Mercy (Buchanan-Renard #2)

Mercy (Buchanan-Renard #2) Page 26

Then it got better. The expression “putty in his hand” came to mind as she clung to him and allowed him to rob her of every logical thought. The kiss went on and on, and the taste of him was so wonderful, she kept trying to get closer and closer.

His touch was sinfully carnal, and she never wanted him to stop. He stroked her arms, her back, her neck as he worked his magic, and she was caught up in such an erotic spell that the only thought she could hold on to now was a chant. Don’t stop. Don’t stop.

“Don’t.”

She said it out loud a second after he’d pulled back.

They were both shaking. “Don’t what?” he whispered gruffly.

He was panting. She was arrogantly happy because she knew she was the reason for his distress, but then she realized she was doing the same thing.

“Don’t what?” he repeated as he leaned down and kissed her once again. A light, gentle caress that left her wanting more.

“I don’t know.”

“This is getting out of hand.”

Her forehead was pressed against his chest. She bumped his chin when she nodded.

“And speaking of hands . . .”

“Yes?”

He kissed the top of her head. “You probably should move yours.”

“What?”

“Your hands.” His voice was gritty.

A gasp. Then, “Oh, God.”

It took about five seconds to extricate herself from his jeans. Her face was burning as she turned and walked out of the room. She could hear him laughing as she climbed the stairs.

She grabbed her robe, went into the bathroom, and stripped out of her clothes. After she turned the shower on full blast, she stepped into the tub and all but ripped the shower curtain apart as she pulled it closed.

“Reason number one,” she muttered, “he’ll break my heart.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

It was a quarter to seven when Theo and Michelle reached The Swan, and the place was hopping. Old vans and rusted-out pickups sporting rifle racks and bumper stickers almost filled the parking lot. I’d rather be fishing seemed to be the bumper sticker of choice, but the one that caught Theo’s eye had the word Gator-Aid painted in bright fluorescent letters. When he looked closer, he noticed the picture of an alligator with a Band-Aid. He didn’t know what that was supposed to mean.

He also noticed there weren’t any brand-new vehicles in the lot. If there was any doubt that it was a poor area, the proof was all around him. Some of the pickups looked as though they belonged in a junkyard. But if he’d learned anything while in Bowen, it was that people made do with what they had.

“What are you thinking about?” she asked him as she led the way around a dented gray van.

“How hard it is to scrape a living here,” he answered. “But you know what? I haven’t heard any complaints.”

“No, you wouldn’t. They’re too proud.”

“Did I mention you look pretty tonight?” he asked.

“In this old thing?”

This “old thing” was a short V-necked blue-and-white-checked sundress that she’d spent twenty minutes deciding upon. She’d spent another twenty minutes working on her hair. She wore it down around her shoulders, and it curved softly around her face. She’d worked hard curling it to make it look as though she hadn’t. Then she’d added some blush to highlight her cheekbones, and brushed on a tiny bit of lipstick and gloss. When she realized she was becoming compulsive about her appearance — she’d changed in and out of the sundress three times — and that all the primping was for him, she stopped.

“When someone gives you a compliment, you’re supposed to say thank you. You look pretty tonight,” he repeated, “in that ‘old thing.’”

“You like making fun of me, don’t you?”

“Uh-huh.”

He’d lied when he’d told her she looked pretty, but he couldn’t put into words how he’d felt when she’d come downstairs. Dynamite came to mind. Breathtaking was another adjective he could have used, but the one word that kept repeating in his head he was too embarrassed to say. Exquisite.

She would have had a field day with that compliment, he thought. And what was the matter with him? He was silently waxing poetic. Now, where had that come from?

“It’s a sin to make fun of anyone.”

Theo opened the door for her, then blocked her entrance while he read the hand-printed sign on the wall. “No wonder it’s so crowded tonight. It’s all-the-beer-you-can-drink night.”

She smiled. “It’s always all-the-beer-you-can-drink, as long as you pay for each glass and you don’t drive. The locals know about it.”

“Something smells good. Let’s eat. God, I hope it’s not spicy.”

“Since it’s Wednesday, you can have fried catfish and french fries, which I’m sure your arteries will love . . .”

“Or?”

“French fries and fried catfish.”

“I’ll have that.”

As they zigzagged their way to the bar, Theo was stopped more often than she was. Several men and women wanted to shake his hand or pat his shoulder as he passed by, and all of them, so it seemed, wanted to talk football.

The only person who stopped her was a man who wanted to discuss his hemorrhoids.

Her father was at the far end of the bar by the storage room, huddled with Conrad Freeland and Artie Reeves. Jake was frowning and nodding at whatever Conrad was telling him and Artie, and he didn’t notice her coming toward him.

Armand, the cook, was working in the kitchen, while his brother, Myron, tended bar.

“Daddy’s rooked Myron into helping him,” she said. “I guess I’m off the hook for a little while.”

“Your dad’s waving to us.”

When they finally reached her father, he lifted the countertop and hurried over to Michelle. She noticed Artie and Conrad were both frowning at her.

“Theo, why don’t you go pour yourself a beer and sit at the bar while I have a word in private with my daughter.”

The look her father gave her told her she’d done something to displease him. She followed him into the storage room and then asked, “Is something wrong, Daddy?”

“He’s gonna leave, Mike, that’s what’s wrong. The boys and I were talking, and we decided we just can’t let that happen. This town needs Theo Buchanan. Surely you can see that. Most of the folks here tonight came out specifically because they want to talk to him.”

“They want free legal advice?”

“Some do,” he admitted. “And then there’s that sugar mill business and the football season is coming on.”

“Daddy, what do you expect me to do? The man lives in Boston. He can’t commute.”

“Well, of course he can’t.” He grinned over the foolish notion of flying back and forth to Bowen.

“Well, then?”

“We think you could change his mind if you worked at it.”

“How?” she asked. Exasperated, she put her hands on her h*ps and waited. Knowing how her father’s larcenous mind worked, she knew whatever suggestion he came up with was going to be a doozy. She braced herself to hear what it was.

“Put the welcome mat out.”

“What does that mean?”

“Conrad and I came up with a good plan, and Artie thinks it might work. Now, Conrad told me that Theo happened to mention you wanted him to stay at my place.”

“Yes, I did.”

“How hospitable was that, Mike?”

She didn’t know how he’d managed it, but he’d put her on the defensive.

“I’m being nice to him now. Honest.”

“Have you made him your gumbo?”

“No, but —”

“Good,” he said. “Conrad’s wife is going to sneak on over to your house with a pot full of her gumbo tomorrow morning, and you can pass it off as your own.”

“That’s dishonest,” she pointed out. And then it dawned on her what her father wasn’t saying. “Wait a minute. I thought you liked my gumbo.”

He’d moved on. “What about your lemon pound cake? You didn’t happen to make that yet, did you?”

“No.” She took a step toward him. “I’m warning you, Daddy. If you say ‘good,’ I’m never going to invite you over for supper again.”

“Honey, now isn’t the time to be sensitive. We’ve got a crisis on our hands, and we’ve only got a couple of days to change his mind.”

“Nothing any of us do will matter.”

“Not with that attitude, it won’t. Get with the program, and don’t be so negative.”

Her father was so enthusiastic that she felt terrible trying to rain on his parade. “It’s just that —”

He started talking at the same time. “Marilyn just left.”

“Artie’s wife?”

“That’s right. She makes a real tasty chocolate cake, and she’s on her way home to bake one tonight. It should be in your kitchen by noon tomorrow.”

She didn’t know if she should be insulted or amused. “And Theo’s going to think I whipped that up? Exactly when would I have had time to bake him a cake? I’ve been with the man all day, and tomorrow morning I’m supposed to go to the clinic and start sorting through files.”

“No, you don’t understand what we’re trying to do. Marilyn’s going to leave a nice happy-you’re-here card so he’ll get the idea how friendly everyone is. Karen Crawford’s smoking a brisket and fixing her potato salad, and of course, she’ll have a nice card all written up. Daryl’s wife doesn’t want to be left out. She’s bringing over a pot of green beans fresh from her garden.”

“With a nice card,” she remarked as she folded her arms and frowned at her father.

“That’s right.”

“Then why am I supposed to pretend I made the gumbo?”

“Because I won’t have Theo thinking you can’t cook.”

“I can cook.”

“You took him to McDonald’s.” It wasn’t a comment; it was an accusation.

Michelle’s appreciation for small-town openness suddenly dwindled. Someone had obviously been spreading the word. Suddenly the big, bad, impersonal city didn’t sound quite so horrible.

“He wanted to go there,” she argued. “He likes McDonald’s . . . and so do I. They have great salads.”

“We’re all trying to be friendly.”

She laughed. When Daddy and Conrad and Artie put their heads together, they came up with some of the most outrageous ideas. At least this one wouldn’t land them in jail.

“And you want me to be friendly too.”

“That’s right. You know what I’m talking about. Make him feel at home, like he belongs here. Take him out and show him the sights.”

“What sights?”

“Michelle, are you going to cooperate or not?”

He was getting testy. He only called her Michelle when he was frustrated with her. She started laughing again, which she knew he didn’t appreciate at all, but she couldn’t help it. The conversation was crazy.

“Okay,” she said. “Since this means so much to you and Conrad and Artie, I’ll cooperate.”

“It means a lot to the men and women who work at the sugar mill and the boys on the football team too. You should have heard what Conrad told us about practice today. He said Theo had those boys all revved up and ready to go. He also said that Theo knows a whole lot more about football than he does.”

“Everyone knows more about football than Conrad does.”

“Theo knows how to organize the boys. He gained their respect just like that.” He snapped his fingers and nodded. “I’ve got a whole lot of reasons why I want him to stay, but you know the one reason that tops all the others?”

“No, Daddy. What’s that?” She had already made up her mind that if he said he hoped Theo would marry her and take her off his hands, she would walk out of the bar.

“He went out and bought a fence as a birthday present for Daryl’s boy. You don’t meet too many thoughtful men like Theo these days. And think about the money that fence must have set him back.”

“I’ll do my part, but please don’t get your hopes up. Theo’s going to go home, and nothing any of us do will change that.”

“There’s that negativity again. We’ve got to give it our best try, don’t we? This town needs a good, honest lawyer, and Theo Buchanan fits the bill.”

She nodded. “All right. How about tomorrow I make my étouffée?”

He looked appalled. “Oh, no, honey, don’t do that. Serve him up Billie’s gumbo. Remember the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.”

“But you love my étouffée.” Her shoulders slumped then. “You don’t love it?”

He patted her shoulder. “You’re my daughter and I love you. I had to tell you I like it.”

“Do you know how long it takes to make that dish? All day,” she told him before he could offer a guess. “You could have mentioned you didn’t care for it before now.”

“We didn’t want to hurt your feelings, you being so tenderhearted and sensitive.”

“Honestly, Daddy, you could have . . . Wait a minute. ‘We’?”

“Your brothers and me. They love you too, honey. You’re a fine cook with plain dishes, and your biscuits are still light and fluffy, but we need to dazzle the man now. Like I was telling you, the way to a man’s heart . . .”

“Yes, I know . . . is through his stomach. That’s hogwash, by the way.”

“Oh? How do you think your mama nabbed me?”

When was she going to learn she could never win an argument with her father, no matter what she said? Finally admitting defeat, she said, “Her world famous bundt cake.”

“That’s right.”

“I don’t want to nab Theo the way Mama nabbed you.”

“I know that. It’s the town that wants to nab him.”

“Okay, I’ll do my part. I promise. Now, let me see if I’ve got this straight. Doing my part means I don’t cook at all, I lie about the gumbo and tell Theo I made it, and, oh, yes, I’m supposed to be friendly. Do you want me to put a chocolate mint on his pillow tonight?”