The man behind her was also tall, had dark hair, appeared somewhat younger than Mrs. Tremaine, and was very slim. He had a European look to him, which was confirmed when he spoke.
“Loretta!” he shouted above the din. “Est-il ce Peedle? Oui?”
“Oui, Richard, c’est Piddle, mon petit chien!” The woman hugged the rat-dog to her bosom and continued kissing its head.
“Hello, Loretta.” Betsy stood still, apparently waiting for the nauseating reunion between lady and dog to end. Finally, her mother lifted her head to notice her daughter. Shoving the little dog into Richard’s hands, she wrapped her arms around Betsy and pulled her close.
“I wasn’t ignoring you, sweet,” she said. “At least, I didn’t mean to.”
Soldier watched as Loretta Tremaine held her daughter at arm’s length. Blatantly running her gaze up and down her daughter, the woman said, “Are you all right, Elizabeth? You’ve gained a little weight, haven’t you? And that hair. You should really let me take you to my stylist. A little lipstick wouldn’t hurt, either. I know you prefer the natural look, but really, darling.”
Betsy’s spine stiffened almost imperceptibly. Her pretty mouth was a grim line across her face, her eyes were downcast.
Fuck, why didn’t the woman just take out a goddamned gun and shoot her? Did she treat Betsy like this all the time?
“And you look tired,” Loretta blathered on. “Are you warm enough? You should be wearing a sweater. It’s a chilly night and you don’t want to catch cold, now do you? Why don’t you come inside and take a hot bath and put your nightgown on. I can do something motherly, you know, like make hot chocolate or whatever. Like I used to do when you were little.”
“You never made hot chocolate for me, Loretta. I made it for you, remember?”
Betsy put her hands on her mother’s shoulders and looked up into the woman’s elegant features. “I’m fine, Loretta,” she said. “You’ve only been gone for three weeks, for heaven’s sake. I’ve not been harmed, and these detectives are working on the case. You can stop worrying and go home.”
Betsy turned toward Soldier. Although she seemed to be avoiding his eyes, he could see a bewildered softness in them. She loved her mother, but obviously found the woman exasperating. Big surprise there, he thought.
“Loretta, I’d like you to meet Soldier and Taylor McKennitt—”
“Call me Loretta,” she interrupted stridently. “Soldier and Taylor? What, Beggerman and Thief couldn’t make it?” She laughed riotously at her own joke while her traveling companion simply stared at her, a confused smile tilting his too thick lips.
Soldier pasted a grin on his face as he took the woman’s hand. “Gosh, Loretta,” he chided, “we’ve never heard that one before, have we, Taylor?”
“Aha! I remember!” proclaimed Loretta. “ ‘Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Sailor, Rich man, Poor man, Beggar man, Thief!’ Then doesn’t it go, ‘Something, something, Doctor, Lawyer, Indian chief’?”
As Taylor shook her hand, he said, “Yes, but we don’t have any of those in the family. Only cops.”
The woman’s mirth abruptly vanished. “Cops? Oh, yes. I forgot.” She spoke in rapid French over her shoulder to her companion, who shoved the dog under his left arm while he extended his right hand to both Soldier and Taylor.
“Richard du Par,” he stated as he shook their hands in turn. Smiling hugely, he pointed to the Chihuahua nestled under his arm. “Peedle.”
They all stared at him for a moment while he gazed directly into the dog’s luminous marble eyes. Piddle had stopped yapping and lifted his muzzle to meet Richard’s reverent stare. Apparently, it was love at first sight, and it was mutual.
Betsy addressed her mother. “There’s been a new development in the case, Loretta. Let’s go in the house, where it’s warm, and I’ll tell you all about it.”
As she turned to lift her suitcase from the back of the truck, Soldier immediately stepped in and took it from her hand. “You three go on ahead. Taylor and I can handle the luggage.”
Betsy gave him a smile that said she’d rather be dealing with the luggage than with her mother. Nonetheless, she took Loretta’s elbow and proceeded to steer her across the damp lawn toward the front porch.
As Soldier dragged his own suitcase and laptop from the back, he became aware of a slow-moving car making its way up the street. All his instincts went on alert.
Closing the door, he took a long hard look at the approaching car, but the headlights were too bright for him to make out the driver. Just as the car was nearly close enough to see inside, the driver threw it into reverse and began backing away.
Soldier dropped his suitcase and ran up the street, pulling his weapon as he jumped a small boxwood hedge. Within seconds he heard Taylor’s rapid footfalls behind him.
Reaching the intersection, the car continued its backward motion. Then, tires screeching, the engine gunned loudly as the driver whipped the car around and took off up the cross street.
By the time Soldier and Taylor got to the intersection, the street was silent, and empty.
Barely winded, Taylor said, “Did you get a look?”
“Goddammit,” Soldier spat. “It was too damn dark. Did you make the plates?”
Taylor shook his head as he replaced his gun in his shoulder holster. “The license plate light was conveniently out. But at least we got a description of the car.”
Soldier holstered his weapon and reached for the small note pad inside his jacket pocket. “Late model Ford. Dark green sedan.” He cussed again. “That’s not very much to go on.”
As they made their way up the drive, Soldier saw Betsy standing on the front porch, watching him approach. Her eyes were huge, her arms wrapped around her middle. She looked shell-shocked.
Without a word, Taylor picked up Soldier’s suitcase and proceeded across the lawn up the steps to the wide, elegant porch.
Cupping Betsy’s shoulders in his palms, Soldier let out a heavy breath. “Did you see?”
She nodded, her gaze firmly locked on the distant corner.
“Did you recognize the car?”
She shook her head.
“It could have been nothing, Betsy. A coincidence.”
She shifted her weight from one foot to the other and looked up into his eyes. “I thought you said you didn’t believe in coincidences.”
Shaking his head, he confessed, “You’re right. I don’t.”
Chapter 11
It was nearing midnight by the time everybody had been fed and fresh linens were distributed. As Betsy placed clean towels on the sink in the bathroom she and Soldier would share, she considered calling Claire. She needed to talk to another woman, somebody she trusted. She had so many emotions crashing together inside her heart and her head, she needed a reality check, and her oldest and dearest friend was certainly someone she could count on.
Betsy knew Claire wouldn’t mind talking to her, no matter the time of night, but the problem was, she was so damned tired, she wasn’t sure she’d even be able to carry on a decent conversation. First thing tomorrow, she decided, she’d give Claire a call.
She looked up to see her mother standing in the doorway.
“Hello, Loretta. You look lovely, as always.” She meant it, but Betsy knew she herself looked as though she’d just been dragged through a knothole backward. Glancing at her reflection in the oval bathroom mirror, she saw a very tired version of herself, not clean, not fresh, not happy. A shower would repair the clean and fresh part; as for the happy part, well, that might take some time yet.
“Your young detectives are quite breathtaking, Elizabeth,” Loretta said, a flirty grin tilting her smooth lips. Her blue eyes snapped with interest. “Do me a favor, won’t you darling, and throw back the one you don’t want, hmm? In case I decide to go fishing?”
As blandly as she could, Betsy said, “They’re both nice looking, Loretta. However, neither of them is mine.”
“Well, in that case, did you notice that Sol
dier couldn’t keep his eyes off me? Such a manly man. You were right. The younger one, Tyler—”
“Taylor.”
“Oui. You and he look good together. He may be one of those men who actually likes the plumper type. Snag him while you have the chance, Elizabeth. You are pushing thirty, you know, dear, and I was already married and you were three years old when I was your age.”
As her mother babbled on, Betsy let her thoughts flicker to the brothers McKennitt. Taylor seemed very nice, but he didn’t make her heart do a back flip. His eyes, she’d noticed, were similar in color to Soldier’s, but seemed faded by comparison. She got light-headed and nervous when Soldier walked toward her, smiled at her. Sure, Taylor was nice and all, but it was Soldier who had captured her heart.
Betsy’s insides twisted. She was thoroughly and desperately attracted to him, and she couldn’t deny it. Didn’t want to. She felt like she had in junior high school when she’d had a crush on Jason Howard, but this was much worse. Jason had asked her to dance, and she had been engulfed in a fog of girlish infatuation. But Jason never kissed her or looked at her with eyes that short-circuited her nervous system. Only Soldier had ever done that.
“. . . lumberjack types and possibly ex-convicts. Why, when I was your age, I—”
“Loretta,” Betsy interjected, cutting off her mother’s insensitive tirade. “A woman has been murdered, most likely by the man who’s stalking me! I’m a nervous wreck, in case you haven’t noticed, but I’m trying to carry on here. I haven’t had the time or the energy to even think about which of the McKennitt brothers would give me the time of day, even if one of them did like the plumper types, as you say. Yes, I’m nearing thirty. Yes, I’m no raving beauty. Yes, I’ve been dateless for—well, let’s not go there. But there’s too much going on now for me to worry about catching a man. Besides,” she sighed irritably, “I’m not very good at relationships. I don’t have your way with men. I don’t know how to do dating and romance, and I’m not looking for an affair.”
Loretta did stop talking, but stood still as though in shock, her mouth slightly open, her eyes wide.
“If I were to let him,” Betsy murmured as she concentrated on folding the baby blue washcloth in her hands, “if I were to let him, he’d break my heart, Loretta. I could fall in love with him so easily.”
Betsy lifted her gaze to make eye contact. Please act like a mother, just once? Please, please comfort me and reassure me, just this once . . . Mother? “I don’t want to get my heart broken,” she continued softly, “and then have nothing left after he goes.”
“You do like Tyler!” Loretta nearly bellowed. “A mother always knows. So you’re saying that Soldier is available?”
For three full heartbeats Betsy stared at Loretta, uncertain if the woman who bore her had one giving, selfless, nurturing, motherly cell in her entire body.
Beaten down by exhaustion, fear, and frustration, Betsy capitulated. “Sure, Loretta. Tyler.” What was the use? The woman had never listened to her in the past, why should she begin now?
Loretta moved to Betsy and surrounded her with her arms. Kissing her daughter’s hair, she said, “Don’t be silly, Elizabeth. What makes you think Tyler will leave? What makes you think he’ll break your heart?”
Betsy expelled a soft laugh. They were speaking of two different men, but it didn’t really matter. “What makes you think he won’t? Aren’t you always telling me what a loser I am? I haven’t had a long-term relationship in four years. Hey, I’m going for the record, here.”
“Tsk-tsk. It sounds to me like you’re feeling sorry for yourself. And I never said you were a loser. You need to do something to make yourself a little more attractive, that’s all. This . . .” Loretta reached up and fluffed Betsy’s hair. “This country girl look has got to go. He’s a sophisticated city man. Drop a few pounds, get yourself some new clothes, seduce him, let him get you pregnant, then make him marry you.”
Betsy lost her train of thought completely and simply gaped at her mother. Loretta’s brows were arched and the look in her eyes spoke of complete sincerity.
“Loretta. You can’t . . . you don’t . . . Am I adopted? I’m adopted, aren’t I? You’re not really my mother. It’s all some horrible, twisted—”
Loretta’s head fell back as she let loose a laugh that nearly rattled the windows.
She removed herself from her mother’s embrace, sat on the closed lid of the commode and waited for Loretta to catch her breath. She wished the two of them had the kind of relationship where she could bare her feelings about Soldier. She wanted to talk about what it was like to fall in love, not to mention how afraid she was—of being stalked, of being hurt, of possibly being murdered.
But Loretta would just shrug it off as a peripheral thing, as something Betsy’s overactive imagination had churned up in spite of any physical evidence to the contrary.
Loretta was . . . well, Loretta, and as cold and distant as the polar ice caps when it came to matters of the heart, the soul.
“Loretta,” Betsy ventured. “Just exactly who is this Richard?”
“Ah, mon dieu. It’s not pronounced that way. So American. You say it as the French do, Ree-shar.”
“I don’t care how you pronounce it, Loretta, he still looks like a Dick to me.”
Loretta scowled and crossed her arms, leaning back against the doorjamb. “Ree-shar is my latest protégé, Elizabeth.”
Betsy felt her eyes widen in astonishment. “Protégé? Exactly what kind of protégé?”
Loretta waved her elegant hand in the air in a gesture of dismissal. “Oh, he’s just a man I met in Paris. He comes from an old French aristocratic family. No money or land, of course, but the titles, oui! He wants to learn English, American English, so I invited him home with me.”
Betsy’s head spun. Was her mother crazy? “Are you crazy? The French don’t want to learn English. They want everybody on earth to learn French! He’s using you, Loretta! Free room and board and God knows what else!” At least her mother had her own house across town so Betsy wouldn’t have to watch that little drama unfold.
Loretta smiled, but seemed unmoved by her daughter’s reasoning. Betsy sputtered on.
“You were only in Paris for a few weeks. You can’t possibly know this guy, but you invited him to Port Henry to stay with you so he can learn English?” She shook her head in disbelief that her own mother was capable of such flamboyant stupidity.
Leaning forward, Loretta gave Betsy a kiss on the cheek. “Good night, lovie. I’m going home now. See you in the morning.”
Without hesitation, Soldier chose the bedroom on the second floor next to Betsy’s. Only a connecting bathroom would come between them tonight. Taylor took what had once been the maid’s quarters just off the kitchen on the first floor. It had its own bathroom, and he could keep a watch on the downstairs and back door more easily.
Even though the house was a Victorian, Betsy’s father had updated the kitchen and the plumbing, making the place modern and serviceable while still retaining its elegant nineteenth century charm.
Soldier’s room was fairly spacious for a house of the period, and must have once been considered the master bedroom. The room faced east and would receive the first light of day, which probably gave the interior a cheerful appearance. Lace curtains adorned the windows, adding to the turn-of-the-century feel. Beside the double bed, there were two cherry nightstands with lamps and a bookcase filled with volumes on travel destinations and gardening. A cherry writing desk stood in the corner.
Sitting on the edge of the mattress, he rubbed his tired eyes. Damn, it had been a long day. He was beat. He knew he’d sleep like a rock, but he didn’t want to. He wanted to be awake, with Betsy, in her arms, in her bed, in her body.
He nearly groaned out loud at the thought of making love to Betsy, comfortable between her rounded thighs while he kissed her mouth. She would moan softly and rise to his touch, seeking her own pleasure as she lifted her hips to take him in.
He should go check on her, he thought, just to make sure she was settled. She had been so nervous and anxious earlier, she really needed to have someone calm her. Checking on her would be the right thing to do. For her own good.
Carefully opening the bathroom door, he peered across to the opposite door, which was tightly closed. No light showed at the bottom of the threshold. As late as it was, she was most certainly asleep.
Well, he’d just have to wake her up. To check on her. To make sure she was okay. For her own sake.
And then he would kiss her back to sleep.
Betsy was just drifting off when she heard her bedroom door squeak open. She’d lain awake for hours, it seemed, listening to Soldier pace his room. He was working, she knew that. The walls in a Victorian were paper thin, so she’d heard him talking on the phone, making arrangements with the Homicide chief regarding his duty time. She’d even heard him setting up his laptop on the little desk in what used to be her parents’ bedroom.
He wasn’t being noisy or insensitive, it was just that she was alert to everything about him—his looks, his scent, his sheer masculinity. All of those things got to her, made her keenly aware of him, made her want his body. His intelligent eyes, sense of humor, integrity, kindness, those things got to her, too. They made her want his heart.
When the door opened to the adjoining bathroom, her body went on immediate alert.
She was curled into herself under the blankets, her head resting deeply in her pillow. Squinting her eyes open, she saw Soldier’s broad, bare shoulders silhouetted in the bathroom doorway as he moved through it and into her room. Holding her breath, she stayed perfectly still as he sat on the edge of her bed. Her mattress dipped in response to his weight and she felt the heat from his body, so near her own.
The Damsel in This Dress Page 15
