Lancelot of the Pines (Louisiana Knights Book 1)

by Jennifer Blake

  Lance conceded the point with a shrug. “But then Zeni muddied the waters by separating the clasp from its owner.”

  “An accident, I swear!” Zeni protested.

  “One that could have got you killed,” Trey told his manager.

  “You wish,” she shot back at him.

  The sheriff gave the bickering pair a repressive look. “Speaking of which, I’ll be keeping this hair thing. It’s evidence, as are the bazillions, or however much, in the island accounts.”

  Granny Chauvin gave him a look of outrage. “You mean Mandy doesn’t get to keep her clasp after me risking life and limb for it?”

  “I don’t want it, really, I don’t.” Mandy folded her arms across her chest with a shiver. “I could never wear it again knowing it was bought because of—of blood money.”

  The thought created a moment of silence. Lance broke it as he took up the story again.

  “So the two goons tracked the hair clasp to the coffee shop, but apparently weren’t sure of its exact location, maybe because the old building has double brick walls and a metal roof, maybe because the clasp was no longer in Mandy’s possession. They saw her here this morning, and must have figured she could lead them to it.”

  “Looks to me like they saw her because Jackson Stout’s old man tipped them off about Granny’s celebration,” Trey pointed out.

  “Something Paul Stout will have the pleasure of explaining to a judge when the perps come to trial,” Lance said with grim satisfaction. “That’s if he doesn’t wind up an accessory to attempted murder.”

  Zeni got to her feet. “This is where I came in, since I missed all the back room excitement. Now I have the mess to deal with.”

  “Wait a minute,” Granny Chauvin said, glancing around the table with a frown before her faded gaze settled on the sheriff. “What about that ridiculous stunt last night where Mandy was arrested? It’s sure as shooting she had nothing to do with her husband’s murder, Sonny-Boy Tate. The charges you thought up need to be dismissed.”

  “Yeah, yeah.” The sheriff sighed as he tucked the hair clasp into his shirt pocket and buttoned it in to keep it safe. “I’ll straighten it all out.”

  “That’s nice, but you owe her an apology.”

  “Now, Granny, I was just doing my duty.”

  Lance crossed his arms over his chest. “She’s right, you know.”

  “All right, fine.” The sheriff reached for his hat and clapped it on his head. He glared around the table, letting his gaze come to rest on Mandy. “I’m sorry for any grief I caused, Mrs. Caret, sorry you had to go through this business, sorry you’ve had such a bad stay in Chamelot.”

  “Very handsome,” Granny Chauvin said with approval.

  The lawman ducked his head and turned toward the door. “I’ll see you get your check back, too, Benedict.”

  “Good,” Lance called after him, “But I’m still running against you in the next election!”

  Chapter 20

  Mandy propped her elbow on the table and supported her head in the heel of her hand. The murmur of conversation continued around her, but she tuned it out.

  She was so tired. It was the sudden letdown of adrenaline from days of stress and her terror in the back room, plus lack of sleep from her night in jail. It was a good thing Lance had taken over the burden of explaining things, because she could barely think, much less move.

  She was free. She could go home. Yet where might that be? Bruce’s big house outside New Orleans was a place where she’d lived for a time, no more, no less. A designer-decorated mausoleum, she’d never been allowed to change so much as a kitchen towel. It was the last place she wanted to be.

  The safe house next door to Granny Chauvin might still be available as a temporary refuge, but nothing about it had ever been particularly welcoming.

  The only place that called to her was the baby RV. She had been happy in it for a short while, or as happy as someone could be while shut up with a stranger and running from the mafia.

  The mafia. How melodramatic that sounded. That Bruce had been involved with organized crime was incredible. Looking back, however, she could recall a few signs. The phone calls he’d taken while shut away in his study, the late nights and unexplained absences. Legal business, he’d said, no concern of hers. It was far too boring for someone so young and beautiful.

  Fake, self-serving flattery. Anger shifted through her as she thought of it.

  Bruce had treated her like a bimbo. It hadn’t seemed to matter at the time; she was with him solely for Clare and the promise of security for them both. She would have put up with anything that might make that happen. She had, for what good it had done.

  She should hate him. Sometimes, she did. At others, she saw him for the deluded, insecure little man he was, so certain he could manipulate everyone around him, so positive he was superior in every way. He’d died a horrific death because of those beliefs. That was vengeance enough.

  She’d called Lance a stranger, but he hadn’t remained one for long. She would always remember the days spent with him, the moments of laughter and tears, of fear and comfort. It would have to be enough. His life was here and hers was—somewhere else.

  She’d be okay; she’d always been okay. There was an insurance policy in her name, or so Bruce had once told her. Whatever portion of his estate might be left after the police were done would also be hers if Lance was right, and it had all been put into her name. She couldn’t find the energy to care too much. Maybe one day, but not now.

  A gentle hand touched her shoulder, and Granny Chauvin spoke near her ear. “Mandy, honey, you need to go lie down somewhere. You don’t, you’re going to fall out right here.”

  She straightened, summoned a smile. “I’m fine, just resting my eyes for a second.”

  “I don’t believe so, dear. It will be perfectly acceptable for both of us to have a nice, long nap now this is over.”

  Trey must have heard the last part, for he got to his feet. “Let me run you home, Granny.”

  “Oh, I can drive myself.”

  “I know you can, but humor me.”

  “I can do it,” Lance said, standing as well. “The RV is closer for you, Mandy, if you want to crash there.”

  Beau pushed upright then. “That’s okay, you two. I expect you need to go on over to the sheriff’s office, Lance, make sure our cousin sets things right. And it looks as if you have plenty to do here, Trey. I can drive Granny since it’s on my way.”

  Granny gave them all a grin. “Now don’t this cap it all off, the three handsomest men in the parish arguing over which one is taking me home. Just like when I was a girl!”

  “Come on, you femme fatale, you.” Beau laughed as he helped her to her feet. “If I don’t get a hug at your door, I’m going to be a sorely disappointed man.”

  Mandy rose from the table in the general exodus and walked slowly from the coffee shop into the back room. Passing Zeni, who was wielding a broom and dustpan like weapons, she waved while trying not to inhale the odor of pickles and blood. It was a relief when the rear door closed behind her.

  To be in the open with no worry about being seen seemed strange. She savored it for a moment, taking a deep, cleansing breath and lifting her face to the sun. Its warmth triggered a relaxation response so strong goose bumps ran across her shoulders and down to the fingertips. It was a long moment before she moved on toward the storage shed and the garage beyond.

  The baby RV was shut down and ready for travel; its awning was rolled up and secured, the rear bedroom slide-out pulled in and water and power disconnected. Trey must have thought Lance would have no more use for it after her arrest the night before.

  It was still fairly cool inside, however. The A/C wouldn’t be necessary until midday, at least. By then, she would be gone.

  Once inside, the narrow space at the foot of the bed beckoned, but first she needed a shower to be rid of the jail odors of sweat, urine and industrial strength cleaners. The generator would provide pow
er for the water pump.

  Granny Chauvin was a wise woman, Mandy thought as she fell across the end of the bed a short time later; she’d known exactly what she needed. It had been so long since she’d been able to let down her guard and actually rest that the prospect was overwhelming.

  She wouldn’t linger; all she needed was a quick time-out. She’d get up and start gathering her things then, not that it would take that long; this wouldn’t be the first time everything she owned could be carried away in a couple of plastic grocery bags.

  There were goodbyes that should be said, but she couldn’t bear the thought. She just couldn’t.

  Maybe she would walk downtown and find a rental car place. Somewhere in the RV was Trey’s emergency cash she could borrow, though she’d pay him back. She’d need it since it seemed unlikely her credit cards were still good. Bruce had been the primary card holder, and he was gone.

  Gone, truly gone. He would never again check card statements behind her, never question where she’d been and what she’d done to be sure she wasn’t lying to him. That part of her life was over. What she would do next, she couldn’t imagine.

  It didn’t matter, she’d be okay. Eventually.

  One fine day, years from now, this past week would fade into a dangerous yet warm and exciting dream. Then she would be all right.

  A humming noise roused her, though she couldn’t quite lift her eyelids. The bed was rocking, a gentle movement that was oddly pleasant. She eased her back against the folded over, sheet-covered mattress behind her, the mattress where Lance had slept. If she tried, she could picture again the way he had looked, stretched out upon it with the top sheet down to his waist and his arms raised, hands clasped behind his head. For a few short days, she had cared for him. She had cared about the bullet he’d taken for her sake, cared for him, cared about him, cared so much…

  When she woke again, the bed no longer rocked. The only sound was the hum of the RV’s A/C unit. Night lay beyond the windows, the darkness lighted only by the distant gleam of a security light on its tall pole.

  She wasn’t lying cramped across the end of the bed, but had far more room. In fact, she was stretched out on the mattress that had been flipped backward, straight into the slide-out space. A sheet covered her against the cool air that blew across her. Firm support was at her back, while something heavy and warm held her to the mattress.

  That wasn’t all. She blinked awake, staring at the wall beside her, as she realized a large hand rested between her breasts in a strong hold.

  Mandy stirred, turning her head on the pillow.

  “You’re all right,” Lance said, his breath warm against her ear. “Go back to sleep.”

  “Where are we?” It wasn’t the most important of the questions that crowded her mind, but was the safest.

  “Campground.”

  “The one with the pines?”

  “The same.”

  “But how—”

  “The usual way. You were really out of it, never noticed when I got back from the sheriff’s office, when we left Chamelot, or when we got here.”

  “I was out all day long?” It had been morning when she lay down. Now—it wasn’t.

  “Yeah, but that’s okay. You can sleep the clock around again, if you want.”

  She was quiet for long moments while tingling awareness ran along her nerve endings, a direct reaction to the feel of his legs against hers and the smooth hardness of his chest at her shoulder, both of which seemed to be bare. Her voice tentative, she said, “I expect you’re tired, too.”

  “Not really.”

  “Or hungry?”

  “Nope.”

  “Me, either.” She changed her position a bit, allowing the fullness of a breast to fill his lax fingers. She pressed her palm to the muscles of his forearm, rubbing in small circles so the hair that grew there abraded it with enticing friction.

  “No?” He shifted a little, and something like hot silk shrink-wrapped over rock eased against her hip.

  “You’re not a cop right now, are you?”

  A short laugh left him. “Not according to the sheriff.”

  “And I’m not a suspect. He said that, too.”

  “Meaning?” His hand closed gently upon her, while his thumb brushed her nipple.

  “You don’t have to be honorable anymore,” she said, as rationally as possible while liquid heat settled into her lower body.

  “Don’t I?”

  She swallowed with an effort. “I’d rather you weren’t. At least, not in that way.”

  “And what way should I be?”

  “Any way that will let you love me now.”

  “Or every way?”

  “Yes, oh, yes.”

  The words were whispered against his mouth as he took hers.

  And she was his in all the ways that mattered, gentle and easy, hard and fast, quick and endless and in fullest completion. She took him inside her and held him close. He moved in small circles that sent shock waves along her nerve endings so she opened more completely to him, taking him deeper. He held her close and hard, whispering into her hair, inhaling her, pressing skin to skin as if absorbing her sweet heat. They tasted and touched, explored and feasted, and could not find surfeit. Starting and stopping merged into one; time extended into eons. And if the baby RV rocked a little on its springs, shifting in place, they neither knew nor cared.

  It was raining near dawn, when they surfaced from something near unconsciousness. They lay, legs and arms entwined, listening while staring half-stunned at the ceiling. The endless patter of the drops and distant rumble of thunder was soporific and oddly soothing.

  A yawn caught Mandy unaware. She patted it with a languid movement of one hand. In that same moment, her stomach rumbled, letting her know it was long hours since she’d eaten.

  “I suppose I should get up,” she murmured.

  Lance raised himself on one elbow. With his free hand, he pulled the sheet that covered her away. With a single fingertip, he began to make slow circles around the nipple of her closest breast, watching as it beaded. “Why? There’s nothing to do.”

  She yawned again and stretched, lifting her arms and then settling them around his neck. “I suppose not. But nature calls. And I’m usually in a better, more accommodating, mood when I’m not hungry.”

  “Are you now?” He bent his head to take her nipple into the warm suction of his mouth.

  “No fair. Now, I can’t—can’t think,” she complained as his hand slid southward, arriving at a most sensitive destination.

  “Think about breakfast in bed,” he said, his breath warm against the soft surface of her abdomen. “Later?”

  It seemed a reasonable exchange. She surrendered with trembling joy, and was rewarded twice over.

  Sometime later, Mandy reclined on stacked pillows, listening to the rain that continued to wash over the RV, drinking the coffee Lance had brought her. It was her pleasure to watch as a naked Louisiana Knight fried bacon, scrambled eggs and made toast with a swift efficiency which suggested he intended a fast trip back to bed.

  It was a moment to be tucked away as a special memory. The way the light gleamed along the strong line of his muscular torso and the curves of his backside. The masculine grace of his movements. His frowning concentration. The sensual curve of his lips as he smiled in anticipation when he noticed she was following his every move.

  Her smile in return was a little forced. She didn’t want to think past this particular second of their rainy escape from Chamelot, didn’t want to wonder how long it would last. For now, it was enough to savor it.

  Lance piled everything on a tray and slid it into the center of the bed. Lifting the covers then, he slid in beside her. He made her a sandwich of the eggs and bacon and handed it over. Her stomach rumbled again at the sight, and he laughed and leaned to press a kiss to her navel.

  They demolished the makeshift sandwiches, washing them down with more coffee. Lance slathered the last piece of toast with strawbe
rry jam and divided it, crunching his half in a couple of bites while handing the other half to her.

  Jam and butter dripped off of the soft middle of her piece as she took it. It landed on the curve of her breast. Immediately, Lance followed it down, using his tongue to clean up the stickiness.

  “You did that on purpose,” she said, the accusation a little uneven.

  “Did I?” Bemusement layered his voice before the coffee-heated warmth of his mouth covered her nipple.

  A laugh shook her as she ate her buttered toast minus jam. Licking her fingers, she pushed them through his hair, avoiding the almost healed line of his scar where Beau must have removed his stitches before he left town. Gently, she applied pressure to hold his mouth closer against her. When she spoke, there was a definite catch in her voice. “I could get used to this.”

  “We can make it a tradition,” he said, giving her nipple a last lick before looking up to meet her eyes. “Every rainy day for as long as we live.”

  “Lance,” she whispered. “No.”

  Confusion, followed by bleakness, rose in his eyes. “No?”

  “You don’t mean that, you can’t. I’m not the sweet, innocent, church-going woman you need.”

  A slow smile curved his mouth. “And thank heaven for it. You’re a survivor, Mandy, a woman with a backbone of steel and ethics to match. You’ve had your disappointments and griefs, but they didn’t break you. You never give up, but fight back with everything that’s in you. You protect those you love and don’t count the cost. You are exactly the woman for me.”

  “Oh, Lance.”

  “I love you more than I can say, Mandy. I can’t wait for you to see where I live, and to help bring the old mansion to life. I want to shower with you and eat ice cream with you, to see you grow big with my children, and to dance in the moonlight with you in my arms now and when they are all grown. I want to sleep beside you, and bring you coffee in bed for the rest of our lives. If you will allow it.”

  “Are you sure?” she asked, while hopeful tears rimmed her eyes.

  “I’ve never been more certain of anything in my life. The only thing that matters is whether you feel the same.”