Her murmured words only added to his curiosity, especially combined with his observations of her earlier. Although she gave off the impression of wealth and that subtle society-girl vibe, maybe he was mistaken. “Are you from Dallas?”
“Born and raised.”
“What part of the city?”
“Not too far from here, actually. My mother grew up knowing Mrs. B., and I’ve known her my whole life. She knew about the business we wanted to start and offered us a great deal on the space we lease from her.”
Bingo.
Tucker prided himself on his ability to read a situation, and his impression of elegance and money was spot-on, especially if she had grown up nearby.
“What about you?” Her question pulled him from his musings, and he thought about how to answer what was—at its core—a simple question.
Even if his ability to give a casual answer would be a hard-won victory.
“A bit of a mutt. I moved around as a kid, then settled in upstate New York for high school before going to West Point. And then it was into the military.”
“You and Max were in the armed forces, right?”
He couldn’t hold back the cheeky grin at her clear knowledge of his background. “More details from Mrs. B.?”
“And Violet. That woman’s a walking social network. Not much escapes Vi’s purview.”
“Yes, we were. Part of the Army Corps of Engineers.”
As the words came out, Tucker waited for the inevitable drop in her smile—that subtle gesture that indicated she was disappointed he didn’t say they were with the Navy SEALs or Special Ops. His father still wore that look of disappointment every time his career came up.
“That’s so cool. So you went around blowing up bridges and building dams and stuff.”
He fought off the surprise at the interest sparking in her words. “A few times. Although I suspect the protectors of said bridges weren’t quite so happy with our efforts.”
She laughed at that—a deep, throaty chuckle that speared him down deep—before gesturing to the next driveway. “You’ve got a point there. The next one’s Mrs. B.’s.”
The house was a vision, and his innate appreciation of architectural lines and good old-fashioned home design approved of what he saw. They parked and he came around to help Cassidy out of his SUV.
The light scent of her—something along the lines of sweet lemons—greeted him, and his gaze caught once more on the vivid color of her hair. Shaking off the flight of fancy, he turned to stare up at the three-story home. “Does Mrs. Beauregard live here alone?”
“She does now. The girls and I have tried to convince her to get a live-in companion or consider moving but she claims she’s fine.”
“Max fights the same battle with his grandfather.”
“He used to date Mrs. B., you know.”
“How would I know that?”
A spark of mischief lit her eyes before she concealed them with a pair of sunglasses. “Consider yourself further informed on the Design District gossip chain.”
“So noted.”
Cassidy carried the fragile lace veil she’d mentioned earlier in both hands so he moved on ahead to knock on the door. The wide, thick entrance was offset by a large porch. He took in its simple comforts—an oversize porch swing, several plants and a pair of mud-caked garden shoes neatly lined up near the door.
When no sound echoed from inside, he knocked once more. “She knew you were coming, right?”
“Yes. I talked to her about it yesterday. She was so excited about getting the veil back.” Her voice remained level, and all hints of mischief in her gaze were gone, replaced by a thin sheen of concern.
“Is there a back entrance?”
“Knock once more.”
He did as she asked, then moved to look in the windows. “I don’t see anyone.”
“Would you hold this for me?”
He took the veil, the thin material weightless in his hands as she dug out a cell phone. She tapped the face and in moments he heard the ringing echo through the house. After four rings the phone went to voice mail, and Cassidy redialed once more.
When the ringing stopped a second time, Cassidy shoved the phone back in her purse and reached for the door. “This isn’t like her.”
She knocked before trying the handle, a small moue of surprise springing to her lips when the door slid open.
“Wait.” Tucker handed back the fragile lace before moving through the door. Concern had filled him on his walk through Cassidy’s shop this morning, but a decided sense of menace crept down his spine as he moved through Mrs. B.’s neat home. Foyer. Living room. Kitchen.
Cassidy saw the woman a split second before he did. She cried out before racing for the prone figure lying in front of the oven.
Cassidy fought back the wave of terror creeping up her throat as she raced toward Mrs. Beauregard. Please let her be okay. Please. Please. The words pounded through her mind with the heavy tread of Thoroughbreds as memories of another day rose up and threatened to swamp her with grief.
“Mrs. B.!” The older woman had a sturdy frame, and Cassidy knelt beside her, running her hands over her shoulders, arms, then face. “Mrs. B.!”
Cassidy probed still-warm flesh, her limbs shaking as she sought evidence of life. Abstractly, she heard Tucker on the phone calling for emergency assistance.
Nothing...nothing...and there.
Thin and faint, she paused until she could calm herself enough to finally recognize a pulse.
“She’s alive.”
Tucker knelt on the other side of Mrs. B. and leaned his head toward her face. “I can feel her breath. It’s faint and slow, but I can hear it, too.”
Her touch was gentle, but Cassidy kept pressing Mrs. B.’s arm and squeezing her hand, all the while murmuring the woman’s name to get her to wake up. Tucker vanished, but returned a few moments later with a thick throw that had lain over the sofa in the living room. “Let’s get her wrapped up.”
She sat back on her heels as he wrapped the blanket around Mrs. Beauregard, then settled a small couch pillow under the woman’s head. The soft sound of sirens echoed in the distance, growing louder by the second.
“Stay here with her, I’ll go meet them.”
She watched him leave the kitchen, her gaze trailing after his large, capable form. They’d met under the strangest circumstances—shocking ones, even—yet she was more than grateful for his presence.
For how right it felt to have him there.
A light moan pulled her from her thoughts, and she squeezed Mrs. B.’s hand as another moan—louder this time—fell from the woman’s lips. “Shh. Shh now.”
Thin, blue-veined lids fluttered open, Mrs. B.’s normally vibrant green eyes filled with pain and confusion. “What happened?” She blinked once. Twice. “Cassidy?”
“It’s me, Mrs. B. Shh, now. You’re all right.”
Mrs. B.’s eyes darted left and right and her breathing hitched as she grew more agitated. “But what happened?”
“It’s