Hot Touch (20 page)

He brought sick animals to her and watched with silent fascination while she talked them into relaxing; he asked her to act as interpreter between himself and Wolf; he cherished her power and treated it as one more glorious secret they could share.

And she felt not only loved, but beautiful. She couldn’t get enough of his company; when they were apart she felt connected to him by an invisible bond of anticipation. When she was with him his lingering touches and frequent glances made it clear that he couldn’t get enough of her either.

He used delicious, sometimes bawdy tactics to spark her sensuality, leading by uninhibited example until she cried because she understood what she’d been missing.

Once in the middle of the night she woke moaning from a dream filled with hot, aching sensation. Groggily she realized that Paul was no longer beside her. Then she exclaimed in startled delight as the skilled movements of his tongue told her the dream was real. He was loving her in an incredibly unselfish way.

“Ooh-la-la, look what I found in the dark,” he said solemnly.

Simple things became momentous.

“Your café au lait is great,” she said at breakfast one morning, and he was so pleased that he made love to
her on the kitchen table. As she held him afterward, her face dusted with beignet sugar and her fingers languidly rubbing the remnants of grape jelly into his naked rump, she sensed the presence of the house cats.

Paul had his face burrowed in the crook of her neck, where he was licking up a trace of strawberry preserves. She nuzzled his hair gratefully, then looked over at the feline visitors. They sat on the windowsill, watching with dignified disapproval.

She burst into giggles. Paul lifted his head and smiled at her. He had a dollop of honey on one eyebrow. Caroline laughed harder, and he arched into her jiggling body.

“Whatever’s so funny, keep thinking about it,” he said rakishly.

“The c-cats,” she sputtered. “They think we’re silly.”

He glanced quickly toward the window. “Hey, purrs.” Then he looked back at Caroline. “Why?”

“Because we’re playing in our food.”

Rich laughter rolled from his throat. “Tell them I like to play in my food before I eat it.” And as she stared at him with a stunned, giddy grin, he slid down her body and began licking sugar from her navel, Caroline let her head fall back onto a crushed beignet and sighed with delight.

Silver Wolf
finished filming in two weeks. Two weeks were two centuries when every second vibrated with life, and the future was no more than a vague shadow in a distant mist.

Wearing only her black Oriental robe, Caroline strolled off the back veranda and stood in the gray-tinted darkness just before dawn, gazing contentedly at the morning star. Paul’s grueling days always started at this time, and her night-owl heart had finally adjusted.

She smiled wryly. Only the deepest kind of love could make her enjoy getting up at these hours to be with him.

“What you doin’,
chère
? Calling the birds for breakfast?”

He came out the back door and strolled barefoot off the veranda to her, running a hand over his chest, then stretching like some magnificent panther just waking up.

Caroline put her arms around his bare waist and smiled up at him. “I thought you were taking a shower.” She tugged lightly at the waist of his white pajama bottoms. “You weren’t wearing these last time I saw you.”

“I was supposed to have company in the shower, yes?”

“I heard a strange noise out here. Like a deep grunt.” He gave her an exasperated look. “So you just brought your fearless fanny downstairs alone to investigate.”

“No animal would hurt me.”

He glanced around, frowning. “Where’s Wolf and Sin?”

“Asleep on their blankets in the parlor. Oh, I meant to tell you. Her name’s
Lady
now, not Sin. She agreed that it was more appropriate.”

He arched a black brow rakishly. “Givin’ the animals fancy names, eh? Next shell want a rhinestone collar.”

Caroline chuckled. “You’re
not
going to name her She-Dog. I protest.”

A deep bellow punctured the night so close by that Caroline jumped and looked around her feet. Paul swung about, gazing at the veranda intensely.

“ ’Gator,” he said in a troubled voice. “That’s the grunt you heard. Must be Big Daddy. He’s the only ’gator tame enough to come this close to people.”

Caroline’s gaze followed his to a large hole torn in the white wooden slats at the veranda’s base. She shut her eyes and concentrated. “Uhm-huh. He’s under the veranda. He, uhmm, aha!”

She patted Paul’s back sympathetically. “Doc, Big Daddy is Big Mama.”

“
Mais non!
” He stared at her as if she’d just accused John Wayne of being a sissy.

“
Mais oui
. She’s avoiding an overaggressive boyfriend.”

He ran a hand through his hair and massaged the scar on the back of his neck. Caroline watched the odd, troubled gesture and was puzzled. “She’ll leave when it gets light, doc. What’s the matter?”

“Get her out
now.
”

Startled, she told him, “She won’t go. She’s not in the mood.”

He cursed darkly and headed back inside the house, slapping one hand along his thigh in disgust. Caroline followed anxiously.

In the kitchen he paced back and forth, and once again he raised a hand to rub the back of his neck. She settled slowly in a chair and watched him.

“I never told you how I got hurt,” he said.

Caroline nodded vaguely, bewildered by the sudden change of subject. She knew his scar by heart, just as he knew hers. It was an upturned crescent at the base of his skull, a dramatic ridge almost the width of her hand.

“An alligator did it?”

“No, no ’gator.”

“You haven’t seemed eager to tell me,” she explained. “So I didn’t pry. I knew you’d tell me eventually. What happened?”

He exhaled wearily. “When I was working at the track in New Orleans I got kicked by a horse.”

“In the back of the head?”

“Yeah. Nearly killed me.” He paused in his restless movements and looked at her with eyes full of old memories. “Bruised my spinal cord. I was paralyzed for about two months. From the neck down.”

Caroline hunched over in her chair and hugged her
suddenly queasy stomach. “Oh, doc. No wonder you don’t like to talk about it.” Tears came to her eyes. “And all the times you’ve listened patiently to me complain about my scar—”

“Shhh. The hell I went through didn’t last for years like yours did.”

“But you were
paralyzed.
”

“Yeah. It was … I wouldn’t wish it on anyone. It’s what got me thinking about my life. It made me change directions. When I got well I bought this place.”

They heard Big Mama bellow again. Paul’s expression went darker than before. “Dammit, see if you can get her out from under the house.”

“I can’t. She’s not hurting anything. What’s wrong?”

His jaw worked for a moment. He looked at her awkwardly, then announced, “It’s bad luck for a ’gator to crawl under your house.”

“Ah.”

“That was a what-a-cute-Cajun-superstition ah. Dammit, take me seriously.”

Caroline spread her hands in a gesture of reconciliation. “Now, doc—”

“I got kicked in the head a week after a ’gator crawled under my house in N’Orleans.”

She gaped at him for a minute. So
that
was the cause of his sudden mood change. “Doc, it’s just coincidence.”

He glared at her. “I never questioned what you told me about talkin’ to animals, but you think what I’m saying about superstition is silly, yes?”

Caroline blushed. “I think you’re overreacting.”

“Then you don’t understand Cajuns.”

A cold thread of resistance wound through her. “I never said that I did.”

“Or that you wanted to.”

Caroline stood, alarmed. There was only one possible explanation for his sudden anger. “You’re upset about the film shoot coming to an end so soon now.”

He held her eyes, searching them. Then he said gruffly, “Frank told me last night that you’ll have to take Wolf to film some scenes at the studio in Burbank. You knew that a week ago. Why didn’t you tell me?”

Caroline slumped back into the chair and looked at him wretchedly. “I didn’t want to spoil the mood.”

His anger dimmed a little. Sighing, he slowly nodded, admitting that she had been wise. Then his gaze hardened again. “That ’gator, he … she’s a bad sign. I don’t want you to go.”

Her throat taut with unshed tears, Caroline whispered, “Doc, I have to go. But I’ll be back.”

“To stay for good?”

She shook her head. “To visit.” She looked at him with anguish. “I love you and I don’t want to lose you. Well work something out even if I live in California and you live here.”

“This is your home!”

Crying silently now, she shook her head. “No.”

“I thought you’d changed.”

“I have. I love you and I love this place. If I could transplant it and you to California, I’d be the happiest woman in the world.”

“Transplant yourself
here
.”

“I refuse to live in the same state with my mother’s family. Dammit, it’s beneath me. It’s a point of principle. I thought you’d accepted that.”

“Pride!” he yelled. “Stupid pride! I don’t understand how you can love me so much and want to live all the way across the damned country.”

“I don’t want to live across the country, but I can’t get you to leave Louisiana!” She held out her hands to him. “Paul, it’ll work. It’s not traditional, but it
will
work. “I’ll visit, I’ll call, I’ll write.”

“I don’t want a pen pal, I want a wife.”

She shook her fists at him. “You want everything your own way!”

They stared at each other, lost in a gulf filled with shared pride and sorrow. Big Mama bellowed again.

Paul waved a hand toward the veranda. “Go hide with her.”

Caroline groaned with frustration. “You don’t give up.”

“I do when I’m beating my head against a stone levee.” He pivoted abruptly and left the room.

The old man drove an ancient, rusting pickup truck onto the set and staggered out of it before the crew’s security guard noticed him. He tripped over a tree root and fell to one knee, then splayed his arms out and pushed his tall, skinny frame up like a scarecrow.

“Caroline!” he yelled in a heavy Cajun accent.

Everything ground to a halt. “Cut!” the director yelled in disgust. Frederick, Dabney, and Wolf looked at the man curiously.

Caroline, sitting in her chair just outside the bustle of activity, stared at the old man in astonishment. Lady rose from her place under the chair and took a watchful position. Wolf trotted over and stood beside her.

Mistress, don’t be afraid. He doesn’t have badness in his face
.

The old man swayed and swept bleary eyes around the set. Wearing faded overalls and a baggy print shirt, his graying red hair sticking out at odd angles, he looked like a skinny Red Skelton playing Clem Cadiddlehopper.

“Where’s
ma petite-fille?
” he shouted, looking distressed.

Granddaughter
. Caroline dropped the script and clutched the arms of her chair. Horror sleeted through her and made her mouth taste brassy with fear. Oh, dear Lord, no.

She stood up, her knees weak, and stared at the invader in numb despair. The security guard grabbed him by one arm.

“Lemme go, you crazy coot,” the old man protested, “I got to see my grandbaby! I heard she’s here, yes! You
Américain’s
can’t hide her no more!” He waved his arms and slurred a litany of colorful oaths, half in English and half in Cajun French.

Suddenly Frank was beside Caroline, a supporting hand under her elbow. “He’s drunk, Carrie.”

“Get him
out
of here,” she whispered, her throat a dry well of humiliation. “How did he find me? Why did he find me? Oh, God, he’s my worst nightmare.”

“Where is she? I’d know her. She had her mama’s hair and eyes! Caroline! I’m your kin!” He took a loose swing at the guard and missed.

Caroline pressed her hands to her mouth. She felt the crew’s furtive, embarrassed glances and wanted to sink into the ground. She needed her sunglasses again, desperately. She was a violent old drunkard’s granddaughter, and she wanted to hide in shame.

“Let’s take him to my trailer,” Frank said gently. “We’ll give him some coffee and—”

“No,” she said harshly.

“Carrie—”

“Get him off this place.” She tilted a little. “Frank, I feel sick.”

The security guard wrestled with the old man, whose rolled-up shirt-sleeves revealed strong, corded forearms. The guard’s face turned red with exertion. A cameraman ran over and grabbed her grandfather’s free arm.

The guard called, “What do you want me to do with him, Mr. Windham?”

“
Petite-fille!
” her grandfather called plaintively. He glanced around wildly, his gaze stopping on Caroline. “You’re her! Oh, Lord, those eyes. Michelle! My baby!”

Caroline staggered back, jerked her arm away from
Frank’s grasp, and turned blindly. “I’ll be at the house.” she said between gasping breaths. “Carrie.”

She groaned. “I can’t take it.” Caroline strode away, Wolf and Lady at her heels. “Don’t go!” the old man yelled. “Michelle, don’t go! It’s Papa!”

She walked faster, her hands knotted, her head down. His voice rose into a begging cry. “It’s Papa … non,
merci
, grandpapa! I come to see you! You’re my blood!” Humiliation overwhelmed her and she ran.

Paul slid to a stop in the grand old foyer and looked around frantically. The sound of canine feet rushing across the hardwood floor above him drew his searching eyes to the staircase. Wolf and Lady careened to a stop at the edge of the landing and whined at him anxiously.

“Caroline!”

His heart thudding, he raced up the stairs and entered his bedroom. She was sitting in a big claw-footed chair that faced the window. Paul knelt beside it and studied her sympathetically. Her shoulders were hunched with tension and she’d slipped tortoiseshell-framed sunglasses over her eyes.

Tears escaped from under them as she looked at him. “Where is he? Did he leave?”