"I feel I must do everything possible to defuse this situation before it gets any worse." Jeannie stood behind Sam, staring at his broad shoulders, her hand itching to touch his back again.
"You've already talked to him once, and all it did was incite him to condemn you as a witch." Sam opened the back door. "Do you honestly think talking to him again will change his mind?"
"It might," Jeannie said. "Besides, I can't see where it can do any harm."
Cursing under his breath, Sam stepped out onto the back porch, leaving Jeannie standing in the open doorway. She had asked Reverend Religious-Fanatic Reeves for a little private tête-à-tête today, in the hope she could convince him she wasn't evil. A lot of damned good it would do! From the preliminary reports Sam had received on Reeves, the man didn't know the meaning of the word compromise. He was completely unwavering in his narrow-minded beliefs, which were his own warped interpretation of the Bible.
Jeannie followed Sam outside onto the patio. "I've already issued the invitation. He'll be here soon."
"He's already here," Sam said. "In spirit, if not in the flesh. Just listen, and you'll hear Reeves's own brand of evil at work."
Listening, she heard a soft breeze waltzing through the huge live oaks that spanned the width of the Howell property in the backyard. She heard the chirping of birds, the hum of traffic, the muted song of the Gulf waters. And she heard the sound of marching feet on the pavement out front, and the combined voices of the Righteous Light brethren in a familiar chant. "Witch, witch… Witch, witch…"
Pinpricks of dread chilled her. For the past three days, ever since the newspapers had printed the story about her "Sunday miracle" in the Monday morning newspaper, Reeves's followers had picketed her house. Twice the police had been called to disperse the crowd, but each time the reverend's disciples had returned in larger numbers.
From her bedroom window this morning, Jeannie had counted over twenty men and women, of various ages and races, carrying signs and spouting condemnation of her as they trooped up and down the sidewalk in front of her home. It had been at that precise moment that she decided to offer an olive branch to Maynard Reeves. He had accepted her invitation quite readily, almost as if he'd been expecting her to telephone him.
Sam opposed the meeting, and she understood his reservations, especially since the police lab's report plainly stated the blood on Jeannie's gift Bible and bookmark had been human. Reeves posed a real threat to her. She hoped that by meeting with him she could change his mind about her, remove the threat or, at the very least, lessen the man's hatred of her.
"I don't want you to be upset with me." Jeannie wished Sam would look at her, but he kept his back to her. "I know I should have discussed my decision with you before I called Reverend Reeves and invited him over here this morning."
"Yeah, you should have discussed it with me. I would have told you the idea was insane, just like so many of your other ideas have been."
Jeannie leaned on her cane. Although she had recovered from Sunday, she was still weaker than normal. "I don't think it's insane to want to reach a peaceful settlement with—"
"With a man who isn't going to compromise, a man who truly believes that if you aren't on his side, then you're against him, and if you're against him, you're against God." Sam turned quickly, his steely blue-gray eyes focusing directly on Jeannie's face. "My gut instincts tell me to keep you as far away from him as possible."
"If this meeting fails, I promise to stay away from Reeves, to never contact him again." She took a tentative step in Sam's direction, never breaking eye contact as she held out one hand, using the other to steady her cane. "Tell me you aren't really angry with me, and that we have a deal."
Sam glared at her. Dammit! A sweet, loving angel shouldn't have such a wide stubborn streak in her. He'd never had half as much trouble controlling wilder, more worldly, self-centered women. But the only thing other women could give or take away from him had been sex. If sex was all there was between Jeannie and him, he wouldn't feel so uneasy. But things weren't that simple.
He looked at her hand. Don't touch her, he told himself. Every time he touched her, he wanted her, and she knew it. And every time he touched her, it gave her an excuse to try to get inside his head.
Clenching and unclenching his hands repeatedly, Sam grunted. "After today, you stay out of harm's way. No more public appearances, no more invitations to the enemy. Do we have an agreement?"
"If I can't persuade Reverend Reeves to stop his persecution of me, then yes, no more public appearances." Jeannie sucked in air between her clenched teeth, then bit down on her bottom lip. "Except—"
"No exceptions!"
"Just one," she said. "I'm already obligated for tomorrow night. It's a private affair. Practically everyone there will be an old family acquaintance, many of them members of Julian's Fleur-de-lis Society."
"What are you talking about? What private affair? And what on earth is this Fleur-de-lis society?"
"The owner of the Royal Belle Casino has offered the riverboat for a charity night this Friday. All the proceeds from the invited guests' gambling losses will go directly to the Howell School."
While Sam listened to her explanation, Jeannie moved closer to him, taking one cautious step at a time. Her protector could be a bear at times, ferocious and growling. She'd learned to approach him slowly, gentling him gradually.
"There will be a dinner, followed by dancing and gambling." Jeannie stood beside Sam, only inches separating their bodies. "I'm the cochairman of this function. I have to be there." She raised her face, looking at him with her most pleading expression. "The Fleur-de-lis Society consists of descendants of the old French families who settled Biloxi. Julian's grandmothers were from two of the most prestigious families in this area."
"I see." A person's lineage had never impressed Sam. What the hell difference did it make who your great-great-grandfather had been? If you weren't in line for the throne of England, he couldn't see how your ancestry had any bearing on your life.
"After tomorrow night, I'll follow your rules and regulations, whether or not I agree with them." Jeannie lifted her hand, intending to caress Sam's stem face. He grabbed her hand in midair, manacling her wrist.
A current of awareness passed between them. Sam's stomach tightened; Jeannie shivered.
"Can't you control it?" Tugging on her slender wrist, he pulled her close, her breasts grazing his chest. "Can't you turn it off, keep it from happening?"
"It isn't just me, you know," she said. "It's you, too. It's both of us. That's what makes it so powerful. You're beginning to experience tiny little sparks of what I'm feeling."
He dropped her wrist, as if touching her flesh had burned him. He backed away from her. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Yes, you do."
Ollie opened the back door, stuck out her head and called Jeannie's name. She turned to face the housekeeper. Sam moved in behind her, his big body forming a shadow of protection.
"That awful Maynard Reeves is at the front door. Says he's been invited." Ollie twisted her thin lips into a disapproving frown.
"Please show Reverend Reeves into the front parlor and offer him refreshments," Jeannie said.
"I'd like to offer him a cup of tea laced with arsenic," Ollie said.
Sam chuckled. Whipping her head around, Jeannie glared at him. "Nothing can be accomplished unless we treat Reverend Reeves as a welcome guest," she said.
"I'll go invite the black-hearted devil into the parlor." Grumbling to herself, Ollie slammed the back door.
Sam gripped Jeannie's shoulder. "I'm going to stay with you every minute that man is in this house."