Sweet Home Louisiana: Boys of the Bayou Book 2

by Erin Nicholas

  Sweet Home Louisiana

  Boys of the Bayou Book 2

  Erin Nicholas

  Copyright © 2019 by Erin Nicholas

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  * * *

  ISBN: 978-1-7338901-0-6

  Editor: Lindsey Faber

  Cover design: Angela Waters

  Cover photography: Lindee Robinson

  Models: Brian Boynton and Krista Ferguson

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Epilogue

  More from Erin Nicholas

  About the Author

  1

  Owen felt his mouth curve into a grin as he heard the familiar clap, clap, clap behind him.

  That was one of his favorite sounds—high heels on the wooden dock of the Boys of the Bayou swamp boat tour company.

  He took his time turning and once he did, he started at the shoes.

  They were black and showed off bright red toenails. The straps wrapped sexily around trim ankles and led the eye right up to smooth, toned calves. The heels matched the black polka dots on the white skirt that thankfully didn’t start until mid-thigh, and showed off more tanned skin.

  He straightened from his kneeling position in one of the boats as his eyes kept moving up past the skirt to the bright red belt that accentuated a narrow waist and then to the silky black tank that molded to a pair of perfect breasts.

  He was fully anticipating her lips being bright red to go with that belt and her toenail polish. God, he loved red lipstick. And high heels. In any color.

  But before he could get to those lips, she used them, to say, “Oh, dammit, it’s you.”

  Owen’s gaze bypassed her mouth to fly to her eyes. Because he’d know that voice anywhere.

  Madison Allain was home.

  A day early.

  Not that an extra day would have helped him prepare. He’d been thinking about her visit for a week and was still as wound tight about it as he’d been when Sawyer, his business partner and cousin, had told him that she was coming home. For a month.

  Owen stood just watching her, fighting back all of the first words that he was tempted to say.

  Like, “Damn, you’re even more gorgeous than the last time I saw you.”

  Or, “I haven’t put anyone in the hospital lately.”

  Or, “I’ve missed you so fucking much.”

  Just for instance.

  She blew out a breath and now he did focus on her lips.

  Yep, red. Terrific. That wasn’t going to make ignoring them any easier.

  “I was hoping you were Sawyer,” she said, propping a hand on her hip.

  Owen tossed the wrench he held into the toolbox at his feet. “Nope. Sorry.” So she wasn’t happy to see him. Big shocker. He hadn’t always been the perfect Southern gentleman around Maddie, that was for sure.

  He wiped his hands on his jeans. Okay, he was supposed to be nice to her. That meant treating her like she was one of the tourists who frequented this dock. Polite. Friendly, but not I’ve-known-you-my-whole-life-and-kissed-you-a-whole-bunch friendly. Just mildly hey-how’s-it-goin’ friendly. So that she didn’t sell off her portion of the business that not only fed him and his other two partners, but that was their pride and joy. And the only thing he was really good at.

  Nice. Polite. A little friendly—but not too much. He could do that. Though it probably meant not saying things like, “I still remember how your nipples taste.”

  Annoyed that within thirty seconds of seeing her again he was already thinking about her nipples, he kicked the toolbox, trying to slide it into the nook under the bow of the boat. Of course, he kicked it too hard and it tipped, spilling tools over the floor of the boat with loud clangs of metal against metal.

  He shoved a hand through his hair. That was typical. Everything was an overreaction when it came to how he acted around Maddie. Even the little stuff. Certainly the big stuff. Always had been.

  “Sawyer’s over at Ellie’s.” Owen pulled himself up out of the boat and onto the dock.

  That took him about two feet closer to her and he instantly became aware that he wasn’t wearing a shirt. Very aware as Maddie’s eyes tracked over his shoulders, chest and abs.

  The heat that arrowed through him was unwelcome. Though not unexpected. There had always been this crazy chemistry between them. Key word: crazy.

  “You’re early,” he said shortly.

  Her eyes bounced back up to his. “Um…yeah. I was able to get away sooner than I’d expected.”

  “You could have warned us. Quick text or something.”

  She frowned. “I didn’t realize you all needed warning.”

  You all. Not y’all. Seemed that Maddie had lost her drawl living in California for the past twelve years.

  Hell yeah, he needed a warning she was on her way. The same way he needed warnings about hurricanes and anything else that was going to blow into his life and potentially turn everything inside out. He needed a chance to batten things down. Like his emotions.

  “Would have been nice, that’s all I’m saying.” He realized he was being kind of a dick. He took a deep breath. She was here because her brother, Tommy, had owned thirty-five percent of Boys of the Bayou. He’d left that to Maddie when he’d died eight months ago. And now she wanted to sell. He and Sawyer and Josh, the remaining three partners, now had thirty days to convince her not to do that.

  They didn’t want some stranger coming into the business they’d inherited from their grandfather and that had been a part of their lives for as long as they could remember. But they also couldn’t afford to buy her out. Maddie being the fourth partner, the silent partner that lived two thousand miles away and simply got her share of the money via check once a month, was perfect. They just had to convince her to keep the status quo.

  And him being an ass to her within her first ten minutes in town was probably not the way to do that.

  She was already wary of him. Understandably. The last time she’d spent more than a few hours in Autre, Owen had put her brother in the hospital. Sure, he’d been in the bed next to Tommy, and really, Tommy had started it, but that didn’t change the fact that Owen’s actions had freaked her out.

  Tommy had just found out that Owen and Maddie were planning to elope. Tommy had said Owen could marry Maddie over his dead body and that had sent Owen over the edge.

  And him and Tommy through a plate-glass window.

  That wasn’t the only time he’d been an idiot over her, but yeah, seeing him and Tommy in matching hospital beds had worried her.

  Probably rightly so.

  Madison Allain had taught him the true meaning of being crazy about someone.

  He needed to get a grip. And he needed to keep that grip for the next thirty days. According to the Boys of the Bayou partnership agreement, she had to give them thirty days’ notice before changing any part of the agreement. That included selling. Sawyer was determined to use that thirty days to convince her she wanted to keep her share.

  One month wasn’t very long. Just four weeks.

  Owen could keep
his shit together for that long.

  Maybe.

  “I’ll take you over to Sawyer,” he said, giving her a smile. He bent to grab his shirt from the dock where he’d stripped it off earlier.

  It was June in Louisiana. Anyone working outside did so in as little clothing as possible. But as he pulled the soft green Boys of the Bayou tee over his head, he couldn’t help but grin a little. He didn’t mind making this first impression on Maddie.

  Yeah, he scared her, but he made her crazy, too. Maybe even crazier. The things that had happened in Autre from the time his lips first touched hers, to the time she got in the car and drove out of town for the last time were pretty legendary.

  So he should be scared of her, too. When this woman touched him, he became a bit of a dumbass. Okay, a great big dumbass. But she set shit on fire for him. Literally.

  He’d taught her to use a nail gun rebuilding the shed she’d torched. He’d also warned her ex-boyfriend—and the reason for the blaze—to steer clear of the backyard while she had that nail gun in hand. Wade Hillson had fucked up big-time at that Valentine’s Day party. It had led to Owen and Maddie’s first kiss, so Owen hadn’t been totally pissed, but he’d still threatened to throw Wade off the Manchac Swamp Bridge. A bigger threat, however, was definitely Maddie putting a nail gun to Wade’s junk.

  That history and chemistry between him and Maddie was going to make Owen’s life hell for the next thirty days, but he didn’t mind thinking that she might feel a little of the torture, too.

  “Is there any chance I could just wait here until Sawyer comes back?” Maddie asked as he stepped forward.

  “You don’t want to go to Ellie’s?” Ellie’s was Owen’s grandma’s bar. It was where Cora, Maddie’s grandma—and Ellie’s best friend since they were kids—worked, too. Cora ran the kitchen and Ellie tended the bar and kept the patrons—mostly old fishermen and tourists—in line. It was also where everyone in their big, boisterous family gathered. For just about any and every occasion. Or just to shoot the shit and catch up. They were over there planning Maddie’s return right now.

  Maddie sighed. “I don’t know if I’m ready to see them all at once.”

  Yeah, their families were a lot, especially when all together. And excited about something. They were definitely excited about Maddie being home.

  “I don’t suppose that bottom drawer of the file cabinet in the office still functions as a minibar?” she asked.

  Owen chuckled, surprised that she remembered that. But her grandpa and his had been best friends and had started the company to take people out hunting and fishing on the bayou. It had evolved over the years into the tourist attraction it was now. All of the kids had spent plenty of time down on these docks and in t growing up. The office had always had a drawer full of candy and one full of liquor.

  “It does, as a matter of fact,” he told her. And taking the edge off of…everything that was to come…wasn’t a bad idea.

  They were twelve years older. When they’d been together, they’d been kids, newly in love, newly having sex. Then her mom had died and her dad had gone to jail trying to avenge her mom’s death.

  That had been a lot. A lot.

  But it had been a long time ago. Maddie was a sophisticated city girl now and he was a laid-back bayou boy. They both knew that you couldn’t go around setting shit on fire just because someone pissed you off. You also couldn’t dangle people off a bridge or throw people through plate-glass windows.

  He and Maddie were past all of that. They knew better now. And they didn’t feel that way about each other anymore.

  It took a lot of heat, hormones, and more than a little bit of stupidity to act the way they had back then. His hormones were now under control, thank you. He was a lot smarter. Okay, a little smarter at least. And heat? Yeah, he hadn’t felt heat like that in years. That had been first love stuff. No matter what his grandfather said.

  The Landrys were well-known for falling hard and fast and having big, crazy love stories. But Owen was…skeptical. That was the best way to say it. He was skeptical about the level of in-love crazy that truly ran through the family tree. His mom sure hadn’t found true love in spite of having Landry blood flowing through her veins. She’d raised Owen on her own—at least as alone as someone with an involved-in-everything family could be—and not once had there been even a maybe-a-soul-mate in her life. Not even when Owen, from ages seven to nineteen, had tried everything he could to find her one. Now, after all these years, she was finally dating a nice guy who treated her well. But she’d met Paul at Home Depot when buying a new toilet. No one fell madly in love over toilets.

  “I think I need a shot or two before I walk into the bar across the street,” Maddie said with a small, sardonic smile.

  Owen looked at her closely. Past the red lips and the silky blonde hair and the California tan and into her eyes. She was nervous. Well, hell.

  Okay, so he felt a niggle of protectiveness at that. But she looked vulnerable, and she was here because her brother had died, and Owen was a good guy. He felt bad for her. She’d come to Autre for Tommy’s funeral, but she’d shown up at the last minute and had high-tailed it back out of town before he’d spoken even a word to her. She’d talked briefly with Sawyer and she’d hugged Cora. Then she’d gotten in an Uber—that she’d paid to wait for her—and headed back to the West Coast. So if he felt a little like hugging her and a tiny bit like putting his fist through a wall because he couldn’t fix this for her, well, that was just because he was nice. He gave a shit about other people. That was all.

  There was nothing special about Madison Allain.

  He couldn’t fix that her brother was dead and that she owned thirty-five percent of a business she didn’t want, but he could do something. He could get her tipsy.

  “Come on.” He felt himself start to reach for her hand, but he balled his hand into a fist and stepped back, gesturing toward the office.

  She started in that direction, and he noted that she had a big red purse hanging from one hand. She looked every bit the sophisticated city girl and it poked at him. She was gorgeous this way, of course. She looked a lot like tourists they got down here on a regular basis. He always got a kick out of the girls who had clearly never been on a boat and were wearing their expensive dresses and impractical shoes down here. Those were the girls who were most likely to get splashed with swamp water at some point. He put them right up front.

  But on Maddie it made him itchy. It wasn’t right. She wasn’t a city girl.

  Except she was. She’d lived in San Francisco for the past twelve years. Through her teens and early twenties. She’d been dressing herself for a long time. Just because she’d been a bayou girl, wearing cutoff blue jeans and running barefoot, didn’t mean that’s who she was now.

  Though he remembered a particular pair of cutoff blue jeans when she’d been sixteen that had ended up on the floor of his truck…

  He cleared his throat as he pushed the door to the office open to let her in. He even resisted putting a hand on her lower back. He couldn’t, however, escape the scent of her filling his lungs as she brushed past him.

  She even smelled sophisticated. Her perfume was probably expensive and couldn’t be found within forty miles of Autre.

  He remembered when she’d smelled like sunshine and peaches.

  She’d tasted like peaches, too.

  Maddie paused just inside the door and looked around. She let out a soft sigh.

  “You okay?” he asked, crossing to the file cabinet near the windows.

  “This place is exactly the same.” She went to the chair behind one of the two big wooden desks. It had been her grandfather’s chair.

  It was nothing fancy. Never had been. But it was as much a part of the office as the windows and exposed wooden beams overhead.

  The desks were piled high with stacks of papers, and boxes of everything from fishing lures to engine parts sat all over the floor. The guys didn’t really use the office for, well, off
ice work. It was more of a storage area. All of the guys, Tommy included, had always preferred to spend their time on the docks and the bayou itself. They only did what paperwork was absolutely required, and even most of that fell to Sawyer and Josh’s little sister, Kennedy. She bitched about them all on a daily basis, but she also didn’t trust any of them to do the book work or scheduling.

  Owen glanced over to find Maddie sitting in her grandpa’s chair, looking around the office with a slightly dazed expression. Yeah, he imagined it was a little like going back in time. The invoices and lures might be new, but the desks and chairs and file cabinets were original. Even some of the dust had probably been there since the first days.

  Oh, who was he kidding? He pulled a glass milk bottle from the bottom drawer. Some of those lures and the invoices on the bottoms of the piles had probably been there since their grandfathers had owned the place, and the dust was definitely original. Kennedy drew the line at cleaning. Anything.

  He held the bottle up. “This okay?”

  “Is it at least 90 proof?”

  He laughed. “Doesn’t make it through that door if it’s not.” He set the bottle on the nearest desk. The one his grandfather had used. The bottle hadn’t held milk in years, but it had been refilled several times with the moonshine Mitch made with Kenny Allain’s recipe. Owen reached for a coffee cup sitting on the desk, looked inside, saw it was empty and dry—not necessarily clean, but the moonshine would kill any germs—blew into it to dislodge any possible dust, and poured two fingers’ worth. He handed it over to her.

  “Whiskey?” she asked. She didn’t seem worried about the possibility, just curious.

  He fought his grin. She might drink martinis or something now, but she’d first gotten drunk on good old “bayou whiskey,” as Kenny had called it. She wasn’t intimidated by a little you-can-drink-it-or-remove-paint-with-it liquor. “Kenny’s moonshine.”