Men Made in America Mega-Bundle

by Gayle Wilson, Marie Ferrarella, Jennifer Greene, Annette Broadrick, Judith Arnold, Rita Herron, Anne Stuart, Diana Palmer, Elizabeth Bevarly, Patricia Rosemoor, Emilie Richards

  The promise of fresh air and a quiet place to think about what Skeeter had said drew her through the kitchen and out onto the back porch, where she could see the tiny plot of grass that had been turned into a child’s fantasy world.

  She had been prepared for jungle gyms and huge sandboxes. She hadn’t been prepared for the sight of Sam pushing Bridget and another little girl on a redwood swing set. She wondered if he had come out here to avoid seeing her, then she wondered just when she had gotten so paranoid.

  As she tried to decide whether or not to go back inside—her eyes helplessly riveted on the lean, muscular man clad in a green knit shirt and jeans—she realized it was too late.

  “I could use some help,” Sam said casually, his gaze grabbing and holding hers across the feet that separated them.

  “You look like you’re doing all right.”

  “I’d be doing better if you were here pushing, too.”

  She neither shrugged nor smiled. She put one foot in front of the other as casually as she could and walked across the yard to stand beside him. He moved slightly, giving her clear access to the little girl who was swinging with Bridget.

  “That’s Martha,” he said. “She wants to go up to the sky.”

  Obligingly, Antoinette began to push, smiling despite herself at the gurgling laughter of the little girl whose two short black braids flopped back and forth in rhythm to the accelerating speed of the swing.

  “How have you been?”

  Antoinette pondered Sam’s question. She had no intention of telling him the whole truth. He didn’t need to know that she’d been strangely unhappy since the evening they’d shared. He didn’t need to know that she’d begun to get in touch with just how lonely her life was. There were some things best left unsaid.

  She settled for part of the truth. “I’d say I’ve been busy. I’ve been filling in for emergencies while a colleague vacations. Unfortunately, there’ve been a lot of emergencies.”

  Sam watched the steady ebb and flow of Martha’s swing and the graceful hands of the woman pushing her. He wondered if there was anything that Antoinette didn’t do with quiet self-assurance. He wondered how those long-fingered hands would feel moving slowly down his body. The last thought was an unpleasant surprise, and he searched for a topic that would rid him of his yearnings.

  “I understand you’ve been visiting Howard Fauvier.”

  “I have. He needs support.”

  “How’s he doing?”

  Antoinette turned a little to view Sam’s expression. She had expected to see cynicism; instead, she saw curiosity. She also saw the way the sunlight turned his hair a mellow gold and warmed the honeyed tan of his skin. She focused on Martha’s back again.

  “Actually, Joshua’d be able to give you more information than I would. He’s working with Howard. I’m just visiting him as a friend.”

  “Howard? Friend?”

  “He’s certainly in need of one.”

  “Why you?”

  She didn’t think she could ever explain it to Sam’s satisfaction, but she tried. “Something happens when you save a life. I don’t think Howard would have killed himself even if I hadn’t come along, but as it turns out, I was instrumental in getting him out of that room. That created a bond between us. I know who he is and what he did, but I care about him anyway. That’s powerful medicine. It won’t change him, but it might help him be more receptive to things that can.”

  “No wonder you’re busy. You take the problems of the world on your shoulders.”

  “No, I don’t. I just reach out where and when I can. I get as much as I give. When the balance changes, I’ll change my way of doing things.” Antoinette realized she had increased the pace of her pushes until Martha was soaring so high her braids sailed out from the side of her head like wings. She stepped back to let the little girl come down to earth again.

  Sam thought about her words. Antoinette’s commitment to others amazed him. She would be the same way in a relationship, giving all she had and fooling herself into believing that she was getting as much as she gave. Ross Dunlap must have been the ultimate fool as well as the ultimate con man to shake her loyalty so disastrously that she would leave him.

  Antoinette waited for Sam to disparage what she’d said. When he didn’t, she began the conversation she had rehearsed in her head. When she had her answers, she would go back in the house and join the rest of the party again. The worst would be over. “How is Laurie doing now that her mom is out of the hospital?”

  “Much better. Did you know they’re both living with the Pattersons?”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  “Mr. and Mrs. Patterson wouldn’t let them go back to the apartment where they’d lived before the fire. Mrs. Fischer still needs a lot of rest, and Mrs. Patterson convinced her that she’d be insulted if they didn’t come to her house where she could fix their meals and do their laundry.”

  “Will she be going back to work soon?” Antoinette began to push Martha again.

  “She and Laurie’ll be going back to Mississippi as soon as she’s well enough. She’s planning to go to school there and get a degree.”

  Antoinette was thrilled to hear such good news. “How did that happen?”

  “Someone from her hometown was here on a convention, saw an article in the paper about the fire and recognized her name. Her parents and her in-laws came up last weekend to see her and Laurie. Laurie’s father is out of the picture now. His parents finally realized that he had problems and sent him to a treatment center out of state. They’ve been searching for Laurie and her mom ever since. Mrs. Fischer says they’re very supportive and they want her to go back home and get a fresh start.”

  Antoinette realized she’d sighed. She loved happy endings, and she saw them too rarely. “I’m so glad it’s worked out for them. They both deserved a better life.”

  “And four grandparents in a little Mississippi town are getting their granddaughter back.”

  “Listen to you. You like happy endings, too.” Antoinette turned, momentarily forgetting the tension between them, and shot Sam a big smile.

  Sam could feel the impact like a cannonball in the gut. If he’d managed to convince himself in the intervening weeks that his attraction to Antoinette had just been a passing fancy, that one smile destroyed his conviction. “What made you think I didn’t?”

  Her smile faltered and died. She wasn’t about to get into a discussion that could turn personal. “Can you talk about the Omega Oil case or is it top secret?”

  Silently he congratulated her on such a neat change of subject. She was right—neither of them should be digging beneath the surface. “Unfortunately, there’s nothing to tell. We could still fill the Superdome with our suspects.”

  “What about Howard Fauvier?”

  “Angry is not the same as guilty. We’re still looking into the possibility he had something to do with the fire, but personally I don’t think it’s likely.”

  “Has Laurie’s description been helpful?”

  “No. I’m not sure it ever will be.”

  “I wanna get down!” Antoinette turned her attention back to the little girl in the swing in front of her.

  “Hold on, Martha.” Antoinette grabbed the slender chains and pulled the swing to a stop. She unhooked the safety bar, and the little girl slid to the ground. From the corner of her eye, she could see that Bridget was also getting down. Both little girls ran to the porch and disappeared inside.

  “I imagine we’ll be heading for the parade soon.” Antoinette checked her watch. “It left Felicity Street at two. I think I’ll go inside and see what the plans are.”

  “Antoinette.”

  She was halfway across the yard before Sam’s call stopped her. She turned, glad that so many feet separated them.

  Her name had come out of his mouth with absolutely no permission from his brain. Why had he called her? He had what he’d claimed he wanted. She was friendly but distant. There had been no touching, no parti
cular warmth except for that one smile. There was no danger of a relationship between them anymore. She understood exactly how little he had to give a woman, and she wasn’t interested. He wondered what he was going to say next.

  “Will you walk to the parade with me?”

  Antoinette noted the surprise in Sam’s eyes at his own question. It was nothing compared to the surprise she felt. “What’s happening here?” she asked him after a long hesitation.

  “Damned if I know.”

  “Sam, you made it clear you didn’t want me.”

  “That’s not what I remember. I wanted you.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “I’d like to be friends.”

  “That would be something new.”

  He smiled at her stubbornness. He hadn’t suspected it existed. “Would it help if I told you I’ve regretted what happened?”

  “Which part did you regret?”

  What part? He regretted he hadn’t kept his mouth shut. He regretted he hadn’t let their passion build until it culminated the way they had both yearned for it to. He regretted not knowing what her body felt like under his, what it felt like to be rid of this desire for her.

  “Never mind.” Impatiently Antoinette tossed her hair over her shoulder, but she couldn’t keep her lips from turning up. Sam was a master at hiding his feelings, but he couldn’t hide the way his eyes were devouring her body. She knew what he was thinking. “I guess I can hazard a short walk with you.” She was up the stairs and in the house before he could think of a response. He stared at the door for long moments before he followed her inside.

  As it turned out, the walk to the parade was a study in innocence. Joshua refused to let Maggie leave until the last possible second so that she wouldn’t have to stand longer than necessary. Sam volunteered to take Bridget so that she wouldn’t miss a moment of the preparade chaos, and then he handed her to Antoinette because he was carrying a ladder with a specially built seat on top.

  “I don’t see anyone else carrying a ladder,” Antoinette remarked after they had covered three blocks. Bridget was heavy enough; she imagined Sam was regretting his offer.

  “Then Bridget’ll have the best seat on the route.”

  “And the brightest.” The ladder was painted in Day-Glo stripes of purple, green and gold. The seat was padded with plush shag carpeting of a different gold so that the effect was shattering to the eye.

  “Are you criticizing my ladder?”

  “Your ladder?” Antoinette eyed Sam, who looked as if he were carrying a toothpick. He wasn’t even sweating.

  “I made it for her at Mardi Gras. Then I had to paint it to convince her to get on it.”

  “Mine,” Bridget said helpfully, pointing to the ladder.

  Antoinette digested the new piece of information. Obviously Sam’s love was next to impossible to win, but once it was won, it was boundless. She remembered him admitting that he had disliked and distrusted Maggie at first. Clearer still was a picture of Sam at the party, before they left, ushering Maggie to a chair and standing guard over her so that she wouldn’t jump up to play the perfect hostess. His expression had been tender, and it had given Antoinette a strange jolt to see it aimed at another woman, even one as happily married as Maggie Martane.

  “You love all of them, don’t you? Joshua, Maggie, Bridget.”

  Sam’s answer was a grunt.

  She wondered how many other people he’d loved in his lifetime. She wondered why she wanted to be included on the list.

  Three blocks later they stopped on Magazine and Washington, and Sam unfolded the ladder. The Irish Channel St. Patrick’s Day parade was a tradition in a city where there was never a reason not to parade. No holiday, no matter how solemn, passed without floats, bands and handfuls of doubloons and beads thrown into the streets. The St. Patrick’s parade added the unique touch of bestowing cabbages and other assorted vegetables on the expectant crowds. And following the floats and the clowns were the marching clubs, seemingly endless lines of men dressed in formal attire who exchanged a paper carnation or string of long beads for a kiss.

  “Have you ever been to this parade?” Sam asked Antoinette after the ladder was secured and Bridget was clapping her hands from her seat on top.

  “I used to come all the time when I was a kid. I grew up right down the street.”

  “I had you pegged for the Garden District.”

  “You were right. My parents still live in the house I grew up in.” Antoinette watched as a group of Shriners’ clowns moved a bright green sound truck into the street in front of them. The off-key tinkle of “Danny Boy” filled the air. One of the clowns jumped off the running board of the truck and began to make a balloon sculpture for Bridget. He left as suddenly as he’d arrived, giving the little girl a pink balloon poodle before he disappeared into the crowd on the other side of the street to honor another child.

  Vendors passed, selling green felt derbies and plastic leprechauns. Family groups perched on the curb, eating peanuts and drinking soft drinks and beer. The streets were lined in anticipation of the parade, but there weren’t the hordes of people that a Mardi Gras parade would have produced. The atmosphere was relaxed and friendly. This parade, like other parades throughout the year, was a party New Orleans gave itself.

  Police officers assigned to control the crowds wandered over to talk to Sam. Antoinette watched the mixture of affection and deference with which he was greeted. She was introduced as Sam’s friend, but she saw the assessing looks that came her way. She wondered if she was passing the test.

  Little by little guests from the Martane’s party came to stand around them. Just as the Jerusalem Temple clown cars began to buzz the street in front of them, signaling the beginning of the parade, Joshua and Maggie arrived to take over the ladder. Sam stepped down, pulling Antoinette to stand next to him. His arm slipped around her waist, and his hand rested on her hip. The only person in the crowd who didn’t seem perfectly clear about their relationship was her.

  The next half hour was a free-for-all of people scurrying for beads, bronze and green doubloons, plastic cups with Irish slogans and lethal vegetables that seemed to come flying through the air from nowhere.

  “What’s our count?” Sam asked Antoinette, peering into the plastic bag that Maggie had given them.

  “Two cabbages, six potatoes, three carrots and too many Brussels sprouts to number.”

  “Watch out!”

  Antoinette ducked with a reflex that had been honed by twenty-eight years of New Orleans parades. She felt something whiz past her head, ruffling her hair.

  “Got it. Make that three cabbages.”

  “All we need is corned beef and we’ve got dinner.”

  Antoinette felt Sam’s fingers dig into her shoulder as he leaped for some other piece of Irish booty. The float passing them was partly populated by a group of the New Orleans Saints, the city’s own football team, and the crowd was going wild.

  “This was thrown to you.” Sam held up a green silk garter trimmed in dime-store lace. “You should wear it.”

  Antoinette lifted her eyes to his and saw the challenge there. She realized he didn’t know her well enough to understand just what a challenge did to that tiny part of her that was never going to grow up. “I’ve got my hands full,” she said, drawing out the words. “Why don’t you put it on for me?”

  Nothing moved except his eyes. They neither narrowed nor widened; they only seemed to heat until they were the leaping gold of an autumn bonfire. “My pleasure,” he said. The sound came from low in his throat, and Antoinette willed her heart to beat as he stooped in front of her.

  She was aware of the continuous passing parade, but time seemed to stop as Sam coaxed her to lift her foot and removed one of her low-heeled sandals. He ran his fingers along her instep and up to her ankle before he began to smooth the garter over her stockinged toes. He worked slowly, inching the silky fabric over her foot and ankle, up the calf of her leg, over her knee, to finally
rest above the hem of her skirt. His hands slid down the way they had come, making a torturous, unhurried exit. Then he slipped her shoe back on her foot and fastened the tiny silver buckle. When he finally stood, Antoinette could think of nothing to say.

  “I thought it was over, but it’s just begun,” Sam said, taking care of the silence between them.

  Antoinette knew he wasn’t talking about the parade.

  The streets of the Garden District were quiet and serene. The shamrock and leprechaun charm of the Irish Channel was absent, although only a mythical line separated the two neighborhoods. The Garden District streets were lined with homes that often qualified as mansions, and yards that only a professional gardener touched. The Garden District had not been built for working men. It had been built before the Civil War for the American entrepreneurs of New Orleans who had not been accepted by the Creole aristocrats already in residence in the French Quarter. These “Americans” had surrounded themselves with stately gardens instead of enclosed courtyards, and they had created their own aristocracy.

  The block-long gardens had given way to more houses through the years, and today it was common to find families with old Creole names living in them. Still, the Garden District kept its unique flavor of old money and older charm. As Sam and Antoinette walked along one of the quiet side streets, the differences in their backgrounds were perfectly obvious.

  “Bow your head. We’re about to step on hallowed ground.” Antoinette rested her head against Sam’s shoulder as they walked, arms around each other’s waist, along the sidewalk.

  “Your house?”

  “The one with the widow’s walk.” She pointed in front of them. “That was my favorite part of the house, only I was never allowed to go up there. My mother didn’t think it was safe or respectable. She insisted that the neighbors would think we were spying on them.”

  Sam examined the huge mansion with stained-glass windows and Victorian furbelows and tried to picture the child Antoinette playing there. The house lent itself to visions of children hopscotching on its wide curving porch or peering over the railings of the widow’s walk, but something about the way it was maintained canceled the vision. The whole picture was too immaculate, too perfect. The pristine white paint looked as if it were touched up twice a day; the yard looked as if no leaf had ever dared to fall on its landscaped perfection. Sam wondered if her childhood had been equally stultifying.