Penny Sue Got Lucky. BEVERLY BARTON
didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed. Relieved, he told himself. “I’m Vic Noble.”
She stared at him quizzically, as if she’d never heard the name before in her life. How was that possible? He had spoken to her only an hour ago.
“Vic Noble, from the Dundee agency,” he told her.
“The Dundee agency?”
“Dundee Private Security and Investigation.”
“Oh!” Her mouth formed a wide-open circle. “You must be Lucky’s bodyguard.”
“Yes, ma’am. We spoke on the phone. I called you from Huntsville.”
She laughed. “Oh, my dear young man, you didn’t speak to me. You spoke to—”
“You spoke to me, Mr. Noble.” The syrupy-sweet voice came from behind him.
He turned, took one look at the lady and felt as if he’d been pole-axed. The woman smiling at him as she came forward took his breath away. He didn’t know any other way to describe how he felt. As a rule, women either turned him on or they didn’t. This woman did a lot more than turn him on. She turned him inside out, and he sure as hell didn’t like the feeling.
She held out her small, delicate hand. “I’m Penny Sue Paine. It’s so nice to meet you, Mr. Noble.”
He stared at her hand for a split second, then took it, shook it a little too hard and released it as if it were a red-hot poker. Say something, he told himself. Don’t just stand here looking at her. But his male libido told him to look all he wanted, to appreciate every lovely curve of her body, every feature of her pretty face.
So this was Penny Sue Paine? Executor of Lottie Paine’s will and guardian to Lucky, the multi-millionaire dog.
She stared at him with huge, chocolate-brown eyes, fringed with thick dark lashes. Her features were almost too perfect. Small, tip-tilted nose. Full luscious lips. Oval face. Flawless olive complexion that probably tanned easily. And a mane of dark auburn-brown hair that flowed around her slender shoulders.
And her body? Holy hell. The body was to die for. No more than five-four, with an hourglass shape. Tiny waist, rounded hips and high, full breasts.
“Are you all right, Mr. Noble?” she asked.
“Uh…yeah, I’m fine. I was just surprised there for a minute. I thought the other lady—” he inclined his head toward the older Ms. Paine.
“That’s my cousin, Eula,” Penny Sue said.
“I see.”
“Now that you’re here, we can go to Doc Stone’s so you can meet Lucky or we can go to the house so you can settle in or—have you had lunch? If not, we can go over to the Country Kettle. What would you like to do first?” Penny Sue asked.
What would he like to do first? The one and only thought that popped into Vic’s mind was I’d like to screw you, Miss Penny Sue. That’s what I’d like to do.
Chapter 2
Penny Sue walked alongside the Dundee agent she had hired to protect Lucky and wondered exactly what kind of man this Vic Noble was—other than being a devastatingly attractive male specimen. The first moment she’d seen him, she had instantly gone weak in the knees. And that wasn’t something she did all that often. It had only happened a couple of times in her entire life. The first time had been when Dylan Redley French-kissed her when she was fifteen. The second time had been when she’d met Mr. Tom Selleck in person.
“I hope you don’t mind walking,” Penny Sue said. “I always walk to and from the shop. It’s good exercise and gives me a chance to do a little politicking when I see my neighbors on their porches or in their yards.”
When he didn’t respond, she cut her eyes in his direction to see if he’d even heard her. Since they had turned his rental car in, at her suggestion, over at Burns’s Service Station and Mini-Mart, the man hadn’t said ten words to her. She’d had to explain to him that Burns’s was also the automobile and moving-van rental place in town. Old Man Burns had believed in diversifying and his two sons, Dwight and Dwayne, were following in his footsteps.
“You won’t need a car,” Penny Sue had told Vic. “You can use either my car or Aunt Lottie’s car while you’re here.”
As she glanced at Lucky’s protector, Penny Sue noted how very tall he was. She was five-four and he stood a good foot taller than she. Without being too obvious, she let her gaze travel over him, from his thick, dark hair, down his proud nose to his wide, hard mouth. Didn’t this man ever smile?
Several times, he had walked a few steps ahead of her, but when he’d realized she couldn’t keep up with his long gait, he’d slowed and got in step with her. As they left the commercial blocks of downtown Alabaster Creek and moved on to the first residential street—Maple Avenue—she began searching for any voters who might be out and about this afternoon. So far, she’d paused to speak to half a dozen people in town, but Maple Avenue seemed deserted, not a person in sight.
“Alabaster Creek is one of the oldest towns in north Alabama,” Penny Sue said, just making conversation, which wasn’t easy with this man. “We were actually a town before Alabama became a state.”
Vic Noble didn’t say a word. With his black vinyl suitcase in hand, he marched alongside her. Tall, dark and silent.
“Most of the houses here on Maple Avenue were built post-War Between the States, but there’s one—see, right up there, the two-story white wooden structure—that was built in 1838. It’s the Rutland house. And would you believe descendants of the family who built the house still live in it today. As a matter of fact, Tommy Rutland is running against me for mayor. His father was once the mayor, but then again so was my father and my grandfather.”
“Hmm…”
Most people found the history of Alabaster Creek interesting, but not this man. What was his problem? Didn’t he know that not keeping up your end of a conversation was considered bad manners?
“You aren’t much of a talker, are you, Mr. Noble?”
“No, ma’am, I’m not.”
He didn’t bother even to look at her, which irritated her no end. This man might be big and macho and terribly attractive in a caveman sort of way, but his dour personality wasn’t the least bit appealing. But perhaps she shouldn’t judge him too harshly. After all, they’d just met and it took some people more time than it did her to warm up to others. Also, there was his profession to consider—he was a bodyguard and a private investigator. Lord only knew what kind of life this man had lived and what sort of cases he’d worked on over the years. It could be that he’d seen too much of the dark side of life. She’d heard that tended to make men somber and introspective.
“I suppose most of your cases are different from this one,” Penny Sue said, hoping that by talking business, she could encourage him to open up a bit.
“Yeah. Very different.”
Aha, he could talk. “Have you ever guarded a dog?”
“No, ma’am, I haven’t. This is a first for me.”
“You’ll like Lucky. He’s precious. Everyone adores him.”
“Not everyone.”
“What? Oh, yes, you’re right. Not everyone. Not the person who shot him.”
“Do you have any idea who that person might be?”
She shook her head. “One of the heirs. But there are eight of us and other than knowing for sure that I didn’t shoot Lucky, I can’t imagine who did. And I shouldn’t have said everyone adores Lucky. I should have said most people do. Even Aunt Dottie, whose cat, Puff, hates Lucky, admits that Lucky is a dear.”
“Ms.