Page 55 of The Cajun Doctor

“I don’t know why you think Aaron is the answer to your problem. Aaron doesn’t own a plane. He’d have to go to Remy LeDeux and borrow one, which would take more time, and would bring another person into this so-called secret. And not just him. Tante Lulu would no doubt hear about it and be poking her nose into the whole affair.”

“You’re not helping,” she said, but she wasn’t really being critical. She wrung her hands nervously.

He took one of her hands in his and straightened out the fingers before linking her hand with his and laying the joined hands on his thigh. Why he did it, he had no idea.

Guess I’m still a sucker for a person in distress. Kids with cancer, parents on drugs, broken families.

Why Samantha allowed it was an even bigger question.

Maybe she just needs a hug.

Now there’s a thought that could merit me a slap. Hand holding, okay. Hugs, not okay.

Back to the subject at hand. “Here’s what I think you should do. Short term. We should somehow whisk them from here out to Bayou Rose Plantation. God knows, there’s plenty of room there. And no neighbors within viewing distance. I know, I know, it’s not a permanent solution, but like you said, they need time to decide what to do.”

“You would do that for them?” she asked, teary-eyed.

He was still holding her hand, and still kind of liking it. Who knew hand holding could be so . . . sensual? It was certainly zapping out every good sense particle in his rusty brain. “I wouldn’t do it. We would,” he emphasized . . . a bit distractedly as her thumb caressed his thumb. Holy frickin’ hell! Now he was really liking it!

“But . . . but . . . I can’t leave here. All these animals.” She blinked the tears welling in her green eyes from seeping out, followed by more seemingly innocent thumb sex.

Tears? Somehow, he didn’t see Samantha as the weepy type.

Or had he just fallen into a trap? Had she planned this all along? A rich girl like her could probably hire her own airline and a dozen bodyguards besides.

He guessed he would have to give her the benefit of the doubt. With a sigh, he conceded, “You’ll have to bring the animals with you. A dog, a cat, and a bird shouldn’t be too much trouble.”

“Holy shit!” Clarence said again.

“And five puppies,” she added. “And a pig. And two other cats.”

He dropped her hand like a hot lead sinker.

She blinked away more tears, like sparkling emeralds, stunned at the idea of his generosity, no doubt, or stunned that he was so gullible. “I can’t believe you would be willing to go out on a limb like that for people you don’t know. For me.”

He was surprised she hadn’t said “For little ol’ me.” That would have proved his suspicion of a trap. Poor (rather rich), fragile (Hah!), Southern belle in need of a strong shoulder (like, say, mine) to lean on. Bull-shit! And, hey, he should be offended by that remark about him not going out of his way to help people, but he supposed his loner attitude and his snarkiness toward her gave the impression of callousness. Whatever. I already committed myself, and I’ll be damned if I back down now. If she’d let me. “Darlin’,” he said with a deliberate drawl . . . I can play Rhett to your Scarlett any day. “You have no idea what I’m going to ask in return.”

Frankly, he had no idea, either.

But the possibilities were tantalizing.

She blushed. Obviously entertaining some of the same ideas.

It was not surprising that Clarence piped in with, “Holy shit! Holy shit! Holy shit!”

“Let’s go into the kitchen and have a cup of coffee while we make plans,” she suggested, hopping up off the sofa suddenly, which caused the dog, which had been lying flat out on the floor in front of the fire like a hearth rug, to yelp with surprise. No stirring from the exotic cat, though. It was sprawled across one of the chairs . . . probably a priceless antique . . . didn’t even bother to raise its head off the one arm. Its tail lay over the other arm, hanging practically to the floor. The pig had jumped off its perch on the stool and was lying next to the dog.

What a madhouse!

“Don’t you have anything stronger?” he asked.

“Are you kidding? I told you I’m of Scottish descent. There’s always Scotch on the premises.”

She smiled at him as he stood to follow her. There were no longer any tears in her eyes. Forget about sparkling emeralds, he decided then. Her eyes were murky green pools designed to lure a guy in and make him do things he didn’t even know he wanted to do. And he was the dumb trout who’d taken her bait. Hooked, lined and hot damn sinkered!

It was probably some Southern voodoo kind of crap. Maybe he should ask Tante Lulu for a spell to ward off Samantha’s allure. He could only imagine the old bat’s reaction. She’d be calling for a fais do do, a party down on the bayou, and the theme would be, “Daniel LeDeux Ain’t Gay, hallelejuah!”

But then he watched Samantha’s buttocks move in the red silky pants as she walked out of the room. Was there anything prettier than a heart-shaped ass on a woman? And he decided, maybe not. And those long limbs . . . man, what a creative male could do with those!