Galahad in Jeans (Louisiana Knights Book 2) (21 page)

“Ha! Who needs a ladies maid?” she asked the mirror on the far side of the room.

Beau could have played the part.

No, she wouldn’t think of that. Nor would she think of how she could have helped him undress and then moved into the shower with him. To see and touch all that hard-muscled nakedness, while the rushing sluice of hot water brought the tamped down desire inside her to the boiling point…

She wouldn’t think of that. Some other time, maybe. Tomorrow was another day.

Maybe she had more Scarlett O’Hara in her than she realized.

Beau had certainly thought so, she remembered as she began to unfasten the hooks that held her corset. He’d thought she needed kissing. She had, too, though the tightness in her lower body as he’d applied his brand of persuasion to her naked breast told her she needed more than that.

The trouble was, a single night, or even several, might not be enough.

He had his world and she had hers. It could be less painful to let it stay that way.

That was assuming he was interested in anything more than kisses from her. She couldn’t be sure. He’d wanted her there in the library; she’d felt the evidence of that even through the fullness of her skirts. But he wasn’t controlled by his anatomy. What he wanted and what he would take could be two different things. He was, she was fairly sure, a forever kind of man.

Carla paused at the last hook on her corset as she recalled the tenderness and wonder in his face tonight as he held Suzann’s newborn in his hands. He hadn’t smacked the baby to make it cry, but had cleaned its mouth and cleared its breathing passages with care. When the tiny thing took its first breath, his smile had been beatific, and he had cuddled it against his neck in spite of its waxy, bloody coating, extending a soothing welcome into the world.

You had to love a man like that.

No, she didn’t!

Good Lord, no. She couldn’t. It wasn’t possible.

Yet all the things he’d revealed today, and especially this evening, were powerful inspiration. She could write the profile on him now. It was time.

Yes, it was time.

Toward dawn, she read the words she’d written for the third time. The piece was as error-free as she could make it. Attaching it to a brief email to Trevor, she added a selection of the many photos she’d taken over the past week. At the last minute, she included a blind carbon copy of everything for Diane the Dragon Lady who owned the magazine.

Closing her eyes, Carla searched her soul, questioning whether this was the best she could do for Beau. She thought it was, that she had come as close as humanly possible to capturing the essence of him as a man and gentleman.

She hit Send.

Immediately, she powered down her laptop and set if off the pillow she’d been using as she sat working in bed. Making sure it was secure on the bedside table, she reached above it to switch off the table lamp. She slid down in the bed then, and pulled the pillow under her head.

The shrill warbling of a phone woke her. It was getting to be a habit. She turned away from it, refusing to even think of answering. It was the house phone, not her responsibility.

Of course it might be Trevor. All the more reason not to answer, then.

He was going to hate the piece she’d written, she knew; she was surprised she hadn’t heard from him the instant he received it. She fully expected him to question every paragraph, phrase, word and comma she’d used, and to make sarcastic comments about them.

The ringing finally stopped. Had the answering machine picked up? It was possible, she thought with a glance at the windows where the mellow light of late afternoon filtered around the drapes. Eloise must be gone for the day, and Beau was probably out working around the place somewhere.

Abruptly, she sat up in the bed. The tour of the house! Had she slept through it, lying here in bed while people trooped through the rooms beyond the velvet ropes?

No. No, the house was only open for visitors on alternate days. It was all right. She hadn’t let anyone down by not showing up for her part.

She flopped back onto the bed like a rag doll. After a few minutes, her breathing returned to normal. Still she lay there, staring at the tester lining above her.

She’d wasted a large part of the day sleeping when she should be making plans to leave. A number of things still needed her attention. Yet it was so late now she might as well wait until tomorrow.

Yes, she’d think about that tomorrow…

Once she was gone, would Beau show up again at the foot of the stairs as someone else took the part of Emmeline for the house tour? She hated to think of it, refused to think of it.

She should pack, she thought; she could do that, if nothing else. And she would, too, as soon as she found the energy.

It was hunger that finally drove her from the bed. Dragging on jeans and a white T-shirt, slipping her feet into clog-like sneakers, she made her way down to the kitchen.

Eloise had left a note on the refrigerator for her, one pointing the way to chicken salad for a sandwich or homemade vegetable soup, whichever she preferred. Carla spooned the chicken salad into a lettuce leaf and then wandered to the phone on the wall. Caller ID showed a local number for the missed call. Definitely not Trevor then, which was a great relief.

Moving to the sink for a glass of water to go with her snack, she glanced out the window above it. Beau was heading toward a distant field, apparently, driving a tractor with a trailer behind it that was piled high with something in bags. She wished she knew what it was, and what he was going to do with it. That was ridiculous, wasn’t it, when she’d be back in Baltimore in a day or two, and never see the green fields of Windwood again?

A knock came at the back door that was down a short hall past the laundry. Hard on it, the door opened and shut. She swung in that direction, her heart fluttering in her chest.

“Yoo-hoo! Eloise? Beau?”

It was the sheriff’s wife who came into view, casually glamorous with her hair in a ponytail and a man’s shirt over jeans, its long sleeves folded back to her elbows. She had two garment bags draped over her arm, one regular and one long with the flared bottom usually reserved for wedding gowns.

“Oh, hi! Did I startle you? Sorry!” Mandy’s smile was bright but rueful. “I called on the way over, but didn’t get an answer. I decided no one was here, so meant to just pop in and leave these things.”

“If I’d known it was you, I’d have picked up.”

“Awkward, isn’t it, when you’re a guest?” Mandy held out the garment bags. “These are for you and Beau. The dry cleaner did a rush job on the uniform, but there’s a different ball gown for you. Beau didn’t want to disturb you this morning to retrieve the one you wore last night, you know? There’s a new hooped petticoat, too, since yours was apparently sacrificed for a worthy cause.”

“This is really good of you, but I’m not sure I’ll be here for the rest of the pageant.” Carla kept her gaze on the bags as she accepted them and turned to place their hooks on the knob of an upper cabinet door.

“Why ever not? You have the rest of the week, right? I mean, you reserved a room at the motel for that long when you first came.”

“Well, but I finished the magazine profile, so there’s no reason to stay.”

“You can’t go! You and Beau are so perfect together in the different skits that you make the pageant. It won’t be the same at all without you. Besides, old man Turner down at the garage said so many cars were damaged by flood water that it may be a while before the insurance adjuster can look at yours.”

Carla laughed; she couldn’t help it, regardless of this strong evidence of interest in her business. “You got all this from Lance, I suppose.”

“Lord, no. He’s a Benedict, which means he doesn’t bring official business home or pass along any of the interesting stuff that goes on around town.”

“But then how—”

“Gossip, pure and simple.” Mandy spread her hands. “The only advantage I’ve found in being the sheriff’s wife—well, other than the obvious—is that I know everyone in town and so hear most of what goes on. Speaking of which, I heard about the roadside miracle you and Beau pulled off last night. People from all over will want to see the hero and heroine of the hour. You can’t disappoint them. Besides, it’s too late to rope anyone else into your role. I mean, I sure don’t want it!”

“As to that,” Carla said, “I believe congratulations are in order?”

Mandy patted her belly that was still ridiculously flat. “Thanks much. I couldn’t be happier. But see? You’re totally in the loop already. You’ve got to stay!”

How could she argue with such logic? Still, there were other considerations.

“I was supposed to fill in for you for one night. I don’t know how Beau will feel about taking me on as a permanent partner.” She flushed as she heard how that sounded in her own ears. “Dancing partner, I mean.”

“No worry. The last thing he needs right now is to try to teach the steps and places in your skits to someone who hasn’t been going to rehearsal. And you’ve got the job of playing Emmeline, too.” Mandy tilted her head, speculation plain in her face. “People were raving about the act you and he came up with for the end of the house tour here.”

“It was Beau’s idea, really.”

“Of course it was. He’s a Benedict!”

Carla touched a hand to her cheek as she felt heat gather in her face. “Anyway, talking about the master bedchamber and then leading the groups back outside is your job.”

“Honey, you can have it with my blessing. As I told Lance, I’m done with corsets. Besides, my darling husband might have something to say if Beau rounded off the tour with me the way he did with you!”

Carla took the teasing in good part, since she could tell it was meant that way.

Well, okay, she’d stay another day or two. Beyond that, she couldn’t be sure. She really needed to leave soon. She had to go before things went too far, before someone wound up getting hurt.

The afternoon advanced, becoming evening far too quickly. Beau stayed away from the house until it was almost too dark to see outside. Carla was dressing for the pageant when she heard him in the kitchen, no doubt heating soup for his dinner. A short time later, the shower came on.

She half expected him to be waiting for her at the foot of the stairs when she came down, but he wasn’t there. He did come through the front door as she approached it, however, bringing with him the fresh scent of the outdoors.

He stopped for an instant, his brows rising and mouth open. It was fitting homage for her costume, a confection of palest pink silk layered with ruffles that were edged with gold lace and looped up here and there with knots of ribbon, and held out with a hooped petticoat a good foot wider all the way around than the one she’d worn the night before. That a part of it was for the way she looked in it gave her such a warm feeling inside that a slow smile curved her mouth.

“Wow,” Beau said in quiet appreciation. “Mandy said she’d brought you something else to wear, but that’s—”

“Uber fancy?” she asked as he paused.

“Almost bridal,” he answered, his eyes growing darker, “and nicely fancy. I feel like a hick by comparison.”

She made a leisurely appraisal of the colorless, bell-sleeved shirt and black wool trousers tucked into high-top boots that he needed for the first skit. “You make a fine pioneer. All that’s missing is a beard.”

“Is it?” His gaze turned quizzical as he opened the door wider to accommodate her ball gown, and then offered his arm for navigation of the front steps and walkway toward where the big Lincoln town car waited.

“Well, no, but I suspect your ancestor had one.” Carla accepted his support without a qualm, having discovered the value of a man’s arm when it was impossible to see where she was putting her feet. And if she felt an inner thrill at the firmness of the muscles beneath her fingers, that was her secret.

“Nah. I have it on good authority he was an ornery cuss who thought beards were only good for crumb-catchers.”

“What?”

“Nests to catch and hold every crumb that fell off his cornbread, and worse things dropped from forks and spoons.”

“You’re joking.”

“Would I do that?”

He would, of course, and she was glad of it. It eased the stiffness between them left over from the night before, while setting a light tone for the evening.

Carla danced down the stairs on the following morning with the dreamy music of the last waltz from the night before playing in her head. She didn’t mind it being there; she was still half under its spell, as well as the memory of the tracking spotlight as she’d swirled around the floor in Beau’s arms.

He was there in the kitchen, eating a biscuit stuffed with some of the bacon and scrambled eggs that waited on a warmer. His smile was warm as it rested on her, setting off a quick burst of something like fireworks inside her. Her hands shook a little as she turned to take down a cup and then moved toward the coffeemaker that steamed nearby.

“You’re using your right hand more,” he said. “I noticed that last night. It must be getting better.”

“It’s still sore, but doesn’t ache as much.”