Midnight In The Garden Of Good And Evie (13 page)

* * * * *

T
uesday morning showed up clear and hot. But on the western horizon a mass of dark clouds lay in waiting. Given the direction of the wind, Evie predicted a cold rainfall by late afternoon.

She had dressed in her usual island attire—boots and jeans—and a pretty blue and white plaid shirt. As she filled the llamas’ trough with oats and alfalfa, a stiff breeze from the sea whooshed up from behind her, lifting bits of hay, tumbling them in the air in a twisting, twirling dance. A butterfly flitted over her head, then dashed off on the wind.

Fernando stood next to her, a sudden gust tickling his long fleece with phantom fingers. His ears went alert as his eyes fixed on something behind her.

She knew what it was
…
rather, who it was. He didn’t need to say a word. The hairs on the back of her neck stiffened and her knees went weak. Her heart spurted into a sprint. Her breathing changed and her mind emptied of everything she’d been thinking. She’d either been poisoned or Max Galloway had come to stand directly behind her.

“I knocked on your door last night, Evie.” After only a few days th
e soft rasp of his voice had be
come familiar. Already her body had learned to anticipate it, want it, maybe even crave it.

Without turning, she emptied the contents of the oat bucket into the trough. “I may have been asleep. I do that at night sometimes.”

“I wanted to see how you were doing.”

She walked to the barn and set the empty bucket on the bench. It made a hollow sound as metal met wood.

He followed her. “I read the book.” There was that soft rasp again. Tiny chills scooted up her spine and down her arms and into every nook and cranny of her body. It was as though somebody had splashed warm champagne all over her naked flesh. “I have some ideas,” he said, “but we need to talk about it.”

The same electric charge she felt every time he was near zapped her again. He gave off enough sexual energy to power the entire northwestern grid.

“I can’t talk about the murder hunt right now,” she said. “I’m taking Fernando into Port Henry to the senior center.”

He eyed the llama. “Really? He doesn’t look that old to me. They have
a special wing just for llamas?
”

She turned to glare at him, but he reached for her and pulled her into his arms. His move surprised her, but she didn’t fight it, just let her body fall against his, limp, unresisting. Her arms dangled at her sides. Eventually he’d get the picture and let her go.

“Put your arms around me, Evie.”

Okay, maybe not right away, but eventually.

Into his shirt front she mumbled, “Nrph.”

He squeezed her tighter. Her head lay against his solid chest and she could hear the steady beating of his heart, feel the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed, the movement of strong bones under his firm muscles.

“Evie. Put your arms around me.”

Dammit. She was weak, and he was so
…
Slowly, she straightened and wrapped her arms around his chest, letting her open hands feel the
strength of his back. He tugged her closer until not so much as a breath could pass between them.

“Evie,” he said, nuzzling her neck. “I feel your heart beating against mine. I like that. I feel your breathing against my skin, and I feel how warm you are, how alive, how strong. And more.” He lay his cheek on the top of her head. “I hear the sorrow in your voice when you speak of your mother, and see the love in your eyes when you talk about Heyworth, the llamas, Edmunds. Jesus, I thought about you all night, Evie. I couldn’t sleep worth a damn. I can’t get you out of my mind. When this is over, I want to see what can happen between us. Give me a shot at this, will you?”

He raised one hand and cupped her cheek, tilting her face, gently forcing her to look at him.

She gazed into his eyes, remembering Madame Grovda’s prediction. Of course, she’d dismissed it at the time as a silly joke. But ever since, she’d been reluctant to let it go. For some reason, the psychic’s words had burrowed straight into her heart like seeds tossed into fertile garden soil. As she stood in the circle of Max’s arms, she felt those tiny seeds of hope take root and begin to grow.

He smiled into her eyes, and she realized nobody had ever looked at her like that before.

“I don’t blame you for being cautious,” he said. “So, let me give you something to think about.”

He took her mouth in a hard, claiming kiss. Beneath her breast she felt his heart speed up. He growled, way deep down in his throat, the sound of a famished beast.

His lips were firm and so very talented. He knew
just how to kiss her, nibble at her mouth, slide his tongue along hers, stop to suckle and soothe.

She felt his hand slide up her rib cage and knew he was going to touch her. He moved slowly, giving her plenty of time to protest, back away, haul off and slug him.

But she didn’t budge.

His thumb touched the bottom curve of her breast, and she felt the zing of it all the way down to her toes. He curled his hand around her breast, letting his finger glide over her nipple, bringing it to a peak beneath the thin lace of her bra.

Sensation washed through her body, pooling low inside her.

He moved his hand a little and she felt one of the buttons on her blouse pop open. She leaned into him, and he popped another one.

“You are so hot,” he whispered against her parted lips. “Jesus, Evie. I’ve got to see you.”

With that, he popped open the last two buttons and shoved the fabr
ic aside. With both hands he un
did her bra and pushed it away. Then he simply stared at her, his hazel eyes smoky with masculine appreciation and potent desire.

She felt his gaze touch her naked breasts like a caress, tightening her nipples, making her ache all over. Deep inside, she began to throb.

Lowering his head, he took her nipple in his mouth.

“Oh,” she cried, the word barely audible. “Oh, Max
…
”

She cupped his head in her hand and arched into him. Her breathing went wild, her heart tumbled
and leaped, as Max flicked the nipple with his tongue, gently bit it with his teeth. His hot breath would have been enough to drive her insane, but the sensation of his mouth on her sent tendrils of delight curling all through her body.

His hands came up to cup her breasts as he suckled first one nipple, then the other, making her want to sob with the need he made her feel.

“We have to stop,” he panted, “or I’m going to drag you to the ground and do it in the dir
t, right here, right now. If…
If I don’t stop
…
”
His words came in a rush, his eyes never leaving her bare breasts. “I w
on’t be able to, if I don’t…
so, I’m stopping now, okay? Christ, you’re so beautiful.”

He lifted his sleepy gaze to her eyes. “We
could
keep going. But if you want me to stop, telling me now would be a good thing. Just remember, I’ll interpret silence as consent.”

His eyes were dark green, filled with flagrant desire. For her.

“Hell, I want you so much,” he choked, “I may take no as consent. Maybe you’d better kick me or something.”

Reaching up, Evie adjusted her bra and buttoned her blouse. She wanted to speak up, to say it out loud, but she was afraid she’d say the wrong words and her no would come out more like,
Take me now, what’s a little dirt
?

“I’m sorry, Max,” she whispered. “I’m not trying to be a tease, honest. I—I just need more time. So much is going on—”

“You’re right,” he interrupted. He put up his
hands. “I had only meant to kiss you. I swear. The rest, well, it was sort of a spur of the moment thing.”

“That happens to men a lot.”

“Yeah, it does.”

She turned to Fernando, who was still waiting patiently. Picking up the grooming brush, she began to stroke his warm neck, trying desperately to bring her breathing back to normal, ease her tight nerves, forget how Max’s mouth had felt on her. Common sense warred with common lust as she fought to understand what had just happened, and what it meant, and just why in the hell she was resisting him in the first place when she wanted him so much.

Max shuffled around, undoubtedly trying to do the same thing she was, maybe even wondering the same thing. Finally, he said, “I’m coming with you today.”

“No, you’re not,” she stated. “I don’t need an audience.”

“Not an audience,” he said flatly. “A bodyguard.”

Chapter 13

D
ear
D
iary:

I
s
aw them a
g
ai
n
today. The old people who live i
n
the house by my school. They sit o
n
the porch with bla
n
kets o
n their laps, an
d
stare
at
me aft
er
E
dmu
n
ds drops me off.
Someti
mes, they wave
at
me and
I
wave back. They smile, too, but
I don’t think
they are happy.
I thin
k they
hope that if they smile hard en
ou
g
h, somebody will come a
n
d
v
isit them.

E
va
ng
eli
ne—ag
e
11

A
n hour later Max turned the bow of the runabout away from the dock while Evie made Fernando sit, or lie down, or whatever in the hell llamas did when they weren’t standing around looking superior.

“Kush, Fernando,” she ordered. “Kush!” Fernando did as commanded and went down first
on his knees, then settled his butt, curling his legs beneath him. He looked like a dust mop sitting in the bottom of the boat, neck extended, eyes wide, fuzzy banana ears alert.

Gesturing to Fernando, Max said, “So ‘koosh’ means sit down?”

“M
m
-hmm.”

“What do you say when you want him to stand up?”

“ ‘Stand up’ usually does the trick,” she replied dryly.

He turned the wheel and adjusted the throttle, sending the runabout through the rolling water at a pretty good clip. The bow knifed smoothly through the froth like a blade through whipped cream.

“If there’s a special word for sitting down,” he said, “why isn’t there a special word for standing up?”

“You ask too many questions.”

“In other words, you don’t know.” He grinned.

Ignoring him, Evie sat next to the llama and cooed softly into its ear.

Max slid on his dark glasses. “Llamas seem to sit down like that a lot. How do they ever have little llamas?”

“If you must know, they do it sitting down. At least the females sit down, just like Fernando is now. The male approaches the female from behind and mounts her.”

“You’re making me hot.”

“Doesn’t take a lot.”

Max throttled down and adjusted his speed. “So
she just sits there and like, what, watches TV while he—”

“What, do you want me to draw you a picture?”

“Pictures are good. I like pictures.”

She laughed a little, then said, “Pretty much, actually. He approaches her, mounts her, and they have sex until she spits him off.”

“Sounds like a girl I knew in college.”

“This comes as no surprise to me whatsoever.” Shaking her head, she accused, “Has it occurred to you that many of our conversations have to do with the reproductive habits of wildlife?”

“Yes it has,” he said seriously. “I think it’s because you have a one-track mind. Personally, I find it appalling.”

Evie rolled her eyes and turned her attention toward the mainland.

Max let his gaze linger on her, suppressing the urge to laugh out loud. Jesus, she was sweet, and feisty, and so easy to tease. She was quite a package. Sexy, smart, and fun. A man looking for a woman to share his life could do a helluva lot worse.

As the boat skimmed across the corrugated sea, its rhythm reminded Max of making love. The steady rolling, the relaxing momentum.

His focus went fuzzy for a moment. He saw her body, naked, flushed with passion, and the rocking went on and on. Lazy and hot, rolling up and over and down, up and over and down, gently, slowly. His hips moving with hers until he nearly came apart.

“You can put it in here.”

He blinked hard. “What?”

She frowned at him. “The boat. You can dock it right here.”

Oh! They were there, at the dock.

They slid into the runabout’s slip, and the security man came out to help tie off while Evie prepared Fernando to stand and leave the boat.

“C’mon, sweetie,” she crooned. “Up. That a boy!”

As Fernando lifted his rear and then his shoulders to stand, Max said, “Not un-kush, huh?”

“Well, you can try it, but he’ll just stare at you.”

“He always just stares at me.”

“Hold out your hand,” she ordered, and when Max did, she slapped a key into his open palm. “That blue Dodge pickup over there. Bring it around, please.”

Max gave her a mock salute and said, “As you wish, ma’am.”

A few minutes later the llama was kushed in the bed of the truck. Gesturing to Fernando, Max said, “Isn’t he going to jump out?”

“No,” Evie replied. “He likes to go for trips in the back of the truck. Besides, I’ve tied his lead to the cleat in the bed. He’ll be fine.”

Max flipped up the tailgate and locked it in place, then escorted Evie to the passenger side of the truck. “I’ll drive,” he said, opening the door for her.

As he came around and slid in behind the wheel, Evie fastened her seat belt and said, “It’s 17 Jefferson Street. The Rhododendron Senior Center. They’re expecting us.” She glanced out the back window. “Just don’t make any sudden turns.”

The center was a two-story Victorian, painted in brown and peach tones. He thought it must have been quite a place back in the day, but now the paint was peeling
and the garden needed work. Ob
viously, funds were tight.

Max hopped out of the truck and met Evie at the tailgate, where he unlocked it and pulled out the plank she’d used to load the beast. Fernando stood and looked around as though he did this kind of thing every day.

As Evie led the llama up the stone pathway to the covered porch, the front door opened and a young woman in a pastel yellow uniform stepped out.

“Hello!” she said. Her name tag read
CYNNDRAH.
She was perky and pretty, with her brown hair pulled back in a ponytail. Her eyes widened when she saw the llama. “This must be Fernando! May I pet him?”

Max glanced at Evie. She’d gone pale and seemed to have tuned Cynndrah out completely. Something was wrong, but he had no idea what.

He wished he could hear what she was thinking, wished she’d turn to him, confide in him, trust him with her fears. He’d known her for, what, a week? And yet he felt as though there had never been a time when she hadn’t been in his life. He wondered, was seven days enough time to connect with a woman to the point that, if she vanished, a man just might never get over it? Over
her
?

He’d always been polite to women and treated them well—he wasn’t a total SOB—but underneath, he had scorned them. Years of training at his father’s side had left him feeling cynical and often cold. He
never showed that side of himself to anyone, certainly not to a woman he wanted to take to bed, but it had been there all the same.

Had
been t
here. Evie had somehow managed—
without managing at all—to change that.

“Evie?”

She blinked. Her cheeks flushed and she smiled at Cynndrah. “Sorry. I, uh, where do you want us?”

As they entered the parlor, he was surprised to see a dozen or so residents eagerly awaiting the arrival of Evie and her llama. Even the nurses and orderlies were grinning and looking like a group of children happily anticipating a visit from Saint Nick.

Llamas were just fluffy camels, as far as he could tell. Couldn’t do any tricks that he knew of. Perhaps Evie would have done better to bring a dog, or maybe even a horse or donkey. What good bringing a llama to an old folks’ home was, he couldn’t begin to guess, especially when it looked like what the place really needed was an influx of cold, hard cash.

A haphazard circle of chairs had been placed in the middle of the room, every chair occupied by an elderly resident. Each lined face was set with a smile, and in each person’s eye there was a gleam that Max would have bet a bundle didn’t appear there very often.

“Are llamas camels?” This from a woman with frizzy gray hair, thick glasses, and a tan polyester pantsuit.

“No,” explained Evie. “Camels are descendants of llamas. Llamas are camelids and are from South America.”

A cracked voice spoke up. A man in green pants and a plaid shirt. “Do they bite?”

Evie smiled at the gentleman. “They rarely bite, but llamas do spit when they’re aggravated.”

Or sexually satisfied, thought Max.

A woman in a wheelchair began to clap her hands like a child at a play. “Closer,” she begged, her voice high and thin. “Please? Closer.”

Max moved the chair in a little and the llama turned to look at her. He pricked his fuzzy ears and plodded forward, lowering his head in an obvious bid for a petting.

With palsied hands, the woman reached out and lightly touched the llama’s ear. “So soft,” she mewled in a thin voice. “Hello, lovie. You’re beautiful.”

Evie crouched before the wheelchair and said, “Fernando is a North American llama, which means he was born here and not imported from South America. Did you know that llama wool is warmer than sheep’s wool? The fibers are hollow.” The woman ran
her crooked fingers through Fer
nando’s fleece, beaming all the while like a young child at a petting zoo.

For the next two hours Evie and Max walked the llama around the pl
ace, introducing him to the peo
ple who were too old or too sick to leave their beds. Wherever they went, the beast was a big hit. Better than a dog, or a horse, or a donkey. Maybe even better than cold, hard cash.

As they waved good-bye to Fernando’s admirers, the woman in the wheelchair patted Evie’s arm and looked up at her with milky blue eyes. “Thank you,
dear,” she said softly, her feeble voice raspy with emotion. “Thank you.”

Evie nodded curtly but said nothing. Her lips were pressed tightly together even though she smiled down at the woman. Leaning forward, she pressed a kiss on the ancient lady’s wrinkled brow.

“We’ll come back another day,” she promised quickly, then stood.

They walked out to the truck in silence, Fernando plodding along next to Evie. When they reached the tailgate, Max put his hands on Evie’s shoulders and turned her to face him.

She refused to look him in the eye.

“Evie?”

She swallowed. “Um, we have to go. Clue Number Four—”

“Evie. Look at me.”

She shook her head.

Max cupped her chin between his thumb and palm, lifting her face. Though she kept her lashes down, he could see the tears welling in her eyes.

“Evie?” he probed quietly. “Is it always like this? Are visits t
o senior centers always so…
”

She swallowed. Nodded.

“Why in the hell do you do it?” he demanded gently. “That was one of the most painful things I’ve ever seen in my life. The looks on some
of their faces. Shit, Evie…
why?”

She sniffed, dabbing her nose with the arm of her sleeve. “Why do I do it? Because they’re alone. They’re called elder orphans. It’s one of the terms we’ve created in the modern world in an effort to make sure everybody’s labeled properly.” Her voice
was mild, but her words bitter. She stuck her hands in her pockets and shrugged.

“Their husbands and wives are dead. Their children, if they ever had any, are gone, too. Do you know what it’s like to be
completely
without family?” she whispered. “Have you any idea how lonely it is? All my life, even when my mother was alive, I was alone. And then one day, even she was gone. I loved Thomas and I love Edmunds, but it’s not the same thing, Max. I used to wish with all my heart that Thomas was my real father, and that was why he’d come to get me. I wanted so much to have
somebody
I could point to without hesitation and say, this is
my
family. I am
not
alone.”

He ran his thumb over her cheek, brushing away a hot tear. “Why you, sweetheart? Why do
you
do this when it reminds you—”

“Me,” she interjected, “because maybe I’m one of the few people in this world who really, truly, and honestly understands what it’s like to be by yourself. Don’t you see?
They
are
me
a few years down the road. Nobody behind them, nobody ahead.”

Her mouth quirked into a sardonic grin. “Maybe I’m hedging my bets. Building up a little good karma so that someday, when I’m at the end of this very same road, some stranger will bring a llama by so I can touch it and pet it, and remember.”

“Evie,” he whispered. “Evie, stop it. You’re killing me here.”

Max folded her into his arms and pulled her close.

He felt her chest expand and contract with each
breath. As the moist heat of her tears saturated his shirt, something inside him he’d kept under tight control cracked and began to give way. Something he’d surrounded with bricks and iron and walls of stone and mortar and steel, and arroga
nce and de
tachment and fear.

Oddly, the image of his father forced its way into his head.
I don’t want to think of you now, Dad. I don’t want ever to think of you.

But something about Evie’s softness conjured up his father’s rigidity, and how he himself had adopted that attitude. He’d admired his dad and had wanted to love him, but the man was harsh and distant, and because of that, for too long a time he’d believed that was how men were.

He’d let someone in once. Melissa. And just look how that had turned out. In response, he’d boarded up his heart behind an even tougher wall, and had kept it fiercely guarded since then.