Bayou My Love: A Novel (9 page)

I
hadn’t packed a variety of clothes, since I hadn’t planned on evenings out.
Jeans, paint-splattered shorts, T-shirts: These are the things I packed for
work. I didn’t want to look like I was reading this as a date, so I went for a
low-key nice fit—jeans that had no paint smears and a slim-fitting scoop neck
T-shirt that normal gals might sometimes wear on dates. I ran a comb through my
hair and tamed it back into a ponytail, pulled on my favorite vintage boots and
called it done.

Downstairs
I paused by Jack’s door when I heard the buzzing of an electric razor. Outside,
the dog barked, agitated. When I opened the front door, a woman was standing on
the porch, one arm raised to knock. In her other arm was a covered dish. Her
mouth opened into a tiny O.

I
stared at her for a few seconds, but she said nothing.

“Hi,”
I said, because it seemed like I had to. “Can I help you?”

Her
big hazel eyes narrowed. She looked a few years older than me, with heavy
mascara and platinum hair. She wore a blouse so tight across the chest, the
most critical button looked like it would pop the next time she inhaled. Her
denim skirt was short and frayed, as if she’d cut it to make it shorter. She
wobbled on her pink high heels, and I frowned as I thought of them leaving
little divots in the floorboards of my porch.

“I
was looking for Jack,” she said, drawing his name out into two syllables,
Jay-yack
.

Bella
growled from the corner of the porch.

“Oh,
he’s, uh, out right now. Can I take a message?”

She
looked past me into the house, then gave me a long once-over. “His truck’s
here. Isn’t he off today?”

Heat
rose in my chest.

“I’m
Enza,” I said. “And you are?”

“Bringing
him a casserole.” She smiled then, blinking at me slowly, the way a cat does
when staring you down. “I know he had a bad night, and I usually drop by after
the hard days to cheer him up.”

“Ah,
that’s thoughtful of you to bring a casserole.”

“Yeah,
some nights I bring him dinner. Sometimes we get around to eating it.” She
pursed her lips.

My
cheeks burned. I wanted to shove that casserole right into her face. Bella
growled again, and I thought,
Good dog.

“Well,
sorry you missed him.” I moved to shut the door.

The
woman smiled her fake smile again and thrust the dish into my arms. “Tell him
I’ll see him next time,” she purred. “And tell him I said thanks again for last
time.” She winked at me, and then turned and strutted down the porch steps. I
cringed at the clack-clack of those high heels and fought the urge to slam the
door. She was no doubt waiting for that, so I shut it gently and then stormed
down the hall and flung open the door to Jack’s room, still carrying that
damned covered dish against my ribs.

The
door banged against the wall, and Jack turned toward me, dropping the shirt he
was holding to just below his waist. His hair was wet from the shower, and he
was completely naked.

“Jeez,”
he said. “Don’t you knock?” His big blue eyes were wide. They shifted from me
to the casserole, and he cocked his head. “What’s that?”

“Dinner.”
I tore my gaze away from his chest. “From your girlfriend.” He must have
thought I was so naive. “How long did you think you could hide that from me,
Jack?”

His
eyes got wider. He held the shirt against him. I tried to ignore his broad
shoulders, his muscular thighs, the tattoo of the bird that covered his arm
from elbow to shoulder, wrapping onto his back.

“Who?”
he asked, and he looked genuinely puzzled.

“About
five-four, bottle blond, skintight wardrobe. I’m not that kind of girl, you
jerk.”

I
shoved the dish at him. He dropped the shirt as he caught the dish, and I stole
one last look as he held it as skillfully as he could manage. Of course he’d be
fucking perfect all over, with a body like one Michelangelo chiseled out of
marble.

“Now
hang on,” he said. “I do not have a girlfriend. I’m not that kind of
guy
.”

“Well
someone headed down the driveway might beg to differ.”

“Enza,”
he said. He smiled like he was stifling a laugh, and I wanted to clock him.

“This
is funny to you?”

“Miranda
is not my girlfriend.” He stepped behind the dresser and set the casserole on
top, then pulled a pair of boxer shorts from the nearest chair. “It’s
absolutely not what you’re thinking.” Hiding himself behind the dresser, he
slipped the shorts on.

I
scowled, turning toward the door. “How stupid do you think I am? Does any woman
ever fall for that line any more?”

“Listen,”
he said, grabbing my arm. “That woman has been after me forever. We went out a
few times, I broke up with her, and she just keeps coming back like a damn
weed. I keep telling her it’s over, but she doesn’t get it.”

I
pulled my arm free. “She said she came over all the time.”

“She
does. In that way that people do right before you get a restraining order against
them. She shows up at work, she shows up here. I even caught her inside once,
waiting for me to get home. But I swear, there is nothing between us.”

“Oh,
for heaven’s sake.” I turned again, and he rushed to the door, blocking me from
leaving.

“You
don’t believe me,” he said, sounding truly hurt.

“Jack
Mayronne, you let me out of here this instant.” I glared at him, picturing a
little voodoo doll with his stupid perfectly mussed hair. I imagined sticking
pins into the middle where its heart should be. Then sticking a few in some
places lower down.

He
placed his hand on my arm, sending a rippling current along my skin. “I
wouldn’t lie to you like that.”

“Don’t,”
I said. When I reached for the doorknob, he leaned into me. I could feel the
heat from the shower coming off him in a wave. Under different circumstances, I
would have buried my face in his hair, but I just tensed up, waiting for him to
move.

“Trap
me in the bedroom?” I said. “That’s your plan?”

He
grinned that damned crooked grin and said, “There are worse places to be
trapped with me,
non
?”

That
was it. I stomped his toes, and he sprang back, a yelp filling the air between
us. I flung the door open and said, “I want you out of here by the time I get
back.”

“Dammit,
Enza. Come back here!”

I
stomped down the hall, my boot heels pounding the floorboards hard enough to
leave a few dents of my own. As I strode out the front door, I could still hear
him calling my name.

Chapter
7

Outside,
the air felt less charged. The sky was turning to violet, like the whole world
was about to start over from scratch. I hated the idea of being in the house
with Jack just then. So I climbed into my Jeep and started driving.

The
back roads all looked the same after a while, and I couldn’t tell if I’d gone
in a big circle or led myself out into the middle of nowhere. It was soothing,
driving alongside the cool green-gray water of the canal. The katydids had
started again, their buzzing louder than the car engine. When at last I came to
a familiar intersection, I realized Vergie’s house was only about five minutes
away, to my right. I turned left and drove until I came to a diner with a neon
sign in the shape of a catfish.

It
was a clapboard shack, all weathered wood with peeling paint, and had an earthy
kind of charm. It sat nestled in a grove of huge oak trees, their limbs draped
with white lights that twinkled in the branches like fireflies. A few cars were
parked out front, and a couple of smokers lingered by the door. A sign read
“Cold Beer, Catfish Special,” with a hand-painted arrow pointing toward the
shack from the road. There was no sign that indicated the name.

There
weren’t any other places between here and Vergie’s—not along this little
highway. I was tired of driving but still didn’t want to go back and face Jack.
Pushing thoughts of him aside, I climbed out of the Jeep. The two men by the
door, both with gray beards and baseball caps, nodded a greeting as I stepped
inside.

The
place was dark except for lanterns hanging over the booths. Some tables were
crammed together on one side of the room, and there was a bar in the back with
red lights above it. The tables and chairs were mismatched, all different
colors of vinyl likely reclaimed from 1950s diners. In the back, a group of men
were playing pool. The air split with the sound of balls cracking on a break,
followed by hoots and whistles. Smoke hung in clouds above me.

A
few heads turned as I slid into a booth near the bar. I was hoping to hide
there for a while and get myself together.

And
give Jack enough time to leave.

A
waitress with a short skirt and beat-up red and black cowboy boots came to the
table. I could hear her boot heels, even over the jukebox.

“Hi,”
she said. “Get you something to drink?”

“Bourbon.
A double, please.”

She
smiled and set a menu in front of me, then headed to the bar.

There
was an empty corner in the back, a space where two couples danced to an old
country song I remembered from when I was a kid. Watching them tangled together
made me think of Jack, and I shook my head, like that might knock the thought
of him away. But skin has a memory of its own. I could still feel his hands as
he held me tight against him, and his lips as they moved along my neck.

The
waitress brought my drink and asked if I wanted something to eat.

So
I ordered a burger. I had to eat, even though my stomach was churning. Bourbon
with no food was a bad idea.

The
couples danced on as the music changed to some modern country tune filled with
false twang. By the way people looked at me, it was clear this was a local
hangout that didn’t get many outsiders. I knocked back the last of the bourbon,
hoping the pleasant tingling in my toes might move to my brain and push away
the image of Jack pinning me against that newly painted wall.

When
I’d finished my burger and my second drink, a voice from behind me said, “It
pains me to see a lady with an empty glass.”

I
turned, ready to let this guy have it. It took a minute to recognize him, but
then he tugged on his suspenders, and the memory fell into place. Buck, from
the hardware store.

“Didn’t
mean to startle you,” Buck said. “Just saw you over here and thought I’d say
hello. What are you doing here all by yourself?”

“Needed
a break. Have a seat if you like.”

He
squeezed into the other side of the booth. When the waitress breezed by, he
said, “Hey, Sheila, can we get two more of what the lady’s having?”

“Just
a single this time,” I said.

Sheila
nodded and sauntered back to the bar.

“You
look like you could use another one,” he said. “If you don’t mind me saying.”

“Nope.
I imagine I do.”

He
smiled a sad smile. “That Jack giving you a hard time?”

“My
house is giving me a hard time.”

He
stared at me, raising one eyebrow. There was a twinkle in his eye.

“There
really are no secrets in this town,” I said.

Sheila
placed two drinks in front of us and winked at Buck.

“Cheers!”
He clinked his glass against mine. “Can’t live with ’em, can’t shoot ’em
without doing time.”

I
took a long swallow.

“He’s
a good guy,” Buck said. “Just makes mistakes sometimes, like the rest of us.”

“I
suppose that’s one way to look at it.”

He
smiled in that way that uncles do. “I’m sure you got a good reason to be mad,
darlin’. You seem like a sensible woman. But knowing him, if he knows you’re
this upset, he’s as mad at himself as you are. Don’t hold it over him for too
long.”

I
felt my cheeks flush from the bourbon. Maybe from something else too.

“Things
always seem better in the morning,” he said. “And they always seem worse at a
place like this.”

“Sounds
like you’ve been in this predicament once or twice.”

“Yep.
Once or twice… You gonna be OK?”

I
snorted. “I’m fine.”

“I
mean to get home, honey.”

“Oh,
sure. I’ll be here a good long while. Next one will be coffee.”

He
finished his drink and eased out of the booth. “I’ll leave you be, then. You
get yourself home safe now, OK?”

I
raised my glass as he ambled back to the other side of the room. Maybe Buck was
right—maybe I was being too hard on Jack. We’d only known each other a few
days, so why should I be surprised to learn he had baggage? Lord knows I had my
share. I cursed out loud, shoving myself against the back of the booth.

When
I heard heavy footsteps again, I thought Buck was coming back. To look at him,
you wouldn’t think he was such a softy. He looked like he could break a man in
half with his thumb and index finger. “Really, I’m fine,” I said, leaning my
head against the booth.

“I’d
say so.” A man slid into the seat across from me. Remy. “Little Miss
Firecracker.” His voice was cool. “What are you doing in here all alone?”

“Being
alone.” I gave him a hard stare.

He
had cleaned up considerably since that day at Buck’s. It was criminal for such
good looks to be wasted on an ass like him.

He
raised an eyebrow and clasped his hands together on the table. “Looks to me
like you could use some company.”

“Let
me save you some time,” I said. “Whatever you think is going to happen here, it
isn’t.”

He
smiled so his dimples showed and leaned so close I smelled faint traces of
aftershave. His eyes narrowed like he was about to trust me with a secret. “I
just came to apologize, sugar. I think you and I got off on the wrong foot the
other day. I was hoping I could make it up to you.”

His
knee pressed against mine under the table, and I didn’t pull away.

“Let
me guess. You love a good challenge.”

There
was that wolfish smile again. “I lost my manners that day, and I worry you got
the wrong idea about me. I can’t bear the thought of you thinking I’m such a
jackass.”

I
laughed. “Why do you give a damn what I think?”

Without
blinking, he said, “I know an extraordinary woman when I see one.”

I
took a sip from the glass. Part of me wanted to slap his cheek and walk away,
but the wicked part of me wanted to stay a little longer.

“Come
dance with me,” he said, his eyes steady on mine.

“Don’t
really feel like dancing.”

He
flashed a mischievous grin, then stood and took my hand. “Come on, sugar, let
me give you a proper apology. I’m not the big loup garou you think I am.”

I
was pleasantly numb, and bored with arguing. So I let him pull me from the table
and lead me to the far corner of the bar. As an old blues song blared on the
jukebox behind us, he raised my arms and placed them around his neck. He
lowered his hands to the small of my back, pulling me against him, and I didn’t
exactly want to pull away.

“Now,”
he said, his lips moving against my ear, “that’s not so bad, is it?”

His
voice was gravelly and low, his breath warm against my neck. He smelled like
tobacco and musk, like he’d been working in the sun all day. His hand was firm
against my back. I started to pull away, but he drew me closer, his thumb
barely sliding under the hem of my shirt to stroke my bare skin. My skin
tingled beneath his fingers, and I stopped thinking of prying myself loose.
Instead I leaned into him, sliding my fingers along the line of his collar.

“I
feel bad for offending you the other day. Mayronne and me, we just don’t get
along. My temper sometimes gets the best of me when he’s around.”

“That’s
an understatement.”

He
laughed. “Fair enough.”

“What
did he ever do to you, anyway?” As soon as I asked, I felt him bristle.

“Aw,
you don’t want to hear about all that. We just don’t see eye to eye. Never
have, and we go back a long time.”

The
sad look in his eyes made me think that maybe he wasn’t the bad guy I’d first
taken him for. It was beginning to feel like my instincts were completely
off-kilter down here, so much so that I couldn’t tell the sheep from the wolves
any more. The more he talked, the more I wondered about what had happened
between him and Jack to create such a rift.

He
spun me and then pulled me close again. “What do you say, sugar? Think we can
be friends now?”

At
the table behind us, Buck leaned back in his chair. From the look on his face,
I half expected him to come split us apart.

The
music changed to a fast song, and Remy squeezed my hip. “Come on, next round’s
on me.”

He
set our drinks on the table and slid next to me in the booth so that we were
barely touching. “So tell me something about yourself,” he said. “What brings
you down to the bayou?”

I
told him about Vergie and how I spent my summers there, how I rode billy goats
through the thickets and fished in the swamp with a bottle cap on a hook.

“Now
I’m trying to fix Vergie’s house,” I said. “But you don’t want to hear about
all of that.”

“Sure
I do.” He draped his arm across the back of the booth behind my head.

I
knew I was tipsy because I was talking too much, going on and on about
preserving the architecture and keeping it true to what Vergie would have
liked. When I finally stopped myself, he said, “And then you’re handing it over
to Mayronne?”

I
stopped, puzzled. “What do you mean?”

He
raised his eyebrows, sipping his drink. “Oh, maybe I misunderstood.”

“Misunderstood
what?”

He
shrugged. “I heard him telling Buck he was staying in that house once y’all
were finished with it. Said it was his when the work was done.”

I
felt my cheeks burning. “He said what?”

He
stared at me for a long moment. “Well, maybe I got that wrong. Never mind.”

“That
son of a bitch. What else did he say?”

He
finished his drink. “Sorry, sugar. Like I said—I might have misheard the whole
thing.” He moved the glass in a tiny circle. “Forget I said anything. Let’s
talk about something more pleasant.”

I
shook my head, thinking I’d go back to the house, throw all of Jack’s stuff
into the yard and pray for rain while I did it. “Bastard,” I hissed, tossing
back the rest of my drink.

“Sorry.
We were getting along so well. I don’t like to make a lady mad.” He brushed a
lock of hair behind my ear.

I
leaned back against the booth. “It’s fine. I’m not mad at you.”

He
slid closer. “Good. I’d hate to wreck our evening.” His hand traveled along my
thigh, high enough to refocus my attention. When I glanced down, he said, “I
could take your mind off all of that nonsense.”

“Yeah,
I bet you could.”

“Let
me show you what the Big Easy’s all about, jolie.”

Before
I could say anything, he leaned over and brushed his lips against my neck,
drawing a line from my ear to my collarbone. The roughness of his cheek made me
shiver.

I
lay my hand on his chest, more to steady myself than anything else, and he
kissed me hard on the mouth, sliding his hand along my jaw. I glanced over his
shoulder to see if anyone was watching, but quickly decided I didn’t care. The
jukebox was still blaring, and the couples were still swaying in the pool of
light in the corner. His hand seemed heavy on my collarbone, holding me in
place. I imagined what it would be like if we were alone, and for a solid
minute, considered the likelihood of that happening. When he suddenly broke away,
I opened my eyes.