Authors: Deborah Smith
“There won’t be a next time.” Even as she spoke she felt a jolt of fear—fear because deep down she already knew that they wouldn’t be finished until one of them lost everything.
The black limousine purred up the hill as Max was lowering his flag for the day. He halted, amazed. In Webster Springs limousines were about as common as dinosaurs. A limosaur, that’s what this was, he thought drolly. While it climbed toward his home, he felt a premonition of trouble, which he quickly attributed to his bad mood. But for an Instant when the car paused at the top of the driveway, it caught the rays of the setting sun, its black sides flashing blood red, and Max, frowning, walked forward.
The car stopped at the edge of his lawn. A chauffeur got out, nodding a silent hello. The passenger opened a rear door before the chauffeur reached it, and Max knew the visitor’s identity the moment he glimpsed a lion’s mane of white hair.
T. S. Audubon. He had probably planned his arrival to coincide with the sunset’s drama. Audubon loved to make an entrance.
He unfolded his tall, elegantly lean body from the limousine’s seat and flashed a pleasant smile at Max. “Major, how nice to find you at home,” he said in his aristocratic, tidewater Virginia accent as he extended a hand.
Max grasped it heartily, and respect flowed between
them as they traded shrewd assessments. “No style, as usual,” he told Audubon, Indicating Audubon’s flawless black suit, which was double-breasted, very tasteful, and undoubtedly very expensive.
Audubon laughed. “Are you wearing the flag these days? I admire your patriotism, but it clashes with your sweat suit.”
Smiling ruefully, Max removed the flag from his shoulder. “It’s not my new uniform. I’m a civilian now, body and soul. Retired from the glory.”
“Ah, Major. You may have left the marines, but you’ll never retire. You and I are alike—we’ve spent too many years battling the shadows, and now we have trouble appreciating the light.” Audubon shrugged gracefully. “We’re too old to change our ways.”
Max arched a brow. Audubon wasn’t much older then he, despite the white hair. They had met in Vietnam, though Audubon had been in the army, not the marines. Audubon had actually dropped out of college to enlist; he was one of the idealistic types, a poet and philosopher. But he had also been a fighter, and a top-notch sergeant. Behind his back his men had called him Ashley Wilkes, but with affection.
Audubon had never lost his idealism, his toughness, or his taste for adventure. His path had crossed Max’s many times over the years.
“Let me guess,” Max said casually. “You were just in the neighborhood and you decided to drop by for a cup of tea.”
“Precisely. But I really can’t stay long. I’m due back in Virginia before midnight.”
“Business or pleasure?”
“Who can tell the difference anymore? But she’s beautiful, so perhaps—”
Max laughed. “I wouldn’t want you to miss a hot date, old boy. Come and have a spot of tea.”
Audubon didn’t discuss the real intent of his visit until he was standing in front of the fireplace in Max’s
living room with a glass of cognac in one hand. Max lounged on the couch with his own glass.
“Here’s to retirement,” he told Audubon, raising his glass slightly, then taking a swallow.
Audubon merely smiled. He leaned against the mantel and crossed one handsomely shod foot over the other. Under thick white brows his eyes were patient. “You know this life isn’t for you,” he said finally.
“You’re wrong.”
“I have splendid opportunities for you. The work would suit you perfectly. Think of it, Major: the exotic locales, the exotic women, the intrigue, the excitement—”
“The jungles, the guns, the possibility that I might leave little pieces of my hide scattered all over some godforsaken place.”
“Haven’t you heard? I’ve expanded my services. I not only retrieve people, I protect people from needing retrieval. Douglas Kincaid, for example. He’s both a good friend and a client of mine. He had a little problem with a project in Scotland a few months ago, and I brought a team of my people to his aid.”
Max chuckled dryly. “No, Audubon, I can’t see myself playing bodyguard for the rich and famous. Besides, I suspect that those assignments are
not
commonplace.”
“Well, if you’ve become
soft
, I’m sure I could find unchallenging, safe, sweet little tasks for you to perform.”
Laughing, Max toasted him. “You manipulative SOB. Don’t try to embarrass me into working for you. I’ve spent the past twenty years doing my part to make the world a safer place to live. I have the medals and the scars to prove it.”
Audubon’s expression darkened. “You gave up the ability to be a passive spectator. You won’t ever get it back. Stop trying.”
“Speaking of scars, how is Kyle Surprise doing?”
Exasperation mingled with the grimace on Audubon’s patrician face. “He’s happily married. And retired. Dammit.”
Max gloated cheerfully. “Good to hear it. And his brother?”
“Jeopard’s married too. And about to become a father. And retired. Dammit.”
Max sat forward and struggled not to laugh again. Audubon wasn’t accustomed to losing his best agents, and the fact that they’d left his employ for reasons as mundane as marriage obviously grated on him. He and Max shared the same opinion of marriage.
Max thought of Betty, and his humor faded. He’d certainly make her happy if he left town to work for Audubon. One of them deserved to be happy here, and it might as well be she.
“Oh, no,” Audubon said grimly.
“What?”
“The look on your face. I mentioned Kyle’s and Jeopard’s marriages and your eyes immediately glazed over with pathetic sentiment. Don’t tell me. You
wouldn’t
.”
“Get married? No.” Max downed the rest of his drink in one gulp. “Not me. Never.”
“Who is she? Just for the record.”
“Mind your own business, old boy. She’s no threat. I’ve already told her the hard, cold facts. She’s already told me what I could do with my facts. So relax.”
Audubon set his glass on the mantel. Smiling slyly, he slipped a hand inside his coat, then walked over to the coffee table and laid a business card down. It was the shade of champagne. Embossed on it was only a telephone number. “Work where you can do the most good,” he cajoled in a smooth, confident tone. “I hate to be crass, but I must also mention that there would be a great deal of money involved.”
“I have a good pension. I have money in savings. I have a tidy little salary as a magistrate—”
“But, surely, if you hope to win your lady’s favor—without marrying her, of course—you could use more money.”
Max frowned, thinking of Betty’s privileged background. He’d never considered it an obstacle before,
but maybe it was. She obviously had a great deal of money. After all, how many people could pour thousands of dollars into a new business and buy a home plus fifty acres at the same time?
“I see the speculation on your face. Think about my offer,” Audubon told him. “I’ll always have room among my people for a man of your caliber. You could have your choice of interesting, not to mention honorable, assignments. You really could make the world a better place, Major.”
Slowly Max picked up the card. “Or never see the good that already exists.”
“There’s much more evil than good. Trust me. Good night, Max.”
Max walked with him to the porch. Audubon went to his limousine and left in the same stately manner in which he’d arrived. Max leaned against a porch post and gazed blindly into the night, thinking of Betty, thinking of the goodness that lay just beyond his reach.
She knew Max would show up. And he did. Midway through the afternoon on the restaurant’s opening day, he sauntered into the main room. Earlier in the day he’d sent a large flower arrangement.
Betty forced herself to concentrate on the family of tourists, all five of whom wore T-shirts proclaiming, “I fell for the fall leaves in Webster Springs.” She
had
to stay focused. The room was almost half full, an unexpected crowd for what should have been the mid-afternoon doldrums.
But she hadn’t seen Max in two weeks. She was desperate for a supply of Max-appeal. And she was terrified that he’d realize that fact the minute he got close to her.
There won’t be any reprieve for you next time
, he’d warned.
He spoke to the hostess, a sweet-faced little woman who also doubled as cashier at the stand in the hallway. She nodded and grinned, then led him to a table
near the tourist family’s. “He asked for a table in your section,” she told Betty merrily.
Betty nodded and politely finished with the family’s order, while she tapped a nervous rhythm with the toe of her tennis shoe. She wiped sweaty palms on her blue jumper, then forced herself to stroll over to Max with a look of benign welcome.
He leaned back in his chair and continued to smile at her, not speaking. She was so full of conflicting emotions that they crowded her throat and she couldn’t speak either, so she stopped at his table and simply looked at him.
His teasing smile faded. He sat forward slowly, his eyes never leaving hers. The pure man-woman communication he sent her way was staggering. They had a hungry gleam, but not for barbecue. She had been miserable during the past two weeks, and now she was floating in a dazed dimension where time stood still.
This was terrible, terrible. She shook her head. “Hi.”
He propped his chin on one hand. “Hi.”
“Nice to see you.”
“Nice to see you.”
“I had a great lunch crowd. I couldn’t believe it on opening day. Andy didn’t expect it either. We’re short staffed. So I’m waiting on tables.”
“I see.”
Silence reigned again. She wanted to drop down in the chair beside his and lean close enough to count the blue flecks that hid among the green in his eyes. A perfectly reasonable need. Certainly.
“Thank you for the flowers.”
“You’re welcome. I like your hair in a ponytail. And I like your earrings. Silver looks good on you.”
“They belonged to my grandmother Quint.”
“She might have bought them from my grandfather. For a long time he ran the only general store in Webster Springs. Died when I was about twelve. He was a retired sailor. Had a peg leg.”
“You’re kidding.”
“No. His nickname was Stumpy.”
“Stumpy Templeton,” she echoed solemnly. “He probably bought moonshine from
my
grandfather. Queasy Quint.”
Max’s mouth twitched with humor. “Probably. I never knew your grandfather.”
“Me neither. He died before I was born.”
“Like I told you once, my grandpa made great barbecue. It’s been, oh, more than twenty-five years since I had any, but the memory is indelibly printed on my tongue.”
“I’ll have to fix your tongue.”
“Oh? In public? Will you respect me later?”
She backed up a step and lifted her notepad, then drawled, “Take a look at the menu, mister. I ain’t got all day. You need a written invitation or are you just here to gawk?”
“Gawking is my specialty. But I’ll have some kind of chicken plate. Surprise me. And coffee.”
“Coming right up.”
“Hey, waitress,” he said softly as she turned away. “Give me special attention. I’ll leave you a big tip.”
“Good. I could use the money.”
“I could use the attention.”
“Couldn’t we all?”
“Betty hurried to the kitchen, her nerves in shambles, her body jumbled inside. He wasn’t kidding, but then neither was she.
The Fates had obviously declared that today would be unusual. While she was in the kitchen dodging Andy and the other waitresses, the hostess came back and handed her a business card. “I just seated Frank Werner from Goody Foods. He wants to know if you have time to talk.”
Betty grimaced at the card. “Tell Mr. Werner that his lunch is on the house. But I won’t be able to talk to him until I get my customers served.”
“Okay.”
Andy was watching her with anxious eyes. “Isn’t Goody Foods a big company? I mean, a national company?”
“Yes, one of the biggest.”
“You wouldn’t sell your sauce recipe to a bunch of stuffed shirts, would you? It’ll always be your secret, won’t it?”
She laughed. Even Andy didn’t know how the sauce was made. She fixed it by herself in huge quantities that she stored in five-gallon jars. “Andy, this barbecue sauce is a Quint family inheritance. It will
never
belong to anyone else.”
He stirred a pan of cole slaw with renewed vigor and looked relieved.
Out in the dining room Max just looked. He looked her over from head to toe as she carried a big mug of coffee to him. She spotted Frank and waved at him. He waved back. Max looked at Frank. Max then looked at her with one brow arched in dismay.
The combination of his presence plus the fatigue of opening-day jitters and Frank’s arrival made her feel giddy. As she set the coffee in front of Max, she bent and whispered, “He’s after my sauce.”
Max’s slit-eyed attention glided to Frank Werner again, then back to her. “I hope you mean that in a culinary way.”
“He’s vice president in charge of new products at Goody Foods’ corporate headquarters in Atlanta. He’s been after me for years to sell my recipe. About every six months he calls or sends a note. Now he can track me down in public.”
“I could fix it so that he never wants to come back to Webster Springs again.”
“How?”
Max smiled mysteriously. “Oh, he might get some speeding tickets. Or his car could be impounded for violating some obscure code.” He sighed. “But, of course, I’m just the local magistrate. I have no control over how my old fishing buddy, the sheriff, treats a suspicious out-of-towner.”
She wanted to kiss him. “Maximilian, many people have told me what a scrupulously fair judge you are. But thank you for offering to be crooked for my benefit.”
“Oh, so you’ve been asking around about me again, have you?”
“Drink your coffee,” she said immediately. “And be sure to burn your tongue.” A minute later she brought him a plate filled with chicken, slaw, pickles, and a bowl of Brunswick stew, plus a basket of biscuits. “This is on the house, you lovely troublemaker. Prepare for ecstasy.”