One Summer’s Knight

by Kathleen Creighton

  Riley felt a chill between his shoulder blades. He held on to the smile for his secretary’s benefit, but it was starting to feel twitchy. “Yeah? Who for, I wonder?”

  The only reply to that was a snort And then, softly, he said, “I hope I don’t have to tell you, Grogan.” Another pause. “It’d be best if nobody knows about your, uh, houseguests-and I do mean nobody-you follow me?”

  “Sure do,” said Riley.

  “I don’t suppose she’s feeling up to talking to us this morning?”

  “Don’t think so.”

  “Uh-huh. So, what am I supposed to do, wait for you to get around to us?” Jake sounded sarcastic.

  “That’s right,” said Riley, with a big grin for Danell. Ignoring the FBI man’s swearing, he handed the receiver back to his secretary, who cradled it and gave him a sideways, borderline put-out look.

  “Didn’t sound all that ‘urgent’ to me,” she said with a sniff. When it came to guarding his precious time, the woman was a regular rottweiler.

  “Ah, don’t mind Jake. He’s an old acquaintance,” Riley lied with a placating smile and an easy shrug. “From law school. Only gonna be in town for a short while and wanted to know if we could get together for a drink. So I guess you could call it urgent, in a way.” He picked up his briefcase.

  “You wanted me to do you a favor,” Danell reminded him, only partly mollified.

  “Oh.” He paused, frowning. It’d be best if nobody knows.… He turned back to her. “Uh, yeah-would you see if you can clear the afternoon for me? I have some personal business I need to take care of.” He took a couple of steps toward his office, then pivoted once more, took a message slip out of his pocket and slapped it on his secretary’s desk. “And while you’re at it, get Tom Denby on the phone.”

  With the exception of a few particularly stressful times in his life, Jimmy Joe Starr had never been much of a worrier. That didn’t mean he wasn’t now and then concerned. The way he saw it, there was a big difference between worrying about things he didn’t have any control over, and being concerned about the happiness and well-being of the people he loved. And that about described where he was at the moment. He was concerned, because lately it seemed to him that the person he loved most in this world hadn’t been either well or happy.

  Now, Mirabella did have her moods; she’d warned him of that fact way back when she’d been tryin’ her best to talk herself out of marrying him, and he’d had occasion since then to exercise the patience and understanding he’d promised her then. Moods he was used to. Moods he could handle. But what he wasn’t used to and didn’t have the first idea how to deal with was this feeling he had that his Marybell was keeping something from him. Not that he expected her to tell him everything-he didn’t. Jimmy Joe, like his six brothers and sisters, had been raised to respect a person’s right to privacy, and he didn’t consider that right any less sacred just because the person in question happened to be his wife. But there did come a time when a person’s right to privacy got to be outweighed by a loved one’s concern. There were times, he truly believed, when a man’s beloved’s personal business became his business. Jimmy Joe was sort of thinking this might be one of those times.

  He was loitering over his third cup of coffee and thinking about that when Mirabella came downstairs with Amy Jo on her hip and a womed look on her face. Marybell was a worrier, he knew that. But this was the same look she’d been wearing for a while now, the one that had Jimmy Joe so concerned.

  “Problems?” he asked quietly, girding himself for battle.

  She drew a quick breath, then frowned. “Where’s J.J.?”

  “He rode his bike over to Mama’s. He and Sammi June wanted to get in some work on that hideout they’re buildin’ before it gets too hot.” Jimmy Joe pushed back his chair and held out his arms. “Here, let me take her-you go on and get your coffee. Come on, sweetie pie, give your ol’ Daddy some sugar.”

  Amy Jo lunged for him and happily babbled, “Daddy-Daddy-Daddy,” as she wrapped her arms around his neck and about half strangled him. He got her strapped into her high chair and poured some Cheerios onto the tray to keep her occupied. He waited until Mirabella had poured herself some coffee and settled into the chair across the table from him before he tried again. “Hon, something botherin’ you?”

  She heaved a testy sigh. “Oh, I can’t get ahold of Summer, that’s all. Something seems to be wrong with her phone.”

  “That what’s been keepin’ you awake nights?” Jimmy Joe reached across the table and gently touched the bluish smudge under one of Mirabella’s eyes. She swiped angrily at his hand, which he drew back and held up in mock surrender, and she threw him what he’d come to call her “F amp; F” look-furious and frustrated.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, sighing. “I don’t know why I’m so…I’m just a little bit tired, I guess.”

  Keeping it real casual, Jimmy Joe sipped coffee and said, “Think maybe you ought to see a doctor?”

  “No!”

  The denial came so quickly and so vehemently, Jimmy Joe’s heart about stopped. He felt himself turn cold. He opened his mouth to ask…Lord only knew what-and damned if the phone didn’t pick that moment to go and ring. So then he had to sit there and wait, with his heart booming inside his chest, while Mirabella-since she was closer and quicker-got up and went into the office just off the kitchen to answer it

  She was gone quite a while; Amy Jo had run out of Cheer-10S and he was up getting her some more when she finally came back. She had a funny look on her face-it seemed to Jimmy Joe she was less worried now and more stirred up, if that made sense.

  “That was Summer. I knew something was wrong. I knew it,” she said, breathlessly exultant; there wasn’t anything Mirabella loved more than being right And Jimmy Joe knew his part well; he waited in expectant silence while his beloved drew breath for the dramatic denouement: “They had a fire at their place!”

  “Oh, Lord.” He set down the Cheerios box and prepared for the worst “How bad?”

  A frown made a little watermark in Mirabella’s forehead. “I guess the damage was pretty bad. She says they’re staying with friends. But everybody’s okay-the kids and the animals-that’s the important thing.” But she sounded distracted.

  “You need to go?” Jimmy Joe asked quietly. She gave him a startled look and quickly shook her head. “Well, then,” he said, “she and the kids need a place to stay? Maybe what she ought to do is come on over here. We’ve got plenty of room.”

  Mirabella was still shaking her head. “I asked her, but she says no, the kids have day camp, and of course she’s got her job. She says they’re fine and not to worry…”

  “But you’re goin’ to, anyway, aren’t you?” He went up behind her and put his arms around her and pulled her back against him, resting his chin on her silky red hair as he drew a long breath, just inhaling the sweet Mirabella smell of her.

  She seemed to want to go along with it for a moment, but then shook her head and muttered in kind of a thick, husky voice, “I knew something was wrong. You know, I’ve been dreaming about her. Evie, too. I just wish I’d hear from her. Dammit, why doesn’t she ever call?”

  It came to Jimmy Joe suddenly that his beloved was dangerously close to crying. And because that didn’t happen often, and because like most men he tended to panic whenever he thought it might, he tried to hold it off with some snuggling and sweet talk.

  “You missing your sisters, is that it?” he murmured against her ear, gently rocking her. “Feelin’ a little broody?” His hand skimmed downward over her breast, on down to her belly. It was when he did that, and the woman he adored suddenly froze up on him-just went rigid as a post-that somewhere way in the back of his mind a light came on.

  “Marybell?” he said in a wondering tone as his fingers fanned slowly over her barely rounded stomach. “You’re not….are you?”

  So it was that when Jimmy Joe’s beloved abruptly burst into tears on that particular occasion, it wasn’t consterna
tion he felt but a tremendous wave of joy.

  Chapter 7

  Riley’s home was his castle. There had been a time, just after he’d bought the place, when he’d gotten an almost baronial satisfaction out of driving up to his front gates, punching in his security code, delivering the password and watching the gates-the drawbridge-swing back to admit him to his castle keep. There’d been a purely visceral kickback then-call it pride, call it power-from all he’d achieved against so many odds. Power to insulate himself from the world’s dangers, pride in the zone of beauty he’d built around himself as a buffer against its ugliness. It had been a long time, though, since he’d felt that kick or, with the exception of April when the azaleas were in bloom, paid much attention to the beauty.

  He was bemused, therefore, to discern a quickening of his heartbeat as he stopped the Mercedes beside the security box that evening, after a long-and curiously entertaining-afternoon spent in a suburban Charleston Wal-Mart. He wasn’t quite sure what was responsible for the phenomenon-apprehension, perhaps, but a touch of excitement, too, and even anticipation. He felt much like an explorer setting foot on an uncharted island possibly inhabited by headhunters.

  But the most bemusing aspect of it was that he didn’t really mind-not the way he normally would have such an anomaly-such a huge glitch in his carefully orchestrated life. He didn’t care to ask himself why that was so, or what it was exactly that was responsible for his unanticipated lightness of heart. Or why, as he proceeded along the brick-paved drive shaded by old magnolias and live oaks festooned with Spanish moss, he was whistling under his breath, not Mozart or Bach but some popular ditty he didn’t know the name of that he’d heard over the loudspeaker at Wal-Mart.

  What he did mind was being barked at by someone else’s dog when he attempted to enter his own house.

  “I live here, you canine dimwit,” he growled, only to be answered in much the same tone, albeit nonverbally.

  Choosing prudence over dominion, Riley halted and glared over his armload of shopping bags at the minuscule sentry standing stiff-legged and resolute in the kitchen doorway, bared white fangs and raised hackles steadfastly denying him entry. “Hey,” he growled back, “I’ve got shoes bigger than you. So back off.” About then the absurdity of the situation struck him, though he didn’t let the amusement he felt creep into his voice. “What do you think you are, a damned rottweiler?”

  “I’m afraid she probably does,” Summer said with a sigh, coming from the kitchen to scoop the Chihuahua into her arms. “Yes…yes…what a good girl you are…my brave champion…” She paused to wipe her face. “I really believe dogs lack a sense of size. Oh, my goodness.” She broke off to stare openmouthed at the packages in Riley’s arms. “What is all that?”

  For the first time, possibly because the kitchen light was behind her and as a consequence that distracting mouth of hers was hidden in shadow, it occurred to Riley that she had a very nice speaking voice-a California voice, devoid of any accent, but rather low-pitched and with a musical quality he found pleasant. The kind of voice that was probably calming to small children and animals-a useful asset for a vet.

  She was laughing as she stepped aside to let him through the doorway. “No wonder Beatle didn’t recognize you.”

  “There’s more,” he said as he deposited his load on the island countertop. “If you want to, you can give me a hand.”

  “Oh-yes, sure.”

  He paused, then, to watch her set the dog on the floor, noting that she was wearing the same clothes she’d had on when she’d come to see him at his office the day before-tan slacks and a pale green sleeveless shell-but that they looked clean and freshly pressed. As she bent over he noted, too, the slender lines of her back and arms, the way the fabric pulled taut over her buttocks and thighs. Things he didn’t normally allow himself to observe in a client.

  She straightened, dusting her hands, forcing him to shift his gaze quickly He cleared his throat and said, “Where are the, uh…?” and held his hand out, palm down, waist high.

  “The children? They were upstairs watching television, but I have an idea they must’ve fallen asleep.” Her mobile mouth gave him the briefest of smiles. “Otherwise, I’m sure they’d be here to welcome you. They didn’t get much sleep last night. And they spent a good part of the day in the pool. They were pretty worn-out.”

  “Ah.” With a twinge of shame at the relief that news brought, he held up his index finger, adorned now with only a discreet flesh-toned bandage, and arched his eyebrows in question. “And the, uh…?”

  The worry-crease sharpened between her brows. “Oh, I hope it’s okay-I put her in the living room. You know, the room that overlooks the pool? I put a sheet down on the floor to protect it-I’m sorry, there will be some mess. With birds it goes with the territory, you know.” Her smile flickered again, on and off, as if it had a faulty connection. “I’m sorry. I know this has got to be a terrible nuisance for you. But it was closest to where we all were for most of the day, and she needs the reassurance of being around people she knows and trusts.”

  “Really.” Riley kept his voice neutral as he held the door for her and they went together into the warm, muggy evening. He glanced at her and she nodded.

  “There’s been so much upheaval in her life.”

  In the waning light he caught the sheen of humidity on her face, the tops of her shoulders and along her collarbones. The air around him seemed to thicken.

  “Moving, you mean,” he said, and cleared his throat. “Yeah, I’d think a parrot would be somewhat difficult to travel with.” He glanced at her and frowned. “You mind if I ask why you didn’t just leave her behind in California? Seems to me it would have been easier on everybody.”

  She was silent for a moment, watching her feet on the uneven brick paving. Then she leveled a look at him. “There are some things I’ve had to do in the past couple of years where I felt like I had no choice in the matter. My decision to keep the animals wasn’t one. Sure, I could have left them all of them. And yes, things would be a little easier for me now. And for you.”

  She looked away, leaving him feeling diminished, somehow. A little ashamed. After a moment her voice came back to him, along with a laugh as soft and forgiving as a breath of the evening air.

  “Peggy Sue-my cat?-I got her as a gift for my sixteenth birthday. I named her after an old fifties song-it was the seventies, but there was a big fifties revival at the time: ‘Pretty, pret-ty, pret-ty, Peh-he-gy Sue’-remember it?” Her voice grew husky. “She’s twenty years old now-do you have any idea how old that is for a cat? No wonder she’s ugly and cranky, huh? So, for that should I have put her down, or left her behind to finish her days with strangers?”

  Again she paused, this time to kick absently at an uneven brick in the pathway. “And Cleo-parrots are very intelligent, you know? It’s like having a preschool child.” Riley saw her shoulders lift, then a moment later heard the sigh of an exhaled breath. “Her owner brought her to me after her mate had been killed accidentally. She was grieving, and they thought she’d die, too. She wouldn’t accept another mate, but she was beginning to bond with us-the children and me-when… all this happened. If I’d given her away she likely would have died.” She glanced at him, then as quickly looked away. “And poor little Beatle-we got her because one of my clients, a breeder, wanted me to put her to sleep. You know why? Because her ears are damaged and won’t stand up, so she’s no good to show. That little dog would give her life for any one of us…” She broke off suddenly. They’d reached the car. She stood and stared intently at it, her back rigid, arms folded across her waist.

  Riley felt an urge to put his hand on the back of her neck and massage it until her shoulders relaxed and her body eased back and melded with his like a hand in a glove. Instead, he reached past her, opened the door and popped the trunk, then said gruffly, “Guess we should take the food in first.”

  They each made two fully laden trips, mostly in silence, before the car was empty
of all the shopping bags and varioussize boxes and plastic-covered clothes hangers.

  After the last trip, Summer stood with her arms full of shoe boxes and garment bags and surveyed the already overflowing countertops. She gave a feeble-sounding laugh. “Do you do this for all your clients?” So many packages…the thought of what he must have spent gave her a horrified, panicky feeling.

  “Only those I’m keeping locked up in protective custody,” Riley drawled, but with an edge to his voice.

  She had no trouble taking the hint; obviously he didn’t want to talk about it He probably wasn’t any more comfortable with the subject than she was. Okay, so as difficult as it might be, it looked as if she was going to have to accept Riley Grogan’s generosity and swallow her pride-again. One more lump to add to the ones she felt sometimes would choke her. She wished she could feel grateful; instead she felt inadequate and ashamed.

  Riley turned from the open refrigerator, frowning as he weighed a bag of peaches in one hand, a plastic package labeled Caesar Salad in the other. He held them both out to her, eyebrows arched in that querying way of his.

  She took a breath, swallowed the lump and said, “Lettuce, yes, peaches, no-they should be left out to ripen. Here-just let me put these…” She gave up looking for a place to set down her armload and ducked into the hallway, where she dumped everything in a pile at the foot of the stairs. She returned to find Riley staring at a note she’d fastened with cellophane tape to the refrigerator door.

  “What’s this?” He focused on the note and read, “Crayons-”

  She felt herself blush scarlet. What must he think of her? And after he’d just spent a small fortune! Her chest constricted with shame. “After you left this morning I thought of a few things to add to the list-but there’s absolutely no hurry. I just thought it might help to keep the children occupied-you know, since they can’t go…” She stepped closer and raised her hand to snatch the note away.