Thigh High

by Christina Dodd

  Daniel grinned. “That’s what I thought. Dear girl, I have to fly. I have a long day ahead of me.”

  “But when it’s over, there’s another Mardi Gras behind us.”

  “Thank God.”

  Nessa wrapped her arms around his waist and hugged him. “And you’ll never have to help rob another bank.”

  “Thank God,” he said with increased fervor, and kissed the top of her head. “Now, darling, you get in there before your Mr. MacNaught bursts a blood vessel, and I’ll see you at church tomorrow!”

  In a flutter of feathers, he headed for the door and met the Dahl sisters coming in.

  “Good-bye, Daniel. Work hard,” Calista said.

  “Nessa, what did Jeremiah say to that woman? That Morgaine?” Hestia looked over her shoulder in puzzlement.

  “He shouldn’t send his nurses away,” Calista said. “He was shot yesterday!”

  “But not seriously injured,” Hestia reminded her.

  “He had to have two pints of blood, sister. That is serious.”

  “I know that, but the bullet struck no major organs.”

  While the aunts squabbled, Nessa walked into the study. With her hands shoved in her pockets, she stood and surveyed MacNaught.

  He had an IV in one arm hooked into two bottles of fluid. He had wires coming off his chest to a heart monitor, and a clip on his finger to another monitor. He looked pale and profoundly irritated.

  “I like the outfit,” she said.

  He looked down at the faded blue-and-red hospital gown bunched around his middle. “Thanks. Can you make these girls go away?”

  Nessa cast a sympathetic glance at the two narrow-eyed nurses hovering in the background. “Is he in imminent danger of death?”

  “If he keeps this up, he is,” one of them muttered.

  “Wait outside the door,” Nessa instructed. “I’ll call if he starts bleeding on the rug.”

  The nurses hustled out and were greeted by cries of delight from the aunts.

  “Are they pushing cookies again?” MacNaught rasped.

  “And pralines.” Nessa strolled over, just out of reach. “If you pick on your nurses, I’ll send you back to the hospital.”

  “The hospital won’t take me.”

  “They will if I shoot you again.”

  MacNaught smiled crookedly. “Have I told you how smart you were to distract Whimper with the quarters?”

  “No, you were too busy having a doctor probe your wound.” She watched him closely, wondering how many details he remembered from yesterday. “Did you call your mom?”

  “Yes. She was surprised to hear from me. Asked if I was sick, since I only call at Christmas.”

  “And you told her…?”

  “I told her I got shot, since I figured she’d find that out, anyway, but that I was okay.” He watched Nessa closely. “I told her I called her with good news—I was engaged.”

  Lifting her hand, Nessa showed him the ring.

  He smiled and relaxed against the pillows. “So what made you change your mind?”

  “I did what my aunts said. I listened to you, and I realized that for good reason, you have issues about honesty. Then I figured out for good reason, I have issues about trust. I figured maybe between the two of us, we could work out our issues. I thought we’d better, since knowing you, you’ve probably made more enemies, and the next one might be a better shot.” She was trying to keep it light, but unexpected tears sprang to her eyes.

  “Don’t cry. I’m fine. And from now on, I’ll have you to charm my enemies.”

  She smiled tremulously. “You’ve got your own charms.”

  “If you’re very careful, we can make love.” He opened his arms.

  Nessa looked around at the wide-open room, at the entrance where two nurses and two aunts were undoubtedly stationed. “If you’re lucky, I’ll hold your hand.”

  “Kiss and hug.”

  “You don’t have to negotiate everything.” But she laughed, walked close, kissed him, and let him wrap his arms around her. Gently she leaned her head against his chest and listened to his heartbeat. “Does that hurt you?”

  “No.” He stroked her hair back from her forehead. “I’ve been thinking about what you said yesterday. About my mother. Do you know, I’ve been very careful not to think of that time, and that’s why I…”

  “Never thought it through?” With care not to jostle him, she slid onto the mattress and rested against him.

  They were both happier that way.

  “When I was eleven,” he said. “My mom got married. I didn’t like my stepfather, and I don’t think he much liked me.”

  “Because you were a big, clumsy, loudmouthed adolescent?”

  “That might have been it. Plus, he worked at Manly.”

  Nessa could already see the setup. “And he got a hard time for getting stuck with Nathan Manly’s kid.”

  “I guess. Yeah, probably.” MacNaught took a long breath. “Then my real father skipped out.”

  “How rough was that?”

  “All the time I was growing up, Dad—Nathan Manly—wasn’t there very often, but when he was, he always acted like he loved me.” MacNaught’s hands paused as if he were thinking. “Looking back…I really thought he did. But when the company collapsed, he skipped out without a backward glance, taking all his money and abandoning me and my mom.”

  That kind of behavior baffled Nessa. “How could he?”

  “Fathers do it all the time—run away with their secretary. In my business, I see it a lot. But I didn’t think Dad ever would, and he really left us in the lurch. Manly Industries closed, and my stepfather was out of a job, stuck with a wife people called a whore and a kid he called a bastard. Times were tough, and I blamed my mom. For everything.”

  MacNaught was squeezing her too hard, but she just burrowed closer. She could feel the pain he was in and the anguish of those memories.

  “I really don’t remember much of the day they beat me up. The Christmas decorations, and the rain turning to ice…I think we went shopping because we figured no one else would and we wouldn’t get spit at.” Beneath her cheek, his heart sped up. “When that kid Russell Whimper came running to get me, I must have had some premonition of trouble, because I told my mom to go back in the store, and I went with him into the alley…. I think one of them hit me with a board or something, because I never saw them. Just smacked the ground, felt the boots kicking my ribs…looked up and saw my mom and thought she would save me.”

  “And she ran away.”

  “Yeah.”

  “To get the police.”

  “That does make sense, doesn’t it?” He sounded disgusted with himself. “I don’t know why that never occurred to me.”

  “Because you were thirteen and angry and hurt.” She could imagine the hostility he must have felt. “Were you in a coma?”

  “For a month, maybe, in the medical center in Philly, so when I woke up, Mom wasn’t there. When she did get there, my stepfather was with her. He’d found a job in New York. They were moving. She was pregnant. I was…not kind.”

  Nessa looked up at him. “Rough times.”

  “I was such a dumb kid.” He gazed at Nessa in perplexity. “I wish I could tell her…. Last night, I was going to. I tried. I tried to explain, but I just couldn’t explain what I…how do you tell your mother something like that?”

  Nessa got right to the heart of the matter. “Did she cry when you called?”

  “Yes.” He sounded as horrified as any man when faced with a woman’s tears.

  “Then I’d say she has an inkling.” Nessa crawled up the bed so they were face to face. “The thing is, MacNaught, losing my parents was no picnic. Hestia and Calista both have suffered loss and anguish. The whole city of New Orleans is rising from the dead. I do understand that you hate thieves, and why. But you have to understand, that teller who lied to me almost destroyed my life. And I didn’t steal from you, but you did lie to me. So let me make this clear—if y
ou ever do it again, I will make you sorry.”

  “Normally, I don’t tell lies. I’m known for my truthfulness—which people like Gabriel Prescott call tactlessness.”

  “I know it.”

  “I’ve never bought a woman a ring before, not even an ugly fucking one.”

  “I’m sorry I said that.” Mortified, actually. “I don’t usually say the F word.”

  “I’ve noticed. Me—I’ve never done a flow chart about how a marriage should work. I’ve never had my lawyers draw up a prenup. There’s never been anybody for me but you. Gabriel saw me watching those videos of you, and I know he thought I was one perverted bastard.” He cupped her cheek. “But when I saw your face, I fell in love, and I couldn’t stand it. I loved my dad, and he walked away without a glance, and my mom waited until that gang was beating me to death before she walked away. Loving you wholeheartedly was too much of a risk…. But once I met you, I had no choice. Because, Nessa, you’re as beautiful inside as you are out, and there’ll never be another woman for me.”

  She smiled through tears. For a man who was lousy at conversation, he had a way of touching her heart.

  “When your parents come down for the wedding, you and your mother can spend some time together. Even if you can’t quite tell her, by the time the baby comes, your mom will understand.”

  He jumped. “Are we having a baby?”

  She smiled serenely. “I don’t want to wait too long. The aunts aren’t getting any younger, and Miss Maddy does love to hold a baby.”

  “That’s a project I’m glad to work on.” He kissed her. Kissed her deep. Kissed her hard. Almost knocked over his IV pole. “Son of a goddamn—”

  “MacNaught!” Nessa grabbed and caught it. Sliding off the bed, she pushed her hair out of her face and backed away.

  The nurses rushed in, clucking like hens. The great-aunts peeked in the door.

  Pootie clomped in, smudges of black on her face. Without paying a bit of attention to Nessa, she said, “Mac! Plug-in for the automatic kettle in my room caught fire. Wiring in this place sucks. Better get that taken care of.”

  Debbie Voytilla came next. “Mr. MacNaught, something has to be done about that woman before she burns the place down over our heads!”

  Bewildered, he raised his eyebrows inquiringly.

  Nessa interceded with a firm, “Debbie, you need to talk to Aunt Calista and Aunt Hestia.”

  “He’s a guy,” Pootie said. “Guys take care of wiring.”

  Debbie glared at Pootie. “And of careless boarders.”

  Pootie laughed jeeringly. “He’s not throwing me out. I have a lease.”

  “Nevertheless, Mr. MacNaught was shot yesterday. I think he should have twenty-four hours before he has to deal with the wiring in this house.” Nessa gently guided the two quarreling women to the door, then settled herself in an overstuffed chair where he could see, but not touch, her.

  Nurses. Aunts. Boarders. The whole city of New Orleans was interrupting Mac’s private time with Nessa.

  He realized—she was wearing red shoes. Like one of Pavlov’s dogs, he responded with instant lust.

  And the aunts hustled in.

  He had to give vent to his frustration. But he was surrounded by women. “Darn it!”

  Calista had a plate of pralines.

  Hestia had a plate of cookies.

  They put them on the bed beside him.

  “Jeremiah, you sound so much better.” Calista clasped her hands over her heart. “Last night, we thought you were at death’s door.”

  Hestia beamed. “We’re so glad. That you’re better, we mean. Because we’ve been thinking.”

  “We?” he said cautiously.

  “Calista and I. We’ve been thinking that it would be nice if you did some kind of promotion with the Beaded Bandits.”

  “Promotion?” he repeated stupidly.

  “Yes, you know, like”—Hestia used her hands like a banner—“If You’re Opening a Savings Account at Premier Central Bank When the Beaded Bandits Strike, You Get a Toaster!”

  He could not believe the nerve of these Dahl women. “Nobody wants a toaster.”

  Nessa smothered her mirth behind her hand.

  Hestia was not discouraged. “Then how about using the Beaded Bandits in your advertising? Like that furniture guy who yells at the camera and jumps in the air?”

  “You know if you jump in the air, Hestia, your knee will give way,” Calista said.

  “We don’t have to do precisely that,” Hestia said. “I’m certainly not going to yell at anybody, but I know we could bring business into the banks. Jeremiah could pay us!”

  “Toasters don’t sound so bad now, do they?” Nessa said to Mac.

  Calista must have noted Mac’s expression. “Or we could raise money for a charity. You know, show up at the bank in costume and pass the hat.”

  In their faces, he saw the shape of his future world. In a conversational tone, he said to Nessa, “Do you know, all over the world, people are afraid of me.”

  “Why is that?” she asked.

  “I’m known as a mean bastard.”

  Nessa sounded kind. “You would never know it now.”

  “No. You wouldn’t, would you?” He looked at the aunts. “No mice.”

  “You’d let us do it?” Hestia clapped her sister on the back. “I told you it was worth a try!”

  “No mice, no other living creatures of any kind,” he said.

  The aunts’ faces fell.

  “Well…but we were thinking of raising money for the animal shelter and using some of the poor homeless kitties,” Calista said.

  He put his foot down. “Kittens only.”

  “And the cute little puppies!” Hestia said.

  How did his foot get stuck in this quicksand? “Kittens and puppies only.”

  “We have to start working on the schematic now!” Calista headed for the door, Hestia on her heels.

  Nessa called them back. “Aunt Hestia. Aunt Calista. Don’t you think you should start planning our wedding?”

  Hestia waved an airy hand. “We already have it planned. We planned it when you were five.”

  Heads together, the Dahl sisters left the room, leaving Nessa and Mac staring after them in disbelief.

  “They always intended to use the banks to collect money for the shelter, didn’t they?” He had been thoroughly manipulated. “The rest of that was a ruse.”

  “When I was five?” Nessa said.

  “I’m going to be knee-deep in puppy piddle, aren’t I?”

  “Knee-deep seems an exaggeration.” Nessa rubbed her forehead. “I wonder what my wedding dress looks like?”

  “I don’t know, but you’ll look beautiful in it.” Mac held out his hand.

  She came to his side and took his hand. “Thank you, MacNaught.”

  “My name is Jeremiah.”

  “Jeremiah.” They smiled at each other.

  Without looking around, Mac called, “Would you nurses scram for a while?”

  Gabriel walked in. “Hey, bro. You’re looking better.”

  Mac’s exasperation exploded. “You can’t come in. I’m trying to kiss my woman, and everyone in the city of New Orleans is visiting my bedside!”

  “We’re convivial people, we Southerners.” Gabriel grinned at Nessa and Mac’s joined hands. “We like you to know we care.”

  Nessa tried to step away.

  Mac wouldn’t let her go. “The report on the security at the banks can wait.”

  “I’m here on a job. Just not that one,” Gabriel said.

  “Why don’t you nurses go get a cup of coffee?” Nessa suggested. “Miss Maddy always has a pot brewing in the kitchen.”

  Nessa waited until the nurses had left, then perched a hip on Mac’s bed. “What’s wrong, Gabriel?”

  Trust Nessa to see what Mac was too irritated to take in.

  Gabriel’s expression—serious, uncertain—meant something momentous had occurred.

  Mac tucked
a pillow under his head. “Sit down.”

  “I’ll stand.” Gabriel braced his feet. Squared his shoulders. Clasped his hands before him. “You’re one of Nathan Manly’s illegitimate sons.”

  Mac heard the unspoken words.

  Gabriel knew a lot about Nathan Manly. Stuff he’d been concealing from Mac.

  Gabriel continued, “A few months ago, I convinced Carrick Manly, Nathan’s legitimate son, and Roberto Bartolini and Devlin Fitzwilliam, his two known illegitimate sons, to hire me to track down their remaining brothers.”

  “Jeremiah, you’ve got more half brothers!” Nessa said in astonishment.

  “That doesn’t actually surprise me. Nathan Manly wasn’t known for his principles,” Mac said.

  Nessa clasped his hand tighter in hers and beamed. “I’ve always wanted siblings. Now, honey, I have all of yours.”

  But Mac didn’t know what he felt, really. Pleasure at having more brothers? In his experience, family wasn’t a pleasure, and if Nathan Manly’s other sons were anything like Nathan Manly, he didn’t want to know them. “Do you know them, Gabriel? Are they good men?”

  “I’ve handled the case personally, and I’ve come to know Roberto and Devlin well. They are good men. Married to good women.” Gabriel stood rock still.

  Typically, Nessa listened well, and picked the interesting statement out of Gabriel’s speech. She asked, “Why did you handle the case personally?”

  Gabriel answered to her. “Because there’s a lot of interesting mysteries here. Why Manly destroyed his own company and stole the bankroll. Where he fled and why there’s never been a trace of him. What happened to the money? And last but not least, how many sons did he produce?”

  Mac studied Gabriel.

  The guy looked like he was steeled for a punch.

  “How many did he produce, Gabriel?” Mac asked.

  “I know of five. Carrick, Roberto, Devlin, you”—Gabriel looked Mac right in the eyes. “And me.”