Falling Hard and Fast (10 page)

“I was. Until now.” Instincts more basic than logical urged her to retreat. She held her ground. Ever since he'd left after cooking her breakfast yesterday morning, his parting words had been ringing in her head. She refused to reveal the confusion they'd caused. No doubt he was a man well practiced in the art of polished phrases contrived to
keep a woman off-balance. Pride demanded that he never know how well he'd succeeded.

She sent him a cool look, which lost most of its starch when he got out of the car and she caught sight of the puppy.

“Oh, how sweet.”

He looked modest. “Well, gee, thanks, Zoey. But I thought we'd already agreed that I was dazzling.”

She crossed the yard toward him with that long stride of hers. “Not you, idiot. The puppy.”

The dog wriggled in Cage's arms, so he set him down and watched him bound over to charm Zoey. She bent down to pet the pup's thick brown fur and then let out a soft laugh when he propped his front paws on her knees and attempted to lick her face.

The sound of that husky laugh sent a burning arrow of lust straight to Cage's loins. The sensation was almost a relief. Desire was familiar—a natural, pleasurable part of being a man. For the first time since he'd kissed her, he felt a return to steadier ground. He was comfortable with wanting, without the tangle of stickier emotions.

She beamed a smile, one that lit her face and danced in her eyes. “He's adorable. Is he yours?”

His earlier sense of satisfaction splintered abruptly. The effect of her genuine smile kicked him in the chest and left his lungs straining for oxygen. It was a moment before he could gather his thoughts, another before he managed an answer. “As of about ten minutes ago.”

“What's his name?”

Cage hauled in a huge gulp of air and jammed his hands into his pockets. “I haven't thought of one yet.” The dog spotted a butterfly near the porch and dashed off. The adults followed at a more sedate pace.

“Where'd you get him?”

It occurred to Cage that Zoey had spoken more freely in the last few minutes than she ever had in the time he'd known her. There was nothing like baby animals to lower
defenses. He wasn't above using that knowledge to his advantage.

“I stopped in to talk to a fellow I know down the road.” He climbed the steps, dropped to the top one and cast a lazy eye on the frolicking pup. “He wanted to get rid of one, and this mutt seemed to take a liking to me.” He shrugged uncomfortably under her amused look. “I've been thinking of getting a watchdog, anyway.”

“A ‘watchdog'?” She watched the puppy shake himself violently, one long ear landing inside out across his eyes. “The term seems something of an oxymoron in his case.”

“Well, there you go. That name would fit as well as any.” At her blank look he explained, “‘Oxymoron.' Look at the size of his feet. When he's full-size, ‘Ox' will be a fitting name for him.” The dog picked that instant to start chasing his tail. “And at times like now, ‘Moron' seems rather apt.”

Zoey scooped up the puppy and cuddled him close, sending Cage a chastising look. “You can't call him by a disparaging name. You'll damage his self-esteem.”

Damned if the mutt wasn't looking at him with reproach in his big, doggy eyes. “Well, I'm open to suggestions.”

She cocked her head thoughtfully for a moment, before saying, “I'll have to think about it. Right now he looks thirsty. I'm going to get him some water.” Setting the puppy down beside Cage, she turned toward the house.

“I'm thirsty, too,” he called after her. “A beer sure would taste mighty fine after a long day of keeping the parish safe from dangerous criminals.” The screen door banged behind her. There was no indication she'd heard his words. He reached down and ruffled the dog's fur. “I suppose you think you're some kind of babe magnet. Don't let it go to your head. One accident on the rug and you'd be pooch history.”

The pup cocked his head, then decided that Cage was really asking for a thorough licking. When Zoey came out again, he was pushing the mutt away before it could drown
him. She put a bowl of water on the porch and coaxed the dog over to it.

“Here, Oxy. There's a good boy.”

Cage raised an eyebrow. “I thought you wanted to think of a different name.” With only mild surprise he took the beer she handed him.

She lifted a shoulder and sat down next to the dog. “I don't have a lot of experience thinking up names for animals.”

They both watched as the pooch quenched his thirst, then circled three times before deciding that Zoey's lap was as good a place for a nap as any. Cage couldn't fault the dog's instincts. And he was beginning to credit his own. Something more fundamental than reason must have led him here. Certainly it was demanding that he stay.

Zoey was normally so closemouthed that he couldn't pass up the opportunity to learn more about her. “What do you mean, you didn't have any experience? Didn't you have pets as a child?”

She shook her head. “We always lived in apartments.”

“Not even goldfish?”

Her fingers speared through her hair, pushing it carelessly back from that fine forehead. His gaze followed the gesture, and lingered. “No dogs, no fish. By the shock in your voice, I imagine you had a menagerie.”

Turning to face her more fully, he settled as comfortably against the railing as his healing back would allow. “I had an assortment of animals over the years. The house was off-limits, though. My mother wasn't the type to overlook pet hair and puddles on the floor.” He tipped his beer up, drank with enjoyment. Despite his initial reservations, he couldn't imagine a better way to end the day than sitting on Zoey's porch and gorging himself on the sight of her.

“Only had one dog,” he continued. “His name was Tooner. We were inseparable.” The memory made him smile. “Nice thing about a dog is it's always willing to
accompany a boy on adventures, and it doesn't tell tales afterward.”

Zoey tried, and failed, to suppress a smile. “I'm guessing you had lots of adventures that you didn't want tales told about.”

“I can't deny it.”

Unbidden, a visual image unfolded in her head, of endless summer days and a young Cage Gauthier, with a large loping dog at his side, wheeling along Charity's country roads. He'd have been blonder then, the merciless sun having bleached his hair to nearly white. The boy's face would have been a younger version of the man's, but she guessed the charm and glints of wicked fire would have been present even then. Try as she might, she couldn't shake the mental picture from her mind. It suited her to blame that on her writer's imagination.

“Whatever happened to your dog? Did he die of old age or did you run him ragged keeping up with your mischief?”

“Tooner? He went off one day and never came back.” Cage's voice was silent for a moment, as if the memory still pained him. “I always figured that he chased something into the woods and tangled with a creature far fiercer than he was.” He reached to stroke a hand over the pup's warm fur. “My daddy offered to get me another dog. Even brought one home once. But I never felt right getting one to replace Tooner. We'd had him ever since we moved to Louisiana, when I was four. He seemed to go with the house, somehow.”

He'd managed to surprise her. “You haven't always lived in Charity?”

Stretching his legs out, he took another swallow of beer. “I guess there have been Gauthiers here since the time the parish was settled, or thereabouts. My great-great-granddaddy built the house I still live in. Tradition always played a big part in my family, but my daddy had a mind to see what he could accomplish on his own. Shortly after he mar
ried my mama, they moved to Florida and he started his first business there. That's where I was adopted.”

Her gaze flew to his, but his eyes were as steady as his tone. “How old were you then?”

“Two. My birth mother was charged with neglect. She gave up her rights.” That much his adoptive parents had told him. Because it had seemed to bother them when he asked, he'd tried not to question them overmuch about it. His life, his memories, began after he'd become a Gauthier. That had been enough for his parents, and had been enough for him for a long time. Since his adoption had taken place in Florida, he doubted there were many in the parish who even knew the truth of his birth. It wasn't until he'd become an adult that his own questions had become more persistent.

As if she were able to read his thoughts, Zoey asked, “Do you wonder about your birth family?”

He finished the beer and set the bottle on the porch beside him. Somehow, without even trying, he'd snagged her interest. Her curiosity was strong enough to pierce the guard she usually wore. And it had landed unerringly on a subject he was still wrestling with.

He drew the cigar from his pocket and took his time lighting it. “Do you mind?” he asked belatedly. She shook her head with barely restrained impatience. He drew in deeply and then exhaled with pure enjoyment.

“Do you?” she prodded. “Wonder about it?”

“There sure are a barrel of puzzles in this world.” He squinted into the distance, observing the thin stream of smoke rising over the top of a cluster of trees. Cleve Hawkins must be burning his ditches again, despite Cage's warnings about the dry spell they were having. Almost absently, he went on. “I wonder about a lot of them.”

“Like?”

He blew a smoke ring and contemplated it as it hung in the air. “Like why the Howells took all those clothes for what was only a three-hour cruise. It was almost like they were figuring on getting shipwrecked. And how come Dar
rin never let Samantha use her witchcraft?” That one was a real enigma, and he cocked his head in bafflement. “You'd think he'd have at least let her use it to help with the housework.”

She released a breath she hadn't been aware of holding and barely restrained the urge to punch him. “Yeah, those old sitcoms are mysteries, all right. Aren't you ever serious?”

His lips twitched at her reaction. “Something tells me that you're serious enough for both of us.”

He was right, of course, though she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of telling him so. Life, she'd found, was a serious business. “I'm sorry for prying.” It pained her to make the apology, and her words were stiff. “I don't especially enjoy having people poke around in my life, either.”

Somehow, without trying, he'd offended her. The topic may have been one he'd been avoiding dealing with, but he didn't resent her interest. “Zoey.” He waited for her gaze to meet his. “I was teasing. Just joking around, all right?” When she didn't respond, he let out a breath. “Boy, you're tough. Okay, yes, I have thought about my birth mother. It didn't take much to figure that she probably wasn't a real loss. But the fact that there might be other family—I did wonder about it. Enough to write to the state of Florida and have my adoption records opened.”

He succeeded in throwing her one curve after another, one minute clowning and the next serious. She wished she could manage indifference. But glimpses of the man beneath the charm and affability were too fascinating to ignore. She refused to consider what that meant.

Her fingers stroked the dog's soft fur unconsciously. “What did you find out?”

Narrowing his gaze against the haze of smoke trailing from his cigar, he took his time answering. “I don't know.”

Sharply, she looked at him. He raised the slim cigar to his lips and inhaled. “I waited until after my parents—my
adoptive parents—had died before looking into it. Seemed only right, somehow. When I told my sister—did I mention I have a sister?” He waited for the shake of her head to go on. “Nadine is three years younger than me. She was adopted as an infant shortly before my folks decided to move back to Louisiana. Married a lawyer a few years back and they're living in Atlanta. Anyway, when I told her what I'd done, she really lit into me. Accused me of being unfaithful to our mama and daddy's memory.”

His words glossed over the unpleasantness of the scene. Like a true Southern-bred lady, Nadine was adept at maintaining a perfectly civil tone as she cut a man off at the knees. He was no stranger to guilt, and the accusation she'd aimed had hit its mark. His sister had never questioned her roots, had been comfortable with the Gauthier legacy her adoption had entailed. He hadn't considered that his questions about his birth could be construed as betrayal. Beau Gauthier had been a strict disciplinarian, but intelligent and fair-minded. His wife, Althea, had been genteel, good-humored and loving. Neither of them had ever once made him feel that he was less than their natural son. He wondered if the questions still circling inside him could manage to do so.

Zoey sensed a thread of melancholy tracing through his words, and felt an unwilling tug of empathy. “There never seems to be any shortage of people in our lives who think they know what's best for us.”

He glanced at her, wondering at her rueful tone. “Spoken like someone with firsthand experience.”

“Yes.” She surprised him, and herself by explaining. “When my mother died, I went to court to fight for custody of my brother and sister. My aunt and uncle were convinced they would be better guardians. It was…tense for a while.” The process had, for better or worse, molded Zoey into who she was today. Self-assured, slightly arrogant and supremely competent. As she'd been described by her aunt and uncle on occasion, not always flatteringly. She'd accepted those
descriptions of herself, embraced them. Even at times when her knees had knocked with self-doubt—
especially
at such times—she'd cultivated a veneer of confidence. Her relatives would have pounced at the first sign of weakness from her. She had already lost too much to risk letting that happen.

While he pondered her words, Cage offered a bent knuckle to Oxy, who chewed it obligingly. She couldn't have been very old when she'd assumed responsibility for her siblings. There was no denying the sheer guts it had taken for her to do so. He wanted to probe further, but he'd felt a part of her shift away almost as soon as she'd finished speaking, as if she regretted sharing the little she had.