CATCH ME IF YOU CAN

by Nina Bruhns

  "Dad doesn't like using pesticides, so he sent off for every type of beneficial insect known to mankind, hoping to stop the infestation before it got to the main crop. Ladybugs, praying mantis, trichogramma, lacewings, you name it, along with some bees for the hives. Well, the bees got loose in the UPS truck, then the whole shipment of bugs escaped. What a fiasco." She grinned. "The UPS man had five bee stings. Mom had to bake him pies for a year before he'd deliver to us again."

  Tom laughed out loud. "Yeah, farmin's sure a wildlife adventure. Well, sounds like you had some pretty good times living among those cornfields, anyway."

  "I guess I did." Smiling broadly, she folded her arms over her chest, acutely aware of the sweet smell and solid feel of the rich tilled soil beneath her bare feet. She looked around and for the first time was hit by the awesome beauty of young plants unfurling in the sun. "Yes, I truly did."

  * * *

  As much as it pained him to do it, Beau put out an APB on Remi. Then he spent the rest of the morning and into the evening chasing down everyone who'd been at the Wiltons' party and taking statements. Doug worked on the prints he'd lifted, and found two sets that didn't match the people who had access to the Wiltons' bedroom. Unfortunately, the AFSI computers were down, so they wouldn't get identifications from the American Fingerprint Identification System until the next morning.

  Kit had returned to Terrebeau to sit with Grandmère. During the day, his grandmother had taken a turn for the worse. The doctor said it was nothing critical, but it worried Beau just the same. He'd been surprised when Kit had offered to stay with her. And immensely grateful. He was feeling more pressured than ever to find Remi.

  In addition to the Wilton robbery, he had to recover Grandmère's jewels before she got any worse. If she asked to see them and Beau had to tell her they were gone, he would never forgive himself.

  After a subdued dinner with the family, Kit announced, "I think I'll go for a walk."

  "I'll go with you," Beau answered.

  "I'd like to be alone, if you don't mind."

  He glanced up. "Kit, I don't think you should."

  "Please, Beau, don't tell me what to do."

  "I'm not, chère. But whoever shot you is still—"

  The expression on her face silenced him. She looked so troubled, he didn't have the heart to forbid her a simple walk.

  "All right. But wait just a minute." He ran upstairs and fetched a tiny derringer he'd bought for Jolene a while back.

  "Take this. Please."

  At his insistence, she relented and took the gun. "I'll be fine, Beau. I can take care of myself, you know."

  Carefully keeping the painful certainty of that fact from his face, he watched her go. With a sigh, he mounted the stairs and went to his office.

  He and Kit had reached a kind of wordless understanding that unless their relationship went to the next level, it would go nowhere else. And except for the gnawing frustration he experienced every time he looked at her, or heard her voice, or smelled her alluring scent nearby, he was okay, determined to live with it.

  The ball was in her court. He'd laid his cards on the table … all but the last one, that final ace of hearts, which he was saving for the last hand, if it came to that. But he doubted it would. He'd come right out and asked her to stay this morning, and she'd turned him down. She'd told Tom Wilton in no uncertain terms there was nothing less appealing in her mind than living in the country. She wanted to take care of herself, and she was dead set against giving him a chance to even try.

  Releasing a breath, he gazed at the piles of papers on his desk. The investigation of the Wilton robbery had only delayed the hours—or days—of work ahead collating the information he'd gathered at the tenant farms this week. He still had to graph out the data, draft a harvest projection and profit forecast, and write a proposal for next year's crops.

  On the other hand, what he needed right now was a major distraction, and this fit the bill.

  After checking in with Doug about the fingerprints and Remi's possible whereabouts, Beau turned on the computer to check his e-mail. Fifteen minutes later, he found himself staring at the blank screen.

  Damn. He couldn't concentrate for thinking about Kit. Should he play that final card?

  No. It was so hard to fight the incredible feelings he had for her. But she'd been right from the beginning. It would be far worse to give in to them now, only to have his heart torn out when they were forced to part.

  Because the parting did seem inevitable. She was firmly resolved to avoid commitment, to avoid the kind of life he loved. And to resist his offer to take care of her.

  Switching off the computer in disgust, he gathered his notes from the farms and spread them out on the desk. Forcing himself to focus, he took out several sheets of stiff graph paper and started carefully charting the information.

  With each yellow page of notations he went through, he remembered how Kit had followed along with him, talking to his friends, asking questions as he made his observations.

  He'd been amazed how well she fit in at the plantation. She'd won over all of his tenant farmers without even trying. She'd impressed the hell out of him with her ready knowledge of practically every aspect of running a farm, and her curiosity at what she didn't know. She might deny she was a country girl, but her roots had shown in every word she'd uttered.

  Regardless of what his mama thought, Kit would be perfect as mistress of Terrebeau.

  It was a shame she wasn't interested in the job. Her aversion to giving up her treasured independence blinded her to the delightful possibilities of the life they might have together if she'd just give it a chance.

  But she wasn't even willing to consider the possibility. She was bound and determined to keep her exciting job and her solitary life-style.

  Not for the first time, he rued the irony that the one woman he'd ever fallen in love with was not tempted by his looks, his wealth, his grand estate or his social position—everything he'd worked his whole life to secure and maintain, everything that had seemed so important to him up until one short week ago.

  Hell, she'd probably be more impressed if he'd gone to some famous university and practiced law in some big-city firm. He shook his head, knowing his disparagement was completely unjust. That sort of thing wouldn't impress her, either.

  So, what could Simon Beaulieux tempt a woman like Kit Colfax with? The one thing he was good at—taking care of what he loved—she didn't need or want. His protection and safekeeping she looked at as unreasonable, limiting demands.

  Then what did she want?

  Her job. Her freedom. His cousin in jail.

  To make her truly happy, he had to forgo his love and give her up—and betray his family by turning over Remi.

  He gave a low growl of frustration when he messed up the graph he was drawing, and scrubbed his hands over his face. Dieu, he was damned if he did, damned if he didn't. Better just to grit his teeth and avoid temptation. She'd be gone soon, out of reach and out of his life.

  If he couldn't have Kit the way he wanted her—permanently in his life and in his bed—he wouldn't let himself get in any deeper than he already was.

  He smoothed a new piece of graph paper in front of him and started a new drawing. And resolved as of that moment to have a new attitude regarding Kit.

  Even if it killed him.

  * * *

  Kit felt somewhat better after her long walk. She'd forgotten how soothing an aimless stroll through beautiful woods and meadows could be. In fact, she felt so much better, she thought she'd be able to get through more than two pages of the novel she'd started reading last week. But an hour later, she threw down the book and frowned. It was no use. She was feeling restless again, thinking about the mess her life was.

  Remi was so close, she could taste it. Yet he continued to elude her and everyone else. Every police force in the state was looking for him, and hadn't come up with so much as an eyelash.

  The bottom line was, if she didn't so
mehow find him and recover the client's jewels in the next few days, she could kiss her job goodbye. Her deadline was looming and she was fresh out of ideas. The only thing she and Beau hadn't done was to finish searching those shacks out on the bayou, and Doug said he'd do that first thing tomorrow.

  She sat up, trying to shake off the achy longing that had instantly enveloped her body the moment she thought of Beau.

  Now there was the real reason she was restless.

  Beau.

  On her walk she had considered him from every possible angle and hadn't come up with a single, solitary reason to stop loving the man. She'd only found reasons to love him even more. Even Verdigris was looking better and better.

  She must have gotten sunstroke big-time out in that cornfield today. She couldn't believe she was seriously considering giving up her independence, caving in to his unspoken demands that she leave the career she loved to come and devote her life to taking care of him and his plantation.

  Okay, so she hadn't been bored for a minute since getting to Terrebeau. That was beside the point. So was the fact that in that cornfield today she'd been struck with a homesickness she hadn't felt since the day she'd gone off to summer camp at age eight. A searing, gut-deep homesickness that had sent her flying headlong into the woods in a blind panic.

  Was she really starting not to care if she lost the job she'd worked so hard to get, and even harder to keep?

  Bleakly, she stared at the ceiling.

  No. No way. It could never happen. At the very most, she might consider carrying on a long-distance relationship with Beau from New Orleans. Even though she'd sworn never, ever, to put herself in that kind of volatile situation again. One where a man could start demanding more and more of her and her time, until there was nothing left of her dreams, her life or herself.

  Oh, it was all that horrible, maddening, intriguing, wonderful man's fault! How could he have done this to her despite her firm resolve? It was incomprehensible. She was a strong, competent, capable woman. One who'd had a clear goal ahead of her, keeping her eyes squarely on the path she'd chosen.

  Right up until she'd met Simon Beaulieux.

  She huffed in annoyance and went to pick up the book she'd thrown across the room. And wondered what he was doing right now.

  Still working, probably. The man was hopeless. It was all he did. Work, work, work. She'd never seen anyone work so hard in all her life. Even her father hadn't worked this hard. From sunup to well after midnight, Beau toiled so the ones he loved could enjoy the peace and security he had been denied as a boy.

  Couldn't he see he needed someone to help him?

  She sighed, weighed down by the knowledge that she had made his burden even heavier this past week.

  Maybe she should bring him another treat. It wouldn't begin to compensate for the trouble she had caused him, but it might cheer him up a bit. He'd been so very quiet all evening. Ever since hearing about Grandmère's relapse. No, even before that. Ever since leaving those damned cornfields at the Wiltons'.

  She made a quick run to the kitchen and fetched two cold bottles of beer and a can of honey-smoked almonds she'd spotted in a cupboard, then returned and slipped out onto the gallery. She went to his office window and tapped on the glass.

  When he looked up, she held out the beer in invitation.

  To her surprise, he just smiled politely and shook his head, indicating the piles of work in front of him.

  She tapped the glass a second time and held up the nuts for him to see. Again, he shook his head, smiling apologetically.

  Well, of all the stubborn…

  She set the can on the bistro table and returned to the window. Tapping once more, she waited until he looked up again, this time somewhat testily. Slanting him a glance from beneath her lashes, she brazenly unbuttoned the top button of her blouse.

  That got his attention. Men were so predictable.

  Leaning back in his chair, he folded his arms across his chest and regarded her evenly. And didn't move. She bit her lip. He was supposed to come out and join her, not sit there waiting for the rest of the show. Now what? Another button and he'd think she was offering more than beer and nuts.

  Not that that would make any difference. The man had developed an acute allergy to touching her.

  When she didn't do anything more, he stood and walked around the desk, stopping on the other side of the window in front of her. She smiled and he looked back at her with an inscrutable expression. Grasping the edges of the curtains, with a quick flick of the wrist he snapped them closed in her face.

  She blinked, stunned. Good grief, he must really be ticked.

  Not that she blamed him. She would never apologize for her dreams and ambitions, but she did understand his difficulty in accepting that she could choose them over an uncertain future in Verdigris with him. She knew what it was like to be hurt and angry. His announcement to Jolene yesterday that he'd never marry her still stung. Even though she'd known it all along, and she'd even agreed with him.

  But she also recognized that since coming to Terrebeau, their relationship had blossomed, changing from a simple strong attraction to something much deeper, more profound—on her part, at least, and she was sure on his, too. He'd even come right out and asked her to stay. It must be frustrating for someone used to getting his way to be turned down, and for reasons he, as a man, couldn't relate to. He wouldn't see that it was tearing her up as much as it was him.

  Stepping back from the window, she toed the wooden deck of the gallery and looked out over the land that was so much a part of Beau. She longed to be able to reveal the true depth of her feelings to him before she left. Tell him just how much he and this place had come to mean to her. How much she truly loved him.

  But she dared not. She was afraid if she actually said the words out loud, he might say them back. And then she knew she wouldn't have the strength to leave him.

  And she had to leave him. Didn't she?

  She swallowed, annoyed that he was forcing her to think along these lines just because of his mulish reluctance to relax. She swiped up the can of nuts and strode through her room and his, swinging open the office door with a bang.

  "You're angry."

  "No. Just busy." Beau's eyes flicked to the open button on her blouse. "Better do that up before I start thinking you've changed your mind about staying."

  Ignoring his pointed look, she held out the beer and didn't move until he'd taken it. She took a sip from her own and strolled determinedly along his desk, glancing at the papers and ledgers strewn over it. "What are you working on?"

  With a sigh, either he resigned himself to her invasion or his impeccable Southern manners asserted themselves over his irritation. "Harvest statistics. It'll probably take me a couple of days to finish the report."

  Okay, so maybe not so impeccable. She couldn't miss the unsubtle hint in his statement. She ignored it and studied his efforts closer. "You like to draw?"

  "Not really." He went to his chair and plopped into it.

  She watched as he took a draft of beer, momentarily captivated by the strong jaw tilted up and the corded muscles working in his elegant neck as he drank. He caught her staring. She quickly said, "Why aren't you doing this on the computer?"

  For a second he looked taken aback, then set down his beer and reached for his pen. "I've always done it this way. Haven't had time to explore other options."

  She instinctively felt he was uncomfortable with the subject, but couldn't imagine why. "I installed a program for my dad a few years back. Well, actually it was Ricky who showed me how to work the software, but it was pretty easy to set up for Dad's farm reports. I noticed you have the same software."

  He didn't say anything for a moment, and she was unable to read his reaction from his impassive face.

  Finally, he said gruffly, "Look. I can handle e-mail, and have taught myself how to use a few programs, but I'm no great shakes at this technology stuff. Never had the opportunity to learn. Now, if you'll
excuse me…"

  Suddenly, understanding went off like firecrackers in her head. He'd mentioned college a couple of times—the fact that he'd never gone. He was actually ashamed.

  "Don't give me that ignorant-farm-boy routine, Beaulieux. It won't work." She tapped on his desk. "I happen to know you're pretty smart, even if you didn't get to college."

  "Kit…" His voice contained an edge, but it was softened by the flicker of a reluctant smile.

  "I'll show you how to use the program. Come on, I'll bet it won't even hurt."

  In the silence, the ormolu clock on the bookcase ticked loudly. Finally, he stirred, glancing first at the clutter on his desk, then at the computer.

  "All right. What the hell."

  Two hours later she helped him put the fasteners in the final copy of the twenty-five-page report with detailed color graphs and charts they had finished, and looked up into warm whiskey eyes filled with admiration.

  "You are amazing," Beau said, and pulled her into his arms. "You've saved me days of work. How can I ever thank you?"

  A feeling of joy rushed through her whole body at his praise. She leaned up and tenderly placed a kiss on his jaw. "I'm glad I could help. You work so hard. And I've been such a pain—"

  He kissed her temple, his lips lingering against her. "No, you haven't. I've loved having you here with me. Every moment. I…" He suddenly stopped, and his embrace grew stiff. "Well, anyway. Thank you."

  Moving away from her, he gathered the stack of reports together and switched off the computer. She stood and watched, at once uncertain what she should do. She wished he would kiss her. Really kiss her. In the way only he could.

  She picked up the two bottles where they'd left them on the desk earlier. "Would you like another beer? These are warm. I guess we forgot about them."

  "No, thanks." He straightened the already neatly aligned stack of plastic-covered documents. "I'm pretty tired. Think I'll just check on Grandmère and call it a night."

  "Okay." Knowing a dismissal when she heard one, she turned and walked to the door. "Well, good night, then."

  She looked back at him and he smiled, his hands still busy with the reports. "Sleep well."