Goes down easy: Roped into romance (18 page)

She turned a circle where she stood, her skirt flowing around her, her hair a cloud of corkscrew curls that were as soft as skeins of yarn. She laughed as she twirled, nearly losing her balance, stumbling back and catching herself against the edge of the fountain.

And he swore right then that he’d never had anything hit him so hard as his love for her. Right in the solar plexus. A big fat fist driving it home. She was exactly what he’d been needing to make his life complete. And wherever they went from here, he knew to expect a hell of a trip.

And then he heard it. Chasing Perry down the alley between the courtyard and Café Eros, he heard it.

The unbelievable sound of what had to be Heidi Malone—er, Heidi Tannen—wringing everything she could out of the Star Spangled Banner with her sax. Just like she’d done the day she’d walked into the band hall all those years before and blown him and the other guys right out of their shorts.

“Perry?” he asked, grabbing hold of her biceps, hauling her to a stop, backing her up against the alley’s brick wall. “What have you been doing behind my back? And where the hell did you find the time?”

“What?” she asked, flipping her hair over her shoulders and fighting a losing battle with a smile. “You think a shop clerk who works for a psychic doesn’t have it in her to do a little bit of private investigation on her own?”

A grin that felt like it belonged to the man in the moon brought up both corners of his mouth. “Are they all here?”

“Yep,” she said, adding a great big nod. “And with
their significant others. Ben and Heidi drove over from Austin. Quentin came in from New York with his fiancée Shandi.”

“And Randy?”

Her eyes widened. “That one you’re not going to believe.”

“After all we’ve gone through the last few days, and you still think I’m some doubting Thomas? Hit me, sister,” he said, and hooked his arm around her neck. “I can believe anything.”

“Okay. How about the fact that Randy’s been living right here for about four months?”

“In New Orleans? You’re kidding.”

She shook her head. “Not just in New Orleans. Here. At Court du Chaud.”

“Well,” he said, feeling the press of emotion in the center of his chest. “There’s only one thing to say to that.”

“You love me?”

“I do love you.” He leaned over, smacked her on the lips. “And it’s going to take a while before I get tired of telling you so.”

“You’d better not ever get tired,” she said, and smacked him right back. “But what were you going to say?”

“Just the obvious.”

“Which is?”

“That truth is always stranger than fiction.”

S
INGING THE BLUES
for the rest of all time wasn’t such a bad gig. The digs were okay, if a bit humdrum. And
it would have been nice to reach a bigger audience, but at least the regulars were learning their lessons.

Mmm-mmm-mmm. So distinguished, that older man. So sophisticated. He would know about wine and about flowers. About the feel of nylons. And silk lingerie.

Ooh. The younger one, now, he was about all kinds of kissing. And, oh, the ways he could touch. Those hands. Those fingers. Made a woman weep with longing
.

The dark-haired woman. Did she know how lucky she was? How much that man loved her. And her love for him was no little thing. It was big and beautiful.

A kindred spirit. A friend she wished she’d had back in the day. Such contentment. Such purely perfect peace. Sugar gave the older woman a wink. And the older woman winked back.