then poor Bonnie will have me as her caretaker again. I’m not rea
dy. I’ll get Dusty, and after you get cleaned up you can raid Thelma’s fridge for us.”

  “Seems a little crass, we’re her guests here for the night.”

  “I got a feeling I’ll get a bill.” Keefe headed down the hall, then the steps. “Here, kitty, kitty,” he whispered.

  Nothing. He went down the second steps to the first floor, rounded the corner and came face-to-face with . . .

  “D-dad? What the heck are you doing here?”

  Chapter 10

  Rain fell in waves across the windshield as Georgette snuggled into Digger’s jacket. Denim! She was actually wearing denim. When she’d made her transformation to the new Georgette she’d tossed every piece of the stuff she owned and replaced it with silk and satin . . . till now. And to make matters worse she was riding in a disgusting hee-haw truck next to a guy named Digger O’Dell, who wore denim and a stupid captain’s hat that looked as if he’d scrubbed floors with it.

  God Bless America, how had this happened? The only consolation to being with Digger was it helped her get the scoop on Keefe. That’s why she went to Memphis with Sally and Callie. She had to keep Keefe’s friends close to get to him so she could do the article, the article that would change her life. She focused on her family. For a change she’d be the one noticed, the other daughter.

  Digger slowed the truck to a crawl and made the turn onto the two-lane. Lightning split the sky, and she caught the outline of the Landing. “I don’t remember Sally passing the town on our way to Memphis. Why are we here?”

  “This is the back route. A little longer but I need to check the docks to make sure everything is secure. Then we’ll head for Hastings House. The Mississippi on a rampage is nothing to mess with, and O’Fallon Transport can’t afford to lose a tow.”

  “Isn’t that the O’Fallons’ problem?”

  He smiled. He had a nice smile for a hick. “They pay me to make it my problem. And I’d do it no matter what; they’re my friends.”