Falling Hard and Fast (16 page)

She went to the kitchen, took out a sack and then opened the refrigerator to examine its contents. Before she could give her better judgment time to talk her out of it, she put some food in the bag, scooped up Oxy, locked the door and headed for the car.

It wasn't until she was standing on the front porch of the stately Gauthier home that her knees began to shake. It took all of ten seconds in the still, suffocating air for dampness to form along her spine. Stalwartly, she stepped forward and rang the bell.

And waited.

She rang it again, clasping Oxy a little tighter. For the first time it occurred to her to wonder what she would do if Cage wasn't home from work yet. Or worse, if he was home, but didn't want to see her. Or even worse, if—

The door swung open and Zoey's gaze fixed on the woman filling the doorway. Surprise, and a healthy dose of awe, kept Zoey silent.

“Well?” The woman crossed her broad arms and began to tap what was surely a size-twelve sneaker. Her brassy gold curls bobbed as she swept Zoey with a look that didn't miss an inch, top to bottom. “If you're selling something, miss, I'm not the lady of the house.”

“No.” She was unable to say more, unable to do more than stare.

The woman's three strands of brightly colored beads jingled as she tapped more furiously. “No? What do you mean, no? No, you're not selling something, or no, I'm not the lady of the house?”

Fascinated, Zoey watched the woman's heavily rouged cheeks deepen in color. “No, ma'am. I'm—ah—not selling anything.”

“Well, good, because I'm about to go home and I just don't have time to watch a demonstration of dirt being sprinkled on the carpet and vacuumed all up again. Lucky for you, too. Last salesman did that to my clean carpet limped for a week.”

Zoey didn't doubt it. “Actually, uh, ma'am…I was wondering if Cage was home.”

The tapping stopped. The woman peered at her more closely. “Well, of course you are. Don't know a salesperson who brings a dog with her.” She shot Oxy a suspicious look. “Fact of the matter is, don't know one of Cage's women who travels with one, either. Is he expecting you?”

If there was a God in the heaven, the earth would open up and swallow her right now. Seconds ticked by. The earth
remained solid. Natural disasters were notoriously unreliable.

Zoey cleared her throat. “Yes,” she lied baldly.

“Humph. Never said a thing to me about it, and I can't say as I recognize you, either. You're not from around here, that's for sure. I know nearly everybody in the parish….” Her mouth made an O of discovery. “Well, I'll be… You're that writer from up north that moved in, ain'tcha?”

Oxy squirmed in her grasp, and Zoey tightened her hold on him. The woman before her—Cage's housekeeper, if she didn't miss her bet—didn't look the type to be charmed by animals, no matter how adorable. “Yes, ma'am.”

The blond curls bobbed emphatically. “Don't know why it took me so long to see it. I've had my ears filled with news about you since the day you drove into this town. So you've come to sniff around my Cage?”

Zoey's brows rose and her chin angled. Cage would have recognized the frigid tone. “Certainly not.” It was a moment before Zoey unbent enough to observe the twinkle in the woman's eyes.

“Actually, the way those Potter sisters tell it, the boy's got his sights set on you, but you've been giving him the cold shoulder. Never known him to put forth this much energy before on the chase.” As if to discover the reason for the anomaly, she gave Zoey another thorough once-over.

She was a contained one, Ila noted, with the confidence to stare down the devil himself. Intelligence shone from those surprising green eyes and there was stubbornness in the angle of her chin. Cage wouldn't have this one falling at his feet with a little sweet talk and his effortless charm. At the realization, Ila's estimation of the woman rose. Cage wasn't family, but he was the closest thing to it, and Ila wasn't getting any younger. She wouldn't mind a few surrogate grandchildren tearing through the house while she was still around to enjoy the experience.

She swung the door wide. “Cage isn't home from work yet, but since he's expecting you, you'd better come in and
wait. Mind you, now, I don't want any messes in the house.”

Zoey was almost certain that remark was directed at Oxy.

The other woman turned away and headed toward what, Zoey remembered from her previous visit, would be the kitchen. “I'm Ila, by the way. Been housekeeper here since Cage's folks moved back from Florida. Can't tell you what's keeping that boy, but I don't have the time to wait for him. Got an appointment in ten minutes to have that silly twit, Mavis, perm my hair again. Never had such a time keeping the curl in my hair before I started going to the girl. I have half a mind to do it myself from now on.”

During the monologue Ila had retrieved a huge bag from a closet, dug around in it for her keys, and continued walking through the kitchen to a back screen door. “You tell Cage I didn't make him any supper to warm up. He never ate what I fixed last night, and from the look of that sack in your hand, he's probably got other plans for tonight.” The screen door slammed behind her, and her voice trailed over her shoulder. “Don't let me find no pet hair on the furniture.”

Then a car engine sounded, and Zoey dropped her gaze to Oxy. “That, I'm positive, was aimed at you.” She set him down, and placed the bag of food on the counter. “Your entire future might just hinge on your behavior this evening, so keep that in mind.”

Zoey turned slowly about the kitchen, newly aware of the emptiness of the house. Not even to herself did she admit that her words could apply as much to her as to the puppy.

 

Eyes burning, Cage made his way through the cloaked shadows to the house. Ila must have turned some lamps on before she left, and their muted glow was welcoming in the silent, still darkness. The weather hadn't yet given in to the tumultuous rains that had been forecast, but heat lightning seared and scored the sky, and the air was almost too thick to breathe.

It was a measure of his weariness that he was almost to the front door before the sight of a car parked alongside the house registered. Slowly he backed up, squinted into the darkness. A long breath hissed between his teeth. It was too dark to discern the color, but he recognized the make. The hard band that had been forming in his chest all day loosened. The glow beckoning from the windows took on new warmth.

Oxy greeted him at the door, and he bent to rumple the dog's ears, but his attention was acutely fixed before him. Wasting no time, he straightened and went in search of Zoey.

He found her in the kitchen, a book in her hand and a soda on the table in front of her. She was seated on a ladder-backed chair with her feet curled beneath her, in one of those joint-defying positions that only women could seem to manage and men could only drool over.

Like a sneaky left jab, desire hit him square in the gut. She was wearing a white sleeveless top that made him think of the one she'd worn the first night he'd met her, but this one was softer somehow, with lace and ribbons tracing the edges. She was a breath of cool, sweet air after the mugginess of the day, a flash of blessed sunshine after the unbelievably savage crime reports he'd immersed himself in all afternoon.

Unfamiliar emotion surged through him—a simple sense of longing that was nearly staggering. For the first time, he realized how long it had been since this house had seemed like a home. Until he'd found her waiting in it for him.

Her eyes, when she looked up, were startled. She straightened self-consciously. “You may have to rethink Oxy's function as a watchdog. I had no idea you'd come home.”

With effort, he matched her wary tone with a casual one of his own. “Now don't go blaming this little guy. He just hasn't learned to bark yet.” The dog had followed Cage to the kitchen, and trailed after him as he went to the refrigerator to get a beer. Cage's gaze lingered on the thick, sea
soned steaks lying on a plate inside, next to a bowl of fresh salad. He snagged a bottle with two fingers and straightened to face her again. Twisting off the top with a quick efficient movement, he raised the beer to his lips, grateful to have something to occupy his hands.

Zoey watched him searchingly. She'd never seen him look so fatigued, his shoulders slightly slumped as if from carrying a burden too great to bear. She had an overpowering urge to go and wrap her arms around him, let some of the tired cynicism he wore drain away.

Because the strength of the urge terrified her, she rose swiftly. “I didn't know dogs had to be taught to bark. It appears I've been neglecting Oxy's lessons.” Cage was still leaning against the refrigerator, so she busied herself at the stove, fiddling with the broiler she'd found in the drawer beneath the oven.

Cage saw the nervous energy in her movements and wondered at it. “He'll discover that talent all on his own soon enough. Then you'll be wishing he could unlearn it.” Thunder rolled ominously outside, followed by a crack of lightning. She started, her gaze darting to the screen door.

“I suppose we should close that.”

He lifted a shoulder. “Every porch on this place—and I think it has six or seven—is covered. The rain's not going to hurt anything.”

“I've been waiting for a while. I didn't realize you'd be late. I kept thinking you'd be home anytime….” She bit her lip when she realized she was babbling.

“I was involved in something.” Not by the slightest inflection did he let on that he'd spent hours wading through reports of carnage and violence, and that the experience had left him weary and sick. And not for the world would he have her know the awful suspicion that drove the search, even as a part of him prayed to be proved wrong.

“I have steaks.” Her voice steadier now, Zoey raised her eyes to his. “Maybe it's too late for you to eat. Or maybe you'd rather I'd go so you can be alone.”

He pushed away from the refrigerator and went to her. Tipping her chin up with one crooked finger, he let his lips sink into hers, savoring her texture, her taste.

“No.” His voice was soft when their mouths parted. “I don't want to be alone.”

So while the thunder rumbled warnings outside, and lightning flashed to herald the long-awaited rain, Cage let himself enjoy the simple pleasure of just being near her. They broiled the steaks together, bickering amiably about the best way to cook them. When he refused a potato, they ate only the steaks and salad. The rain came, softly at first, then in a wild torrent that pounded against the windows and walls.

When he was pleasantly full, Cage sat back and drove Oxy into delirium by offering him small scraps of meat. “My mama had a custom for this kind of storm,” he mused aloud, as he yanked his fingers out of the way of the puppy's sharp teeth. “The kind that built up for hours and hours and when it broke just poured for hours more. No matter what the season, or the time of day, she'd bully my daddy into building a fire in the fireplace in the den. Then the whole family would gather in there, stay to talk, read some, until it passed. When we were teenagers Nadine and I made like the whole thing was a big ordeal.” One corner of his mouth lifted. “But we never have a rain like this that I don't think of those times.”

An answering smile curled her lips. “Maybe that's what you need now. To build a fire in the den and curl up in front of it.”

Abruptly his nostalgia vanished. He'd spent too many hours in that room last night, staring blankly into the darkness, fighting ghosts that refused to stay banished. “I don't think so.” Because the words sounded harsher than he wished, he added, in masterful understatement, “I didn't get much sleep last night. After the long day I put in today, I wouldn't trust myself to start a fire, much less tend to it.”

Was that a hint? she wondered. If so, it lacked his usual subtlety. All at once, she questioned her decision to wait for
him. He had probably come home exhausted, and was just too well-mannered to tell her to go. “You must be tired.” Zoey rose abruptly. “I'll just clean these dishes up and head home.”

“You can leave them.”

She looked at him askance. “No way. Did I mention I met your housekeeper?”

His lips curved. “Ila. I figured she must have let you in. And I'm just as afraid of her as you are. But tomorrow's Sunday so she won't be in. I'll do them in the morning.”

She already had water running in the sink for the broiler, and had the dishwasher open.

“Or,” he murmured, leaning back and propping his feet on the chair she'd vacated, “you could just clean those dishes right up.” He sipped from his beer and watched her.

“It won't take me long at all,” she assured him, turning from the counter to bend over the dishwasher rack, arranging the plates efficiently. With a subtle twitch and roll of her hips, she rose, turned for another handful of dishes and repeated the process. “I'll be out of here in no time.”

He watched with great appreciation as she swayed and twisted, her shorts riding up with each movement as she leaned over the dishwasher, glimpses of muscles flashing in those fine legs as she straightened. “I'm in no hurry.” He cocked his head consideringly and wondered if he had to choose the sexiest, most mouthwatering part of her, would it be those long, smooth legs or that sweet little butt? He tipped his head to get a different angle. Some decisions weren't to be made lightly.

One of the forks escaped her grip and fell to the bottom of the dishwasher. She gave a curse that she probably thought he couldn't hear, and bent to retrieve it.

“You can reach it.” He offered the words as encouragement, paused for another drink. “Stretch on in there.”

“I've got it.” Turning triumphantly, she caught the wicked grin of pure enjoyment on his face and realized what
he'd been up to. “You are a sick and depraved man, Gauthier.”