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."Well," Reynard said, straightening, "can I get you something? I have some sweet tea, maybe some lemonade, and"—he held up his tumbler with a sideways grin—"good Kentucky bourbon.""Much as I'd love to, I'm going to have to say no tonight.I'd just like to get settled." From the car came a deep, pointed bark.Ellie glanced over her shoulder."And my dog urgently wants to get out.""No need to make him suffer." He gestured."Go on and let him out.""She," Ellie corrected automatically, and hesitated."You sure?""She won't cause any damage my own haven't at some time or another." April, as if overhearing the conversation, let loose another sharp alert.The mutt on the porch, unable to resist any longer, rushed down the steps and licked Ellie's fingers.Reynard grinned."Let your dog out, sugar, before she busts.""Thank you." Ellie hurried back to the car, the mutt at her heels, and opened the door."Come on, sweetie." April leaped out and rushed to the grass to squat with an almost bashful look of relief on her face.To keep the mutt busy, Ellie rubbed her soft gold ears."You're kind of cute."From the porch, the black man snorted."Ratdog."Ellie smiled over her shoulder."She must belong to you, then, Dr.Reynard.""Marcus is a dog snob, that's all.Don't mind him." He whistled softly, and the mutt ran full tilt up the stairs, halting barely in time to avoid smashing into his knees.He bent down to give her that hearty pat men seemed to always bestow on dogs.As if to claim his attention, the skinny white cat circled around his ankles and Reynard stroked her back absently.Watching, Ellie felt a little of the vague tension in her ease.He didn't appear to be unbalanced or particularly strange—it was probably safe enough.As if he noticed, Reynard straightened and eyed her, taking a swallow of the whisky in his hand.In the dusky stillness, ice clinked."Now that your dog's all right, are you sure you don't want something to drink?"His voice mesmerized her, that slow rolling depth, and it took a moment before she realized he'd asked her a question.Which was answer enough in her mind."No, thank you.Really.""I'll get the key, then.If you want to drive on back down the road, I'll meet you over there." He pointed through the deepening gloom toward a path that seemed to lead to the greenhouses, which glowed a soft green against the twilight.Ellie finally spied the small house set beneath a stand of live oak and loblolly pines.She clicked her tongue for her dog."Nice to meet you," she said to Marcus."Good luck with your biography.""He told you?""Mabel's our only claim to fame, so we're kind of proprietary."Ellie smiled."I promise to do my best.""Can't ask no more than that, I reckon."She whistled for April and got back in the car, only realizing as she drove that she was humming under her breath."There's a red house over yonder." and her mind was playing it, the Jimi Hendrix version, threaded with that smoky sex sound that had made him such a god among women.She rolled her eyes at her subconscious, which had an annoying habit of coughing up the most embarrassing, corny soundtrack for her life—like flying into LAX and finding herself humming "LA International Airport"—and made herself stop before he heard her.Blue.She glanced in the rearview mirror.She wished his name were Laurence.* * *As he cut through the open meadow between the house and the old slave quarters, converted in the twenties to a guest house, Blue told himself it was liquor making his skin feel hot.He'd worked hard in the sun all day, the warmest they'd had so far.Probably had a little sunburn.And the bourbon on an empty stomach had gone to his head.But as Ellie stepped out of the car at the guest house, he found his attention snared again.She was not his usual type.He liked soft, shapely blondes.Women who wore gauzy sundresses you could see through just a little bit.Women with easy laughter and soft edges and no causes to champion.The less serious the better.Bimbos, Marcus called them.Blue preferred to think of them as easy to get along with.Either way, Ellie Connor did not fit the profile.Small and too thin, with angles instead of softness, khaki shorts instead of floaty skirts, and curly black hair that fell in her face instead of that swing of blonde he found so appealing.From her posts, he'd known she was strong and smart and knew her mind, an impression reinforced now by the set of her chin and the sharp, no-nonsense way she met their eyes back there.It wouldn't surprise him at all if she had a revolver in the glove box—she struck him as a woman who wouldn't leave much up to fate.But even she had to struggle, trying to lift a big suitcase out of the trunk.Blue stepped forward."Let me get that for you.""Thank you."He grabbed it while she picked up some other things and followed him to the porch, waiting behind him silently as he unlocked the door.Inside, he flipped on the lamp by the desk."This is it.Small, but comfortable."She put a soft-sided case on the table."It's beautiful," she said, and it sounded sincere."Thought you'd like it," Blue said, shoving hair out of his eyes."I took the liberty of dragging out some of the material we talked about"—he pointed to a neat stack of books and files on the desk—"and had Lanie—she's my aunt, who lives with me—order some groceries to be delivered.She got most of the staples, coffee and milk and things, but if there's something you don't see, just holler.Nearest store is about five miles down the road, back the way you came."For a moment, she just looked around her.In a lazy way, he zeroed in on that mouth again
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