she said in low tones. “Nobody's blaming you.”
He was silent for long seconds. She thought he turned his head to stare at her, but refused to look at him to be sure.
He said, finally, into the long pause. “It's really so important to you to be a Mardi Gras queen?”
Confusion tied her tongue for an instant, or possibly it was guilt for earlier thoughts. “I—you don't have to feel—you don't owe me anything.”
“I know that.” His words cut across hers with sharp rebuke. “This has nothing to do with what I might or might not owe you, all right?”
“Fine.” The single word was tight. She didn't believe him, but it would do no good to say so.
“Fine. If we've got all that straight.” He paused, rolling his shoulders as if his neck muscles were stiff before he began again. “Look, I'm not too excited about being king. I don't like dressing up, don't like hordes of people in one place, and despise making a spectacle of myself. These things aside, there's no real reason why I can't do it. What I'm trying to say, and making a mess of it, is if you're sure Tony wants me to take his place, I'm agreeable.”
She drew a swift breath as she swung her head to look at him. His gaze from across the room was dark blue and firm. “Are you sure?” she asked in tentative tones. “I mean, I wouldn't want you to do anything you'd hate.”
“Hell, no, I'm not sure,” he said on a short laugh. “But it's only for one night. It can't kill me.”
“Two,” she corrected him. “There’s the rehearsal tomorrow night at the civic center—or actually tonight now, I think—and the ball the next.”
“I know the routine, don't worry.”
Caroline watched him while an odd mixture of relief and dread rose inside her. “Uncle Tony will be relieved.”
“If he doesn’t laugh himself into another heart attack. And I expect Murielle will have her own giggle or two.”
“What?” She watched him while a frown drew her brows together.
“Never mind. You can call her as soon as we get back. I'll talk to Tony, try to reach him before he goes to surgery; I need to have a word with him anyway.” As she tilted her head in inquiry, he added, “To show a little concern?”
“Oh, right.” It was natural, of course, but she still wondered if there was something more Ross wanted to discuss with Tony, something to do with her.
“Rest, then. I'll try to get us away from here as soon as possible.” He swung abruptly to pad up the stairs to the cabin above. The outside door opened then closed behind him.
Caroline sat staring at nothing while listening to Ross move about on deck, braving the rain for a fast check of their anchor and the mattress wedged in the windscreen. She had what she wanted, the thing she’d come to see Ross McDougall about, didn't she? She was going to be the Mardi Gras queen.
Why, then, did she feel so deserted. Why did she feel as if she had been paid off? Why did she feel like crying?
She tried to sleep, but it was next to impossible with the wind swinging the boat on its anchor and the rain splattering around them. If Ross relaxed at all, she was not aware of it. She heard him as he monitored the weather radio at a barely audible sound level. She knew all three times when he went out on deck to check their mooring and to scan the weather. From the sound of it the last time he opened and shut the door, the rain was finally slowing, moving away from them. Not long afterward, she smelled coffee brewing, and then came the rumble of the engines as they started.
They reached the bayou leading to Ross's house just after daybreak. By that time, Caroline's T-shirt dress and underwear, draped over a chair after she bathed, were more dry than not. She donned them and stood ready to help bring the boat in to the dock.
The atmosphere between her and Ross had grown more awkward with every league of water that passed under the boat. There seemed no reason to prolong the good-byes.
Caroline had marshaled
He was silent for long seconds. She thought he turned his head to stare at her, but refused to look at him to be sure.
He said, finally, into the long pause. “It's really so important to you to be a Mardi Gras queen?”
Confusion tied her tongue for an instant, or possibly it was guilt for earlier thoughts. “I—you don't have to feel—you don't owe me anything.”
“I know that.” His words cut across hers with sharp rebuke. “This has nothing to do with what I might or might not owe you, all right?”
“Fine.” The single word was tight. She didn't believe him, but it would do no good to say so.
“Fine. If we've got all that straight.” He paused, rolling his shoulders as if his neck muscles were stiff before he began again. “Look, I'm not too excited about being king. I don't like dressing up, don't like hordes of people in one place, and despise making a spectacle of myself. These things aside, there's no real reason why I can't do it. What I'm trying to say, and making a mess of it, is if you're sure Tony wants me to take his place, I'm agreeable.”
She drew a swift breath as she swung her head to look at him. His gaze from across the room was dark blue and firm. “Are you sure?” she asked in tentative tones. “I mean, I wouldn't want you to do anything you'd hate.”
“Hell, no, I'm not sure,” he said on a short laugh. “But it's only for one night. It can't kill me.”
“Two,” she corrected him. “There’s the rehearsal tomorrow night at the civic center—or actually tonight now, I think—and the ball the next.”
“I know the routine, don't worry.”
Caroline watched him while an odd mixture of relief and dread rose inside her. “Uncle Tony will be relieved.”
“If he doesn’t laugh himself into another heart attack. And I expect Murielle will have her own giggle or two.”
“What?” She watched him while a frown drew her brows together.
“Never mind. You can call her as soon as we get back. I'll talk to Tony, try to reach him before he goes to surgery; I need to have a word with him anyway.” As she tilted her head in inquiry, he added, “To show a little concern?”
“Oh, right.” It was natural, of course, but she still wondered if there was something more Ross wanted to discuss with Tony, something to do with her.
“Rest, then. I'll try to get us away from here as soon as possible.” He swung abruptly to pad up the stairs to the cabin above. The outside door opened then closed behind him.
Caroline sat staring at nothing while listening to Ross move about on deck, braving the rain for a fast check of their anchor and the mattress wedged in the windscreen. She had what she wanted, the thing she’d come to see Ross McDougall about, didn't she? She was going to be the Mardi Gras queen.
Why, then, did she feel so deserted. Why did she feel as if she had been paid off? Why did she feel like crying?
She tried to sleep, but it was next to impossible with the wind swinging the boat on its anchor and the rain splattering around them. If Ross relaxed at all, she was not aware of it. She heard him as he monitored the weather radio at a barely audible sound level. She knew all three times when he went out on deck to check their mooring and to scan the weather. From the sound of it the last time he opened and shut the door, the rain was finally slowing, moving away from them. Not long afterward, she smelled coffee brewing, and then came the rumble of the engines as they started.
They reached the bayou leading to Ross's house just after daybreak. By that time, Caroline's T-shirt dress and underwear, draped over a chair after she bathed, were more dry than not. She donned them and stood ready to help bring the boat in to the dock.
The atmosphere between her and Ross had grown more awkward with every league of water that passed under the boat. There seemed no reason to prolong the good-byes.
Caroline had marshaled
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