Barbara Dunlop - A Secret Life

“Fine,” she breathed.

“You afraid of heights?”

“No.”

“You going to get on that ladder?”

She didn’t answer.

“Heather?”

“What?”

“Just how scared are you?”

She tightened her grip on the ladder and inched herself forward, refusing to let him know she was nearly paralyzed. Careful not to look down, she hooked a toe on the gutter and transferred her weight.

The gutter started to give way, and she shrieked.

Samuel’s arm was around her in a split second, yanking her back against his body. “Damn,” he muttered above her head.

“I’m fine,” she insisted, but her voice was shaking.

He loosened his grip. “Don’t move.”

“Okay.” That one she could do.

He slowly let her go. Then he effortlessly swung himself out onto the ladder and backed down a couple of rungs. He let go of the ladder with one arm and held his hand out to the side, making a space for her.

“Hang on to the top of the ladder and step around on this side,” he said. “If anything goes wrong, I’ll grab you.”

Heather nodded, swallowing as she assessed the situation.

“Do not look down,” he warned.

She nodded again. It didn’t seem nearly as scary with Samuel’s big body between her and death.

His voice went softer. “Piece of cake.”

She took a step.

“Grab on right there,” he coaxed. “And turn around.”

She did, and the ladder felt solid beneath her hand. She breathed in, daring to move backward toward the edge. It was stupid, but now she couldn’t help thinking about his angle and her thong. “Can I trust you to be a gentleman?” she asked.

“Not even a little bit.”

She shot him a glare over her shoulder.

“If I have to grab you, I have to grab you. I’m not gonna be careful about the target.”

“I wasn’t…” Oh.

“What?”

She studied his expression. “Forget it.” She faced the roof again. Nothing to do but get this over with.

With both hands on the top rung, she inched her toe onto the ladder. When one foot was solid, she moved the other, breathing a sigh of relief when Samuel’s arm locked her in.

“You actually thought I would check out your underwear?” he rumbled.

“It had crossed my mind,” she confessed.

He moved down a rung and waited for her. “What the hell kind of men do you hang out with?”

She carefully stepped down, her muscles clenched, her damp palms inching along the painted rails. “There’s nothing wrong with the men I hang out with.”

He moved again. “There is if they’re all looking up your skirt.”

“They don’t look up my skirt.” At least not without an invitation.

“Then why did you think I would?”

“It was an overreaction, okay?”

“First, you try to bribe me,” he grumbled. “And then you accuse me of being a Peeping Tom.”

Heather took another rung. “Get over it, will you? How was I supposed to know you were a paragon of morali-” Her foot slipped. Her heart went to her throat.

His arm closed tight around her waist, and he was a solid wall behind her. “You’re fine. I’ve got you.”

“Damn,” she muttered, adrenaline thrumming through her body.

“You okay?” he asked.

She nodded, searching for the rung with her foot.

He didn’t immediately let her go. Which was perfectly okay with her. If she had to stumble on a ladder twenty feet off the ground, Samuel was definitely the guy she wanted hanging on to her.

His broad palm was splayed across her stomach, and his solid abs were pressed against her rear end.

“I’m not much of a paragon at the moment,” he said.

“You just saved my life.”

“Yeah. But now you’ve got me thinking about your underwear.”

“JOANIE?” Heather’s voice hissed in Joan’s ear as the bedsprings sagged beneath her weight.

“What?” Joan groaned, refusing to open her eyes. Maybe sending the jet back and letting Heather stay a few days had been a bad idea. It felt as if she’d only been asleep for a few minutes.

“I hear something.” Heather slipped under the covers in the queen-size bed.

“Those are frogs,” said Joan, wrapping her arms around her pillow and burrowing her face more deeply into its softness.

“Not the frogs. The thumping noise.”

“Those are the cypress trees.”

“It’s not trees.”

“Yes, it is.”

“Joanie.”

“Do you still get nervous in the dark.”

“I don’t get nervous in the dark.”

“You’re nervous now.”

“That’s because of the thumping noise.”

“There is no thumping-”

Something whapped against the side of the house.

“That,” shrieked Heather, scooting closer on the bed.

Joan opened her eyes, blinking in the dim bedroom. Moonlight wafted through the opaque curtains and danced along the ceiling and the walls.

“What on earth?”

“Call the police,” Heather hissed, fumbling for the phone on the bedside table.

Joan slipped out of bed.

“Where are you going?”

“To look out the window. It’s probably an alligator.” They didn’t often come this close to the house, but every once in a while…

“What if it sees you?”

“We’re on the second floor.”

“So what?”

Joan pulled back the curtain, squinting into the yard. “They can’t jump.”

“Can you see it?”

“No.”

“Then how do you know it’s not a person?”

“Because Indigo is one of the safest places in the country. We don’t even lock our doors.”

“You didn’t lock your door?”

There was another thump, then a scraping noise.

Joan had to admit it didn’t really sound like an alligator anymore.

“I’m dialing 911,” said Heather.

“Don’t call the police.” Joan crossed the room and whisked the phone from Heather’s hand.

She was still avoiding Alain Boudreaux. She hadn’t returned his call. And she didn’t want to have to defend her position on the music festival.

“We’re just going to sit here and let ourselves get attacked.”

“There’s no crime in Indigo.”

There was another thump, then a creaking noise.

Heather’s voice went shrill. “Then what’s that?”

“Probably a reporter.” Now that the words were out, Joan realized it was a distinct possibility.

“Then call Anthony.”

Joan glanced at the clock. “I’m not calling Anthony at three in the morning.”

“Then I’m calling the police.”

“I’m sure whoever it is will go away,” said Joan. Maybe they just wanted pictures of her house. Surely they didn’t expect an interview at this hour.

“Before or after they discover your doors are unlocked.”

Joan hesitated. Heather did have a point. Reporter or not, she didn’t like the idea of somebody meandering into her house at night. Maybe Anthony could drive by and scare them off.

She took a breath. “Okay. I’ll call Anthony at the B and B.”

“Tell him to bring a gun.”

Joan dialed Anthony’s cell number. “He’s not bringing a gun.”

“A knife? Mace?”

The ringing tone sounded in Joan’s ear. “I’ll just tell him to drive by. The lights should scare off any reporters.”

“What if something goes wrong?”

Joan wished her sister would calm down. Nothing was going to go wrong. There was an overzealous reporter tromping through the hydrangeas, that was all. Heather had lived in a big city way too long.

“Verdun here,” came Anthony’s groggy voice.

“Anthony? It’s Joan.”

“Joan? What’s-”

“Heather hears a noise.”

“You hear it, too,” said Heather.

“What kind of a noise?” Anthony sounded more awake, and there was a rustling in the background.

“Thumping, creaking. I thought it was an alligator-”

“What is it?” It sounded as if he was moving around.

“A reporter, maybe?”

“There’s a person in your house?”

“Not in my house. On the porch. Maybe. I think…” She shouldn’t have called Anthony. She should have checked the porch herself. Heather was making her jumpy.

“I’ll be right there.”

“I was thinking you could just drive by-”

“I’ll be right there.”

“There’s no need to-”

The phone went dead.

“What’s he doing?” asked Heather.

“He’s on his way.”

Another thump sounded, louder this time. Even Joan flinched.

Heather moved to the middle of the bed. “I sure hope he brings a gun.”

ANTHONY ARRIVED within minutes. As his headlights flashed against the side of the house, there was a distinct sound of footsteps running down the back stairs.

Joan rushed to the window and stared across the lawn toward Bayou Teche, trying to make out a figure running through the trees. But it was too dark to see anything but shadows. It could have been a man, could have been a woman, could have been a dog for that matter.

Anthony pounded on the door, then pushed it open as Joan dashed down the stairs.

“Did he break in?” he asked, as she rounded the breakfast bar and hit a light switch above the sink.

The low light illuminated Anthony’s face as Joan shook her head.

“They ran when they saw you coming,” she told him.

“Your door was unlocked.”

“It’s always unlocked.”

He frowned. “What do you mean?”

Joan gestured toward the front door. “The lock doesn’t work. I never-”

“You’re kidding.” Anthony turned back to examine the catch. He clicked it a few times with his thumb. “Why the hell didn’t you get it fixed?”

“There was never any reason-”

“Security. Privacy. Safety. Those aren’t reasons?”

She resented the censure in his tone. “Indigo is a perfectly safe community.”

Heather appeared in the kitchen, holding a silk robe closed over her nightgown. It reminded Joan that she was standing in front of Anthony in her short, peach nightgown-and the light was streaming in from behind her. She shifted to one side.