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Remy shook his head. “Not enough. You need deadbolts on your doors.”
“Why?” she challenged. “If someone wanted in badly enough, all they’d have to do is break a window.” Shelby entered the house.
“And you’ll need a security system.” He followed her inside and stopped her in the front entryway. “Stay.”
She frowned. “I’m not a dog.”
“You’re right,” he said. “A dog wouldn’t argue with me. And a dog is a good idea. A big dog.” He adjusted his tone to something more agreeable. “Please stay here while I check the premises.”
“I can do that my—” she started.
Remy placed a finger over her lips. “I said please.”
Her frown deepened. “Fine,” she said around the finger over her lips.
He’d bet she’d thought about biting that finger. His lips twitched as he dropped his hand, closed the front door and quickly checked the house for intruders. When he returned to the front entryway, he caught a whole lot of attitude.
Shelby stood with her arms crossed over her chest, her eyebrows hiked. “Satisfied?”
He nodded. “All clear.”
“I could have told you that,” she said and moved into the living room with its floral, overstuffed sofa, mauve lounge chair and mismatched coffee table and end tables that probably came from completely different yard sales.
The furniture might be a little on the shabby side but it appeared to be comfortable and welcoming.
On his check through the house, he’d noted that the master bedroom had a queen-size bed with a maple headboard in the old farmhouse style from the late nineteen-nineties. The only newish item he’d been able to determine had been a white comforter and pillows covered in crisp white pillowcases.
The guest bedroom was a study in powder-blue curtains with a matching blue comforter covered in a white and yellow daisy pattern. The double bed was nothing more than a metal bedframe with a mattress and box spring. No headboard. Over the bed hung a print of a field of daisies with a light blue summer sky background.
The third bedroom was full of boxes and old furniture.
“You can sleep in the daisy room,” Shelby said.
“Who needs Madame Gautier’s potions to shrink your willy when you can sleep in a frou-frou bedroom meant for a little girl?” he muttered.
“What was that?” Shelby asked.
“Nothing. The daisy room beats a foxhole any day. I’ll get the groceries.” He left her in the house and returned to her truck to gather the groceries, shaking his head as he did. He’d be glad when his truck made it down from Montana. Power steering and air-conditioning made all the difference in southern Louisiana’s heat and humidity.
He carried the grocery bags into the house and set them down in the kitchen.
Shelby wasn’t in the living room or kitchen. He walked toward the master bedroom. The door to her bedroom was open, and the inner door to the bathroom was closed. When he heard the sound of the shower, he nodded.
Good. He had time to make dinner. A sure way to impress a woman was a man who could cook. Or so his buddies had said. He hadn’t tried the skill on a female. His cooking skills had been honed trying to one-up his brothers-in-arms. And out of self-preservation. Eating out got old and packed on pounds he didn’t need to lug into battle. Not that he was heading into battle…well, not the kinds of battle he’d faced before.
While Shelby showered, Remy whipped up a rue in a stock pot. Then he sauteed onions, carrots and celery with Cajun seasoning. After cutting chicken tenderloins and cooking them in olive oil in a skillet, he poured everything into the large stock pot with chicken broth, tail-less shrimp and smoked sausage and let it simmer. He put on a pot of water to boil for rice and added a touch of salt. Once the water boiled, he poured in the rice and stirred it to keep it from sticking to the bottom.
He remembered his grandmother doing all of this, moving from her cutting board to the stove, the sink and the refrigerator in a graceful dance of cooking with love for her family.
When the rice was ready, he covered it and turned the heat down on the gumbo.
Shelby hadn’t emerged from her room. He left the kitchen to check on her and make sure she hadn’t fallen.
The door to her bedroom was still open, and the door to the bathroom stood open as well. A movement caught his attention. A full-length mirror leaned against a wall across from a closet.
Shelby’s reflection was what had caught his attention. She stood in the closet with a towel wrapped around her middle, staring at the clothes on the hangers.
She must have found what she was looking for because she reached for a hanger, dropping the towel in the process.
