“My hearing is excellent. I can tell where you are by sound.” Her trigger finger moved. A distinct click, then a loud gunshot followed. She was good. Were he not ephemeral, she might’ve hurt him. As if frightened by the noise, the clouds fled. Luc remained. His body might be as intangible as the clouds, but he was made of sterner stuff. His lips twitched at the half truth.
The bullet had passed straight through him. It tickled some, so a moonbeam caught him scratching the irritated spot and inspecting his shirt for damage. He grinned, then lifted his gaze to the woman.
The rifle barrel wobbled the tiniest bit. Moonlight showed her pale. Perspiration dotted her brow.
“Who in blazes are you? Why aren’t you injured? You’re exactly where I aimed.”
Shrugging, he lifted his hands. “Captain Lucien Flynn, at your service. Perhaps you were mistaken in your aim. You did come close, however. You put a hole in my shirt.” He lifted the thin lawn to show the blackened edges of an oval shaped tear in the fabric.
The weapon steadied. “That kind of mistake could cost me my life. I don’t make mistakes where my survival is concerned. You have until I count three to get off my property.Kounya, ou gen jiska mwen konte twa pou sòti anba mwen,” she said. A woman who defended herself despite the fear he’d noted, understood Louisiana Creole, and could speak it fluently was an uncommon woman. “As you wish, chère.” Luc adjusted his stance, placing the heel of one foot against the arch of the other. Arms loose at his side, he bent at the hips. The bow was quite low. He let his head drop a fraction before standing upright. Then casting her one more glance, he pivoted on his heel, vanishing into the shadows. “And don’t come back.Et pa vinn tounen.”
He laughed into the dark.
She certainly had spirit.What will she do when I return?
Warning or no, Luc wasn’t about to ignore the most interesting person to cross his path in more than nine decades.
Chapter Three
November 23, 1911, Waxing Crescent Moon,
Sweet Dreams plantation house, Mal Chance Bayou Louisiana
Grace shivered at the disembodied laughter echoing through the bayou. She sucked in air, trying to calm her galloping pulse. Squinting into the dark, the need to see the intruder froze her in place.
However, the clouds returned and made identifying shapes impossible. He had vanished as completely as the now-hidden moon.Good riddance to bad rubbish. I doubt he’s captain of anything. How is it possible I did not wound him?
Her breath evened, and her pulse slowed. Her aim had been true, like always. Even before the brief break in the clouds had revealed him to be exactly where her ears had told her. Her shot had not faltered. How had he not bled like the proverbial pig? How had he not uttered a sound of pain?
Instead, he’d grinned and suggested her aim had been off.
If Grace hadn’t been so angry at having her privacy invaded, she might’ve been frightened. As if she weren’t already scared enough about her uncertain future in a world that held no safe haven for her.
When he’d appeared, the briefest niggle of familiarity had stirred before anger surged at his breaking the small amount of peace she’d built over the day. Surprise knotted her shoulders. Was she still so fragile that a single stranger’sBonswa, chèrecould upset her?
Anger, frustration fear—all churned in her stomach.I’m making too much of someone who does not deserve another thought.
If only she could act on that. In the past year, Grace had had plenty of practice dismissing people who’d treated her with soul searing disdain, simply because she didn’t have the heart to deal with them. It should’ve been second nature. He caught me unaware is all.
She lowered the rifle. The night sounds had resumed, and something told her she wouldn’t see the captain again tonight. Grace went back to the house and the second story room she’d begun to make hers. During her search of the house today, she’d found a few usable pieces of furniture and had hauled them to her room. Itwouldn’t take much to make the table, chair and bed frame functional. She’d add a mattress to the items to have delivered from the village.
As she busied herself with her nightly routine, she considered her visitor. She had no doubt he’d return. He’d been too cocky, too confident. He’d not take seriously her warning to stay away. Well, Grace would prepare for that, along with the appearance of any other unwanted visitors; but a good night’s sleep first. No stranger would be allowed to destroy the peace she wanted to build here.
She wished the encounter hadn’t upset her. Not simply because of the intrusion into her privacy, but also because of the reminder that she was alone.No, not alone…lonely. She’d sought solitude atSweet Dreams. Still, while she might claim not to need anyone, she couldn’t deny the very human longing for companionship.
The longing brought Aunt Sarah to mind. Grace had very little left to remind her of her aunt. She kept those few items close, especially the antique silver keepsake music box. “I wish I could talk to you about the man I saw tonight.”
So what if I talk to my dead Aunt?
Aunt Sarah was the only person who’d ever loved her.I need her. So, in private, she talked to her aunt.
Grace craved sleep, but it wasn’t going to happen. She wound the music box and opened the log book to where she’d last stopped. The events were just as boring as before. She read for about fifteen minutes before her eyelids started to droop. Setting the book aside, she wound the box again and, to the strains of Early One Morning, drifted into dreams.
Grainne hummed a tune about a fair young maid and her faithless lover, as she scrubbed her father’s shirt against the washboard. “I’ll never do that to you.” The words came from behind her.
“Luc.” Shirt, soap and brush dropped into the washtub. She turned and smiled at the love of her life. Friends since childhood, affection had evolved into love.
“Yes, me.” He grinned.
