Lancelot of the Pines (Louisiana Knights Book 1) (6 page)

It seemed a good idea. The last thing they needed was to be stopped for indecent exposure.

Unfastening her seat belt, Mandy climbed out of the bucket seat into the aisle then made her way into the rear of the swaying RV. The closet mentioned was only a foot-wide space between two walls, but held an assortment of shirts and jeans. She pulled out a much-washed black T-shirt that said “Bikers do it on two wheels.” It was big and soft; it would do. Leaning against the foot of the bed, she slipped it on over her head and pulled it down past her hips.

It was then she noticed the bed was the only one in the RV. Her experience with such things was scant, but she’d assumed there would be accommodations for more people. If Deputy Benedict thought she was sharing the cubicle that passed for a bedroom with him, he would soon discover his mistake.

She was reaching for a western shirt with pearl buttons that would be easy for Lance to skim into while driving when she felt the vehicle lean into a turn. Snatching the shirt from its hanger, she lunged from one handhold to another until she was in the front again, where she could see they had taken a rougher blacktop road.

“I hope you know where you’re going.” Her tone held more than a trace of doubt.

“More or less.”

“Meaning?” She held the shirt she’d brought so he could slide his right arm into its short sleeve.

“I haven’t been to the house is years. It was Trey’s granddad’s old place. We used to stay there now and then.”

“We?”

“Trey and I, and another Benedict cousin.”

“But you can find it.”

“I think so.” He leaned forward to allow her to slip the shirt behind him and then held the steering wheel with his right hand while he found the other sleeve with his left.

“I didn’t hear him mention it.” The comment might or might not have been coherent as she jostled against his shoulder while straightening the shirt. The warmth seemed to burn her abdomen through her T-shirt.

Lance sent her a quick glance over his shoulder. “What Trey doesn’t know, he can’t let slip to anyone. Besides, nobody has lived there since the old man went into a nursing home several years back. It’s not in the best shape.”

She raised a brow as she resumed her seat. “But we’re staying there?”

“You expected maybe the Ritz-Carleton?”

“No, but aren’t there campgrounds for van things like this one?”

“Sure are, great places with nosy folks who have cell phones and Internet and nothing to do but watch other RVs come and go. But don’t worry. We’ll be staying in the RV, not the house.”

“Oh.” He’d been mocking her, as if he thought fancy hotels were standard fare for her. “So your cousin doesn’t take care of the property?”

“It doesn’t exactly belong to him, which is part of the problem. An uncle and a couple of other relatives are involved, plus mineral rights, oil and gas leases, that sort of thing. It’s all Trey can do to keep the antique furnishings from walking off.”

“Just promise me there are no ghosts,” she said, looking out the windshield at the overgrown track they were turning into now.

“Nope, no ghosts.” The assurance was firm. That was until he turned back to his driving, muttering under his breath. “Not that I know of, anyway.”

The old house wasn’t as bad as he’d led her to believe. Set back at the end of a rutted drive, it was a roomy rectangle, with a long front porch, dormer windows set into the roofline for a second floor, and a fan-lighted front entrance. Shrubbery crowded around it, however, and vines crawled up the shutters fastened over the windows. One porch column was black and crumbling from mold, so the roof sagged on that end. The front walk of faded red brick was thick with last year’s leaves and overgrown with grass along its edges.

“What a shame to let it go to ruin,” she said, staring at it with her hands set on her hips. “Somebody should do something.”

“Trey will. When the time comes.”

“It’s going to fall down if he doesn’t hurry.”

Lance twitched a shoulder. “It’s sturdier than it looks. These old places were built with heart cypress by people who expected them to last for generations.”

The permanency of that idea roused a yearning sensation deep inside Mandy. Nothing in her life had ever been that enduring. It seemed less than fair that some were born to solid security while others could never find it.

“You know that because?” she asked with some acerbity.

“I’ve spent a good chunk of my life on upkeep for one a lot like it.”

She stared at him a long moment while envy rose inside her. “You own a house like this one?”

“By the hardest.”

“Meaning?” She thought the expression was a deep country way of saying he’d had difficulty holding on to his historical home, but couldn’t be sure. She waited expectantly, her curiosity piqued by the hard note in his voice, as well.

“My ex thought she’d force me to sell it during the divorce settlement, so she could pocket half its value. She miscalculated. It was never community property.”

So he had been married before. It figured. “Lucky you.”

“That’s open to debate. These big barns can cost a fortune to keep up.”

“You don’t like yours then?”

“I didn’t say that,” he answered with the ghost of a smile. “I wouldn’t take a million dollars for it, but that doesn’t mean I can’t see its problems.”

He was a realist, was Deputy Benedict. It was something Mandy thought she might be wise to remember.

It had been past noon by the time they reached the house. Lance backed the RV into an overgrown track that led to outbuildings concealed behind the bulk of the house. He scouted their surroundings, beating down the tall grass around their parking place, while Mandy made sandwiches for a quick lunch. Afterward, they sat letting the kinks in their nerves unwind.

All Mandy intended to do was rest her head against the wall behind the table and close her eyes a second. When she finally opened them again, it was late afternoon. She’d napped, but in fits and starts, jerking into semi-consciousness half-a-dozen times.

After splashing water on her face in the tiny bathroom, she ventured out of their house on wheels, partly to stretch the stiffness out of her muscles but also to get away from the deputy who must have watched over her while she slept. It did no good; he followed close behind her. Nor did he turn back when she began to explore around the old house, stepping carefully around dead limbs and briers in the tall grass.

As he walked beside her now, she threw him a quick look of appeal. “I still don’t see why we can’t stay inside while we’re here.”

“Too hot,” he answered. “No utilities, so no air conditioning and no lights.”

“People did without them for thousands of years.”

“But we have it in the RV, as long as the generator works.” He turned and started back toward where he’d parked. “Besides, we’d be trespassing.”

“I thought we were doing that already.”

He didn’t answer, although she wasn’t sure if it was because she was right or that he didn’t care.

Every step he took lengthened the distance between them, however, leaving her alone in the shadows gathering around the old house, alone with the calls of crickets and the quiet stirring of the evening breeze. Spinning on her bare heel, she hurried to catch up with him.

He had seriously miscalculated when he borrowed the RV, Lance thought, as he skimmed behind Mandy for the third time while trying to operate the bedroom slide-out and get the bed set up for the night. She was standing at the microwave, working on dinner. The space between her and the wall that held the refrigerator was too narrow for two people to pass without touching. Her hair tickled his chin and the front of his pants brushed the curves of her bottom every time. It was torture, pure torture. And the long summer twilight meant it wasn’t even dark yet.

It had seemed like such a good idea. Trey planned to use the vehicle often for dirt track meets in out-of-the way places, so he kept it fully serviced—the water tank sanitized and filled, propane tanks topped off, and full tank of diesel for travel and running the generator. And, since he was planning to use it this weekend, the small pantry and refrigerator were well stocked. Compact, maneuverable, a perfect size for one or two people, the rig could go places that a larger one couldn’t. Being self-contained, it could be parked practically anywhere, and become nearly untraceable if fuel and campground fees were paid in cash.

When two people used it, however, it was probably best if they knew each other well. Extremely well.

“Excuse me,” he said, yet again, as he carried the decorator pillows that normally rode on the bed toward the front where they’d be out of the way. Mandy turned toward him and leaned backward this time around, but it did little good. Her breasts left a trail of fire across the width of his chest. He stepped back so fast he bumped the wall behind him hard enough to shake the whole RV.

“Sorry,” she said.

“My fault.”

Easing on, he dropped the pillows on the side bench and knelt to look at the underside of the small, square table, seeking the mechanism that turned it into a bed.

Behind him, the microwave bell rang. Mandy reached for potholders to remove one of their plastic bowls of rehydrated noodles and veggies. Speaking over her shoulder, she asked, “What are you doing?”

He told her in as few words as possible. He didn’t dare look up at her since his position gave him an unfair view under the big T-shirt she wore.

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I’m not. At least, not until after we eat.”

“I mean one bed is enough,” she clarified. “I’ll be sleeping in the house.”

He rose to his feet. “Along with the dust and spiders and anything else that might decide to spend the night with you. I don’t think so.”

She gave him a straight look. “Am I a prisoner?”

“Of course not. I’m just saying it’s not a good idea.”

“I appreciate what you did for me today, Deputy Benedict—”

“Lance,” he interrupted. “Anything else seems a little formal after what we’ve been through.”

“All right, Lance then. As I was saying, I know I probably owe you my life, but I’m not used to being in such close quarters with another person. I had a bad experience with that once and need my space.”

Her dislike of close quarters was suggestive when coming so close upon mention of prison, Lance thought. It was such a stretch, however, that he let it pass. The question that came out of his mouth was entirely different.

“What? You and your husband had separate bedrooms?”

Her eyes narrowed. “We did, not that it’s any of your business. He was a night owl and I’m a morning person. Besides, he snored and was up and down often for bathroom calls.”

“Being older.” Prostate problems, maybe, he told himself.

“I suppose.”

“That’s still no reason to risk staying in the house when you have more protection here.”

“No one knows where we are. You’ve seen to that.”

“I can almost guarantee you won’t be able to sleep.”

“I’m from New Orleans, remember? I’m used to the heat. Also to bugs, spiders and even mice.”

“Whatever mattresses are left on the beds will be covered with dust and worse. That’s if they aren’t rotten with mildew. They certainly won’t have sheets.”

“I expect there’s extra bedding stored in here somewhere, since everything else has been supplied. I’ll bet I can even find a flashlight.”

He met the determined look in her blue-green eyes head on. “Does this mean you’re afraid to stay with me?”

“No! It means the house will be less—confined.”

“You’re claustrophobic?”

She looked away from him. “Not really. I’m just used to my own room.”

“You can have the bedroom, and I’ll bunk down here.” He waved at the table beside him. “I don’t snore. At least no one has ever complained.”

“It’s nothing to do with you, I promise.”

Her expression was all earnest sincerity. Lance didn’t buy it for a second. Still, he couldn’t stop her short of locking her inside with him. That was maybe a little drastic, though it did have a certain primitive appeal.

“If you’re sure, I guess we can try it for one night.”

Color rose in her face. “You don’t need to join me.”

“No problem, I can sleep anywhere.” He waited to see what she’d say to that.

“I don’t want to put you out. Really, you can stay here. You do what you want and let me do what I want.”

Lance watched her while options and possibilities slid through his mind. Finally, he lifted a shoulder. “Whatever you say. Extra sheets are in the cubbyhole above the bed.”

The relief that smoothed her features should have made him feel better. It didn’t. Not by a long shot.

They ate their reconstituted chicken and Saba noodle dinners, and cleaned the kitchen by the simple expedient of tossing the empty boxes, plastic forks and picnic glasses into the trash. He gave Mandy first dibs on the shower, along with a reminder to conserve water since they only had what was in the tanks. When she was done, and wrapped in an old robe of Trey’s over another of his undershirts, Lance dug out the biggest flashlight he could find. He then walked Mandy and her sheets across to the empty, derelict house.