Lancelot of the Pines (Louisiana Knights Book 1)

by Jennifer Blake

  She expected exhilaration afterward, or at least vindication. Instead, she felt sick.

  Lance was hurt because of her. They had shot him.

  Why—unless it was because they’d figured out it was necessary to go through him to get to her now?

  Her fault. All her fault.

  She had to get help for him. If he should die—but, no, she couldn’t think about that. Medical attention was what he needed. Maybe she should turn around and find a hospital with an emergency room in the town back there behind them?

  Yes, but any doctor who saw Lance would recognize a bullet wound. He’d be required by law to report it. The police would get involved. The two of them might be detained, might even be charged with leaving the scene of an accident if anybody wanted to call it that.

  Yes, but what other choice was there? If it meant the difference between life and death for Lance, it was worth it.

  Unless there was another way?

  Mandy bit her bottom lip as she tried to decide. Her foot on the gas pedal lightened so the RV slowed. Ahead of her was a country church with a wide drive and deserted parking lot. She touched the brake, made the turn. Pulling around behind the building, she stopped and put the RV in park.

  “Lance?” She reached across the gap between the seats and grasped his shoulder, giving him a small shake.

  He didn’t respond. His eyes were closed, his lashes resting on the skin beneath them with its faint rays of sun-squint lines.

  Her heart caught in her throat.

  Oh, but his chest still rose and fell with his breathing, and she could feel the throb of his carotid artery under her questing fingers.

  All right, then.

  Skimming between the two front seats, she whipped into the bathroom where she pulled a clean towel and a couple of washcloths from the lower cabinet. With them in hand, she returned to kneel beside Lance. He was warm to the touch, but still might go into shock. As quickly as possible, she folded the washcloths into a thick pad and pressed it to the bullet gouge. She wrapped the towel tightly around his head, then, to form a turban, tucking the end in place to hold it. She couldn’t tell if the pressure was enough to slow the bleeding, but it was the best she could do.

  Now for the important part.

  She felt the pocket of his shirt, but it was empty. Greatly daring, she leaned to brace one hand on the passenger armrest while she reached behind Lance, pressing close as she slid her fingers into the back pocket of his jeans.

  She came up with his billfold, but it was useless to her. She dropped it on the floor and reached behind him again.

  “Mandy,” he murmured against her temple. His breath was warm as it whispered over her skin. It was a pleasure to feel it, since it seemed he might not be as badly hurt as she’d thought.

  “Yes, I’m here,” she said in soothing tones. “I need to reach—”

  His fingers trailed along her jaw and down her neck. Carefully, almost reverently, he cupped her breast.

  “Hey!” she said in protest.

  “Beautiful, so beautiful.” He brushed her nipple with his thumb so it tightened into a hard bud. “But I can’t trust you, not now, not ever.”

  She caught his hand and lowered it to his side. With it out of the way, she could stretch far enough to reach his other pocket. She grasped the cell phone she felt there and pulled it out, then sat back on her heels.

  He was watching her, his eyes not quite focused, but in their whiskey brown depths was an expression of such loss and sadness it tore at her heart.

  “Sorry,” she said, her voice a husky thread of sound in her throat. “But I don’t trust you, either.”

  Chapter 12

  Lance came awake slowly, and with something less than his normal instant clarity. He had the vague feeling that he’d dreamed something intriguing, but couldn’t quite grasp it. He was in the RV, in the rear bed with the slide-out extended so the mattress lay full length. It was no longer moving, a blessing as he seemed to remember feeling nauseated. He’d had a headache, though that had retreated to a dull throb that was bearable for the moment.

  Lifting a hand, he felt gingerly around an area of pain a half inch or so above his temple. A sizeable square of bandaging was taped there, with short, stubby hair on either side.

  Abruptly, he had flashes of mental images: shots, the black sedan, Mandy behind the wheel of the RV. Yes, and hovering over him with fear in her face.

  His eyes opened wide. Where was she? Lifting to one elbow, he stifled a groan as he stared down the length of the vehicle.

  A light shone up front, pushing back the darkness outside. Mandy sat beneath it with a book in her hands.

  He sighed and settled back onto his pillow while keeping her in sight.

  Her hair shimmered, a soft, golden brown in the weak glow provided by the rig’s lighting. It flowed around her face and over her shoulders, reaching past the curves of her breasts. A peaceful expression lay on her features as she read. In his somewhat bemused state of mind, she looked almost angelic.

  Somewhere near his heart, an unfamiliar ache gathered, spreading throughout his chest. He watched Mandy turn a page, and then another, unable to look away.

  She stirred, as if made uneasy by his close regard. Standing, she glanced in his direction, though it was apparently too dark where he lay for her to see that he no longer slept. She stretched, a movement that did interesting things to her T-shirt, and then moved the few steps that took her to the kitchen area. She lifted the lid of a pot that simmered on the range, picked up a spoon and stirred the contents. The smell of vegetable beef soup drifted to him, and his stomach growled.

  Mandy turned in his direction. Her smile was bright with what looked like relief. “Oh, you’re awake. Are you hungry?”

  “A little.” His voice came out deeper than he expected, and not nearly as strong. “What time is it?”

  “About nine.”

  “In the morning?” It had been near sunrise when the shooting started, the best he recalled.

  “At night.” She gave him a wry smile. “You’ve been more or less out of it for the best part of fourteen hours.”

  “Fourteen?”

  “You have a concussion from the bullet gash in your head. Blood loss, the pain meds the EMT gave you, plus being shook out of a sound sleep every hour to be sure you were okay, seems to have made you groggy.”

  “You did that, woke me up every hour?” That part seemed familiar, though not much else.

  “You don’t remember?”

  He shook his head, a movement he instantly regretted as it made his head pound.

  “The EMT stayed for a long while, to be sure you were going to be okay, and so did Trey. They did the honors during that time. I only took over when they left.”

  That took a bit of digesting. Far as he could tell, it accounted for the muzzy sensation in his brain and honking big bandage on his head, but not much else.

  Mandy had turned away to taste whatever she was cooking, and then add a few shakes of salt to it. When she glanced at him again, he asked, “Where are we?”

  “Trey’s RV garage.”

  “What?” She couldn’t have said what he thought.

  “The big barn-like building where he keeps his toys, according to Zeni, though it seems to be connected to the storage shed used by the Watering Hole coffee shop. Apparently, it was part of a livery stable years ago.”

  He knew that, but it was beside the point. “You mean we’re back in Chamelot?”

  “We are.”

  “For God’s sake, why? And how did we get here?”

  “Don’t get so excited, it’s not good for you,” she said with a concerned frown. “You’d been shot, and needed a doctor. I didn’t know what to do or where to go. You came to Trey before when we needed help, so I called him.”

  “Good thinking, though I don’t know how you managed it on that cheap phone.”

  “The old-fashioned way. I called the operator for his number at the coffee shop.”
/>
  He grunted at the simplicity of it.

  “Trey directed me here, and met us with the EMT who looked after you.”

  It made sense, even if he didn’t like it. “That would be Beau, I expect.”

  “Another cousin.”

  “Right.”

  “He said the wound wasn’t as bad as it looked, but wanted to take you to the hospital here to be sure. Trey told him to wait until you woke up, and then let you decide. They argued a bit, but, well—”

  “I’ll bet they did. The two of them have never quite seen eye-to-eye. Beau is a rock, while Trey’s on the wild side, has never really settled down.”

  “At least they worked it out.” She paused, her gaze searching. “So how do you feel?”

  His smile was wry. “In need of the facilities.”

  He threw back the sheet that covered him and levered up to one elbow. She came toward him, offering her hand to help him up, but he waved her off.

  “Don’t be so macho!” She set her hands on her hips.

  He snorted at that show of temper. “I’ve been doing this by myself since I was two years old. I can handle it now.”

  “It won’t do your head any good if you fall.”

  “I’ve got it.” The answer was short, since he was as weak as dishwater. He managed to get on his feet, but stood holding to the shelf beside the bed until his head cleared. Slowly, he made his way toward the bathroom and shut the door behind him.

  He’d half intended to put on his clothes and stay up. That didn’t seem like such a good idea after his little trek. He was glad enough to go back to bed and drag up the covers.

  At least Mandy didn’t call him on it.

  He might have napped a little. The next thing he knew, she was standing beside the bed with a tray in her hands.

  “You need to eat something. Can you sit up?”

  Of course he could sit up; it just took him a while. When the tray holding a bowl of soup, crackers and iced tea was placed across his lap, though, it appeared worth every bit of the effort.

  “What’s this?” he asked, nudging a couple of pills that lay next to his glass.

  “For your headache.”

  “I don’t have—” he began, but discovered it was a lie. It wasn’t bad, but it was there.

  “You’re supposed to have them with food, so eat first, then meds.”

  “I’d rather not be as out of it as I was.”

  “I don’t think you will be. It isn’t the same thing Beau gave you this morning. Can you handle the spoon?”

  “I expect so.”

  Her gaze was appraising. “If you can’t, I can feed you.”

  He almost let her. The idea of her leaning over him, maybe sitting next to him with her hip pressed against his and her hair trailing across his lap, was a sore temptation.

  It triggered a memory so vague he wasn’t sure it hadn’t been a dream. It must have been, surely, though his fingers tingled with the tactile sense of a soft yet firm breast, and he could almost smell the fragrance of her hair.

  Common sense and the too intense reaction to the image in his mind saved him. “Something else I’ve been doing since I was two.”

  “Looks like more machismo from where I stand.”

  “Yep.”

  Let her think what she liked, as long as she didn’t notice the little problem in his lap that did odd things to the tray’s balance.

  “Fine.”

  He expected her to flounce back to her book, but she only backed away a step or two and sat down at the foot of the bed. It could be she was waiting to see if he spilled his tea in his lap, or else intended to take the tray away when he was done. Whatever, he was happier than he wanted to admit to have the company.

  “Great soup,” he said, scooping it into his mouth with more than a little gusto. He hadn’t realized how hungry he really was until he tasted it.

  “Thanks.”

  He gave her a quick look, wondering at the surprise in her voice. “Nobody ever tell you you’re a good cook?”

  “Not really.”

  “Not even your husband?” He paused as he waited for her answer, though why it should matter was more than he could see.

  “He didn’t think the lessons in the culinary arts I’d had while locked away made me anywhere near the equal of his combination housekeeper and cook who was queen of the kitchen. Besides, housework wasn’t part of my job description. It might have made me too—” She flushed as she came to a halt.

  “Too tired for whatever he might want?” He probably should have let it go, but his tongue got ahead of his manners.

  She looked down at her hands, massaging at a cuticle. “When we were first married, anyway.”

  “Nice guy.”

  “He meant well.”

  He sounded like a selfish prick to Lance. That thought made him realize there was something he needed to say. He put down his spoon and used his napkin as he searched for words. Nothing seemed really sufficient, so he made it simple.

  “Coming for me with the RV the way you did was incredible. You probably saved my life, for which I thank you, big time.”

  “You mean you aren’t going to tell me I should have stayed put?”

  He had to smile, since she’d nailed him. “You should have, all right. You could have been killed. I expect I have extra gray hairs from seeing those creeps bearing down on you, firing at you. But I can’t fault the results.”

  “Trey can, and he did. He wasn’t happy with the damage to his baby. Of course, I have to say that was after he knew you weren’t going to die.”

  “I should hope so. The knot head.”

  “Anyway, it was only turn-about-fair-play. You saved my neck, I saved yours. We’re even.”

  Her tone was quiet and matter-of-fact, yet carried a note of understanding for how hard it had been to acknowledge his debt to her. He appreciated that. “Not exactly. I was doing my job. You risked your life for no reason except you’re a decent person. Besides that, you could have left me there and taken off, been a thousand miles away by now.”

  “It never crossed my mind.”

  “My point exactly.”

  Somewhere nearby, a solid thump sounded that might have been the garage door closing. Mandy jerked to her feet. A frown gathered between Lance’s eyes at that sign of strained nerves, and he glanced at his Glock that someone had set on the narrow shelf just above his head—probably Trey, since he was good at keeping weapons handy, even had a shotgun behind the coffee shop counter.

  A knock came from just outside and someone pulled at the handle of the RV’s entrance door. It was locked, which was a good thing. Lance wasn’t keen on Mandy getting up to open it, but she didn’t ask him. At least she pulled aside the roller curtain to look out first.

  Her face cleared. “Come in,” she said as she snapped the lock and pushed the door wide. “He’s awake now.”

  “About time.” Trey stepped inside, closing the door quietly behind him. “He okay?”

  “More than okay. He’s his usual take charge self.”

  Lance’s cousin gave her a swift look of surprise for her tart tone, but didn’t comment. Moving past her, he stopped at the foot of the bed and braced a shoulder on the frame between bedroom and kitchen.

  “Look at you, laid up like a king, being waited on hand and foot. Such a goof-off. Though I have to say you’re looking better than you did early this morning.”

  “You’re such a comfort.” Lance appreciated the concern, even if was hidden behind raillery.

  “Generous, too. I ought to be taking the repairs to the RV out of your hide.”

  “You know it wasn’t his fault,” Mandy said from behind him.

  “He let you do it.” Trey barely glanced over his shoulder at her.

  “It isn’t as if there was a choice.”

  A new female voice entered the fray then, coming from just outside the RV’s open door. “Heck, yeah. Mandy saved you the price of a monster wreath of flowers and a brand new funer
al suit, boss man. You ought to be on your knees thanking her.”

  It was Zeni, on Trey’s case as usual. She came through the door in hot pink overalls worn with a purple shirt and aqua belt, and a purple jewel hanging from the small gold ring in her nose. Ignoring him, she let her dark brown gaze rest on Lance where he lay in the bed.

  “Looking good, Lancelot. I know you need your nurse, but you can do without her a few minutes, right? I’ll bet she could use a little fresh air after all the testosterone in here.”

  “No problem,” he said, shifting his gaze from Zeni to Mandy and back again. “That’s if she wants to go, and if the two of you don’t—”

  “Don’t go far, yadada, yadada. We’re not hen-wits, you know.”

  His laugh was short. “I know.”

  “Coming?” Zeni said to Mandy, holding open the door.

  “Sure.” She gave him a quick smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes, but then went out and down the RV steps without a backward glance.

  Trey moved to shut the door behind the two women. “Man,” he said. “What a pair.”

  Lance figured he didn’t expect an answer to that. “I thought we were under wraps here. How did Zeni get in on it?”

  “You try barring her from anything.” Trey’s voice had a distinct edge before he went on. “Though the truth is, she answered the phone when Mandy called, and not only recognized her voice, but caught the panic in it. No keeping her in the dark after that.”

  “Panic?”

  “She thought you were dying on her. You’d passed out and were bleeding like a stuck pig. Yeah, panic is a good word.”

  “It wasn’t that bad.”

  “That’s what I told her. She nearly took my head off.”

  “Mandy?” He didn’t know she had that much temper, or cared enough to exercise it for his sake. She must have been in a sure enough panic.

  “The one and only. What is it with you, getting hung up on a female wanted for murder?”

  “She didn’t murder her husband.”

  “Says you. Sheriff Tate thinks differently.”

  Lance gave him a hard stare. “He knows we’re here?”

  “Not yet, but I don’t know how long it can be kept from him. He told me yesterday he meant to have you bring her in for questioning. That’s if he could ever get you on your cell.”