Night Scents
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Night Scents
By
Carla Neggers
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
"Piper
—
Hell, Woman, Don't Make Me Chase You."
She didn't stop to argue. The stars and sliver of a moon provided just enough light for Clate to make her out as she lurched away from him.
Then she tripped, going down face first, cursing vociferously.
She was still cursing, up on her hands and knees, when Clate caught up with her. She seemed to have on a long black dress or nightgown that had tripped her up. Without thinking, he grabbed her around the middle and hauled her to her feet.
It was as big a mistake as he'd ever made.
She blew a strand of hair out of her mouth and fastened her eyes, luminous in the near-darkness, on him, and he sucked in a breath at what he was thinking, feeling. Every muscle went rigid, as if that could force common sense back into him. He wanted to kiss her, he wanted to scoop her up into his arms and carry her upstairs to his bed.
Her eyes narrowed, and she whispered, "Oh, dear," and he knew they were lost...
"WHEN IT COMES TO ROMANCE, ADVENTURE, AND SUSPENSE, NO ONE DELIVERS LIKE CARLA NEGGERS."
—JAYNE ANN KRENTZ
Acclaim for Award-winning Author
Carla Neggers
and
Night Scents
"Night Scents
is award-winning author Carla Neggers' best book to date! Her knack for blending wonderfully eccentric characters with passion, humor, and suspense makes her novels a pure joy to read!"
—
Romantic Times
"There are few writers today who can incorporate humor and romantic suspense into a contemporary story line as well as Carla Neggers does.
Night Scents
is so good it deserves to be placed on the bookshelf of every reader who enjoys a great romance, for this book is an ultra-great tale."
—Harriet Klausner,
Under the Covers
"Bestselling author Carla Neggers has another potential winner to add to her writing credits. We've been given a romantic suspense that's well-crafted on both of these levels....
Night Scents
has a very gentle feel to it with incredibly likable characters. I found myself smiling quite a bit, occasionally grinning at the repartee.... Well worth your time.
—Linda Mowery,
The Romance Reader
Acclaim for
Carla Neggers
and
Just Before Sunrise
"Anyone in the doldrums needs to only read a Carla Neggers novel to suddenly feel good. This talented writer is a bright light whose latest piece de resistance,
lust Before Sunrise,
will lighten anyone's early dawn. A feisty heroine, a dynamic hero, a snappy story line, and a juicy who-done-it makes for a thoroughly enjoyable experience."
—Harriet Klausner,
Under the Covers
"Carla Neggers is back with another tempting tale loaded with excitement and passion."
—
Romantic Times
"An excellent, funny, fast-paced mystery romantic suspense novel with great characters and an excellent locale. I could not put it down. I highly recommend that you run out and get this great read!"
—Terry Jean Maner,
Gothic Journal
Books by Carla Neggers
White Hot
Night Scents
Just Before Sunrise
A Rare Chance
Finding You
Published by POCKET BOOKS
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
An
Original
Publication of POCKET BOOKS
POCKET BOOKS, a division of Simon & Schuster, Inc. 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020
Copyright © 1997 by Carla Neggers
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information address Pocket Books, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020
ISBN: 0-7434-9632-9
POCKET and colophon are registered trademarks of Simon & Schuster, Inc.
Visit us on the World Wide Web:
http://www.SimonSays.com
For Pop,
well loved, never forgotten
Chapter 1
The moment Piper Macintosh heard the screen door bang open and shut, she knew she was caught, and probably by Clate Jackson himself. He'd made it plain he wouldn't tolerate trespassers. He'd instructed the realtor who'd sold him Hannah Frye's two-hundred-fifty-year-old Cape Cod house—who'd told everyone else in Frye's Cove—to have his property posted in accordance with Massachusetts law. Hannah and Piper had always shared responsibility for the hedgerow that divided their property. Not Clate Jackson. It was his. He'd had a No Trespassing sign posted smack in the middle of it, marking out his territory like a grouchy old wolf.
So here she was, Piper thought miserably, out in his back yard at four o'clock in the morning, clearly trespassing.
Footsteps sounded on the stone terrace up one level from the overgrown herb garden where she crouched. Not tentative, I'm-not-sure-what's-out-here footsteps, but confident, I've-got-me-a-trespasser footsteps.
A fat earthworm oozed out over the cool, moist dirt. The wet leaves of tall yarrow and foxglove dripped on Piper's army-green poncho. The rain had stopped. Too bad. It might have kept her neighbor inside.
A cool breeze floated up from the bay, bringing with it the scents of salt, wild grasses, and scrub pine that mixed with those of the extensive Frye gardens. It was June on Cape Cod, and Piper could smell roses and honeysuckle and a touch of mint in the clean night air, even as her heart pounded.
The gate to the wrought-iron fence that enclosed Hannah's garden of medicinal herbs—her witch's garden, she called it— creaked open.
Piper knew she was doomed.
"All right. Up on your feet. Slowly."
Slowly? What, did he think she had a couple ol grenades lucked under her poncho? That arrogant tone decided it. She wasn't going home empty handed. Giving a final tug, she broke off the hunk of valerian root she'd been digging. She ignored the horrendous smell. Worse than dirty feet.
Only for you, Hannah.
As instructed, Piper rose slowly. She didn't know if her new neighbor came complete with shotgun. He was from the South. He was rich, a prominent Tennessee businessman. He owned one of Nashville's most exclusive hotels. He'd paid Hannah Frye every nickel of her exorbitant asking price for her house and thirty waterfront acres.
Hannah also claimed that Clate Jackson was destined to be the love of her grandniece's life, but Piper had dismissed that crazy notion as just another case of Hannah being Hannah.
She turned—slowly—and prepared herself to smile and talk her way out of getting hauled down to Ernie at the police station. Ernie had been saying for years, long before he'd been named police chief, that one of these days Piper was going to let Hannah land her in serious trouble.
"You must dig up the valerian root before the sun has fully risen."
Now that she was caught, Piper wondered if her aunt had known that Clate Jackson would be arriving tonight, late. She'd checked his house at eleven, before getting a few hours' sleep, and there was no sign of him.
She pulled her poncho hood down off her hair and smiled, then nearly choked as she focused on the dark figure over by the gate. He wasn't what she'd expected, had
hoped
for. No one in town had actually seen the grumpy, mysterious Tennessean, and so she had nothing to go on, was completely unprepared. He was young. Mid-thirties. Thickly built, an inch or two under six feet, with dark, tousled hair and the dangerous look of a man who'd just rolled out of bed to roust a trespasser off his land. He wore ragged jeans and an unbuttoned denim shirt, and he was barefoot. Even in the milky predawn light, even from over by the yarrow, Piper could see that his eyes were a searing, penetrating blue, and at the moment were entirely focused on her.