Caught by Surprise (6 page)

Every day he tried to work out his frustration through hard physical labor, but still he lay awake at night, thinking about her, his body tight and his mind full of plans. He had his tactics outlined now. Over the next few weeks Melisande Surprise was going to get more temptation than she’d ever imagined possible. By the time he became a free man again and she had no more reason to hide behind her deputy’s badge, she’d be ready to follow him anywhere.

“Aaall I need is a chance with you,” he tried again, jabbing his pitchfork into a pile as he sang. “You took
my heart and made it new. Run with me into the night, capure the stars and … 
I’ll give you the light.
” Brig cursed darkly and shook his head. “Sounds like I’m offerin’ to fire up her cigarette!”

It was hopeless. Melisande would simply have to fall in love with him, or he’d never again come up with a proper rhyme.

As Millie brought her old Buick to a stop in the stable yard at Paradise Farms, John Washington, the stable manager, was already on his way to her door. “Howdy, neighbor,” he said cheerfully. “Saw you comin’ up the driveway like a juiced bobcat.” He took a long look at her sweaty face and disheveled hair. “Anything wrong?”

“A tree fell through my roof.” The Buick was one of the last of the dinosaur convertibles. She had the top down, so instead of getting out, she simply climbed over the side. Millie leaned against the door, crossed her arms over her chest, and sighed wearily. “At least it happened on my day off.”

John flashed ivory-white teeth in a face the color of dark chocolate. “Aren’t you lucky?”

“I was just wondering if you could spare someone to help me move the tree and fix the roof. I’ll pay.”

He ran a hand over his stubbly, graying hair and looked sympathetic. “No can do, Millie. I’m short-handed—that’s why I hired your fancy prisoner.”

“How’s my Aussie singer doing?”

“Shovels like a pro, doesn’t expect special treatment, tells good dirty jokes. Hey, why don’t you take him over to your place to work on the roof? If Raybo doesn’t mind, that is.”

“No. Oh, no,” she said quickly, raising both hands in a gesture of defense. “I’d rather have a permanent skylight than—”

A whistle pierced the air. They both turned toward the wide hallway of the farm’s main bam. Millie watched dolefully as Brig ambled toward her, a pitchfork balanced
on one shoulder, a plastic cup in one hand. His white pants were so sweaty that they clung to his thighs in an intriguing way. The white T-shirt he wore was molded to his damp chest, outlining solid muscles and wide shoulders. His wavy hair was ruffled.

I know my control’s shaky, Millie thought raggedly, because this is the first time I’ve hyperventilated at the sight of a man who’s been cleaning stalls all day. She concentrated on breathing and squinted at him warily.

“I’m takin’ my water break, John,” Brig told the stable manager cheerfully. “If that’s okay with you, mate.”

“Sure.”

“G’day, Deputy. Come by to check me out?” His eyes roamed approvingly over her pink T-shirt, cutoff jeans, and jogging shoes, and he whistled under his breath. “I
like
your new uniform.”

“I’m off work today. I live near this farm.”

“And a tree fell on her roof,” John interjected.

Brig arched one brow and gave her a mischievous look. “Practicin’ karate on it, were you?”

“It’s a very old oak and it has a root disease. I’d been planning to have it cut down, but I obviously waited too long.”

“And she needs a handyman to help her move it,” John added. “You’re almost done here for the day. It’s okay with me if you want to go with Millie.”

“No!” she said. “I’ll call a tree service.”

“Melisande, I’ll cost you a lot less than a tree service,” Brig said innocently. “Don’t you want to let a humble prisoner pay off some of his debt to society?”

“You couldn’t get a tree service to send anyone out this afternoon,” John said. “And you need to get some kind of cover over the hole in your roof. What if it rains tonight?”

Millie looked up at billowy white clouds in a blue sky. “Unlikely.” She sighed. “But possible.” She hesitated, then put reluctance aside and muttered, “I’ll call Raybo and ask him what he thinks.”

“About the weather?” Brig asked coyly.

“About me hiring you to work on my roof.”

“How much will you pay me, love?”

“It’s the same deal no matter who you work for.”

“But this is special. I might have to do things I wouldn’t do for anyone else.”

“Wrestle an oak tree?” Millie glanced at John and found him grinning widely. Suddenly she realized that anyone with eyes could see what was going on between her and Brig. She stiffened and frowned. “Can I use your phone, John?”

“Go right ahead, Millie. There’s one inside the barn entrance. Left side.”

“I’ll be waitin’ in the car, Melisande,” Brig added.

“Melisande?” John echoed in an incredulous voice. Then he laughed heartily. “She’s not a fancy
Melisande
, boy. She’s little ol’ Millie, the toughest female this side of the Mississippi.”

Millie felt color rising in her cheeks. It didn’t matter that Brig gave her an apologetic look as she marched past him toward the barn. He was in deep trouble.

“Look, sweetheart, I don’t know sign language, and I’ve taken a likin’ to the sound of your voice.”

Millie cut the Buick’s engine and shoved her door open before she glared at him. “This is my home,” she said sharply, and swept her hand toward a whitewashed cottage surrounded by colorful flower gardens and huge trees. One of the trees hugged the back corner of the gray-shingled roof. “That’s the tree. There’s a shed in the backyard where you’ll find tools and a ladder. I’m going inside to get my work gloves. I might have an extra pair that will fit your big hands, but if I don’t, I’ll enjoy watching you get blisters.”

“Ow. That’s cold.” Brig stood, grasped the passenger door, and vaulted out of the car with a fluid, athletic movement. He watched quietly, feeling troubled, as she went inside without another word, then turned his attention to his surroundings. Her house sat at the end
of a long, graveled driveway in the midst of an old, old forest. It was a lovely place but somehow strange.

He finally determined why. The telephone and electrical lines were underground. Except for the car’s presence and the asphalt roof shingles, he might have been looking back through time at least a hundred years.

Brig was inside the backyard shed when she brought him a pair of gloves. “Here, McKay.” she ordered, and thrust them at him.

Without looking up from a box full of carpentry tools, he replied in a low, firm voice, “Use my first name or it’s no go.”

“I don’t have the time or the patience to argue with you. All right. Here, Brig.”

He took the gloves, then looked her straight in the eyes. “And be civil to me. I’m sorry John Washington laughed at your name, but I’m still gonna call you Melisande, because I like it and it suits you. And if you thought of yourself as a Melisande, pretty soon other people would too.”

This aura of cool authority was a new angle to his personality, one that made her gaze back at him speechlessly. “Call me what you like,” she finally managed to say. “I’ve given up trying to get your cooperation.”

“You’ve got my cooperation. And my respect,
and
my friendship. Quit treatin’ me like a croc who’s about to gobble you alive.”

“Quit flirting with me then.”

“Melisande, m’dear, flirtin’ is ingrained in my nature. But that doesn’t mean I’m an Ocker gone troppo.”

“A
what?
”

He rubbed his head and thought for a moment. “A daffy redneck. I’m not gonna pounce on you like a kangaroo with an itch.” He paused. “Not right away, at least.”

“That’s very reassuring,” she said dryly. Under her T-shirt her heart was racing. Just when
did
he plan to pounce on her? And what would she do about it? He was a prisoner and she was a law officer. She’d never forget that barrier. And she wasn’t his kind of woman—she
didn’t know whose kind of woman she was, anymore—but one thing was certain. She wasn’t going to get involved with a man who’d eventually leave Paradise Springs without looking back.

“Can we get to work?” she asked bluntly.

He smiled and looked at her through slitted, reproachful eyes. “
Please
.”

“Can we get to work,
please
, your Australian highness?”

“Righto, love.”

They carried both hand and chain saws to the side of the house. Brig nestled the ladder between two enormous crepe myrtle bushes by the wall, bowed low, and swung a hand toward it. “You first, Melisande. I’ll catch you if you try to fly.”

She curtsied, then climbed to the roof without faltering. Brig stood below and admired her beautiful round rump without the least bit of pretense. Millie knew it, and couldn’t manage to feel anything but giddy. When she reached the roof, she sat down and fanned herself furiously.

Holding the hand saw, Brig climbed up beside her, then pulled the chain saw up with a rope before getting lithely to his feet and picking his way through the tangle of tree limbs to the point where the trunk had torn a hole in the roof. Millie followed carefully and stood beside him, gazing down.

“Glory be,” he said in an awed tone. He bent over and braced his hands on both knees, all the time gazing at the gash in the roof. “This tells me what to expect. It’s gonna be interestin’.”

“Is it so bad that it can’t be fixed?” she asked weakly. “Do you think I’ll have to replace the whole roof?”

“Pink satin. You’ve got pink satin sheets. I can see ’em on your bed.”

He began chuckling even before she slapped his shoulder and sputtered, “Concentrate on the roof, buster.” But when he turned to look at her, his expression was so affectionate that she smiled at him.

“You’ve got a fantastic smile, Melisande.” He became
brusque with comical suddenness. “But no more of
that
kind of kookaburra chatterin’. You use the hand saw and I’ll take the chain saw. Love, have you
ever
used the chain saw? It probably weighs more than you do.”

“It belonged to my father. I admit defeat where it’s concerned. I managed to crank the thing once, and I nearly cut off my toes. I’ll be happy to stick with the hand saw, thank you.”

“Well, then, let’s start attackin’ the limbs on this mangy hunk of tree.”

They worked for nearly an hour before the chain saw ran out of gas. Even in early evening the sun was scorching, and they sat down on a corner of the roof that was shaded by another large oak. Brig pulled his shirt off, wiped his face briskly, then handed the shirt to her.

Millie allowed herself a couple of heart-stopping seconds to admire his naked, hairy chest, and then she rubbed her face with his T-shirt as if she could erase his appeal from her mind. She chose the wrong avenue for escape, because his shirt carried his scent and the erotic dampness of his sweat. She handed it back to him and tried to arrange a neutral expression on her face.

Brig tossed the shirt aside and lay down on his back with his arms under his head. Millie thought that laying down beside him would be the most thrilling and also the most dangerous thing in the world—even on the roof—so she remained upright.

“What a homeplace this is,” he murmured, gazing up at the oak tree’s massive limbs. “How old is it?”

“Over a hundred and fifty years. You remember my great-great-great-grandparents, the pirates?”

“Hmmm.”

“This cottage was their first home. It was built in 1835. They owned hundreds of acres around it. They built a manor house about half a mile from here, but after they died it got in bad condition. One of their
great-grandchildren inherited it, and he burned it down.”

“And what’s become of all the land?”

“It was parceled out to various relatives, who sold it bit by bit. Now this cottage and a few acres around it are all that still belong to a member of the Surprise family. It’s all that’s left of the old Surprise plantation.”

“Plantation? Why, Scarlett! What an interestin’ family you have!”

“It wasn’t something out of
Gone With the Wind
. It was more like the wild west, especially during the wars with the Seminole Indians. Plus, my family never owned slaves.”

“Good for them,” he said sincerely. “A bonzer heritage you’ve got, love.”

She had to think for a moment to recall that
bonzer
meant something good. “Thank you.”

“And how did a French pirate get a name like Surprise?”

She chuckled. “His name was Jacques St. Serpris. He Americanized it to
Surprise
. I think great-great-great-grandfather had a sense of humor. I know he was stubborn.”

“Eh?”

“This cottage is built of coquina. It’s a sand, shell, and mortar mixture that’s as sturdy as modern concrete. But the ingredients had to be hauled all the way from the coast. According to an old diary left by great-great-great-grandmother Melisande, Jacques was determined that their honeymoon cottage would never be destroyed. It’s survived Indian attacks, tornados, and fires. Believe me, the roof may fall in, but the walls will always be here.”

“Old Jacques was a romantic. I think I like him. You said something once about him kidnappin’ Granny Melisande?”

“Uh-huh, Stole her right out of her bedroom the night before her wedding to a minor member of the Spanish royalty. I think she was thrilled to escape the marriage, but not so thrilled to be carried off by a pirate.” Millie
smiled. “Obviously, at some point, she changed her mind. They had eight children.”

“So, my little Melisande, are you waitin’ to be carried off by your own pirate?”

Millie’s smile faded. “Pirates carry off damsels in distress, not deputy sheriffs who know karate. I don’t believe in fantasy.”

Brig rolled over on one side and propped his head on his hand. He eyed her shrewdly. “You had a special bloke back in Alabama, when you worked as a secretary for Rucker McClure. Suds told me.”

She arched one brow and gave him a sardonic look. “Remind me to thank Suds.”

Brig’s voice was gentle. “You got your heart trampled. I can tell.”