Dixie Browning - A Knight In Rusty Armor

Not your problem, Holiday, he told himself. You saw your duty and you did it—now back off.

By suppertime Trav had made up his mind to stay out of it. While the casserole—beans and hotdogs, his specialty—heated in the oven and Ru spread his bed with clean linens, he placed a few more calls, trying to track down her absent friend.

In the end he almost wished he hadn’t bothered. Then he could have tossed her bags and boxes into the back of the truck, driven her to Hatteras as soon as the road was clear and dropped her off on the woman’s doorstep.

Now, his conscience wouldn’t let him take the easy way out.

“Um...applesauce? Salad greens?” she said hopefully, watching him remove the pan from the oven and set it on a block of wood on the table.

“Sorry, I should have thought of it. I’m not much on vegetables, but there might be some canned fruit in the pantry. I’ll look.”

“No, that’s all right, this is fine. It looks... tasty.”

Yeah, right. He probably shouldn’t have added all that hot sauce. Not everyone was blessed with an asbestos palate. She was more the type for rare roast beef and dainty little salads and things poached in wine, with a side order of sugar toast.

It occurred to him that she might prefer music to the tide data at the Frisco pier that was currently playing on the weather radio.

So he got up and switched off the local weather and turned on his favorite country music station. Judging from the carefully blank look on her face, that didn’t quite suit her, either.

“You want music or no music? I’ve got some tapes out in the truck.”

“No, thanks, I’m just fine. I tried Moselle’s number again, though, and she still doesn’t answer. I’m starting to get worried about her.”

Speaking of music, it was time to face it. He’d put it off too long as it was. “About your friend...I happened to be talking to a neighbor of hers this afternoon, and she said Miss Sawyer is somewhere in the Bahamas. The neighbor says she’ll be back in about three weeks. The restaurant’s closed for the next couple of months.”

Trav couldn’t bring himself to meet her eyes, knowing what he’d see there. Dammit, he didn’t want to feel sorry for her. He was the one with the problems. When it came to tough luck, a friend in the Bahamas couldn’t compare with a son he’d never even met. Her friend would be back in a few weeks, but as for him, Matt might be grown before they ever managed to get together.

So he kept his eyes on her hands. She had nice hands. Long and slender, with smooth white skin and pretty nails. No polish, no rings. White knuckles, though. That was a bad sign.

“Ru, level with me. Did your friend know you were coming? If she did, she probably left a key with a neighbor, or maybe she left a note telling you how to reach her.”

“I—it was going to be a surprise. I sort of...left home in a hurry. I tried to call along the way, but...”

That was about what he’d figured. She must have taken off with no real plan, which pretty much guaranteed disaster. “Let’s think this through before we jump to any conclusions.”

“Frankly, I don’t much feel like thinking.”

Frankly, he didn’t, either. Besides, he had a feeling no amount of thinking was going to change the basic facts. At the moment she had no place to go and no means of getting there, short of hiring a beach buggy from one of the sports centers. Somehow he couldn’t quite see her hitting the road with all her bags and boxes in a four-by-four bristling with rod holders.

Another thing had occurred to him, something he didn’t know quite how to approach. Her finances might not be quite as healthy as her classy tweeds and cashmere coat and sweaters indicated. Even in the off season, rooms down here cost more than a few bucks.

Bottom line: he was stuck with her. Or rather, they were stuck with each other until one of them came up with a solution.

Morosely she forked up three beans and a chunk of wiener. He watched her lips part, showing a set of even white teeth that had probably sent some orthodontist’s kid to college.

And then he watched her eyes widen as steam all but came from her ears.

She lunged for the sink at the same time he reached out to open the refrigerator. “Milk’s better—fat coats the tastebuds. Water just spreads the fire.”

She drank from the carton before he could grab her a glass. And then she lowered the carton, fanned her face, and gulped down some more. “Oh, my heavenly days, that’s incendiary!” she gasped.

“I forgot.”

“Forgot what, the fire extinguisher?” She was breathing heavily though her mouth, her breasts heaving as if she’d been running hard.

“I’ve been cooking for years, but I guess my repertoire’s pretty limited. Are you going to be all right?”

“If I had any lingering germs, they’re dead now. Nothing could possibly live in that environment. Don’t you even care about your stomach lining?”

“Never gave it much thought. I guess it’s pretty well cauterized by now.”

“Yes, well...I think I’ll have cold cereal, if it’s all right.”

“Be my guest. There’s the pink stuff and some of that kind with brown sugar and nuts. You might as well finish the milk—I’ll get more in the morning.”

All thought of the missing Moselle and the interred car was forgotten for the moment. She wasn’t going anywhere right away, and they both knew it.

“This time I’ll take the sofa,” she offered, rising to help him rinse the plates and stack them in the dishwasher. That, too, had been Kelli’s idea. He never used it. It would take him a week to get up a load.

“Keep the bed,” he offered generously. His chest was beginning to feel as if it had been buried under a few tons of wet sand, along with her car. “I don’t mind bunking in the living room. Another couple of days and I’ll have the spare room finished ”

“Don’t hurry on my account. I have no intention of abusing your hospitality any longer than I have to.”

“You’re not abusing anything, there’s plenty of room.”

He watched her take in the cramped quarters, and it struck him that she was no more impressed with the house he was building than Kelli had been. He’d designed it himself, and been damned proud of it It was compact and efficient, with no wasted space or exposed pipes. So what if you had to go through the kitchen to get to the bathroom? At least the plumbing was all in one wall.

“Once I finish furnishing the place, it’ll look better. The room on the end’s going to be an office. The one I’m paneling now is for my boy. I thought maybe twin bunks. Kids like bunks.”

“Your boy?”

He hadn’t meant to mention Matthew. Didn’t particularly want to have to explain the situation to anyone else. Kelli had sounded sympathetic at first. At twenty-five, he’d figured she’d be the perfect age to bridge the gap between a twelve-year-old boy and a thirty-nine-year-old man who’d never spent much time around kids.

“I didn’t realize you had children,” Ru ventured.

Trav- was searching around for a change of subject when Lady Luck beat him to it.

The power went off.

Three

In the sudden darkness, the silence was pronounced. Gradually, small sounds began to emerge. The all-but-inaudible whisper of the gas furnace. A branch brushing against a corner of the house. An acorn striking the roof sounded unnaturally loud. Ru held her breath. Neither of them spoke, waiting to see if the lights would come back on. If they were still off after several minutes, Trav knew that, odds were, it would take a while.

“These things happen,” he observed, his quiet baritone sounding husky, almost hoarse. “I’ll light a lamp and go switch on the generator. I haven’t wired it in yet.”