Sinners Football 02- Wish for a Sinner

by Lynn Shurr

  Nell looked stunned. “I often feel like I’m in over my head with the Billodeaux family. What if I disappoint them?”

  “Not your problem, honey. I say put your faith in modern medicine. The Rev would tell you not to discount prayer. Whatever will be, will be, and none of it is your fault. You understand me?”

  “Thanks for the pep talk. I’m already edgy and I haven’t even taken the hormone shots yet.”

  “So, if you are going through with the I-V, I’d guess you aren’t going back to work at Ochsner?”

  “I called Joe Brunner before Christmas and told him I wouldn’t be back. He has an eager intern waiting in the wings so it wasn’t much of a problem for him. He said he saw it coming, to have a nice life. I think about all the seriously ill children I could help and feel guilty lying around in luxury.” Nell gestured to the spacious den and game room.

  “You know, Nell, the Chapelle Clinic doesn’t have one psychologist that will work pro bono for us. I have sick people who have to go all the way to Lafayette to get help. Most won’t do it because they have no transportation or think talking to someone won’t do any good. If you want a job on your own terms, I can offer you one.”

  “I accept. Thanks, Mintay.”

  The gumbo pot crashed to the floor in the kitchen. “Sharlette, I said to move yo’ skinny ass.”

  “Get your big butt out my way, Precious!”

  “I think we had better go and referee before any arms get broken.” Mintay led the way toward the gumbo calamity.

  “Or asses kicked,” Nell added.

  Nell helped strap children into the Armitage van and waved the last of her guests down the lane, the noise of Precious and Sharlette still bickering ringing in her ears. Mintay left her with a hug and an open offer to listen whenever Nell wanted to talk. The party hostess walked over to the barn to pay off her babysitters.

  Joe’s nieces were grooming the two tired ponies who dozed under the curry combs like ladies getting a massage at a spa. Copperhead gleamed in his stall. Fatima, who had not been allowed out since Joe said she showed signs of coming into season, shifted restlessly around her box. L.B. had been put out to pasture for showing too much interest in the mare, but when he whinnied from his enclosure, Fatima encouraged him with an answer.

  Nell stroked the mare’s nose and gave her a sugar cube. “He’s not your type, Fatty, too big and over-confident. Look at it this way, no weight gain, no labor pains, no problem.”

  She paid off the girls giving them forty dollars each, twice what they expected, and looked around for Cassie.

  “She said she was tired and went back to MawMaw’s house after she finished grooming Copperhead. We let the little kids time her when she did the barrel course. She’s real good, but she wouldn’t let anyone else ride Copperhead—just like he was hers and not Uncle Joe’s horse. I could be that good, too, if I had a ten thousand dollar horse already trained,” the younger niece tattled.

  “Copperhead cost ten thousand dollars!”

  The knowledgeable 4-Hers nodded. “Could have been more for a really great barrel horse, but I heard PawPaw tell Uncle Joe he should take it out of Cousin Bijou’s salary for not getting permission to buy Copperhead in the first place.”

  Unwilling to encourage little pitchers with big ears, Nell shrugged it off. “I’m sure Joe and Bijou worked it out. I’ll drive you home.”

  Returning from Eenie’s farm, Nell passed her in-laws’ house and was tempted to stop and reclaim Deanie, but his grandmother had been firm about her having a good time with her guests and getting a nice, long night’s rest. They’d switch the baby for the gumbo pot tomorrow. Then, Nell would have to explain the dent in the cookware, the result of the Precious-Sharlette debacle. She put that off by driving directly back to Lorena Ranch where the house seemed too large and the bed too big whenever Joe was gone. Funny, everything appeared just the right size when her husband stayed home. He filled whole rooms with real friends and family, his imaginary children and dreams for the future.

  Nell kept herself busy cleaning up the last of the party mess and even vacuuming up fallen needles from the Christmas tree close to midnight since she had no baby to wake in the house. Finally, she climbed into the king-sized bed that felt as cold as the silver moon hanging over the bayou and barren cane fields without Joe’s heat next to her. Nell tossed half the night.

  Still, she must have slept since the roar of a big engine and slamming truck doors woke her in the pre-dawn hours before the late winter sun crept over the horizon. Must be Bijou, she thought, coming back from a Sunday night binge. Or maybe, he was showing up early to do some assigned chore that had gone undone and had to be finished before Joe got home. The neigh of horses and the sound of hooves clattering on the trailer ramp confirmed the last guess. Nell pulled the covers up, put the pillow over her head and went back to sleep.

  At half past ten in the morning, Nell finally crawled out of bed and dressed. She called Nadine in an attempt to reclaim her son, but Frank answered. Evidently, Deanie had been taken along to his MawMaw’s Home Demonstration Club, a group degenerating over the years into a sewing and gossip get-together. Feeling the emptiness of the large house, Nell put on a light jacket, went outside and wandered down the lane to see if the mail had come. She received a better package than the U. S. mail could have delivered: Joe turned the Porsche into their drive. Nell slid into the passenger seat and gave her husband a warm welcome home kiss.

  “You’re early!”

  “What? Afraid I’ll catch you messing around with Bijou? I left as soon as the team meeting ended. Didn’t even go back to the condo. We get a few days off for the New Year with our families, then start training for the playoffs. But what have you done with my son, woman?”

  “He’s been kidnapped by your mother. I can’t seem to get him back.”

  “Hmmmm. All alone and nothing to do.”

  Joe parked the Porsche in front of the mansion, threw his bag into the hall and pressed his wife up against one of the substantial pillars of the verandah. Caught between hard surfaces, Nell pulled Joe’s head back by the hair from its nuzzling place between her breasts.

  “Bijou or your mom could drive up at any minute.”

  “Then, how about a walk in the woods?”

  “We have a perfectly good bed upstairs. It felt so empty last night.”

  “Mine, too, but we can do it in bed anytime. Come on. Let’s walk to the meadow.”

  “Least you forget, the meadow is now L.B.’s pasture where you exiled him before you left for Salt Lake. No more tall weeds, just a fine mixture of the best grasses for our stud.”

  “This Cajun boy knows lots of good places out that way.” He drew her around the side of the house towards the bayou path.

  As they neared the meadow, they heard the scream of a horse, not a gentle whinny or a friendly neigh, but a scream. Joe dropped Nell’s hand and took off at a speed she had no chance of matching. He stood at the fence cursing the act in progress when Nell caught up with him.

  L.B. mounted a trembling Fatima. The pudgy little mare rolled her eyes and let out another scream of either pain or passion, difficult to tell which. The big red stallion held her neck with his teeth. His flanks heaved against her hindquarters and raised tail, both horses white-eyed and frothing.

  “Joe, do something! He’s going to kill her!”

  “L.B. doesn’t have killing on his mind and Fatty isn’t trying to kick him off. In the equine world, this is how it’s done. I might kill Bijou though. How in hell did the mare get in here? Even if she got out of the stall, she’s sure no jumper.”

  “I heard the truck before dawn. Maybe he was drinking and got confused.”

  “Confused, my ass. This was deliberate and it’s too late to do anything about it now. Looks like we’re gonna have a little half-Arab foal come this time next year. Won’t be the first one ever born, but I would rather have gone with insemination by some good Arab stud if we planned to breed Fatima. This is hard on the
mare and sometimes both horses get marked up. Though by the look of him, L.B. isn’t worried about a few scars on his beautiful hide right now.”

  They watched until the stallion disengaged from the mare, his impressive organ dangling close to the ground until he gradually retracted it. Fatima eyed him and sidled away. After a few more nervous glances, the mare settled herself in the far corner of the pasture and began to graze on a lush clump of clover sprouting through the dull winter grasses.

  “That’s that, I guess. No post-coital cuddling in the horse world. Should we get Fatima out of there?” Nell asked, her eyes still wide from what she had witnessed, her pulse still pounding.

  “No hurry now. In fact, I know a place just over in those woods under a big live oak where it’s all mossy and easy on the knees. Want to try it their way?” Joe gave her a hungry grin.

  “Joe, I’m not sure…”

  He swept her up and trotted for the woods to the place where the moss grew in a thick cushion beneath the oak and a position on all fours was not uncomfortable. Joe had her jeans and panties down off her backside and his hands under her T-shirt before Nell could raise any more doubts. One of his large hands loosened her bra and fondled. The other ran a finger between her legs. She grew peaked and wet.

  “Don’t try to tell me you’re not aroused, Tink.”

  “I am. I’m a little embarrassed about admitting it.”

  “No more talk, but you can scream if you want. It won’t wake the baby.”

  He took her neck in his teeth and plunged into her. They heaved and panted together until she did scream, a sound that made L.B. and Fatima face the woods and Snowballs bellow as he guarded his harem of cows. Still only half unclothed, Joe and Nell relaxed against the cool moss. She ran her hand under his shirt, through the hair on his chest, then down to give a tender stroke to his flaccid penis. Joe cupped her backside and pulled her closer because people did enjoy a post-coital cuddle even if livestock did not. They stayed that way longer than they should have.

  “Joe Dean, where you at, son? I got a baby here wants his daddy.” Nadine’s voice coming in their direction penetrated the woods.

  Joe snapped Nell up and took care of his own problems, even kicking a few divots of moss back into place before leading his wife toward the pasture. They met up with his mama and a chortling Deanie who rode high on MawMaw’s shoulders, his hands clamped in her thick salt-and-pepper hair, enjoying the bumpy ride along the bayou path.

  “There’s my boy. Come to Daddy.” Joe held out his moss-stained hands.

  “Don’t you put those dirty hands on this nice clean baby. What on earth you been doing?” Nadine gave Nell the once over from the green on her hands and the knees of her jeans to the dead leaves in her hair. “Looks like something bit you on the neck. You got a big red mark.”

  Nell shrugged her neck down into the collar of her top and ran her fingers through her short hair. Forest debris floated to the ground. “Ah, looking for mushrooms?” she suggested.

  “Only one big mushroom prob’ly came up in those woods. Aw, what’s it matter. You married—but not in the church, of course. When you gonna take care of that, Joe?”

  Joe ignored his mother and turned toward the pasture. He clucked to Fatima and held out a handful of clover. The mare came to the gate without a fuss, accepted the clover and allowed herself be led away by the halter as if she had lost all interest in the stallion who paced along the fence line snorting and whinnying suggestively. Nadine, nattering away at her son, braced Deanie with her hands and followed. Nell brought up the rear. She cast a sympathetic glance at L.B. who let loose with a deep-throated groan.

  “You’re not the only one who had their afternoon interrupted, so get over it,” she suggested to the stallion.

  While Joe put Fatima in her stall, Nell washed up in the family-sized kitchen with its warm cypress cabinets and matching trestle table possessing enough seats for a clan gathering. Nadine settled Deanie in his baby seat and tickled his belly. While the baby squirmed, she told him, “You gettin’ too heavy for old MawMaw to carry so far, yes, you are.”

  Nell started placing yesterday’s party leftovers on the table, half a bowl of slaw, the pitiful remains of the brisket, a quarter of chocolate cake. If she had a big appetite after their activities, she could imagine Joe being voracious by now.

  “You want I should wake Cassie for lunch? Those teenagers sure can sleep when they got vacation and this one’s always sleepy,” Nadine claimed.

  “Must be all that barrel racing. It’s quite a workout. Cassie came over with you?”

  “No, cher, she said she was stayin’ here las’ night. I figured that’s why you went from the house to fool around ’cause she was still sleeping.”

  “Eenie’s girls said she went to your place.”

  The same thought passed between the two women. Nadine voiced it. “That no good Bijou!”

  Joe slammed into the kitchen. “Truck’s gone, trailer’s gone. Copperhead and the two ponies are missing.”

  “Add Cassie to that list,” Nell told him.

  “This was nailed to Fatima’s stall.” Joe shoved a sheet of paper torn from a spiral notebook at Nell. In bold, black marker, it read: Get Fucked Joe Dean and Your Fancy Mare Too.

  Nadine read over Nell’s shoulder. “Such language!”

  “God, what a mess.” Joe picked up a phone. “Bijou isn’t answering his cell.”

  “It’s been at least six hours since I heard the truck, Joe. They could be in Texas. Isn’t there some town across the state line that provides quickie marriages? But Cassie is only sixteen!”

  “If anyone has the contacts to get her a fake ID, that would be Bijou. Hell, he got one for me when I was sixteen so I could bar-hop with him.” Joe ran a hand through his hair.

  “Joe Dean Billodeaux, you didn’t!” Nadine said, outraged by the sins of the past.

  “Too late now, Ma. Call Aunt Flo up at Toledo Bend and ask if she knows anything.”

  Nadine made the call. “Nuttin’. Says she’s afraid Bijou got his self in trouble again. She don’t want you to call the law on him.”

  “Ma, if it was only the horses and the truck, I wouldn’t give a damn, but he’s ruining a young girl’s life here. We call the sheriff.”

  “Maybe they went to Cassie’s family,” Nell offered without a hope that it might be true.

  “Call.” Joe held out the phone.

  “Mrs. Thomas? Put your mother on the line, please. It’s Nell. Has Cassie called you today? She hasn’t come home, has she? I’m so sorry to tell you this, but it looks like your daughter ran away with Joe’s cousin and a trailer load of horses.”

  Nell held the phone inches from her ear as the outrage broke loose. Then calmly, she said, “We’re calling the sheriff now. Maybe he’ll issue an Amber Alert. Please call around to Cassie’s friends and see if they know anything. I’m so sorry. Yes, I know we’re responsible.” She disconnected, anguish apparent on her face.

  A half hour later, the parish sheriff in person sat at the kitchen table with a glass of iced tea and a brisket sandwich in front of him. A deputy took notes describing the girl, her abductor and the stolen truck and horses.

  “I’ll try for a statewide Amber Alert, but the girl is sixteen and doesn’t appear to have been coerced. Heck, they could be married by now and holed up in some no-tell motel in Texas. Great brisket, Joe Dean.”

  The sheriff wiped his chin to clear it of the slaw dressing seeping from the sandwich. “The child probably won’t thank us when we do find them. Can’t really hide horses and a big rig like that too well.”

  “Maybe they aren’t eloping,” Nell offered hopefully. “Cassie had some dreams about going on the rodeo circuit as a barrel racer. Would you like some cake and coffee?” Nell added, willing to butter up the lawman with any food available.

  “Sure would. Well, there isn’t much rodeo this time of year with the holidays and all. Even rodeo bums like to be home with their families. If they plan to d
o the circuit, we’ll probably find them easy enough in a couple of months.”

  Sheriff LeDoux, son of the previous holder of that office, studied Cassie’s parochial school picture. “That red hair and all those freckles should be easy to spot. The horse is distinctive, too.” He studied the photograph of Cassie astride Copperhead and threw it on the table along side of Bijou’s mug shot. “A ten-thousand dollar horse. Gaw, Joe Dean. You give that animal to a kid to ride?”

  “Bijou found the horse for her. Said it was a young animal and well-trained, a bargain for the price.”

  “Well, Bijou does know his horses. I suppose he was right.” Sheriff LeDoux blotted his mustache with a napkin and accepted a mug of coffee. He adjusted the brew’s blackness with two heaping spoonfuls of sugar and a quarter cup of milk. “I just hope it is young love or a desire to rodeo, not white slavery. Bijou knows a lot of unsavory characters.”

  “Lord Jesus and Mary,” Nadine gasped, crossing herself.

  “Let’s hope for the best,” Nell said.

  “Pray to God and hope,” Nadine amended.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  January passed, though not in the way sports commentators and the tabloids figured. Cheap papers made the most of the latest scandal involving Joe Dean Billodeaux. “Convict Cousin Abducts Teenage Girl from Billodeaux Ranch” the banners shouted. The press chastised Joe Dean for allowing a child dying from cancer to be on his ranch alone with an ex-con who obviously had child molestation tendencies. The articles neglected to mention Bijou’s offenses ran mostly to drunk driving and being caught with stolen goods, or that Cassie was in remission and had gone with the man willingly. Joe didn’t care. He sent them the picture of Cassie aboard Copperhead and asked them to run it on the first page. Anything that would get Cassie back, he would do.

  The sports commentators did not dwell on the sordid details. Instead, they predicted this newest upheaval in Billodeaux’s life would affect his game adversely and the Sinners would not make it past the first round of the playoffs. How wrong they were. Joe played with a steely determination. When the Sinners wiped out their first opponents, 34-10, Hank and Al admitted to being astounded. On-the-field reporters offered the quarterback hearty congratulations and asked what had driven him on to crush the other team.