Higher Than Eagles (Donovans of the Delta)

by Peggy Webb

  “Mommy, look!” Benjy yelled, turning to face the bench, his freckles shining and his cowlick bobbing. “Watch me catch this one.”

  “Ready, sport? Get your glove up, now.” Jacob drew back his arm and aimed a slow pitch at the small boy.

  Benjy stuck out his left hand, and the ball landed with a thunk in the leather glove.

  “That’s a boy. Now show me your curve ball.” Jacob hunkered down to be on the level of the slow, meandering ball that came his way. When he caught it, he acted as if he were playing with the best pitcher the Saint Louis Cardinals had to offer.

  Rachel died a little inside. Jacob was a natural with Benjy. If he ever found out that Benjy was his son and that she’d kept the knowledge from him, heaven help them all!

  The ballplayers strode over to the bench, wearing identical grins.

  “Mr. Donoben is a great ballplayer. He showed me the curbe ball.”

  Jacob reached down and tousled the boy’s hair. “You’re a natural, sport. Got a great left hook.” He settled on the bench beside Rachel and stretched out his legs. “I’m a lefty myself.”

  She tried to keep her face composed. “Lots of people are.”

  Jacob was stunned by the intensity of her reply. He’d simply been making casual conversation, and Rachel had gone on the defensive. All his instincts were alerted. He said nothing until Vashti took Benjy’s hand and led him off to the water fountain. Then he turned to Rachel and nailed her with a fierce blue stare.

  “Was Bob?”

  “Was Bob what?”

  “A lefty?”

  “No . . . yes.”

  “Which one. No or yes?”

  “I don’t remember.”

  “You don’t remember?”

  “He wasn’t much for outdoor sports. I guess I don’t ever remember seeing him pitch a ball.”

  “Didn’t you watch him write or eat?”

  She shifted down the bench so she wouldn’t be so close to him. A trickle of sweat ran between her breasts, wetting the front of her halter. She silently cursed the fates for sending Jacob to Biloxi, for making him the kind of man whose mere presence could drive a woman crazy.

  “What do you want from me?”

  “The truth. Was Bob left-handed?”

  “No, but . . .” Her common sense returned. There was no need to explain that left-handed children didn’t have to have one left-handed parent. Jacob was smart enough to know that. Besides, she’d let herself get trapped by protesting too much. If she weren’t careful, Jacob would get suspicious.

  Jacob was acutely aware of Rachel’s turmoil. He’d baited her, and she had taken the bait. Once again he was amazed at how fiercely she fought to keep every aspect of her life a secret from him. Red flags went up and warning bells sounded.

  He glanced across the playground at the little boy on the seesaw. Such a sturdy, well-built little fellow, not at all like his father. Jacob remembered Bob as being so slim, he was almost skinny. He’d also been very dark, with olive skin, black eyes, black hair. As far as he could see, Benjy didn’t have a single one of his father’s characteristics.

  “A boy needs a father to play ball with him. I suppose you’ll marry again.”

  He watched Rachel compose herself. Even in the ninety-degree heat she looked elegant, as if she should be wearing pearls and a tiara instead of shorts and halter top. One of the things he’d loved most about her was the unexpected contrast between her cool good looks and her hot explosive passions.

  “I suppose.”

  “Will it be somebody nice and safe this time?”

  “Nice and safe?”

  “You know what I mean—a separate bedroom type of fellow, like Bob.”

  “That’s none of your concern.”

  He was quiet a moment, gazing across the playground at Benjy and Vashti on the seesaws.

  “Yes. It’s my concern.”

  “Of all the arrogant, conceited—”

  His boom of laughter stopped her. “You presume too much, Rachel. Did you think I still loved you because of the way I kissed you?” Her green eyes darkened to jade, and her face flushed. “It’s not love that motivates me. I just don’t relish the thought of having to follow two people around in order to find out the truth.”

  He stood up, enjoying the advantage of standing, which made him appear to tower over her. Casually, as if the contact were unplanned, he propped one foot on the bench, brushing the toe of his jogging shoe against Rachel’s thigh. She jumped as if firecrackers had been lit under her skin, then tried to cover herself by brushing at her leg.

  “Ants,” she said.

  He lifted one eyebrow but said nothing.

  “We do have ants down here in the summer. Everywhere.”

  Leaning down, he cupped her face. “Rachel . . . Rachel. How long are you going to keep pretending with me?”

  She didn’t try to deny anything. “Go away, Jacob.”

  “I will. For now.” His thumbs circled her skin, then he released her face. “But I’ll be back. I promise you that.”

  She watched him leave. Fear clawed at her throat as he detoured by the seesaw and said goodbye to Benjy and Vashti. Both gave him big hugs.

  Seeing her son there, wrapped in his father’s arms, made her weep inside. Strange how one lie could become a web of deception that tangled so many lives—hers, her father’s, Jacob’s, Benjy’s, Bob’s. Only Vashti remained untouched by the lie. She accepted all the stories, the premature birth, the quarrel over Jacob’s life-style, the lack of other children due to Bob’s poor health and her career.

  Only when Jacob was out of sight did Rachel move from the bench. Then she joined her son and Vashti for a laughter-filled summer ride on the merry-go- round.

  o0o

  Jacob wasted no time after he left the park.

  Jerking Bob’s hated shirt over his head and flinging it into a corner of his motel room, he picked up the phone.

  “Rick,” he said without preliminaries, “is the Baron serviced and ready to fly?”

  “You bet.”

  “How soon can you leave?”

  Rick paused for a quick swig of orange soda. Jacob could hear the slosh of liquid in the bottle, almost see the way Rick tipped back in his chair, his throat working as the sweet warm drink went down. The bottle thunked against the wooden desktop.

  “As soon as I make a couple of phone calls.”

  Jacob laughed. “Only two women? You must be slipping.”

  “Slow night.”

  “I’ll meet you at the airport.”

  o0o

  Rick McGill didn’t emerge from the Baron; he bounded out like the leader of a marching band. Blond hair disheveled, brown eyes crinkled with laughter, lean body swaggering, he strode across the tarmac toward Jacob.

  They clapped each other on the shoulder, their usual brotherly greeting. The same age, almost the same height, with Rick having two inches over Jacob, the same devil-may-care smiles, they might have been brothers instead of comrades.

  They had met the year Jacob went into fire-fighting. Rick had already been part of the team Jacob had joined. They fought fires together, drank together, night-clubbed together. Best friends almost from the moment they had met, they kept no secrets. Rick knew that Rachel Windham Devlin had broken Jacob’s heart, and Jacob knew that no woman would ever break Rick’s heart. He loved them all, and he was far too cagey to let one get under his skin.

  “Man, it’s hotter that Maria Jaurez’s kisses down here.” Rick peeled off his poplin flight jacket and slung it over his shoulder.

  “You would know. Let’s step inside the lounge, where it’s cooler.”

  “Reckon they’d have a warm orange soda?”

  “From the glimpse I got of that waitress, she can heat up anything just by looking at it.”

  “I see what you mean,” Rick said as they slid into a booth at the back of the small airport lounge. “She might be worth checking out.”

  “You may not be in Biloxi that long.”
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  “Sounds serious, Jacob.” Rick leaned back and studied his friend. “You look serious. Don’t tell me you’re letting Rachel get under your skin again.”

  “It’s not Rachel.” Jacob had doubts about the truth of that statement, but now was not the time for sharing confidences of that sort. “It’s what she’s hiding.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Damned if I know. That’s why I called you down here. In spite of your flighty personality, you’re the best investigator I know.”

  “Flighty, huh? I resemble that remark.”

  “You sure as hell do.” They laughed together, then Jacob leaned across the small table toward his friend. “I want her investigated, Rick.”

  “There are better men for the job. I haven’t done any serious investigation in seven years. My skills are rusty.”

  “You’re the only man I trust for this job.”

  “It’s done. Tell me what you want.”

  “I want to know every move she’s made in the last six years, where she’s lived, where she’s worked, where she’s played. And I want to know about her son. Hell, I don’t even know when and where the boy was born.”

  Rick’s brown eyes lit with interest. “Are you thinking what I think you’re thinking?”

  Jacob leaned back and ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t know what to believe anymore. All I know is that Rachel is extraordinarily determined to get me out of her life, and I intend to find out why.”

  “I’ll do what I can.”

  “Take the Mustang. It’s faster than the Baron.”

  They ordered sandwiches, then settled back to talk. Both men had the same passionate approach to business that they had to pleasure. They were intense and serious as they talked, generating so much high-powered energy, the waitress speculated to another customer that the two men in the corner booth were secret agents on a government mission.

  When Rick left, Jacob’s adrenaline was still high. He felt the same readiness as when he faced a raging old field fire. But Rachel Windham Devlin was a fire of a different kind. And he would subdue it, just as he had all the others. Even if it took the rest of his life.

  On the way out of the airport, he picked up the afternoon paper. The item he was looking for was in the social column. He scanned it with interest, then glanced at his watch. He still had time, he thought, time for one more surprise for Rachel.

  o0o

  Rachel usually loved parties of this kind, small intimate gatherings of people who had much in common—a love of music, art, theater, an interest in politics, and heightened social consciousness.

  She stood on the fringes of the small group, surveying the scene with the eagle eye of a hostess with a reputation for excellence. That afternoon the decorators and caterers had transformed the first floor of her house into a veritable sea of flowers and food. Now gardenias, white roses, and white orchids bloomed from the tops of polished tables. They floated in front of the French doors, suspended by baskets on golden cord, and they festooned the bandstand that had been erected at one end of the ballroom.

  The band was playing a sad song, and guests dressed in satin and sequins and in tuxes glided across the marble floor. It was a beautiful party, but Rachel wasn’t enjoying it. Not tonight. Not after spending the morning in the park seeing her son play ball with his real father.

  “It’s fabulous, Rachel. And so are you,” said Louie Vincetti, owner of the Blue Bayou, the ritzy club where she sang. As civic-minded as he was sharp in business, he’d closed the club for the weekend in order to devote time to his favorite charity.

  “Thanks, Louie.”

  Louis looked at her with his sharp black eyes, pulled out a cigar, and stuck it, unlit, into his mouth. “Tell Uncle Louie what’s bothering you, babe. A beautiful thing like you should be wearing a smile to go with those sapphires and diamonds.” He patted her shoulder as he talked, his square little hand almost keeping rhythm with the band.

  Coming from any other man, that kind of familiar language and attention would have offended Rachel. But it didn’t coming from Louie. He was her friend, her adviser, and her surrogate father. He’d taken her under his wing when she and Bob had moved to Biloxi, and had sensed that singing was more than a talent for her, more than a job. Louie’s own heart was so big, he instinctively seemed to understand the hearts of others. With Rachel, he’d always known that singing was survival to her, a way of compensating for a bland marriage, a safe way of channeling her passion.

  “I guess it’s too soon after Bob’s death for a party of this kind, even if the proceeds do go to your favorite charity.”

  “Hmmmm.” Louie chomped down on the end of his cigar and gazed into space.

  Rachel, knowing she hadn’t told him the truth and afraid of offending him, hastened to rectify her mistake.

  “Not that I’m sorry I agreed to throw this party, you understand. I’m always happy to do what I can for your animals.” She was referring to the Louie Vincetti Animal Adoption Home, a program Louie had set up three years ago to get stray animals off the street and into the homes of people who would love them.

  Louie loved hearing the animals referred to as his. He took great pride in turning everything he touched into a success, and it pleased him that every stray animal in Biloxi was now referred to as Louie’s cat or Louie’s dog. Volunteers flocked to help him get the strays into his adoption home.

  He turned and smiled at one of his all-time favorite people. “At two hundred dollars a head, and with twenty-five couples here, that’s an easy ten thousand dollars raised for the home in one night.” He shifted the cigar in his mouth and moved his hand down to pat Rachel’s arm. “That’s not counting the large donation I got this afternoon.”

  “That’s wonderful, Louie. Do I know the donor?”

  “Could be. He just walked through the door.”

  Jacob Donovan stood in the doorway, tight jeans encasing his legs, white shirt open at the throat, leather bomber jacket worn with as much panache as any movie hero Rachel had ever seen. His casual clothes were as out of place among the tuxedos and glittering ball gowns as sin at a tent revival, but he was easily the most commanding presence in the room. There was a fierce wild charm about him, as if he had found secrets in the skies that ordinary people only dared dream of, as if those mysteries were stored, shining and bright, in his soul.

  He scanned the crowd. When he saw Rachel, he smiled. It was a smile that could topple kingdoms. Her mouth was suddenly dry as she tasted fear and excitement.

  He crossed the crowded room with an ease that had always been his trademark. Everything came easy for Jacob Donovan, she thought, everything except giving up.

  “Hello, Rachel. Mr. Vincetti.” Although he acknowledged Louie’s presence, he had eyes only for Rachel.

  “Jacob.” She made herself smile, forced herself to extend a cool hand. She wanted to rant and rave. She wanted to pull a pot of gardenias down on his head. “Thank you for your generous contribution. Louie told me about it.”

  “I’m an animal lover myself.” As he spoke, he undressed Rachel with his eyes. Bit by sizzling bit, he peeled away the diamond, sapphire, and pearl clip earrings, tossed aside the matching necklace, raked her bare shoulders, then ripped away the black evening gown.

  Lord, she was easily the most stunning creature he’d ever seen. Some women got more beautiful with maturity, and she was one of them. The dress was classic and simple, strapless to show off her shoulders, the bodice tightly fitted to enhance her small breasts, and the skirt flowing to billow against her incredible legs and tease a man to distraction. Not that she needed a fancy dress to make her lovely. Her face alone was enough to make his knees weak.

  He began talking, more to distract himself than anything else. “When I read in the afternoon paper that your benefit was sold out, I contacted Mr. Vincetti. He agreed to let me come, for a price.”

  “Five thousand,” Louie said.

  “Five thousand?”

  The size of t
he contribution struck new terror into Rachel’s heart. When Jacob had sworn to be her shadow, she’d expected that he would be at all her performances, had even expected he would connive his way into her home. What she hadn’t known was that he was willing to pay so much to be with her. Not to be with her, she corrected herself, to find out her secret.

  “He’s a generous man. Too bad he missed hearing you sing.” Louie pocketed his well-chewed cigar. “She’s already done the benefit show, Donovan.”

  “That’s all right. For my money, I expect a private performance.”

  Rachel’s chin came up, and her gaze locked with his. “You’ll get no private performances from me, Jacob Donovan—singing or otherwise.”

  He lifted one wicked eyebrow. “Singing is your only performance that interests me now.”

  “Damn you, Jacob Donovan.”

  The minute they had laid eyes on each other, no one else in the room existed for them. The old man standing at their side, avidly taking in every word and every gesture, was completely forgotten.

  “Rachel, Ra-chel,” Louie chided in singsong rhythm, “the boy paid a king’s ransom to hear you sing. One more song.” He put his arm around her shoulder and squeezed. “For me, sweetheart, then we’ll call it a night.”

  She turned to Louie. “For you.”

  Then she swept toward the bandstand without looking back. She knew Jacob was watching every move she made. She could feel his gaze on her.

  Leaning down, she whispered to the band leader. When he had finished the dance number, he walked to the microphone. “Rachel Devlin has graciously consented to honor us with one more number— As Time Goes By.”

  Rachel thought she could sing the entire song without looking at Jacob. But she was mistaken. The magnetic pull of his blue eyes was irresistible. One look and she was hooked, yearning for him, crooning to him, singing only for him, only for Jacob.

  He knew. She could tell by the satisfied look on his face. Why? Why did he want to torture her? He’d said he wanted the truth, but why did he keep resurrecting the passion?

  She closed her eyes, trying to shut him out as she finished her song. But he was there, imprinted on her mind. His face haunted her, taunted her, making the song so bittersweet a tear trickled down her cheek.