by Sharon Sala
“I thought we weren’t using that word.”
Casey glared.
Erica was left with nowhere to go but out. She walked away, leaving Ryder with a contemplative stare that Casey chose to ignore.
“I guess if a person is observant, they can learn something new every day,” he muttered.
Casey looked up. “Like what?”
“Never knew there were any barracudas in Mississippi.”
“Excuse me?”
“Nothing,” Ryder said. “I was just thinking out loud.”
Tilly’s back was to the pair, but her smile was wide as she added the finishing touch to her eggs before setting them on the table. She wasn’t the type of woman to make snap judgments, but after the way Ryder had cut Erica Dunn off at the mouth, she was pretty sure he was going to do just fine.
She set the plates before them. “Now eat up before my eggs get cold.” She set a full pan of steaming hot biscuits in front of them as well. “Fresh out of the oven, Casey Dee, just the way you like them.”
Casey rolled her eyes in appreciation of the golden brown tops and reached for one to butter.
“Since you’re a married lady now and have your own place, I guess you’ll be needing to learn how to make these,” Tilly said. “When you get time, I’ll be needing to teach you.”
Casey looked stunned. Ryder hid his grin behind a bite of scrambled eggs. Poor Casey. It would seem that her life had taken more changes than she was ready to accept.
“Making biscuits seems a bit of a leap for a woman who can’t boil water,” Ryder said.
Ignoring Casey’s gasp, he scooped a spoonful of strawberry preserves onto his biscuit and then bit into the hot bread, chewing with relish.
“Well, I never,” she muttered.
Ryder swallowed, took a slow sip of coffee, then fixed Casey with a sultry gaze. “I know that, wife. But one of these days you will.”
The implications of what he’d just said were impossible to misinterpret. He hadn’t been talking about biscuits, and they both knew it. Furious that he kept catching her off guard, she stabbed at the food on her plate with undue force, scraping the tines of the fork across the china and earning her a cool I-taught-you-better-than-that look from Tilly.
The rest of the meal passed in relative silence, broken only by the coming and going of Tilly and Joshua as they carried food into the breakfast room for the family who would now be living off the fruit of Casey’s labors. It was Ryder who finally broke the silence.
“That does it for me,” he said. “I guess I’d better go earn my keep.” He winked at Casey, taking small delight in the fact that she didn’t welcome it, and tweaked her ear for the hell of it as he passed.
“Do you know where you’re going?” Casey asked, as he sauntered out of the room.
He paused, then turned, and once again, she was struck by the fact that his answer had nothing to do with the question she’d asked.
“No. But then it hasn’t really mattered for months now. Why should today be any different?”
When he disappeared, she was forced to accept the fact that not only had she married a stranger, but it would seem one with more secrets than he cared to tell.
She took a last gulp of her coffee and tossed down her napkin. If he had her troubles, he’d have something to complain about. She glanced at her watch. It was a quarter to nine. Past time for the boss to be at work. But, since she was the boss, she was going to finish her coffee.
Meanwhile, Ryder was making his way through the maze of rooms and getting a firsthand impression of the atmosphere in which Casey had grown up.
The mansion itself was grand—with three stories of granite blocks that came far too close to resembling a castle rather than a home. The only thing Ryder felt was missing was a moat. The snakes and crocodiles were already in place, but they walked on two legs, rather than four, and hid their sharp teeth behind fake smiles.
His footsteps echoed on the cold marble floors as he made his way toward the muted sound of voices coming from a room up the hallway and to the right. The breakfast room, he presumed.
As he entered the doorway, he paused, staring at the bright morning sun beaming in through spotless windows, through which an arbor of hot pink bougainvillea could be seen.
The crystal on the table was elegant. The china was a plain, classic white with a delicate gold rim, and the silverware gleamed with a high, polished gloss as the people in residence lifted it to their mouths. Flowers were everywhere. Cut and in vases. Growing from pots. In one-dimensional form, painted on canvas and framed, then hung at just the right level for the eye to see.
In spite of the heat of the day, Ryder shuddered. Such elegance. Such cold, cold, elegance. He thought of the woman who’d come storming into that bar with her long hair down and windblown, wearing that bit of a black dress, and tried to picture her being raised in a place like this. For some reason, the little he knew of Casey didn’t jibe with these surroundings. How could a woman with so much passion survive in a house with no joy—no life?
And Casey Ruban Justice had passion, of that he had no doubt. Most of the time she seemed to keep it channeled toward the business end of her world, but every so often her guard slipped, and had she known it, in those moments, Ryder saw more of her soul than she would have liked.
He settled his Stetson a little tighter on his head, as if bracing himself for a gale wind, and sauntered into the breakfast room as if he owned the place.
“Who wanted the ride?”
Three sets of equally startled expressions turned in his direction. Erica was still seething from his earlier put-down and chose to ignore him.
Miles stared, holding his cup of coffee suspended halfway between table and lips, trying to picture this clean-cut, larger-than-life cowboy as the same ragged derelict who’d come trailing in behind Casey yesterday morning.
Eudora gasped and set her cup down in its saucer with a sharp, unladylike clink.
“Why, it was me,” she said. “But I’m not quite ready.”
Ryder smiled. “I’ve got all day. Don’t hurry on my account.”
“For future reference, you need not come into the family area,” Miles drawled. “Simply wait out front.”
Ryder shifted his stance. It wasn’t much. Only an inch or so. But to Miles, it seemed to make the man that much taller. And it made Miles distinctly uncomfortable looking up at so much man.
“Look,” Ryder growled. “Let’s get one thing straight. Like it or not, and I can’t say that I care much for it myself, for the time being, I am part of your family. Therefore, do not expect me to scuttle around outside the back door like some damned stray dog looking for a handout. Do I make myself clear?”
Miles face turned a bloody shade of red. All he could do was splutter and look toward Erica, who was usually the more verbal of the pair, for support. Unaware that Ryder had already put her in her place, he was unprepared for his sister’s silence. He tried again.
“But Casey said…”
“Casey can say whatever she chooses,” Ryder said. “However, you might want to remember that she’s my wife, not my boss. And, you might also want to remember that while I mind my own business, I expect others to do the same.” Then he touched the brim of his hat and winked at Eudora. “I’ll be outside when you’re ready.”
He walked out.
When he was halfway down the hall, the breakfast room seemed to erupt into a cacophony of sound. Three separate voices, all talking at once in various tones of disbelief. Unable to remember the last time he’d felt this alive, he grinned all the way out the door.
CHAPTER 5
“Stop there!” Eudora ordered, pointing toward a boutique on the upcoming street corner.
Ryder aimed the gleaming white Lincoln toward a horizontal parking space and slid into it with nothing to spare. Before Eudora could object to the fact that he’d parked several doors down and she was going to have to walk, he had opened the door and was reaching in to help her o
ut.
Smoothing at her hair and clothes, she began to issue her standard orders. “I don’t know how long I’ll be, but…”
“No problem,” he said. “I’m coming with you,” he said, and offered her his arm.
Ignoring the shocked expression on her face, he escorted her up the street and into the store. Eudora was so stunned by his actions that she let herself be led into The Pink Boutique.
The saleslady all but fawned as she met her at the door. “Mrs. Deathridge, please accept our condolences on your recent loss. Delaney Ruban will be missed.”
“Yes, well, I thank you on behalf of the family,” Eudora muttered, casting a sidelong glance at Ryder who was still standing at her side. He was too big to ignore and seemed too determined to dissuade from accompanying her. She waved toward an overstuffed chair near the alcove where the dressing rooms were situated. “You may wait over there.”
Ryder took his seat without comment. Eudora watched as he carefully lifted the Stetson from his head. Placing it crownside down in his lap, he seemed to settle.
After that she relaxed, but only slightly. There was something about that man that unnerved her. Even though he was now across the room from her and sitting still, his presence was overpowering. Frowning, she turned away and began sorting through the garments on the racks, still conscious of his eyes boring into her back. He took up space. That’s what he did. He took up entirely too much space.
* * *
Half an hour came and went, along with the saleslady’s patience. Eudora had picked through and complained about everything the store carried in her size. It made no difference to her that Gladys was nearly in tears, or that the manager had made several pointed trips through the room, each time giving Gladys a sharp, condemning look for not being able to placate a customer, especially one from Ruban Crossing’s foremost family.
Eudora was so caught up with the seriousness of her shopping spree that she’d completely forgotten Ryder’s existence, so when he spoke, he had Eudora’s…and the saleslady’s… immediate and undivided attention.
“Take the blue one.”
Eudora spun, still holding the dress in question. “Were you speaking to me?”
Ryder tilted his head. “It matches your eyes. Always did like blue-eyed women.”
Having said his piece, he stretched, giving himself permission to take up even more of the floor space by unfolding his long legs out before him. While she watched, he locked his hands across his belly as if he didn’t have a care in the world.
Eudora wasn’t accustomed to having anyone, especially a chauffeur, give her advice on her choices of clothing, yet this man’s entrance into their world had already changed their lives. She heard herself repeating his suggestion as if it had true merit and wondered if she was finally losing her mind.
“The blue?”
He nodded, then shrugged. “Yes, ma’am, but it was just a suggestion. My father always said it never paid to rush a woman.”
“Oh, do quit calling me ma’am,” Eudora said. “It sounds too elderly.”
Ryder looked up and almost grinned. “Well, now, Dora, didn’t anyone ever tell you that age is in the mind of the beholder?”
Eudora’s mouth dropped. This man was positively impossible. Of course he should have known she.meant for him to call her Mrs. Deathridge, not Dora! The very idea, shortening her name like that.
But the deed had already been done, and the name rang in her ears. Dora. That was what her husband, Henry, had called her, and Henry had been dead for all these many years. She gave Ryder a sidelong glance and disappeared into the dressing room with the blue dress in her hand. Dora. Dora. What would Erica and Miles have to say about this?
She shut the door behind her then looked up. Her reflection looked back. For a moment, she almost didn’t recognize herself. Her eyes were bright—from shock, of course. But the glimmer did give life to her expression. Dora. She held the blue dress up beneath her chin. He was right. It brought out the true color of her eyes. She smiled. Maybe he wasn’t so bad after all.
Only after he was alone did Ryder realize what he’d said. He’d actually thought of his father without coming unglued. In fact, just for a moment, it had felt damned good to remember him at all.
He jammed his Stetson on his head then pulled the brim down low across his forehead and closed his eyes. Ah God, but he missed that old man. So much that it hurt.
* * *
Lash stood on the veranda, staring at the brake lights on the plumber’s van as it slowed to take a corner. A soft, early morning breeze lifted the hair from his forehead, cooling the sweat that had beaded minutes earlier when the plumber had handed him his bill.
Despair settled a little closer upon his shoulders.
Impulsively, he walked down the steps and out into the yard, heading for the gazebo. As a child, it had been his favorite place. As an adult, it was where he went to hide.
Ivy clung to the latticed walls, crocheted by nature into heavy loops of variegated green. Inside, the air rarely moved and only the most persistent rays of sunshine were able to pick and poke their way through the dense growth.
He dropped onto the bench in a slump, then wadded the bill and tossed it into the gathering pile on the floor. Why bother to keep track if they couldn’t be paid?
Minutes passed. He looked down at his watch. It was past time to open the office. With a sigh, he shoved himself off the bench, giving the pile of unpaid bills a final glance. Poor Graystone. She was so sick—in need of too many repairs for his meager pocket to accommodate.
His eyes misted as he walked across the yard. As he entered the house in search of his suit coat and briefcase, a continuing thought kept running through his mind.
It was Casey’s fault. Casey had ruined it all. Beautiful, willful Casey who had so much, while he had nothing at all. He yanked his coat from a hook, thinking of the parties that would be given in her honor, coveting the priceless wedding gifts she would certainly be receiving as her due.
Despair fed anger. Anger fed hate. And something fell to the floor behind him with a clank. He spun in time to see a long, hairless tail disappearing beneath the cupboard. A rat. Another damned rat.
He grabbed a can of corn from the cabinet, firing it toward the place where he’d seen it last. “What the hell are you still doing here? I thought rats abandoned sinking ships.”
Several items had fallen off a low shelf and onto the floor as the door to the cupboard flew open. The sight of spilled salt sent Lash to his knees. Scrambling to regain his sense of balance in his superstitious world, he grabbed a pinch of the salt and tossed it over his shoulder. Even though one part of his brain told him that spilled salt did not bad luck make, he was too much a product of his upbringing to ignore it all now.
Still down on his knees, he set to retrieving the few family heirlooms he hadn’t sold. It wasn’t until he was setting his grandfather’s sorghum pewter pitcher back on the shelf that he noticed a small, flat box at the back of the cupboard. Frowning, he pulled it out. When he opened the lid, his eyes widened and a delighted smile lit up his somber expression. Grandfather’s letter opener! He’d completely forgotten its existence.
He ran a tentative finger down the thin, double-edged blade, remembering the hours he’d spent in Aaron Marlow’s lap, remembering the first time his grandfather had let him use it without help. For all its beauty, it was still a small and deadly thing.
A brown shadow moved to the right of Lash’s hand. He reacted without thinking. Seconds later, he rocked back on his heels in shock, staring at the carcass of the rat and the small silver dagger embedded in its body.
Bile rose, burning his throat and choking him as he scrambled to his feet and ran for the-sink just in time to keep from puking on himself. When he was able to look back without gagging, all he could see was his family honor embedded in the belly of the rat.
In Lash’s mind, it was the last and ultimate disgrace. Wildeyed and looking for someone else to blame,
he stared at the salt. Bad luck. Bad luck. It was all a matter of bad luck.
In a daze, he yanked the dagger out of the rat, wiping off the bloody blade on the kitchen curtain. His hands were shaking as he laid if back in the box. So, he’d come to this, and thanks to Casey Justice, this is where he would stay.
He shuddered then sighed as he closed the lid to the box. Casey. He’d lost everything because of her. The box felt warm in his hands as he slipped it into his pocket before picking up his briefcase.
A muscle jerked in his jaw as he walked out of the house. Once again, he glanced at his watch. There was something he needed to do before he went to the office. He didn’t know where his manners had gone. He should have thought of it before.
* * *
Casey tossed her pen down on the desk and swiveled her chair to face the window overlooking the business district of Ruban Crossing. As she did, a flash of white caught her eye and she stood abruptly, searching for a glimpse of the family’s white Lincoln.
Was that Ryder? She looked until her eyes began to burn and the muscles in the backs of her legs began to knot. Disgusted with herself, she turned away from the window to return to her chair.
The high gloss on her desk was obliterated by a mountain of paperwork to her left, which was only increments smaller than the mountain of paperwork to her right. She closed her eyes and tried to relax, playing her favorite what-if game. The one that went…what if she walked out of the office and never came back? In her mind, she was halfway out of town when her secretary, Nola Sue, buzzed.
“Mrs. Justice, you have a delivery.”
The mention of her name change alone was enough to yank Casey back to reality.
“Just sign for it. I’ll pick it up later.”
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Justice, but the man insists on your signature only.”
Casey sighed. “Then send him in.”
Moments later, the door opened and a uniformed messenger came into the room. Brief and to the point, he handed her a clipboard and a pen.
“Sign here, please.”
Casey did as she was told, casually eyeing the flat, oblong package the man laid on her desk.
