BayouBabe99er (BookStrand Publishing Romance) (11 page)

He spooned sugar into his coffee, lounged back in his seat, and kept a daring eye on Sharlene. Sharlene returned his gaze. Her eyes shifted from his face to keep track of each sweep of his hand as the spoon clanged against his cup. The ticking seconds strengthened his resolve to pursue her affections. They sipped through a six-cup pot—slowly. Drake was satisfied to savor the quiet moment where only she existed in his world.

* * * *

Yet Moot’s eyes trained on them as he drew up short at the edge of the darkness. His drunken stupor caused the eerie sight before him. His knuckles pressed into his eye sockets. All was the same when they reopened. A time warp swirled, spinning him years in the past. The Cormier sitting at his table was none other than his lifelong enemy and girlfriend-stealing ex-friend. Rage ignited.

* * * *

Movement in the hall lured Sharlene to look over Drake’s shoulder just as Moot tottered forward. The determination on his face alerted her to his intentions. She knew Drake was unaware of the impending attack on him and yelled, “Uncle Moot!” She jumped too late to thwart the altercation, seeing the entire episode in slow motion.

Drake struggled to his feet under Moot’s haphazard hold on his collar. His body knocked the table several times before he wrangled himself into position to subdue the older man. His arms angled under Moot’s armpits to latch his hands behind her uncle’s head. Moot’s thrashing collided with the table, crashing their cups to the floor, scattering stoneware shards all over the place. It was just Sharlene’s luck to get pushed down on her hands and knees in the debris field.

Her screams halted the tussle as both men spun at the sound. Only Moot was out of breath and panting.

“Stop it!” she yelled, angry at them for dominating her emotions.

On all fours, Sharlene lifted one hand and then the other to inspect the damage. Fortunately, her injuries were minor cuts to the heel part of her palms. Drake’s strong hands on either side of her body hoisted her to her feet. She wrenched free and headed for the sink. Water irritated the red-tinged areas, prompting her to fan away the pain.

Sharlene counted to ten in an effort to tame her temper. From her perspective, Drake was completely free of fault. He only defended himself. In her opinion, her uncle’s actions were unjustified.

“Ya look just like ’im. Guess my head was mixed up.”

Sharlene endured her uncle’s apologetic look. A swipe of a paper towel to dry her hands and she stooped to clean up the mess instead of responding to his comments. If she spoke up now, she was liable to say something regrettable. He’d had enough turmoil without her adding to his already weighty load.

“Sha?”

She gave him her undivided attention.

“My head was fuzzy.”

The trip to the trashcan cooled her temper. A covert look at Drake, and Sharlene remarked, “You owe us the short version of the long story, Uncle.”

Drake stood riveted in place.

Moot ho-hummed in indecision. Ghosts of the past seemed to haunt him. Would the likelihood of alienating her make him come clean? His eyes dissected Drake.

Sharlene pushed the table back in place, claimed a seat, her mannerisms signaling her willingness to listen. “The duel?”

“Back then, people lived by the code. Some even died by it. His grandpa was a poacher. Got what he deserved by his own wild shot. Weren’t no duel!”

“This is all about poaching your traps, Mr. Mouton?”

Sharlene heard Drake rush to wrap up the details in a nice, neat package.

“Nothing, whatsoever, to do with my grandmother,” Drake proclaimed.

“Ya do have her eyes…and his gall.”

“He poached more than traps.” Sharlene summed it all up.

“Sweet Becky was a bus rider on a mission to register voters back in them days. We soughta hit it off…me and her. Worked the area together ’til things got too dangerous and violent.” He sat like the load was too much to bear. “Took a lot to convince her she did her part—that, the rest was up to the locals. Put her on the Greyhound myself.” Moot’s look drifted into space. “Went behind my back, yo’ grandpa did. By the time I made it up north, he don’ snibbled, snuggled, and snatched her away.”

They looked from one to the other.

“Probably for the best, Uncle Moot.” Sharlene patted his wrinkled hand. “Those were intolerant times.”

“Thought that part of my life was put to rest.” He got up slowly without his usual pep. “Guess I was wrong.” Those words conjured up the terrible loss as Moot slipped back into the darkened hallway.

Sharlene chanced a look at Drake. He rooted in the same spot near the door. The strained silence was a partition separating them. She didn’t know what to say as her thoughts ran wild with the “what ifs” as it related to Moot and his trials, and the “why nots” concerning her friendship with Drake.

Reasons not to get involved with him circulated in her brain on their second meeting. The list just kept growing. It was time to put an end to their fling. Nothing good could ever come of it. She was far too seasoned. He was too sorrowfully afflicted.

She sighed before getting up to come his way. The hand she dabbed with the paper towel was confiscated by Drake, who tenderly thumbed the scratches. The premonition this was the finale of their friendship was overpowering. Her refusal to respond to his touch was the clincher.

“Thanks for everything, Drake.”

He didn’t argue when she withdrew her hand and opened the door. “I’d like to spend more time with you, Sharlene.”

A timid smile touched her lips. “There’re too many years—”

“Don’t do that. Make age an issue when it’s not.”

“It’s not an excuse, Drake. It’s simply the truth. Your associations should enrich your life…get you closer to establishing your new future.”

“I’m not opposed to a new future,” he explained. “If something develops in a relationship, that’s a good thing. I know I enjoy your company. The question is do you enjoy mine?”

“My…
company
…is off-limits.”

“I’ll take that as a
yes
.” He smacked her quickly on the lips and left her swallowing her rebuttal.

Once again, Sharlene sat in the bleachers with her uncle awaiting the start of the scheduled meeting. She sifted through the low-key murmurings detecting an attitude of hopefulness. Her outlook was similar because of her reinstatement into the working community. Her career bloomed. Now she divided her time between New Orleans and Pauchex Pass, continuing her endeavors to give something back.

She searched the attendees for any signs of Drake. They managed a brief supper at Clyde’s one night over a week ago and had no contact since that time. She was extremely busy consulting. The ever-evolving crisis lassoed his time. She knew they would hook up sooner or later.

The rolling hush over the crowd whipped her head around to take in the march of the company’s entourage. They settled onstage, their grim faces giving a sneak peek of what was to come. They were all pinstriped and dress-shirted down, including the lone woman in the group. Their aloof air screamed
unapproachable
. A sightless person could see the meeting was a wrap before it even got started.

Sharlene ducked and dodged to peer between bodies in her effort to spot Drake. He wasn’t on the stage. He wasn’t at the info table. His face wasn’t one of those hanging in the doorway. She slumped back at the noise of the gavel rapping the table.

“This meeting is called to order,” the man in charge said. “New developments have caused revisions in some of the stipulations set forth by the company.”

That statement started the hiss and catcalls from the audience.

“Mr. Esterhaus, our new liaison officer, will bring you up-to-date on the conclusions about the oil sighted in Pauchex Pass.”

* * * *

Sharlene’s erect posture alerted Moot to an internal storm in the brew. Her life was slowly getting back on track since she started work. There was a noticeable difference, too, in the return of her easygoing manner. He saw her stress reduce with the interest shown by that
pain in his ass
, Cormier. Moot solemnly admitted to the fascination Cormier emitted when in her company. Moot called it like he saw it. Their infatuation was a spark for all to see.

He glanced at Sharlene. Who was he to object? Anyway, times had changed. Or had they?

The steel in her spine compounded by the current introduction hauled his attention back to the stage. He zoned in on the multitude of complaints from his fellow residents and sniffed betrayal in the air. Moot didn’t have to look at Sharlene to know how she felt. The deep breaths and fidgets exposed feelings rubbed raw.

“Wher’ that Cormier boy?”

Sharlene’s mouth dropped at Moot’s question.

“Mr. Cormier has moved on.”

* * * *

That answer was short and very telling. Sharlene heard little of the discussion after that revelation. Her mind wandered to private places shared with Drake. Remembering them, even now, set her adrift.

“Sha.”

The calling of her name burst the cloud bubble. She landed hard. “Yes, Uncle Moot?”

“It’s over.”

“Yes, it is,” she agreed, but for other reasons.

Sure enough, the meeting ended and people escaped to either take their places in line at the table or shoot out of the door. She was clueless as to what happened. And—there was no way she’d ask her uncle for a rundown. To do so would give her dilemma away.

Sharlene and Moot descended the bleachers, one careful step at a time.

“It was kinda short this time,” he supplied, filling in the blanks he knew she missed by that faraway look in her eyes. “More paperwork ’cause they couldn’ rule beyond a shadow of a doubt the oil in the Pass weren’t their fault.”

They streamed through the crowd tailing a line to the parking lot. Moot waited patiently while she absently took her time in closing the door. Her body was finally in, though the rest of her wasn’t there. The motor did its usual whine before it started up.

Her mind was a million miles away. Yet Sharlene’s instincts kicked in when she realized he turned in the opposite direction from the house. “Where’re we going?”

“It’s early. Thought a nibble at Clyde’s would be good.”

“I’m not really hungry, Uncle.”

“When you don’t want that red syrup?”

He tried to make her feel better and she knew it. “You’re right.” She perked up a bit. “That’s just what I need.”
A cool drink, not reminiscing about a warm body.

Sharlene and Moot followed a line of vehicles, and they all headed to town. As it turned out, they weren’t the only ones patronizing Clyde’s this evening. He just made it there to unlock the door as they arrived. The
Open
sign flashed on in neon colors while they parked.

“What’s going on?” Sharlene asked.

“Clyde touched in the head, that’s what.”

They parked up the street and got out to live Zydeco music strumming in the air. The stroll back to the store lightened her mood, especially seeing the string lights decorating the al fresco eating area. Her walk took on a little bounce the closer she got. Laughter swelled as those on the makeshift dance floor enjoyed themselves. They crossed the threshold, and the next thing Sharlene knew Moot had her in a backhand twirl in the middle of all the action.

Her uncle was a real stepper in his alligator boots for someone nearing eighty. The gaiety infected them as they Zydeco-stepped their troubles away along with the rest of the town. The exertion stimulated the return of Sharlene’s appetite. After a while, she parted ways with Moot, who showed no signs of tiring as he crowded in with two female dancers, whirling one by each hand.

Clyde had help behind the counter fulfilling orders as fast as requested. She waited her turn to order, keeping a lookout at the partygoers. The kaleidoscope of colors mesmerized her. Clyde’s tap on her shoulder startled her.

“What ’cha having, Sha?”

“I think we’ll try that boudin plate”—she pointed to the menu on the wall behind him—“with potato salad on the side, Mr. Clyde.” She had to yell over the music. “What are we celebrating?”

“The annual white shrimp season.”

“From what I’ve seen, there was barely any season at all.” She beat back the sadness.

“All the more reason for this outlet. Gator huntin’ ’bout to start. We need to kick up our heels a little. Just look at Moot.” She scoped out the dance floor as he talked. “He don’t squander no second chance.”

Sharlene’s grin showed all of her teeth as she spun completely around to watch. Her gaze faltered when a familiar outline dotted the doorway. She vacillated between her uncle’s constant movements and Drake’s stationary form. He staked out a new place just inside the door to observe the happenings. Then—their eyes collided.

Sharlene couldn’t deny the current that zapped her. A happy look touched on his face as she watched. She wanted Drake to whisk her onto the dance floor just to feel his strength against her body. The longer they stared, the more intense the surge.