Be My Baby (3 page)

“Well?” Anabel demanded now.

Camilla made a mock stab at Josie Lee with her fork.

Josie Lee grinned. “I got the job at the Eighth District,” she said. “Assistant to the administrative assistant.”

“Way to go, little sister,” Camilla said, at the same time that Ned exclaimed, “Congratulations!”

“I don’t know, Josie Lee,” Anabel said with mock skepticism. “You sure you wanna be workin’ cheek to hairy jowl with Beauregard and Luke?”

“Best place for her,” Beau said. “I can keep a closer eye on her that way.”

“How many times do I have to tell you I don’t
need
looking after?” Josie Lee demanded in exasperation. “Besides, from all the talk goin’ around the station while I was there this afternoon, you can’t even look out for yourself. Heard you and your favorite acting captain got into it this morning.” She gave her brother a look of wide-eyed innocence. “Is it true you’ve been assigned to escort some rich Yankee woman around town?”

Forks were suspended midbite as everyone regarded Beau with sudden interest, and he gave his sister a smile that displayed all his teeth. “Not for long, honey chile.”

Luke stiffened with sudden tension and set his fork down. “Oh, shit, Beau, what’re you plannin’?”

“Nothing much. Just a little friendly persuasion
to convince our Yankee rich girl to request herself a new escort.”

“
What
friendly persuasion? Don’t you think we oughtta discuss this?”

“What’s to talk about? Hell, you met little Miz Juliet Rose—it’s gonna be a cakewalk.”

“Wait a minute.” Luke’s brows drew together. “I’m not sure I understand why you would think so. It’s my understanding Ms. Lowell is down here to singlehandedly get a new hotel up and running. I wouldn’t just blow her off if I were you.”

Beau merely cocked one eyebrow.

Luke swore and leveled a look at his partner. “I mean it, Beau; don’t go underestimatin’ her. It could prove to be your downfall.”

“Oh, yeah, she should be a real challenge, all right.” A rude sound of derision escaped Beau’s throat. “She wears floaty dresses, f’crissake.”

Camilla’s hand froze in the act of dishing up more jambalaya. “Excuse me?”

“I said the woman wears floaty dresses. You know the kind I’m talking about, those real girly numbers with yards of material that’s sorta see-through but
still
manages to cover up every damn inch of the good stuff—” Oh, shit. His sister’s dress was made of a soft, filmy material, and he suddenly recalled that it, too, was long. He promptly changed gears. “Forget what she wears. She’s an uptight, prissy little Yank—”

“And how did you come by that assessment, Beauregard?” Anabel demanded. “Because she doesn’t dress in skin-tight, low-cut spandex and shove her big ol’ tits in your face?”

“What big ol’ tits? If she’s got a handful I’d be mighty surprised.”

“Which is undoubtedly yet another strike against her,” Josie Lee said in disgust.

Beau appealed to his partner. “Help me out here, Luke.”

“I don’t think so, buddy; you’re on your own.” Luke grinned at him across the table. Leaning back in his chair, he crossed his arms over his chest.

“Great. Thank you. Always good to know you can depend on your friends.” He glanced over at his brother-in-law. “Ned?”

“Don’t look at me,” Ned advised. “I learned a long time ago not to try taking on all three of ’em at once.” He rubbed a hand up and down Camilla’s back. “Divide and conquer, that’s my strategy.”

“Damn.” Beau’s chair groaned in protest as he threw himself back in it. Gazing around the table at his sisters, all of whom wore identical you’repond-scum expressions, he said in disgust, “Well, the hell with it. Y’all don’t understand, and I’m damned if I’m gonna twist myself into a pretzel tryin’ to explain it to you.”

“Yes, you wouldn’t want to tax our fragile little female brains,” Anabel agreed.

“I didn’t say that! Jez-us Joe, I really need this, on top of everything else. Why did the captain have to choose now to go to Alaska?”

“There’s fish to be caught, Beauregard. Summer heat and the hurricane season to be avoided.” Luke’s finely shaped, smoothly shaven head gleamed beneath the overhead lights as he tilted his chair back on two legs.

Beau glared at him. As far as he was concerned, it was Luke’s fault he was in this mess in the first place. If he’d just kept his two cents’ worth to himself…“You break the legs off that chair, Gardner, you’re gonna buy me a new one.”

“Temper, temper,” Josie Lee murmured as she rose to her feet. “I’ll just fetch the coffee and Anabel’s pralines—maybe that’ll put you in a sweeter frame of mind.” Passing behind his chair, she gave his head a patronizing little pat.

Beau snarled.
Gawd
, females could be a pain in the butt. And he really should have known better than to expect a smidgen of sympathy from these three at hearing he’d been saddled with the care and feeding of yet another of their species. Damn women always stuck together, and this time even Luke seemed to think they had a point.

Beau’s shoulders twitched, throwing off their combined condemnation. Well, big deal—he’d had differences of opinions with this group before, and he’d no doubt have them again.

He still contended it wouldn’t take any time at all before he was shed of the oh-so-prim Miz Lowell.

Juliet closed the suite door behind her and promptly fumbled at the back of her head to locate the long-toothed comb that anchored her French twist in place. Working it free as she walked into the sitting room, she fished out an additional handful of hairpins and, with barely a pause on her way to the bedroom, tossed everything in a hand-painted tray she’d placed atop the credenza earlier
for that express purpose. Immediately her hair began to swell and grow like a sponge absorbing water, deep waves burgeoning as the thick mass sprang free of its tight confinement. Thrusting her fingers through it, she massaged her scalp vigorously with both hands. “Oh, God, that feels better.”

She walked into the bedroom, where she sank onto the slipper chair to remove her flats. Peeling her thigh-high nylons down her legs, she tossed them aside, and then, with a long, contented sigh of release, slithered down the chintz-covered seat to slump on her tailbone, extending her toes as far as they’d reach in front of her and stretching her arms overhead and behind her in a reach for the far wall. She let her head fall back against the chair, her released hair an added cushion that bolstered the base of her skull.

Lessons in comportment were far too ingrained to allow such sloppy posture for long, however, and with a final stretch, she straightened in her chair. Then she rose to her feet and reached for the hidden side zipper on her dress.

It was so good to have a minute to herself. She felt as if she’d been on one emotional juggernaut after another from the instant the plane had touched down.

It wasn’t simply the unforeseen business with the police, although that had certainly contributed. She rather thought it had more to do with the foreignness of the city, and most of all with the excitement and stress of being responsible for the success of the Garden Crown’s opening.

She and Roxanne had been running flat-out prac
tically since the moment Sergeant Dupree had elicited her agreement to stay put and departed. She’d made it a point to meet with the skeleton crew and check with each department to make sure everyone knew what they were supposed to be doing and that it was being done. She simply needed to unwind for a while, in a spot where it was possible to escape feeling her every reaction was being scrutinized, and she’d be fine.

Pulling the dress off over her head, she hung it on its padded satin hanger in the closet, then swept up her discarded nylons and put them in a net lingerie bag to be laundered later. Wearing only her skimpy bikini panties and a demi-bra of ice-blue satin and lace, she stretched luxuriously again, enjoying the cool air that washed across her freshly exposed skin. Letting her arms drop to her sides, she rotated her head.

Tight muscles began to relax and stretched nerves to unwind. Padding over to the high-mattressed bed, she tossed back the duvet.

And felt a scream rip from her throat when a huge black
thing
flew from the comforter, dropped at her feet on the floor, and scuttled for the darkness beneath her bed.

S
econds or hours later—she couldn’t tell which—she heard a fist bang on the suite door. “Juliet!” Roxanne’s voice held both urgency and anxiety. “Are you okay? Let me in.”

Juliet scrambled to comply. She ran through the rooms, whipped the door open, and nearly got rapped in the face by Roxanne’s upraised fist.

Her assistant’s arm dropped to her side as if she’d been shot and she stared at Juliet. “My God,” she breathed, “your hair is
gorgeous
. How come you never wear it down like that?”

Juliet just stood in the tiny foyer shaking and shivering, and her expression must have been as blank as her mind because Roxanne made an impatient erasing gesture with one hand and pushed her way into the suite. “Are you okay? Holy catfish, girl, you’re practically naked. Nice undies, though.” She wrapped an arm around Juliet’s bare shoulders, and it was a measure of Juliet’s state that she didn’t stiffen in discomfort at the unaccus
tomed touch. Roxanne guided her back through the foyer to the living room.

When they reached the bedroom door, however, Juliet balked. There was no way in hell she was going back into that room.

Roxanne studied her horrified face. “What on earth happened here? Okay, never mind, hold on a second.” She took a deep breath, blew it out in a loud gust, and then dashed into the room. An instant later she emerged carrying a brown and gold silk kimono and gently bundled Juliet into it. “Okay, now,” she ordered firmly as she overlapped the robe’s front panels and tied the garment at Juliet’s waist, “tell me what’s frightened you so.”

“Pardon me,” interrupted a cultured Southern voice from the doorway. “I heard a scream. Might I be of some assistance?”

“Oh, Mr. Haynes.” Roxanne’s voice held relief as she turned toward the foyer.

“Edward, dear,” his voice corrected her gently. “Remember? Please, do address me as Edward—I insist.”

“Yes, of course. Please, come in.” When a man in his early sixties entered the living area, Roxanne reached out to lightly grip Juliet’s forearm. “This is Edward Haynes, Juliet. Edward, Juliet Astor Lowell. It was she who screamed, but I haven’t been able to find out why yet.”

The arrival of the dapper white-haired gentleman forced Juliet to pull herself together. “In there,” she said raggedly, pointing a shaking finger at the bedroom door. “It was in my bed—big, black—God, it was so ugly. And it dropped prac
tically on top of my
foot
when I threw back the covers. I’ve never seen anything like it in my life. It”—she shuddered and made scurrying motions with her fingers—“ran under the bed.”

“Was it an animal, dear? A rat, maybe?”

“No. A
bug
. But not little like a beetle. Big. Monstrous!”

“Wait here,” Edward ordered. “Let me see what I can find.” He disappeared into the room.

The women could hear him rustling around and Juliet turned to her assistant while they waited. The shock was beginning to wear off, and with relief she felt herself regain a bit of her normal composure.

For the first time since the insect had flown from the sheets, she really attended to her surroundings and noticed that Roxanne, too, had discarded her business attire in favor of a loud pair of mustard-yellow satin lounging pajamas. She’d also released her curly, ginger-colored hair from its smooth workaday topknot and pulled it into a ponytail, securing the wild cascade that exploded from the side of her head with a black seamed fishnet stocking tied in a large floppy bow. It was a flamboyant look reminiscent of the day she’d come to interview, and it occurred to Juliet that both Roxanne’s work apparel and her public manner had undergone a major metamorphosis since she’d started working for Crown Corporation.

It wasn’t as if Juliet had failed to notice the change before, of course—the agreement to adopt a certain look and deportment had been a proviso to Roxanne’s employment. Until just this moment,
however, she hadn’t quite realized how very big the transformation in her assistant had been. It also suddenly occurred to her that Roxanne only indulged the more laid-back portion of her personality when they were alone together.

Juliet felt a surge of affection. “Thank you, Roxanne,” she said with quiet fervency. “If you hadn’t shown up so promptly and taken over, I probably would have wound up running down the corridor in my underwear, screaming my head off.”

A grin flashed across Roxanne’s face, and the struggle to subdue it was patent. Her sincere attempt to do so, however, gave Juliet a glimpse of how her assistant must be envisioning her at this moment—fleeing down the hallway like some underclad Gothic heroine of yore—and an inelegant snort escaped her. She immediately got herself under control, but then her gaze collided with Roxanne’s and they both lost it entirely, bursting into peals of near-hysterical laughter.

“Truly,” she gasped when she finally caught her breath. “Thank you.”

“It was my pleasure.” Roxanne wiped her eyes. “That must have been some bug, though. I’ve never seen you so shook.”

Juliet couldn’t believe how deeply she desired to just talk to Roxanne as a friend, to unload the way the insect flying out at her had accessed an almost primal fear that had knocked every rational thought from her mind. Grandmother had raised her to believe that an Astor Lowell held herself aloof from one’s employees, but at the moment her assistant felt a great deal less like a subordinate
than she did a warm, sympathetic woman Juliet would like to know better. She opened her mouth…

And then closed it again when Edward emerged from the bedroom, a pristine white handkerchief folded around an object in his hand. She didn’t even know what it was she might have said, but she was left with the odd feeling that she’d just let an opportunity pass her by.

“Is this what you saw?” Edward flipped back a corner of the monogrammed handkerchief and both women drew back as one, making what Juliet suspected were identical faces of horror at the sight of the large, dead insect within its immaculately laundered folds.

“My God,” Roxanne said in disgust. “What the hell is that? I’ve never
seen
anything so repulsive—it must be three and a half inches long.”

“It’s a cockroach.”

“Oeeuh!” Then, with a reluctant, closer look, she said skeptically, “Get out of here. Cockroaches aren’t that big.”

“Oh, they come in all sizes down here, from quite small to sometimes even larger than this. Unfortunately, roaches tend to be a real problem in New Orleans, even in some of the finest establishments.”

“Oh, my God,” Juliet said faintly.

“We’ve never had them here, however. And if it’s any consolation,” Edward said with a sympathetic smile for the women’s obvious horror, “I could only find the one, so I’m certain this is simply a random incident. I would, however, recommend
calling the exterminator in the morning and having the building inspected to be on the safe side. I’d also strip the bed.”

“I am not sleeping in that bed,” Juliet stated categorically. She’d never get a wink of sleep in this suite now.

“I’d still be sure to have the linens properly laundered to ensure there’s no spread of eggs.” He reached out and gave her hand a gentle pat. “I’m so sorry, my dear. This is not how I would have chosen to introduce you to New Orleans.”

“Thank you, Edward. And I apologize, also. I’m usually a little more composed than this evening’s behavior might lead you to believe.”

“Nonsense, dear—of course you were upset. Don’t give it another thought.”

“Come on, Juliet,” Roxanne said gently. “I’ll help you move to another room.”

It didn’t take long, since Juliet hadn’t yet unpacked. They moved her luggage to the suite across the hall and Roxanne stayed with her while she carefully checked every inch for uninvited wildlife. When she finally climbed into bed a short while later, she was relatively certain that the cockroach had indeed simply been an unfortunate fluke.

It was nevertheless several hours before she relaxed enough to finally fall asleep.

Juliet searched for Edward the next morning and finally located him in the Blue Room, where he was ensconced in a deep chair, absorbed by a gardening magazine. An empty cup on a plate dusted with crumbs sat on the table at his elbow.

She tapped on the doorframe and leaned into the room. “Good morning. May I come in?”

“Of course, my dear!” He removed a pair of dark-rimmed reading glasses and set them aside with the magazine, rising to his feet. “I do hope you don’t mind my making myself at home. This has been my special room for…well, many a year.”

“No, of course not.” She realized how truly the room reflected the man. It was dapper, warm, and well-appointed, with leather chairs worn to a soft patina, bookshelves full of tomes and magazines, and that spectacularly exotic wall of Mardi Gras masks. “It must be quite difficult having strangers suddenly in charge of your home.”

“Actually, having people around and seeing all the hustle and bustle around the old place is rather nice. Although I will miss this room and the garden when we leave.” He gave her a gentle smile. “But I’m sure we’ll find something perfectly suitable,” he said graciously. “And I do hope you don’t mind, my dear, but I still have one or two of my treasures locked up in here.”

Guilt struck straight to Juliet’s core. “Of course not. I see no reason for you to change your habits before you absolutely have to. Actually, I wouldn’t intrude on your time now, but I wanted to thank you again for your assistance last night.”

He proffered effusive assurances that she wasn’t intruding in the least, and apologies that his home would ever afford
anyone
such a traumatic shock, let alone a woman as gracious as herself. By the time Juliet bowed out the door she didn’t know
whether to laugh or cry. He was such an old sweetie.

And it hadn’t once occurred to her, when she’d mentally crowed over the coup of discovering the potential of the Garden Crown, that her actions would displace a wonderful old gent from his lifelong home.

“Afternoon, Miz Roxanne. Boss lady ready to roll?”

Roxanne looked up from her paperwork to observe Sergeant Dupree’s loose-limbed saunter to her desk, and she couldn’t prevent the slight acceleration of her heartbeat. Lord, the man was a honey. She narrowed her eyes at him, however, for she had a strong hunch he had an agenda all his own when it came to Juliet. That wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, but she reserved the right to withhold judgment until she had more information.

“Have a seat, Sergeant,” she said in her best, hard-earned professional manner. “I’ll let Ms. Astor Lowell know you’re here.” Pressing down the intercom button, she passed on the information.

Roxanne adored Juliet. She was fully cognizant of the disapproval Juliet endured from her father for hiring her instead of one of those lockjawed debs who’d applied for the position. Thomas Lowell made no bones about considering Roxanne an inferior product—and nobody appreciated more than she did just how much Juliet desired to please her father. Yet Juliet had defied him, and continued to put herself between Roxanne and his disdain whenever the three of them were thrown together.

Roxanne considered Juliet to be a lady in the truest sense of the word, and she strove to emulate her in many ways, if only to prevent her boss from ever regretting climbing out on a limb to provide her with an opportunity. She wouldn’t, however, object to seeing Juliet treated like a woman for once in her life.

Nobody ever
touched
her that Roxanne could see—not Juliet’s tight-assed father, not her painfully proper granny, nor any of the ultra-WASPs who squired her about to various functions. Maybe some of the escorts were a little less gentlemanly in private, but Roxanne had her doubts. She covertly watched Beau impatiently flip through a magazine. Now,
there
was a man, and one who didn’t look as if he’d hesitate to get down-and-dirty physical. It had tickled her to see the way he’d kept crowding Juliet yesterday.

He’d damned well better have good intentions toward her, though.

On the other side of the office door, Juliet took a deep, steadying breath and eased it out. She brushed a nonexistent speck of lint from the skirt of her dress and smoothed her palm over a French twist that required no smoothing. Arranging her features into an expression of cool politeness, she reached to open the door.

Like yesterday, her heartbeat adopted an erratic cadence the minute she walked into the small outer office and saw Beau Dupree sprawled out on one of the fragile antique reception chairs. He looked up as she approached and her mouth immediately lost all moisture. Giving her lips a surreptitious
lick, she watched him toss aside his magazine and climb to his feet.

His black eyes took a lazy inventory of her person and he tipped his dark-stubbled chin in an abbreviated nod. “Miz Juliet.”

“Sergeant Dupree.”

One corner of his mouth crooked up. “Might as well call me Beau, dawlin’. We’re going to be spendin’ a lot of time together.”

“Beau, then.” She decided against protesting the endearment. What she should object to was being dragged away when she had a million and one things to do to get ready for the Grand Opening.

But she didn’t. Sergeant Dupree had been taken from his work to provide a service they both knew was unnecessary. She owed it to him to accommodate him in return. She’d simply work extra late to make up the lost time.

“You ready to roll?” The question was clearly rhetorical, since he didn’t wait for an answer but reached out to grip her arm just above the elbow and set out for the door. “See ya later, Miz Roxanne.”

“I expect you to have Juliet back here by three, Sergeant. She has an appointment.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

The midday heat hit Juliet full force the moment they stepped out the door, overshadowing even the rough-skinned warmth of Beau’s hand wrapped around her arm. The air was redolent with the ever-present swampy smell she was beginning to associate with New Orleans and overlaid by the fragrance of flowers whose varied, sultry scents she
couldn’t begin to identify. Her silk dress immediately stuck to her body, and pressing two fingers to her sternum, she attempted to draw in a truly deep, satisfying breath. It felt as if she were breathing through wet wool.