“If Lawrence wants me to spend the night, I will.”
Rory grinned. “He really likes the name Lucky. His mom’s not crazy about it but she’ll adjust.” He raised his brows. “Cynthia Landon’s got more moxie in her than I realized. She’s changed and I can see that you got a thing for her now more than ever. Go for it, boy. If she’s the one for you, then that’s what you got to do.”
Quaid stepped from the car, his side hurting more than he thought it would. He’d forgotten just how damn inconvenient bruised ribs could be. Rory drove off and Quaid turned for the door, Cynthia waiting for him in the doorway. She looked lovely, a little beat up, but lovely. Before, this woman got under his skin he didn’t realize the word lovely existed, sounded kind of mushy and he wasn’t a mushy kind of guy…till now. He took the steps but she didn’t move to let him in. “Do you think those guys are after Lawrence?”
“They know he’s already told everyone who they are. There’s no reason to come after him.”
He gave her a soft reassuring kiss. “I’ll sleep on your couch tonight in case Lucky wakes up. Might make him feel better knowing I’m here.”
Cynthia rested her forehead against his. “When I went to New York all I heard was be careful, it’s not safe, you could get hurt, there are crazy people out there, it is New York after all. And now I come home and this place is like an episode of The Sopranos.”
Quaid draped his arm around Cynthia’s shoulders and together they went inside. They stood at the entrance to the living room and Cynthia sighed. “Duncan Phyfe is more for sitting around and sipping tea or a mint julep, not so much for sleeping on. You’re not going to fit, and we’re kind of a full house upstairs.” She pulled him close and gazed into his eyes, instantly melting every bone in his body. “I’d share my bed but…”
“Your mother and son are here and there’s the no-man-in-my-life curse to consider.” He kissed her forehead. “Throw me down a blanket and I’ll be fine.”
“There’s a shower in the bathroom in the back.” Her lips slid across his, stirring his blood, making him want her in spite of how tired he was. Her body pressed close and he folded his arms around her. “You did good out there today, Cynthia Landon. We wouldn’t have made it without you. I’m more sorry than you know that Lawrence wound up in the middle of all this. Somehow a simple rescue operation got a lot more complicated.”
“But you saved the day. I got a feeling you’re used to doing that.”
“We saved the day.”
She headed up the steps and he watched till she disappeared around the next landing then gazed back to the dainty furniture. “Damn,” he muttered into the darkness. Rotten sleeping arrangements, but Preston lived here too, and that meant food. Suddenly he was starving. He headed for the kitchen and pulled open the fridge. If Ida didn’t marry Preston he’d consider it himself just for the great eats. “The man sure knows how to cook.”
Quaid made a ham sandwich, added potato salad and chocolate cake and drank a quart of milk. When he came back into the living room, a pillow and towels sat on the sofa. He spread the blanket on the floor and tossed down the pillow. Ida really did need to take a serious look at a La-Z-boy catalogue. Bet Beau Fontaine and Preston would appreciate a La-Z-boy. Both big guys. Beau a little more gray than Preston, a bit older, seemed to be used to having money and smooth talking, except he always seemed preoccupied. Then again, business did that to a guy and he was here on business, not just to woo Ida. Or maybe he was the finance guy. Like Rory said, best not to tip their hand till they had all three and knew who was who for sure.
Quaid took a quick shower. He’d changed clothes on the Lee so at least he wasn’t crawling back into scummy jeans and shirt. He peeked out the bay window overlooking the front of the house, then went around to the kitchen windows with a view of the garden. The half-moon slipped in and out of the remaining clouds as the earth did a drip-dry.
Lying down on the floor, he curled the pillow under his head, thanked God for saving his ass today and most of all for saving Lucky. If anything had happened to that kid…He couldn’t think about that or he’d never sleep, and with his ribs against the hard floor and his head pounding, sleep wouldn’t be all that easy, period.
He closed his eyes and saw Lawrence in the water, afraid, helpless, alone. And then suddenly he was the boy, helpless and afraid and alone, with Pete beating the hell out of him.
Quaid jerked instantly awake, knocking over the little chair Aaron had toppled earlier. A drop of sweat trickled down the side of his face, his stomach churned, every muscle in his body tight with fear, as if he were back to being that kid again, before Rory found him.
“Quaid?” Cynthia asked from the hall.
He raked back his damp hair and fought to get himself under control, drawing in long quiet breaths. He hadn’t had the nightmare in years, but the look on Lawrence’s face today triggered it, he was sure. Quaid knew that innate feeling of total helplessness and it nearly made him sick that Lawrence had to experience it at all. No child should have to live that way. He righted the chair. “Hey, everything’s fine, go back to bed.”
She came up to him, shafts of moonlight falling between them, settling in her eyes. She touched him and he calmed. “You’re not all right, Quaid. I can feel it. Did you hear something? Is someone out there?”
She sat on the couch and tugged him down with her, and he didn’t have the strength to resist—or maybe he just didn’t want to. “Dicey day is all.”
“No,” she said in a whisper. “That’s not all. I saw your face and for a moment you looked terrified. As bad as things got today you didn’t look like that, ever. You’re always in control of the situation. Talk to me.”
He shoved the past of that little boy who lived in the shack and wore grimy clothes out of his mind. “It’s my ribs, they hurt and I can’t get comfortable. That’s all there is to it.”
“Bull hockey.”
The comment jerked him all the way back to the present and to where he was, and that was with the most gorgeous woman on earth. How’d he get so damn lucky? He raised his brow and couldn’t keep from smiling. “What kind of talk is that for a New York gal.”
“Except I’m really a Tennessee gal.” She took his face in her palms and looked into his eyes. “You can talk to me, you know. It won’t get blabbed all over town. And no matter how big and brave and invincible you are, you need someone to talk to, everyone does.”
“You know what I’d really like to talk about?” He gave her a suggestive look because sex with Cynthia was one hell of a substitute for a nightmare. He could get lost in Cynthia, concentrate on giving her pleasure and making her happy. He really liked doing that.
“You’re trying to distract me.”
“What makes you think that?” He eased back the collar of her silky robe and placed a kiss on her warm, sweet neck that smelled better than a million flower gardens and chased away the last of the bad memories. Her head tipped forward, exposing her nape, and her soft sensual sigh filled the room. “Oh, you feel so good,” she said in a husky voice. “But…but there are people upstairs.”
“All asleep. Now am I going to get the lecture on curses or being forty?”
She cuddled into his arms. “If we can survive today, Quaid, we can survive anything, including a curse and me being forty. Besides, forty is feeling really good right now.”
Chapter 13
And, Cynthia realized, she meant it. Forty was good, everything was good, especially when compared to what might have been. Quaid’s lips touched her nape then her shoulder. She closed her eyes, the stress of the day fading.
“I want more,” he breathed against her ear.
“Good grief, we just started this.”
“When it comes to you I’m one greedy bastard.” He slid her robe from her arms, letting it pool at her waist. His hands roamed her back, the only covering the thin gown. “I really care about you and Lawrence.”
Her hands swept over his cotton T-shirt, damp fro
m fighting whatever demons haunted him in the middle of the night, as he added, “I have feelings for you that go way beyond fooling around, Cynthia.”
He nipped the tip of her nose and looked deep into her eyes. “If we never had sex again, I’d still feel this way. But I have to admit it wouldn’t be as much fun.”
Then his lips found their way to hers as he threaded his fingers into her hair and coaxed her gently back against the…most uncomfortable couch on God’s green earth. No wonder they used these things in Victorian times: no one could get laid here and think sex was good.
He braced his hands on either side of her, one on the armrest, one across the back of the wooden frame, golden moonbeams flooding the room. He said, “You are a classic painting lying here all soft and gorgeous.” He tugged on the bow at her neckline, freeing the material, letting it fall open.
“Drat. I can’t do this.” She sat up and rubbed her shoulder. “This is the worst couch ever. And you shouldn’t be moving around all that much anyway with your ribs. And you know if we get buck naked someone’s sure to come down here.”
He sat back. “You know if you had a reclining sofa we wouldn’t be having this bad couch problem.”
“But we’d still have the packed house and the rib problem.”
“There is that. I was just getting ready to admire your cleavage. You really do have great cleavage.” He closed his eyes.
She chuckled. “Tonight I thought I’d tell you that you’re really well hung.”
His eyes flew open and he laughed. “That is one thing I never expected to hear from Cynthia Landon.”
“Just wanted to see if you were asleep.”
“Well, you sure got my attention now.” He draped his arm around her and drew her back against him and she snuggled close. “This is nice.”
“There’s something between you and me, Quaid.”
“Sweetheart, it’s been going on for years. Not always chasing each other, we’ve sure been aware of each other. You make me happy, Cynthia. I’ve never felt like I do when I’m with you.” He kissed the top of her head. “You can have any guy you want and yet, here I am.”
“Oh, yeah, I’m such a catch.”
“You are. And I’m crazy about you. And now there’s no curse in the way.” He tucked his finger under her chin and brought her face up, their eyes meeting. “I want to see you, get to know you, and not just in the Biblical sense.”
“Sounds like a plan…a good plan.”
He kissed her then asked, “So, what’s your mother going to say when you tell her you’re keeping company with that ruffian, Quaid O’Fallon?”
“Would you like one or two lumps of sugar in your tea, Quaid?”
“I think it will go more like, ‘would you like one or two lumps on your head, Quaid.’ She is not going to be thrilled.”
Cynthia touched his cheek. “That is entirely up to Ida Landon.”
When Cynthia came downstairs the next morning, Quaid was gone, but there was a note propped on top of the folded blanket that said he went into Memphis to get the Annabelle Lee, that Preston was hanging around this morning till he got back, and she should drop off Lucky later, down at the docks when he got there. She glared at the note. “Bossy man.”
“Men always think they know what’s best for their woman,” Sister Candy said as she strolled into the room in white shorts, black bandana holding back her hair, gold hoop earrings, and a big purse over her shoulder. “Heard what happened to Lucky, the story’s everywhere. Is he okay?”
“He broke his arm so he’ll be a little sore today and probably sleep in.”
“Well that gives us time for a little business.” She jiggled her purse. “You’ve heard of bed in a bag, girl, well this here is protection in a bag. We had ourselves a time in Rockton picking out…protection. Even picked up a few clients in the bargain.”
“Clients?”
“Supporters…for our little congregation. We are very selective.” She put the purse on the game table by the window, opened it and pulled out a big ugly-looking gray gun, two smaller ones, and one derringer-looking thing with a mother-of-pearl handle. Gunmetal gray took on a whole new meaning. Sister Candy laid them out, planted her hands on her hips and grinned. “Here we are. Take your pick. Sister Ginger and I are already armed and dangerous and we got these for you. But you got to keep them locked up tight so Lucky doesn’t get at them. I realize he’s one of those brainy kids who knows more than I ever will, but he’s still a kid and curiosity is their strong suit. Don’t need any accidents, just protection.”
She nodded back to the table. “I think the smaller one is good. Pick it up.”
“Oh, God, I hate these things.”
Sister Candy rolled her shoulders. “And how well do you like your sleazeball ex, or those slimebuckets who broke your baby’s arm?”
Cynthia picked up the derringer. “I can keep this in my pants pockets.”
“Better wear loose, or that Quaid O’Fallon guy will go ballistic if he thinks you’re packing heat. He’s one of those protective types who thinks women belong in the kitchen or in bed. Not bad places to be, mind you. But we got other uses.”
She picked up another gun. “This here’s a 9mm something-or-other. Beretta maybe. I knew a guy named Beretta. Had a set of ba…Bibles he was really proud of. Yessiree…they were some Bibles.” She handed the gun to Cynthia. “Should fit in that little black bag you carry.”
Cynthia held it. “A splash of mauve would do wonders for these things.”
“It has what they call a boot grip, good for traction, and I got to tell you that traction part is really true.”
Cynthia held the gun in one hand then the other. “Not too heavy. Won’t ruin the lines of my Kate Spade.” She sniffed the gun. “It smells funny.” She swiped a red smudge and her insides froze. “If this is blood—”
“Pizza. Pepperoni. We were in Leroy’s van haggling prices and eating. Damn…I mean darn…good pizza.” She looked at Cynthia’s wide eyes. “And…and we were saying the rosary. Yep, doing that too. We tend to take our mission work right to the streets…save the sinners. Amen.” She made a quick sign of the cross.
“The derringer and 9mm something it is. How much do I owe you?”
“On the house. Little gift from me and Ginger.” Candy pulled two boxes of bullets from her purse. “These are called rounds…guess because they’re round. Not very imaginative. Go out in a field, someplace far away, and shoot the hell out of a can or something. Remember those 9mm bullets go real far, so you don’t want to be shooting some poor cow in the ass.”
“Right, no cows in the ass.”
“Good morning, darling,” came Ida’s voice down the stairs. Cynthia’s gaze met Candy’s and she whispered, “Uh-oh.” Candy scooped the guns into her big purse, Cynthia shoved the bullets in one pants pocket and the 9mm thing in the other pocket. The bulges were noticeable. When she got the chance she’d sew up some pants for toting guns.
“What’s this?” Ida said as she came into the sitting room and picked up the overlooked derringer. “I used to have one of these.” She aimed it across the room and pulled the trigger. A shot rang out and the picture of Stonewall Jackson jumped off the wall, crashing to the floor. Least there was no glass from the last time the man landed on the floor.
“Holy Mother of God,” gasped Sister Candy, as Ida blew the smoke from the end of the barrel like they did in old West movies.
Ida smiled and picked up the picture of Stonewall. “Right between the eyes. I still got the touch. Good as ever.”
Cynthia shook her head. “Good as ever at what?”
“Sweetheart,” Ida said, handing Cynthia the picture then kissing her on the forehead. “A few weeks ago Thelma over at Hastings House blew her grandma’s vase to kingdom come. Kept the pieces to remind everyone, mostly Conrad if I remember correctly, just who they were dealing with. A girl’s got to take care of herself in this world. We all got another side that comes out when we need it to.” She win
ked and handed the derringer to Cynthia then Ida sashayed her way into the dining room.
Sister Candy stared at Cynthia. “Well I’ll be d—”
“Mom,” came Lawrence’s voice from the hallway. “What was that noise? Sounded like a…gun?”
Sister Candy slapped her hand against the hole in the wall as if leaning there to relax, trying to look nonchalant. “How’s your arm, Lawrence?”
“Terrific.” He tapped on the plaster cast. “This is so neat. I always wanted a broken arm—though technically it’s not a break, it’s a greenstick fracture. That means one side of the fracture is broken and one side is bent. It’s classified as an incomplete break.”
Cynthia held up Stonewall, putting her thumb over the circle between his eyes. She faked a grin. “The picture sort of fell off the wall.”
Lawrence sniffed the air. “Why are you taking target practice at Stonewall Jackson?” He pointed to the picture. “I can see where you shot him and I can smell gunpowder. Stonewall was a really good general, mom. Remember to put the gun on safety. I think I need some breakfast.” He started for the kitchen.
“Wait,” said Sister Candy. “Uh, maybe your mom can take you out for some breakfast, you can show off that cast around town. Bet all the other kids will be green with envy.”
Lawrence’s eyes grew. “You really think so?”
“You helped save a boat in trouble and even got a glimpse of those desperate characters people are looking for. I’d say that’s the stuff boys dream about…least at your age. When they get older, well…”
Lawrence started for the door. “I’ll be out in the car, Mom.”
When he left, Sister Candy said, “What Ida said about having another side kind of got me thinking. She’s got more gumption than I thought, a bit of a wild side. I’ve got a plan to help Ida make some cash, she being a southern woman with a sweet little accent and a feisty side. I think she can do a little…preaching.”
I’ll Be Seeing U Page 17