The Rebel. Jan Hudson
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you shouldn’t be drinking alcohol since you’ve been ill, though I don’t imagine that a bit of wine would hurt. We have some excellent local wines, you know. I’m fond of the white zinfandel myself. And we have all kinds of juice. Orange, apple, grape.”
“Mother,” Skye said, “you’re dithering.”
“Oh, sorry. I suppose I am.” Flora touched Belle’s arm. “I do that when I get excited. Most of the time I’m calm as a cucumber. Or is that cool? I meditate, you know. Keeps me centered and serene.”
Rather than be irritated by Flora’s dithering, Belle found herself fascinated—and a bit charmed. The woman seemed to radiate a joie de vivre that enveloped everything in her sphere.
“I like white zinfandel myself,” Belle said.
“Wonderful.” Flora clapped her hands. “A kindred spirit. Suki, do we have plenty of zinfandel?”
“I reckon so. There’s a case in the basement. Maybe two.”
“Oh, wonderful. Gabriel, you’ve had several phone calls from the office. Your secretary is fit to be tied.”
“Martha is always fit to be tied,” Skye said. “Belle, how about I show you to your room before the wine starts to flow? You might want to freshen up and rest a bit from the flight.”
“That would be great, thanks.”
The dogs accompanied them to the stairs. Skye scooped up the Yorkie. “This is Tiger. Rub his tummy, and he’s yours forever. And this fellow is Gus.” She stroked the shepherd’s head. “He’s my sidekick and is very protective of me.”
Belle held out the back of her hand to the large dog. Gus sniffed, then looked up at Skye, who nodded before he licked Belle’s hand. “German shepherds are like that. My family had one when I was a kid. Tripoli used to sleep at the foot of my bed, and he saved my bacon a couple of times.”
“We also have a couple of cats around—and assorted other creatures from time to time. I hope you’re not allergic to animals.”
“Nope,” Belle said. “Gabe already asked me. I grew up around all sorts of critters from bullfrogs to Brahma bulls.”
Skye stopped at a door upstairs. “This is the guest room. If you need anything, just give a yell. Come down when you’re ready.”
BELLE’S ROOM TURNED OUT to be rooms—a suite with a sitting room, bedroom and bath. With its soft gold-washed walls and hardwood floors, the suite, like the rest of the house she’d seen so far, looked as if a decorator had done it. The furnishings, done in creams, golds, soft blues and persimmon, were an eclectic mix of country French and contemporary with a few rustic pieces thrown in for interest. The result was quite beautiful. And expensive, she guessed. The Persian rugs looked like the real deal, and the artwork on the walls, from prints to paintings, was all signed.
Even so, the cream-colored couch looked cushy and comfortable and the king-size bed positively sumptuous and inviting. Nothing said, Don’t sit on me or put your feet on the furniture.
And the bathroom was to die for. Done in stonelike tile and accented in the same colors as the rest of the suite, it had a glass-enclosed shower and a bathtub with jets. A real tub. She’d had nothing but sponge baths and showers for ages. Her sore muscles and aching bones would love this.
Before she did anything else, she started the water running in the tub and added a bit of lavender scent she found on the ledge. By the time she’d located a change of clothes and her shampoo, the tub had filled. She stripped and climbed in.
Ah, heaven. She could get used to this.
A LOUD BANGING on the door roused Belle.
“You okay in there?” a woman yelled.
It sounded like Suki. Belle noticed that the jets were still running, but the water had grown cool.
“I’m fine,” she called. “Thanks. Just a minute.” She punched off the jets, climbed from the tub and wrapped a persimmon-colored bathsheet around her before she opened the door.
“Sorry to disturb you,” Suki said, “but we was worried about you, you being sick and all.”
“No problem. I couldn’t resist that tub, and I fell asleep.”
“Supper’s in an hour. You want me to bring a tray up to you?”
“Oh, no. I’ll dress and be right down.”
“We don’t fancy up for meals around here except on special occasions. Just put on whatever you’re comfortable in and come on down. We’ll eat on the sunporch at the back of the house. You like tamales?”
“I adore tamales.”
“Good. That’s what we’re having. Maria makes some of the best ones in these parts, and she knows how Gabe loves them. Course Skye’s a vegetarian, and Miz Flora is almost one—she only eats chicken and fish—so they’ll be having something else. I don’t guess you’re a vegetarian?”
“Nope. I like steak too much.”
Suki laughed. “Me, too. And pork chops. And did you ever try to eat chili without any meat in it?”
“Not lately.”
“Let me tell you, it’s not the same with that tofu stuff. Maria—she does most of the cooking—can do wonders with just about anything, but even she can’t perform miracles. You need any help getting dressed?”
“No, I’m fine,” Belle said. “I’ll be down in a shake.”
Suki left and Belle finished drying off and dressed in khakis, loafers and a blue cotton sweater. A shampoo would have to wait. She brushed her hair, wound it and clipped it up, then slapped on a bit of makeup. In ten minutes, she was on her way downstairs.
She followed the sound of voices from the back of the house to a large den with big leather couches and the same eclectic mix of furniture. A fire was burning in the oversized stone fireplace—more for the ambience, Belle suspected, than for warmth.
Gabe, sipping from a drink, stood with his back to the fire. Skye, perched on a couch arm, had a wineglass, as did Flora, who was relaxing in a wing-backed chair. Gus lay at Skye’s feet, Tiger and a cat lay napping together by the fire, and another cat dozed in Flora’s lap.
Gabe noticed her first and smiled. “Feeling better?”
“Absolutely. Sorry I conked out. I couldn’t believe I went to sleep when I slept most of the way here.”
“Don’t apologize,” Skye said. “It’s perfectly natural. Your body is still recovering, and sleep is a great healer.”
“You just make yourself at home, dear, and think of us as family,” Flora said. “Would you like a glass of wine?”
“I’d love one.”
“Gabe?” Flora said.
“Zinfandel?” he asked Belle.
She nodded and went to stand near the space that Gabe left. When he returned with her glass, she said, “I love the fire.”
“Me, too,” Gabe said. “We won’t be able to enjoy it much longer, but while the nights are still cool, we’re using the last of the firewood.”
“Ha!” Skye said. “Don’t let him kid you. My brother’s been known to light a fire and turn on the air-conditioning.”
Gabe grinned. “Guilty.”
“Belle,” Flora said, “Gabe tells us that you’re a spy. I don’t think I’ve ever known a real spy. How very fascinating!”
Gabe shook his head. “I didn’t say that she was a spy. I said that she was an FBI agent.”
“Well, isn’t that the same thing?”
“Not