Leopard's Prey
Page 44
- Background:
- Text Font:
- Text Size:
- Line Height:
- Line Break Height:
- Frame:
“I do it all the time.” He stepped forward and hugged her in welcome, kissing both cheeks before releasing her. “It’s a treasure trove here for me. I discovered it years ago.”
She laughed, suddenly feeling carefree. “That’s so you, Arnaud. Why are you wearing a suit? This is swamp right here just in case you hadn’t noticed.”
He raised a black eyebrow. “Woman, I always wear a suit. You should know that. You never know who you’ll meet out in the middle of nowhere and you have to look your best to impress.” He took ahold of her arm. “You want to tell me what happened here?”
Bijou frowned down at her arm, carefully unwrapping the material she’d tied over the rake marks. “I don’ honestly know, Arnaud.”
He very gently turned her arm over. “It looks like a very large and angry cat scratched it. Did you get into a fight with another woman?”
She pulled her arm away. “That sounds so like me.”
He laughed and went around her to open the passenger door. “I brought food and coffee. You up for something?”
“Sure. But what were you doin’ with that rope and your hitch?” Deliberately she looked around and up, as if looking for a cliff. “We don’ do a lot of climbin’ in Louisiana.”
“Every time I see you, I’m surprised again by your accent.” He glanced back at her over his shoulder, his gray eyes sparkling with laughter. “And you climb. I’d forgotten that as well. Come with me.” He pointed down to the edge of the embankment, a thirty-foot drop, with eroding rock, dirt and root structures. One tree was actually tilted, its weight over time slowly pulling it down.
She moved cautiously to the edge of the trees lining the bank and peered over the side. “Down there? Are you searching for alligators?”
Knobby cypress trees rose out of the water like giant stick figures, branches reaching like arms, moss hanging from them in drapes. The water pooled, dark and forbidding around the barren, misshapen trunks and lapped at the thin strip of a ledge only inches above the surface.
“Rocks,” he said, coming up behind her, and handing her a coffee mug over her shoulder. “You take it black, right?”
She took the coffee cup, frowning at him. “Rocks?”
“For my work. I pulverize them and get a variety of subtle color as well as texture. I get them from all over. Contrary to popular belief, Louisiana has some beautiful rocks and crystals, you just have to know where to look. Just below us, along the bank, there’s a vein of beautiful agate. That might not sound like much to you, but for me, the colors are perfect for my work. I don’t manage to get here that often, so every time I come, I make certain to get a few rocks.”
“You aren’t kiddin’, are you?” Bijou asked. She could hear the ring of truth in his voice, and more, he sounded boyishly enthusiastic.
“No, the rocks are beautiful in color and just the right texture for my sculptures. I don’t mine much of it, just a bit each visit, so hopefully I’m not contributing to the bank eroding.”
Arnaud pulled out a folding chair one-handed and opened it expertly, putting it under the shade of the cypress trees. “Sit down, drink your coffee.” He pulled out a second chair and sat down beside her.
“You do know there’s a killer hangin’ around, don’ you?” Bijou said as gently as possible. She hated to put a damper on his enthusiasm, but he had to take the warning seriously. It had never occurred to her that Arnaud Lefevre haunted the swamps looking for rocks for his sculptures. He was handsome and sophisticated with his thousand-dollar suit and hiking shoes he’d paid a fortune for. She knew he was a bit of an adventurer, but she hadn’t ever considered that he might go into the swamp—especially alone.
“I read something about it,” he admitted. “But what are the chances? I’m only here a few times a year and come to these places no one else knows about. There’s a lot of land out here, Bijou, and I doubt that our paths would ever cross.”
She scowled at him over the coffee cup. “Still, you shouldn’t come here alone.”
“I don’t have to worry now that you’re here,” he pointed out.
She rolled her eyes and laughed in spite of herself. He was good company. He always had been. He was intense when he was working, his mind wholly into his art. He didn’t notice anyone or anything when he was creating something new.
He leaned over and pulled at the chain, lifting the pendant—his jewelry. “This is a beautiful piece,” he said, impartially, as if he hadn’t been the one to create it. “I used chambersite, a rare crystal found here in this state, and ground petrified palm. I made the piece for you and I knew the one place you always called home was Louisiana, so I made certain nearly everything was from your state.”
“Sometimes, Arnaud, you’re so sweet you make me want to cry,” Bijou said honestly. Why couldn’t she be attracted to him? He was handsome. He had money in his own right—he certainly wasn’t after hers. When they were together, they laughed and talked about everything. Conversations were always interesting and lively. She even relaxed in his company. He loved some of the same things she did—such as climbing. She bet he had a climbing bag with his gear in his SUV just as she had hers locked in the trunk of her car. He traveled far more than she ever would want to, but still . . . Yet there was just no chemistry between them—not on either side.
She laughed, suddenly feeling carefree. “That’s so you, Arnaud. Why are you wearing a suit? This is swamp right here just in case you hadn’t noticed.”
He raised a black eyebrow. “Woman, I always wear a suit. You should know that. You never know who you’ll meet out in the middle of nowhere and you have to look your best to impress.” He took ahold of her arm. “You want to tell me what happened here?”
Bijou frowned down at her arm, carefully unwrapping the material she’d tied over the rake marks. “I don’ honestly know, Arnaud.”
He very gently turned her arm over. “It looks like a very large and angry cat scratched it. Did you get into a fight with another woman?”
She pulled her arm away. “That sounds so like me.”
He laughed and went around her to open the passenger door. “I brought food and coffee. You up for something?”
“Sure. But what were you doin’ with that rope and your hitch?” Deliberately she looked around and up, as if looking for a cliff. “We don’ do a lot of climbin’ in Louisiana.”
“Every time I see you, I’m surprised again by your accent.” He glanced back at her over his shoulder, his gray eyes sparkling with laughter. “And you climb. I’d forgotten that as well. Come with me.” He pointed down to the edge of the embankment, a thirty-foot drop, with eroding rock, dirt and root structures. One tree was actually tilted, its weight over time slowly pulling it down.
She moved cautiously to the edge of the trees lining the bank and peered over the side. “Down there? Are you searching for alligators?”
Knobby cypress trees rose out of the water like giant stick figures, branches reaching like arms, moss hanging from them in drapes. The water pooled, dark and forbidding around the barren, misshapen trunks and lapped at the thin strip of a ledge only inches above the surface.
“Rocks,” he said, coming up behind her, and handing her a coffee mug over her shoulder. “You take it black, right?”
She took the coffee cup, frowning at him. “Rocks?”
“For my work. I pulverize them and get a variety of subtle color as well as texture. I get them from all over. Contrary to popular belief, Louisiana has some beautiful rocks and crystals, you just have to know where to look. Just below us, along the bank, there’s a vein of beautiful agate. That might not sound like much to you, but for me, the colors are perfect for my work. I don’t manage to get here that often, so every time I come, I make certain to get a few rocks.”
“You aren’t kiddin’, are you?” Bijou asked. She could hear the ring of truth in his voice, and more, he sounded boyishly enthusiastic.
“No, the rocks are beautiful in color and just the right texture for my sculptures. I don’t mine much of it, just a bit each visit, so hopefully I’m not contributing to the bank eroding.”
Arnaud pulled out a folding chair one-handed and opened it expertly, putting it under the shade of the cypress trees. “Sit down, drink your coffee.” He pulled out a second chair and sat down beside her.
“You do know there’s a killer hangin’ around, don’ you?” Bijou said as gently as possible. She hated to put a damper on his enthusiasm, but he had to take the warning seriously. It had never occurred to her that Arnaud Lefevre haunted the swamps looking for rocks for his sculptures. He was handsome and sophisticated with his thousand-dollar suit and hiking shoes he’d paid a fortune for. She knew he was a bit of an adventurer, but she hadn’t ever considered that he might go into the swamp—especially alone.
“I read something about it,” he admitted. “But what are the chances? I’m only here a few times a year and come to these places no one else knows about. There’s a lot of land out here, Bijou, and I doubt that our paths would ever cross.”
She scowled at him over the coffee cup. “Still, you shouldn’t come here alone.”
“I don’t have to worry now that you’re here,” he pointed out.
She rolled her eyes and laughed in spite of herself. He was good company. He always had been. He was intense when he was working, his mind wholly into his art. He didn’t notice anyone or anything when he was creating something new.
He leaned over and pulled at the chain, lifting the pendant—his jewelry. “This is a beautiful piece,” he said, impartially, as if he hadn’t been the one to create it. “I used chambersite, a rare crystal found here in this state, and ground petrified palm. I made the piece for you and I knew the one place you always called home was Louisiana, so I made certain nearly everything was from your state.”
“Sometimes, Arnaud, you’re so sweet you make me want to cry,” Bijou said honestly. Why couldn’t she be attracted to him? He was handsome. He had money in his own right—he certainly wasn’t after hers. When they were together, they laughed and talked about everything. Conversations were always interesting and lively. She even relaxed in his company. He loved some of the same things she did—such as climbing. She bet he had a climbing bag with his gear in his SUV just as she had hers locked in the trunk of her car. He traveled far more than she ever would want to, but still . . . Yet there was just no chemistry between them—not on either side.
