I’ll Be Seeing U

by Dianne Castell

  “After suffering through three boys I got a right.” Rory nodded at the squalling Bonnie in a pink pj thing, eyes squinted shut, arms and legs fighting the air. “Go on, pick her up. You woke her, you walk her.”

  “Huh?”

  “House rules. Might as well get used to it if you’re staying around for a while.”

  “You just made that up too.” Quaid flexed his fingers, trying to figure out what was the best way to hold a squirming baby.

  “She won’t break, you know, and you better be doing something quick-like, or the neighbors are going to gripe even if they are down the road a ways. Max is already howling to beat the band.”

  If he scooped people out of the ocean he could scoop a baby. He held her little bottom in one hand, her head in the other. Warm, soft, wiggly as hell. He thought of Cynthia all wiggly and warm over his shoulder. Nice, very nice…and still the princess. “I think I got it.”

  “Now you change her, another house rule. Whoever holds her does diaper duty. Stuff you need’s on that table.” He nodded to the corner.

  Quaid held tight but not too tight. What was too tight? He thought of his arm across Cynthia’s legs, holding her there, tight…damn! “I just walked in the door. How can you sucker your own son into changing a baby?”

  “Proves I love you, boy. Think of this as a bonding experience.” Rory sat in the rocking chair. “So, what are you doing here in the middle of summer? The Coast Guard kick you out?”

  Quaid put Bonnie on the table and studied the paraphernalia. “Heard there was this guy with a baby who couldn’t keep track of his woman.” Quaid glanced at Rory. “Any news on Mimi?”

  Rory rocked and Quaid tore off Bonnie’s diaper, uncovering the grossest pile of…“Dear God in heaven, Rory. What the hell are you feeding this kid?”

  “Started vegetables today. Carrots.”

  “Oh, damn. I’m never eating carrots again.”

  “As for Mimi we can’t find hide or hair of the three guys who headed up that company she worked for. They were fiddling with the books and billing the state for work on levees and docks that never happened. Mimi has disks that prove what was going on.”

  Quaid located some wipe things. “Why didn’t she just go to the DA in the first place?”

  “She did, and the next day someone tried to push her in front of a bus and her apartment got busted into. She didn’t know who to trust and took the disks and ran. She ended up here at the Landing one rainy night when her car slid in that ditch by Hastings House.”

  “Grant?”

  “Who else. She didn’t tell anyone anything that was going on, even me. Dammit all, I could have helped but I think she was too scared. Then one day she just took off again without so much as good-by, probably saw someone she knew who was after her. I didn’t know she was carrying my baby and she probably didn’t know either.”

  “How’d you find all this out?”

  “A Nashville cop working with the DA’s office came looking for Mimi. They tracked her this far. I’d found Bonnie on the back doorstep along with a gold necklace I’d given Mimi and figured she was in some kind of big trouble or she’d never have left Sweet Pea here.”

  Quaid dropped the diaper and wipes in a plastic bag, the baby quieting a few decibels. “Hard to think sweet when you’re doing what I’m doing.”

  Rory laughed, a low easy sound that filled the room, making the house a home. “Comes with the territory, you’ll get used to it.”

  “Care to make a little wager on that?” Quaid fastened the tabs on the new diaper, and gazed into the bluest little eyes he’d ever seen. They seemed to be staring right back at him, asking Who the hell are you? Then her soft pink lips made a perfect bow and she winked. Quaid felt his breath catch and his heart swell then squeeze tight. Dang! “She looks like you.”

  “See, Bonnie’s got you wrapped around her little finger already. I knew it.” Rory let out a sigh. “Now all we got to do is find those three bigshots and get them behind bars before they find my Mimi.”

  “Any ideas?”

  “Like a lump of lead between their eyes?”

  “Like where she is.” Quaid wiped his hands on the wet things then handed Bonnie to Rory. He rocked, his eyes smiling, the baby cooing…finally. “Hard to believe you haven’t heard anything from Mimi in three months. Not like a mother to just leave her baby all this time and not make some kind of contact to see how she’s doing.”

  “When are you heading back to Alaska?”

  Quaid leaned against the changing table, taking in Rory and his baby daughter. He’d raised one family and was starting on the next. It suited him. He was good at the family thing, damn good, better than Quaid deserved. “I don’t know.”

  The rocking stopped and Rory’s gaze met Quaid’s across the dim light. “What happened, and I’m betting I’m not going to like the answer.”

  “Decided my life needed some shaking up.”

  “Your life’s nothing but shook up all to hell and back with the kind of job you have, jumping in the freezing water, saving people’s asses. And now you quit doing it to run home and take care of me. I was afraid you’d do a dang-fool thing like that, that’s why I didn’t tell you right off what was going on around here.”

  “Ryan called. Said these people who are after Mimi tried to take Bonnie to get to her. Came right into this house and walked out with the baby.”

  He looked at father and child and his jaw clenched. “Someone stealing your child is not going to happen again. The Guard kept dragging their feet about getting me an extended leave so I helped them make a decision.”

  “Christ in a sidecar, Quaid. Go get your damn job back right now.”

  “No.” The two men stared at each other for a few beats. Probably the only time in Quaid’s life he ever said no to Rory O’Fallon. “I’m going to bed, all this baby stuff tires a guy out.”

  “The Coast Guard’s your life, boy.”

  Quaid grinned and ruffled Rory’s hair as he walked by. “Not even half. Good night, Dad.” He stopped at the door. “Cynthia Landon’s back home.”

  Rory gave him a sly smile. “A real looker, that one. Proud as all get-out and stuck up, but what do you expect when her parents spoiled her rotten. Bet she fit in just fine with that snooty New York crowd. Heard she had some money problems. Where’d you see her?”

  “She ran her car off the road and I drove her and her son home.”

  “Don’t do it, boy.”

  “Don’t do what? Give her a ride?”

  Rory chuckled and rocked Bonnie. “You just watch your step with that one, you hear. She’s used to pissing in the high cotton.”

  “Her son’s a neat little kid, kind of lost at the moment. But there’s no step for me to watch with Cynthia Landon. I just ran into her on the road and helped her out. She’s still a pain.”

  Rory leaned back and rocked, staring down at Bonnie. “Sometimes running into ’em is all it takes.” He put the baby to his shoulder and winked. “I know. I’ve been there and things can get real complicated real fast.”

  Chapter 2

  Morning sun streamed into the kitchen as Cynthia dried the last dish and put it in the cabinet, wiped off the counter and poured a third cup of coffee. She gazed out the window in the breakfast nook to the weed-infested rose garden. Mother always kept a perfect garden, and if she was too busy with the country club social calendar or heading up another charity event she needed to have the staff help her out. In fact, they needed to do a lot around here, beginning with dusting and vacuuming and washing the windows.

  And why were the air conditioner and dishwasher on the fritz? The place was falling apart, and since great-great-granddaddy Landon built it a hundred and sixty years ago, falling apart was not an option.

  Even at seven in the morning the shorts and blouse she’d borrowed from Mother already stuck like a spa mudpack and her hair had frizzed into a poodle-do. She wiggled her toes in the electric-green flip-flops she’d had since high school. Exce
pt for visits back here every few years she hadn’t worn them since she’d packed her things and moved to New York fifteen years ago. A lot had happened in that time; she’d married, had a son, started her own line of women’s wear, made money, lost everything…except Lawrence, thank God…and Quaid O’Fallon was all grown up.

  She stopped the coffee cup halfway to her mouth. Where’d that grown-up crack come from? She hadn’t thought about the guy in years. But then she’d never been tossed over his shoulder before either.

  “You didn’t have to do the dishes,” her mother said as she shuffled into the kitchen, hand to her forehead, shading her eyes. Her hair had a finger-in-the-light-socket look and her white cotton blouse wasn’t pressed. Not Ida Landon’s usual neat southern belle appearance. She sat at the oak table, not facing the window. “I could have done them.”

  Cynthia remembered the brandy decanter on the sideboard in the living room as half empty last night and completely empty when she got up this morning. Mother celebrating her and Lawrence’s homecoming? “I don’t mind washing dishes but where’s Dolly and Bobo and Cook? And why aren’t they serving breakfast in the dining room like usual?” Eggs Benedict, hotcakes, maple syrup, fresh orange juice—sounded really good right now. “Did they persuade you into letting them all take vacation together? You know you shouldn’t have let them do that. You’re too soft a touch.”

  Cynthia poured coffee into a Haviland china cup, placed it on a saucer and served it to her mother. Ida bit her bottom lip and sighed.

  “Are you feeling okay?”

  “I will be in a moment, dear. I need a little fortification. Everyone needs fortification now and then.” She went to the pantry, pulled a brandy bottle from behind a box of oatmeal, sat down and topped off her coffee. She placed the bottle in front of her. “Oh poop, what the hell.” She pulled the cork and drank the brandy straight from the bottle.

  “Mother!”

  She burped and patted her lips. “Yes, that’s better.” She looked at Cynthia, her eyes cloudy. “There’s a little…glitch, dear.” Ida took another swig like a person who’d swigged many times before. “I’m afraid things have become rather difficult. You see, I’m financially embarrassed.”

  “Embarrassed as in can’t find your checkbook? Lost your credit card?”

  “I’m broke as an out-of-work beggar and haven’t a clue what to do about it.”

  Cynthia’s legs went to rubber and she sat across from her mother. “But…but Daddy left you money. He was the president of three banks in the area. He’s only been gone three years. And there was insurance. Where did it all go?”

  “Seems your Father made some rather dreadful financial decisions that I never knew about. Sugar and spice mostly, I believe.”

  “Commodities? He invested in commodities? That’s not like Daddy, they’re so risky. Why would he do such a thing?”

  “Sugar and Spice are two strippers at the Lord and Lady, a private men’s club in Rockton. Seems he had a fetish for leather and threesomes. Even bought a condo and left it to the girls. I paid to keep it out of the papers. You know how gossip spreads in small towns and we do have our pride.” Her mother hiccupped and Cynthia grabbed the bottle and downed the brandy. “I had to let Dolly and the rest go and I’ve taken a mortgage on the house.”

  She gave a lopsided grin that indicated the booze was having an effect, and Cynthia hoped she’d feel the same way soon. “But I’ve come up with a truly wonderful idea. Well two, actually. I’ve decided to turn Ivy Acres into a bed and breakfast and write my memoirs as a southern lady, one of those steel magnolia books.”

  Cynthia massaged her forehead. “I’m getting a migraine.”

  Her mother nudged the bottle and continued, “I’ve already had customers here till I went and burned the breakfast for that nice couple from New Jersey. Then there was that mouse infestation and then that man who pinched my behind and I was forced to deck him with the Royal Doulton vase that used to be in the dining room. For some reason the man seemed to think he had a right. Can you imagine?”

  She snatched the bottle from Cynthia. “And I was downright partial to that vase.” She took a mouthful. “Belonged to Grandmother Hilary. Seems the word has gotten out that Ivy Acres is less than a pristine place to stay, and then Thelma and Conrad opened Hastings House as a bed and breakfast and they’re getting all the business.”

  “Thelma McAllister? She’s an incredible cook. Scones to die for.”

  “You’re not making me feel better, dear. I’m afraid I have made a mess of things.”

  “Not you Mother, Daddy is the culprit here. How could he…Why would he…”

  “No one’s perfect, dear, and I must confess that leather was never my preference. A little spanky once in a while and those Velcro handcuffs now and then, but—”

  A car sounded in the drive. Oh, thank God! A discussion on her parents’ sex life—that she never would have expected in a million years—was not how she wanted to start the day. The fact that Mother had no money and that her wonderful, saintly father was not so saintly at all was the crowning blow.

  Mother said, “Perhaps it’s a customer. I put an ad in the Memphis Times. See, since you arrived things are getting enormously better already.” Ida brightened, and with the booze under her belt that was a lot of bright for seven A.M.

  “You stay here,” Cynthia said. The whole world didn’t need to know her mother had brandy with her oatmeal. She wondered if they knew about the strippers and the leather. There weren’t many secrets in a small town no matter how much hush money her mother paid out. This was so not the setting she expected to come home to. Where was the mint julep on the back porch, homemade ice cream with chocolate shavings, the lazy days of summer, the housekeeper and cook? She really missed Cook.

  Cynthia flip-flopped across the hardwood floor that needed refinishing, past the staircase and peered out the leaded-glass sidelights. Her Buick circled the drive and stopped in front of the house. Since it didn’t get here by itself that meant Quaid O’Fallon was back.

  She was in no mood to deal with a man, any man, especially a smart-ass used to getting his own way. Didn’t they all? Why couldn’t Quaid O’Fallon just…be a girl, then she wouldn’t mind him showing up here! She yanked open the front door, ready with thanks for the car now go away, when Lawrence joined her, staying close, Coast Guard hat on his head. “Hi, Quaid.”

  Quaid peered out the rolled-down window. Eyes bright and clear, square jaw, a hint of danger about him. He was so not a girl!

  He ignored her but said to Lawrence, “Came by to drop off your stuff and see if you want a job.”

  Cynthia did an eye roll, mostly to keep from staring at Quaid. “He’s eight. Doesn’t even make his own bed.”

  “What kind of job?” Lawrence said with more enthusiasm in his voice than she’d heard in a while.

  “We have a dog, Max, who needs walking and someone to play with him. My dad and I are too busy and he’s getting fat—the dog, not my dad.” Quaid grinned and she knew Lawrence was grinning too. For a second she wasn’t sure which tickled her more till she remembered that it didn’t matter what Quaid did or how he smiled. This was the beginning of the no men portion of her life. Besides, at thirty-three all that men wanted was sex…though, if she wanted to be honest, that sounded pretty darn good right now.

  No! Remember Aaron and his band of merry men who screwed over her big time. That was the only kind of screwing she should think about.

  “So, what do you say, Lawrence?” Quaid unfolded himself from the car. He seemed taller than last night, black hair longer than she expected for a military man, and a five-o’clock shadow that seemed a permanent condition no matter when or how often the man shaved.

  His olive T-shirt molded to fine abs and terrific shoulders. She knew about those shoulders first hand since she’d been there, head down, derriere in the air, Quaid’s arm across her legs. How embarrassing, how humiliating, how…unforgettable? Embarrassing and humiliating she could deal
with, she’d been through so much of that in New York she was numb. But the unforgettable part, his hands on her…oh boy. This was all a direct result of being without a guy for a while—a long, long, long while.

  She added up the months, or was it a year now…or two? Two! Dear God. Quaid said something to Lawrence that made him laugh then added, “Pays two bucks an hour. A guy needs to have some folding money in his pocket.”

  Lawrence pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose like he always did when nervous. He shuffled down the four front steps, hands stuffed in the pockets of his khaki pants. “You’re really going to pay me to walk your dog?”

  “And play with him. He has a favorite yellow ball.”

  “Neat.”

  At least Lawrence found something neat; she couldn’t remember the last time she felt that way. Maybe when she’d opened her own design loft in New York, Aaron was her prince, her father was a god, and Quaid O’Fallon was not on her doorstep making her hotter than the August sun.

  “Why are you doing this?” she blurted. She and Quaid weren’t exactly friends, not even in school together. She’d been in second grade when he was born. Good Lord, was she old or what!

  “Something wrong?” Quaid asked. “You’ve been looking at me like I have two heads.”

  And he did and she was obsessing over both!

  “Can I have the job, Mom? Please. I’ll get folding money of my own. I can save up for a microscope.”

  “You’ve never been around dogs. You could be allergic.”

  “I promise not to sneeze and I’m a fast learner.”

  She’d taken so much away from Lawrence these past few months, she couldn’t say no now when he was finally excited about something in O’Fallon’s Landing, Tennessee, which must seem like the end of the earth compared to New York City. “Okay, you can take the job.”

  “Yes!” Lawrence did a little jump—and he never jumped, actually he didn’t even walk fast, as if always putting his energy into thinking.