“Oh, don’t be. The sweetest boy was driving it, so reasonable, not to mention attractive.”

“So you managed to dissuade him from taking it away, did you?”

“Now, now. Southern ladies don’t French-kiss and tell.”

She waited for him to say she was no lady, but obvious jabs were beneath him, and he engaged in more subtle warfare. “How’s the job search progressing?”

She managed a breezy flick of her hand. “Career decisions are stressful, so I’m taking my time. You can drop me off right here.”

He ignored her and pulled into the drive that led to Frenchman’s Bride, which took care of his tip. “A lot to choose from, is there?”

“Tons.”

“So I’ve heard. The town is abuzz.”

“I’ll bet.”

He parked near the house and turned off the ignition. “The rumor is that even Louis Higgins refused to hire you at the Quik Mart, and he seems to hire anyone who speaks even a modicum of English.”

“Unfortunately, I was the driving force behind a rather nasty rumor about his little sister in ninth grade. He didn’t seem to care that it was true.”

“The chickens keep coming home to roost, don’t they?”

“Clucking all the way.” She opened the door and began to unload. He came around the hood of the car just then, and she nearly dropped her Coke because he was wearing an honest-to-God black suede duster. And, with his short, rumpled hair, looking way too good in it.

“Let me carry your sacks to the carriage house,” he said. “It’s the least I can do.”

She was too stunned by the sight of the duster to answer. In Mississippi yet.

“I’d hoped closing off the driveway wouldn’t be such an inconvenience. Alas, I was wrong.”

“Not to worry,” she said as she recovered. “With the added exercise, I’ve been able to dismiss my personal trainer.”

Gordon had apparently been hiding out on the veranda because he came trotting across the yard. Byrne astonished her by looking pleased. He shifted the sacks so he had one arm free and leaned down to scratch behind his ears. “So you haven’t run off.”

“Nice dog,” she drawled.

“He showed up a few days ago. He’s a stray.”

“That could mean rabies. I’d call the pound if I were you.”

“He doesn’t have rabies.” Byrne looked even more irritated than normal. “And you know exactly what the pound would do to him.”

“Gas him.” She glared down at Gordon, who could spot a sucker a mile away. Instead of snarling at her as he usually did, he played to his new audience by dropping his head, letting his big ears flop on the ground, and giving a little whimper, the perfect portrait of a pathetic pooch.

“That’s remarkably unfeeling, even coming from you,” Byrne said stiffly.

“Yeah, well, it’s a dog-eat-dog world.” Gordon trotted toward the veranda, more than a little pleased with himself. She noticed an extra waddle in his gait. “You haven’t been feeding him, have you? He looks fat.”

“And what business is it of yours if I have?”

She sighed.

They reached the carriage house. When she turned the knob, he got all critical again. “Why isn’t this door locked?”

“It’s Parrish. There’s not much point.”

“We have crime here, just as any other place does. Keep this door locked from now on.”

“Like that’s going to stop you. All you’d have to do is give it one good kick, and—”

“Not from me, you ninny!”

“I hate to be the one to break the bad news, but if they find my body, you’re the one with the biggest grudge.”

“It’s impossible to hold a rational conversation with you.” He gazed at the living room with distaste, despite the fact that she’d cleaned the whole place from top to bottom. “Did your aunt ever discard anything?”

“Not much. If you see something you like, be sure and make me an offer.”

“I wouldn’t hold my breath.” He headed toward her kitchen, duster flapping behind him.

She shrugged off her own jacket, dropped her purse on a chair, and followed him. “I’ll bet you’d take out your wallet for the Ash painting.”

“I’m afraid that would stretch even my finances.” He set the sacks on the counter, his big body filling up the small space.

She pulled out a package of E.L. Fudge cookies. “You talked to Tallulah. You believe the painting exists, right?”

“I believe it existed.”

“I hope that’s some kind of fancy Brit talk for, ‘Yes, indeedy, Sugar Beth.’ “

He leaned against the ancient refrigerator and crossed his ankles. “I think it’s quite possible your aunt destroyed it.”

“No way. It was her most prized possession. Why would she?”

“She refused to share the painting during her lifetime. Why would she want to share it after her death? And not to put too fine a point on it, why would she share it with a niece she considered a bit of a tart?”

“Because she believed in family, that’s why.”

He picked up the box of doggie treats she’d just dropped. “What’s this?”

“I’m poor. They’re nutritious.” She snatched them away and tried not to brush against him as she put the Coke in the refrigerator.

“Bugger. That dog showed up the same time you did. He’s yours, isn’t he?”

“Believe me, I’m not proud of it.” She set the Coke on the top shelf.

“You told me to call the pound.”

She was pleased to hear a note of outrage in his voice. “We’re all entitled to our fantasies.”

“If you dislike the dog so much, why do you have him?”

She knelt down to put the doggie treats under the sink. “Because Gordon was Emmett’s, and nobody else will take him. I tried to give him away, but he has a personality disorder.”

“Rubbish. He’s a splendid dog.”

“He’s just sucking up.”

Apparently he decided she’d had enough fun because he began wandering around the kitchen, inspecting the glass-fronted cabinets and the old appliances. The china knob on the bread box came off in his hand. He smiled as he examined it. “It’s unfortunate that you’re having such a hard time finding work.”

“Now don’t you go worrying that arrogant big head about it.” Her knit top rode up as she stretched to put a bag of chips on the top shelf. She knew he noticed because it took him a few beats too long to pick up the thread of the conversation.

“I almost feel sorry for you,” he said. “You have a dog you don’t like, no one will give you a job, and you’re broke.”

“On the other hand, I still have my charm.”

He propped a shoulder against the wall and tossed the china knob from one hand to the other. “I believe I mentioned that I might have a job for you. Are you desperate enough yet?”

She nearly choked on her spit. “I figured you were funnin’ me.”

“I’m fairly certain I’ve never funned anyone.”

“My mistake. Does the job involve letting you feel me up again?”

“Would you like it to?” The way his eyelids fell to half-mast told her she wasn’t the only critter around who knew something about playing games.

“I’d worry so much about frostbite.” Curiosity overcame her need to dish out the crap. “What did you have in mind?”

He inspected the bread box, then took his time screwing the knob on while she held her breath. When he was finally satisfied, he turned back to her, his eyes shrewd. “I need a housekeeper.”

“A housekeeper?”

“Someone who keeps house.”

“I know what the word means. Why are you offering the job to me?”

“Because it’s more temptation than I can resist. The cherished daughter of Frenchman’s Bride forced to sweep its floors and serve on bended knee the man she tried to destroy. The Brothers Grimm as interpreted by Colin Byrne. Delicious, yes?”

“The minute I find Tallulah’s butcher knife, you’re dead.” She jerked open the nearest drawer.

He took his time moving out of stabbing range into the living room. “On the practical side . . . maintaining Frenchman’s Bride is nearly a full-time job, and it’s cutting too deeply into my writing. This would be six days a week, from seven in the morning until after dinner. Long hours and, it goes without saying, each one as difficult as I can possibly make it.”