desert me.”
“Mother’s moving back to her quarters at the hotel,” Renee explained. “She’s more than ready to be on her own again.”
Obviously intent on ignoring her granddaughter’s comment, Celeste waved a thin, careworn hand at Pete. “Come sit with me, Mr. Traynor, while Renee retrieves your nephew.”
Renee sent him an apologetic look. “I won’t be long.”
Pete hoped not, because when he followed Celeste into the nearby parlor, he felt as if he’d entered the queen’s court, with the queen serving as judge and jury, and he was about to be sentenced to the gallows.
He grabbed the first chair available, a stiff, wing-backed thing that wasn’t the least bit comfortable, which was fine with him. He didn’t plan on staying any longer than necessary. Celeste seated herself on a settee across from him and folded her hands in her lap. He found it kind of strange she was still dressed in a pantsuit instead of a robe, although he shouldn’t be all that surprised. She was the kind of woman who probably stood firm on decorum, and dared anyone to challenge her on that. Pete wouldn’t make the mistake of crossing that line.
He surveyed the room, trying to appear casual when he’d really prefer to get the hell out of Dodge. “Nice place. How long have you been here?”
“Many years.”
Short and sweet, but that was okay. He wasn’t necessarily in the mood for deep conversation. And she’d probably coldcock him if she knew what he was in the mood for—spending the night with her granddaughter. “I haven’t had time to explore the Garden District, but I plan to do that before I leave.”
“When exactly are you leaving?” she asked.
Now wouldn’t be soon enough, at least when it came to sitting in this room with a woman who apparently held him in gutter-level esteem. “End of the week. I’m here scouting locations for a movie.”
She didn’t look at all impressed. “Then you’re from Hollywood?”
“Yeah. That’s where I met Renee a few years back.”
She stiffened even more. “I see.”
He had a sneaking suspicion she did see—right through him. “We’re friends.”
“Of course you are,” she said, not bothering to hide the sarcasm. She leaned forward and nailed him with her sharp gaze. “Mr. Traynor, what are your intentions in regard to my granddaughter?”
Man, he hadn’t had this kind of interrogation since he was sixteen and he’d tried to date the preacher’s daughter. “I want to spend some time with her before I go back to California. Maybe have a couple of dinners. Have her show us a few more sites.”
“You and your nephew?”
“Yeah.”
“As a friend?”
Time to lie. “Yes.”
Seemingly relaxed, she sat back on the sofa. “All right then. I only have one more question.”
What the hell. “Fire away.”
“Do you always wear lipstick?”
A FTER SEARCHING FOR HER MOTHER and oddly not finding her anywhere, Renee made her way to the den. She leaned against the doorframe and surveyed the scene—one dark-haired little boy, stretched out on his belly on a blanket, a hand curled beside his face on the miniature pillow. And next to him, a redheaded little girl sprawled out on her back, her limbs askew and her eyes closed against the light. A cartoon played on the television, the volume entirely too loud, yet obviously not loud enough to disturb them.
Renee hated to wake Adam since he looked so peaceful, but she owed it to Pete before he suffered much more of the queen’s wrath.
A touch on her shoulder startled her so badly she spun around, only to find her mother, not Pete, standing behind her. Renee gathered enough composure to signal her into the hall. “You nearly scared me to death.”
“I’m sorry, bébé . I was trying to be quiet so I wouldn’t wake the children.”
“Where have you been? I looked everywhere but I couldn’t find you.”
“I was helping a neighbor find his dog.”
Renee suspected she knew the identity of said
“Mother’s moving back to her quarters at the hotel,” Renee explained. “She’s more than ready to be on her own again.”
Obviously intent on ignoring her granddaughter’s comment, Celeste waved a thin, careworn hand at Pete. “Come sit with me, Mr. Traynor, while Renee retrieves your nephew.”
Renee sent him an apologetic look. “I won’t be long.”
Pete hoped not, because when he followed Celeste into the nearby parlor, he felt as if he’d entered the queen’s court, with the queen serving as judge and jury, and he was about to be sentenced to the gallows.
He grabbed the first chair available, a stiff, wing-backed thing that wasn’t the least bit comfortable, which was fine with him. He didn’t plan on staying any longer than necessary. Celeste seated herself on a settee across from him and folded her hands in her lap. He found it kind of strange she was still dressed in a pantsuit instead of a robe, although he shouldn’t be all that surprised. She was the kind of woman who probably stood firm on decorum, and dared anyone to challenge her on that. Pete wouldn’t make the mistake of crossing that line.
He surveyed the room, trying to appear casual when he’d really prefer to get the hell out of Dodge. “Nice place. How long have you been here?”
“Many years.”
Short and sweet, but that was okay. He wasn’t necessarily in the mood for deep conversation. And she’d probably coldcock him if she knew what he was in the mood for—spending the night with her granddaughter. “I haven’t had time to explore the Garden District, but I plan to do that before I leave.”
“When exactly are you leaving?” she asked.
Now wouldn’t be soon enough, at least when it came to sitting in this room with a woman who apparently held him in gutter-level esteem. “End of the week. I’m here scouting locations for a movie.”
She didn’t look at all impressed. “Then you’re from Hollywood?”
“Yeah. That’s where I met Renee a few years back.”
She stiffened even more. “I see.”
He had a sneaking suspicion she did see—right through him. “We’re friends.”
“Of course you are,” she said, not bothering to hide the sarcasm. She leaned forward and nailed him with her sharp gaze. “Mr. Traynor, what are your intentions in regard to my granddaughter?”
Man, he hadn’t had this kind of interrogation since he was sixteen and he’d tried to date the preacher’s daughter. “I want to spend some time with her before I go back to California. Maybe have a couple of dinners. Have her show us a few more sites.”
“You and your nephew?”
“Yeah.”
“As a friend?”
Time to lie. “Yes.”
Seemingly relaxed, she sat back on the sofa. “All right then. I only have one more question.”
What the hell. “Fire away.”
“Do you always wear lipstick?”
A FTER SEARCHING FOR HER MOTHER and oddly not finding her anywhere, Renee made her way to the den. She leaned against the doorframe and surveyed the scene—one dark-haired little boy, stretched out on his belly on a blanket, a hand curled beside his face on the miniature pillow. And next to him, a redheaded little girl sprawled out on her back, her limbs askew and her eyes closed against the light. A cartoon played on the television, the volume entirely too loud, yet obviously not loud enough to disturb them.
Renee hated to wake Adam since he looked so peaceful, but she owed it to Pete before he suffered much more of the queen’s wrath.
A touch on her shoulder startled her so badly she spun around, only to find her mother, not Pete, standing behind her. Renee gathered enough composure to signal her into the hall. “You nearly scared me to death.”
“I’m sorry, bébé . I was trying to be quiet so I wouldn’t wake the children.”
“Where have you been? I looked everywhere but I couldn’t find you.”
“I was helping a neighbor find his dog.”
Renee suspected she knew the identity of said
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