His expression cleared. “I don’t understand you, but be my guest.”
She went toward the bedroom, picking up her bag as she went. Her hips didn’t sway, the walk wasn’t studied, but she had the most desirable ass he’d ever seen. Looking at her started something he used to think only happened to men without minds, men led around by their penises.
He followed her, closed the door behind them while she dropped the bag on the floor and stood by his bed with her back to him.
Remembering, he turned off the lights.
“Don’t do that,” she said, her voice sharp in the darkness.
“I thought you preferred it.”
“I don’t.”
He obliged her by flipping the wall switch. Low light spread from the bedside lamps again.
“I like this room, too,” Annie said quietly.
“Thanks.”
She held the hem of her white tank top and pulled it off in one motion. Underneath she wore a pink satin bra. Her skin was as pale as he’d expected.
He crossed his arms and gripped his biceps while she folded the tank.
Blue linen pants slipped easily to her feet and she stepped out. Once again she folded the garment. Max couldn’t look away from pink satin hipsters. They fitted smoothly and they weren’t demure. Laces crisscrossed an open vee that plunged to the cleft in her bottom.
She reached back and undid the bra, slipped out of it and put it on her neat pile. And Max shook his head. He was also just about out of control. “Annie—”
“Don’t touch me!” She faced him. “You’ll be kind. That’s who you are. But you’ll never know how I feel inside or how it is to be crazy about a man, or to have sex with him and feel like you’re cheating him while he’s makin’ love to you.”
“You didn’t cheat me.”
“Come closer.”
He started to go to her but she held up a hand before he reached her. “See,” she said, pointing to a thigh. “That’s the least of it.”
Burn scars. “I see. I wondered about your hands but you never said anything, so neither did I.”
Wriggling her hips this time, Annie skimmed off her panties. She held them in both hands and turned her head away.
Max looked at her pelvis. His first thought was that he should have noticed from the feeling alone. He took breaths to stuff down the urge to question her.
“You got quite a burn,” he said when he could. “I’m sorry you went through so much pain.”
But why did she think he, of all people, would be horrified, or disgusted?
“It wasn’t fair to hide it away from you the way I did. You deserved to make up your own mind about this.”
“You’ve got scars,” he said. “They’re well healed.” But they had been third degree in most places. He hated how they curled back between her legs. No wonder she’d bled. If she hadn’t had sex since it happened, he’d probably broken dry skin.
She shook. Standing on one foot, trying to put her panties back on, Annie wobbled.
“That’s it,” Max said, closing in and lifting her by the waist. He sat her on the bed and took away the panties. Gently, he rubbed the smooth marks on her thigh. “You know I want you to tell me how it happened, but let’s get something straight first.” With the pads of his fingers, he stroked the other scars, soothed them. “I don’t care about this—why would I? You’re lovely, and sexy. Annie, you are so sexy. Accidents happen—forget it.” His laugh didn’t lighten anything up.
“It wasn’t an accident,” Annie said.
Very little made Max recoil, but he looked at the location of the old injuries and went cold. And he made up his mind. He stripped, fast, determined to be naked before she could argue too much.
“Max—”
“I’m in charge,” he told her. “Enjoy it.” He heard her indrawn breath.
He had anticipated they could be here like this eventually. This time he’d make sure nothing took away from her satisfaction. A bedside drawer held what they needed.
Seconds later Annie pulled up her knees. “That’s cold.”
“It’ll be warm very soon,” he told her, easing her legs down and working the jelly into places that started her writhing and reaching for him.
He coated her belly, her thighs, smiled a little and slicked her midriff, and her breasts. “I’m taking advantage now,” he said. “I’d be a fool not to.” She closed her eyes tightly and he made sure they would slip together like melted butter, even though handling himself almost brought him to his knees.
Annie slitted her eyes to see him. He had shown her he didn’t care if she had ugly scars—he also didn’t know the full extent of them, but perhaps he’d guessed.
“I see you, sweetheart,” he told her. “You ready for me?”
She nodded, burning up inside.
Max bent over and kissed her long, deep and slow, and he held her breasts, incited her nipples with his thumbs. Her hips rose from the bed.
Looking at her, he kissed her again, and slid his forearms beneath her shoulders so he could rest on his elbows. If she’d wanted to touch him she couldn’t—she couldn’t reach.
He nudged himself into the folds between her legs and her eyes shot all the way open.
“It’s okay,” he whispered. “If you hurt, tell me and we’ll figure out what to do next.”
She didn’t hurt. Max prodded against her, came close to entering but drew back to press at her sweet spot some more. He held her hips while he continued. Then, when her legs jerked and she couldn’t keep her hips on the bed, he held his penis and stroked at her faster and faster until Annie threw her arms over her head, and rode an unbearably strong climax.
His breathing seemed to fill the room. Standing, pulling her up and astride his hips, he bounced inside her and she used her feet and strong legs to urge him on.
It all shattered, explosively, and she arched away from him, out of control.
Max cushioned her as best he could but they fell in a heavy heap on the mattress. She kept her arms around him and held on tight.
Heavy, sleepy, he lay like that, holding her. Finally he felt sweat cool on his skin and the warm sleepiness lifted. Max didn’t know how much time had passed and Annie hadn’t spoken at all. He shifted, slid her head onto a pillow, then stretched out beside her.
She wasn’t close enough. He slid an arm beneath her shoulders and pulled her against him. Annie settled her head into the hollow of his shoulder and pressed her body to his. He heard her sniff, and felt her tears fall on his chest.
Max swallowed. She had burdens and they were heavy, too heavy to bear alone. He wanted her to share them with him. “You’re special, Annie,” he told her, stroking back her hair. “I’m a lucky man to have found you.”
“I don’t want to talk yet,” she told him. “Just hold me. Pretend the wolves aren’t circling.”
I
didn’t expect another car to arrive at Rosebank, not so late.
Or to come up right behind it. Shit, all I could do was duck under the dashboard.
A few more minutes and I would have been away clean. But I knew I had to keep calm and make sure I didn’t blow my cover.
This night has thwarted me one time too many. I wanted to write to Max again but with that fool Lil still alive, it wouldn’t make much sense.
It was hard to wait around at Rosebank, listening, and worrying someone would see my car and decide to check it out.
I should have known I’d be okay. I always am. I parked well back between the trees so I wouldn’t be noticed.
Lil’s a problem, but that story isn’t over yet. I can’t stop thinking about it. I don’t like loose ends.
Max and Annie puzzled me at first, walking into the resort in the open like that. It’s all clear now. Max has conned Annie into helping make absolutely certain he looks like a pussycat to anyone who finds out about them, and everyone will find out. He wants her to help him seem innocent.
I only stuck around after they went in the house to make sure Annie didn’t sneak back out before the place woke up.
Damn, I had a lot on my mind waiting there like that. Max doesn’t deserve what he’s got and I’m going to make sure he doesn’t keep it.
I didn’t know who could be driving the two cars that came after, but I kept my head down just in case.
The second car—I recognized it by the rough engine—it started up again and drove back out. I waited to see if the other car would follow but it didn’t.
What I heard was the front door of the house closing.
When I took another look I saw Madge Pollard’s Camry parked, so she must have gone inside. The car I heard leave had to be Father Cyrus’s old Impala.
I wasn’t interested one way or the other.
Max has made one big miscalculation. Sleeping with Annie and letting everyone know about it won’t save him—or her.
M
adge turned back at the foot of the stairs. Leaded panes beside the front door reflected the final winks of the Impala’s vanishing taillights.
Rosebank felt huge—it was huge—and in the silence of early morning its bulk settled heavily around Madge.
Lil wasn’t doing well. After Max left with Annie, the doctors had allowed Cyrus in again for a little while, but said that Spike and any other members of the law must stay out because the patient needed to be quiet. Please let Lil be okay. She could be maddening but she was one of Toussaint’s own, a fixture who could surprise you with a kind deed now and then. And she took good care of Cyrus.
Madge sat on the bottom step.
She didn’t want to go up to her rooms.
How long would it be before someone suggested she should get another dog to “replace” Millie? She’d have to smile and understand people said those things because they wanted to be kind and couldn’t think of a way to be comforting.
To her left, its door open, stood the sitting room. Charlotte and Vivian had kept the room and its exotic furnishings much as they had been when Vivian’s uncle had owned the house. From inside, the faintest of glows tickled the gloom. They left a single floor lamp burning all night. “Just in case,” Charlotte had explained to Madge without elaborating.
Walking softly, Madge went through the door. Striped hangings draped from the center of the high ceiling to the tops of the walls and then to the floor. Whenever she entered the room she thought of a desert tent. Sometimes Madge read in here, in a comfortable chaise. She had it in mind to sleep in that chair tonight, rather than go up and face the bed without Millie’s little weight against her back.
Her phone rang in her purse and she fumbled wildly to get it out before it awakened someone.
“Yes?” she whispered into the mouthpiece, and held the phone away to see who was calling. “Cyrus?”
“Ozaire called and I’m goin’ back to the hospital,” he said. “I don’t want you to wonder where I am in the morning—just in case I’m not at St. Cécil’s.”
She pressed the phone hard against her ear and sat on the edge of the nearest chair. “It’s Lil, then?”
“They’ve found a clot—a hematoma in her head. She must have hit the steering wheel harder than anyone thought. Subdural hematoma, they called it. They’ve got to make a hole in the skull to release the pressure from the swelling.”
“Will she be all right?”
“Probably. They said it’s not a big clot. She’ll have to be quiet for a few days—stay in the hospital. Max Savage said something to me about her not looking too good. Guess he knows his stuff.”
“I like him,” Madge said.
“Me, too. Ozaire says he’s told Spike whatever he heard Lil say. Not that she’s makin’ much sense.”
Madge curled over her knees. “What did she say that doesn’t make sense?”
“Stuff about being chased when she got out of the car, and pushed down, then left when someone came close on an off-road bike. She keeps talkin’ about a man—must be the one who ran at her car. He caught her, then dumped her. A lot of pain. That keeps coming up. He hurt her but she’s not clear about it.”
“What did they decide about the bruises on her neck?”
“Nothing as far as I know. Madge, you know how…”
“I know,” she said quickly. “I know you feel badly for me. What’s so awful is thinking about Millie suffering. She never did anything but be sweet and loving. I’ll be all right though. Don’t worry about me.”
“Please don’t shut yourself away with the sadness,” Cyrus said. “I know you. If I don’t stop you, you’ll hold it in.”
He really did take care of her and that must be enough to make her happy. She smiled and pushed back in the chair—and started violently. “Oh, Vivian,” she said. “I didn’t see you there.”
“Sorry,” Vivian mouthed. “I didn’t know how to let you know without scaring you.”
“Madge?” Cyrus said in her ear. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing. I just realized Vivian’s here. I jumped.” She laughed. “Should I come to the hospital now.” An excuse to stay busy appealed to Madge.
“No. You get to bed. There wouldn’t be anything you could do and I’d appreciate you being at the parish to field questions in the morning.”
“Poor Lil. Poor Ozaire! He’ll be beside himself.” She smiled at Vivian who sat in Madge’s favorite chaise, her pregnant tummy covered by an orange quilt.
“You wouldn’t believe what a mess he is,” Cyrus said. Madge could hear the
knocka-knocka
of the Impala’s engine as he drove. “Says he’s got to make somethin’ right with Homer and if I didn’t know better I’d have said he was close to tears while he was talking.”
“Drive carefully,” Madge said. “Ozaire’s upset about Lil is all. He puts on a tough face but he relies on her for everything.”
“Yup,” Cyrus agreed. “Hold things together at the church—if I’m late back.”
“You’ve got it,” Madge said. “Later.”
She hung up. “Vivian, I didn’t see you there. What are you doing?”
“Waiting for Spike,” Vivian said, her short black hair slipping forward at her jaw. “I heard your conversation. Lil’s not doin’ well?”
Madge didn’t want to worry Vivian more than she already was. “She’s shocked from the accident and needs more rest. What happened really frightened her and I don’t blame her.”
“Neither do I,” Vivian said. She cleared her throat. “I don’t have the right words to say about Millie. I’m still hopin’ she comes home.”
Madge wanted to hope but the odds were poor and she was a realist. “Thanks.” Vivian had a Chihuahua called Boa who spent her nights with Wendy, Spike’s young daughter. The two dogs had done well together.
Vivian shifted, pushed another cushion behind her head. “They haven’t quit searching for the nurse, y’know. Michele Riley. That’s where Spike is now.”
“Physical therapist. Why would they be out there at night?”
“There was a tip so they’re following up. They may bring the bloodhound in again—even though the scent only gets weaker. I made the last bit up—I don’t know what those bloodhound noses can do.”
Madge raised her brows. “I didn’t know they’d ever had a bloodhound. Makes a lot of sense, though.”
“That’s how they figured out Michele probably went straight out the back door of the Majestic. Right after Max dropped her off.”
Madge hadn’t heard anything about that either and figured Vivian was tired and uncomfortable enough to be repeating things Spike had mentioned without expecting them to be passed on. Vivian could even have heard Spike on the phone and not realized the information wasn’t common knowledge. She didn’t get out much at the moment.
The information that Michele had left the Majestic right after Max dropped her there could be good news for him—and for Annie. Madge worried her bottom lip. She should probably keep quiet, but it didn’t seem fair for Max not to know.
“I don’t sleep well if Spike’s not here, especially when I’m like this.” Vivian smiled. “Never would have thought I’d be the clingy type. I only seem to need Spike more and more.”
Madge smiled. She got up and went to sit closer to Vivian. “The baby’s healthy and it won’t be too much longer now. Wazoo says this one’s going to keep you running around till you wonder why you wanted him so badly.”
“Him? We don’t know the sex of the baby. We told them we don’t want to know. Could just as well be a girl.” Apart from the belly, Vivian remained a slim woman with eyes that missed nothing and a thoughtful smile.
Madge stared at Vivian’s abdomen. “He’s busy in there.” She felt odd, watching the movement and wondering what it would be like to feel her own baby moving inside her.
“Put your hand here,” Vivian said, patting a spot.
Tentatively, Madge got up and did as Vivian suggested. At first she didn’t feel anything, but then Vivian’s tummy tensed, swelled on one side and Madge felt a little pointy something pass her fingers. “Oh!” She breathed through her mouth, screwed up her eyes and concentrated. “He is playin’ football in there. Vivian, that’s just wonderful.”
“Isn’t it? It will be when it happens to you, too.”
Madge straightened. She met Vivian’s eyes but looked away. “Yes. Wazoo says you’re having a boy and Wazoo says she knows these things, so I’m buying you some blue booties.”
Vivian laughed, and sobered as quickly. “I don’t want you staying down here because of me. I’m just fine on my own.”
Always sensible, Vivian. Madge rested a hand on her shoulder and raised her own face. Easier to control any tears that way. “I don’t like leaving you here,” she said.
“But you’re tired and you need to get to bed,” Vivian said and chuckled softly. “You go on up. I’m more comfortable here than in my bed these days. I’ll be fine.”
“Let me get you another blanket.”
“Uh-uh, but thank you. I’m warm enough. Night, Madge.”
“Night,” she said and walked with leaden feet to the stairs. Slowly, she climbed, and slowed even more when she got close to the top. There was nowhere else to go. She had no family left that she knew of. A room could always be hers at the rectory but she couldn’t take advantage of that. Tongues would wag.
She smiled through filmed eyes. Too bad there wasn’t anything worth those tongues wagging about.
In the morning she would be off again, back to the job she mostly loved, tied up in other people’s lives…avoiding her own.
Her rooms were all the way at the end of the first corridor on the left. Max Savage lived closer to the stairs with Kelly next to him. Roche was one floor up, as was Wazoo.
Madge stood in the corridor and let her head hang down. In the future she’d be able to lock her door like everyone else. She’d gotten into the habit of leaving it open a little so Millie could get in and out.
She went through the door. Sparely furnished, her sitting room appeared cold. Madge had collected few personal possessions and kept what she had simple. The place looked as if it belonged to someone with no roots.
Didn’t it?
Not a single chair in the place invited her to sit down. Madge went directly to the bedroom. What was left of this night wouldn’t be easy. The sooner it was over, the better.
She liked the bedroom with its chintz drapes and comforter and two small, overstuffed chairs.
A scratching noise sounded and a really small black and white dog pushed herself from beneath the bed, her leash trailing behind her.
“Millie!” Madge clamped both hands over her mouth. Her heart jumped in her throat. It hurt. She shook uncontrollably and whispered, “Millie.”
No dog could look more pathetic, more sorry for herself than Millie Pollard. Before Madge could gather her wits, Miz Millie, her tail tucked between her legs as far as that much tail could be tucked on that much dog, half jumped, half dragged herself onto a chair and from there made it to the bed. There she sat, oversized ears flattened to her round head.
Madge found her feet, and her ability to move. She dashed to sweep up the dog and hug her until Millie squealed. Madge rained kisses on top of the dog’s head. These were tolerated, but the ears stayed down.
“Where have you been?” Madge said, holding Millie away and looking at her. She put her on the bed and ran her fingers through her fur searching for injuries. No wails of pain came. “Your feet? Let me see them. Oh, Millie, you’ve walked so far, poor cher.”
Carrying the dog again, Madge hurried into the bathroom. Looking at the pads of Millie’s feet could be a problem since the animal would decide, usually correctly, that her claws were about to be clipped—and do somersaults to get away. This time Madge held Millie up and peered in the mirror to see if her feet were bloody stumps.
“There’s nothin’ wrong with ’em,” Madge said. She still trembled. “Where have you been, you little horror? How dare you run off and scare me that way? Just you see, tomorrow you get no food and no water and I’m shutting you in here all the day, and don’t you go showing me up by making a fuss.”
She held the dog up and stared at her, nose-to-nose. “You aren’t big enough to go exploring. You saw the main chance and took a run for it, didn’t you? I don’t know how you got home without hurting yourself, but the dog angels were watchin’ over you. Not that you deserved it. Shows how much I can trust you. Ooh, I could…”
Millie licked Madge’s nose.
“You don’t need to be down here with me, Mama,” Vivian said. “It’s time you disabled that kid-monitor of yours. I’m too old for you to worry about now.”
“Hah,” Charlotte said. She had arrived minutes earlier and curled herself into a chair near Vivian’s. “You wait, girl. When that babe of yours is born, your life will change forever. Won’t matter if you’re a hundred, you’ll still be worrying about your kid—or kids. Won’t be long before Wendy’s driving you and Spike to drink because the boys come around.”
“She’s still a little girl,” Vivian said promptly. She knew her mother was trying to help her pass the time, and hoping maybe she would fall asleep somewhere along the way.
Charlotte reached across and held Vivian’s hand. “You love that man of yours. I knew I was right to encourage him.”
“Mama! How many years ago was that?” Vivian shook her head. “But you’re right, just like you were right then.” She did love him, so much it scared her sometimes. When he was out so late she didn’t settle until she’d set eyes on him again. “Wazoo says we’re goin’ to have a boy.”