Ain't She Sweet? (10 page)

If it weren’t for Delilah, Sugar Beth wouldn’t have been forced to come back to Parrish, but the money for Delilah’s care had run out. Now Sugar Beth couldn’t keep her stepdaughter at Brookdale unless she found the Ash painting. Still, she wouldn’t feel sorry for herself. Unconditional love was a precious gift, and Sugar Beth knew a blessing when she met one.

As she retrieved her grocery sacks, a familiar cognac-colored Lexus sedan pulled up and stopped next to her. The driver’s side window slid down to reveal the imperious face of the Duke of Doom himself, sneer and all. “You look like a bag lady.”

She assumed he was referring to her grocery sacks instead of her jeans and motorcycle jacket. “Thanks, I hope you’re having a nice day, too.”

He regarded her through his invisible quizzing glass. “Would you like a ride?”

“You let peasants in your carriage?”

“If I’m feeling benevolent.”

“My lucky day.”

He made her wait while he took his time flicking the locks. She opened the back door and set the sacks behind the passenger seat. Then, since pride did count for something, she climbed in with them and closed the door. “Carry on.”

He draped an arm over the seat and gazed down his long nose at her.

She gave him a haughty look. “I really don’t have all day.”

“Perhaps you should walk after all.”

“Bad for the neighborhood. Having a bag lady around.”

She was pleased to note that he stepped on the accelerator just a little harder than necessary, and his tone was withering. “You’ll let me know, won’t you, if there’s anything else I can do to make you comfortable?”

She gazed at the back of those wide shoulders. “You could take that silly little chain off my driveway.”

“But I find it so amusing.” He turned onto Mockingbird Lane. “I saw a tow truck by your car this morning. I’m dreadfully sorry about that.”

“Oh, don’t be. The sweetest boy was driving it, so reasonable, not to mention attractive.”

“So you managed to dissuade him from taking it away, did you?”

“Now, now. Southern ladies don’t French-kiss and tell.”

She waited for him to say she was no lady, but obvious jabs were beneath him, and he engaged in more subtle warfare. “How’s the job search progressing?”

She managed a breezy flick of her hand. “Career decisions are stressful, so I’m taking my time. You can drop me off right here.”

He ignored her and pulled into the drive that led to Frenchman’s Bride, which took care of his tip. “A lot to choose from, is there?”

“Tons.”

“So I’ve heard. The town is abuzz.”

“I’ll bet.”

He parked near the house and turned off the ignition. “The rumor is that even Louis Higgins refused to hire you at the Quik Mart, and he seems to hire anyone who speaks even a modicum of English.”

“Unfortunately, I was the driving force behind a rather nasty rumor about his little sister in ninth grade. He didn’t seem to care that it was true.”

“The chickens keep coming home to roost, don’t they?”

“Clucking all the way.” She opened the door and began to unload. He came around the hood of the car just then, and she nearly dropped her Coke because he was wearing an honest-to-God black suede duster. And, with his short, rumpled hair, looking way too good in it.

“Let me carry your sacks to the carriage house,” he said. “It’s the least I can do.”

She was too stunned by the sight of the duster to answer. In Mississippi yet.

“I’d hoped closing off the driveway wouldn’t be such an inconvenience. Alas, I was wrong.”

“Not to worry,” she said as she recovered. “With the added exercise, I’ve been able to dismiss my personal trainer.”

Gordon had apparently been hiding out on the veranda because he came trotting across the yard. Byrne astonished her by looking pleased. He shifted the sacks so he had one arm free and leaned down to scratch behind his ears. “So you haven’t run off.”

“Nice dog,” she drawled.

“He showed up a few days ago. He’s a stray.”

“That could mean rabies. I’d call the pound if I were you.”

“He doesn’t have rabies.” Byrne looked even more irritated than normal. “And you know exactly what the pound would do to him.”

“Gas
him.” She glared down at Gordon, who could spot a sucker a mile away. Instead of snarling at her as he usually did, he played to his new audience by dropping his head, letting his big ears flop on the ground, and giving a little whimper, the perfect portrait of a pathetic pooch.

“That’s remarkably unfeeling, even coming from you,” Byrne said stiffly.

“Yeah, well, it’s a dog-eat-dog world.” Gordon trotted toward the veranda, more than a little pleased with himself. She noticed an extra waddle in his gait. “You haven’t been feeding him, have you? He looks fat.”

“And what business is it of yours if I have?”

She sighed.

They reached the carriage house. When she turned the knob, he got all critical again.

“Why isn’t this door locked?”

“It’s Parrish. There’s not much point.”

“We have crime here, just as any other place does. Keep this door locked from now on.”

“Like that’s going to stop you. All you’d have to do is give it one good kick, and—”

“Not from me, you ninny!”

“I hate to be the one to break the bad news, but if they find my body, you’re the one with the biggest grudge.”

“It’s impossible to hold a rational conversation with you.” He gazed at the living room with distaste, despite the fact that she’d cleaned the whole place from top to bottom. “Did your aunt ever discard anything?”

“Not much. If you see something you like, be sure and make me an offer.”

“I wouldn’t hold my breath.” He headed toward her kitchen, duster flapping behind him.

She shrugged off her own jacket, dropped her purse on a chair, and followed him. “I’ll bet you’d take out your wallet for the Ash painting.”

“I’m afraid that would stretch even my finances.” He set the sacks on the counter, his big body filling up the small space.

She pulled out a package of E.L. Fudge cookies. “You talked to Tallulah. You believe the painting exists, right?”

“I believe it existed.”

“I hope that’s some kind of fancy Brit talk for, ‘Yes, indeedy, Sugar Beth.’ “

He leaned against the ancient refrigerator and crossed his ankles. “I think it’s quite possible your aunt destroyed it.”

“No way. It was her most prized possession. Why would she?”

“She refused to share the painting during her lifetime. Why would she want to share it after her death? And not to put too fine a point on it, why would she share it with a niece she considered a bit of a tart?”

“Because she believed in family, that’s why.”

He picked up the box of doggie treats she’d just dropped. “What’s this?”

“I’m poor. They’re nutritious.” She snatched them away and tried not to brush against him as she put the Coke in the refrigerator.

“Bugger. That dog showed up the same time you did. He’s yours, isn’t he?”

“Believe me, I’m not proud of it.” She set the Coke on the top shelf.

“You told me to call the pound.”

She was pleased to hear a note of outrage in his voice. “We’re all entitled to our fantasies.”

“If you dislike the dog so much, why do you have him?”

She knelt down to put the doggie treats under the sink. “Because Gordon was Emmett’s, and nobody else will take him. I tried to give him away, but he has a personality disorder.”

“Rubbish. He’s a splendid dog.”

“He’s just sucking up.”

Apparently he decided she’d had enough fun because he began wandering around the kitchen, inspecting the glass-fronted cabinets and the old appliances. The china knob on the bread box came off in his hand. He smiled as he examined it. “It’s unfortunate that you’re having such a hard time finding work.”

“Now don’t you go worrying that arrogant big head about it.” Her knit top rode up as she stretched to put a bag of chips on the top shelf. She knew he noticed because it took him a few beats too long to pick up the thread of the conversation.

“I almost feel sorry for you,” he said. “You have a dog you don’t like, no one will give you a job, and you’re broke.”

“On the other hand, I still have my charm.”

He propped a shoulder against the wall and tossed the china knob from one hand to the other. “I believe I mentioned that I might have a job for you. Are you desperate enough yet?”

She nearly choked on her spit. “I figured you were funnin’ me.”

“I’m fairly certain I’ve never
funned
anyone.”

“My mistake. Does the job involve letting you feel me up again?”

“Would you like it to?” The way his eyelids fell to half-mast told her she wasn’t the only critter around who knew something about playing games.

“I’d worry so much about frostbite.” Curiosity overcame her need to dish out the crap.

“What did you have in mind?”

He inspected the bread box, then took his time screwing the knob on while she held her breath. When he was finally satisfied, he turned back to her, his eyes shrewd. “I need a housekeeper.”

“A
housekeeper
?”

“Someone who keeps house.”

“I know what the word means. Why are you offering the job to me?”

“Because it’s more temptation than I can resist. The cherished daughter of Frenchman’s Bride forced to sweep its floors and serve on bended knee the man she tried to destroy.

The Brothers Grimm as interpreted by Colin Byrne. Delicious, yes?”

“The minute I find Tallulah’s butcher knife, you’re dead.” She jerked open the nearest drawer.

He took his time moving out of stabbing range into the living room. “On the practical side . . . maintaining Frenchman’s Bride is nearly a full-time job, and it’s cutting too deeply into my writing. This would be six days a week, from seven in the morning until after dinner. Long hours and, it goes without saying, each one as difficult as I can possibly make it.”

“Where the
hell
is that knife?”

“You’ll answer the phone, take care of grocery shopping and simple meal preparation, although I suppose that will be beyond you. The household bills have to be organized, the mail sorted, laundry done. I want an efficiently run household with absolutely no effort on my part. Do you think you could manage that?”

He made no effort to hide his smug contempt, and she told herself she wasn’t this desperate yet. Except she was.

He named a salary that lifted her spirits, and she shot into the living room. “I’ll take it!

You mean for a day, right?”

From across the room, Colin watched Sugar Beth’s entire face light up and knew he should feel like a cad. He didn’t, of course. He hadn’t felt better since the day she’d arrived. “Don’t be foolish.” He gazed down his nose at her. “That’s for the entire week.”

She looked as though she was choking, and he didn’t try to hide his smile. The idea of offering her a job had come to him that day at the depot. He’d had time to think about it since then, but until he’d seen her standing on the curb in those tight jeans, cell phone pressed to her ear, looking like a very expensive hooker, he’d rejected the idea as far more trouble than she was worth. Then the wind had caught her blond hair and sent it streaming behind her head like an advertising banner. She looked so untouched by the harm she’d caused, and right then he’d changed his mind.

He didn’t plan to destroy her, but he bloody well intended to see some flesh wounds, or, at the very least, a few honest tears of regret. Even a forgiving person would have to agree that he deserved more than he’d gotten so far. Putting that chain across her driveway had been like going after an elephant with a peashooter. This, on the other hand, should do the job right.

She tightened her grip on the chair, still dazed by the insulting salary he’d offered her.

“No human being could possibly be that cheap.”

He regarded her imperiously. “Don’t forget you’ll be eating my food, doubtless using my telephone. Then there’s the miscellaneous pilfering one expects from the help.” Her blue eyes snapped like pompoms. “Just to prove I’m not unreasonable, I’ll take the chain off the driveway.” He paused as inspiration struck. “And, naturally, I’ll provide the uniform allowance.”

“Uniform!”

Oh, yes.
Having her slink around his house in tight pants and seductive tops would be too much of a distraction. Just watching her put away groceries had tested his self-restraint: the stretch of those long legs, the four inches of rib cage that had shown when she’d reached for the top shelf. This was the downside of being male. His body didn’t recognize poison, even when his mind knew it was there.

“You’ll be a housekeeper,” he said. “Of course you’ll need a uniform.”

“In the twenty-first century?”

“We’ll discuss the details on your first day.”

She clenched her small, straight teeth. “All right, you son of a bitch. But you’re buying the dog food.”

“My pleasure. I’ll expect you tomorrow at seven.” He began to leave, but he still wasn’t quite satisfied. He needed to make absolutely certain she understood exactly how things would be, and he searched his mind until he found one last nail to hammer in her coffin.

“Let yourself in the back door, will you?”

C
olin Byrne’s housekeeper!
Sugar Beth stomped around the carriage house until Gordon got so aggravated he clamped his jaws around her ankle and refused to let go until he was sure she knew he meant business. She bent down to examine the skin, but he was too wily. “One of these days, fatso, you’re going to leave marks, and then you’re out of here.”

He lifted his leg and licked himself.

She stalked upstairs hoping a good long soak would calm her down. The bathroom had a claw-footed tub and a single window with a yellowed shade. She dropped her clothes on the old-fashioned black-and-white honeycomb tiles, clipped her hair on top of her head, and tossed some ancient lily of the valley bath salts in the water. As she settled in, she tried to look on the positive side.

She’d already combed every inch of the depot, the carriage house, and the studio, and she only had one place left to look. Frenchman’s Bride. There was nowhere else for Tallulah to have hidden the painting. But why hadn’t she removed it before Byrne had moved in?