Kay Thomas - Bulletproof Bodyguard

“Boat sink! Boat sink!” More water hit the floor and splattered her shirt, shaking her from memories best left in the past.

“Okay, sailor. It’s time to abandon ship and get ready for bed.”

Harris giggled. “I bring boat?”

“Yes, darling. As soon as I dry it off.”

“Yay! Harris take boat to bed…to bed.”

Oh, the cry of my heart. “Now let’s get your pj’s on and brush those teeth.”

Bong. Bong.

“Doorbell, Momma.”

“Yes, honey. I hear it.” One of her guests no doubt. She scrambled up with a wiggling, wet toddler in her arms. Great.

“Let’s see how fast we can get those pj’s on.”

After a couple of tries Cally gave up on the pajamas. They were sticking to the damp places on Harris’s back, arms and bottom.

“Well, let’s just get underwear on so you aren’t completely naked.” She slipped in a puddle as she stepped out of the bathroom and went down on the one knee that, up to that point, had been dry.

Bong. Bong.

“Coming, coming,” she muttered under her breath. “Keep your shirt on.”

“Not wearing shirt, Momma.”

Cally grinned in spite of herself. She passed the gilded mirror in the hallway and her blue eyes widened. How much water had Harris splashed on her?

Her thick hair, wavy under the best of circumstances, was now falling out of the bun on top of her head and curling around her face in ringlets. Her makeup was completely gone, except for that smear of mascara under her left eye. Her clothes were…soaked. And there was a large wet spot across the front of her blouse that made it practically transparent. Lovely.

Bong.

No time to change into dry clothes. She shifted Harris from her hip to her chest and clasped both hands under his bottom.

She glanced in the mirror again. At least she couldn’t see her bra through the shirt anymore because Harris now covered her like a blanket. She took a swipe at the mascara and snorted a laugh at the effort.

So much for first impressions.

MARCUS WAS RINGING the bell for the fourth time as the heavy front door swung open. The woman behind the massive oak-and-glass panel held a wet-haired toddler and looked as if she had just stepped out of the bathtub in her clothes.

Marcus started to reach out to shake the lady’s hand and realized she couldn’t let go of the child.

“Hi, I’m Marcus North. I think you were expecting me earlier?” He smiled.

The kid was wriggling and getting the mother’s shirt even wetter and more transparent as he turned around in her arms trying to get a look at the stranger. The woman brushed curly red hair out of her eyes. She smiled tentatively but her cornflower-blue eyes looked somewhat panicked.

“Hello, Mr. North. I’m Cally Burnett. Welcome to River Trace Inn. I’m glad you’re here.” She talked fast. “Come on inside. We’ll get you all checked in. I…” She hesitated as she looked down at her clothes, clearly uncomfortable at being caught unprepared.

Marcus attempted to put her at ease. “Did you fall in?” he asked with a straight face.

“What…? No…I mean,” she stammered and looked down again at her water-stained clothes as a genuine smile tugged at the edge of her lips. She had a beautiful mouth with twin dimples accenting the corners. “I know it looks that way but, actually, I only went wading.”

“They say one can drown in two inches of water.” He grinned back at her.

Cally winced and seemed to recover her smile, but the dimples were gone. “That’s about how much water is on the bathroom floor.”

“Well, he looks as if he certainly enjoyed putting it there.” Marcus turned his attention to the little boy who was openly staring at him with a confused look.

“Momma didn’t fall. She giving me bathed.”

Her mouth dimpled faintly. “Of course not, darling. We were just joking. Mr. North, this is my son, Harris.”

“Hi, Mr. Nowth.”

Marcus reached out his hand to shake Harris’s damp one. “Hi, Harris, it’s nice to meet you.”

“Let’s get you all settled. You must be tired after your drive.” Cally began the innkeeper’s patter as she brought him into the high-ceilinged living room and over to an antique secretary to handle the paperwork.

“No, not so much.” Marcus looked around the magnificent room, his undercover cop’s brain automatically taking note of and cataloguing details. From the front door he had stepped directly into a large living area with a baby grand piano at one end and a fireplace at the other. Soft moss-green walls made the grandeur much more comfortable than he would have thought possible.

Hardwood floors were covered with several different richly colored oriental rugs. Two loveseats from a bygone era nestled close to the fireplace. Beyond the sitting area on the right he glimpsed the dining room’s huge banquet table and antique sideboard. A large rose-crystal chandelier glowed dimly over the table that was already set for breakfast with heavy silver serving pieces and crystal goblets.

A grand staircase ran parallel to the room on the opposite end by the piano. A hallway lay straight ahead that seemed to go toward the back of the house, and rooms connected off each end of the living room.

“You have a beautiful home, Mrs. Burnett. How long have you lived here?”

“A little over eight years.” She looked up from the registration book. “This was my husband’s family home. His greatgrandfather built it at the turn of the century.”

“Oh, so it doesn’t date back to the Civil War.”

“No,” she laughed softly. “Although I’m afraid the Chamber of Commerce wishes it did. They wanted to suggest that perhaps William Faulkner slept here. But the sad fact is nothing of historic significance has ever occurred at River Trace.”

“Except raising the Burnett family of course.”

Her dimples reappeared.

“So do you and your husband run the bed-and-breakfast?”

Again, her smile faltered. “No, my husband died almost four years ago. I run River Trace myself with the help of Bay and Luella Wiggins.”

Now it was Marcus’s turn to wince. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”

She shook her head and looked back down at the paperwork. “That’s all right. It…it happens all the time.” She stopped writing to look up at him directly. “I know you don’t know what to say.”

Marcus nodded gratefully, feeling that he was definitely losing his social skills. He wondered what had happened to the husband.

As if reading his thoughts, Harris piped up, “Daddy dwowned…but not in bathtub.”

Cally gaped at the child in shocked surprise. Marcus groaned. No wonder his earlier comment about drowning had caused such an unusual reaction.

“That’s right, honey.” She recovered herself and held him close as she patted his back and looked into his eyes.

“He lives in heaven with angels.”

“Um-hmm,” she murmured, still staring into the boy’s face.

“Lulu says so. Bay, too.”

“That’s right, baby. That’s right.”

She gazed at Harris a moment longer, continuing to cuddle him and took a deep breath. He laid his head on her shoulder. Marcus shifted on his feet, uncomfortable with his eavesdropping. It usually wouldn’t bother him, but in this case, it was extraordinarily awkward.

She seemed to sense his discomfort. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize he knew what that meant. I mean we’ve talked about it, but…” She stopped, blushed a deep pink, clearly at a loss for words.

“That’s all right. I’m sorry about what I said earlier.”

Her forehead creased, “About?”

“About…the tub.”

“Oh,” she nodded. “You must be wondering after all this.”