Midnight in Ruby Bayou (4 page)

In the condo's living room, a hungry Walker winced at the idea of Summer helping Archer chop fresh dill. She had just recently graduated to semitoddlerhood, and Archer's preferred kitchen knife was nearly as big as she was. In fact, Summer was why Walker had left his cane at the apartment; he just knew she would make a grab for it.

The phone rang again.

“Walker?” Archer yelled. “Pick it up, would you? It's the private number.”

“Yeah, I'll get it.”

Reluctantly Walker looked away from the living room wall that was hung with the matriarch Susa Donovan's compelling landscapes. Limping slightly, he went in search of the phone. After another ring, he found one of the wireless handsets stuck in a bookcase. He punched in the talk button. “Donovan residence.”

“Faith Donovan, please.” The voice was a woman's and clipped to the point of being abrupt.

“She isn't here yet. Do you want to leave a message?”

“When do you expect her?”

“Any time,” Walker drawled, annoyed by the woman's curt manner.

“I'll call back.”

“You do that little thing,” he said, but the line was already dead.

With a shrug, he shut off the unit and went to the kitchen. The cheery yellow décor offset the gloom outside. A thick kind of rain ran and sparkled darkly down the windows that gave a view of Elliot Bay and part of Seattle's light-shot skyline. Leaning against the chopping table in the center of the kitchen, he watched his boss.

“Who was it?” Archer asked.

“Didn't say.”

The big knife hesitated over sprigs of fresh dill and cilantro. Summer clutched her uncle's knees and tried to reach the big knife. When she fell about a yard short, she squealed impatiently. Archer ignored her.

“Man?” he asked Walker. Archer's tone was the same one he would have used with his siblings.

“Woman.”

Archer grunted and went back to work. The blade bit through the tender sprigs with speed and precision. A small mound of feathery minced greens grew on the long chopping table. “You sure?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“Tony has been bothering Faith. We had to change our unlisted number.”

“Someone should take that ol' boy out to the woodshed and teach him some manners.” Though Walker's voice was soft, his eyes were inky blue stones.

“We'd love to, thanks,” Archer said dryly, “but we promised Honor we would let Faith take care of it.”

“You promised
Honor
?” Walker asked. “Am I missing something, boss?”

Summer began squalling in earnest. She wanted that pretty flashing knife.

“Twins,” Archer said laconically, ignoring the little storm breaking around his knees. “They watch out for each other. Honor said Faith is really upset that she ever got engaged to a loser like Tony, and having us beat the crap out of him would just make her feel worse.”

“Women. Go figure.”

Archer gave a crack of laughter. “I don't have to anymore. I found mine.”

Summer screamed.

“Lordy,” Walker said, raising his voice and looking at the redheaded little girl in disbelief. “She's got a voice like a siren on steroids.”

“Just like her aunt.”

“Lianne?” Walker asked, startled, thinking of Kyle's small, exquisite wife. “That little darling?”

“No. Faith. She has a scream that would bend sheet metal.”

“Do tell.” Walker smiled faintly. “Wouldn't have figured it. Slender, delicate lady like her.”

“Delicate lady? Faith? My little sister?” Archer was all but shouting to be heard over his niece.

Laying aside the knife, he picked up Summer, lifted her little rugby shirt, and tickled her with his short beard while making rude noises on her stomach. Screaming turned into giggles. Forgetting about the knife, she made a dive for her uncle's black hair.

“Blond, misty blue eyes, slender as a sapling, sad underneath her smile,” Walker said calmly. “Your little sister Faith. Delicate.”

“Um,” was all Archer said as he peeled strong, tiny fingers from his hair. He stared down into his niece's eyes, so like his own, and wondered if he and Hannah would be lucky enough to have their own children. “Hard for me to think of the scourge of the Donovan brothers' childhood as delicate.”

“Scourge, huh? Bet y'all were unfailingly kind and gentle to her.”

Archer gave him a sideways look from amused green-gray eyes. “You'd lose.”

Walker laughed and thought of his own brother. Before Lot died, the two of them had pretty much raised hell around the globe. Or rather, Lot had raised hell and Walker had tried to keep both of them out of trouble. Along the way, Walker had chewed on Lot more than once, hoping to talk—or knock—some sense into him.

Win some. Lose some.

Lot had lost big, thanks to his older brother.

None of Walker's grim thoughts showed on his face. He was sure of it, because Summer reached toward him with the assurance of a child who had never met an adult who didn't love her.

“Here,” Archer said, picking up Summer. “Take her before she screams again.”

“Uh-uh. Not me. I told you before, I don't know anything about kids.” Nor did Walker want to. Kids meant being responsible for another life. No way. Never again. He had barely survived his brother's death. “She's already bored with the fuzzy fake kitty I brought her and wants that damned lethal knife you're using.”

“Your point?” Archer handed over his niece, adjusted Walker's grip on her, and went back to preparing dinner.

“I've got a bum leg.”

“You're making me cry.”

“Uh, Archer, I really don't—” Walker began.

Archer kept talking. Walker's reluctance to handle kids wasn't unusual in a bachelor, but he would have to get over it if he was going to be around the Donovans. Since Walker was becoming a valued friend of Archer's as well as an employee, it followed that Walker was going to spend a lot of time with Donovans of all ages.

“Nobody is born knowing about kids,” Archer said matter-of-factly. “It's something you learn along the way, like how to tell a good ruby from a bad one.”

Walker looked into Summer's radiant gray-green eyes. Clear yet misty, with luminous shades of green and whispers of blue. “We ever find a gem like her eyes, we'll all be rich.”

Smiling, Archer pulled some lemons out of the refrigerator. From the front of the suite came the sounds of a door closing and Kyle and Faith ragging on each other.

“. . . about as funny as a freeway accident, bro,” Faith retorted. “Guess which one of my grubby fingers is for you?”

“Delicate, huh?” Archer muttered.

Walker smiled.

Summer smiled back at him. Like her eyes, her smile glowed with life and innocence. The sweet curve of her lips shouted that he was the only thing in her universe.

And he was beautiful.

The room seemed to shift around Walker. He forgot the residual ache in his leg. A yearning he wouldn't name and refused to acknowledge went through him like dark lightning. Desperately he looked for a safe place to deposit the little bomb ticking away in his arms.

“She wet?” Archer asked without looking up from squeezing lemons.

“Uh, I don't think so.”

“You think she's going to be?”

“Uh . . .” Walker couldn't think of anything to say. Summer was still smiling at him, charming and terrifying him with her innocent certainty of his worth and her own safety with him.

“I just changed her,” Archer said, “but sometimes she goes through diapers like fire through a fuse.”

Summer pursed her dark pink lips and bounced in Walker's arms.

“She wants a kiss,” Archer said.

“Uh . . .”

Gray-green eyes grew big with sudden tears. Summer's little fingers patted against Walker's lips as though to remind him of what they were for.

“Oh, Lordy,” he said. “Don't cry, sugar.”

“Kiss her and she'll shut up.”

Hesitantly Walker bent his head until he could kiss Summer's small, pursed mouth. She bounced and patted him again.

“She wants another one,” Archer said, trying not to laugh out loud at the dazed look on Walker's face.

Faith leaned against the kitchen doorway, crossed her grit-stained arms, and watched her redheaded niece wrap another man around her little finger. The smile Walker was giving Summer was unlike any Faith had ever seen on his face—hesitant, delighted, wary, and totally smitten all at once. It made him handsome enough to stop traffic.

It certainly did unwelcome things to her pulse.

“Make a loud smacking sound,” Archer advised. “That's how she knows you mean it.”

Walker added suitable sound effects. Summer kissed him again with more enthusiasm than precision, then cooed and leaned against him. Between one breath and another she was asleep.

“Uh, Archer?” Walker's voice was barely a whisper.

“Yeah?”

“She went limp.”

“It's all in the technique,” Archer agreed. “Good going.”

Faith snickered. Walker turned his head toward her. The lapis lazuli blaze of his eyes surprised her. Over the last few months while he had been in Afghanistan looking for a source of uncut, untreated rubies, she had forgotten just how gorgeous his eyes were. In fact, she had made a point of forgetting.

“Just in time,” Walker said, gesturing with his chin at the sleeping child. “Rescue your niece.”

“Why would I rescue her from paradise?” Faith asked.

“Rescue me, then.”

“Can't. My hands are dirty.” She held out her gritty fingers. “Besides, you look pretty comfortable yourself.”

“Kids terrify me.”

“Yeah, sure,” Faith said, unimpressed. “I could see that right away when you kissed her the third time.”

Faith went to the sink and began washing grit from her hands.

“How's the Montegeau necklace going?” Archer asked as he spread marinade over two huge salmon fillets. “Going to be done in time for the show and the wedding?”

“Just barely.” She rinsed her hands, shook them, and wiped them on her jeans. Grit dampened on her thighs, making muddy streaks against the faded cloth. They matched the random grit marks on her cheeks.

Archer looked at Walker again.
Delicate, huh?

Walker just smiled.

“Did you hear from your insurer about covering the necklace from here to Savannah?” Archer asked his sister.

“Not yet.” The tone of Faith's voice said that it was none of her brother's business.

Like older brothers since time began, Archer ignored the warning signal. “They'll want a GIA appraisal or its equivalent.”

“Tell me something I don't know,” she retorted. The Gemological Institute of America was a benchmark of reliability. Unfortunately, GIA-certified appraisers took weeks to get the job done. She didn't have one week, much less several. She simply couldn't let the rubies out of her hands for so long and still get the necklace done by Valentine's Day.

“Is getting an appraisal going to be a problem?” Archer asked.

She didn't answer.

“Faith?” Archer asked. But his steady look told her that he already knew. “You have less than a week before you leave.”

“I'll work it out.”

Before Archer could ask another question, the phone rang.

“I'll get it,” Faith said instantly, relieved. She didn't like being cross-examined by her brother.

Especially when he was right.

“It's by the bookcase near the paintings,” Walker said.

“Thanks,” Faith called over her shoulder. She found the wandering phone after one more ring. “Hello?”

“Faith Donovan, please.”

“Speaking.”

“One moment, please.”

There was a click as the call was handed off. Then Tony's voice came into her ear, freezing her in place. “Hello, baby. It took me a while to get this number, but—”

“No, thanks, I don't need any tinfoil siding.”

“Wait, Faith! Don't hang up! Damn it, you've got to listen to me! I didn't mean to hit you. I'll never do it again. I love you and I want to have kids with you and—”

“I'm sorry,” she cut in hoarsely. “You have the wrong number.”

Quietly she depressed a button and ended the call. Then she took a deep breath to steady herself. She hated the adrenaline and anxiety that flooded her whenever she heard Tony's voice. Seeing him was even worse. He was a mistake that simply wouldn't go away.

He'll get tired of chasing me,
she told herself grimly.
We're not talking the love match of the century. He had a woman on the side while we were engaged. My fault, of course. I wasn't hot enough in bed.

The phone rang again. Faith jumped as though she had been pinched.

Walker reached past her and took the phone. Summer didn't even stir against his chest. She was used to sleeping in someone's arms.

“Yeah?” Walker said curtly. He didn't like the pallor of Faith's face.

“It's Mitchell,” Archer's assistant said. “This Walker?”

“As ever was,” he drawled. “You working late again?”

“Just waiting for the wife to pick me up. We're going to the theater. The experimental one, where they're still learning the English language and expect the audience to fill in the blanks.”

“Her turn to choose, huh?” Walker said, smiling. Mitchell and his wife traded off picking entertainment.

“What was your first clue?” the assistant retorted.

“You need Archer?”

“Actually, I was looking for you. Remember that contact in Myanmar? The one you said might have a lead on some good ruby rough?”

“I remember.”

“There's a package from him.”

“Is it ticking?” Walker asked dryly.

“So far so good.”

“I'll come by and pick it up. Ten minutes.”