Midnight Bayou

can’t I?”
    “Sure. You don’t have to be so clever,” he said. “You just have to have plenty of time.”
    And money, she thought. Plenty of money. “Oh now, don’t you be modest. It’s just a miracle what you’re doing here. I hope it wouldn’t be putting you out too much to show me some of the inside. And I surely could use something cold. Just walking over here from home’s left me parched.”
    He didn’t want her in his house. More than distaste, there was a kind of primitive dread. But whatever else she was, she was Lena’s mother, and his own had drummed manners into his bones.
    “Of course. I’ve got some tea.”
    “Can’t think of anything that would be more welcome.”
    She followed him to the door, was pleased when he opened it for her and stepped back for her to enter ahead of him. She let her body brush his, just the faintest suggestion, then walked into the foyer and let out a gasp.
    She didn’t have to feign the shock, or her wonder as she gazed around the grand entrance. She’d been inside before. Remy and Declan weren’t the first to get liquored up and break into Manet Hall.
    She’d never liked it much. The place had given her the creeps with its shadows and dust, its cobwebs and faded glamour.
    But now it was full of light and polish. Glossy floors, glossy walls. She didn’t think much of the old furniture, not for looks anyway. But she had no doubt the price tags had been heavy.
    Old money bought or kept old things. It was a conceptthat baffled her when there was so much new and glittery in the world.
    “My lord, sugar, this is a showplace. Just a showplace,” she repeated and wandered into the parlor.
    She might’ve preferred the city, where the action was, but she could see that a woman could live like a queen in such a place. And bring the action in, at her whim.
    “Goodness, did I say you were clever? Why, you’re just a genius. Everything’s so beautiful and fresh.” She turned back to him. “You must be awful proud.”
    “It’s coming along. Kitchen’s back this way. We can get you that cold drink.”
    “That would be lovely, but don’t you hurry me along now.” She slid a proprietary hand onto his arm, clung there as she walked down the hall. “I’m just fascinated by what you’ve done with this place. Mama said you’d only started on it a few months ago.”
    “You can get a lot done if you stick to the plan.”
    And since he seemed to be stuck with her, for the time being, he banked down on the desire to get her out again. Instead, as she turned into the library, made purring noises, he took the opportunity to study her.
    He couldn’t see Lena in her. There were, he supposed, some physical similarities. But where Lena had that compact, bombshell body, Lilibeth’s had been whittled down with time and abuse to nearly gaunt.
    Showing it off in tiny red shorts and a tight tank top only made her appear cheap and pathetic—a worn-out Kewpie doll painted up for one last night at the carnival. He felt a stir of sympathy for a woman who sought approval and attention by trying to showcase a sexuality she’d already lost.
    She’d used a heavy hand with makeup, and the heat hadn’t been kind. Her face seemed sallow and false under all the borrowed color. Her hair had frizzed, and graying roots were streaking through it.
    By the time he got her into the kitchen, he found her too pitiful to resent.
    “Have a seat,” he told her. “I’ll get you that drink.”
    And she mistook the kindness in his voice for attraction.
    “A kitchen like this . . .” She slid into a chair. It was cool here, and she tipped back her head to let the air reach her throat—and to watch him. “Don’t you go and tell me you cook, too. Why, if that’s so, sugar, I’m just going to have to cut Lena out and marry you my own self.”
    “Sorry.” The mention of Lena tightened him up again. But his back was to her, and she didn’t see his face. “I don’t cook.”
    “Well, a girl can make allowances.” She lapped her tongue over her lips. He had a good, strong build to go along with those deep pockets. And she was starting to itch for a man.
    “You wouldn’t have anything a little stronger than that tea, would you, honey?”
    “Would you rather a beer?”
    She’d rather a good glass of whiskey, but she nodded. “That’d be just fine. You gonna join me?”
    “I’ll stick with tea. I’ve got work to do yet today.”
    “Too hot to work.” She stretched back,