by Wendy Rosnau
She watched through the window as Ry and Blu explained what had taken place tonight and why. She was still a little overwhelmed by the whole story Blu had told her on the way to the precinct. Taber Denoux was in the business of stealing children and selling them to prospective buyers out of the country.
Margo shuddered and closed her eyes. She couldn’t believe someone could do something so despicable. Moments ago, the Coast Guard had called in and said they had apprehended Taber Denoux and his men—it looked as though the pirate was going to get everything he deserved.
“You okay?”
Margo opened her eyes to see Blu sink down in the chair next to her. He looked so tired, so thin. “I’m fine. Are you finished in there so I can take you to the hospital?”
“I’m heading that way now. Jackson’s going to drive me over. He’s not too excited about explaining to Blais how he stole the Nightwing out of impound.”
Margo glanced down at his leg. It looked horrible, and she was terribly afraid it was going to leave him with a severe limp or worse. “Do you think we should call Mama?”
“We’ll call her in the morning. You wait for the old man.” Blu leaned over and kissed Margo’s forehead. “Thanks.”
“Thanks?” She frowned. “For what?”
“For going to Ry’s place the night you were shot. I know it was hard, but it’s what made the difference. He saved the day, you know.”
“But you saved the kids.” Margo touched Blu’s cheek. “I’m so proud of you.”
“I couldn’t leave them. They were so damn scared.” Blu shook his head. “Denoux’s a sick bastard.”
“I’m told the kids’ families have been called.”
“Yeah, I heard.”
Margo saw Jackson heading their way, a scruffy teenager walking a few steps behind him with his head down. “This one won’t talk,” he told Blu. “You sure he can speak?”
“He can speak,” Blu assured. “What’s up, Mort?”
“Nothing.”
“So tell the man what he wants to know. Then you can get the hell out of here and go home.”
“I don’t have nothing to say. I’m not like the others.” The kid shoved his hands into his pockets and stared at his shoes. Finally he said, “They got families and a home. I don’t.”
It suddenly turned quiet. Then Blu surprised Margo by standing and saying, “Well, you do now, Mort. That is, if you like sleeping on a boat.”
“I’m not picky, sir.”
“Blu. Call me Blu. I’ve never been a sir and never will be.”
Margo watched her brother put his arm around Mort and head for the door with a profound limp. Over his shoulder he said, “Say, Chili. I hear you’re cooking Sunday dinner. Now that you got yourself a fancy house, I imagine that’ll get to be a family tradition. You coming, Jackson?”
She hadn’t meant to scare him, but when he hurried out onto the veranda, Margo saw Ry’s eyes were wide and searching.
“I’m here,” she called out from her seat on the swing. She should have been tired, she should have felt the need to sleep the morning away, but instead she’d risen by seven, put on one of Ry’s shirts and slipped out into the backyard to enjoy the morning jasmine.
“Don’t do that,” he scolded.
“Do what?”
“Disappear without telling me where you’re going.”
“I’m sorry. I couldn’t sleep.”
He stepped off the veranda, barefoot and shirtless, his jeans hugging his hips. He’d been awfully quiet driving home from the precinct. And when he’d made love to her, he’d been so serious, so possessive, that she’d suspected something was wrong. But she hadn’t asked, sensing Ry would tell her soon enough. Now that everything was over, life would either go back to the way it was or…”
“We’ve got to talk.” He sat down beside her.
“I’m listening.”
He started rocking the swing. “A couple of those families had rewards out for their kids. The Chief told me Blu will receive several thousand dollars. It should help him get out of debt and put the fleet on its feet.”
Margo was surprised. “Does he know?”
“He will soon enough. One of those kids was the daughter of a high-profile lawyer out east. He’s requested a private meeting with Blu to discuss his future.”
“Blu’s future is the fishing fleet.”
“Maybe.” Ry stopped the swing to gaze down at her. “What’s your plan for the future, baby?”
“I don’t understand the question.”
“I believe Koch is dead, but I’m still a cop and I’m still twelve years older than you are. It looks like you’re the one with the decision to make.”
Margo got to her feet and placed her hands on her hips. “So I get to do whatever I want, is that it?”
He hesitated. “That’s the way it should work.”
“Should?”
“Margo, I—”
“I love you, Ry Archard. I have since the day you walked into that alley and scared Jimmy Tandino into next week. I fell in love with Ryland, the man, but I also fell in love with who he was, a good cop. The best cop in New Orleans. I accepted that then, and I accept that now—the danger, the rotten schedule, the mood swings that a man in your business deals with.”
“Margo—”
“I’m not finished,” she insisted. “A few days ago I told you that I didn’t believe in the justice system. But that wasn’t true. I was just protecting myself, trying to fight the love I’ve had for you since I laid eyes on you at age fifteen. The news flash, Detective Archard, is that the attraction is burning hotter and brighter the older I get.” Margo smiled. “Can you imagine how hot I’ll burn when I’m eighty?”
“God, I love you.”
“Then can we repaint the kitchen?” Margo teased.
Slowly Ry came to his feet. “Any color you wish.”
He took a step forward. She took a step back.
“Stand still.”
“Say it. Say it’s forever this time.”
“It would be my pleasure to make it forever this time, baby. Forever and legal. We’ll call your mother and tell her there’s going to be an afternoon wedding next Sunday in our backyard. A garden wedding.”
He took another step forward, and this time Margo didn’t move. “You’re serious?”
“It’s the only way I’m going to get you to stay home at least part-time and fill this house with beds and kids, right?”
“Children need parents. Married parents would make Mama happy.”
“Come here.”
Margo stepped into his arms, and he closed them around her. “It’s going to be a wonderful life, Ry.”
“Let me show you how wonderful.”
“Right here?”
“Right here.”
“You’re a dirty old man, Ry.”
“And you love me, anyway.”
“Yes, I do.”
ISBN: 978-1-4592-0706-6
A YOUNGER WOMAN
Copyright © 2001 by Wendy Rosnau
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