Forbidden Fruit. Erica Spindler

was ashamed for Glory to know who—and what—her ancestors were.

      Lily was ashamed, too. She despised herself for her past actions.

      But understanding didn’t lessen the ache inside her. Until the day she died, she would yearn for what she could never have, she would grieve for what she had lost. And just as she would spend her last years living alone, she would die alone.

      Lily drew the car to a stop at the end of her driveway. “We’re here,” she said unnecessarily. “I’ll come around for you.”

      “I can make it on my own.”

      “Fine.” She went around the car, anyway. He glared at her but said nothing.

      Stubborn, she thought as she watched him grimace with each step. Prideful and pigheaded. But even as those descriptions moved through her head, she acknowledged admiration for the strength of will it took him to stand on his own, to refuse her help though he was hurt and no doubt frightened.

      She had known others like him, had helped others like him. Kids who had no one to depend on but themselves. Kids who had been hurt and let down again and again. This boy hadn’t had anyone in his corner for a long time. She didn’t blame him his defiance; he had probably earned it.

      They entered the house through the side entrance—the servants’ entrance that led into the kitchen. She flipped on the overhead light. And saw that he was bleeding. His pant leg was wet with it, the blood creating a dark, ugly stain on the thigh of his jeans.

      She made a soft sound of dismay. “Sit here,” she instructed, easing him onto one of the chairs set up around the old, oak table. “I’ll get some bandages.”

      He caught her hand. “You promised you wouldn’t call anyone.”

      She met his eyes, a modicum of guilt easing through her. Misplaced guilt, she told herself. Her first consideration had to be his physical well-being. “I know what I promised. I’ll be right back.”

      Minutes later she returned with antiseptic, bandages and a bath towel. She filled a bowl with warm, soapy water and got a washcloth. “You’ll have to take off your pants. I don’t think I’ll be able to get to the cut if you don’t.”

      He flushed. “Lady, I am not taking off my pants.”

      She bit back a smile at his embarrassment. It didn’t fit his tough-guy image. “I’ve seen the male of the species without their pants many times. You have nothing to fear from an old woman like me.” She held out a towel. “If it will make you feel more comfortable.”

      He snatched it from her hand, and fighting a smile, she turned her back to give him a little privacy.

      “Okay.”

      She turned back to him. He had returned to the chair, the towel wrapped snugly around his middle. He scowled at her, and she scooped up his jeans. “I’ll just throw these in the washer. Don’t go anywhere.”

      Minutes later, his jeans safely in the washer, she returned to the kitchen. He scowled at her again. “You don’t have to look so fierce, I promise I’ll give you your pants back,” she said.

      Lily knelt in front of him and gently probed his wound, relieved to see that, although long, it wasn’t too deep. She dipped the washcloth in the soapy water. “This might sting. Sorry.”

      “I’ll just bet you are.” He stiffened and gritted his teeth as she moved the cloth over the gash.

      “A friend of mine is a retired doctor—”

      “No.”

      “He lives close by,” she continued, unperturbed. “If I were to tell him you’re my nephew, he would accept that. He and I share many secrets. In fact, I would trust him with my life.”

      “It’s not your life you would be trusting him with.”

      “You could have internal injuries. You could have a concussion, or need stitches.”

      “I don’t need stitches.” He winced. “Besides, you promised you wouldn’t call anyone.”

      “I know. And I’m sorry about that. But, I would rather break a promise than have you die.” She lifted her gaze to his. “You’re much too young to die.”

      Panic raced into his eyes. “What are you saying?”

      “My name’s Lily Pierron. You may call me Miss Lily. Or, for the next few minutes, Aunt Lily.”

      “I won’t be around long enough to call you anything.” He started to stand, making a sound of pain as he put his weight on his right leg. He swore and sat back down. The front bell pealed, announcing the doctor’s arrival.

      “Don’t answer that.” He caught her hand. “Please…Lily.”

      She squeezed his fingers, then stood. “I’m really sorry. But, you’ll thank me for this, I promise you.”

      He swore again. “And we both know how much your promises are worth, don’t we?”

      She ignored both his sarcasm and the way it made her feel. “I need to know your name.”

      He folded his arms across his chest and glared at her. “Go to hell.”

      The bell pealed again. “You must have a name. And if we’re to pull this off, I have to call you something. I don’t think go to hell is going to cut it.”

      “Todd,” he said gruffly, not meeting her eyes. “Todd Smith.”

      She nodded. “I’ll be back, Todd Smith. I hope you’re smart enough to still be here.”

       Chapter 16

      As soon as Lily left the kitchen, Santos stood. He looked down at himself. “Dammit.” The old lady had thoroughly outsmarted him. How far could he get not only injured, but without his pants?

      “Dammit,” he said again, picturing himself limping down River Road wrapped in a bath towel. He had to trust her. Right. He’d trusted plenty in the last year and a quarter, starting with those bumbling, good-for-nothing homicide detectives. So much for trust.

      Heart pounding, Santos sat back down and waited, a feeling of doom settling over him like a dark cloud. He closed his eyes, certain that in one minute a police officer would walk through the door and haul his butt back to New Orleans.

      She wasn’t going to do that to him, Santos thought suddenly and with certainty. This Lily talked tough, but she had kind eyes. Something about her made him trust her instinctively.

      He called himself a fool. Whether he could trust her or not, he was trapped.

      She hadn’t lied. A moment later his Aunt Lily escorted an elderly man into the kitchen. Instead of a badge and a gun, he was carrying a black medical bag.

      And true to her promise, the doctor played along with their story about Todd being her nephew; he asked few questions about how he’d received his injuries or about anything else.