Bulletproof Bodyguard

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.”

Her hand fluttered about Harris’s back but her voice was cool and composed. “My husband was in a boating accident. He was duck-hunting and putting out decoys when the boat capsized. His waders filled with water and he drowned.”

“I’m terribly sorry.”

“I am, too.” She sighed. “But life goes on.” She looked at the little boy in her arms and gave him a squeeze. “Here’s the proof.” Harris giggled sleepily. “Let me show you to your room. It’s right up these steps.” Marcus followed her to the grand staircase. Their feet were silent on the carpeted steps.

“Your room was originally an attic when the house was built. At one time it was a nursery. Now it’s definitely the most secluded spot at River Trace.”

At the top of the second flight, Cally turned left and led him past several rooms toward the back of the house. Her hair had come out of its pins and was trailing halfway down her back in ringlets. Marcus watched as Harris opened and closed his fists around one of the curls.

The outline of her bra strap was clearly visible through the wet shirt. It was lacey, pink and distracting the hell out of him. She turned right and paused at another landing.

“I thought since you were going to be here a while, this would give you more privacy. You have your own bath and there’s another stairway here if you prefer. It was originally a servants’ stairway. And if you’ve had a really long day…” She didn’t finish the sentence as she pointed toward the antique one-man elevator.

“It still works?” he asked.

Cally nodded, opened a door and led him up a narrow stairwell. He could see how the location would have been perfect for a child’s nursery.

“We just finished getting it all together today.”

Marcus stepped up into the room behind her. She crossed another oriental rug and sat Harris down on a wide window seat. As she leaned over to close the window, he got an unexpected but rather spectacular view of her butt in the water-soaked jeans. Her wet shirt had ridden up and he could see a line of milky-white skin along her back.

He caught himself staring, imagining the view under different circumstances. If she turned around without picking up the boy first, he’d get a peek at the latest Victoria’s Secret had to offer. With a jolt he realized he wasn’t paying attention to a word she was saying.

“…we painted earlier this week, but I wanted to make sure the smell was completely gone.”

Marcus took in a gulp of air, attempting to clear the erotic images forming in his head. “Hmm. All I smell is ah…flowers?”

“Yes.” Cally smiled, completely unaware of where his thoughts had been. “That would be the potpourri.” She nodded at a silver bowl on the captain’s desk to his right.

“The bathroom’s through here.” She pointed toward the small hallway to his left; straight ahead was a queen-size bed flanked by small antique tables. “We just moved the armoire in today.”

He reassessed her as he took in the large cabinetry opposite the window. “You moved that yourself? Up those stairs?” He studied her slim build and tried to imagine her lifting the heavy antique. Even with a man helping her, it was a formidable job.

“Well, Bay and I did. I couldn’t have done it on my own. I can’t imagine doing any of this without the Wigginses. You’ll meet him and Luella tomorrow. River Trace simply couldn’t run without them. They’re amazing.”

“I’d say so.” He mentally struggled to get focused again.

“Let’s see. I need to get you more towels, and you need a brandy decanter.” She ticked the items off on her fingers.

“Excuse me?”

“It’s a gift when you check in. Our special label. Homemade peach brandy. Not to be missed.” She stared straight at him—open and friendly, but it wasn’t a come-on. He knew that.

Facing him, she wasn’t holding the kid. Marcus locked his eyes on hers and willed himself not to look below her neck at that transparent shirt.

“Now…what else. Oh, yes. Since you’re up three stories here, the fire marshal insists I tell you how to get out in case the stairway is blocked during a fire.” She headed for the window seat.