Midnight Bayou by Nora Roberts Page A

a tall glass in front of him. “Where y’at?”
    “Ah, I think I’m right here.”
    “No.” She gave him that quick, smoky laugh. “Don’t you speak New Orleans, cher ? When I say ‘where y’at,’ I’m asking how you’re doing.”
    “Oh. Fine, thanks. Where you at?”
    “There you go. Me, I’m fine, too. Busy. Let me know if you want anything else.”
    He had to content himself with watching her. Sheworked her third of the bar, filling orders, having a quick word, slipping into the kitchen and out again without ever seeming to rush.
    He never considered going home. When a stool freed up, he climbed on, settled in.
    It was like being studied by a big, handsome cat, Lena thought. Steady and patient and just a little dangerous. He nursed his Coke, took a refill, and was still sitting when the place began to thin out.
    She swung by again. “You waiting for something, handsome?”
    “Yeah.” He kept his eyes on hers. “I’m waiting.”
    She wiped up a spill with her bar rag. “I heard you went by to see my grandmama.”
    “A couple of days ago. You look like her.”
    “They say.” Lena tucked the end of the rag in her back pocket. “You go over there so you could lay on your Yankee charm and she’d put in a good word for you with me?”
    “I was hoping that’d be a side benefit, but no. I went over because she’s a neighbor. I expected she was an old neighbor—elderly woman, living alone—and thought she’d like to know someone was around who could give her a hand with things. Then I met her and realized she doesn’t need me to give her a hand with anything.”
    “That’s nice.” Lena let out a breath. “That was nice. Fact is, she could do with a strong back now and again. Dupris, honey?” she called out with her gaze locked on Declan’s. “You close up for me, okay? I’m going on home.”
    She pulled a small purse from behind the bar, slung its long strap over her shoulder.
    “Can I walk you home, Lena?”
    “Yeah, you can do that.”
    She came out from behind the bar, smiled when he opened the door for her.
    “So, I hear you’re working hard on that house of yours.”
    “Night and day,” he agreed. “I started on the kitchen. I’ve made serious progress. Haven’t seen you near the pond in the mornings.”
    “Not lately.” The truth was she’d stayed away deliberately. She’d been curious to see if he’d come back. She strolled down the sidewalk.
    “I met Rufus. He likes me.”
    “So does my grandmama.”
    “What about you?”
    “Oh, they like me fine.”
    She turned toward the opening of a tall iron gate when he laughed. They moved into a tiny, paved courtyard with a single iron table and two chairs.
    “Lena.” He took her hand.
    “This is where I live.” She gestured back toward the steps leading to the second-floor gallery he’d admired the first night.
    “Oh. Well, so much for seducing you with my wit and charm on the long walk home. Why don’t we—”
    “No.” She tapped a finger on his chest. “You’re not coming up, not tonight. But I think we’ll get this out of the way and see what’s what.”
    She rose on her toes, swayed in. Her hand slipped around to the back of his neck as she brought his mouth down to hers.
    He felt himself sink. As if he’d been walking on solid ground that had suddenly turned to water. It was a long, steep drop that had a thousand impressions rushing by his senses.
    The silky slide of her lips and tongue, the warm brush of her skin, the drugging scent of her perfume.
    By the time he’d begun to separate them, she eased back.
    “You’re good at that,” she murmured, and laid a fingertip on his lips. “I had a feeling. ’Night, cher .”
    “Wait a minute.” He wasn’t so shell-shocked hecouldn’t function. He grabbed her hand. “That was practice,” he told her, and spun her stylishly into his arms.
    He felt the amused curve of her lips against his and, running his hands up her back, into her hair, let himself