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
“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.
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.
“Tell me everything that happened,” Anthony demanded as he returned to the front door and pushed it shut.
His faded T-shirt and thin, gray sweatpants molded to his athletic body. The shirt was wrinkled, and Joan wondered if he’d slept in it. Or maybe he’d just thrown on the outfit for the drive over. Or maybe she should stop speculating.
No. That wasn’t about to happen.
He looked different somehow. It was more than just the casual clothes; there was something unguarded, almost rugged about him. His chin was shadowed with dark stubble, and his usually perfect hair was mussed. Not to mention the way the T-shirt delineated well-developed arm and shoulder muscles. Anthony was a lot sexier under his pressed suits than she’d ever imagined.
And that was saying something.
“I heard a noise,” said Heather. “I woke Joan up. She told me it was frogs.”
Anthony raised his eyebrows. “Frogs?”
“They can get pretty loud at night,” Joan defended.
“Somebody was trying to break in,” said Heather.
“We don’t know that,” said Joan. “Heather’s a nervous sleeper. They were probably just-”
“Prowling around on your porch?” Heather moved in closer, her body forming shadows against the small kitchen light.
“It might have been a reporter,” said Joan, trying to stay logical-and concentrate on keeping her gaze above Anthony’s neck. The room was getting hotter, and her skin was growing sensitive beneath the satin of her nightgown.
“Might have been,” he agreed with a nod.
It took Joan a second to recapture the thread of the conversation.
Anthony raked his messy hair back from his forehead with spread fingers.
She controlled a little shudder of reaction.
“Okay,” he said. “We’re not going to figure out much tonight. You two go to bed. I’ll camp out on the couch.”
Joan blinked. Oh, yeah. That was a great idea. A sexy, tousled Anthony in her house overnight? She didn’t think so. “You’re not staying.”
“Of course I’m staying.”
Her chest contracted, inner thighs tingling. “Whoever it was is halfway down the bayou.”
“They might come back.”
“Yes, they might,” Heather agreed. “You have a gun?” she asked Anthony.
Anthony shook his head. “Afraid not.”
“We don’t need a gun,” said Joan. And they didn’t need a bodyguard, especially one that tempted Joan to do something really embarrassing. “We’ll block the front door with a chair or something, and I think the back lock still works.”
Anthony and Heather both stared at her in silence.
She glanced from one to the other. “What?”
“You actually think there’s a chance in hell I’d leave?” Anthony’s jaw went hard and his lips compressed.
“Of course.” But Joan’s voice faltered. He didn’t look like a guy who was leaving anytime soon.
He moved forward. “Take off and just leave you to fend for yourself?”
Okay. This was getting silly. Joan rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. “I’ve been fending for myself for ten years now.”
Something flickered in Anthony’s expression, but she couldn’t quite place it.
“Well, I’m going to bed,” said Heather. “I feel a lot better knowing Anthony is here.” With a toss of her blond hair, she turned and headed up the stairs.
“See that?” said Anthony. “Even Heather admits I should stay.”
“Heather’s sleeping in the guest room,” said Joan, trying to turn his attention to the practicalities of the situation. “And my couch is way too small for you.”
It was ridiculous for him to sleep in her cottage just because something went bump in the night.
“I’ll sleep on the floor,” he said.
