Behind Iron Lace Read online

  “Mr Mitchell was my father, just Caleb is fine.” He pulled his file over without even asking. “I see you’ve done your homework. I look pretty good on paper.”

  In real life too. Jesus, why in the hell did he just think that? He cleared his throat again. “What is it about my magazine that interests you? Certainly not the pay. A talent like yours, you could go anywhere. Not that I’m not flattered, and we could certainly use you. I’m just curious.”

  “I’m bored. You’re here.” The artist stated simply, his smile growing wider, his gaze to the bottle Darcy tipped to his lips.

  “Pardon me, where are my manners. Can I get you a drink, some lunch? I’m sorry to have changed the meeting place but the air conditioning quit at the office and the heat was just unbearable.” Babbling again, shit.

  “Probably copper thieves, little pricks can strip a unit faster than you can sneeze.” Caleb had a wonderful accent, not really regional, more like you hear in old movies, a long slow drawl, very southern. “I’ll have one of those, thanks.”

  Darcy raised his bottle and stuck up two fingers, the bartender smiled and nodded. “Sure thing, Ducky, you want that sandwich now or later?”

  “Now would be great. Whatever you got up there, O’Doul,” Caleb shouted before Darcy had a chance.

  “Sure thing, Caleb.” The bartender grinned and sent back a shout to his kitchen staff.

  “I come here a lot when I’m in town. Only the locals know this place, it’s off the main tourist drag and I like the sandwiches. Why’d O’Doul call you Ducky?” The artist looked him over, his intelligent eyes filled with a curiosity that had Darcy at the point of blushing.

  “I graduated from the University of Oregon. Made the mistake of telling him, been stuck with the name ever since.” What was it about this man that made him want to talk?

  “Them Ducks nearly beat Auburn last year in the BCS championship, nothing to be ashamed of there. We judge people by the quality of their football program down here if you haven’t figured it out yet.” Caleb’s laughter rumbled across the table, making Darcy smile.

  “Yeah, well, I did notice, about a week after I moved here.” He picked at the label on his empty bottle under the unwavering green gaze.

  “What part of Oregon are you from?” Caleb pushed his hair back from his face with a practiced move, the chains gliding from his wrist to his forearm. His hair was all one length. Pushed back, it fell to his collar, brown with blond highlights he didn’t get from a bottle.

  Darcy cleared his throat before he spoke, “Astoria, on the Oregon coast.”

  “Yeah? That’s a gorgeous town. I went whale watching up there a couple of years ago and stayed in Astoria.”

  “Where are you from originally, if you don’t mind me asking? You don’t exactly have the native accent.” Curiosity finally got the better of him.

  “Oh, cher, you have no idea how long it took to get rid of my accent.” His voice changed, growing more melodic, his accent thicker even than O’Doul’s. “But no, I’m not born down here, you are right about that. My mama, she came from here. I spent most of my life on the bayou, seems like, here and in South Carolina. I speak low country tidal and Cajun as a first language. You have no idea how messed up that is.” He shifted back to his original accent with practiced ease as O’Doul brought out their sandwich baskets.

  “Don’t mess with the boy’s head, cher, he’s new around here.” O’Doul smiled at the two of them, winked at Darcy before he left them alone.

  “Hey, O’Doul, you think I ought to go work at this here boy’s magazine?” Caleb said suddenly, seeming to catch himself off guard if the look in his eyes was any indication, the Cajun accent infusing his speech almost as if it were unintentional.

  “It’s a pretty good rag, cher. You want to kill it before it can do any good?” The bartender laughed, his eyes sparkling with good humor.

  “I don’t aim to class it up none, no. Thought it would class me up a tad,” Caleb shot back in the same accent. Darcy just sat and watched them banter.

  “Not gonna happen. You need the dough?”

  “No, cher, I got too much of that.”

  “Then, if Ducky there is willing to take your bullshit on, go for it. Can’t hurt none, and might keep you out of trouble.”

  “You willing to take my bullshit on, Ducky? And believe me, I come with some heavy shit. You might regret it before it’s said and done.” The artist turned serious, his eyes losing some of the sparkle.

  Darcy took a bite of the sandwich, hot beef juices searing the back of his throat while he wondered how he’d gone from being the interviewer to the interviewee. He swallowed, watching the artist watch him.

  “I believe we can come to some arrangement.”

  Darcy Butler sure as fuck wasn’t what Caleb expected. Beyond the obvious, button-down oxford, khaki slacks, penny loafer and rimless glasses wearing, prep school do-gooder, who never extended his style past the basic uniform. Behind those glasses was a pair of brilliant blue eyes that caught Caleb’s attention before he even knew the man was the person he was there to meet.

  Dark hair and blue eyes always did it for him. Man, woman, it didn’t matter; he was a sucker for the combo. A blatant curiosity filled those eyes, Caleb noticed it the moment he stepped inside, and he’d tried to pretend not to see him staring. He tried not to let the caress of those eyes get to him. But they did, tricking him into letting the flirt loose. So there he sat, laying on the charm just to see Darcy’s boy-next-door face blush a rosy red.

  Caleb watched as he bit into the oversized roast beef sandwich, licking at the trickle of beef juice that eased down his chin. Caleb had to turn his head before the urge to help him lick it clean became a compulsion he couldn’t control. Damn, shit, fuck.

  “I believe we can come to more than an arrangement.” Damn, he hoped that didn’t sound like a come on. This was supposed to be a job interview. He’d discovered the offices a few weeks ago just down the street, stopped in and asked what sort of magazine they were. The receptionist handed him a brochure with their basic information.

  Started in Oregon by a bunch of fed up, unemployed, college graduates, they sought to tell the truth, as they saw it at least. But it wasn’t a political magazine, which was what he’d expected when he logged on. Or a celebrity tattler either. They did product reviews, covered some social stuff, vacation destinations, aimed at Gen Y. Y not ask Y! Stupid name, but catchy. Lately they’d been instrumental in helping the generation get back on its feet after the recession hit them hard.

  Y not ask Y! had grown out of the movement. Information for the next decade, information that is practical and timely. He liked what he saw. Mostly.

  “I like your magazine, Darcy. I’ve been on the edge of self-employed for the last fifteen years. I can get behind a company that not only promotes self-starters, but is also run by self-starters. But frankly, your art department is lacking, sorry to be the one to tell you.”

  “Don’t be sorry, it’s true. We had a genius art director before we left Oregon. She didn’t want to come with us, and, unfortunately, doing business via the internet and fax machine became tiresome. Since then, we’ve muddled through. I’m not much of an artist, I’m the editor. Bailey, my partner, runs the IT department, and handles advertising and sales. Somehow, we muck something together every week. It could look cleaner, I admit.” Darcy gave up trying to manhandle the messy sandwich, going for a fork instead to shovel it into his mouth.

  “Your photographers aren’t so great either. Hate to say it.” Caleb liked watching him eat. His bottom lip was full, his top not as much, and he had straight white teeth. His hands were long, slender, his arms smooth as a baby’s bottom. So smooth, he wanted to slide his fingers under Darcy’s sleeve and just caress—Christ. Now was not the time.

  “Sure, they’re just kids with cheap digital cameras, after all. Listen, Caleb, really, I know what you can do for me; your art, photography, and otherwise has been shown in galleries around the wo
rld. You won a Pulitzer for crying out loud. I have to ask for real, what is it I can do for you?” He wiped his mouth with a paper napkin, his eyes sparkling with curiosity, his lips tilted into a smile. Oh, lord, why didn’t the man know what that one statement did to him?

  “Like I said before, I’m bored. I can’t travel for a while, I need something to keep my mind occupied or I will get into trouble, and you’re local. What else is there? I don’t need the money, but it would be nice to make some to appease the IRS if nothing else. I have something you need, you have something I need, win, win.”

  “All right, I guess the gig is yours. Bailey and I will get you set up tomorrow. Shit, I forgot, we’re not opening tomorrow because of the air conditioning situation, damn. Thursday, the new galleys need to be edited for Friday morning publication. I’d hoped you could look this week’s over, tweak it some before we put it to bed but the building is like an oven, the fans are just pushing around hot air.”

  “Not a problem, why don’t you come out to the house tomorrow, bring what you have. I have everything I need in my studio.” Caleb reached for his wallet, pulled out his business card, and wrote his home address on the back. “Just plug the address in your GPS. It’s about an hour outside the city. And between you and me, you might want to dress for the heat.”

  Darcy blushed and cleared his throat again. Didn’t he have a clue how attractive he was? Caleb resisted the urge to reach across the table and wipe the tiny dot of mayonnaise off his chin. “Bring your partner, Bailey was it? Bring Bailey and anyone else you like, we’ll have lunch, get to know each other.”

  It had been such a long time since he felt the need to flirt. Hell, the urge to flip the man on his back and taste those luscious lips was nearly overpowering. Christ, the man already had a partner. Easy Boudreaux, rein it in, he told himself. But damn, it didn’t work. Hot, bothered, and horny as hell, Caleb sat there picking at the roast beef sandwich and drinking beer, as if he had nothing better to do.

  “I’ll call Bailey; see if she has plans for tomorrow already, and Chester. You’ll meet Chester, he’s Bailey’s Boy Friday.” Bailey was a she, well that put a different spin on things entirely. Caleb perked up at the news. There was a hint of distaste when he spoke of Chester.

  “I take it you don’t have a Boy Friday then?” Caleb weighed his words carefully, not that it was any of his business really, if Darcy had a boy or girl Friday. It had been so long since he worked in an office, maybe he shouldn’t initiate an office romance, especially with the boss. When had he ever done anything he was supposed to do anyway?

  “Ah, no, I prefer to run my own errands and answer my own phone. Of course, Bailey does more of the actual leg work than I do so it’s a perk she enjoys. Chester made himself indispensable. He excels at making schedules and keeping things on track.”

  “But you don’t like him.” There was a hint of something elusive in his voice, a jealous glint in his eyes.

  “I didn’t say that, I don’t think about him much. He’s there, he’s gone, not something I worry about.” He pushed his food away, drained the last of his beer, looking everywhere but directly at Caleb. “Okay, so I have your address and phone, I’ll call you tonight, let you know when to expect us and how many. I think this is going to work out great, Caleb. Nice to have you on my team.” Darcy shook his hand, his face startled from the spark of electricity that passed between them. That he stumbled on the last few words made Caleb smile.

  Distracted, Caleb watched him walk away before calling out to him. “I’ll be ready, and hey, Darcy, it was nice meeting you.”Damn the man had a fine ass.

  After he left, Caleb sat for a while, wondering exactly why he’d wanted to take on this new job. Really and truly he had no idea. He was drawn to the idea the day he’d passed the office. There was no specific reason he could see, just something to do while he waited for death to show its head. It would be something to keep him from going crazy with the waiting.

  “You know, Caleb, I’ve known you most of your life,” O’Doul slid into the booth in front of him, his jaw stern.

  “So you know when to butt out of my business, old man. You might be my uncle, but that doesn’t mean a damn thing to me.” The pleasant feeling of the new attraction drained from him just that fast.

  “That boy is trouble, best left alone. Your mama doesn’t need that kind of drama right now.”

  “My mama is lying in her own crap up at the house. When did you stop in to see her last? You’re her damned brother and you won’t even come see her. When she’s gone, the two of us will be all that’s left of your family, but that don’t mean I want you in my business. Besides, he’s straight. He ain’t gonna look twice at a coonass like me even if he weren’t.”

  “You ain’t no damned coonass. Punk ass, yeah, but you were born up there in hoity-toity land, something my daddy made sure of. Still wild as hell, though. How old are you now, thirty-five or six? You need to stop chasing every piece of ass that comes your way.”

  Caleb leaned back in the booth, propped one booted foot in the seat beside his uncle. “When you do, Uncle Jeb, when you do. That Duck ain’t got a thing to worry about from me. The question is, why are you looking to protect him? You got a notion to taste sweet young man meat after all these years?”

  “Believe it or not, I don’t give a jar of fig preserves about that boy. I’m worried about you. You haven’t been right since you came back home. Watching the cancer eat your mama alive is not helping any. Sex is your poison, always has been. Drowning in it won’t help kill what’s eating you, son.”

  “I’m not your son. I’m barely your nephew. Your family turned its back on me, in case you’ve forgotten. Because I sure as fuck haven’t. Come see your damned sister while she still knows who you are. And stay the hell out of my business.” He leaned over the table, trying to keep his hands still, but the thought of reaching out and throttling his uncle frolicked across his mind.

  His uncle just sat there watching him, his eyes gone sad as he shook his head.

  “Fine, I’ll tell her you dropped into the Mississippi and drowned, at least it will be kinder than knowing you’re too damned afraid to see what death is doing to her.”

  He left his uncle sitting at the table, trading the cool dark interior of the pub for the blazing heat of midday, yet somehow he was still cold inside. He was halfway home before he let himself think about Darcy Butler and his pretty eyes and fine ass. The man was a temptation he sure as hell did not want. And fool that he was, he’d invited him out to his place, for what was sure to be the worst mistake of his life.

  Chapter Two

  The drive out of the city was breathtaking, the antebellum mansions, largely untouched by the flooding of a few years back, stood like great ghosts of the past. Darcy couldn’t help feeling like a tourist, no, an alien from a different planet altogether, as he drove slowly past.

  The air outside his car seemed to breathe of its own accord. Something he’d forgotten living in the city; the feel of clean air on his face was irresistible. He opened the sunroof and the windows and just drove, enjoying the feeling of freedom while it lasted. The GPS on his dash interrupted his reverie with a harsh electronic “your destination is ahead, turn right…” and he slowed to a crawl on the asphalt road, bleached white from the sun. A line of oaks, majestic, low and sweeping, stood alongside a weathered wrought iron fence, which ran as far back as he could see in the rear view mirror. A couple of brick columns stood sentry over a winding asphalt drive, the fence following it through the trees.

  Darcy checked the address again. There was no mistake; he was at the right place. The driveway was longer than he expected, horses peeked out through the fence on one side, as if they were waiting for him. He could hear their whickering cries of alarm, or welcome, he wasn’t sure which. Without warning, the tree-lined drive gave way to a clearing of perfectly manicured green lawn. Sitting perfectly in the middle of all that green was a birthday cake of a house.

  It was a ma
nsion really, and an old one at that, with two stories, possibly three. The house was perfectly square, with tall columns wrapping all around it, and wrought iron laced verandas intersecting the columns on both levels. Tall windows, encased with deep black shutters, were everywhere. The front door, massive in size, opened just as he pulled in front of the house. He half expected a liveried butler or a phantom in gray uniform to appear. Instead, a longhaired man in shorts and a fitted t-shirt stepped out, followed by a dark brown and white Springer Spaniel.

  “I see you found the place.” Caleb stooped to fondle the dog’s head. His smile grew wide when Darcy stepped out of the car alone.

  Darcy couldn’t help smiling back. He ignored the strange fluttery sensation in his stomach, which nearly overwhelmed him. “This is gorgeous. Like something out of a movie.”

  “There’s been a couple filmed here over the years. Before we bought it; my dad would never allow Hollywood trash inside his house.” He slipped into a different accent from the two Darcy had heard. Long, low, flowing words, lazy and clipped at the same time. “Where’s your entourage?”

  “They deserted me for the beach. Of course, if they’d known what they would miss out on, maybe they would have reconsidered.” He went around to the trunk of the little car and hauled out a large leather portfolio.

  “Sit, Buster, stay.” Caleb held a finger in front of the dog’s face before coming to meet Darcy on the walkway. He was barefoot, and taller than Darcy by a fraction of an inch, Darcy noticed the second he got close enough. “Buster’s our watch dog. He’s about a hundred and fifty years old and mostly toothless, but he’s still a great dog. Just hold your hand under his nose, he can’t see that far away anymore,” he told Darcy when they reached the porch. “Buster, this is Darcy. He’s from out west, where the dogs run free and bones are as big as tree trunks.”

  Buster seemed to take Caleb’s words to heart. He sniffed, and then licked Darcy’s hand. His gentle eyes were cloudy as he looked up at Darcy. “Hey there, Buster, you have a beautiful home.” Buster let out a rumbling yip, before he turned tail and ambled inside.