Behind Iron Lace (3 page)

“Don’t be sorry, it’s true. We had a genius art director before we left Oregon. She didn’t want to come with us, and, unfortunately, doing business via the internet and fax machine became tiresome. Since then, we’ve muddled through. I’m not much of an artist, I’m the editor. Bailey, my partner, runs the IT department, and handles advertising and sales. Somehow, we muck something together every week. It could look cleaner, I admit.” Darcy gave up trying to manhandle the messy sandwich, going for a fork instead to shovel it into his mouth.

“Your photographers aren’t so great either. Hate to say it.” Caleb liked watching him eat. His bottom lip was full, his top not as much, and he had straight white teeth. His hands were long, slender, his arms smooth as a baby’s bottom. So smooth, he wanted to slide his fingers under Darcy’s sleeve and just caress—
Christ
. Now was not the time.

“Sure, they’re just kids with cheap digital cameras, after all. Listen, Caleb, really, I know what you can do for me; your art, photography, and otherwise has been shown in galleries around the world. You won a Pulitzer for crying out loud. I have to ask for real, what is it I can do for you?” He wiped his mouth with a paper napkin, his eyes sparkling with curiosity, his lips tilted into a smile. Oh, lord, why didn’t the man know what that one statement did to him?

“Like I said before, I’m bored. I can’t travel for a while, I need something to keep my mind occupied or I will get into trouble, and you’re local. What else is there? I don’t need the money, but it would be nice to make some to appease the IRS if nothing else. I have something you need, you have something I need, win, win.”

“All right, I guess the gig is yours. Bailey and I will get you set up tomorrow. Shit, I forgot, we’re not opening tomorrow because of the air conditioning situation, damn. Thursday, the new galleys need to be edited for Friday morning publication. I’d hoped you could look this week’s over, tweak it some before we put it to bed but the building is like an oven, the fans are just pushing around hot air.”

“Not a problem, why don’t you come out to the house tomorrow, bring what you have. I have everything I need in my studio.” Caleb reached for his wallet, pulled out his business card, and wrote his home address on the back. “Just plug the address in your GPS. It’s about an hour outside the city. And between you and me, you might want to dress for the heat.”

Darcy blushed and cleared his throat again. Didn’t he have a clue how attractive he was? Caleb resisted the urge to reach across the table and wipe the tiny dot of mayonnaise off his chin. “Bring your partner, Bailey was it? Bring Bailey and anyone else you like, we’ll have lunch, get to know each other.”

It had been such a long time since he felt the need to flirt. Hell, the urge to flip the man on his back and taste those luscious lips was nearly overpowering. Christ, the man already had a partner. Easy Boudreaux, rein it in, he told himself. But damn, it didn’t work. Hot, bothered, and horny as hell, Caleb sat there picking at the roast beef sandwich and drinking beer, as if he had nothing better to do.

“I’ll call Bailey; see if she has plans for tomorrow already, and Chester. You’ll meet Chester, he’s Bailey’s Boy Friday.” Bailey was a she, well that put a different spin on things entirely. Caleb perked up at the news. There was a hint of distaste when he spoke of Chester.

“I take it you don’t have a Boy Friday then?” Caleb weighed his words carefully, not that it was any of his business really, if Darcy had a boy or girl Friday. It had been so long since he worked in an office, maybe he shouldn’t initiate an office romance, especially with the boss. When had he ever done anything he was supposed to do anyway?

“Ah, no, I prefer to run my own errands and answer my own phone. Of course, Bailey does more of the actual leg work than I do so it’s a perk she enjoys. Chester made himself indispensable. He excels at making schedules and keeping things on track.”

“But you don’t like him.” There was a hint of something elusive in his voice, a jealous glint in his eyes.

“I didn’t say that, I don’t think about him much. He’s there, he’s gone, not something I worry about.” He pushed his food away, drained the last of his beer, looking everywhere but directly at Caleb. “Okay, so I have your address and phone, I’ll call you tonight, let you know when to expect us and how many. I think this is going to work out great, Caleb. Nice to have you on my team.” Darcy shook his hand, his face startled from the spark of electricity that passed between them. That he stumbled on the last few words made Caleb smile.

Distracted, Caleb watched him walk away before calling out to him. “I’ll be ready, and hey, Darcy, it was nice meeting you.”Damn the man had a fine ass.

After he left, Caleb sat for a while, wondering exactly why he’d wanted to take on this new job. Really and truly he had no idea. He was drawn to the idea the day he’d passed the office. There was no specific reason he could see, just something to do while he waited for death to show its head. It would be something to keep him from going crazy with the waiting.

“You know, Caleb, I’ve known you most of your life,” O’Doul slid into the booth in front of him, his jaw stern.

“So you know when to butt out of my business, old man. You might be my uncle, but that doesn’t mean a damn thing to me.” The pleasant feeling of the new attraction drained from him just that fast.

“That boy is trouble, best left alone. Your mama doesn’t need that kind of drama right now.”

“My mama is lying in her own crap up at the house. When did you stop in to see her last? You’re her damned brother and you won’t even come see her. When she’s gone, the two of us will be all that’s left of your family, but that don’t mean I want you in my business. Besides, he’s straight. He ain’t gonna look twice at a coonass like me even if he weren’t.”

“You ain’t no damned coonass. Punk ass, yeah, but you were born up there in hoity-toity land, something my daddy made sure of. Still wild as hell, though. How old are you now, thirty-five or six? You need to stop chasing every piece of ass that comes your way.”

Caleb leaned back in the booth, propped one booted foot in the seat beside his uncle. “When you do, Uncle Jeb, when you do. That Duck ain’t got a thing to worry about from me. The question is, why are you looking to protect him? You got a notion to taste sweet young man meat after all these years?”

“Believe it or not, I don’t give a jar of fig preserves about that boy. I’m worried about you. You haven’t been right since you came back home. Watching the cancer eat your mama alive is not helping any. Sex is your poison, always has been. Drowning in it won’t help kill what’s eating you, son.”

“I’m not your son. I’m barely your nephew. Your family turned its back on me, in case you’ve forgotten. Because I sure as fuck haven’t. Come see your damned sister while she still knows who you are. And stay the hell out of my business.” He leaned over the table, trying to keep his hands still, but the thought of reaching out and throttling his uncle frolicked across his mind.

His uncle just sat there watching him, his eyes gone sad as he shook his head.

“Fine, I’ll tell her you dropped into the Mississippi and drowned, at least it will be kinder than knowing you’re too damned afraid to see what death is doing to her.”

He left his uncle sitting at the table, trading the cool dark interior of the pub for the blazing heat of midday, yet somehow he was still cold inside. He was halfway home before he let himself think about Darcy Butler and his pretty eyes and fine ass. The man was a temptation he sure as hell did not want. And fool that he was, he’d invited him out to his place, for what was sure to be the worst mistake of his life.

The drive out of the city was breathtaking, the antebellum mansions, largely untouched by the flooding of a few years back, stood like great ghosts of the past. Darcy couldn’t help feeling like a tourist, no, an alien from a different planet altogether, as he drove slowly past.

The air outside his car seemed to breathe of its own accord. Something he’d forgotten living in the city; the feel of clean air on his face was irresistible. He opened the sunroof and the windows and just drove, enjoying the feeling of freedom while it lasted. The GPS on his dash interrupted his reverie with a harsh electronic “your destination is ahead, turn right…” and he slowed to a crawl on the asphalt road, bleached white from the sun. A line of oaks, majestic, low and sweeping, stood alongside a weathered wrought iron fence, which ran as far back as he could see in the rear view mirror. A couple of brick columns stood sentry over a winding asphalt drive, the fence following it through the trees.

Darcy checked the address again. There was no mistake; he was at the right place. The driveway was longer than he expected, horses peeked out through the fence on one side, as if they were waiting for him. He could hear their whickering cries of alarm, or welcome, he wasn’t sure which. Without warning, the tree-lined drive gave way to a clearing of perfectly manicured green lawn. Sitting perfectly in the middle of all that green was a birthday cake of a house.

It was a mansion really, and an old one at that, with two stories, possibly three. The house was perfectly square, with tall columns wrapping all around it, and wrought iron laced verandas intersecting the columns on both levels. Tall windows, encased with deep black shutters, were everywhere. The front door, massive in size, opened just as he pulled in front of the house. He half expected a liveried butler or a phantom in gray uniform to appear. Instead, a longhaired man in shorts and a fitted t-shirt stepped out, followed by a dark brown and white Springer Spaniel.

“I see you found the place.” Caleb stooped to fondle the dog’s head. His smile grew wide when Darcy stepped out of the car alone.

Darcy couldn’t help smiling back. He ignored the strange fluttery sensation in his stomach, which nearly overwhelmed him. “This is gorgeous. Like something out of a movie.”

“There’s been a couple filmed here over the years. Before we bought it; my dad would never allow Hollywood trash inside his house.” He slipped into a different accent from the two Darcy had heard. Long, low, flowing words, lazy and clipped at the same time. “Where’s your entourage?”

“They deserted me for the beach. Of course, if they’d known what they would miss out on, maybe they would have reconsidered.” He went around to the trunk of the little car and hauled out a large leather portfolio.

“Sit, Buster, stay.” Caleb held a finger in front of the dog’s face before coming to meet Darcy on the walkway. He was barefoot, and taller than Darcy by a fraction of an inch, Darcy noticed the second he got close enough. “Buster’s our watch dog. He’s about a hundred and fifty years old and mostly toothless, but he’s still a great dog. Just hold your hand under his nose, he can’t see that far away anymore,” he told Darcy when they reached the porch. “Buster, this is Darcy. He’s from out west, where the dogs run free and bones are as big as tree trunks.”

Buster seemed to take Caleb’s words to heart. He sniffed, and then licked Darcy’s hand. His gentle eyes were cloudy as he looked up at Darcy. “Hey there, Buster, you have a beautiful home.” Buster let out a rumbling yip, before he turned tail and ambled inside.

“He agreed with you. Come on in. How was your drive?” Caleb took the strap from him and slung the portfolio over his shoulder as he led him into the semi-dark interior of the house.

“It was good, nice to be out of the city for a change.” A hushed feel settled upon him, almost as if the house were mourning something. A white clad woman shuffled through the hall, she was barefoot as well. “Should I take my shoes off?”

“Only if you want,” Caleb said looking pointedly at Darcy’s worn out loafers. “We’re pretty casual around here nowadays. Come on out to the sun porch, we’ll have some lunch and then get to work.”

The woman in white swept out of a room with sliding double pocket doors, her look when she met his eyes was stern. “Mr Caleb.” She nodded and then went off down a shadowed hallway. Caleb didn’t offer a greeting in return.

He walked quickly through the rooms, decorated with antiques from the last two or three centuries, as if he didn’t see them. He probably didn’t anymore, Darcy reasoned, when they stepped out into the bright light of the afternoon sun.

“Oh wow,” Darcy breathed. Flowers were everywhere; in colors he’d never known existed. Exotic foliage filling pots and planters everywhere he looked. Out past the glass walls of the sunroom was a pool, complete with an ornate fountain in the middle that looked more like something he’d seen in photos of European palaces.

“Would you like a beer? Or something stronger? I’ve got just about everything.” Caleb set the portfolio on a long table in the shade. Without looking Darcy’s way—he hadn’t met his eyes once since he’d arrived Darcy realized—Caleb walked over to a buffet loaded with food. “Help yourself,” he said plucking a bottle of beer from an ice bucket. He went to sit at a white wrought iron table, propping his long legs up on a matching bench.

“I can’t help but wonder if this is the right time for this, you seem—distracted.” He had no idea why he said those particular words, but Caleb looked at him finally, the intensity in his eyes startled him for a second and then it passed as if it never had been there. He smiled then, the simple motion seeming to relax his entire body.

“It’s been a bad morning, nothing personal, Darcy, I assure you. Go ahead and eat, I’ll get something later. We can talk about the magazine or the beach, if you want. Hell, I’ll even talk football, though I’d rather not.”

An older woman, dressed in khaki walking shorts and a soft yellow striped cardigan sweater, joined them from a set of French doors a little farther along the porch. “You have no manners anymore, Caleb. Maybe your friend would like to freshen up before you challenge him to an arm wrestling match.”

“That’s southern for use the john, in case you didn’t know already.” Caleb only scowled at the woman. “Martha, this is my friend Darcy, he runs a magazine in the city, and I’m doing some freelance work for him. Darcy, this is ah—what exactly are you to me anyway? I’d say my housekeeper, but you’d probably smack me upside the head.”