Authors: Debra Dixon
Mercy made a noise that was part laugh and part huff. “You’re not worried about any storm I might be brewing. I don’t think you’ve ever been scared by anything.”
“Now that’s where you’re wrong.”
“Oh, really? Then what scares a big ol’ hunk of man like you?” She angled a little bit to avoid straining her neck to see his expression. “Besides Sophie,” she said.
He grinned and answered, “Snakes.”
“Oh, come on. You don’t expect me to believe that. Every boy I ever knew loved icky, slithery things like snakes.”
“Well, I don’t. I hate ’em. Always have. Always will.”
Mercy was floored by the seriousness of his answer. He wasn’t teasing about this. “But you grew up surrounded by a swamp and snakes!”
“So? You grew up with doctors, and you hate them.”
“Touché.” Mercy winced at having left herself open for his verbal right hook. “You got me. If I can dislike doctors, you can dislike snakes.”
“Ah,
chère
, I don’t just dislike snakes. I absolutely hate ’em. Surprised the hell out of my mother early one September when she realized I’d been spending all my free time in the swamp.” He turned to watch her face as he said, “I mean
in
the swamp. Catching baby copperheads.”
For a moment Mercy just stared at him slack-jawed. Then she snapped her mouth shut and asked, “What in heaven’s name for? You said you hate snakes!”
Nick chuckled as he remembered his mother’s reaction had been similar to Mercy’s. “I was on a mission.”
“Why?”
“Baby copperheads grow up to be adult copperheads, and I was a helluva lot more scared of the adults than I was the babies.”
“You were crazy! Or stupid. Or both. Why would you want to catch them at all?” she asked, totally mystified by the convoluted logic of young boys. “They’re poisonous!”
“That’s exactly why I caught them. I thought I could eventually get rid of all the copperheads if I kept their young from growing up and reproducing.”
Mercy sat in awed silence for a moment, before she commented. “Of course, total annihilation. Why didn’t I think of that? Nothing else would do for Nick Devereaux. Didn’t it occur to you that besides being dangerous, getting rid of the snakes in a swamp was like trying to fill up a swimming pool with a thimble?”
“I was ten,
chère.
All I knew was somebody had to do something. It seemed worth a shot. I’ve always liked a challenge.”
Those last words were aimed at her, and Mercy felt her cheeks begin to flush with heat. “I believe you’ve mentioned that before.”
“I thought I’d mention it again.”
“No need,” she assured him primly. “I am very much aware that you’re an all-or-nothing kind of man. Black and white. No shades of gray. No holds barred.” Mercy changed the subject before he could reply. “How much farther to the restaurant?”
“As a matter of fact, we’re there. I mean here,” he corrected.
Nick smoothly pulled into the parking lot and mentally chewed on her opinion of him as he killed the engine. She’d nailed his personality all right. Black or white. All or nothing. He couldn’t have defended himself even if she’d given him the chance, because the woman was correct. He’d had years of nothing, and now he wanted it all.
A hostess led them through the dimly lit upscale Italian restaurant. Strings of tiny white lights, reminiscent of terrace al fresco dining, hung from the
exposed rafters, and each table was covered with layers of starched white tablecloths that could be whisked away one by one as the tables were reset for new guests. Their party was the only group in a room filled with couples.
The hostess left them with the promise to send a waiter right over. Introductions were made in a round-robin fashion as Nick pulled out a chair for Mercy and apologized to the four people, “Sorry; our meeting ran longer than expected.”
“We really are sorry.” Light from table candles flickered as Mercy added warmly, “I hope all of you haven’t waited to order because of us?” She groaned as four heads bobbed in response to her question. “I feel terrible now! Will you forgive us if I tell you the meeting was worth every extra minute it ran over.”
A brunette whose voice sounded like a foghorn asked, “Does that mean good news?”
“The best. We’re in business. The station has agreed to give us the airtime and sponsor either a disk jockey or live music for the dancing.”
Murmurs of approval echoed from around the table as Nick took his own seat, between Mercy and Susan Alastair, the statuesque president of Kentucky Parents for Better Health. When he glanced around the table, he wanted to kick himself for being in such a rush to get Mercy settled. If he hadn’t been in such a hurry, he wouldn’t have pulled out the first available chair. He wouldn’t have plopped Mercy down right next to a man who was obviously either a single guy looking to get lucky or a married guy without a ring but with roamin’ in his eyes. Either way, Nick wasn’t happy about the situation.
Susan leaned forward, adjusted her stylish wire-rim glasses, and said, “Miss Malone, I’m sure I speak for all the board when I tell you that we appreciate your allowing us to participate in Ghouls’ Nite Out.”
“Please, call me Mercy. And don’t thank me, thank Nick. This fund-raiser is his baby.”
“It might be my baby, but it’s going to be a short pregnancy,” Nick announced firmly. “Mercy wants us to pull off this shindig by mid-August.”
“Wow. That’s quick,” uttered the man on Mercy’s left, and casually looped an arm around her chair. “But I want you to know that I’m willing to do whatever it takes.”
His little speech sounded like the screech of a car alarm to Nick. Very deliberately, he caught the guy’s beady little snake eyes and stared him down, silently warning him that if he didn’t move that arm, he’d be wearing a cast on it. Under Nick’s watchful eye, the man—Paul, he thought—gingerly removed his arm and fiddled with his menu.
When the waiter appeared, Nick relaxed his vigil and stared at his own menu. Uncomfortably, he wondered if Mercy had noticed his slight slip into Neanderthal territory. She wouldn’t thank him for his macho display. No, Mercy wasn’t ready to admit he had the right to wine and dine her much less lay claim to her like some caveman.
In the absence of any pointed looks shot in his direction, Nick assumed he was safe for now and breathed a small sigh of relief as he gave the waiter his order. After that, conversation and dinner were both served up at the speed of light. Nick enjoyed
himself now that he was sure Paul, the overly friendly peace cop, had gotten the message about whom Mercy would be leaving with tonight. In fact, all he had to do was simply lean back in his chair and watch Mercy go to work.
She genuinely liked people, which made it easier for her to charm them into doing whatever she needed. And when people already wanted to help, it was like shooting fish in a barrel for someone with Mercy’s finesse. By the time dinner wound up, most of the details had been decided and delegated. The white tablecloth was speckled with red sauce, red wine, and assorted seafood-pasta sauces.
All of the board except Susan begged off dessert to head home to their children and spouses. When the commotion of departures had cleared, Susan and Mercy agreed to split one of the restaurant’s awe-inspiring concoctions of Kahlúa, pecans, and praline ice cream. When the dessert arrived, the three of them were chatting as comfortably as old friends. The women nibbled at the enormous dessert and ironed out a few inconsequential details while Nick glanced around the room, trying to figure out why he had that creepy feeling of being stared at.
He almost laughed as he realized that he was being enviously stared at by the men in the room because he happened to be enjoying dessert with two beautiful women. Little did they know that Nick would have been more than happy to share his good fortune as long as they didn’t expect him to share the dark-haired temptress on his left. While he might admire Susan’s style, she didn’t do a thing for his pulse rate.
On the other hand, looking at Mercy made him
want to jump right out of his skin and into hers. Although she’d rather die than admit it, he suspected it was the same for her. She’d tried so hard to look completely different from Midnight Mercy today, but that thin white blouse she wore beneath her suit had been giving him fits for the last few hours. He wanted to know how the silklike fabric would feel beneath his hands as he caught a handful and tugged it out of her waistband.
Susan’s cultured voice snatched his attention away from the fantasy. “I like this idea about getting corporations to sponsor the table decorations. Fresh flower centerpieces are horribly expensive; the less we spend the more we make for the hospital. I can get my assistant to give us a list of likely companies.”
“We’re going to have upward of two hundred tables, Susan,” Mercy said. “That’s a lot of companies.”
“Not so many. You’d be surprised how many business contacts you make handling family law. Family-owned corporations and partnerships are the major bones of contention in a lot of my divorce cases.”
“I would have thought the children would be,” Mercy said in surprise.
“Unfortunately, the children are only bargaining chips to some parents. You know, one spouse will say to the other, ‘You can’t have the children unless …’ ”
“That’s a rotten way to treat a child,” Nick said.
“Yeah, it is,” Susan agreed. “But divorce is such a bitter time in most people’s lives that they can’t think past tomorrow’s revenge.”
“How sad that must be for them,” Mercy whispered. “Wait a minute! What am I talking about?
How horrible for you. I can’t imagine having to work with adults who spend all their time creating misery.” She leaned closer to Nick to reach the dish as she carefully fished for a spoon of ice cream and nuts. “I never gave it much thought before, but I’d guess being a divorce lawyer is a pretty stressful way to earn a buck. I doubt you get much call to referee ‘amicable’ divorces.”
“Ha!” Susan waggled her spoon in the air. “There is no such thing as an ‘amicable’ divorce. Civilized maybe, but not amicable, at least not during the divorce process. Amicable comes later, sort of like perspective, but during the divorce, it hurts like hell. For at least one of them. The one who believed in forever.”
The one who believed in forever.
How could you not believe in forever, if you believed in love? A little shiver slipped up Mercy’s spine and raised the hairs on the back of her neck. “Whatever happened to ‘until death us do part’?”
“MTV,” Susan quipped. “No one in America has an attention span of more than ten seconds.” Turning toward Nick, she asked, “What about you? You haven’t said much. Stop practicing your impression of the strong, silent type and tell me if you agree with my rock-video diagnosis as the cause of divorce.”
“I wouldn’t dare disagree.” He grinned at her. “Seems to me that you’re the expert.”
“Now, I thought a doctor, of all people, would know what causes broken hearts.” Susan looked back and forth between the two of them. “What? What’d I say that was so funny?”
“Private joke. You had to be there,” Mercy told
her, amazed that she could remember that first uncomfortable conversation with Nick and think it was funny. She looked at him and their eyes locked. Suddenly an amusing memory turned into the realization that they now had shared history. One of the most compelling bonds was the bond created by memories, the ability to turn to someone and say, “Remember when …?”
She had to accept the fact that every moment she spent with him was going to create more memories. Some intimate, some funny, some intense, and she was very much afraid some would be sad, unless she was very, very careful with her heart.
“Well, are you going to keep me in suspense or what?” Susan demanded.
“It loses a little something in the telling,” Nick explained, his gaze still on Mercy. Knowing he had to break the spell of intimacy that threatened to engulf him, he dragged his attention away from the questions and promises he saw reflected in the blue depths of Mercy’s eyes. To the other woman he said, “Have you ever been divorced, counselor?”
“Are you kidding? In order to be divorced, first I would have to find a man who could put up with me long enough to propose and marry me.”
“You couldn’t be that hard to take,” Mercy chided. She couldn’t imagine how a bright, beautiful, articulate woman like Susan could have any trouble finding the right man.
“Trust me. I’m never home, and I want everything yesterday. I’m rarely tactful. I bribe my secretary and paralegal with fat bonuses so they won’t leave me for a kinder boss. Who’d want me?”
“Try again, Susan,” Nick told her. “You’re talking to someone who knows you’ve got a soft spot in your heart for people in need. You’re the president of and driving force behind Kentucky Parents.”
“Well, it’s not like I invented the organization! I got involved with the group because one of my clients was feeling a little guilty about not doing his share for the less fortunate of this world. He had money but no time, and asked me to find a charity he could throw all that guilty money at. I found Kentucky Parents and liked it so much I stayed around.”
“At least he threw money. Most people leave it at ‘I’d like to help, but I just can’t find the time,’ ” Nick remarked. “Every day it’s a race to see who can use up all the hours in the day first. People pack so much into their schedules they don’t have any time left over to remember things like anniversaries, birthdays, or even if they fed the cat.”
“Like my parents,” Mercy agreed.
Susan pushed the bowl of ice cream toward Mercy and shook her head to indicate she didn’t want any more. “That sounds perfectly ominous and like a story begging to be told. What’s wrong with your parents?”
“Take my name, for instance. It’s a perfect example.”
“Okay,” Nick agreed slowly. He drew his brows together. “You were named for Mercy Hospital. What does that have to do with anything?”
Mercy swirled the melting ice cream with her spoon. “I was named Mercy not because of my parents’ attachment to the hospital, but because it was easy to remember. I got my middle name, May, for
the same reason. Mercy May Malone. Guess which month I was born in?”