Witch Angel Page 5

  Chapter 5

  Twenty minutes later, Shain rode down the rutted lane leading to Jake’s ramshackle cabin. The smell of meat cooking over an outdoor fire drifted in the air, and his stomach reminded him that he’d promised Jeannie to return in time for the noon meal. Well, it wouldn’t be the first time an unforeseen problem had kept him from keeping a promise to his sister.

  Is that what Alaynia is—a problem? The thought flashed through Shain’s mind, and he immediately contradicted it. Nope, not my problem. If anything, she’s Jake’s—or ...

  Could she have some connection to Fitzroy? Was it only coincidence that both the carpetbagger and Alaynia had designs on Chenaie? His Chenaie.

  “But where the hell did Fitzroy find someone like that?” he muttered aloud. “Still, she seems more like Jake’s type, what with that machine and those other strange things she’s got—and talks about.” Black’s ears swiveled at his voice, and the horse shook its head, blowing through its nostrils.

  “Yeah, boy,” Shain said. “My feelings exactly. She sure is a riddle. But guess only someone as crazy as Jake would ride around in a darned machine like the ones he’s always working on. Even Zeke won’t have anything to do with them.”

  Shain rounded a bend in the shaded lane and emerged into a clearing, where Zeke tended a smoking fire beneath a large haunch of meat spitted over an outdoor pit. The huge barn off to one side overrode the tiny cabin, and the barn was in much better repair. A fresh coat of whitewash covered its walls, while the cabin walls were a washed-out gray. Cracks ran across both window panes in the front of the cabin, and the open door swung on one hinge.

  Shain made a mental note to send his carpenter over with new window panes to replace the broken ones, as well as tools to repair the door. Jake kept his barn in meticulous shape, and even slept in it most nights. Zeke didn’t know a hammer from a nail, but he could cook up a meal rivaling the spread Shain’s cook turned out for the rare entertaining they could afford. And Zeke had served the St. Clair family from birth until his freedom after the war, when for some reason he’d taken a shine to Crazy Jake and decided the man needed a caretaker.

  Yet as Shain rode toward the elderly black man crouched by the fire, he recalled the hours on end he’d spent with Zeke while he grew up—the tales the old ex-slave had spun to amuse a small boy—the treats Zeke had smuggled up to his room when Shain was once again being punished for defying another of the multitude of rules of conduct for a young gentleman his father demanded he abide by. Zeke deserved a decent place to live and sleep.

  Black snorted again, and the elderly figure rose to his feet.

  “Massa Shain,” he called, swiping his hands down the front of the stained apron covering his bare chest, then waving one hand to urge Shain forward. “Just in time to eat. Come sit a spell.”

  Shain dismounted and led Black toward the fire. “Zeke, the war’s been over for ten years,” he repeated for the hundredth time. “When are you gonna learn that you don’t have to call me ‘Master’ these days?”

  Zeke chuckled and wiped a bare forearm across his sweat-beaded brow. “You always been Massa, even when I changed your nappies the times that there nurse a’ yours would sneak off to spark with that there field hand.”

  “But you’re working for Jake now, Zeke.”

  “Don’t know’s I’d call it workin’ for him. More like he needs me to take care of him and make sure none of them there ‘vention things he’s always workin’ on turns on him and eats him up. Me, I gets a place to live and only has to do what I feels like doin’. Ain’t no money changes hands.”

  “Just so you remember there’s always a place for you at Chenaie, Zeke.”

  “Knows that. And ‘preciates it, I sure do. But I ain’t ready to just lay back and wait for death to pick me off. Rather be takin’ care of my own self for a while yet.”

  Shain shook his head and gave in. He didn’t have any idea of Zeke’s true age—the dark-brown, wrinkled face beneath the white shock of tight curls had been one of his first memories. And Zeke had served both Shain’s grandfather and father. Indeed, some of the tales Shain had begged the old slave to relate had been about his grandfather, Basil St. Clair.

  “Whew,” Shain said. “It’s too blasted hot here by the fire, Zeke. I need a drink from your well, and Black probably could do with a bucket of water.” He led Black away from the pit. Though still a blazing hot day, the slight drop in temperature was a welcome relief.

  Hell, he hoped that Alaynia woman had sense enough to stay in the shade and not take shelter in that oven-hot machine again.

  “Where’s your canteen?” Zeke asked as he followed Shain over to the well. “Done told you over and over not to ride out summertime without water.”

  “That’s part of what I’ve come here to see Jake about,” Shain explained as he dropped the bucket down the well shaft. “I had a canteen, but I forgot it in all the commotion of meeting Jake’s new partner.”

  “New partner?”

  As Shain turned the wooden crank to retrieve the bucket, he peered down the dark shaft. “Yeah. Alaynia, she said her name was. Zeke, you’re gonna have your hands full here with those two. She’s just as crazy as Jake—crazy as one of those hoot owls Jake keeps for pets in that barn.”

  Shain grabbed the wooden bucket and poured the water into another pail beside the well. Carrying the second bucket over to Black, he stroked the stallion’s sweat-wet neck as the horse lowered its head. When he turned back toward the well, Zeke’s face was screwed up into a frown that wrinkled it even deeper than usual.

  “What’s wrong, Zeke?” he asked. “You scared of this Alaynia? Wouldn’t blame you if you were. She’s one mighty dangerous woman—I found that out for myself.”

  “Not scared,” Zeke denied. “Just wonderin’ who she be. Don’t know no lady named ‘Laynia.”

  A small, wiry man wandered out of the barn just then, diverting Shain’s attention from Zeke. Jake had long ago removed the barn doors, and even most of the front wall. The empty space surrounding him dwarfed his five-foot-four figure, and his nondescript clothing hung on his small frame, blending in with the shadowed recesses behind him. He pulled a once-white handkerchief from his shirt pocket and wiped his face, then ran a hand through the shaggy, gray hair frizzed around his head.

  “Zeke!” the man called. “That meat ready yet? I swear you cook that stuff close to the barn just so the smell won’t leave me alone. Gives my stomach the grumblies and I can’t concentrate on my work.”

  Shain ambled toward the approaching figure and extended his hand. “Howdy, Jake. Got a few minutes to talk before you eat?”

  Jake squinted his eyes. “Shain?” He pulled a pair of half-moon glasses from his other shirt pocket and perched them on his nose, winding the wire arms behind his ears. Belatedly, he reached for Shain’s hand. “Shain St. Clair. You haven’t been around in a while. What can I do for you, neighbor?”

  “All I want is a drink of water for my horse and me,” Shain replied. “And to let you know where your latest invention’s at, over on the road leading to Chenaie. Black would appreciate your getting it back over here to your place before I have to ride into town again. He refuses to pass it, and—”

  “What the heck are you talking about, Shain?” Jake interrupted. “What I’m working on is setting over there in my own barn.”

  “Then what the hell’s that white machine in the ditch over on Chenaie Road?” Shain asked. “And who’s the woman driving it around?”

  “Woman?” Jake’s pale eyes sparkled with indignation behind his glasses. “Some woman’s competing with me around here—trying to beat me to my next patent? We’ll just see about that. Zeke! Zeke, hitch up the wagon while I fetch my tool box!” Bandy legs pummeling, Jake headed toward the barn again.

  “But Mister Jake!” Zeke called after him. “The food be ready now. It’s gonna get dried out.”

  “Tough tittie,” Jake yelled back. “Get that blasted mule between the traces, or I�
��ll do it myself!”

  Laughter rumbled in Zeke’s broad chest and he shot Shain an amused look. “I’d like to see Mister Jake try that again. Last time he did, old Stubborn knocked him for a loop and it was half a hour a’fore he woke up. He laid up two days after that a’fore he could get outta bed.”

  “Then I’d be obliged if you’d hitch up Stubborn yourself this time,” Shain replied. “I’m mighty interested in seeing Jake’s reaction when he gets an eyeful of this machine, and we need to keep him conscious for that. Think I’ll just follow along and show Jake exactly where it’s at.”

  “Let me get that there meat off a the fire first,” Zeke said with a sigh.

  “I’ll do that. You go catch Stubborn.”

  * * * *

  Shain rode beside the wagon Zeke drove and explained the circumstances surrounding Alaynia’s appearance out of nowhere to Jake. Jake continued to assure him that he had no connection with the strange woman—or her machine. At one point, Jake glanced over at Shain, an astonished look creasing his face.

  “She said what?” Jake asked.

  “That she has a deed to Chenaie,” Shain repeated. “I tell you, Jake, she’s as crazy as ... uh ...” Shain’s words trailed off as a flush covered his face.

  “Don’t worry, neighbor,” Jake said with a chuckle. “I’m well aware that folks around here call me Crazy Jake. They can call me anything they want, long’s they leave me alone to work on my inventions. Shoot, Shain, what do people think I live on, if not the money I’ve already made from selling patents on my inventions?”

  “Guess I never thought about it, Jake. Been too busy trying to keep Chenaie afloat.”

  “You know, Shain,” Jake mused. “I’m always looking for investments—diversifying my money, the banker calls it. All I need’s enough to buy parts for whatever I’m working on. You ever need a loan ...”

  “I’m fine, Jake,” Shain reassured him, though his thoughts continued around a mental shake of his head. Sure Jake could loan him money—the old man had definitely gone around the bend into loony land now, thinking himself rich. Shain had never seen him in anything other than those shabby clothes, which not even the men on his field crew would deign to work in. And the only time any repairs got done on Jake’s rundown cabin, Shain had to instruct Chenaie’s carpenter to do them. Once in a while, Jeannie returned from one of her frequent visits to Jake and Zeke with a piece of metal for their blacksmith to shape, though, and Jeannie always had a coin or two from Jake to pay the man.

  “Lordy God A’mighty!”

  Zeke jerked back on the reins, and Stubborn responded with an outraged bray. The mule abruptly sat down in the road, tipping the wagon forward when the traces bent with its body, and hee-hawed its displeasure. Jake and Zeke grabbed the front of the wagon, barely keeping themselves from tumbling straight onto Stubborn’s back.

  “Zeke!” Jake demanded as he scrambled from the wagon. “The next piece of meat I want to see roasting over your pit is a haunch from that lop-eared son of a bitch’s tail end!”

  Stubborn swung his head around, and Jake jumped back a foot. The mule’s teeth snapped shut a scant inch from Jake’s shoulder. Jake danced out of range of Stubborn’s reach. “Try to bite me, will you?”

  Shain just sat on Black, chuckling under his breath, his gaze traveling back and forth from Zeke’s stunned, open-mouthed face to the sight down the road that had triggered the black man’s amazement.

  Two bare, tanned legs and a shapely rear poked out from beneath the upraised front of the white machine. The rest of the feminine body was ensconced in the compartment holding the engine, which powered the machine. Shain leaned on Black’s neck, dangling his reins in his fingers as he waited to see what would happen next.

  Appearing only slightly less amazed than Zeke, Jake maintained a good distance between himself and Stubborn as he walked around the animal. Scratching at his frizzy hair, he pursed his lips in thought and studied the scene a hundred yards or so away.

  * * * *

  Alaynia wiggled backwards and glared at the car engine. She’d poked. She’d prodded. She’d wiggled those two clamps on the battery, as she’d learned to do in the ladies’ mechanic class she once took. She’d even unscrewed that wing-nut thing and looked down inside the air filter thing-a-ma-bob. Nothing worked.

  Frustrated, she walked around to the driver’s door again and reached inside. Steeling herself to touch the key she’d retrieved from the underbrush, a key which had grown almost too hot to handle from the sun beating through the windshield, she twisted it once again.

  Nothing.

  “Damn!”

  Alaynia straightened and stared down the road, where Shain had disappeared almost an hour ago. This time she saw something other than a lonely dirt trail.

  Shain. She recognized him and that horse. Some elderly black guy sat on the seat of a decrepit wagon, which had a dappled mule sitting in front of it. Yes, sitting, not standing. Alaynia shook her head and stared at the other figure.

  A few feet in front of the mule stood a short man with Albert Einstein hair. She’d bet her bottom dollar that was Crazy Jake. She started to reach inside for the key ring holding her mace, then withdrew her arm.

  The hell with it. She was hot—tired—sweaty—filthy. She’d missed her appointment with the attorney. To top it off, the ice had all melted because she’d neglected to close the cooler lid. Her mineral water and diet drinks were now lukewarm bottles and cans. And she’d broken a fingernail on the can of diet soda she’d opened a minute ago.

  She propped her hands on her hips, fists clenched in anger. “Hey!” she yelled toward the group down the road. “Are you going to sit there and amuse yourselves watching me make a fool of myself? Or does one of you big, strong, masculine men have an idea how to get this damned thing running again that my poor little female mind hasn’t thought of?”

  * * * *

  Shain threw back his head and laughed, then urged Black forward when Jake started walking toward Alaynia. The closer he got, the more he could see of the damage the past hour had done to her. Dust covered her legs, and here and there he noticed scratches. She must have gone chasing after those keys in that short skirt.

  His amusement gave way to a sense of guilt. He shouldn’t have left her. He could almost hear his dead father’s biting voice, chastising him for leaving a lady alone in distress. But his father had probably never in his life run across a woman like this, who could swing whatever weapon she had handy with a deadly aim at incapacitating a man.

  Or a woman as immodest, who apparently didn’t give a damn that she was showing more bare skin than was proper anywhere except between a set of silk sheets.

  Wrinkles patterned her blue skirt, and she’d pulled her blouse free from the waistband and tied it beneath her breasts. She’d even unbuttoned the top two blouse buttons again. An irrational desire to untie that blouse and jerk the tails down to cover her flat, tanned stomach stole over Shain—along with the urge to shake her silly for having the audacity to denude that much of her body where other male eyes could study it.

  Other male eyes? He sure wasn’t turning his gaze away from all that feminine flesh. Why the heck should he care if his companions didn’t? But a glance back at Zeke showed him ignoring Alaynia and, instead, patting Stubborn. Ahead of Shain’s stallion, Jake eagerly scrutinized the machine, paying no attention to the scantily-clad driver.

  Alaynia’s full breasts heaved in indignation as Shain and Jake approached, and grease smears streaked her face. Her eyes were the only cool thing about her. They glared at Shain, spitting icy chips of fury.

  Shain pulled Black to a stop. “You go ahead, Jake. I’ve already seen that machine.”

  Jake shrugged and continued on his way. He headed for the front of the machine first, and stuck his head beneath the hood. Turning her back toward Shain with an impudent swing, Alaynia joined the wizened figure.

  * * * *

  “You must be Jake,” Alaynia said. “I hope you can
get this thing started. All I want to do is get back to my hotel room.”

  Jake whistled under his breath. “Good grief, woman. You didn’t put this thing together all by yourself, did you?”

  Alaynia closed her eyes briefly in frustration and clenched her teeth. “Detroit put this thing—this car, together,” she gritted. “I rented this car in Baton Rouge. What the heck’s wrong with all you men out here in the boondocks? You act like you’ve never seen a car before.”

  “Haven’t,” Jake admitted as he withdrew his head from the engine compartment. “Seen some pictures of horseless carriages the inventors are also calling automobiles. They say they’ll carry people around, like Shain said this one did you.”

  “Car’s another name for automobile.”

  “Duryea sent me a drawing of the one he’s working on in a letter a while back,” Jake went on as though she hadn’t interrupted. “Said he’s patterning it after that Benz machine in Germany. But since somebody’s already come up with something this refined, I guess the rest of them might’s well retire for good. Where’d you say you got this one?”

  “Baton Rouge!” Alaynia repeated. The man wasn’t only crazy, he was senile—evidently living out his second childhood more than a hundred years in the past. Maybe she ought to feel a little sympathy for him, but right now sarcasm seemed to be the only emotion she had the energy to dredge up.

  “You do know there’s a city named Baton Rouge south of us, don’t you?” she snarled. “Even if you’ve never been out of the county, surely you’ve seen it on TV.”

  “Parish,” Jake corrected her. “In Louisiana, they’re called parishes, not counties. This is West Feliciana Parish. And don’t know as I’d call Baton Rouge a city, even though the townspeople aspire to that some day. Say, what powers this car thing?”

  “Oh, for pity sakes.” Alaynia shoved a gnarled tendril of hair back from her forehead. “Gasoline. You know, gas, G-A-S. That stuff that comes out of the end of the nozzle when you stop at a service station to fill up?”