Lightning Game (GhostWalkers 17)

Jonquille was with Rubin on that. If Nonny were having lung issues and having to use oxygen, or her blood pressure was up, anything that might have indicated her smoking that pipe at night was a major health problem, Jonquille would have advised against it. At eighty, Nonny still worked hard. Taking away her one vice wasn’t going to do much good or harm either way.

“I’ll leave you two alone for a while,” Nonny said, pushing herself up. “You do need to eat, Rubin. Would you like me to bring you dinner?”

“That would be wonderful, thank you, Nonny,” Rubin said.

Jonquille knew he wasn’t hungry, but Nonny needed to repay him in some way, and he had to allow it. Food was her way of showing her affection.

When the older woman had left the room, Jonquille found herself looking into those dark eyes again. Immediately, her heart reacted, clenching hard in her chest. “What?” There was no looking away.

“I told you I would do my best to heal you, Jonquille, even if it meant losing you. You didn’t say if you’d leave me.”

She studied his face. Those lines carved so deep. She wanted to lift her hand and smooth the lines with her fingers, but she was still too weak. She knew if she chose wrong, she would mourn her loss every single day. Men like Rubin didn’t come along often.

“I would never give you up, Rubin. Not for any price. If I have to live apart from the rest of the world and have just the two of us, it would be worth it to me. Still, I think we owe it to everyone to see if it’s possible to help them tone Whitney’s enhancements down just a little.”

She knew she’d given Rubin the right answer. Brightness came into his dark brown eyes slowly, but it kept building until there was sheer joy lighting his handsome features.

17

Rubin, this house is beautiful. Is it really yours?” Jonquille walked through the empty rooms with the vaulted ceilings. It was all cypress. All wood, the planks fit tightly into one another, just as the Fontenot home had been built. The wood had been carefully treated to make certain it would last. This was a home built with care and kept with love.

Rubin had appreciated the craftsmanship the moment he’d walked into it. There wasn’t a single space that hadn’t been designed without thought. He knew excellent work when he saw it. The house sat just back from the river with weeping trees close, but not so close that they might fall on the structure. He could see enemies coming at him. He had several escape routes for him and his family should he need them. He could get to the Fontenot property or to Trap’s fortress, both places of relative safety. The swamp surrounded his property, and he had the waterway as well.

“How many bedrooms?”

He liked that she asked that question. She wasn’t thinking about visitors. She had to be open to the possibility of children. “Three, although the attic runs the entire length of the house and can be converted to a third story. The builder had started on that project when his wife died unexpectedly.”

Jonquille spun around, right there in the middle of the dining room. It had the same high ceilings as the entire house, and one wall was dedicated to a long built-in gas fireplace. When it was turned on, small flames danced along that wall, adding to the warmth of the room but also giving the old-growth cypress throughout the room and ceiling a beautiful glow.

“That’s so sad. It reminds me of Luther. I feel so bad for him losing his wife.”

Rubin nodded. For the first time in his life he knew what it would be like to lose someone like Lotty. He was watching Jonquille closely. She’d only taken one day to rest after she’d woken, with Nonny and Rubin both attending her. She was on her feet and determined to see everything, declaring she felt absolutely fine, but he had examined her that morning and she was still bruised internally.

“Luther loves Lotty to this day. Everything he does, he does with Lotty in mind.”

“Diego was a little obsessed with finding his still. Does Luther actually have one?”

“Oh, he has one, all right. And he makes the best whiskey around, which he does sell to the highest bidders. Luther is no fool. He knows what his product is worth. He also knows there are some people who want to steal from him.”

“Do you know where that still is?”

He shook his head. Her hair drew him like a magnet. He wanted to touch all that silk. He had since she came out of the shower early in the morning, toweling the mop of blond strands dry while she chattered happily about going to see the house he’d bought. He’d suggested it early in the morning and prepared a picnic in the hopes she’d go with him. Deliberately dangling the house in front of her was low, but he wanted to show her what he had to offer.