Blue Bayou

by JoAnn Ross

  They turned a corner and Beau Soleil came into view, gleaming like a fanciful dream in the gloaming. “ 'Specially now that you've promised Matt himself a dog.”

  “I suppose you're right,” she said on a soft sigh as he parked in front of the house. “It's just not what I'd originally planned.”

  Not what she'd written down on her lists, Jack supposed as he went around the hood of the red car and opened her passenger door. “You know what they say, chère.”

  When she was standing beside him, he turned her in his arms, fitting her against him, thinking, as he had so often these past weeks, what a perfect fit they were together. “Life's what happens when you're making plans.”

  He slipped a hand beneath her sunset-hued top and watched desire rise in her eyes as he caressed her. “And speaking of plans . . .”

  “I'm giving Michael a woman in this book,” Jack announced to Nate, Alcèe, and his brother Finn, who'd returned home for the fish fry out at the Callahan camp. A more typical south Louisiana bachelor party would more likely include a trip to the city, where everyone would get drunk and work their way through the French Quarter strip clubs. But having known Alcèe for most of his life, Jack had figured the former priest would undoubtedly start trying to “save” the girls five minutes after they'd ordered their overpriced, watered-down drinks and just put a pall on any passing of a good time.

  So, it had been decided that they'd hold the party out at the camp. They'd do a little fishing, Jack would cook the catch—or some shrimp he'd bring along just in case—play some cards, and rag Alcèe about being the first of the long time friends to take the fall into matrimony.

  “Big surprise.” Nate snorted. He leaned back, put his boots up on the railing, and took a swallow from one of the longneck bottles of Dixie beer Jack had sitting on ice in an aluminum tub. “The guy goes through women like Tiny Dupree goes through a mess of crawfish.”

  Since Tiny probably weighed about three-eighty soaking wet, and was the all-time Cajun Days crawfish-eating champion, that was saying something. It was also pretty much the truth. There might be a lot of violence in his books. But Jack hadn't scrimped on the sex, either. Which, his agent had told him, was partly responsible for his large female readership.

  “Not that kind of woman. You know, the woman.”

  “Son of a bitch.” Nate dropped his legs down to the deck and gave Jack an incredulous look. “You're not gonna marry the guy off?”

  “Well, not right away.”

  Jack might admittedly have romance on the mind lately, but he wasn't a fool. Part of the fictional DEA's appeal to men was his success with the ladies, while female readers seemed to have decided that he was merely soothing his broken heart while waiting for that one special woman who could make him forget his bride had been blown up in a car bombing meant for him.

  Besides, since his own road to romance had been goddamn rocky, Jack saw no reason why his character should have it any easier.

  “Maybe eventually,” he tacked on with extreme casualness.

  Jack watched the comprehension dawn in his brother's intelligent blue eyes. Nate might be the only male Callahan who hadn't become a cop, but he was no slouch at detecting, either.

  Alcèe eyed Jack over the rim of a glass of iced tea. “This wouldn't have anything to do with a certain gorgeous librarian, would it?”

  Jack rocked back on his heels. “It just might. I gotta tell you, bro, I haven't felt this way about another woman since Yeoman Rand.” He sighed fondly at the long ago adolescent memory.

  Nate's lips curved. “You fantasized about Yeoman Rand? From Star Trek?”

  “Sure. When I was twelve, I used to imagine that the Enterprise was on the way to a top-secret mission on Alpha Centauri when they received a distress call from an uncharted planet.”

  “Which was undoubtedly a trap,” Alcèe suggested.

  “ 'Course it was,” Jack agreed. “Set up by a race of aliens who'd become so inbred they needed to leave their planet and find new blood.”

  “Blond blood,” Nate guessed.

  “Naturally. So, in my adolescent fantasy, they'd captured Yeoman Rand and were going to take her back to their actual planet, which was in a parallel universe, to use her as a sex slave.”

  “What did you know about sex slaves when you were twelve years old?” Alcèe challenged.

  “I was a prodigy.” Jack grinned at his friend, who shook his head and grinned back. “Besides, I've always had an active imagination, me.”

  “So,” Nate continued the story, “you leaped in like Captain Kirk and rescued the lady.”

  “I sure as hell did.” Jack nodded. “I just happened to be passing by in my snazzy two-seater star cruiser. She was, needless to say, extremely grateful.”

  “I can imagine.” Nate shook his head. “No wonder you became a writer. To think I used to settle for sneakin' looks at Finn's Playboy magazines.”

  “The Playmates were damn sexy,” Jack allowed. “But they were no Yeoman Rand. I used to spend a lot of time fantasizing about the two of us gettin' naked, but I sure never gave any thought in those days to settling down and raising us a batch of little yeomen.”

  “You givin' any thought to it these days?” Alcèe asked.

  “I might be.” For some reason, ever since the night he, Dani, and Matt had gone to the movies, Jack hadn't been able to get the image of her carrying his child out of his mind. It was nearly as appealing a fantasy as the one where he carried her over the threshold of some Caribbean resort hotel room and undressed her slowly, bit by lacy bit, teasing them both to distraction while they made love beneath a big white tropical moon.

  “Son of a bitch,” Nate repeated. “Well, this is unexpected.”

  “Think how I feel.”

  “I couldn't imagine. Jesus. My big brother's in love.”

  “Keep it to yourself. I haven't told Dani yet.”

  “Got any plans to do that? Or are you just gonna let her read your book when it's published and figure it out for herself?”

  “I've got plans. I just haven't figured out what they are yet. . . .

  “You know,” he mused, “when I first bought Beau Soleil, I figured it was a nice ‘in your face’ gesture to the judge. The bad kid he'd run out of town coming back a success, living in the house he'd been kicked out of, romancing the daughter he'd been told to stay away from.”

  “That's an understandable feeling,” Alcèe said. “Not exactly the most admirable, but it'd be hard not to resent the judge for what he did to you.”

  Since Alcèe had once been in the business of forgiving sins, Jack figured he'd have managed to turn the other cheek. And he sure as hell wouldn't have nursed a grudge as long as Jack had.

  “But then things started to change. And I realized I didn't want Danielle 'cause I'd been told I couldn't have her. I wanted her for herself. Which got me to thinking that maybe we were both supposed to come back here, at this point in our lives, to be together the way we couldn't be back then.”

  Alcèe nodded and pulled the tab on another cola can. “The Lord moves in mysterious ways.”

  “Whether it's God, or fate, or destiny, I'm just damn grateful.”

  Jack polished off the beer and reached for another. Since they were spending the night at the camp, he didn't have to worry about drinking and driving, something he hadn't done since that summer he'd stolen Jimbo Lott's patrol car.

  “I know it's gonna sound stupid, but sometimes, late at night, after I've taken Dani back to Orèlia's, I'll sit out on Beau Soleil's gallerie, picture the two of us laughing in the house, loving in it, and sittin' out in our rocking chairs, watching our grandkids play with Turnip's grandpups, and you know what?”

  “Goin' back to DEA starts sounding real appealing?” Nate suggested.

  “No. I start thinking that it's kinda a nice picture.”

  “Jesus, Jack, that's so damn domestic it gives me the chills.”

  “I'd expect nothing less from a man who believes commitm
ent is what happens when the men in white coats show up at your door with a straitjacket and tranquilizer gun. And speaking of domesticity, how's Suzanne? I've been meaning to ask you how the skirmish over flatware turned out.”

  “Last I heard, she'd switched gears and ended up going with Chantilly, which wasn't even in the early running, but I won't have to worry about paying for it, since she got fed up waiting around for me to propose and got herself engaged to some old boyfriend she met during their Old Miss graduation reunion weekend.”

  “Sounds like you escaped yet again.”

  Nate had often said that he'd just as soon go skinny-dipping with a bunch of gators than settle down for the rest of his life with one woman. Remembering how he'd once felt much the same way, Jack was looking forward to the day his brother had to eat those words.

  He glanced over toward Finn, who was standing off by himself at the far end of the deck, nursing the same glass of Old Turkey he'd poured nearly an hour ago. He hadn't entered into the conversation. In fact, now that he thought about it, Jack doubted Finn had strung ten words together since he'd picked him up at New Orleans's Louis Armstrong Airport.

  He pushed himself out of the chair and went over to join his older brother.

  “Well?” he asked.

  “That's a deep subject,” Finn murmured, his gaze directed out over the bayou, where black clouds scudded across the deep purple sky.

  “Ha ha ha. And to think people say you don't have any sense of humor.”

  “I hadn't realized people said anything about me.”

  “Christ, you can be literal.” Jack shook his head, wished for a cigarette and remembered he'd thrown his last pack away after figuring that he'd cut back so far to keep from smoking in front of Matt, he may as well just quit the rest of the way. “I was speaking rhetorically. Though, thinking about it, there was a bit of a buzz around here when you got yourself a second invitation to the White House after nabbing that serial killer last month.” The first had come in the prior administration when Finn had foiled an assassination attempt.

  “I nailed him too damn late.”

  “Finn, you rescued a woman from that guy's house. And I don't even want to think about how many more he could have nabbed if you hadn't stopped him.”

  “Try telling that to Lori Hazelton's mother.”

  The nineteen-year-old woman had gone missing at the San Diego county fair. Her mutilated body had later been found in Griffith Park. “You had no way of knowing ahead of time that she'd been targeted as a victim by some sadistic pervert.”

  “Lori was the first.” Finn pressed his glass against his temple. “And, goddammit, she wasn't the last.”

  “No. But as tragic as those murders were, things could have ended a helluva lot worse if you hadn't tracked the monster down.”

  His brother's only response to that was a shrug. Of the three of them, Finn had always been the hardest on himself. Jack had taken on the role of the troublemaker, the rebel without a cause, as Dani had described him, though in reality, he'd been a helluva lot closer to a rebel without a clue.

  Nate had always been the easygoing one that everyone liked, the flirtatious Callahan with the quick smile and deceptively laid-back manner. Finn had been the perfectionist whom Jack had often thought was intent on living up to their larger-than-life father's image.

  An anvil-shaped cloud moved across the thin sickle slice of moon, signaling that hurricane season was just around the corner. “There's always one who haunts you,” Finn said after a long pause.

  “Yeah.” Jack knew that only too well. He'd certainly had his share, including a once stunning Colombian woman he could still picture draped artistically across her wide white bed, her beautiful face battered nearly beyond recognition, the front of her silk ivory nightgown drenched in blood.

  “You know, maybe you ought to try doin' what I did to exorcise them.”

  “What's that?” Finn said with a decided lack of interest which suggested he didn't believe he'd ever get rid of his personal phantoms.

  “Get yourself a woman. I realized the other day that I've just about quit having nightmares since Dani came home to Blue Bayou.”

  Finn turned his gaze to Jack, treating him to that same deep, hard stare he'd give him back when he was fifteen, the Christmas vacation Jack came home at two in the morning with his breath reeking of beer and the rest of him smelling of pot.

  “Never thought I'd hear you use home and Blue Bayou in the same sentence. . . . So, looks like you're finally putting down roots,” he murmured, proving that he had been listening to the conversation, after all.

  “Though there's a part of me that's still scared to death of doing somethin' to fuck it up, I guess I just might be.”

  “Because of Dani.”

  “Yeah.”

  Finn thought about that for a long silent moment. “Works for me,” he decided.

  The Holy Church of the Assumption was filled to standing room only for the ceremony, proof of how many lives Alcèe, in his quiet way, had somehow touched. The bride was beautiful, as all brides are supposed to be, with stars shining in her eyes; the groom, who'd looked uncharacteristically nervous while waiting at the altar, couldn't stop beaming once he'd managed to survive the doublering ceremony.

  Since weddings always made Dani a little weepy, she ducked into the rest room of the parish hall where the reception was taking place to refresh her makeup—she knew she should have forgone the mascara—when Desiree Champagne came out of one of the stalls.

  The merry widow's artfully tousled cloud of black hair, which definitely hadn't been styled at the Shear Pleasures, gave her the look of having just made love amidst hot silk sheets. Her doe eyes were emphasized by a deft hand with liner, her complexion was cream, her lips red. And her body was draped in a royal blue silk wrap dress that hugged her voluptuous curves.

  “Hello, Dani.” The brilliant smile didn't quite reach the brunette's eyes, which skimmed over Dani's reflection from her head to the toes of her red sandals. “You're certainly looking well. Small-town life seems to agree with you.” She washed her hands, then pulled a gold monogrammed compact out of a Prada bag Dani figured probably cost at least two month's worth of groceries and began powdering her nose. “I can see why Jack hasn't had time to visit his old friends lately.”

  “He's been very busy with the house.”

  Desiree's answering laugh was rich and throaty. “I suppose that's as good an excuse as any.”

  She laughed again, richly, her eyes dancing with that same rebellious mischief Dani had seen so often in Jack's gaze. No wonder they were drawn to each other, she thought. They were two gloriously attractive rebels.

  “You're looking beautiful as always.” Dani had always believed in giving credit where credit was due.

  “I've always cleaned up real well.” A Liz Taylor-size diamond flashed as she fluffed her hair. More diamonds blazed at her earlobes.

  She took a lipstick from the bag and touched up her crimson lips. “I don't believe in beating around the bush, Dani, so I'm going to say this right out; I wish to hell you hadn't come back to town.”

  “I'm sorry you feel that way.”

  “Oh, it's okay.” The dress slid off Desiree's shoulders when she shrugged, just enough to tantalize male interest. Dani wondered if it were accidental, or if she'd practiced the gesture, and decided it really didn't matter since she'd never be able to pull it off in a million years. “We've never been all that serious. I'd just gotten spoiled having him all to myself.”

  “Should I say I'm sorry? About cutting into Jack's time with you?”

  “Don't say it if you don't mean it.”

  “Then I won't.”

  Teeth so perfect they could only be caps flashed in a dazzling smile that even Dani couldn't entirely resist. “Good for you.” Desiree took a pack of cigarettes out of the bag. “This isn't exactly the most private place in town. Why don't we find ourselves a little corner and catch up?”

  “I'm sorry, but
I really should be getting back. Jack's going to be wondering where I am.”

  “Let him.” She held the pack toward Dani, who shook her head. “It's good for men to realize women won't come when they snap their fingers.”

  “Jack's not that way.”

  “No. He isn't.” Her expression turned serious. “Look, Dani, watching the way Jack was looking at you all during Alcèe's wedding, it's obvious that the two of you have picked up right where you left off that summer.”

  “You knew about that?”

  “Of course. Jack and I never had any secrets from each other.”

  “Were you . . .” Dani pressed her fingers against her mouth, cutting off the question.

  “Fucking him back then?”

  She refused to react to the word she suspected Desiree had used as a test. “It doesn't matter. It was a long time ago and none of my business if you were.”

  “Of course it was. Because you loved him. And he loved you.”

  Part of Dani wanted to avoid this woman who'd experienced Jack's clever mouth and wonderfully wicked hands; who'd taken him inside her, just as Dani herself had done only hours ago after last night's rehearsal dinner. The other part of her was honestly curious about what, if anything, Desiree knew about Jack's feelings back then.

  “I suppose we could talk for a few minutes in the contemplation garden,” she suggested. “Catch up on old times.”

  This time Desiree's laugh held no humor. “Sugar, with the exception of a couple of fund-raisers you never would have invited me to if Jimmy Ray hadn't had more money than God, you and I never had any old times.”

  “But you and Jack did?” Dani asked as they left the building by a back door. The garden, located between the church and the rectory, had been designed for quiet contemplation and prayer. Short, leafy green hedges created private hideaways, and Dani and Desiree chose one farthest away from the reception.

  “Jack's a lot like this bayou,” Desiree answered obliquely as she sat down on a wrought-iron bench and lit a long slender cigarette. “Still waters and all of that. He doesn't reveal all that much, but that doesn't mean there's not a lot of depth there. . . .