Hot Touch (21 page)

Paul cupped a hand around the back of her head and stroked her golden-red hair as if she were a distraught child. “His name’s Jacque. Jacque Ancelet. Frank sent the guard to drive him home. He lives over in Juliette. ’Bout an hour west of here. He read a newspaper story on the movie and saw your name. That’s all I could get from him before he passed out.”

She turned to look out the window again, silent tears sliding down her face. “I have to go see him.”

Paul felt a stab of dread. “
Chère
, no.”

“You’ve always said I need to know the truth about my mother’s family.”

He squeezed the back of her neck, massaging, coaxing. “Not this truth. This’ll only be bad.”

She wiped trembling fingertips across her cheeks. Even behind her sunglasses he could see her frown of bewilderment. “You told me not to trust rumors.”

“Jacque is no rumor. He’s flesh and blood.” Paul turned her face to him and clasped it between his hands. “He’s no good. So what? You’ve got a home here. I love you. The animals love you. Forget about your mother’s family.”

She shook her head gently. “I have to go see them, Blue.”

Paul got up and paced, his hands on his hips. “No. It’s gonna be bad. You’ll go back to California for sure.”

“Why are you so upset?”

He halted, his hands clenching. “The alligator. She’s a bad sign. I told you.”

“Oh, Paul!”

“It’s not just superstition,” he said between gritted teeth. “It means something. It means don’t go see your mother’s people.”

She stood wearily, gripping the back of the chair for support. “Unless I find out what kind of family I came from, I don’t know if I can ever stay here.”

His head drooped in defeat. “What if they’re even worse than you thought?”

“I don’t know what I’ll do.” She came to him and stroked his face tenderly, her hands quivering. “But I know it won’t change how much I love you.”

Paul drew a deep breath and said grimly, “Right now I feel like locking the door again and holding you prisoner until you say you won’t do this foolish thing. You’ll always be my woman, and that’s all that matters.”

He stepped back. She looked up at him mutely, sorrow
written in every line of her body. “It’ll be all right, doc.”

“I’ll take you to see them,” he whispered, his voice gruff. “Even if it means I lose you.”

Caroline’s hands went ice cold when she saw the dusty streets and quaint old storefronts of Juliette. She gripped the armrest on the Corvette’s passenger door, then used the other hand to check her white-rimmed sunglasses and matching scarf. Slipping a finger under the high, banded neck of her dress, she tugged it upward.

“You’re well hidden,
chère
,” Paul said drolly, the wind whipping his words. “And you look rich and important. Relax.”

Caroline smoothed the draped jersey of her dress, chic and charcoal-gray, meant to impress without shouting for attention. She lifted a heavy necklace of silver crescents and looked at Paul anxiously. “Simple but elegant.”

He gestured at his black trousers and white pullover. “Simple but plain.”

Caroline chuckled despite her nervousness. “There’s nothing plain about you,
monsieur.
”

Her laughter died as he turned off the highway and guided the Corvette down a two-lane road bordered on both sides by flat expanses of marsh. In the distance she saw a grove of cypress trees and a small frame house among them.

A chill ran down her spine. “That must be it.”

Paul glanced at the directions he’d gotten from the security guard who’d driven Jacque Ancelet home. He slowed the Corvette. “There are lots of cars in the yard. He must have company. Maybe we should have called. Maybe we should go back to town and call. Or go back to Grande Rivage and come again some other day.”

“No, Blue. I knew there were going to be lots of people here.”

Paul swung the Corvette onto the side of the road and stopped a few hundred feet from the graveled driveway. “How did you know?”

“I called my grandfather and told him that I was coming to see him today. I asked him to invite any of the family who wanted to meet me.”

Paul groaned. “What did he say?”

“He’s sort of shy, I think. He just mumbled something and said he’d do it.” She sat in silent melancholy for a moment, then said with a trace of her old sarcasm, “A house full of crummy Ancelets. Lovely. I’ll get the whole rotten picture in one day and then I won’t have to see any of them again.”

“You don’t have to see any of them
now.
”

Tears sprang to her eyes and she lifted his hand to kiss it. “Shhh. No matter how awful they are, I’ll always want to be a part of
your
life. I love you too much for anything else to matter.”

He smiled sadly. “You love me but you’ll go back to California.”

She shut her eyes and took a deep breath. “Let’s get it over with.”

The house was basic clapboard and tin, but surprisingly well kept. The mild Louisiana fall let red geraniums continue to bloom in whitewashed truck tires. The ersatz planters were sunk in a sandy yard that bore broom marks where someone had tidied the ground. Caroline studied a porch hung with pots of begonias and furnished with metal lawn chairs painted blue.

Her knees trembled as she crossed the yard. Paul’s hand was a strong, calm support on the small of her back. She swallowed tightly as a screen door swung open and Jacque Ancelet stepped onto the porch, his eyes already riveted to her.

Caroline felt Paul’s hand curl around her waist protectively. He drew her close to his side and whispered, “Anytime you want to leave, just say so.”

She nodded. Her stomach twisted with a confusing mixture of distaste and pity. Jacque looked terribly awkward in an old blue suit that fit too loosely over the angles of his tall, skinny form. His feathery red hair was slicked back, and his face had the pink scrubbed look of a man who equated cleanliness with important occasions.

The more important, the harder he scrubbed, she suspected. Why was he trying so hard to impress the granddaughter he’d forgotten years before?

Caroline’s mouth flattened in a grim line as people bustled onto the porch behind him, all gazing at her with mingled curiosity and concern. She’d never seen so many shades of reddish-blond hair in her life. Here and there she noticed features that reminded her of her own—sassily tilted mouths, big dramatic eyes that dominated the rest of the face, chins just a little on the belligerent side.

The crowd was as wholesome-looking as a church choir, and the collection of cars and trucks they’d left among the cypress trees were sparkling late models or older ones in respectable condition.

Confusion brought a surge of anger. Just because they weren’t ne’er-do-wells didn’t mean they were likable.

Her grandfather walked down the steps and stopped in front of her, his Adam’s apple bobbing with nervousness. He was a big scarecrow of a man, but there was a sense of dignity about the squared set of his shoulders.

“I hope a crazy old
grand-père
didn’t embarrass you too much,” he said in heavily accented English. Caroline asked grimly, “Are you an alcoholic?”

“No. I’m a coward.”

“Uncle, shhh, that’s not true,” a man in the crowd said.

Jacque shook his head in disagreement, his gaze never leaving Caroline. “I was scared to see my granddaughter again. ’Fraid she’d turned into an
Américaine
. So I had a few drinks.” He paused, frowning deeply. “I forgot that it don’t set too well with me.”

“He hadn’t had a drink in ten years,” someone said.

Caroline knotted her hands together tensely. “I don’t understand why you bothered to come see me when you hadn’t tried since I was a child.”

“Those damned Fitzsimmonses told you a bunch of lies!” Jacque said, his face flushed with anger.

“Of course you’d say that.”

“They took you off to Connecticut and wouldn’t let us see you! I went up there!” Jacque waved a hand toward the crowd behind him. “François, Annie, Sebastien—they went too. But your daddy’s people had a judge in their pocket and he said us backwoods Cajuns weren’t good enough for you, no!”

A stout older woman came forward and shook Jacque’s arm. She looked at Caroline somberly. “The judge, he says your daddy’s people can give you a better life. He says seeing us would only upset you, ’cause you had brain damage.”

Caroline gasped, “I never had brain damage! And your story doesn’t make sense, because my father’s people didn’t want me! Why would they fight you for custody?”

Jacque shook his fists in the air, the gesture so much like her own fist-shaking tendencies that Caroline was stunned.

“They just didn’t want a bunch of Cajuns to raise a Fitzsimmons!”

“Can you blame them after what my mother did?”

Jacque’s mouth worked vigorously before he mastered enough control to get words out. “Your
maman’
s only crime was loving an
Américain
who had more pride than sense!”

The woman beside Jacque frowned in reproach. “Johnny was a good boy. Don’t you tell his daughter nonsense.” She looked at Caroline. “I’m your cousin Riva.”

“He had to have everything perfect!” Jacque insisted. “He had to have money! He didn’t know what was important!”

“He wanted Michelle to have the best,
Grand-père,
” Riva corrected him.

Caroline hushed them with impatiently raised hands. “She had an affair. She deserted him. I heard that story all my life.”

“Doesn’t mean it’s true,” Paul interjected hopefully.

Caroline trembled with the need to restore order to her beliefs. “Then why would my father’s people hate her so much?”

“ ’Cause she spoke her mind and she knew what was best for her husband,” Riva replied.

“She chased other men,” Caroline said hoarsely.

“She liked to talk and she never met a stranger, man or woman,” Jacque admitted. “But any man said she was flirtin’ with him, he was just doin’ some wishful thinking.” His eyes flared. “Her only fault was that she was faithful to her crazy husband!”

The crowd of Ancelet relatives had been growing agitated as they listened to the debate. It was obvious that they had words to contribute to the discussion and they couldn’t be politely silent any longer. They swirled off the porch to surround Caroline and Paul.

“I’m your uncle François. Your mama and daddy loved each other. You believe it.”

“I’m Clarisse, your great-aunt. We always wondered how you were. We thought you had it good, that you probably didn’t want anything to do with us.”

Another chimed in, “Why didn’t you come see us before now?”

Caroline faltered, feeling trapped by their fervent attention.

“I don’t know.” She shook her head, clearing it. “I mean, I was taught to hate my mother and her people. Why would I want to see you?”

“Don’t think we desert our own! We wanted you!”

“We heard that you could get better surgeons for your face in Connecticut.”

“We heard your daddy’s people gave you everything a little girl dreams about.”

“Oh, God,” Caroline said weakly.

Paul tightened his arm around her and eyed the crowd with reproach. “Go easy. You can’t change her feelings by overwhelming her.”

Caroline jerked her sunglasses off and flung them on the ground. She pointed to her scar and watched everyone’s stunned reaction. “Why do I have this? If my parents were so damned wonderful, how did this happen?”

“Oh, petite,” Jacque said hoarsely. “My poor
petite-fille.
”

“I don’t want your sympathy, I want explanations! Did my mother get drunk and drive head-on into a tractor-trailer, or not? Explain that!”

“Your
maman
had just one beer!”

“The road was slick. It was raining.”

“It was an accident. She was upset; she was driving too fast.”

Caroline gritted her teeth in frustration. “Why was she upset?”

“Your daddy wanted her to leave him!”

“Whoa, whoa.” Caroline swayed, feeling like a dazed boxer trying to dodge a knockout punch. “He wanted What?”

Her grandfather grasped her hands. Without thinking, she clung to his gentle, calloused fingers. His eyes were full of tears.

“That boy said he was no good for her because he lost all his money in some sort of get-rich-quick deal.

Had to sell their big house, jewelry he’d given her, everything, and take a cheap apartment. He drove her away because he didn’t want her to see him poor. She came back here with you, but she begged him to come too. Finally he came out to see her and you. They—” He stopped, swallowing hard.

“They cried and they argued,” Riva continued. “I was here. Your
grand-mère
Ancelet was alive then, too, and we both heard. Your
maman
says you and her are going back to N’Orleans with him. He says no—he had so much pride, your daddy—he says she can’t come back until he can give you two all the nice things you had before.”

Jacque cleared his throat roughly. “She says she’s going to the apartment where she belongs and he can’t stop her. So she got in the car with you and left. Your daddy went after her.”

Caroline felt her grandfather’s grip tighten. She realized abruptly that Paul had both arms around her and that she was crying. “And he found us in the accident.”

“Oui.”

“And later, he … felt so guilty …”

“He loved you both so much,” Riva said in a trembling voice. “He just couldn’t take what he’d done to you.”

Caroline shook her head. “I can’t believe any of this. It’s too much, too soon. You can’t expect—”

“There’s plenty of time, Caro,” Paul murmured, kissing her temple. He sounded enormously relieved. His lips brushed over her scar. “It takes time to heal.” After a second he added, “And to forget about alligators.”

Jacque tugged on her hands. “Come inside. See my scrapbooks. I’ve got pictures of your
maman.
” He paused, then added reluctantly, “And your papa.”

She was so unnerved by all the claims she’d just heard about her parents, she knew nothing she said would make sense. “What do you want me to do?”

Paul shook her gently. “Just go inside and sit down,
chère
.”