Hide and Seek (7 page)

Caprice enjoyed Jack's exaggerated, charade-like attempts to communicate with Shawn. How she wished her parents had lived to meet him, to see him conquer his fears, and hear his young laughter.

Without warning, Armor jumped to his feet. Ears pricked forward, the shepherd growled, exposing jagged teeth.

Her smile faded. Caprice left her chair and approached the window. The beam from a powerful flashlight skipped across the backyard and drew nearer. Inhaling sharply, she stepped away from the window.

Terror spiked like an electric current. "Oh, God! How does he
always
find us?”

Jack approached, his features etched with concern. "Who, darlin’?”

She pointed. “It’s Alan, my ex.”

Chapter Four

Her racing heart threatened to bolt from its caged confines, while Jack peered through the window. After several tense seconds, he spoke. "That's Holt.”

The confidence in his tone slowed the slamming in her chest. “You’re sure?” She searched his eyes, desperate to believe him.

“He’s putting gas into the generator."

Caprice gripped her upper arms and turned from the window. “Sorry. I overreacted."

"Granted, you’re a bit over-strung as one of Holt's cutting horses, but you’re a fine lady, nonetheless.” Jack’s face reddened, and he dashed at his eyes. “You pitched in to help a complete stranger. I'll never forget that, Caprice."

"You would have done the same for me.” She forced a smile for his benefit. “You're fortunate to have Holt."

Jack nodded his agreement. "With Holt’s smarts, height, and build, he would have made a superb officer, but the cattle business is in his blood."

"He was married," she said as they returned to their seats.

"Yep, but Lilah ran away just like Holt’s mother. When it comes to choosing women, Holt and I have had rotten judgment."

Lilah
. As Jack sadly shook his head, her curiosity made it hard to act impassive. "Why did she leave?"

"Holt wouldn’t say, but he went
loco
. Started drinking heavy and got involved in a few barroom brawls. Eventually he tangled with the law and was grounded in the county jail, but that probably saved him from complete self-destruction.” Jack lifted his shoulders. “Sure wish he’d find a nice woman though.”

Holt had spent time in jail? Her stomach clenched. What crime had he committed?

She wanted to query Jack when he moved a checker piece and spoke. "Holt’s nearly thirty and lives like a recluse on that rattler's den in Florida. My granddaughters are cute, but I'd like some crackerjack grandsons who might enjoy learning how to fly."

She raised her brows in challenge. “Teach your granddaughters.”

“First, I’d have to convince Melissa. She was widowed a few years back, so she’s extra protective over those two girls.” Jack’s eyes took on a hopeful light. "Caprice, do you like isolated living and an assortment of wildlife? Raccoons and foxes carry rabies, but there’s an abundance of ’possums and skunks as well.”

“No thanks.” She laughed.

“Are you sure? The armadillos are cute and harmless. It’s a rare occurrence, but Holt has shot at a pack of coyotes, hungering after a newborn calf. Oh, and they’re rare in Florida, but chipmunks were spotted in Okaloosa County."

She shook her head. “You make an awful salesperson. Besides, I like having neighbors."

Shawn tapped the top of Jack’s hand and gestured to the game. Jack tweaked Shawn's nose, eliciting a bright smile. "Sorry, little fellow. It's not every day I can socialize with a gorgeous woman."

When Holt walked into the kitchen, Caprice stood and met his probing gaze. "I need to speak with you," she said.

He nodded and she followed him into the living room. Just a couple hours ago, he and his father had cut the rug and underlayment into sections then dragged the soggy pieces outside. Holt stopped beside a water-stained end table and turned up the wick on a hurricane lantern. He reset the glass chimney, and the flames tossed giant shadows on the grass and mud-spattered walls.

He bent at the knees to be on eye-level with her. "I’m curious,” he murmured and grinned. “Exactly how old are you? Twenty-two?"

"You're a horrible judge of age. I'm twenty-seven.”

He shrugged. “Guess I am. You look like you just graduated high-school.”

A National Guard chopper flew over the house, making conversation impossible until it passed. “Holt, I appreciate the attention you and Jack have given Shawn."

“Shawn’s a quiet change from the girls. They tend to screech a lot.” His warm fingers drifted down to lightly circle her wrist. If he noticed that she stiffened, he didn't let on. “How well does Shawn know his father?"

Concentration became impossible as she spun like a child's top between awareness of the broad, coaxing stroke of Holt's thumb, and fear of his strength. "Not very well. Recently the media has been asking about Shawn, so Alan has feigned interest in him.”

"Then this isn't a custody battle."

She exhaled, gathering her thoughts. "No. Shawn is imperfect in Alan’s eyes. A gross disappointment because of his hearing loss, but that’s not why I need to talk to you."

Another helicopter thundered closer and hovered, and she imagined the wind from its powerful blades forcing tree branches to bandy. Once again, conversation became impossible.

Sudden fear slam-dunked her stomach. Was Alan in the chopper? With his connections anything was possible. Seconds dragged as search lights flooded Jack's yard and the neighbors’ before moving away.

"It’s okay. That’s just the military maintaining a presence,” Holt soothed and Caprice realized she was holding his upper arm. How strange that she had needed his solid presence. “Lady, you look ready to grab the nearest broom and swoop south.”

She released him and stepped away. “Despite what you may think, I am not a witch!”

“That’s up for debate.” As the lantern’s light reflected in his eyes, his hand sought hers. “You're a beguiling distraction who creates havoc with my blood pressure and one other immediate reaction."

She flushed, imagining that reaction. She could never tell him, but Holt made her feel more powerful than she had in months. Their fingers laced, and his gaze lowered to her lips.

“You wanted to speak to me? I can think of something I’d rather do.”

His thumb gently swept the top of her hand. Her heart hammered at the gentle contact, but reality came swirling back. “Have you met anyone planning to leave the area?”

“There's a woman a block away. Nadine Castellano. Esmeralda ripped the roof off her family room. She's leaving tomorrow for her mother's home in..."

“That’s great,” Caprice cried. "You found us a ride. Thank you!”

"Bangor, Maine," he finished. "Nadine has two boys, great company for Shawn.”

Blistering, frustrated, Caprice jerked her hand from his. “Maine? Are you serious?”

“After you arrive, catch a flight to…"

"No. That's a waste of time. It’s imperative that I meet with Agent Ly…”

She stopped, but his gaze narrowed. “Who? What type of agent? Does this have something to do with the plans that thug mentioned at the airport?”

“There you go again, demanding answers I’m not prepared to give.”

He studied her for seconds. “Lady, you’ve got to agree that this isn't the place for Shawn, and Nadine's a nice lady."

"Forget it, LeBerger. I'll borrow a flashlight and speak to Jack's neighbors myself. Maybe they've remembered someone who is traveling south."

He shook his head. "The nighttime curfew is in effect. If you’re caught outside, a guardsman will demand identification."

“All right. I see your point, but don’t make decisions for me."

His eyes flashed. "Plan to shower and sleep in the camper again. Dad will sleep in the house on his only dry mattress.”

She inhaled, compelled to soothe things over. "I understand Shawn and I don't belong here. We’re an inconvenience."

"It's just a bad time, Caprice. That’s all."

Regret softened his tone. To be fair, she appreciated that he had left his responsibilities to help his father, but Holt also expected his orders to be followed. She bit her lower lip. Should she take her chances and defy the curfew? Somehow she had to find a ride to Georgia.

****

It was after midnight when Holt found Caprice sitting on the camper’s floor separating the damp pages of his father's heavy-bound book on aviation history. A box of cornstarch and a dry rag sat nearby.

Holt dropped to sit beside her. "Shawn's asleep?"

Without looking up, she nodded, maintaining her meticulous rhythm. Wipe, dust, turn. Wipe, dust, turn. Wipe, dust…

Holt captured her forearm midair. She inhaled sharply and pulled, but he maintained a light grip, and was ensnared by eyes like green lasers. “Lady, you're angry enough to cast hexes. Why?”

"I am
not
going to Maine.”

With his thumb, Holt stroked the heel of her hand, above delicate tendons and veins. He liked touching her. She was soft, irresistible, and... His brows collided. So, what had become of his self-control? Truth was, he wanted Caprice to lose her fear of him, yet wondered why he even tried.

After all, she was a stubborn, persnickety woman. At dinner, she had brushed breadcrumbs from around her plate and Shawn's. The boy needed a man around. He needed to be rescued from Caprice’s overly-feminine ways. In spite of that, Holt found he wanted to kiss her senseless and make her forget her fastidious fussing.

"I have a solution to your problem," he said and had her full attention when her eyes widened and lips parted. "Good for you, but bad for me. I'm leaving tomorrow and heading home."

“You’re leaving so soon? Why?"

"According to the National Hurricane Center, Tropical Storm Gemma is wrapping up in the Gulf of Mexico and will be a hurricane by tomorrow. The Florida Panhandle and parts of the Gulf Coast west to Mississippi are under a watch. If I leave in the morning, I can make it home and have time to secure my property before she makes landfall.”

"Are you saying you'll take us to Commerce?"

Holt didn't like it, but the hopeful light in Caprice's eyes and her soft drawl were a resolve-breaking combination that made him ache to toss his control aside where she was concerned. "We leave before daybreak," he said gruffly. "No sleeping late. Got that?"

"Yes. I’ll call Grace in the morning, so she’ll know when to expect us.” Her eyes sparkled. "But what about poor Jack? I hope he’s coming with us."

He reached up to rub the tension from his nape. "No. Dad wants to stay and help his neighbors.”

“I’m learning that helping others comes natural to LeBerger men,” she said and Holt grinned, appreciating her sentiment as she picked up the book. “So, do you like to fish?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Grace and I used to fish for bass on Tygart Lake. It wasn’t far from my grandparents’ home."

Holt looped an arm to rest on his bent knee and tried to recall the last time he'd talked easily with a beautiful, intelligent woman. "I can't imagine you hooking a night crawler."

She shuddered. "I didn’t. We drop-fished over bridges with stale bread, corn, and Cheerios for bait."

"How old were you when you lost your parents?"

"Ten. Grace was twelve." Caprice returned to her work on his father’s book.

“That must have been tough. I’m sorry.”

“Thank you.” She rewarded him with a sweet smile. “Do you fly fish?”

He blinked, bedazzled by wide, emerald eyes. How could he be talking fish, bait, and tackle and be aroused at the same time? Was there anything this woman couldn’t do? “You fly fish?”

Her eyes lit. “I know a place near the New River Gorge Bridge. There’s brook and rainbow trout. West Virginia rivers are the best for catching trout on the fly. I can easily snag with dry flies, dragons, and mayflies.”

"I’m a lazy angler,” he admitted, “so I prefer dry flies as well.” After a few comfortable seconds, he stretched out his legs. “Dad’s roof is dried-in. Now the pump is drawing water from the basement. Got a lot accomplished."

Holt was rambling, doing a poor job of fighting his attraction. His gaze sought her mouth, and all his determination ground to an agonizing halt like brake pads worn to the metal. He wanted to press his lips to hers, to tarry, taste and discover Caprice, but he would not be acting on impulse with this Irish witch. Instead, he inhaled peach and reached to stroke her hair.

She pulled back. "Don't."

“Dammit!” His temper snapped. He stood and she did the same. How could she think he would harm her? “I’m not some monster who will tear you limb from limb.”

“At least you can read my face.” Her gaze threw sparks. “You have an inkling of what I'm thinking because my expressions make me...transparent, but I’m left to guess your feelings because I can’t see your face.”

"There's nothing to see."

"I disagree. There’s always something to discover. I learned that studying portraiture at the university.”

"You have an art degree?"

She nodded. "The University of Charleston. I loved portrait painting, but I stopped when it became clear that I had become more and more…” Her gaze narrowed as if she was recalling something unpleasant.

“What?”

“Arrogant and demanding. I became filled with my own self-importance.”

He could tell by the sadness in her tone that she believed it, but he never would. There was more, but Caprice wasn’t one for long explanations, and she became brisk. The time for asking questions was over.

When she knelt to retrieve the book and the cornstarch, he glimpsed the soft, rounded mounds of her breasts nestled in a pink lace bra. Heat shot through him like a punishing jolt from a live wire.

His heart slammed as he gathered the slipping reins of his control. "I was in here earlier, looking for a blue shirt, and my jeans."

"They were on the floor. Now they're in the closet." She smiled. "Are you picking, LeBerger?"

"No, but I'm not used to finding everything so precise and…disinfected." When she didn’t comment, he continued. “Oh, and about my bed…I prefer it left unmade, mussed like a woman's hair after making..."