by Mary Ellis
“Quick, Nicki. Look there.”
Turning her head, she saw six box turtles uniformly spaced on a fallen cypress log, contentedly sunning their shells in the dappled light. “Someone ought to warn them about deadly UVA and UVB rays. They can be so aging to reptile skin.”
“And they thought they only had hungry gators to contend with.” Hunter eased up on the throttle.
Ten minutes later a majestic bald eagle soared over a wide stretch of bayou, waiting for lunch to approach the surface. The patient eagle soon carried off a writhing fish to its fate. “Our timing couldn’t have been better with that nature show,” Nicki whispered with reverential awe.
“What do you think about the swamp now that you’re not being chased, shot at, half drowned, or stranded overnight in a falling-down shack?” Hunter asked with a smile.
“There is beauty here, no doubt about it, but it’s hard for me to relax.” Nicki pulled on a handful of bull rushes as they drooped over the boat. “Something bad happened in the bayou to someone I loved. It was long ago, but I can’t forget it.” She stared down into the dark water.
Hunter killed the engine and let the airboat drift with the current. “Care to talk about it? Maybe it would help.”
“I don’t think so, but I might as well finish what I started.” Nicki raked her fingers through her hair, working out some windblown tangles while she contemplated how much to reveal. “My father died after a poker game in a trapper’s shack. He told my mother and me he would be hunting and fishing for the weekend. Apparently, someone accused my dad of cheating at cards and followed him out to the water. Nobody knew exactly how far the argument went or what happened to my dad, but he disappeared that night, and two days later everyone went home to their families as if it never happened. A fisherman found his body days later, but gators had eaten most of him for dinner. By the time the sheriff got word to my mother, she was sick with worry.” Nicki arched her back against the metal seat. “Mom hasn’t been the same since. He may not have been a good dad, but he was the only one I had. Now when I’m near a swamp I think about those men throwing him in like nothing more than roadkill.”
They both sat quietly, watching mist rise among the cypress knees. Then Nicki made a serious mistake. She looked into Hunter’s face and found it filled with compassion, not pity, and love…or the closest she had ever come to love.
“I’m sorry you experienced such tragedy so young.” He wrapped a strong arm around her shoulders. “I would pay any price to wipe away that memory.”
When Hunter pulled her into his arms, Nicki lost her fragile semblance of control. She cried for her dead father and for the lost innocence of childhood. She sobbed into his shirt, and when she finally stopped crying, she realized he’d been right. She did feel better.
Hunter kissed her forehead, her nose, and hovered above her lips until she thought she would lose her mind. Then he kissed her with passion she’d never experienced in Natchez or anywhere else. For a few moments, Nicki forgot he was her employer and he had just broken up with his fiancée, and that some people thought him a murderer. She enjoyed feeling desirable for the first time in her life.
“Whew.” She pulled away from him long moments later and scooted across the seat. “That’s enough sad stories and the mischief they apparently inspire. Today I was officially invited to a Galen party and I don’t plan to mess this up. Your little tour of the swamp worked wonders, but please take me back to your Aunt Donna’s. I want to wash my face, comb my hair, and put on my party shoes. I plan to dance the night away.”
“That’s what I like to hear!” Hunter opened the controls to full throttle and the airboat roared to life.
Nicki clung to her seat, but for a change she wasn’t afraid. Instead, she hoped this night in the bayou—her formerly least-favorite place on earth—would never end.
TWENTY-EIGHT
Hunter sipped lemonade as he tried to listen to his cousins’ tales of victory on the gridiron or the baseball diamond. He asked appropriate questions at the appropriate time, but his mind kept wandering back to Nicki and her grim tale of backwoods violence. He had read about such things in local papers, but he never met the victim of such an ignorant, senseless crime.
Of course, he’d never met anyone quite like Nicolette Price before. What you saw was what you got. She wasn’t one to soften the rough edges to preserve her image. It was no myth that many Southern women ate before going out to preserve the impression they ate like sparrows. It was also true many women put on makeup to weed the garden. But image was the least of Nicki’s concerns. Hunter found her honesty and lack of artifice almost as appealing as her great legs and stunning smile.
He glanced back at the house for the tenth time. What is taking her so long to change and brush her hair? Just when he decided to break down the guest room door, he spotted her carrying a platter of meat out to the grill with Aunt Donna on her heels with bowls of potato salad. So like Donna to commandeer any passerby and put them to work. And so like Nicki to pitch in and help without being asked.
Ashley would have sweetly agreed but then grumbled endlessly to her friends later. Funny how he didn’t miss her. Hunter felt only a sense of relief, as though he had dodged a bullet, but he also knew this was all his fault. Ashley may have connived and manipulated, but he hadn’t been oblivious to what was happening. He went willingly down the path to matrimony—a good match, Grandmère had called it—two families of equal social standing united to preserve wealth for future generations. Ugh. No matter how times changed, some things stayed the same.
Hunter excused himself from the conversation about the LSU Tigers and tracked Nicki back to the kitchen. In acid-washed jeans and a mint-green top, with her hair caught in a butterfly clip, she looked gorgeous. “I’m looking for my favorite employee,” he announced, stepping through the doorway. “I need to make sure she’s not napping in the hayloft.”
“Hi, Hunter. Your aunt found me first.” Nicki’s brown eyes sparkled, and her cheeks still glowed from the afternoon boat ride.
Donna gave him a sly wink. “Go on, Nicki. You’ve helped enough to earn your supper. Time for you to guard my nephew’s body.” She pushed Nicki toward the door, while her kitchen helpers hooted uproariously.
“Well…if you’re sure you don’t need me.” Nicki laid her apron on the counter and followed Hunter outside.
“Aunt Donna does stand-up comedy on open-mike night in Lafayette,” he murmured under his breath.
“I would love to go some time.”
“Hey, Hunter.” Donna called through the kitchen window. “I don’t know what the last one was like, but this one’s a keeper.”
Nicki blushed a little. “Wow, she’s really nice. Can I have her?”
“Maybe someday I’ll share.”
Nicki’s cheeks turned an even brighter pink. “Hunter, I didn’t mean to imply—”
“I know you didn’t. Will you please relax? I want you to take one evening off from worrying.” He reached for her hand. “Tomorrow global warming, famine in sub-Saharan Africa, the devaluation of the yen, and world peace can be your concern, but tonight I want you to just have a good time.”
Suddenly a horde of people converged from the parking area. The new arrivals carried covered casseroles and coolers of cold drinks, while their kids ran toward tree swings and yard games with boundless energy. “Was anyone who lives in a thirty-mile radius not invited?” she asked. “Considering the grills, steamers, and what’s being baked in the kitchen, there will be enough food to feed the whole parish.”
“I believe Donna excluded a few atheists. She has a hard time dealing with them. But don’t change the subject. What about my proposition?”
“All right, you have a deal. For one night I promise not to worry about anything—past, present, or future.”
“With that settled, would you like to dance?” Hunter bowed from the waist. The first twangs from guitars and fiddles drifted on the air as musicians tuned their instruments.
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br /> “Not yet. Let’s eat before we dance. I’m starving.”
“Dinner it is. Lead the way, but be prepared for anything.”
Nicki slipped into the buffet line oblivious that the queue wrapped around the garden shed. When Hunter fell in behind her, a burly neighbor took exception.
“No cuts, Galen. You need to get yourself to the end of the line, but the pretty woman can stay.”
“It’s okay.” Nicki dipped one shoulder seductively and batted her lashes. “He’s with me.”
The man hooted and swept the ball cap from his shaved head. “Anything you say, darlin’.”
Nicki smiled at the neighbor’s wife, picked up two plates, and handed Hunter one. “Better stay close,” she warned. “This looks like an ornery crowd to me.”
“And they’re still sober as judges,” Hunter whispered in her ear. “Bringing a bodyguard wasn’t a bad idea.”
They loaded grilled chicken, boudin, corn on the cob, and squares of cornbread onto their plates. When Nicki looked at his selections, she shook her head. “I suggest you eat heartier than that, boss. You and I will be dancing till dawn.”
“Have no fear. The best is yet to come.” At the end of the line one of Donna’s helpers hung a plastic bucket brimming with steamed shrimp and crawfish over Hunter’s arm and offered another one to Nicki. Butter melting over the contents mingled with the pungent broth.
She shook her head. “None for me. I’ll sample some of his and come back if we need more.”
Hunter found them a table in the shade and went for soft drinks. By the time he got back, children had surrounded Nicki. Apparently, she had asked how to eat crawfish and ended up with several young volunteers eager to demonstrate.
Hunter watched her savor both the food and the children’s attention. No picking listlessly at a broiled fish filet. No large green salad sans dressing. Nicki stirred hot sauce into her coleslaw, coated her corn with butter, and licked shrimp seasoning from her fingers. She ate everything on her plate and then sent a precocious eight-year-old to fetch a brownie.
“I’m surprised a Mississippi delta girl didn’t know how to eat crawdads.” He waited until all of the kids left to raid the dessert table.
“Oh, I knew, but I saw them studying me when I sat down. I thought it would be a good way to make new friends.”
“Worked like a charm.” Hunter sopped up the last of his red beans and rice with a piece of cornbread.
“These definitely were some great vittles,” she said, tapping her finger on her chin. “Or should I say the Galen cuisine was superb as usual? And no one seems to care that I’m here, or that you had the shortest engagement in recorded history.”
“I told you they wouldn’t.”
Nicki glanced at him with a huge smile and glowing eyes. “Ready to retire to the party barn and do some dancin’?”
“Fill in your dance card with nothing but my name, missy.” Hunter cleared their plates and then offered his elbow.
But instead she took hold of his hand. “This is only for your protection. There could be troublemakers inside.” She nodded toward the barn, where people milled in the open doorway and yellow light streamed from the upper story windows.
“I’ve never felt safer facing a horde of rowdy relatives.”
They squeezed inside and found standing room by a support beam. Hunter stood behind her and put his arms around her shoulders. The upbeat Cajun tempo soon got their toes tapping. Dancers of all ages whirled around the floor.
“I take it no farm animals live in here between your aunt’s parties.” Nicki pointed at the polished hardwood floor.
“Not for the last hundred years, O’lette.” Hunter rested his chin on the top of her head, inhaling the raspberry fragrance of her shampoo. “I like the name Jeanette called you. I’m going to use it from now on.”
“Tonight you can call me anything you want. I just hope the veterans don’t trample novices into the sawdust.” Her focus was on the dance floor, where everyone two-stepped around the room at a brisk pace. “I believe I’m ready to give it a try. If I procrastinate too long, I’ll stay a wallflower all night.” Nicki pulled him into the stream of dancers.
“We have nothing to fear but fear itself.” Hunter put a hand at the small of her back, grabbed her other hand, and led the best two-step of his life. At times they squashed each other’s feet and bumped into other dancers, but they soon got the hang of it. They ended up dancing for hours and laughing almost as long. Hunter had never enjoyed himself so much.
Finally the tempo slowed as the lead singer wailed a mournful ballad. Hunter drew Nicki into his arms, holding her close to his chest.
“Any idea what the song is about?” she asked. “I forgot my French dictionary again, but he sounds so miserable I’m ready to cry.”
“I’m not fluent like the rest of my family, but I believe the singer is brokenhearted because his lady won’t take him seriously. She treats him like any other work cohort.”
“Is that right?” Nicki glanced back at the middle-aged Cajun crooning into the microphone. “Funny how personal problems sound more interesting in another language.”
“You mock the singer’s distress?” Hunter picked her up and swung her around in a circle.
“Put me down! If my feet knock someone unconscious, I’ll end up having to flee for my life.”
“You broke your promise.” Hunter set her down on the floor.
“And what promise would that be?” She turned her face up.
“You weren’t supposed to worry about anything tonight.”
“True, but I’m not really worried about knocking someone out. And I wasn’t mocking that French guy, even though I doubt that’s what he was saying.” As the song ended and another fast tune began, dancers entering the dance floor jostled them from all sides.
“Let’s get some fresh air,” Hunter said over the music.
“Good idea.” Nicki led the way through the crowd. “Do you know all of these people?”
“Nope, but there’s only one person I’d like to know better right now.” Hunter hoped that didn’t sound as idiotic to her as it did to him. His well of smooth things to say had unfortunately run dry.
They walked to the weathered boat dock, where a teenaged couple stood hand in hand. When they approached, the young pair slipped down a path known only to them. Hunter took hold of Nicki’s hand, afraid she might bolt as well. Before them, the wide bayou stretched dark and mysterious. Moonlight reflected off the glassy surface, and the ever-present mist hung close to the shoreline.
“Look there.” Hunter pointed at an alligator swimming less than fifteen feet from the shore. The tip of his snout and bulging eyes moved soundlessly through the water. Dragonflies fearlessly skittered in and out of his path.
Nicki craned her neck. “Now I understand why people don’t swim in the bayou.”
“Does the sight of them upset you?” Hunter kissed the back of her fingers as the ancient creature glided away to its nest.
“Not really. It was a man who killed my dad, not an animal. Only humans are capable of unmitigated cruelty. The gator does only what comes naturally. Do you suppose that was a male or female?”
“You and I aren’t able to tell, but somehow gators seem to know.” Hunter lifted his eyebrows.
“Do you think some have a particularly curvaceous arrangement of scales?”
“Mother Nature has methods to make sure creatures find the perfect mate.” Hunter wrapped an arm around her waist.
Nicki turned within his embrace. “I believe in God’s handiwork, not some green lady on TV commercials invented by an ad agency. And I do take you seriously, Hunter. You’re not just a work cohort to me.”
Her sincerity melted his heart. He leaned in for a kiss, but she placed her finger on his lips.
“Listen. Do you hear that?”
Hunter cocked his head but heard nothing but music from the barn and kids playing hide-and-seek. “Nope.”
“Shhh. Clo
se your eyes and listen.”
Hunter complied and soon heard a cacophony of chirps, hoots, croaks, and the drone of a million insects beating their wings. “I’ll bet you didn’t expect it to be so noisy.”
“Noisy, yes, but the swamp is growing on me. I never thought I would say that.” A smile turned up the corners of her mouth. “In Natchez the heat and humidity feel oppressive, but here it somehow feels nurturing, like being in a protective womb.”
Hunter laughed. “As long as you’re wearing Eau de Bayou. That’s what country folk call insect repellant.”
“Bugs don’t bother me. Your aunt’s home is so beautiful.”
“More so this weekend than I’d noticed in the past.” Hunter bent his head and kissed her. When she didn’t pull away, he kissed her again—longer, slower, deeper.
“You think I’m beautiful?” she asked a little breathlessly when the kiss ended.
“Absolutely. You think I would smooch with just anybody?” He ran his fingertips down her cheek.
“I’m nothing like Ashley. Your former fiancée is so…sophisticated, whereas I’ve been known to wear white shoes after Labor Day, eat with the wrong fork, and buy my underwear in multipacks.”
Hunter clutched his chest. “No kidding? I buy my underwear in multipacks too. It sounds like we’re perfect for each other.”
Nicki focused under the trees, where two armadillos foraged for discarded food scraps in the growing darkness. “We’re hardly perfect and you know it.” Her voice was the barest whisper.
He turned her face with one finger, their mouths inches apart. “We’re as perfect as you let us be, O’lette. It’s up to you. There is no Ashley anymore. It’s just you and me, if you find me remotely tolerable.” He wanted to kiss her again more than draw his next breath of air, but he didn’t want to scare her off.
“I almost slipped up and worried about the future,” she said, and then she pressed her soft lips to his.
