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Turning, Laura saw Sebastian sauntering toward the veranda, his hands casually thrust in his pockets, the sun at his back, its rays igniting the russet lights in his hair. A pain twisted through her. Refusing to acknowledge it, she pushed out of the rocking chair.
“I think I’ll go see if Boone has finished with his business calls,” she said in parting and crossed to the front door, reaching it as Sebastian started up the veranda steps.
Laura was halfway across the entryway when the housekeeper appeared in the dining room arch and halted at the sight of Laura. “That’s good timing,” Allie declared. “I was just coming out to get you. Jack Weldon’s on the phone. He asked to talk to you.”
Laura frowned. “I don’t know anyone named Jack Weldon.”
Allie MacGuire waved a hand. “Sure you do. He’s Harry’s son, the one that took over the bar when Harry passed.”
Laura’s frown deepened. “Did he say what he wanted?” She asked as the front door opened behind her and Sebastian entered.
“Not really. He mentioned something about the Mitchell woman.” Allie’s shoulders lifted in a vague shrug. “Do you want to talk to him, or shall I tell him you aren’t available?”
Sebastian answered for her, “She’ll take the call.”
“I’ll make that decision, thank you,” Laura flared at him.
Completely unmoved by her show of temper, Sebastian replied calmly, “Mitchell was still at the bar last night when Trey and I left. No doubt he was far from sober when he finally went home. We told her to go to Harry’s. Remember?” Laura wanted to deny that it was any concern of hers, but the image of the woman’s bruised and battered face came sharply back to her. Sensing the beginnings of agreement, he repeated to the housekeeper, “She’ll take the call.”
“I’ll use the extension in the living room,” Laura said by way of acknowledgement and moved in that direction, conscious of Sebastian shadowing her. She tried to ignore the physical awareness she had of him, without success.
In the living room she walked str
aight to the phone, picked up the receiver, and turned, angling her position to bring Sebastian into view. “This is Laura Calder.”
“Miss Calder, this is Jack Weldon . . . from Harry’s.” There was uncertainty in his voice. “I’m sorry to bother you so early, but . . . Mitchell’s wife and kids are here. I don’t know how to say this, but . . . she claims you told her to come to my place.”
Laura’s mouth curved in a humorless smile at the blatant skepticism in his statement. “Yes, I did.”
Before she could ask if Gail Mitchell was all right, Jack Weldon said in a shocked tone of voice, “Sorry, I never realized you knew her.”
“Well, I do. Is she okay?” Laura asked while Sebastian watched her, intent on every word she said.
“She says she is, but her face doesn’t look it. That’s why I’m calling. She can’t stay here,” he rushed on. “I feel sorry for her; really, I do. That husband of hers is no prize. But I’ve got a business to run, and it ain’t a shelter for battered women. She just flat can’t stay here.”
“Where’s Mitchell?” Sebastian prompted.
Laura nodded and asked, “Where’s her husband? Do you know?”
“No. She claims he came home roarin’ drunk around, oh, thirty minutes ago. She said she quick locked all the doors, and while he was banging and swearing at the back, she and the kids snuck out the front.” There was a small pause. “Somewhere she got the idea in her head she could hide out here until he slept the worst of it off.” He didn’t come right out and ask whether Laura had told her that, but the implication was there. “But she just can’t. I don’t mean to sound hard-hearted, but she’s got to leave. You know as well as I do what a troublemaker that Mitchell is. Sooner or later he’s gonna find out she came here, and when he does, that’s gonna make him mad. I know you meant well when you told her to come here, but—”
“What’s the problem?” Sebastian asked in quiet demand, his question coming over the top of the bar owner’s words.
“Just a minute,” Laura said into the phone, then clamped a hand over the mouthpiece to answer Sebastian. “She took the kids out the front when Mitchell was trying to get in the back door. The owner of the bar isn’t going to let her stay there. He’s afraid Mitchell will make trouble for him,” she said, eliminating the lengthy attempts at justification that had been sandwiched between the owner’s expressions of concern.
“Tell him to keep her there until I arrive,” Sebastian said.
“But where will you take her?”
“To the nearest hotel—wherever that may be,” he answered with a droll smile. Then he was moving toward the front door.
As she removed her hand from the mouthpiece, Laura made a split-second decision. “We’ll be there as soon as we can. In the meantime fix them some breakfast. I’ll pay for it when I get there.” She hung up. By the time she noticed Boone standing in the doorway to the den, her mind was already made up. She called after Sebastian, “Wait, I’m coming with you.”
“Where are you going?” Boone demanded, the darkness of displeasure in his expression.
“To town.” Her footsteps never slowed or altered their straight course to the entryway.
Boone blocked her path. “You aren’t going anywhere with Dunshill.”
