Lancelot of the Pines (Louisiana Knights Book 1) (19 page)

Zeni didn’t go far, only along the alley between the old garage and the coffee shop. Mandy was glad, as she was reluctant to be out of hearing distance. She didn’t know what Lance might need, but she owed him too much not to be on hand to supply it. More than that, she’d developed a peculiar attachment to the baby RV. It seemed less dangerous inside it, though she wasn’t sure whether it was because it was small and enclosed or who was in there with her.

The night air was cool after the heat of the day and perfumed with the delicate scent of flowering tobacco that grew in a clump at the coffee shop’s back door. Overhead, the night sky was a black veil through which the stars shone like bits of white-hot fire. Dividing it was the white veil of the Milky Way, something Mandy couldn’t remember noticing in ages. No doubt the lights of New Orleans were too bright to permit it, and other things had been on her mind back at the campground.

If Zeni had an ulterior motive for getting her outside, it wasn’t forthcoming. She strolled along as if fresh air was all that was on her mind. It was Mandy who broke the silence.

“I need to thank you for being so quick to get Trey on board with helping us this morning. Then there’s all the stuff you sent by him a few days ago. I’m beyond grateful for everything, believe me.”

“Forget it. We all need a hand now and then. Next time, it may be me.”

“You’ll have it. I mean it.”

“So what’s with you and Lancelot?” Zeni asked, as if anxious to move on from any hint of gratitude. “You sleeping with him yet?”

It was a second before Mandy could answer. “You don’t waste much time, do you?”

“Life’s too short. Too short not to do what you want, too.”

“How do you know I want?” Irony was strong in her voice since she hardly knew herself.

“The way you look at him, the way he looks at you.”

“He’s a deputy. I’m an assignment. He doesn’t look at me if he can help it.”

Zeni’s eyes flashed in the dim light. “Wrong, honey. He may not touch, but he does look.”

“You think so?” Lance did touch, now and then, but the memory of those times was far too personal to share.

“I know so. I was beginning to think it would never happen again for him, but I guess a body can’t choose who turns them on.”

Mandy stopped, turned toward Zeni. “What are you talking about?”

“What, the two of you didn’t exchange histories during all that time out there on the road? He didn’t tell you about his little witchy-tailed wife?”

She resisted the urge to laugh at that description. “He did say something, but I thought he was divorced.”

“I should have said ex-wife. He said his I Dos with Miss Goody-Two-Shoes, Butter-Wouldn’t-Melt in her Mouth-Or-Anywhere-Else, Brittney Flowers. She thought because his family was Old Chamelot, had always lived out in the country in one of the local mansions dating from before the Civil War—involved in civic folderol and so on—that Lance had to be rolling in it. She hadn’t the foggiest how much money it takes to keep up one of those old places, or how independent Lancelot is so he refuses to live on family money. Brittney thought she’d sashay around town, buying whatever her little heart desired. Her awakening came when she discovered she was supposed to live on a deputy’s salary. She was so pissed that she opted out overnight.”

“She left him.” Mandy began walking again as she absorbed what she’d heard, and Zeni fell in beside her.

“After taking him for all she could get, and then crying all over the judge’s shoulder in hope of a monthly paycheck. She might have gotten it, too, except Trey saw her at the local pay-by-the-hour motel with a state politician. A word in her lover’s ear, and all at once she couldn’t shake the dust of Chamelot off her feet fast enough.”

“Good grief.”

“And good riddance. But it left Lance with a bad case of burnt fingers where women are concerned.”

“I suppose that’s only natural.”

“Except, now there’s you.”

“Not really.” A seed head in the weeds growing at the alley’s edge caught on Mandy’s jeans leg. She reached down and broke it off, shredding it as she walked. “He feels responsible for me. I’m in trouble, and he has this knight in armor complex—”

“More than you know,” Zeni interjected with a laugh, then went on to tell her of the town’s medieval fair, the Arthurian names and close family ties that bound the cousins.

“Lancelot, huh? I noticed you calling him that, but thought it was a joke.”

“Yes, well, but I don’t dare whisper Galahad around Beau, and Trey is only Tristan when I really want to annoy him.”

“Which is fairly often?”

“Everybody has to have a goal in life!”

The flippancy in that comment, as if it might cover something different, was a reminder to Mandy of where she’d been going when interrupted. “Anyway, Lance thinks it’s his duty to protect me, but there’s nothing else between us. He’s country and I’m city, he’s old family and I’m no family, he’s squeaky clean and I’m—not.”

“Join the club, honey.”

“Meaning?”

Zeni lifted a brow. “Have you looked at me? Do I strike you as an innocent young thing who teaches school, volunteers at church and wants nothing more than to be the perfect wife and baby mama? No. Way. My mother was a late-blooming Boho flower child who ran off to New Orleans, did the happy dance with any number of guys, and neglected to marry the Bourbon Street musician who fathered me. Not exactly your typical female parent, but she was always fun, right up until the day she died.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. She enjoyed every minute of the years she had. Sometimes I think she knew there wouldn’t be that many of them.”

“My mom died, too, of a drug overdose.”

“Tough, that,” Zeni said with husky sympathy. “Mine had an aneurysm. They said it had been there for years, like a time bomb waiting to go off.”

They walked on a few steps. Finally, Mandy said, “But if you’re talking about the kind of woman Trey might want—”

“More like what he needs. He knows it, too, which is why he doesn’t much mind me tearing into him half a dozen times a day. It’s better than getting all serious over somebody who not only doesn’t fit in, but may be gone tomorrow.”

“He doesn’t mind?” Mandy asked with some skepticism.

“You think he couldn’t stop it if he wanted? If so, you don’t know Trey.”

“And I’m not likely to, either. I don’t think he likes me all that much.”

“He thinks you’re bad for Lancelot, that you may wind up hurting him worse than dear Brittney. On top of that, he has this super guilt complex because he was the one who introduced that female blood-sucker to him.”

“You know what he thinks, do you?”

Zeni sent her a tight smile. “About everything except what he intends to do about me.”

They walked back and forth in the alley, scuffing at the gravel that paved it, listening to the cricket chorus in the weeds along it, one that sang ahead of them, stopped as they neared, and then set up again behind them. Zeni was an easy person to be around, Mandy thought, probably because it was clear she didn’t judge too harshly. That she was so down on Lance’s ex-wife said a lot.

“I suppose you know the EMT who was here this morning?”

“Cousin Beau, Chamelot’s golden haired boy, our local Galahad and Adonis all rolled into one? I should think so. Everybody knows Beau.”

“He seemed nice enough,” Mandy allowed.

“If you can be so blasé, you must not have seen him smile.  He has a grin that makes young girls drop their thongs and older ones pat their hair and wonder if they’ve eaten off their lipstick.”

“Really.”

“And truly. He’s a good guy, though too busy for his own good. He’s kind to old ladies and children, active in civic groups, and on the big-deal committee for the annual parade of old mansions known as the pilgrimage. As you found out, he’s a member of the rescue squad for the parish, EMT trained. But he also raises prize-winning daylilies that sell for thousands a pop. Oh, and he has manners out the wazoo.”

“Oh, come on, tell me something good about him,” Mandy said with a laugh.

“Probably the best-looking, nicest man in town, but he doesn’t know it.”

“A good gene pool, then, the Benedicts.”

“Especially the guys,” Zeni said with a sigh.

The silent sigh of relief Lance heaved on Mandy’s return was out of all proportion to the half an hour she’d been away. To have her back in his sight eased the odd tightness in his chest that had come on him the instant she went out the door. He told himself the cause was fear for her safety. He wasn’t sure he believed it.

He was going to get up first thing in the morning; he had to before he lost so much strength from lying in bed that he couldn’t move. Also before something happened to his charge while he was laid up and couldn’t prevent it.

His charge. He didn’t much care for that label. It was too clinical, too official. It didn’t suit Mandy.

Or maybe it didn’t suit him.

That was it, as painful as it might be to admit it.

He lay in the dimness at the back of the RV while Trey took his leave, walking Zeni back to her apartment above the Watering Hole. He watched Mandy gather up a few things and then close herself into the bathroom to take a shower. Lying with his fingers gripped across his chest so hard his fingertips tingled, he tried not to think about warm water sliding over firm skin, or soap bubbles skating over curves and along slim muscles, catching here and there on natural traps.

He wasn’t too successful.

Trey had probably thought he was warning him against Mandy. What he’d done instead was force him to face facts.

The main problem was how close he was getting to her. He should contact Sheriff Tate and remove himself from the case; that would be the decent thing to do.

It wasn’t happening. Not anytime soon, anyway.

He didn’t feel like explaining everything that had happened, detailing how up close and personal he’d been. It was no one’s business, least of all Sheriff Tate’s.

Besides, who was going to take care of Mandy if he wasn’t close to her?

The endless sound of the running water from the bathroom made him drowsy. He swallowed, letting his eyelids fall shut.

What was she doing in there, shampooing her hair? That could take a while, given its thick, shining length. He hoped she had enough hot water; the RV’s tank wasn’t that big.

It would be faster if he helped her. He could probably give it a good try, but Beau’s orders, conveyed by Trey, was to keep his bandage dry. He’d showered already, anyway. Good old Trey had helped him, seeing to it he didn’t fall on his face and also rinsing the dried blood off his shoulders and back. The last had been a relief because it itched like crazy, but he’d have preferred a different helper.

Waiting to shower with Mandy would have been better. They’d have definitely used all the hot water. He could imagine that all too well….

The smell of coffee invaded his dream. Fresh, steaming hot and strong enough to dissolve sterling silver, it smelled like Trey’s special brew. That didn’t make sense. Well, not unless his cousin had made Mandy the gift of another pound to replace the one they’d used.

It wasn’t impossible. Anybody would want to please Mandy. Time drifted as he considered ways and means he might achieve that.

“Morning.”

The melodious greeting finished the job of waking him. It belonged to Mandy, of course; he’d know her voice among a thousand others. She had to be close, maybe sitting on the side of his bed again. If she didn’t have a cup of coffee in her hand, he was going to sue the sandman.

“Morning, yourself.” The husky note in his reply was not entirely from sleep.

“Ready for this?”

She did have coffee, a whopping big cup of it so hot she was using a pot holder beneath it as she turned the handle toward him. If he hadn’t figured her for an angel before, he’d know it now.

Pushing up in bed, he snagged the extra pillow next to him and shoved it behind his back. The top sheet fell to his waist, but he let it go as he reached for the cup of life-giving fluid.

“How’s your head this morning?” she asked.

Lance sipped once, twice, before answering. “Where it belongs, I think.”

“No headache?”

“Small one.”

He sipped again as he waited for her next question that he figured would have to do with meds. When it didn’t come, he looked at her over the rim of the big cup.

She was staring at his chest with such a strange look in her eyes that he felt the flat brown circles of his nipples seize up.

“What?” he asked, coffee forgotten for the moment.

“Nothing.” She switched her gaze to the travel alarm on the shelf behind him, staring at it as if it was the most fascinating device ever created by man. “Nothing at all.”

“Guess I should put on a shirt,” he muttered.

“Don’t bother on my account.” She jumped up with color washing across her face, as if she’d said more than she intended. “Oh, I just remembered. There’s something I need to hand back over to you.”

“Yeah?”

She didn’t answer, but padded away to the front of the RV in her bare feet. He kept a watchful eye on her as she reached up on the shelf above the passenger seat. The view of tan and naked skin between her T-shirt and the waistband of her blue jean skirt was so enticing that he failed to take note of what she was after. When she returned, tossing something into his lap, he only stared at it.