Beguiling Delilah: Romancing the Guardians, Book Six Page 6

  “What’s wrong? You said I lost them. Do you not believe so now?”

  He rubbed a knuckle across his lips and frowned at her. “Like I said before, your car stands out too much. We need something less . . .”

  “Conspicuous,” she supplied. She wanted to protest, but common sense prevailed. “You think the Hounds may send someone to watch the road and they will easily recognize this car.”

  “Yes.” He reached out to gently squeeze her arm. “I’m sorry. As you said, it is a beauty, but we must stop somewhere and trade it for a car they won’t notice.”

  Tears built behind her eyes. Telling herself not to be foolish, it was just a car, she stared at the road ahead. Suddenly, she recognized their location and thought of a solution that would not mean giving up her precious auto for good. “I . . . I have a cousin who lives not too far from here. He might be willing to switch cars with me for a while.”

  “Good idea,” Leon said, nodding encouragement. “Let us go ask him.”

  “His place is a bit out of the way. It will delay us.”

  “Better a delay than to be caught by the Hounds.”

  Spirits lighter, Delilah veered off the main road at the next exit. She was very familiar with the way to Jacque’s farm, having been there many times. He was her mother’s first cousin and their families had visited back and forth when she was young. Later, after her father died, Jacque had been a pillar of strength for Maman and her, even helping to sell their winery. More like a favorite uncle than a cousin to her, he had also provided a shoulder to cry on at times during her adult life. She hoped he would help her once more.

  Following a series of winding country roads, she slowed as they approached Jacque’s property. “This is it. I hope he is at home. He’s quite elderly but still likes to get out and visit friends.” She turned in at the open gate and continued along the bumpy gravel path to his house.

  “This reminds me of my home place, except for the trees.” Leon pointed to a row of evergreens towering over the path on the north side, forming a windbreak against the wind. “There are none so tall where I live.”

  “Jacque and his wife, Bernadette, planted them when I was a little girl. The trees were no bigger than me back then,” Delilah mused, recalling that happy, carefree time.

  She pulled in next to Jacque’s olive-green sedan. Perhaps ten years old, it had seen better days. “Is that inconspicuous enough?” she asked, jabbing her finger at the drab vehicle. “If not, I believe Jacque has a beat-up truck you might like.”

  Leon chuckled at her sassy wit. “The car will do fine.”

  As he unfolded his frame from the low-slung sports car, he surveyed the farm house. Quaint was a word he had never used, but it fit this place. Built of stones in assorted sizes and shapes that were carefully pieced together, the first story looked like a large square had been cut in the middle of the wooden shake roof. From there sprang a smaller second story with steep gables and narrow dormers on each side. The roof on the bottom story stuck out across the front, covering the entrance.

  Walking ahead of him, Delilah knocked on the brown plank door. After a minute or two, Leon heard uneven footsteps approach within, accompanied by what sounded like a cane thumping on the floor. The door creaked open, revealing a thin, white-haired, slightly stooped man. His pale blue eyes widened and a grin split his wrinkled face.

  “Delilah, ma chère!” he exclaimed in a deep voice, extending one arm to her while leaning on his cane with the other.

  She flew into his embrace, speaking joyfully in French. Leon stood outside, hands in his pockets, listening to them babble away in their native tongue. He did not want to interrupt them. Neither would he walk in uninvited.

  At last, Delilah remembered him. Pivoting, she smiled broadly, cheeks pink with excitement. “Leon, don’t stand out there. You must meet my dear Cousin Jacque. Come inside.” She gestured for him to enter.

  When he looked at Jacque, the man studied him closely for a moment. Then he smiled. “Oui, come, come,” he said, moving stiffly aside, leaning heavily on his sturdy black cane.

  Leon stepped inside, shutting the door behind him. In a combination of English and French, Delilah introduced him to her relative, whose full name was Jacque Giraud. Offering his hand, Leon was surprised by the older man’s strong grip.

  “Bienvenue chez moi,” he said.

  “Jacque says, ‘Welcome to my home,’” Delilah translated.

  “Thank you,” Leon replied with a smile.

  Nodding, Jacque spoke a few words in French and indicated for them to follow him down a hallway toward the back of the house.

  “He is offering us tea,” Delilah murmured. Winding her arm around Leon’s, she led him after Jacque into a large kitchen with a bay window overlooking a vegetable garden out back. Bare of plant life in the winter cold, it made Leon think of his peach orchard back home. The trees were barren now, but spring would soon bring new growth.

  A table and chairs, showing the scars of many years, stood in front of the window. An old-fashioned iron stove occupied the opposite end of the kitchen, with an ancient refrigerator, cupboards and sink lining the side walls. “Take a chair,” Delilah said. “I will help him prepare the tea.”

  She scurried around the kitchen gathering cups, saucers, spoons and other paraphernalia while Jacque filled a tea kettle with water and set it to heat on the stove. Within minutes, the three of them sat around the table sipping tea and munching on stale ginger cookies that Delilah had found in a cupboard. Leon dipped one in his hot tea to soften it up.

  “Vous êtes Americain Indien?” Jacque asked, pointing at his braids.

  Looking faintly embarrassed, Delilah said, “He asks if you –”

  “I know what he asked,” Leon interrupted. Nodding to her cousin, he said, “Yes, I am Navajo.”

  Jacque’s bushy gray eyebrows hiked upward. Raising his hands palms up to show he didn’t understand, he turned to Delilah for an explanation. She replied with a spurt of French, to which the old man nodded. They chattered on, leaving Leon in the dark. Growing impatient, he coughed to draw Delilah’s attention.

  “Did you ask him about trading cars?”

  “Uh, not yet, but I will. If I can think of how to say it.” She gnawed her bottom lip, sorrel eyes asking for advice. “I cannot reveal anything about the Guardians.”

  “No,” Leon said, thinking, “but you can say someone has made threats against you. Perhaps over money. You fear this person knows your car, and so on.” He glanced at Jacque, who watched them like a hawk, plainly wondering what they discussed.

  Delilah smiled tightly at her cousin. “Very well, I’ll try that. I have no better ideas.” Knotting her hands together on the table, she spoke hesitantly to Jacque, bringing red, angry color to his face in the process. The moment she finished, he barked a furious reply and pounded the table, causing her to grab his hand and shake her head forcefully.

  Leon listened to her plead with the old codger, wishing he understood her words. Whatever she said, it seemed to calm Jacque down. He nodded, if rather reluctantly, raised her hand to lips and kissed it. She affectionately patted his weathered cheek before turning to Leon.

  “Jacque wanted to call the authorities and demand they put a stop to the threats my vile enemy has made. I talked him out of it, saying I already reported the, um, incidents to the Prefecture of Police in Paris” She glanced away. “I hate lying to him.”

  “I’m sorry you needed to.” Seeing her lips tremble, Leon yearned to hold her and comfort her. She would probably push him away if he tried it. Smothering the urge, he asked, “Did he agree to let you have his car?”

  “Yes, although he insists we spend the night here.” She met Leon’s sudden, annoyed frown. “Please. It will cause only a one-day delay, and it seems the least we can do.” She bent her head. “I think he grows lonely here by himself,” she added softly.

  How could he argue? Sighing, he nodded and smiled in acceptance at their host. Much later, as h
e awaited sleep in one of the upstairs bedrooms, he had reason to be grateful to the old Frenchman. The bed he lay on was a little soft for him but it beat spending another night on a hard floor. Only one thing could have made it better: to feel Delilah lying beside him, but she slept in the room across the hall.

  He scowled into the darkness. What was he thinking? He had vowed to bring the woman to America, to join the other Guardians in the Navajo Nation. It was his job to keep her safe, nothing more. Remember that, he ordered himself.

  CHAPTER SIX

  The next morning, following an early breakfast, Delilah hugged Jacque, thanking him again in a choked voice, and bid him and her beautiful red RCZ au revoir. He shook hands with Leon, sternly ordering him to take good care of her. She did not translate word for word, saying only that he wished them a safe journey. Then they climbed into Jacque’s boxy green sedan, waved goodbye and were on their way.

  As she negotiated the winding back country roads, Delilah soon came to detest the clumsy way the car handled. Once they returned to the main autoroute south and merged into the flow of fast-moving traffic, she stayed in the slowest lane, pushing the sluggish machine as fast as it would go. Even so, they risked being hit from behind. Horns blaring, impatient drivers jumped into the next lane, often careless of oncoming vehicles in that stream of traffic. They invariably shot a rude gesture at Delilah as they zoomed past.

  Leon muttered angrily in Navajo while she mentally cursed the fools, fearing one of them might cause a terrible accident. Although she hated to admit it, some of her countrymen were the craziest drivers in Europe. The government had instituted strict speed laws, but they were frequently ignored.

  One passing car gave Delilah a creepy feeling when the passenger, a woman with long blonde hair, stared at her and smiled. Then she turned away, speaking to the driver, it appeared, as their auto speeded ahead.

  “Did you see that?” Delilah asked.

  “What?” Leon replied, casting her a curious glance.

  She made a face. “Oh nothing, just a woman smiling at me oddly for a moment.”

  “What kind of car is she driving?” he questioned, glancing sharply around.

  “She’s not driving, she’s the passenger. The car was black, a what you call SUV. I didn’t notice the make.”

  “I don’t see anything like that. We just passed an exit a little way back. Did you see them exit?”

  “N-no, I didn’t, but I was watching the traffic.” Her heart pounded in sudden fear. “You think they are Hellhounds?”

  “Can’t say, but if they are, they probably exited and will try to trail us. We need to keep an eye out for them.”

  Coupled with the pressure of traffic and the slow vehicle she drove, the possibility of being followed by the Hounds frazzled Delilah’s nerves. As the autoroute wound through the Rhone Valley, circling around hills and mountains, climbing over others, she struggled to concentrate on the road ahead while Leon twisted in his seat to watch behind them for a black SUV. Her gaze flew to the rearview mirror with alarming frequency. Finally, fearing she’d cause a wreck, she had to stop.

  “I’m sorry, but I must take a break.”

  Leon nodded. “You should. We have been on the highway almost two hours. I could stand to eat. How about you?”

  “Oui, so could I,” she agreed, although it was not yet the noon hour. She darted him a grateful smile. The next exit materialized a few miles farther on. Taking it, she expelled a sigh of relief.

  She turned west on the blessedly quiet crossroad. Leon continued to scan behind them for a few minutes, but seeing no car, he declared them safe, for now. They soon came to a small village with a venerable bistro in the middle of town. It looked okay, and Delilah was in no mood to be fussy.

  Upon entering the place, she noticed a group of old men seated around a table in one corner, smoking and playing cards. They lifted their heads like curious hounds picking up a new scent and gave Leon and her appraising stares. She smiled at them, receiving nods and friendly salutes in return.

  The owner, a plump matron with rosy cheeks, hurried forward, calling out a jolly greeting. She seated them at a table near the front window facing the town square. Reciting the day’s specials, she recommended the duckling à la provençale. They took her suggestion and found she was right. Her husband, the cook, produced a delicious dish.

  Tucking into their meal, neither said much until Leon swallowed a gulp of coffee and paused. “I would offer to drive when we leave here, but if I happened to get stopped, we would be in trouble because I don’t have a license.”

  Surprised to hear this, she asked, “You don’t drive?”

  “I didn’t say that. I sometimes drive from my hogan – my home – into the nearby town to pick up groceries and such. I don’t need a license for that.”

  She stared at him in amazement. “So, you never traveled beyond your immediate area until now?”

  He shook his head. “I drove around the country a lot in the past, but I grew tired of it. For the last few years I have been happy to stay put.” He smiled and winked playfully. “Until I came to France to find you.”

  Delilah gave him a cheeky grin. “Perhaps I should apologize for luring you from your cozy home, eh?”

  All humor vanished from his expression. “Oh no, Delilah, I would not have missed meeting you for anything.” His dark gaze held hers, making her pulse leap.

  A flush heated her face. “I-I am also glad to have met you, Leon,” she stammered. Bending her head, she concentrated on her food, avoiding those obsidian eyes that seemed to see inside her, detecting her roiled emotions.

  Back on the autoroute a short while later, with no black SUV in sight, they rode in silence except for spurts of conversation, mainly about the scenery. However, at one point something made Delilah ask, “Do you have someone, a woman I mean, waiting for you back home?”

  Leon glanced at her, cocking an eyebrow, and shook his head. “No, I have not been close to a woman since Yolanda died. My heart went to sleep when I lost her.” Crossing his arms, he asked, “What of you? Did you find a new love after Malcolm Flewellen ended things with you?”

  “No, there has been no one. Malcolm came along at a difficult time in my life, a few months after my husband died. You could say he was my white knight.”

  “Mmm. I did not know you were once married. I’m sorry you lost your husband.”

  “Don’t be,” she said with an unladylike snort. “He was no good. He pretended to be sweet, to love me, but after we married he showed his true colors. I was merely a meal ticket for him. When I tired of his demands for lavish clothes and the high life he turned into a monster. He . . . he beat me and threatened to kill me.”

  After a long moment, Leon quietly asked, “Did he cause you to lose the baby you told me about?”

  “Oui. I hated him then.” Voice cracking, she admitted, “I was glad when he got drunk and drove into a road barrier, killing himself.”

  Leon reached over to gently squeeze her shoulder. “I too am glad you are rid of him and that Malcolm was there for you when you needed him.”

  Delilah gave a watery laugh and forced back threatening tears. “Don’t make me cry in this insane traffic, or I will end up killing us.”

  He chuckled. “No tears then. Let us speak of happy subjects.”

  Wholeheartedly agreeing, she prompted him to tell her about his children and their lives. He did so with obvious pride, including humorous stories from his son’s and three daughters’ childhood, and about his five grandchildren who ranged in age from eleven months to ten years. Fascinated as she was by his amusing tales, Delilah couldn’t help feeling envious, having no offspring of her own, but she refused to dwell on that old pain, knowing it would bring her to the brink of tears again.

  The day was growing short when they reached the outskirts of a sprawling metropolis with hills to the north and west.

  “This is Lyon,” Delilah said. “We are still several hours away from Nice, and I am quite
tired. Do you mind if we stop here for the night?”

  “I do not mind at all. You need to rest.” Giving her a curious look, he asked, “But what did you call this place? It sounded almost like my name.”

  “Yes, but it’s spelled differently.” She spelled out the city name for him and said it slowly as Liyon so he could hear the difference from his name.

  “Humph. Too bad. I hoped maybe I was named after a famous French city,” he said in a droll tone.

  Laughing, Delilah turned off the highway and set her mind to finding them lodgings for the night. Fortunately, she spotted a modern looking inn near the autoroute. Although no five-star hotel, it was obviously better than the shabby place they’d stayed in back in Paris. Parking out front, she had one foot out the car door when Leon stopped her with a hand on her back.

  “Wait. We need to talk.”

  She twisted to glance at him over her shoulder. “About?”

  “About how we will check in.”

  “What do you mean?” She scrunched up her face, not understanding.

  He rubbed his chin. “I think we should register as a married couple.”

  “Nom de Dieu!” Delilah stared at him in shock. “Pourquoi? Why?”

  “Because it will throw off the Hounds in case they stop and check hotels on the way to Nice. After we check in I will also park the car at another hotel down the road.”

  “You . . . believe they really are following us?” Her mouth grew suddenly dry.

  “It’s a good bet they are. They must know by now that we left Paris, and there is that woman who stared at you earlier.”

  “But we didn’t see the SUV again,” she argued.

  “That means nothing. They could have switched cars the same as us.”

  She turned away, besieged by fear. His blunt analysis rang true, and much as she hated to accept it, his suggestion made sense. “Very well,” she forced out, “we will do as you say, but I insist upon a room with two beds.”

  Ha! A lot of good it does to insist, she thought moments later when the young concierge politely apologized, saying all two-bed rooms were taken. “Many families are on their way to the coast for a winter holiday,” he explained.