Some Day Somebody

 

 

Acknowledgements

For my husband, Michael, who has done more than his fair share of the housework and cooking, all for the sake of my second full time, non-paying
job.
  My mom, who began introducing me as her ‘daughter, the author’, as soon as she read the awful first draft of this
manuscript
. My children and grandchildren, who’ve had to share me with my laptop for the last few
years
.  My family members, co-workers, and friends, both on-line and otherwise, who’ve proven to be
excellent
critique partners and editors.  My Angels…you know who you are, for being the best support group a girl could ask for. 

CHAPTER 1

Late
July, 2000

Damn the bad luck
.

Carrie
Jeansonne
groaned at the sight of her soon to be ex-husband.

There he stood, in all his conceited glory, the dark-eyed Cajun boy she’d been idiot enough to fall for. He leaned casually against her car door, smirking and smug, like he didn’t have one thing better to do than bug the hell out of her. His tight jeans hugged lean hips while his tee shirt...tight,
white,
and two sizes too small...outlined the perfect torso he was, oh-so-damned-proud-of.

“I don’t have time for your crap today, Dave,” she growled through clenched teeth. She shifted her armload of groceries, clutched her keys in one hand like she’d learned in self-defense class, in case she’d need to knock some sense into him.

He didn’t move a muscle.

She struggled not to smash the bread, while trying to keep the contents of her purse from spilling onto concrete
hot
enough to blister bare feet. “What do you want?” She tapped her foot, falling into rhythm with an old Zeppelin tune blasting from the sound system of a passing car.

Silence.

Carrie hefted one bag in an awkward attempt to check her watch. “Look, I hate to interrupt your dramatic pause-for-effect, but I have to pick our daughters up before I can go home to cook.” Keys jingled from one finger as she shifted her bags from one aching arm to another.

God’s-gift-to-women-kind finally graced her with words. “We need to talk, Babe.”

Carrie’s stomach soured at the sound of the endearment aimed at her. “I don’t have time, and I’m
not
your babe,” she said, wiping the sweat from her forehead. In less than a minute, she’d migrated from air-conditioned comfortable, to hot as hell. It didn’t take long for her fair skin to betray her by turning sun-kissed pink. “I need to go.”

“You
need
to rethink this divorce.” He glared up at her from lowered lids, his black eyes daring her to talk back. “You know you can’t do this on your own.”

She sent up a silent prayer for a sensible way out as an older couple approached. The old man, who'd served during WWII alongside her father, stopped to stare. She watched him nod, as his wife quietly reminded him of Carrie’s parentage.

“Is there a problem here, young lady?” the old gentleman said.

Dave spoke, his voice tight and contained. “I’m speaking to my
wife
.”

The man glared at Dave. “Are you a young lady?”

“No, sir.”

“Then I wasn’t talking to you, was I?”

Dave leaned in close to Carrie, his breath hot on her face, and spoke in a steely whisper. “Don’t you do
it.
”

Carrie anchored her gaze on Dave as she spoke, too apprehensive of the consequences to lose sight of him. “Mr. Bubby, could you ask someone to call the police for me?”

The man grunted while leaning on his walking cane. “If I were twenty years younger I’d take care of him for you myself, hon.” He grabbed hold of the door and turned to shake his cane at Dave. “You’re lucky her dad isn’t still around. In his younger days, he would have whipped your ass good, boy.”

Carrie grinned, watching the old man disappear into the store, before Dave's comment jarred her back to the present.

“You bitch.”

She gave her soon-to-be-ex-husband a smug look, part satisfaction, part justified anger, bordering on devilish amusement. “That’s what happens when you go public with private business.” Carrie heard the
pop
of his jaw as it tightened, then saw him relax in reluctant acceptance.

Dave took one step back and gave her appearance a prolonged perusal. “Why didn’t you look this good when we were married?”

“Why are you still an idiot?” she shot back in a tone as dry as a piece of unbuttered toast. 

"You're looking hot these days, Carrie."

“Easy explanation.
 I’m the shiny toy dangling out of your reach.” Carrie leaned forward to invade his space. “You’re the dog who always wants what he
can’t
have
.”

His dark eyes narrowed. “Are you screwing around already?”

Her eyes sparkled with amusement. “You’re kidding, right?”

“You’re looking good for somebody, and it sure as hell
ain't
me. Besides, you must want it by now,” he goaded, casting a lustful gaze over her ample curves.

“It?”

He nodded.

“Trust me, David—whatever
it
is that you think I want—you don’t have it.”

“Who does?”

“None of your damn business.”