Falling Hard and Fast (11 page)

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 have 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.”

T
he 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.

Afterward, she'd called Caroline's answering machine.
She hadn't had to be concerned about waking her. Her sister was still in Paris, taking advantage of a two-week trip Zoey had arranged for her. Her lips curving, Zoey doubted that Caroline had been able to tear herself away from the art museums to bother with sleep for her entire stay. But she was due back in the States in a few days, and Zoey had left a message for her to call when she got home.

Pulling up in front of Charity's lone department store, she got out of the car and felt the slap of solid heat that thickened the air and squeezed the lungs. A few quick steps and she was pushing the store door open, breathing more easily in the cool air pumping through the place. Louisiana summers had made her newly grateful for the miracles of technology.

Cruising the aisles, she found the pet supplies and began to load her cart. A blue-cushioned bed, which would no doubt only fit Oxy for a couple more months, two red bowls, a black collar and leash. She paused for a long time before the dog food, reading the labels. She was fairly certain that the three hamburgers she'd fried for the animal last night would not have qualified as proper puppy nutrition. She was wrestling a twenty-pound bag of dog kibble into her cart when a voice behind her spoke.

“Well, Zoey, it looks like you've acquired a pet.”

Turning, she saw the Potter sisters. She was almost certain it was Francine who had spoken.

“I'm just keeping a dog for…a friend for a little while.”

“Cage Gauthier's dog, isn't it?” Francine spoke with authority, while Lulu nodded in agreement. “Saw them both at your place yesterday evening.”

Gritting her teeth, Zoey nodded. “Yes, it's Cage's dog.”

“I guess he'll have a reason to come over frequently, then.” There was no mistaking the satisfaction in Francine's tone. “To see that dog of his,” Lulu added.

Zoey looked from one sister to the other. Their identical white-coifed heads were nodding in unison. That their remarks so closely resembled the suspicion she'd had yester
day shouldn't have surprised her. Her need to convince them otherwise did. “He said he won't have much free time until this murder is solved.”

“If I know Cage Gauthier…”

“And we do…” interjected Lulu.

“He never fails to make time for a pretty woman.”

“Unfortunately, I'm not going to be able to make time for him,” Zoey said firmly.

“Then you're not as smart as you look.” Francine's voice was tart. She lifted a thin, blue-veined hand dismissively. “Oh, don't raise your eyebrows at me, young lady. I may be in my eighties but there's nothing wrong with my eyesight. Cage Gauthier is the kind of man that makes hearts flutter regardless of age. Why, he's as handsome as the devil himself—”

“He has a real kind heart—”

Francine continued as if she hadn't heard her sister's interruption. “He's rich as Midas and best of all, none of it appears to have spoiled him overmuch.”

“Leastways, no more than willing women ever spoil an attractive man,” observed Lulu.

The forced smile on Zoey's lips felt like a grimace. “No doubt he's a real paragon, but…”

“Now, I didn't say that,” corrected Francine. She was the elder of the sisters by eight minutes, and considered it her duty and privilege to be the spokesperson. “The boy's had a streak of wicked in him that those dimples never could disguise. He was forever letting that dog of his get away from him.”

It took a few seconds for Zoey to follow their train of thought back twenty-odd years.

“Constantly digging up our garden, too,” interjected Lulu.

“Cage, or the dog?”

Francine never missed a beat at Zoey's dry question. “That dog of his, of course. But we never did tell Cage's daddy. We figured between the mischief he and that Beau
champ boy cooked up, he got his share of whippings already.”

“Every time we could catch him, though, we'd put him to work. To make up for the damage his dog did.”

“He was always real sweet-natured, not like that sly Beauchamp boy.”

Zoey felt as though her head was ringing with the two women's litany of Cage's virtues. She refused to let the image they painted unfurl in her mind. There were far too many uninvited thoughts of him crowding there as it was.

“It's amazing, isn't it, that such a prince should still be single?” Zoey inched her cart away from the two sisters, but they followed her relentlessly.

Francine said, “A smart woman, mind you, would have that boy roped and hog-tied in front of a church, singing his I-do's and thanking her for the chance to wear a tux.”

Try as she might, Zoey had no success at keeping that mental image from unfolding in her mind. She shook her head, as much to dislodge the picture as at the words. “As…enticing…as the thought is, I'm really not in the market for marriage. With anyone.”

The sisters looked at each other, their eyebrows climbing upward. “Sometimes,” Francine said, “what we want isn't necessarily what we need.”

“Sometimes,” Lulu intoned, with an arch smile at her sister, “life has a way of deciding things for us.” They moved away then, perfectly in step, leaving Zoey to grind her teeth ineffectually.

Pushing the cart with more force than necessary, she wheeled it toward the back of the store. She shouldn't let the two good-natured busybodies bother her. Things were done differently in Charity, it appeared, with every citizen feeling free to offer advice on the most personal of matters. Zoey doubted she'd ever get used to having others focus on her affairs, and she knew for a fact she'd never like it.

She stopped before a selection of dog toys. She supposed a puppy needed something like that rawhide bone to chew
on. There were also some balls he'd probably dearly love to catch, and toys that squeaked when squeezed. She added several more items to her cart.

“Oxy's going to think he's died and gone to puppy heaven.”

Stiffening slightly, Zoey looked up into Cage's lazy smile. Bumping into the man, almost literally, so soon after she'd been subjected to the sisters' discussion of him made her tone less than welcoming. “I'm just picking up a few things to help him feel at home. He had trouble sleeping last night.”

His smile grew wider. He had no trouble imagining where the dog had ended up sleeping. The pooch hadn't looked slow to him. “What you need is a hot water bottle and an old-fashioned alarm clock—one with a real loud ticking. It'll make him feel like he's curled up next to his mama, listening to her heart.”

She hated to admit that his idea made sense. “I guess I'm not done shopping then.” When she would have pushed her cart past him, he reached out a hand to stop its progress.

“I was wondering if I could ask you to do me a favor first.”

“Seems to me that's why I'm here to begin with.”

The smile was still there, but his attention was diverted, as his gaze swept the store. “This is a bit different. See that truck out front?”

She stared at him, but he wasn't looking at her. Slowly, she turned and glanced over her shoulder. And then backed up for a better look. It appeared to be the same truck she'd seen in front of her house—the one that had passed her on its way from Cage's home.

Retracing her steps, she asked, “Is it the Rutherfords?”

“One of them, I expect. Here's what I'd like you to do, Zoey. Go up to the front and position yourself beside the big window. Pretend you're looking at magazines, or whatever. Just do your level best to block the view the truck's driver has into the store.” His gaze met hers then, with a
serious light she rarely saw there. “Will you do that for me, honey?”

“But why…” He slipped around the aisle, and her words tapered off. Muttering to herself, she considered for an instant, just an instant, going about her business and letting Cage play his games with someone else. But then she looked at that pickup again and remembered the damage that had been done to his home that night; the injuries to his back. With a sigh, she guided the cart toward the front of the store and parked it with seeming nonchalance right in front of the store window.

She plucked a few magazines from the rack and pretended to riffle through them, gauging her position carefully. And then she turned to see what Cage was up to.

It shouldn't be a surprise to see him deep in conversation with a woman. But her initial disgust dissipated when she studied the woman more closely. No amount of makeup could disguise the rainbow shades surrounding her puffy eye. And there could be few reasons a woman would choose to wear long sleeves in the Louisiana heat. Apparently Donny Ray and Stacy Rutherford had come to town.

Casting another surreptitious look out the window, she replaced the magazines on the rack and pretended to take her time choosing some others. Donny Ray was fidgeting in the front seat of the truck, craning his neck to get a better view of the store. Zoey remained firmly in place. Turning her head slightly, she checked on Cage's progress.

The woman was looking around furtively, and then accepted something Cage handed her, slipping it into her pocket. Wondering about it, Zoey looked back outside, and then froze. Donny Ray was out of the truck and headed for the front door of the store.

Impulsively, she threw the magazines in her cart and wheeled it around, halting before the door as he began to enter.

“These darn things,” she said in a ringing voice. She shrugged apologetically at the man, whose way she was
blocking. “Seems like I always choose the cart with a stubborn wheel.” Hoping that her ruse had warned Cage, she pretended to right the cart and slowly moved it out of the man's way.

From the corner of her eye, she saw Stacy scurry to the front counter with her purchases. Donny Ray stood watching her, his gaze sweeping the rest of the store. Zoey did the same. But other than the Potter sisters, who were conversing with the store owner's wife, there was no sign of anyone else.

She didn't breathe easily again until Donny Ray had hustled his wife out of the store and the truck had pulled away from the street out front. Wheeling the cart around toward the checkout, Zoey started at the voice behind her.

“Looks like I owe you one.”

She whirled around to find that Cage had made a reappearance. The shelf of aspirin he was leaning against was a perfect backdrop for him, she thought unkindly, since he seemed to be an incurable headache.

“Mind telling me what that was all about?”

His smile was slow and engaging, but his eyes remained sober. “Nothing cloak-and-dagger. I just wanted to talk to Stacy Rutherford. Without Donny Ray seeing.”

“Did she tell you how she got those bruises?” Even the memory of the black eye the woman had sported was enough to make Zoey's spine go stiff.

“Stacy and I sort of have a deal. She doesn't spin fairy tales about her injuries anymore. At least, not to me.” All semblance of affability had vanished. His face was set and hard. “I do my part by not letting that piece-of-scum husband of hers see me near her.”