Galahad in Jeans (Louisiana Knights Book 2) (6 page)

“And top dollar would be?”

Now she sounded intrigued. It soothed his annoyance somewhat. “Five to ten thousand and up.”

“For a single plant?” Her voice rose a notch in surprise.

“For a single fan of a single plant,” he said with a private grin. “A grower from Malaysia paid $50,000 for exclusive rights to a cultivar last spring, but that was for one of my extra specials.”

“I’d like to see one of those!”

“They’re in the breeding greenhouse. I’ll show you in a few minutes.”

She seemed to accept that. After a moment, she said, “Is this where you were working earlier?”

“Over there, yeah.” He nodded toward the fallow field where he’d left the tractor sitting at the end of a row before heading to the house to meet her. He’d been opening a furrow, getting ready to plant it out before rain started pouring down again.

“Your housekeeper said you were behind because of—well, because. I hope I’m not too much in the way.”

Eloise had said a lot in the short time before he made it back to the house. Of course, his housekeeper was right. And Carla was definitely in the way, though he could hardly say so. “I’ll catch up.”

“It was good of you to spend so much time with your aunt while she was ill.”

“She was my mother in all the ways that matter. What else was I supposed to do?”

“I suppose I meant good in the sense of—well, of proving you are a good man, a gentle man, and so a gentleman.”

His frown was moody, though he was glad Carla was behind him so couldn’t see it. “She was under hospice care with nurses around the clock. It wasn’t as if I did much of anything worthwhile.”

“You were there for her, right?”

He’d been there, yes, and it wasn’t anything he wanted to think about, much less talk about to a woman with an agenda that included publication in a magazine. He revved the ATV’s engine as a sign the subject was closed, and then headed toward the greenhouses that lay spread out behind the big house.

The day was so warm and humid that the big fans in the ends of the greenhouses were running at top speed. They pulled in cool air and exhausted hot air currents through the roof vents. He should already have the bigger houses emptied of plants, have them set out in neat field rows. If he didn’t get to it soon, he’d need to add more overhead shade in the greenhouse or risk them being cooked by the sun. He could also lose a good portion if the weather turned dry before they had time to become established in the new ground he was preparing.

The doors at each end of the bigger houses were wide enough to drive a tractor and trailer through. He made a quick circuit through them to show Carla more of the operation. But it was the special house he wanted her to see, and where he cut the ATV’s engine and helped her off.

His most prized cultivars sat on stair-step staging, each of them in its own special pot. He’d noticed those in bloom earlier, of course; he had his first cup of coffee every morning while strolling through these houses to see what he had wrought. The one he wanted to show Carla was only a step way.

Silvery lavender in color, it had a deep purple heart, large, almost black eye, and close to half an inch of sparkling gold lace edging. Its petals were thick, heavily ridged and coated with diamond dusting. It was a monster in bloom size, though not nearly as big as his Aunt Tillie’s heart.

Carla made a low, crooning sound, as he reached for the pot and brought it close so she could get the full benefit. “You created this?”

“It’s called
Tillie’s Dream
. Her favorite color was purple.” He stared at the flower, not quite breathing, refusing to blink. “She never got to see it bloom.”

Carla searched his face then looked back at the flower. “I’m sorry. It’s a lovely tribute. I don’t know much about daylilies, but it’s one of the most beautiful flowers I’ve ever seen.”

“Then there’s this.” He set the first pot back in place and picked up another.

This one’s bloom was vivid yellow with an enormous, diamond-dusted purple eye and almost flat, semi-double petals edged in a crinkled ribbon of purple lace. It was also as big as a salad plate.

She breathed a quiet sigh, while her face relaxed in a smile of wonder.

It was enough. Beau was satisfied.

A tapping sound began on the glass overhead. Beau glanced up, but there was no doubt of the cause, even before the noise increased to a quick rattle.

“Raining again,” he said. “We’d better get back to the house.”

“I guess so.”

She sounded almost reluctant, as she sent a quick look at other blooms of yellow and bronze, coral and red that shone here and there on the benches. Still, she climbed on the ATV and eased back out of the way until he took the driver’s seat.

She was trying hard not to slide down against him; he could feel the tension in her muscles as she held back. She grasped a handful of his T-shirt as he started off at an easy pace along the greenhouse aisle, but didn’t ring his waist with her arm. Was she as aware of the heated, spine-tingling friction between their two bodies as he was?

He had no time to consider it as he neared the greenhouse doors and saw the rain that speared down beyond them. It was growing heavier by the second. The wind was picking up, too. He’d need to race back down here after he delivered Carla to the house, make sure all the greenhouse doors were secure.

“Hang on,” he said as he gunned the engine. Ducking his head, he let off the brake and sped out into the rain.

Carla gave a small cry as the rain hit her in the face. At least he thought that was it. But an instant later, he felt a sharp pull at the waist area of his T-shirt. Then suddenly, there was nothing.

He didn’t see her fall, didn’t hear her over the roar of the ATV’s engine. Her warmth was gone, though, replaced by wind and cold rain. Cursing himself for ten kinds of an idiot, feeling sick to his stomach from the sudden acceleration of his heart, Beau swung the ATV in a wide circle in order to look back.

Carla lay crumpled on the muddy, rutted track with raindrops spattering around her. She wasn’t moving.

Carla couldn’t get her breath. It was trapped, aching, in her lungs. She kept her eyes shut, concentrating, trying to get air, feeling as if any second now…

“Are you okay? Where are you hurt?”

Beau Benedict. His hands, warm in contrast to the cold rain, briefly touched the artery in her neck, ran over her in quick, impersonal examination. A sharp pain pierced her fog as he touched her right wrist. She flinched, but could make only a gasping moan.

“Talk to me, Carla. Yell at me, cuss me out. Say something, anything.”

One moment she could feel rain on her face, and the next it was gone. A strong arm circled her shoulders, lifting her against a warm, hard-muscled chest. He knelt beside her, hovering above her head and shoulders, protecting her from the rain. She realized this in some dim recess of her mind, but distress beat out appreciation.

“Can’t…can’t breathe,” she managed.

He shifted her in his grasp and began a firm, circular massage between her shoulder blades. “It’s okay, don’t force it. Short breaths, one after the other.”

She could do that. She gasped a little, and again. Then air, blessed air, lifted her chest. She opened her eyes, seeing nothing but a blur of green as she drew it deep into her lungs, and was grateful when Beau helped her sit up so she could take in even more.

“All right now?” The words were quiet, yet shaded with worry.

She nodded. “So—so stupid.”

“I know. I shouldn’t have taken off so fast.”

“Not you, me. I wasn’t holding on.”

She could feel the stiffening of surprise in his grasp. Did he expect her to blame him? She preferred to take responsibility for her mistakes.

“I should have made sure you were,” he said with a quick shake of his head.

“Why? I knew what it—was like. Riding back there—I mean.”

A quick laugh shook his chest where her shoulder rested against him. “We can argue about it later. Right now, you’re soaked. Let’s get you back to the house before you catch pneumonia.”

The cool spring rain was splattering all around them, dimpling the ruts of the track where the ATV sat. She was suddenly chilled by the wind striking through the wetness of her thin top. It had been little enough protection before, so she’d been glad to shelter behind Beau’s wide shoulders as they rode; now it was like wearing nothing at all. And that was literally true, for the rain had turned the fabric almost transparent, showing the curves of her breasts rising above the thin lace of the camisole she wore under it.

Even as that thought formed, Beau slid an arm under her knees and rose to his feet with her cradled against him. Her gaze widened at the ease of it for him, and she searched his face in a species of wonder. He was so close she could see the wet, brown spikes of his lashes where they grew along his eyelids. Also the blue glitter of his eyes, the indentation in the plane of his face that would become a dimple when he grinned, the tracks of rainwater trailing through his short beard bristles, the slight bump at the bridge of his nose and smooth curves of his mouth.

A shiver ran over her that was not entirely from the cold, though she tried to still it. Her voice was more than a little husky when she spoke. “You don’t have to do this. I can walk.”

“We’re not going far.”

That was true enough. He merely strode the half a dozen steps to where the ATV sat rumbling in the rain. Climbing aboard, he settled her in his lap and took off down the track.

She held on this time, clutching him around the neck though her wrist throbbed, the pain shooting to her elbow with every beat of her heart. And if she pressed closer to him than was absolutely necessary, it was for the intense heat that rose off him. That was all.

“Okay?” he asked, glancing down at her as they sped toward the house.

He didn’t allow his gaze to lower even an inch, much less stare at her chest. She gave him points for that. “Fine,” she said, but then ruined it by wincing. Her smile also turned a little sickly as they hit a bump.

“Liar. I think you may have fractured a bone in your wrist.”

The words were without heat, which was a good thing. She didn’t lie. Not ever. “Maybe not. Could be a sprain.”

“We’ll soon find out.”

As Beau carried her toward the house a few minutes later, Eloise exclaimed and held open the back door. Following after them, she fired questions until Beau asked her to find a dry shirt for Carla and call the hospital emergency room to tell them they were coming.

“I don’t need a hospital,” Carla protested. “I can pick up one of those stretchy bandages at the drugstore to wrap my wrist. It’ll be fine.”

Beau set her on her feet, then took her arm and turned it carefully to expose the underside of her wrist. The heel of her hand was swollen and fast turning bluish purple.

“I don’t think an Ace bandage is going to take care of it.”

Eloise, peering around Carla’s shoulder, folded her lips together with a humming noise in her throat. “Better listen to him, Miss Carla. Beau’s a volunteer fireman and works with the rescue squad. Had EMT training and everything.”

She might have known. Was there nothing the man didn’t or couldn’t do?

Minutes later, they were heading toward town in Beau’s big, dual-wheeled, one-ton truck. Carla leaned back in the passenger seat, her torso wrapped in a too-big flannel shirt that smelled of laundry detergent and a hint of woodsy aftershave. She clasped it to her with her good hand, thinking a little feverishly that it seemed to hold a remnant of the warmth of its owner. That was silly, of course. She knew it, but didn’t relax her grip.

It turned out Beau was right. An x-ray revealed a hairline fracture along one of the bones of her right wrist. It was soon immobilized in a brace with Velcro strapping, but at least a cast wasn’t required.

The doctor on call laughed and joked with Beau the whole time he was examining her. When he wrote out a prescription for a pain killer, he ripped it off the pad and handed to him, rather than to her. Watching the by-play through narrowed eyes, Carla realized no one had asked her for an insurance card, payment information, or anything else beyond her name, birth date, permanent address and whether she was allergic to any medications.

She didn’t want to create a stir about it, not after the care Beau had shown her. She waited until they were walking out of the hospital before mentioning the problem.

“If you’ll send me the hospital bill when it comes in, I’ll take care of it.”

He watched her a second, then flipped over the keys to his truck and caught them in the palm of his hand. “You were hurt at Windwood. It’s my responsibility.”

“It wasn’t your fault. Besides, I pay my own way.”

He looked past her to the rain that still fell beyond the hospital’s covered entrance. “We’ll talk about it later. Right now, we need to go by the motel and pick up your suitcase, then get both of us home and into dry clothes. Stay here. I’ll go get the truck.”

“My suitcase?”

“You can’t take care of yourself with only one good hand. The motel isn’t the best place to be on your own, either, and Windwood has plenty of room. Eloise will be there to help you most of the time.”