Ciji Ware (25 page)

“Because, frankly, Scarlett,” he said, rising from the couch, “I’ve mightily enjoyed these last three days in Natchez.” He took a few steps closer, his steady gaze belying his teasing words and then, losing the drawl, he confessed, “I’m drawn to this part of the world… to the music we both enjoy… to a lot of things that I haven’t felt for… for quite a while.” He reached up and grazed the back of his hand against her cheek. “And, I’m drawn to
you
, Daphne, in case you hadn’t noticed. As you’ve clearly noted, I’ve been on the road a long time. For almost a decade, in fact.” His hand now gently cupped her chin. “Don’t you think I should pay attention when something tells me, ‘Hey, Hopkins! This feels better than good’?”

Daphne stood transfixed, her face only inches from Sim’s, surrounded by one of the most romantically appointed hotel suites she’d ever seen. Try as she might to fight it, she was forced to admit that she felt exactly the same way. Everything about Sim felt good. Felt right.

Yeah, sure. Until the next time his publisher sends him to Antarctica for six months to photograph a bunch of penguins.

Daphne swallowed hard, and replied, “The problem is… I can’t trust what
I
feel at the moment. Between Rafe Oberlin drawing me into his tangled web and then canning me last week, and Jack Ebert, whom I should have known better than to get involved with—I’m pretty tapped out.”

Sim’s next move proved he hadn’t been listening to a word she said.

“So I take it that the groom never got to kiss the bride?” he murmured, bending closer. “What an idiot.”

And before Daphne knew what was happening, he framed her face in his large, slender hands, and kissed her tenderly and thoroughly on the lips. It was a long kiss, one with fire and compassion, and full of promise.

Then Sim took a step backward, as if to survey his handiwork.

“Why did you do that?” she asked in a low voice.

“Pure naked impulse,” he said, watching her intently. “Did you like it?” Daphne felt totally off balance and merely stared at him, speechless. “Well, did you?”

“Don’t they
all
, Mr. Inquiring Photographer?” she snapped, finding her voice in a rush of anger for all the slick lines that the Rafe Oberlins of the world had ever delivered to the unsuspecting women of their acquaintance. “I just told you, Sim, that I’m tapped out emotionally, so I’m no real judge of kissing prowess these days.”

Sim looked startled by the passion and hostility of her tone.

“Daphne… it was just a simple question. Did you like it when I kissed you?”

“Yes,” she said in a small voice. How could she bring herself to tell him that she was mortally afraid he was cranking up the razzle-dazzle, only to land her in his four-poster before he moved on down the road?

Sim seized her hand and held its palm flat against his heart. It was beating faster than normal—just as hers was.

“I can only imagine what you’ve been through, and it’s obvious to me now, that there were a lot of complicating factors,” Sim said, his gaze still locked onto hers. “But, believe me, I’ve had some pretty crazy bounces myself over the years.”

“Like?”

Sim released her hand and returned to the coffee table where he refilled his glass of water. “I did the opposite of what you did,” he said in a bantering tone. “You’ve had the courage to return to the scene of the train wreck and come home to the South. Me? After my divorce, I took to the woods for ten years and refused to venture out of my duck blind, so to speak. As you’ve pointed out, I made a choice to stay on the road so I wouldn’t have to deal with… with all that went before.”

“Which was?” Daphne pressed. When he hesitated she said, “After all, Sim, it’s only fair that you play
This
Is
Your
Life
, since I have—at your request, remember?”

Sim looked at her for a long moment, and then glanced down at his watch.

“That, too, is another story for another time,” he announced evenly. “How ’bout I take you downstairs for some of that crawfish soup?”

The
man
just
ducked
a
direct
question, didn’t he?
she asked herself, feeling blindsided again.
Seeks
intimacy. Doesn’t offer it. Not a good sign.

Daphne hesitated, squared her shoulders, then looked Sim in the eye. “You’re really nice to ask me to stay to supper, but I’ve decided that I’d better get back to Cousin Maddy’s in case I have an early rehearsal tomorrow with Willis.”

Even if Sim Hopkins wasn’t traveling the globe—and he
was
—he had a bad habit of shutting down whenever certain questions came his way. As far as Daphne was concerned, she’d learned enough about the hopeless pursuit of unavailable men to last a lifetime.

Sim hesitated and then seemed to think better of trying to persuade her to stay.

“Can you give me a lift back to Bluff House?” she asked pleasantly.

“Sure,” he said coolly. He began to collect the large photographs scattered around the settee. “Just give me a sec to put these back into my portfolio, and we’ll be off.”

Chapter 11

A kind of free-floating awkwardness developed between Sim and Daphne during the short drive from Monmouth. As they approached the entrance to Bluff House, a pickup truck with “U.S. Army Corps of Engineers” stenciled on its door nosed out of the driveway.

“Oh boy…” Daphne murmured, watching it drive past. “Hope poor Maddy didn’t get any more bad news about the condition of the bluff.” When the Range Rover rolled to a halt, Daphne resignedly reached for her door handle and made her farewells as brief as possible.

“Thanks for sharing Doctor Gibbs with me.” She summoned a smile as she stepped out of the car. “All the best on your bird sanctuary safari this week. Have fun. Bye.” She kept her tone light and her movements swift. She had advanced a few feet down the path to Maddy’s back door when Sim called out.

“Hey, Daphne! Wait! You haven’t told me what day you leave for New York.”

She hesitated and glanced into the rear compartment of her rented Ford Explorer parked near the spot Sim had halted the Range Rover. Her harp lay on its side, protected within its hulking traveling case. She hadn’t even looked at the instrument, much less tackled its re-stringing since the near-debacle with Jack at King’s wedding.

“I’m leaving next Sunday to drive down to New Orleans and catch my plane from there,” she disclosed, reluctant to think about the difficulties that awaited her in Manhattan. At least in the Big Apple, she’d surely elude any more bizarre mental flip-backs of the sort that had plagued her regularly since her arrival in Natchez, she thought, searching for something to be cheerful about.

“So, you’re heading straight home after you play at the Under-the-Hill Saloon Saturday night?”

Home? Hardly.

“Yes, I’m heading back to reality,” she said, forcing a smile.

“I’ll be back from the Trace by Friday night,” he volunteered. “Okay with you if I escort your cousin Madeline on Saturday so we can cheer you on from the front row?”

Daphne took a step in the direction of the Range Rover. “That is really nice of you,” she replied, touched by such glimpses of kindness that Sim had shown her these last few days. “I’m sure she’d love it. I’ll tell her to expect you… what? Around nine thirty Saturday night? Things probably won’t get under way much before ten.”

“You musicians are regular night owls,” he said, flashing a grin.

“And you photographers have to get up at the crack of dawn,” she reminded him with an ironic shrug.

See? It would never work, even if we lived in the same town
…

“Please don’t tell me that my next line is ‘Let’s call the whole thing off’?” He opened the car door and got out. “Look, Daphne,” he said, walking toward her. “Just so you know,
I
liked kissing
you
very much.”

Startled by this declaration, Daphne could only gaze at Sim, feeling too foolish and conflicted to admit again she’d had the same reaction.

Finally she said, “I did… I mean… thank you.”

Sim waited an instant longer for her to elaborate. When she didn’t, he arched an eyebrow and then ambled back to his car without further conversation. Daphne watched until his car’s taillights disappeared down Clifton Avenue. Then she slowly walked toward the house that clung precariously on the edge of the bluff. Maddy, as she always did, had left a welcoming light on the veranda.

“You’re not asking Sim in?” Maddy asked when Daphne came alone through the back door into the kitchen. The older woman was drying her hands on a dishcloth that she then tossed over a straight-backed wooden chair near the kitchen table. Several coffee cups sat on the drain board next to the sink—and would likely remain there until the next person used them, Daphne thought, hiding a smile.

“No… he’s off to the wilds of the Trace to photograph Audubon’s birds all next week.”

“Oh. Now, that’s disappointing. I was going to invite him to supper just now. It was so sweet of him bringing those lovely artichokes yesterday. I thought I’d return the favor.” Maddy peered curiously at her younger cousin. “Did you two have a nice day together, dear?”

“Uh huh. And by the way, Sim would like to be your date for Saturday night when I play at the Under-the-Hill Saloon. Unless you have other plans, he’ll pick you up at nine thirty.”

“Other plans?” She laughed. “Not likely… and I’d
love
to be escorted to your concert by such a good-looking young gentleman.”

“It’s not going to be a concert, Maddy,” Daphne warned. “More like a jam session, since I’ve played with Willis McGee and his trio exactly
once
.”

“Oh! That reminds me. Mr. McGee called while you were out. Wants you to come to a rehearsal… now
where
did I put my note?” she said with exasperation, rooting among a collection of bills, magazines, and third-class mail cluttering every available inch of countertop. She sighed. “Oh, well. I remember what he said, thank heavens. Meet him at the club tomorrow at eleven in the morning. I told him I was sure you’d be there. Was that all right?”

“Perfect,” Daphne assured her. She pointed out the kitchen window. “What’s the latest from the almighty Army Corps of Engineers?”

Maddy rolled her eyes. “They came by to deliver the news that nothing more will be done about shorin’ up that crumbling ol’ cliff beyond sporadic ‘erosion abatement.’”

“That’s all?”

“Well, at least they
did
say that, for the moment, the bluff appears stabilized, and I’ll finally be able to renew my insurance policy—though how I’ll pay the premium I don’t rightly know. I’ll be an ‘assigned risk,’ they tell me. Very costly, I hear.”

“Are you saying, Maddy, that there’s no insurance on this house at the moment?” Daphne asked, dismayed.

“Nobody’d issue it, darlin’. And given the way I was feeling after Marcus and Clayton died, I didn’t care much ’bout it anyway, to tell you the truth.”

“But, Maddy… you live in Tornado Alley,” Daphne protested, recalling Dr. Gibbs’s tales of the killer Tornado of 1840. “Now that you can finally
get
insurance, you can’t afford
not
to carry a homeowners policy, sweetie.”

Maddy heaved a sigh. “I know… I know. I’ll figure out what to do, eventually,” she muttered. Then she brightened. “Did you have any supper yet?” Daphne shook her head. “Well then, you just sit right down here and let me heat up some of my red beans and rice I keep going in the pot all the time.”

“Sounds wonderful,” Daphne agreed gratefully.

“And you can tell me all ’bout that charming Doctor Hopkins,” she said with a twinkle.

“Not much to tell. He’s off to the woods and I’m off to rehearsal,” she said, sounding a great deal more nonchalant than she felt. “He’s looking forward to taking you to the Under-the-Hill Saloon Saturday, though. I think he considers you a hot date.”

“Noooo, no, my dear,” Cousin Maddy retorted. “I think that’s exactly what the gentleman considers
you
.”

***

“Leila’s packed you a lunch, son,” Bailey Gibbs declared, handing Sim a brown paper bag, while cocking his head and surveying the large pack that the photographer had strapped to his back. “Hope you’ve got room for it with all that gear you’re toting.”

“Just unzip the top and jam it in there, if you can.” Sim chuckled as he bent his knees so Dr. Gibbs could stow the lunch in his backpack, along with the rest of his photographic equipment.

“When the sun’s over the yardarm, head on back and we’ll have mint juleps waiting for you on the veranda.”