CATCH ME IF YOU CAN Read online

  "So, where's the indigo?" Kit asked.

  "You're in it," Robbie said, grinning.

  "These scraggly old weeds?" Kit looked around, astonished.

  Beau chuckled. He had to admit, they weren't real impressive looking. "Yep."

  His friend was trying his best not to be obvious, but Beau couldn't help noticing the way Robbie's eyes kept returning to Kit as he gave the tour. Beau felt a surge of male possessiveness, but curbed the impulse to put an arm around her, staking his claim.

  He wasn't ready to go there. Once he'd done something like that, he wouldn't get the chance to take it back. Verdigris being a small town, rumors were probably already flying about him and Kit.

  Besides, she'd made it more than clear she wasn't interested in developing any kind of attachments. And he knew how much she'd hated growing up on the farm in Iowa, so a country planter like himself would probably be the last man she'd consider attaching herself to, even if she was interested.

  "The harvest looks like it'll be good. What are you thinking of for next year, Robbie?" Beau said, forcing himself back to the harvest statistics.

  "Thought I'd try my hand at planting a couple acres of stevia. Heard it's really picking up with the health food crowd."

  "The sugar substitute?" Kit asked.

  Beau glanced at her. "Never heard of it. Let me know the particulars if you decide to go for it," he told Robbie.

  The other man nodded and followed them to the car. "Listen, Robbie, you haven't seen Remi around, have you?"

  Robbie's head shot up. "Remi? Not lately, why?"

  Beau studied his friend's face. "Heard he was in town, and I need to talk to him."

  "Didn't know." Robbie kicked a rock off the driveway with the shiny toe of his boot, avoiding Beau's gaze. "I'll tell him if I see him."

  "Thanks. New boots?" he asked.

  "Yeah. On sale down at Charlie's Mercantile a while back."

  Robbie glanced surreptitiously at Kit, his face turning scarlet.

  "Nice."

  "Noticed your daddy at Charlie's that day. Picked himself up a pair, too."

  "Gunny?" Beau was more than a little surprised. Gunny went more for loafers than fancy cowboy boots.

  Robbie shrugged. "Thought so. Maybe not."

  Beau shook his head. His dad was getting flakier by the day. Lizard-skin boots. What next?

  * * *

  At Sylvie Kantor's pecan orchard, he waited for Kit to run screaming to the protection of the Eldo like every other female he knew when she spotted Sylvie's twenty-five beehives.

  He should have known by now Kit wasn't remotely like any other female he knew.

  "Wow, bees!" she exclaimed to Sylvie as they strolled under the canopy of pecan trees. "My dad had a couple hives." She laughed. "Mom made him take them down during that killer bee scare a while back. Any trouble with those down here?"

  The stately gray-haired woman grinned and shook her head, then the two women chatted on about bees and nectar while he made his harvest notes. Afterward, as they walked over to the barn, he asked Sylvie about Remi.

  "Nope, can't say's I've seen him. Not for years now."

  "Do me a favor and let me know if you do."

  "Sure thing."

  At the barn, Beau greeted Sylvie's husband, who was hammering away up in the hayloft. "Hey, Walter. How're the repairs going?"

  "C'est bon," Walter called down, peering out the barn door to the driveway. "You still drivin' dat ol' heap o' rust truck, Beaulieux?"

  "Not today, Walter." Walter never could resist teasing him about an ancient Ford truck that used to be his only mode of transportation.

  "When you gonna take dat thang in to da junkyard, boy?" Envious, Beau figured. "When the bayou freezes over, mon ami," he said with a smile.

  "Don't s'pose dat'll ever happen. You had it near twenty year now."

  "Twenty-one."

  Walter chuckled. "Why, I remember when dat truck was d'only thing ran on all Terrebeau. But you sure turned dat around, even without goin' off to dat fancy university. Your daddy's a proud, proud man to have you, boy."

  Beau squirmed under the uncharacteristic praise. "We've got to get going, Walter."

  "Sure." The old codger grinned. "Before you leave, you hand me on up a couple dose four-inch carriage bolts, eh?"

  On the floor under the loft sat a big wooden crate filled with tools, bags of nails, screws and assorted other hardware. Before he could dredge his mind for what exactly a carriage bolt was, Kit bent over and scooped up two long bolts with funny-looking heads, fitted them with washers and nuts and tossed them up to Walter. Beau and Sylvie exchanged a look of amazement.

  * * *

  "They were nice," Kit said after they'd made their goodbyes and driven on to the last tenant farm.

  "Nice doesn't even come close. They practically kept me afloat when I first took over Terrebeau. They're like family." He shook his head, recalling the hard years. "Yeah, thank God pecans don't need seed."

  Kit drew her fingertip along the edge of the seat between them. "Walter said you didn't go to college. You had to take over the plantation instead, didn't you?"

  "No choice," he said without hesitation. "No big deal," he added, as much for himself as for her. He didn't need anyone feeling sorry for him. He'd done just fine without that degree. Purely fine.

  "How on earth did you manage all by yourself? You must have been just a boy."

  "By myself?" he asked in surprise. "Mais, non. I had my family. Remi was here at the time. And the tenant farmers—we all pulled together to make it work. I wasn't alone."

  He glanced over at her and for a moment couldn't move. She was watching him with that adoring expression on her face that made his heart swell to bursting. The expression she'd had as she'd gazed up at him making love to her, aeons ago in San Diego. The expression where she looked as if she thought the world began and ended with only him. Dieu, how he loved when she looked at him that way.

  He nearly missed the turnoff to the Picards' place.

  "Last stop before supper," he said. "The Picards are another tenant family. They grow soybeans."

  "Soybeans?" She made a face. "Isn't there anywhere else we can look for Remi?"

  "Mercy sakes, woman, we've been at this for hours. I want to get the harvest figures from old man Picard since we're all the way out here anyway, but then we need to regroup. Nobody's seen hide nor hair of Remi. The fact is, we don't even know for sure this is where he's headed."

  "He has to be. The marina guy said he's visiting family."

  "Darlin', the Beaulieux clan has family all over the South. He could be anywhere."

  She blew out a breath and gave him an apologetic smile. "You're right. We need more information." When her stomach rumbled, she added, "And supper."

  "But first the soybeans."

  She laughed. "All right. First the soybeans."

  After Picard took them on the rounds of the fields and Beau had jotted down his harvest numbers and grilled him about Remi—with no luck—they all walked back to the Eldo. Picard's two sons were fiddling with an old International truck nearby, trying to get it started.

  "You boys should get yourselves a real car," Beau yelled over, patting his Cadillac on the hood and laughing.

  "Hey, you're so smart, you come over and fix this thing," one of the boys shouted back.

  Kit raised an eyebrow at him, so he couldn't very well refuse the challenge. He was as good as the next man with a socket wrench, and wasn't afraid to get dirty.

  Picard guffawed and led Kit up to the house to meet Mrs. Picard and fetch iced tea for everyone. When they came back with the tray, Beau's shirt was covered in grease and the International still refused to start.

  "Give it up, boys, it'll never start," Beau said with a chuckle of defeat, stripping off his dirty shirt and tossing it in his car. "Come on, darlin', they've got me down to my undershirt. Let's get out of here before I ruin that, too."

  Kit handed him her glass and winked. Sh
e sashayed over to the oldest Picard boy and slid a narrow screwdriver out of his shirt pocket. Stepping up onto the front bumper, she leaned over the engine, the view enough to make Beau downright dizzy. He snapped his jaw shut and scanned the others, who were watching with surprised interest. She jumped down from the bumper and handed back the screwdriver.

  "Try it now," she said, brushing a fleck of dust off a lace frill on her blouse as she headed for the convertible.

  The younger boy gave an embarrassed laugh but did as she bid. The truck started right up.

  "Well, I'll be damned," Beau said.

  She waggled her eyebrows with a mischievous air.

  * * *

  "How the hell did you do that?" Beau asked when they were driving back to Terrebeau.

  "My dad had an International for years. There's a little valve that sometimes gets stuck. He'd send me out with a screwdriver at stoplights when it'd stall." She giggled. "Funny, he sold that truck when I got to be about thirteen."

  Beau looked at her in horror, then burst out laughing. "A spitfire even back then, eh?"

  "Traffic would stop in all directions."

  "Dieu, I believe it." He shook his head, grinning at the thought of a young, blossoming Kit running wild in her small Iowa town. Hell, the town didn't stand a chance.

  "Come over here." He pulled her close to him on the seat and put his arm around her, still laughing. "Those Iowa boys must have been deaf, dumb and blind. How come some cute farm boy couldn't slow you down long enough to build a fence around you?"

  She snuggled up against him. "Not me, sugar. I move too fast for farm boys to catch."

  "Surely there must've been somebody you slowed down for."

  She put a hand on his thigh and he almost ran off the road. "There was one boy I would have come to a dead stop for. But he was moving too fast himself to notice me." She leaned her head on his shoulder. "Went off to college and broke my heart."

  "Poor darlin'." He kissed the top of her head, deflecting a stab of jealousy. Some guys just didn't know how good they had it. Kit's adoration and college, too. What Beau wouldn't have given for that exciting combination… "But I can't say I'm real sorry, if losing him led you here to me."

  He felt her smile against his bare shoulder. "You've got the devil's own tongue, Beaulieux."

  "You know I do, baby doll. And it's at your service anytime you please."

  A throaty little sound escaped her. "You are determined to get us into trouble, aren't you?"

  "Darlin', we are already in trouble. I just want to enjoy the agony as much as possible."

  Kit laughed, because it was either that or cry. He was so right. They were already in way over their heads, even if they'd made a pact not to sleep together at Terrebeau. Making love was just a part of what was so good with this man.

  She curled up against his side and laid her hand on his chest. From the second she'd seen him sitting at that poker table in Vegas, she'd been drawn to him as to no other. She felt comfortable with him. She didn't have to pretend she was something she wasn't. When was the last time that had happened with a man? Never. Well, except for Papa, but he didn't really count in this context. The thing was, in the short time they'd known each other, she and Beau had become friends.

  Now, there was a thought…

  "Maybe we could just be friends."

  He looked at her as if she'd grown three purple antennae. "I don't think so."

  "But it would make things so much easier."

  "Friends don't imagine friends naked every time they walk into a room."

  She looked up. "Do you really?"

  "Unfailingly." He met her gaze for a moment. "Don't you?"

  "No." A dreamy smile crept onto her lips and she closed her eyes. "I imagine your weight on top of me. The feel of your five o'clock shadow on my skin. The taste of your kisses…"

  He let out a strangled moan. "I like your fantasy better. Quick, remind me why we're torturing ourselves imagining it instead of experiencing the real thing?"

  She opened her eyes again and rolled her head to look out the window. The sight of row upon row of foot-high corn reminded her of Illusion, and how far she had come since those simple country days back home. Through her own hard work and determination, she had carved out a life that she loved, and left the hurt of personal betrayal behind. She wouldn't let another man take all that away from her. No matter how much she thought of him. She saw what Beau's life was like. If she gave him an inch, he'd grab for a mile.

  "Take your pick, Beau. There are so many reasons I've lost count."

  * * *

  Kit was still thinking about those reasons late that evening as she paced her room, restless with impatience. Beau was in his room changing for dinner, and she'd been ready for ages. There was nothing to do but fret over the fact that nothing could be done to speed up the search for Remi. And worry that she would have to spend another night with nothing but a lockless door between her bed and Beau's.

  The crisp beep of her cell phone startled her in midpace, and she jumped on it, hoping it would be Ricky. It was.

  "Hi, buddy. Got anything for me?"

  "Yep and yep. Good news. I was able to get a lead on Remi. According to my sources, he flew into Baton Rouge yesterday."

  "I knew it." She sat up, a surge of new hope filling her. "Have you tracked him down?"

  "Nope. But I managed to find out he rented a car at the airport when he got in. Chalk it up to my scathingly good looks."

  Kit frittered, picturing the nerdy kid with glasses and huge sneakers schmoozing some gorgeous rent-a-car chick. "You're a catch, all right. What kind of car?"

  "White Cavalier." He gave her the license plate number.

  "He didn't happen to mention where he was going, did he?" she asked, knowing she'd never get that lucky.

  "No, but he did say he wouldn't be needing more than the two hundred fifty free miles."

  "And that puts him exactly in the range of Verdigris. Good work, Ricky. He's got to be here."

  "Who?"

  She whipped around as Beau's deep voice sounded from the connecting door.

  "Uh-oh, gotta go. I'll call you tomorrow." Punching the off button, she set aside the phone. "Your cousin. He's back in Louisiana."

  "For certain?"

  "Ricky has connections at the airlines." She gave him the details. "So, where is he hiding?"

  "That's what I have Doug working on. We'll find him, Kit. Don't worry."

  "But I do worry. I only—"

  Beau pressed a finger on to her lips. "Trust me."

  Lord, he was maddening. She opened her mouth to argue.

  He touched her bandaged arm tenderly. "You know I won't rest until we find out who shot you. And that means finding Remi."

  "I know, but—"

  "Do you trust me?" he persisted.

  She chuffed out a reluctant breath. "Seems I have to."

  "Then forget him for now. It's time for supper."

  * * *

  "Terrebeau is lovely," Kit said to Gunny and Dori as Beau filled the gumbo bowls and passed them around the table. "From the windows upstairs it looks like the orchards and fields go on forever. Is it all your land?"

  "She is a jewel, isn't she?" Gunny perked at her interest, his eyes lighting up more than she'd seen all day. "And, yes indeed, quite a bit of the land is ours, I'm proud to say."

  "That's unusual for these old plantations, isn't it?" She accepted her bowl and breathed deeply of the delicious aroma.

  "It is unusual," Dori chimed in. "Most of the old plantations were forced to sell off the original holdings long ago. The Beaulieux family was fortunate, having been spared from destruction during the war."

  Dori looked suddenly uncomfortable, and Kit quickly went on. "Is Terrebeau still intact?"

  Beau answered, "No. The family scraped through those times by selling about three-quarters of the property. But since then, we've had the opportunity to buy a few of the surrounding farms and get some of it back. Like t
he three we visited today."

  "Takes a bucket full of money," Gunny mumbled.

  "Well, it's an impressive place." When the others dug in, Kit took a spoonful of gumbo. "Mmm." She licked her lips, savoring the flavor. "This is great."

  "Mama's secret recipe," Jolene interjected with a smile.

  Dori beamed. "The real secret is that all the makings are grown right here on Terrebeau."

  "All of them?" Surprised, Kit checked out the hodgepodge of ingredients in her bowl, from crayfish to okra.

  "Well, most, anyway," Beau said.

  "Amazing." She took another spoonful.

  Gunny leaned back in his seat and said dreamily, "Remember when I used to take you out fishing for crawdads on the bayou, son? Did some fishing over in Nam, too. For those ugly ol' bottom feeders 'long the Mekong—what were they called? Didn't dare eat them, of course. What with all the dead things floating in that river. Isn't that right, Sergeant?"

  Gunny looked over at Beau and started when it was his own son and not some long-ago army buddy sitting across from him.

  "I remember, Daddy," Beau said gently. "Those crawdads were near big as lobsters, weren't they?"

  Gunny didn't answer, dropping his unseeing gaze to the bowl in front of him.

  After a moment's awkward pause, Jolene cleared her throat. "Delia grew the okra herself, out back, in the kitchen garden."

  Kit sensed an unspoken appeal in Jolene's overbright eyes and scrambled for something to say. "Back home we only grew corn and soybeans, but I still remember how good salad tasted picked fresh from Mom's vegetable garden. I do miss that."

  Jolene asked in surprise, "You grew up on a farm?"

  "Iowa." She smiled. "Nothing like this, of course. We didn't have a lot of trees on our property. No woods or streams. No pretty view of the Atchafalaya River from the front porch." She sliced her hand in front of her. "Just three hundred and four acres of straight rows of corn, and a few cows wandering around."

  "Oh dear," said Dori. "Sounds a bit dreary. Don't we have three hundred acres of corn growing somewhere, Beau?"