Lancelot of the Pines (Louisiana Knights Book 1)

by Jennifer Blake

  “Maybe it’s for your own good.”

  “And maybe it’s because he’s so damned noble.” Mandy sighed.

  “Hmm, yeth.” Zeni twisted Mandy’s hair into a loose knot, and then removed the comb from her mouth a final time. “It runs in the family.”

  “Trey?” Mandy inquired.

  “The very same. But you were saying?”

  “Only that Lance seems to think I’m confusing gratitude with something more because he saved my life and has been taking care of me. Never mind that I saved his hide, too.”

  Zeni pushed the comb into place behind the knot she’d made, and then tested the security of the soft mass. Satisfied with it, she began to pull fine tendrils free around Mandy’s temples. “Maybe he believes it would be taking unfair advantage to go to bed with a woman who is needy after being kidnapped, shot at, and recently made a widow.”

  “Don’t you start making excuses for him! And I am not needy. I feel as if I’ve been going through the motions for most of my life but caught a glimpse of what it’s all about. What I feel for Lance has nothing to do with Bruce’s death and all the rest.”

  “But you feel something.”

  Mandy twitched a shoulder. “Didn’t I just say so?”

  “Sort of, but such a lot has happened in so short a time—”

  “Not so short. It’s been well over a week, altogether.”

  “A short time,” Zeni repeated, her voice flat. “Besides that, a couple of strange guys were at the Watering Hole yesterday. They were asking questions about Lance, and I saw them talking to Paul Stout, the dad of the football hero Lance was forced to shoot, you know. Somebody said they’re staying at the motel on the edge of town. They dress a lot like construction workers, but don’t seem to have a job.”

  Mandy sat forward so she could turn in the chair to face her. “Does Lance know?”

  “It’s my belief he and Trey are checking on those gentlemen as we speak.”

  “I thought Lance was organizing the storeroom,” She glanced toward the lean-to attached to the garage. “You didn’t see him when you came through it?”

  “What I saw was him hopping into the back seat of Trey’s big dually then hunkering down out of sight as he took off.”

  Mandy exclaimed under her breath, a profane whisper.

  “What I thought, too,” Zeni agreed.

  “I can’t believe Lance knew about these men, but didn’t say a word to me.”

  “Maybe he didn’t want to upset you. Or he didn’t want to look the fool if they turn out to be what they seem, construction workers waiting to join a crew.”

  Mandy sank back into her chair. “Or maybe he wanted to see if I’d make contact with them.”

  “You don’t mean that!”

  “I don’t know—oh, Zeni, I’m so confused. I thought he was beginning to care what happens to me. He made me feel so—but now he’s shut me out.”

  She had gone over the few minutes she’d spent in his arms a hundred times or more. The explosion of feeling between them had been beyond anything she’d known. Yet it left her wanting more, wanting him inside her, his arms locked around her. He’d sacrificed his satisfaction while assuring hers, and that was unfair. He hadn’t allowed her to return pleasure for pleasure, but only held her tight while his breathing and pulse rate slowed.

  At last, he’d released her, brushed an almost brotherly kiss across her lips, and left the RV. It was late when he returned. Catching the whiff of alcohol, she thought he must have had a couple of beers with Trey, or more than a couple. It hurt her in some strange way to know he thought it was necessary, after what had passed between them.

  “You have to be a little stir crazy,” Zeni said. “I know I would be, shut up here in this dark barn of a garage for days.”

  “It would be all right if things were different,” Mandy said with a wry smile.

  “Meaning—oh, well, yeah, I guess so.” Zeni turned a bit pink before she clapped her hands together. “Okay, then. You want to take a look at my handiwork in the side mirror?”

  Mandy did, of course, and was properly astounded by the rather sensual upswept style Zeni had wrought with nothing except the tortoiseshell comb. She might have known, as she had that air of competence about her.

  They spoke of other things, shared more of their backgrounds and childhood horror tales along with tall iced teas. Lance turned up, emerging from the storeroom as if he had actually been rearranging the shelves for something to do, as he’d said earlier. Smiling, and with easy gallantry, he said everything that was appropriate about her hair.

  He might even have meant it, Mandy thought, since his gaze lingered on the comb that rose an inch or more above the top of her head, before moving to the soft curls around her face.

  Not that it made a difference. He looked away the instant he saw she’d noticed.

  He said nothing whatever about where he and Trey had been. That was, until Zeni demanded to know what they had discovered.

  “Not a thing,” he said. “The guys we intended to check out were holed up in their room. The desk clerk said they only leave at mealtimes.”

  “You think they could be the same ones that shot at you in the parking lot?” Mandy asked.

  “Not likely, though one disappeared before the police got to the accident scene, according to Sheriff Tate. The other is still in the hospital.”

  “If the two at the motel are replacements, it might explain why it’s been quiet lately.”

  Lance rubbed at the edges of his sutures as if they itched. “Or they could be a couple of guys minding their own business, with no idea we have any interest in them.”

  “Let’s hope.”

  “Yeah,” he said. “Let’s.”

  The evening waned, the slanting light fading so it was nearly dark inside the garage. Zeni left to go home. Mandy said something about finding something for dinner. Lance got to his feet and gave her his hand, helping her out of the deep chair. As she stood, the comb in her hair slipped. She reached up to grab it and try to shove it back in place.

  “Oh, no.” The exclamation was soft as she stood with her hand still on the comb.

  “Something the matter?”

  She couldn’t secure the hair ornament again, so pulled it out and left her hair fall, uncoiling as it streamed over her shoulder. “Not really. I just realized I don’t have my hair clasp. Zeni took it with her.”

  He turned back with a troubled look in his eyes. “You don’t mean she—?”

  “Not on purpose, no. She put it in her apron pocket while she was doing my hair.”

  “She’ll bring it back when she finds it.”

  “I’m sure she will,” Mandy said in agreement. The only problem was that piece of hair jewelry was one of the few things she had that she could call her own. She felt naked without it.

  Chapter 16

  Lance’s throat was tight, and his mouth so dry he could barely swallow. Watching Mandy’s hair unfurl its shining length down her breast left him as tongue-tied and yearning as a thirteen- year-old with his first crush. He couldn’t think straight, much less form coherent sentences.

  She had looked like a proper Victorian lady with her hair up. With it down, she made him think of improper females. And he wasn’t sure which one appealed to him more.

  He stepped ahead of her to open the door of the RV then stood aside as she climbed the steps. Against his will, he reached out and touched a silky, golden brown strand of hair that curled along her arm. It was the briefest of caresses, yet he felt connected to her in that instant, tied by some invisible bond. And he wanted her with a fierce and painful longing that was like nothing he’d ever felt in his life.

  She didn’t notice, or else pretended she didn’t.

  It was just as well.

  While Mandy opened the refrigerator and stood peering inside for dinner time inspiration, Lance dropped down onto the bench seat next to the outside door. He jumped up at once, as he didn’t need the reminder of what had ha
ppened there a couple of evenings before. He’d been doing his best to avoid all thought of it ever since.

  Rather than move into the close confines of the kitchen, he opened the cabinet above the table and took down foam plates and plastic glasses. With those set out, he turned around to fetch forks and spoons from the kitchen cabinet.

  Mandy reached that cabinet at the same time, carrying a bowl of soup in her hands. They collided, and it took fancy footwork to save the soup. He wound up with the bowl in the crook of one arm, and her in the other.

  “Whoa,” he said. “Didn’t mean to knock you down.”

  “No harm done. I should have been watching where I was going.”

  He wasn’t so sure there’d been no harm. He was rooted to the spot and breathing like a sump pump in a dry well. If he ever knew how to set a bowl down from the position in which he held this one, he’d forgotten.

  “I’ll take that back,” she said, repossessing the bowl. “I was about to put it in the microwave.”

  “Sounds good.” The words were no more than a croak. “And so does a couple of Granny Chauvin’s tea cakes, if there are any left.”

  “Plenty,” Mandy answered, while snapping the microwave shut and punching the button to turn it on. “Speaking of which, Zeni said Granny has been over at the safe house, and may have gone inside. It seems she’s got it into her head that I should have my stuff that’s still there.”

  “She would,” Lance said, closing his eyes a second in something between acceptance and alarm.

  “Don’t you think Trey or someone should tell her to stay away?”

  “By all means, for what good it will do. Granny has a mind of her own. And she knows no obstacles when it comes to helping people.”

  “I don’t want her to get hurt. She’ll be better off if she doesn’t come near either one of us.”

  It was then the sound of a powerful engine came from outside the RV garage. It rumbled closer with slow purpose, and closer still, until it stopped just beyond the wide overhead door that provided vehicle entrance.

  “Not happening any time soon,” Lance said with resignation in his voice. “If I’m not mistaken, that was Granny Chauvin’s old Mercury. Seems she’s about to pay us another visit.”

  He reached for the door, pushed it open and jumped to the ground. Skirting the chairs under the awning, he jogged through the door that led to the storeroom. By the time he looked to be sure no one was near the exit, and then walked around to the front where Granny had parked, she was outside and raising a hand to bang on the overhead door.

  “This way, Granny,” he said as loud as he dared. “Over here.”

  She came toward him, grinning like a cat with canary feathers in its whiskers. “Evening, Lancelot,” she said, giving him a quick hug. “Where’s that gorgeous girl of yours?”

  “She’s inside, though she’s not my girl. What are you doing out running around town at this hour?”

  “Got something for her that I know she’ll like.” She nudged him in the ribs with a bony elbow. “You might like it, too.”

  “I heard you’ve been snooping around next door to your place.” Lance led her toward the storeroom and ushered her through it.

  “No such thing! I only looked inside to see if Mandy’s things were still there. I don’t know what Sheriff Tate was thinking, leaving the doors open like that. Why, anyone could have walked in and took the whole lot!”

  “But you didn’t?” Mandy was standing at the RV door, Lance saw, watching them approach. Smiling, she started down the steps toward them.

  “Well, of course I did. What would be the point, otherwise? I’ve got her little pull around suitcase out in the trunk of my car, and a couple of shopping bags, too. You can go out and get them before I leave.”

  The two women exchanged hugs. Mandy stepped back first. “Thank you so much for the comb, Granny. Zeni brought it this afternoon and showed me how to use it. It’s beautiful and I love it, though I still say you shouldn’t give it away. I also say you shouldn’t have gone anywhere near the house where I was staying. You never know who might be over there.”

  Hard on that warning came a rasping laugh from the open storeroom door. “Better listen to her, Granny. Could be some desperate character will maybe follow you to who knows where.”

  “Sheriff Sonny-Boy Tate!” Granny Chauvin swung on the man who stood there, propping a knotted fist on one hip. “What do you think you’re doing, chasing me down like some common criminal?”

  “It’s not you I’m after, Granny, so simmer down,” Sheriff Tate said as he slouched to where they stood. “It’s your friend here I want.” He turned toward Mandy.

  “Now wait just a cotton-picking minute!”

  Granny looked ready to slap him, but the sheriff ignored her. “Amanda Caret, you are under arrest for the murder of your husband, Bruce Caret.”

  “For shame! This sweet girl never murdered anybody!”

  “Maybe not with her own lily-white hands. That doesn’t mean she’s not guilty.”

  “You said questioning before, not arrest.”

  Lance spoke at the same time, his attention on Mandy who stood in stunned immobility, her eyes like aquamarines set in the satin paleness of her face. Rage burned in his chest for the fear she was being put through, and all for nothing. It had to be for nothing.

  “I changed my mind,” the sheriff drawled, “since I got no cooperation.

  “You can’t do this.”

  “No? You do the honors then.”

  Lance drilled him with a look. “No way. I couldn’t even if I didn’t think it’s idiotic. You know that.”

  “Sure you can. You’ve been exonerated, chief deputy. Your administrative leave is canceled. You are officially reinstated in your office as of this minute.”

  It should have been good news. It wasn’t.

  “Already?”

  “Told you it was a formality. Jackson Stout’s daddy is fit to be tied, swearing revenge, right and left. But the board found you acted in good faith and within the requirements of your position, quote, unquote. That means you’re a cop again. You can read the perp her rights now.”

  “Don’t do this.”

  Sheriff Tate rested his hand on the weapon at his belt. “I wouldn’t have to if you’d brought her in when I told you. But no, hell, no. You had to go all rogue on me, roping Trey into keeping her hid out under my nose, holing up here with her like a dog guarding a juicy bone. Damned if you didn’t get yourself shot for her, the way I hear it.”

  Mandy stirred, switching her haunted gaze from Sheriff Tate to Lance. “You were supposed to bring me back here?”

  “Days ago,” the sheriff answered for him.

  “Good going, Lancelot,” Granny Chauvin said with tight-lipped approval.

  “The order was pure bull.” Lance couldn’t keep the outrage from his voice as he stared at the sheriff, though he spoke to Mandy. “The pressure is on to find the killer. They have no other suspects, so you’re elected.”

  “Oh, Lance.”

  “Talk about bull!” the sheriff scoffed. “I don’t know what kind of spell she’s got you under—or maybe I do. Looks to me like it’s got you thinking with something besides your brain. You could be charged with being an accessory, you know. That’s on top of leaving the scene of an accident over toward Lafayette—which I know was you two from the description of the RV. But it ends right here, right now. I’m taking her in.”

  It was too much. “You do that,” Lance answered with lethal intent, “and you can find yourself another deputy.”

  “Now, Lance—”

  “And what’s more, you won’t run unopposed in the next election.”

  “Way to go!” Granny crowed.

  “You threatening me?” His distant cousin gave him a stare that was no doubt meant to be intimidating.

  “You could say that. Or you could say it looks to me as if Chamelot and Tunica Parish need a new sheriff.”

  It was her worst nightmare. Yes
, there had been some hint she was suspected of having Bruce killed, but how could anyone believe it? Their marriage had been strained, but that was no reason to murder him. The mere idea of it made her sick.

  That Lance might have risked his job, maybe even jail time, to prevent her from being brought in was beyond belief. She was grateful, of course she was. The warm feeling it brought ousted some of her chill dismay. Yet she wouldn’t have had him risk so much, not for the world, not for her.

  Why had he done it? Had he realized how much she hated the idea of being taken into police custody again? Or was it only that he thought it was right, because he believed in her innocence?

  Both reasons might be valid. Or it could be something else altogether. She couldn’t tell. The stern cast of his features as he faced Sheriff Tate gave away nothing at all.

  “You do what you have to do,” the law officer told him. “I’m through talking here.” Reaching back for the handcuffs that hung from his belt, he turned to Mandy. “Come along, lady. Let’s go.”

  The cuffs were warm from his body. That was worse, somehow, than if they’d been cold. She started to tremble the instant they were clamped on her wrists, barely heard as she was read her Miranda rights. It was all such a vivid reminder of a time she’d done her best to forget.

  Flashes of it tormented her now, the judge pronouncing her sentence in a bored monotone, as if taking away years of her life didn’t matter; the itchiness of the orange coveralls she’d had to wear, the smells of creosote based cleaner and resigned humanity, the resounding clang of the heavy outside door as it shut out the world and all her hopes and dreams.

  “I’ll be right behind you,” Lance said with urgency in his voice.

  “That’s right,” Granny said, lifting her bony chin as Mandy was led away. “And I’m calling Judge Martin the instant I get home. You hear that, Sonny Tate? You hear?”

  Mandy was still shaking when they reached the sheriff’s office and she was led from the reception area to a long hallway. Lance strode along behind them. The sheriff slowed at a door with glass panels inset with a wire grid.