His Queen of Hearts

Carly worried her bottom lip, imagining the mess she’d left back at the church. If she could trust Prissy, she’d call her, but since her best friend had taken it upon herself to avail herself of the groom’s sexual charms, she wasn’t the wisest choice for a confidante at this point in time.
Maybe she could start fresh somewhere, or at least wait until the uproar died down before returning home. After quickly reassuring herself that she was safer nowhere near Baton Rouge, at least for a while, Carly relaxed. One less thing to worry about and, hopefully, she would learn to be a better judge of people.
“We’re headed west?” she asked, looking to the future, instead of the past.
Nodding, he kept his eyes on the late-afternoon traffic. “To Texas?”
He briefly took his attention off the road long enough to glance at her. “What makes you think so?”
“Your Texas drawl.” When he glanced at her again, she felt more than saw his surprise. “It’s not the same as a Louisiana accent,” she quickly explained. “Or Georgia or Arkansas or Mississi—”
“Right.” His long fingers flexed on the steering wheel. “I never realized I still had it,” he muttered under his breath.
“That black hat’s a good hint.”
“Men wear Stetson’s in Louisiana, too.”
“But you’re not from Louisiana.”
This time his fingers gripped the steering wheel, and the hard, sharp angle of his jaw moved before he spoke. “Same thing as.”
Carly wished he’d do more than glance at her. Having a conversation with someone she couldn’t make eye contact with always made her uneasy. That’s what had started her wondering about James over the past week. It wasn’t that he never looked at her directly. He did, often. But lately there had been something in his eyes. Something that had begun to make her uncomfortable at times. He had never given her a reason not to trust him. In fact, he had swept her off her feet the first time she met him. She now understood what a whirlwind courtship was. Flowers, candlelit dinners, expensive trinkets and lots of attention. James certainly knew how to turn a girl’s head. And he had been more than a gentleman with both her and her mama. But although she had made it to the age of twenty-six without making a major mistake with a man, she knew now that her judgment, of men especially, was practically nonexistent. She had always considered herself a good judge of character. Not that her family and close friends agreed. Now she had proof they were right.
“You always lived in Louisiana?”
So lost in thought, his question startled her, and she answered automatically. “Born and raised in Baton Rouge, like all the Albrights and Charpentiers. I guess we’ve been here forever. I’d even bet we were here before the city was founded.” She turned to look at the man next to her. “What about you?”
“You’re a betting woman?”
It was the third time he’d answered a question with a question, and she didn’t like what it might mean. “No, what I meant was, where are you from?”
“Didn’t we just cover that?”
It was exactly as she had suspected. He didn’t want to answer her questions. What was he hiding? Was Prissy right? Was she too trusting? Well, she certainly had been where Prissy and James were concerned.
“Do you always do that?” she asked, hoping she wasn’t as gullible as everyone told her she was.
“Do what?”
She gave a nervous little laugh. He wasn’t making things look any better with his evasion. “Answer a question you don’t want to answer with another question.”
Once again the corner of his mouth turned up, and Carly wondered what a full smile looked like. Mercy goodness! She hadn’t even had a good look at him when he’d helped her into the vehicle. Pauvre Défunte Mamère, rest her soul, had told her time and again that she would come to a bad end if she didn’t curb her impulsivité. She had been in such a panic to get away from the church as fast and as far as possible, she hadn’t given any thought to what kind of man he might be. Only that he had come along when she had needed someone the most. He could be anybody. A kidnapper, for instance. Although why anyone would want to do that, since she and her mother didn’t have two nickels left to rub together, was beyond her. Things had been bad enough before the wedding, but after all the expenses, she wondered what would happen if she were held for ransom. Would he kill her? Or would he merely leave her in some horrid place to fend for herself?
“Should I be afraid of you?” she asked, suddenly praying that, if nothing else, this stranger was truthful.
“Are you?”
“See? You did it again. And that makes me wonder if I shouldn’t demand that you stop this second and let me out.” She had never done anything this reckless or foolish. But there hadn’t been time to think through the situation. She’d needed a way out of the worst moment in her life, and he’d been there to save her. What would happen if she now needed rescuing from her rescuer?
Making certain he was watching the road and not her, she slowly reached for the doorhandle, grateful that her bouffant skirt hid her movement.
She froze when he leaned over to grasp the wrist of her free hand. He kept his eyes on the road and his voice low. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you, sugar. Jumping from a car going ninety miles an hour isn’t healthy.”
Carly swallowed the lump of fear in her throat, acutely aware of the tingling in her fingertips from his touch.
Releasing her, he slowed the car as they entered heavier traffic. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
“Yeah, right,” she muttered under her breath.
His soft chuckle sent a warm shiver up her spine. “Trust me,” he said, his voice setting butterflies free low in her middle. “The last thing I want is to see you hurt.”
She ignored the flutterings and noticed that he was looking for a spot to pull off the road. If she could stall him long enough, make him think she was going along with this, maybe she’d get the chance to escape.
“Trust you?” she asked, hoping her voice wouldn’t betray her nervousness. “I don’t even know your name.”
“What’s yours?”
Frustration warred with fear and won. “Carolyn. Carolyn Albright. But my friends call me Carly.”
“Nice to meet you, Carly. Mine’s Dev Brannigan.”
Slowing almost to a stop, he pulled into the drive-through of a familiar hamburger chain. “You hungry?”
She started to tell him he couldn’t change the subject. But when he turned in the seat to look at her, the words died on her lips.
One dark eyebrow arched over a sapphire-blue eye, the other was covered with a black leather patch, giving him a rakish appearance. Like a pirate.
Or the Devil.
While his traveling companion slept, Dev thought about her reaction to what must have been her first view of his eyepatch. Surprise had been the first emotion to cross her face. But it hadn’t lasted more than a second. He hadn’t seen the next thing coming, but he should have. If she had screamed, he would have been prepared. Not Carly Albright. Nope. She’d just matter-of-factly asked him if Dev was short for Devil.
Chuckling softly so he wouldn’t wake her, he shook his head. Just like his mother, who had often told him she had named him for Lucifer, not a French ancestor. Carly certainly was straightforward. No keeping her hand close to her vest. And the questions! Right and left. He felt like a novice tennis player trying to field McEnroe’s volleys. He had wanted to ease the fear she had eventually shown of him, but the less she knew, the better. At least for now. And until he could discover what, if anything, besides J.R.’s last-minute infidelity, had caused her to run out on her wedding, he wasn’t revealing anything about himself until and unless it was absolutely necessary.
His older brother, Chace, referred to their former neighbor as a snake. Considering the story of how Chace had met his wife, Ellie, Dev agreed that the term fit. He preferred weasel. Like the predatory animal that sneaked into henhouses in the dark of night, J.R. did his damage and was gone before anyone was the wiser. Was Carly Albright his latest victim? Had she, like Ellie almost had, fallen for one of his schemes?