Remy squinted at her, confused.
Darryl cast a self-conscious glance at the others, clearly embarrassed to admit he paid any attention to the old sea myths. "Da A word's only bad when you're on a shrimpboat," he quietly informed her.
"Oh. I didn't realize that."
"But I'll tell her, Kate."
Maybe it was his use of her name, or the simple sincerity of his assurance. Whatever the reason, a surge of sentiment crowded Kate's chest. "I'm glad she'll have you, too, Darryl. She'll learn about loyalty and hard work. And courage." She smiled, took a breath, then forged ahead, determined to do him a good turn, whether he appreciated it or not. "Of course, if you don't use that courage to tell Joey how you feel about her, you might not have the place in Arianne's life that you should have."
Surprise and dismay sprang into his eyes, and Joey rose from the porch swing with her mouth slightly ajar.
Kate knew she shouldn't say any more, but she was leaving, and had no time to see to these important matters. Turning to Joey, who was slowly approaching, Kate told her, "He thinks he's not worthy of you because he has difficulty reading."
With a gasp, Joey cried, "Not worthy of me? Do you really believe dat, Darryl? You think I care so much about how well you read?"
"I don't have 'difficulty' reading, Jo." Shame whitened his face. "I flat out can't do it."
"I know you can't, but you never told me it mattered to you. I work wit' specialists who can diagnose reading disabilities and teachers who can overcome them."
He shook his head, his scowl deep.
Kate recognized the doubting, frustrated look in Joey's eyes. She clearly wasn't sure how the man felt about her.
And it really irked Kate. What was it with these men, always keeping their feelings to themselves? Here stood Darryl, deliberately withholding the fact that he loved Joey, just as Mitch had withheld the fact that he didn't give a flip about Kate.
That last fact was becoming more obvious every moment. Mitch had set her suitcase on the porch, then strolled away to lounge against the pillar, looking nothing more than bored. His eyes no longer held a special warmth for her, or even a glimmer of interest. Now that she'd assured him she wasn't going to press charges, it seemed his need to "cozy up" wasn't quite as pressing.
The pain of that realization was bearable only because of her anger. Her anger would carry her through … at least until she boarded that plane.
Shoving her misery aside, Kate focused her intensity on Darryl. "If you love Joey, it's wrong not to tell her. And if you don't love her, you need to tell her that, too. It's clear she loves you, and nothing's worse than being led on, and given false hopes that can only break your heart."
She couldn't help shooting Mitch a pointed glance.
That glance, it seemed, caught his attention, and he pushed away from the porch pillar. "That's right, Darryl," he murmured, his stare fixed on Kate as he descended the steps and strolled their way. "It's wrong to lead someone on, to make them believe you want them and care about them, when you really don't." He stopped near Kate, the boredom gone from his expression. His jaw was taut, his mouth tight and his gaze confrontational. Or was that … repentant? Was this his way of admitting what he'd done and telling her that he regretted it? "Anyone who does that deserves to be horsewhipped."
"Horsewhipped!" Darryl spluttered. "Damn it, Mitch, I never meant to lead Joey on!" He turned away from Mitch, whose attention remained on Kate. "You have to know I love you, Jo."
"Do you, Darryl? Do you really?"
"I don't think Mitch was talking about you, Darryl." Kate was seething. If this was Mitch's idea of an apology, it was a lousy one. But what did that matter? An apology wouldn't change the fact that he'd used her for ulterior motives. In fact, an apology only made the humiliation worse. "I think he was talking about himself. And yes, I agree … anyone who 'cozies up' for no good reason ought to be horsewhipped."
Mitch blinked and frowned.
Kate whirled away and stalked toward the house, past his mother standing on the porch and his father sitting beneath the shade tree. "I have to go now," she announced, retrieving her purse from beside her suitcase. "I have a flight to catch."
"A flight?" his mother said. "Why you going so soon, chèr'?"
"I have to get back to work."
"No time to tell me more about my granddaughter, eh?"
Mitch stood where she'd left him and watched Kate stumble over explanations about why she had to catch that one-thirty flight. He didn't hear much of what she said, though. He couldn't think beyond the mystifying confrontation they'd just had.
He was the one who had been wronged. She was the one who had led him on, who had given him false hopes, with her supercharged kisses and passionate lovemaking. Yet, she'd implied that he should be horsewhipped. And she'd used a term that he'd heard fairly recently. Cozy up.
No sooner had he repeated the phrase to himself than the memory surfaced. Kip Landry. This morning. "Cozy up to her all you can."
Sacre Dieu. She must have overheard! But she couldn't believe that he'd been acting on that advice, could she? She couldn't possibly think that he was the kind of low-down, unprincipled, heartless bastard who would take her to bed for a reason like that.
One word resonated through his mind. Horsewhipped.
Hell, yes, she believed it. She'd deduced the very worst about him, and about every word they'd spoken, every kiss they'd shared, every intimate moment they'd spent together. She was ready to leave, shut him out of her life, without even explaining why.
Of course, what the hell could he say, even if she'd confront him with it? He could hear the conversation now: "Have you been 'cozying up' to me to stay out of jail?"
"No, chèr'…"
Fury filled him. Shook him, like thunder. Never had anyone incited an anger so deep and cutting. And that included Camryn.
Through a reddish haze, he saw the others had gravitated around her near the porch steps. Only his father remained aloof, casting a casual eye in that direction as he sat whittling.
"So, you see, even though classes don't start until next month," Kate was saying, "I'll need time to prepare."
"Speaking of time, Kate…" His mother crossed her arms and peered at her, then turned her scrutinizing stare at Mitch. "Just how long has Mitch known you're not Camryn?"
Color rushed into Kate's face, and Mitch sensed she was doing her best not to look at him. "You'd have to ask him that, Mrs. Devereaux, but I believe his investigator told him a couple of days ago."
"Days?" That one-word inquiry was indeed directed at Mitch.
If anyone else had butted into his business, he'd have turned a deaf ear. As it was, he shrugged.
And though he hadn't actually admitted to anything, he saw perception seep into her gaze. A glance around showed him the same perception dawning in everyone's faces. They knew now how he felt about her. They knew that at the party last night, he'd been hungering for her, Kate. No one else. And if they had any sense at all, they could look at her face and know he didn't stand a chance of keeping her. That he wasn't part of her life.
His anger burned.
"As much as I'd love to stay and talk, Mrs. Devereaux," Kate said, "we'll have to do that by phone. I have to leave now or I'll miss my flight. Would any of you be willing to drive me?" No one volunteered.
Mitch was surprised. He knew they'd all been charmed by her, and would probably drive to Mississippi if it would please her. Yet no one said a word to break the awkward silence. And one by one, they stole sidelong glances at him, as if looking for guidance.
He gave them none.
"I'll pay for gas, of course," she added hopefully. Everyone evaded her gaze. "Remy, would you drive me?"
The look of dismay on his craggy face might have been comical under other conditions. "Aw, no, chèr'. I mean, I would, but—" he rubbed the back of his neck, beneath his grizzled pony tail "—I don't have my own vehicle. Darryl's gonna need his, and I—"
"Take mi
ne, Remy," Mitch said. "The cargo van. It's in the backyard." Digging in his jeans pocket, he found his keys, slipped one off the ring and threw it to him.
Remy caught it, looking painfully reluctant to carry out the task. "If you say so, Cap'n." With a grim set to his mouth, he grabbed Kate's suitcase off the porch and trudged around the corner of the house.
Kate didn't acknowledge Mitch's loan of the vehicle by as much as a glance, let alone a thank-you. She pointedly ignored him, busying herself with goodbyes.
Just as well. He was too furious with her to carry on a polite charade. But he couldn't help wondering what she felt for him, if anything. What would have happened if Kip Landry hadn't shot off his big mouth? Would Kate still have insisted on taking this flight and bowing out of his life? Or would she and he have spent the day with Arianne … and another night in his bed, making love as if they really meant it?
It hurt like hell to think about.
"Kate," his mother said with outstretched arms. "You're my granddaughter's aunt. Dat means you're part of dis family now, too. You come visit, eh? I better see you at Christmas, for sure. Hooo, you never passed a good time like you will at a Cajun Christmas."
Tears rose in Kate's eyes. "Thank you."
And Mitch took another jab to the gut. He could just picture what Christmas would be like. If she accepted the invitation, it would be hell … seeing her, wanting her. Not having her. And if she didn't accept, it would be worse.
"Keep in touch, chèr'," Mémère urged, hugging her.
They were both teary-eyed when Kate pulled away. She then turned briskly, bowed her head and hurried in the direction Remy had taken.
The silence following her departure was deafening. When it dragged on and grew too oppressive, Mitch tore his attention away from the path she'd taken. They were all watching him—his mother, Joey and Darryl. Not his father, though. His father kept on whittling.
"You gonna go after her, son?" his mother asked, maternal anxiety puckering her brow.
"After her?" Mitch kept his face impassive. "What for?"
She returned his cool stare with a searching one. "I was worried at da party last night. Didn't make sense, you acting dat way wit' Camryn. But wit' Kate—" she paused, then finished with devastating gentleness "—it makes sense."
His pain worsened, and his anger seeped deeper into his bones.
At his continued silence, his mother's lips bowed up in disapproval. "If you don't want her, dat's your business. But we don't let our guests leave wit'out even saying goodbye. I didn't hear you say goodbye to her."
A very intentional thing.
"I don't know what you did to get her so upset, but you need to go straighten things out."
"What I did to her?" he said, finally riled into a response.
"Don't think I didn't hear her say you ought to be horsewhipped."
"I can't believe," Joey said in a fervent undertone, "dat you're gonna let her leave. You're tearing her baby from her arms."
Good God Almighty! Arianne was suddenly her baby. But he couldn't argue with the truth of that. "No one's forcing Kate to go."
"I'm not too sure," Mémère muttered.
Mitch squared his jaw, crossed his arms and settled more solidly against the side of his pickup truck. The women of his family glared.
"Leave da boy alone" came his father's low but imperative rumble from beneath the oak tree. "He'll handle things his own way."
It didn't take more than a minute longer for Remy to appear at the corner of the house, striding purposefully toward Mitch. "Dere's a problem, Cap'n. Can't get dis key to fit. Won't even open da doors. Must be da wrong one."
Mitch took the key without glancing at it and slid it back onto his ring. "Guess I'll have to find one that fits." He opened the door of his pickup, reached into the glove compartment and located what he was looking for. "The locks on that old cargo van can be tricky," he murmured to Remy. "Might take me a while to get it open. Why don't you just wait here?"
Remy shrugged and nodded.
"Better yet—" Mitch glanced around at their watchful faces "—why don't you all go home."
Eyebrows lifted. Gazes shifted and connected. His father lumbered to his feet from the lounge chair, leisurely pocketed his pecan wood and whittling knife and led the silent retreat toward the trucks.
"How 'bout me, Cap'n?" Remy asked, the only one remaining at Mitch's side. "You still want me to drive Kate to da airport?"
"Nah. Take my pickup. Go enjoy your time off."
"Feels funny calling her 'Kate' instead of 'Cam', eh?"
"No, Remy, it doesn't."
He accepted that with a philosophical shrug, glanced cordially at him, then peered closer. "You sure you don't want me to drive her?" His hesitation suddenly seemed to border on discomfort. "I mean, she did ask me. Wouldn't want you two arguing, or something, and her being stranded wit'out a ride. I already told her I'd take her."
"Oh, don't you worry, mon ami." Mitch headed for the backyard. "I'll take her."
* * *
Chapter 16
« ^
In the dense, flower-fragrant heat of midmorning, Kate shrugged out of her linen jacket and leaned against the passenger door of the cargo van, grateful for the shade of the mossy cypresses. She'd been expecting more of a minivan, but instead had discovered a full-size truck. She wouldn't have cared if it had been a combat tank, as long as it would get her to the airport.
A glance at her watch upped her anxiety. She hoped Remy would return with that key soon.
And not only because of her flight schedule. She felt as if her chest would explode from the pressure of the emotions she was holding in check. The most overpowering was far too familiar—the grief of parting with people she loved. Although she refused to focus on Arianne, her heart bled for her, anyway. The emotional departure from Mitch's family hadn't helped. How had she come to care for them in such a short span of time?
You're a part of this family now, too, Mémère had told her. She couldn't be, of course. Not in any meaningful way. Because then she'd have to see Mitch again, and she couldn't bear it. No, she wouldn't be having any Cajun Christmases, Thanksgivings or Fourth of Julys.
She knew Mitch would be relieved by her absence. She'd seen the look on his face when his mother invited her—stark, utter dismay. Nothing had convinced her of his desire to be finished with her as that reaction had.
Oh, Mitch. How could I have been so wrong about you?
It didn't help to know that his impatience to have her out of his life probably stemmed from guilt. He'd clearly gone too far in his determination to prevent her from filing charges. He could have "cozied up" to her without all that seductive passion.
But then, how many men would have thrown away the opportunity for a night of wild sex with a more-than-willing partner? And if truth be told, no woman in her right mind would complain after a night like that with Mitch Devereaux.
Unless she fell in love with him. A stupid, useless, self-destructive thing to do.
What was keeping Remy? She needed to put distance between Mitch and her as quickly as she could or her chest might very well burst.
With a rush of relief, she heard footsteps crackling through the underbrush just beyond the grove of trees. But then a tall, broad-chested figure came into view, and Kate's heart virtually stopped.
Mitch.
He moved with long, purposeful strides, his dark face aloof and unsmiling. He'd clearly come to open the truck, nothing more. He barely spared her a glance as he approached.
Tense and shaken by the sudden force of her heartbeat, Kate straightened from her reclining position against the door, which seemed to be his destination. Stepping aside to allow him access to the lock, she asked in an impressively steady voice, "Where's Remy?"
"Last time I saw him, I believe he was heading for the phone," Mitch murmured, digging in his jeans pocket and drawing out a ring of keys.
Highly aware of his potent masculinity and mind-clouding nearness,
she watched his large, sun-bronzed hand as he slid the key into the lock, jockeyed it about and finally turned it. Odd, how just the sight of his hands could bring a surge of sensual memories to warm her blood.
He swung open the door and a blast of Louisiana summer heat poured from the cab. Rolling down the window to let in the gentle Delta breeze, he said without inflection, "Don't get in until I open the other door and the truck's had time to air out, unless you're in the mood to bake."
She waited while he stalked around to the other side of the truck, opened the door and left it ajar. Glancing at her watch, Kate said, "Remy didn't intend to be very long, did he?"
"Didn't say."
He rounded the back of the van and ambled to a halt beside her. "Should be cool enough now." Curtly he took her jacket and purse from her and tossed them up onto the truck's bench seat. He then turned to her and, in a distinctly impersonal manner, held out a hand to help her in—an awkward step up, she realized, for someone in heels.
Embarrassed at her initial hesitation, she forced her foolishness aside and set her hand in his. With easy strength, then, he boosted her up, turned her around and guided her onto the seat, which brought her to eye level with him. His hands were gripping her bare arms, and his dark, rugged face loomed very near.
"Thank you," she murmured, flushed with awareness of his heat, his scent, his nearness.
When she gathered the nerve to meet his gaze, a pang of dismay went through her. The vivid green eyes that had so captivated her, so enchanted her, just hours ago, now regarded her with unmitigated coolness.
The sense of loss she felt startled her.
Oddly enough, he didn't entirely release her. He let go of her right arm, but his hand slid down the length of her left arm, the friction leaving a tingling path. She'd barely had time to catch a breath, to get past the feel of his hand running along her skin, or to reconcile the action with the aloofness on his face, before a jangle sounded, then a startlingly familiar click-click.
And metallic coolness encircled her wrist. A tug at her hand made the situation shockingly clear. He'd handcuffed her! To the handgrip on the dash!
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