Falling Hard and Fast

by Kylie Brant

  He’d managed to surprise her. “You haven’t always lived in Charity?”

  Stretching his legs out, he took another swallow of beer. “I guess there have been Gauthiers here since the time the parish was settled, or thereabouts. My great-great-granddaddy built the house I still live in. Tradition always played a big part in my family, but my daddy had a mind to see what he could accomplish on his own. Shortly after he married my mama, they moved to Florida and he started his first business there. That’s where I was adopted.”

  Her gaze flew to his, but his eyes were as steady as his tone. “How old were you then?”

  “Two. My birth mother was charged with neglect. She gave up her rights.” That much his adoptive parents had told him. Because it had seemed to bother them when he asked, he’d tried not to question them overmuch about it. His life, his memories, began after he’d become a Gauthier. That had been enough for his parents, and had been enough for him for a long time. Since his adoption had taken place in Florida, he doubted there were many in the parish who even knew the truth of his birth. It wasn’t until he’d become an adult that his own questions had become more persistent.

  As if she were able to read his thoughts, Zoey asked, “Do you wonder about your birth family?”

  He finished the beer and set the bottle on the porch beside him. Somehow, without even trying, he’d snagged her interest. Her curiosity was strong enough to pierce the guard she usually wore. And it had landed unerringly on a subject he was still wrestling with.

  He drew the cigar from his pocket and took his time lighting it. “Do you mind?” he asked belatedly. She shook her head with barely restrained impatience. He drew in deeply and then exhaled with pure enjoyment.

  “Do you?” she prodded. “Wonder about it?”

  “There sure are a barrel of puzzles in this world.” He squinted into the distance, observing the thin stream of smoke rising over the top of a cluster of trees. Cleve Hawkins must be burning his ditches again, despite Cage’s warnings about the dry spell they were having. Almost absently, he went on. “I wonder about a lot of them.”

  “Like?”

  He blew a smoke ring and contemplated it as it hung in the air. “Like why the Howells took all those clothes for what was only a three-hour cruise. It was almost like they were figuring on getting shipwrecked. And how come Darrin never let Samantha use her witchcraft?” That one was a real enigma, and he cocked his head in bafflement. “You’d think he’d have at least let her use it to help with the housework.”

  She released a breath she hadn’t been aware of holding and barely restrained the urge to punch him. “Yeah, those old sitcoms are mysteries, all right. Aren’t you ever serious?”

  His lips twitched at her reaction. “Something tells me that you’re serious enough for both of us.”

  He was right, of course, though she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of telling him so. Life, she’d found, was a serious business. “I’m sorry for prying.” It pained her to make the apology, and her words were stiff. “I don’t especially enjoy having people poke around in my life, either.”

  Somehow, without trying, he’d offended her. The topic may have been one he’d been avoiding dealing with, but he didn’t resent her interest. “Zoey.” He waited for her gaze to meet his. “I was teasing. Just joking around, all right?” When she didn’t respond, he let out a breath. “Boy, you’re tough. Okay, yes, I have thought about my birth mother. It didn’t take much to figure that she probably wasn’t a real loss. But the fact that there might be other family—I did wonder about it. Enough to write to the state of Florida and have my adoption records opened.”

  He succeeded in throwing her one curve after another, one minute clowning and the next serious. She wished she could manage indifference. But glimpses of the man beneath the charm and affability were too fascinating to ignore. She refused to consider what that meant.

  Her fingers stroked the dog’s soft fur unconsciously. “What did you find out?”

  Narrowing his gaze against the haze of smoke trailing from his cigar, he took his time answering. “I don’t know.”

  Sharply, she looked at him. He raised the slim cigar to his lips and inhaled. “I waited until after my parents—my adoptive parents—had died before looking into it. Seemed only right, somehow. When I told my sister—did I mention I have a sister?” He waited for the shake of her head to go on. “Nadine is three years younger than me. She was adopted as an infant shortly before my folks decided to move back to Louisiana. Married a lawyer a few years back and they’re living in Atlanta. Anyway, when I told her what I’d done, she really lit into me. Accused me of being unfaithful to our mama and daddy’s memory.”

  His words glossed over the unpleasantness of the scene. Like a true Southern-bred lady, Nadine was adept at maintaining a perfectly civil tone as she cut a man off at the knees. He was no stranger to guilt, and the accusation she’d aimed had hit its mark. His sister had never questioned her roots, had been comfortable with the Gauthier legacy her adoption had entailed. He hadn’t considered that his questions about his birth could be construed as betrayal. Beau Gauthier had been a strict disciplinarian, but intelligent and fair-minded. His wife, Althea, had been genteel, good-humored and loving. Neither of them had ever once made him feel that he was less than their natural son. He wondered if the questions still circling inside him could manage to do so.

  Zoey sensed a thread of melancholy tracing through his words, and felt an unwilling tug of empathy. “There never seems to be any shortage of people in our lives who think they know what’s best for us.”

  He glanced at her, wondering at her rueful tone. “Spoken like someone with firsthand experience.”

  “Yes.” She surprised him, and herself by explaining. “When my mother died, I went to court to fight for custody of my brother and sister. My aunt and uncle were convinced they would be better guardians. It was…tense for a while.” The process had, for better or worse, molded Zoey into who she was today. Self-assured, slightly arrogant and supremely competent. As she’d been described by her aunt and uncle on occasion, not always flatteringly. She’d accepted those descriptions of herself, embraced them. Even at times when her knees had knocked with self-doubt—especially at such times—she’d cultivated a veneer of confidence. Her relatives would have pounced at the first sign of weakness from her. She had already lost too much to risk letting that happen.

  While he pondered her words, Cage offered a bent knuckle to Oxy, who chewed it obligingly. She couldn’t have been very old when she’d assumed responsibility for her siblings. There was no denying the sheer guts it had taken for her to do so. He wanted to probe further, but he’d felt a part of her shift away almost as soon as she’d finished speaking, as if she regretted sharing the little she had.

  The dog lost interest in them, and started down the steps to investigate the bushes. Mildly Cage said, “Family loyalty is an admirable thing. Trouble is, seems like everyone’s got a different opinion on just what it entails. You did what you thought was right for your family. I still have to figure out what’s right for mine. I’ve never blamed Nadine for her opinion, you understand. She has her views, and I have my own. Doesn’t make either of us wrong.”

  It wasn’t the first time he’d espoused such a sentiment. Zoey wondered if he could possibly be as tolerant as he let on. Many people, she’d learned, saw the world in black-and-white. And while that might be a comfortable view, it seemed to be the shades of gray in between that she was most familiar with.

  “At any rate—” he took a last puff of the cigar with real regret, before dropping it to the step and grinding it out “—she made me stop and think. When I got a packet of information from Florida’s Department of Human Services a few months ago, I stuck it away in my desk at home. It’s been there ever since. Unopened.”

  Her jaw dropped. “How can you stand that?” His utter placidity about the matter was incomprehensible. “Doesn’t it drive you crazy to think that you might ha
ve the very information you’ve been wondering about, and not even look at it?”

  He could have told her that he was no stranger to regrets. He knew how guilt could weigh on a man. But it was imperative to him that he not unseal something else that could prove difficult to live with. A man wasn’t always given a choice about those matters. “Something Nadine said made sense to me. Warned me not to ask the questions until I was sure I could live with the answers.” His face, his voice, were sober. “That seemed like good advice. So I’ll wait until I’m sure.”

  She shook her head, genuinely baffled. “I’ll bet you were the kind of kid who didn’t sneak peeks at your Christmas presents, either. Never once went on a search to see if you could find them before they were wrapped, did you?”

  The words were almost an accusation. He felt his seriousness slip away. “What fun would Christmas morning be if there were no surprises?”

  “What good are surprises if you have to wait forever to find out what they are?”

  His lips curved. He could almost see her as the impatient kid she must have been. When he bought her a present, he’d have to hide it well. He could already imagine the fun he’d have before holidays, torturing her by dropping hints and driving her slowly insane.

  It occurred to him then that the scene he was imagining entailed some sort of long-term relationship with Zoey—something he’d carefully managed to avoid with other women. The impulse should have been cause for panic. Instead, it beckoned with a sweet warmth that layered over the need he was accustomed to feeling. The emotion was unfamiliar, but too tantalizing to be feared.

  The puppy bounded up the steps then, and made itself at home on Zoey’s lap. Seeing the picture they made, Cage suddenly became thoughtful. Her isolated air seemed muted somehow as she held the animal, and an idea formed, began to gel.

  Scooting over to pet the dog, he braced his hand on the porch behind Zoey, close to the curve of her hip and that sweet, shapely behind.

  She looked at him sharply, suspicion evident on her features. “Isn’t that a little pathetic, Gauthier? Using a poor dumb animal to facilitate a seduction scene?”

  Her choice of words never failed to tickle him. “Is that what I’m doing?”

  At the genuine amusement in his words, her tone grew less certain. “Isn’t it?”

  “You’re skittish, Zoey.” With a gentle push he urged the dog off her lap, and pretended not to notice the woman beside him inching away, as well. “Makes me think that there was a man sometime who disappointed you.”

  Because his guess was too close to the truth, she ignored it. “Just because I happen to have better sense than to be taken in by some small-town Romeo…”

  “Was it this Patrick you mentioned?” The name released a burning fist in his gut, but he thought he did a decent job of keeping the emotion from his voice.

  “‘Patrick’?” Her tone was puzzled. “What’s my brother got to do with anything?”

  “Your…brother?” Relief flooded, and the world looked a little brighter. “Not Patrick, then. But someone hurt you.” He paused expectantly, giving her an opportunity to respond. When she remained silent, he said in an amiable tone, “I reckon you’ll tell me about it in your own time. Right now, I’ve got a proposition for you.”

  She stiffened at his choice of words and wished, in an instant of cowardice, that the porch post didn’t prevent her from putting more distance between the two of them. Pride kept her from rising. Months ago, she’d ceased giving a man—any man—control over her emotions.

  He felt her body go rigid and his voice went low and soothing. “Actually, it’s more a favor. An exchange of favors, I guess you’d call it.”

  “What?”

  He wanted to grin at the caution underlying that single word, but was far too savvy a strategist to do so. “Well, the thing is, I really don’t have time to spend with the pup right now. The carpenters aren’t done with the repair work yet, and my housekeeper, Ila, isn’t one to have the patience to train a dog. I was wondering if you’d agree to keep him for me.” When she didn’t answer, he added hastily, “Just until this murder investigation is over. I’ll have more time then.”

  She looked at the puppy, which was trying to avoid tumbling down the steps. “Seems to me, you should have thought of that before you got him.”

  “I couldn’t be sure he’d still be available, could I?” Not waiting for an answer, he went on, “If you can’t be bothered, I’ll understand. Seems a shame to have to tie the little guy up most days, but I can if I have to.”

  She cast another look at the dog. “That doesn’t seem quite fair.”

  As if he sensed she was weakening, he added quickly, “In return, I can arrange to have your lawn taken care of. That’d be one less thing for you to worry about. You haven’t lined anyone up, have you?”

  As she shook her head, he observed the Potter car slowing as it drove by her house. Thursdays were always Francine’s day at the wheel, although she was doing more gawking than driving at the moment. By noon tomorrow it would be all over Charity that Cage Gauthier and Zoey Prescott had been seen sitting close on her front porch. He shot a quick glance at Zoey. She hadn’t seemed to notice. He already knew her well enough to predict how she’d react to becoming Charity’s latest item of gossip.

  She eyed the dog doubtfully. “I really don’t know much about animals.”

  “It’ll be a new experience for you, then.”

  Though his tone was bland, his words had her turning to look at him sharply. Zoey was suspicious enough by nature to wonder if his offer was a thinly veiled excuse to continue to come by here. But she was far too uncertain of her femininity to completely believe it.

  Her gaze returned to the dog, which seemed to be watching her hopefully. She pursed her lips, considering his offer. There had been little about Cage’s behavior today to set her inner alarms clamoring. The visit had seemed almost neighborly in its innocence.

  Her teeth closed over her bottom lip as she pondered. “Well,” she said finally, “I guess I really do need my lawn mowed.”

  He was unprepared for the jagged edge of desire that tore through him as he watched her teeth worry her lip. Her words were slow to register. He wanted, badly, to kiss her. It took far more effort than it should have to resist.

  “You know, around here we seal agreements in one of two ways.” He waited for her to look at him before going on. “When I was a kid, the two of us would have to draw a line in the dirt and spit on it.” Her nose wrinkled. “Over the years, however, I’ve found the most satisfactory way to seal a bargain—” his voice dropped infinitesimally “—is with a kiss.”

  Zoey leaned against the post at her side, pressing another inch of space between them, and managed a steady voice. “And if I find both prospects equally revolting?”

  Damn. Amusement traced through him. He doubted there was another woman alive who could still make him want her even while she was insulting him. “Then I guess we’ll have to settle our bargain in a more traditional way.” He stuck his hand out.

  Zoey contemplated his not-quite-innocent smile distrustfully and allowed her palm to be engulfed in his. When his fingers closed around hers, she experienced an instant of very feminine panic.

  “Great. We have a deal, then.”

  “Yes,” she agreed, and wondered why she felt as if she were making a pact with the devil. “We have a deal.”

  Chapter 6

  The first order of business, Zoey decided the next morning, was a trip to town for puppy essentials. Oxy had come close to being an absolute pain during the night. Despite the cozy bed she’d made for him out of an old quilt at the bottom of the stairs, he’d whined so pitifully she’d gotten up to tend to him several times. Finally, in exasperation, she’d given up and taken him to her room. He’d started the night curled up beside her bed, but she’d awakened to find him nestled against her, his small sides moving rhythmically as he slept the beatific sleep of the innocent.

  She felt as
though she’d failed her first test of dog-sitting. She was fairly certain that dogs shouldn’t sleep on beds. They were going to have to get serious about his training before he learned all manner of bad habits.

  Oxy gave her a pitiful look when she shut him in the kitchen, but she steeled herself against the plea in his big, doggy eyes. It would be a lot cooler for him in the air-conditioned house than waiting in the car while she shopped.

  As she drove the short distance to town, she reflected on the turn of events that had led to her having a dog, however briefly. When she’d seen Cage’s car in her driveway her system had undergone rapid freeze. It was the only way to keep the blasted man at a distance. The fact that it had taken such a serious effort on her part was something that had given her more than a few sleepless hours last night.

  Somehow her practiced ice-queen routine failed to have the predictable effect on Cage, and she didn’t quite know what to do about that. Most men in her acquaintance were easily turned away by an indifferent manner and a cutting tongue. Those few whom she’d allowed closer had quickly learned that the ice was slow to thaw, much less melt and sizzle into heat.

  That was a fact she was determined Cage Gauthier would never find out for himself. Just the thought had little licks of panic flickering in her veins. She’d come to terms with her own lack of passion. Oh, not that she was abnormal in that respect; she had the same needs and desires as the next woman. But when it came time for the ultimate intimacy with a man, there was a part of her that closed off, that wouldn’t be breached. Most men never noticed. She had a feeling that the laid-back Don Juan of St. Augustine parish would. And that would be the ultimate humiliation.

  The flowers in the yards she was passing made brilliant splashes of color in the bright sunshine, but Zoey didn’t notice. When sleep had failed to visit last night, she’d gotten up and written a long letter to Patrick. She missed talking to him, but he was on one of his three-month stays at sea, so letters were the only form of communication they had. A persistent stab of guilt had forced her to write a rather stilted letter to her aunt and uncle, as well. There was nothing to prevent her from phoning them, other than her own reluctance. They’d never forgiven her for winning custody of her siblings. No doubt her biggest sin had been doing a decent job of raising them.