by Lynn Shurr
Table of Contents
Excerpt
Praise for Lynn Shurr
Sister of a Sinner
Copyright
Dedication
A SINNER’S LEGACY
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
A word about the author…
Thank you for purchasing this publication of The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
From the sidelines,
the man with the thin mustache glared at them with his dead black eyes.
Xo turned in Junior’s arms. “Time to go home.”
She insisted on remaining in the barroom while waiting for her favored driver despite the noise and dimness rather than out in the balmy May night where knots of men and women stood smoking and chatting on the broken sidewalk. When the taxi pulled up in front of Paco’s, Xo bolted for its door and flung herself into the backseat. Junior joined her and carefully placed one arm around her shoulders, held her tight. She trembled, and he swore he could feel the frantic beat of her heart fast as a frightened dove against his chest.
“Did I do something wrong? Was the lift too much for you? Or was it the kiss?”
“No, no, nothing you did, Junior. The lift, the kiss is part of the dance. That man who wanted to be my partner, he is one of the dark men I’ve been seeing lately everywhere I go. Soulless men with auras so black they seem to make a hole in the universe. New Orleans is a big city, often a sinful city, and I’ve seen them before, but never so many or so close to me.”
“I’ll protect you, Xo. You know I’d give my life for you.”
“Don’t say that! No one should have to make that choice.”
Praise for Lynn Shurr
“Shurr is a wonderful storyteller.”
~The Romance Studio
~*~
“Lynn Shurr’s sinfully delightful New Orleans Sinners series is sure to please both non-sports fans and sports fans alike. Do yourself a favor and dive into the world of the Sinners.”
~Farrah Rochon, USA Today Best-selling author of the New York Sabers football series
~*~
“Very easy reads, well written, combined with conflict, believable plots and secondary characters that make the story come alive.”
~Jane Lange, Romances, Reads and Reviews
~*~
“The author has crafted a family full of surprises with the Billodeaux bunch. After reading just one book, I am eager to read more about this colorful family.”
~Rachel’s Willful Thoughts, The Romance Reviews
Sister of a Sinner
by
Lynn Shurr
A Sinner’s Legacy, Book Three
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
Sister of a Sinner
COPYRIGHT © 2017 by Carla Hostetter
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Contact Information: [email protected]
Cover Art by Diana Carlile
The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
PO Box 708
Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708
Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com
Publishing History
First Fantasy Rose Edition, 2017
Print ISBN 978-1-5092-1401-3
Digital ISBN 978-1-5092-1402-0
A Sinner’s Legacy, Book Three
Published in the United States of America
Dedication
For my friend, Jo Minvielle,
talented quilter and artist
A SINNER’S LEGACY
The Children of Joe and Nell Billodeaux who fulfilled the prophecy that they would have twelve offspring, this way, that way, all ways.
Dean Joseph Billodeaux—Joe’s illegitimate son by a one-night stand with a woman who planned to shake him down for money. He is adopted by Nell, who believes she cannot have children of her own. Current Sinners quarterback. (Wish for a Sinner)
Thomas Cassidy Billodeaux—a redheaded son who enters the family through an open adoption with a teenage mother. His birth father is Joe’s no-good cousin. He is a kicker for the Sinners. (Wish for a Sinner and Kicks for a Sinner)
Jude Emily Billodeaux—twin of Ann, conceived by in vitro fertilization using eggs purchased from Nell’s sister, Emily. (Wish for a Sinner)
Ann Marie Billodeaux (Annie)—Jude’s quiet twin. (Wish for a Sinner)
Lorena Renee Billodeaux (Lori)—First of Nell’s little frozen babies to be born, one of the triplets. (Kicks for a Sinner)
Mack Coy Christopher Billodeaux—Second of the triplets to be born. (Kicks for a Sinner)
Trinity Billodeaux—Youngest of the triplets and named for the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, smallest of the three and in need of a powerful saintly help to survive. (Kicks for a Sinner)
Xochi Maria Billodeaux—child of Joe’s no-good cousin by a young Mexican woman. She is Tom’s half-sister and is adopted into the family after the terrifying deaths of her parents. Her name means “blossom” in Aztec. (Kicks for a Sinner)
Teddy Wilkes Billodeaux—a child with spina bifida abandoned by his mother at Nell’s health care center and adopted by the family. He believed himself to be Joe’s natural son. (Paradise for a Sinner)
Anastasia Marya Polasky (Stacy)—daughter of Nell’s sister, Emily, and a bogus Polish prince. She becomes a ward of the Billodeauxs upon her parents’ deaths, but is never adopted by her own wish. She arrives on their doorstep the same day as Teddy. (Paradise for a Sinner)
Edith Patricia Billodeaux (Edie)—a normally conceived child, twin of Rex. (Love Letter for a Sinner)
Rex Worthy Billodeaux (T-Rex)—Edie’s twin brother and future Sinner’s quarterback, maybe. (Love Letter for a Sinner)
Chapter One
Junior Polk sat enthroned in one of the legendary Joe Billodeaux’s oversized leather recliners surrounded by that great man’s game balls, his trophies, his vast collection of football memorabilia. In other words, the family den of the Tara-like mansion. He remembered the days when he and the Billodeaux triplets could all fit into that chair and played fearlessly among the priceless artifacts. Now, Junior filled the space fairly well all by himself. Joe’s son, Mack, occupied the other recliner because this was their day as candidates for the NFL draft.
The huge Billodeaux family filled the room, crowding the long sofa and sprawling on the floor. Friends filled every available form of seating from dining room chairs to beanbags dragged from the kids’ bedrooms. The small towheaded Billodeaux grandchildren clamored over each
and every one and moved from lap to lap like brightly flitting fireflies. Both had given Junior a hug, and nearly everyone else shook his hand or patted him on the back and wished him luck. While he appreciated their regard, he sought to impress only one person in the room, and that wasn’t the famous Joe Billodeaux.
Joe’s adopted Mexican daughter, Xochi, came up behind him, placed her hands on shoulders that had widened each year as they grew up together, and kissed the top of his head. He felt her warmth flow through him, expanding his heart and rushing through his veins like game day adrenaline. “I know the Sinners will choose you,” she whispered, giving him some added confidence.
Only the family and their most trusted friends knew Xochi saw auras. Some equated that with seeing the future, which she declared untrue. But, this gift did allow her to read people exceptionally well. Junior wondered if she could see his fear of being chosen last or not at all by a team like the chubby boy he’d once been. How he wished he could take Xochi on his lap and hold her like a prized talisman throughout the ordeal.
She withdrew, her long dark curls caressing the sides of his face. He wanted to grab her soft brown hands to keep them from leaving his body, but Xo took a seat behind him somewhere, probably in the cluster of her many sisters. He could pick out her voice—low and musical—but not exactly what she said. Stupid to believe she might be saying, “Junior Polk, he grew up to be muy guapo.” He knew he did not qualify as handsome, not like her brother Mack, who could get any girl he wanted. Junior desired only one.
Junior’s mama, the Billodeaux’s cook and housekeeper, shouted for people to make way as she claimed her seat on the sofa within hugging distance of her son. She carried a huge, brightly decorated clay bowl of guacamole and set it beside a crystal punch bowl holding her fresh, spicy salsa. The family’s butler followed like a minion with a tray full of small bowls to be filled and passed around with handfuls of tortilla chips. The audience had already made inroads into the platter of crispy baked chicken taquitos placed on the coffee table earlier. Ordinarily, Junior would have filled his plate, but his stomach couldn’t handle it at the moment.
That did not stop his mother from taking a larger bowl from the bottom of the stack and filling it with dips, chips, and a garnish of half a dozen taquitos. “For my son who has grown so grande. Soon, he will graduate from college. Soon, he will play for the Sinners.”
Junior accepted the bowl and managed a smile. Maybe the guacamole would soothe his roiling innards. He dipped a taquito and raised the green glob to his lips. His mama beamed. “Excellente, Mama.” His mother’s cooking, his desire to make her happy, had equaled a childhood body round as a basketball, a sport he was too fat and slow to play.
At the far end of the couch, Mack Billodeaux, lean and fast as a whippet in his time trials, stoked up on baby carrots dipped into hummus from the vegetable tray his Mama Nell always insisted upon serving no matter what the occasion. A woman so petite and fairy-like, she’d earned the nickname Tink, Nell also sat next to her son. Mack appeared discontent, and Junior knew the reason why. When he’d said he wanted to watch the draft at home with his family, Mama Nell had turned her big doe eyes on Mack and waited for him to say the same, so he did. Her son really wanted to be in the thick of things at the actual draft, striding on stage to be swathed in the jersey of the team who chose him. He’d confided that to Junior and blamed him a little for not wanting to go to the big time and have some kickass fun together.
Joe Billodeaux, king of the remote, pointed the device at the huge flat screen set up in front of the fireplace for the occasion. His wife turned on the somewhat smaller television over the mantel so that all could see. Of course, they might have used the home theater room attached to the house for the showing of movies, but this arrangement was cozier. Yes, cozy, Junior liked cozy. He ate some more guacamole as ESPN materialized onto the screens. The audience sat through the usual introductions and explanations of the process, but once the actual draft began, the players selected came out fast with only seven minutes each allowed for a pick. Not ready, lose a turn.
The most likely among the college quarterbacks went first, one, two, three, to the lowest ranked teams. Dallas with the fourth pick and badly in need of receivers called out the name of Mack Billodeaux. A cheer went up in the crowded den. Somebody dropped a paper crown upon his shaggy, long black hair, another small rebellion since Joe and his quarterback brother always wore theirs cropped short.
Mack, son of the awesome Joe, brother of the current Sinners’ quarterback, Dean, had been crafted into the best wide receiver they could make him, and was guaranteed to be a top ten pick. He’d broken with family traditions every way he could by choosing to attend Alabama instead of LSU and refusing to be molded into a quarterback who had to compete with his brother. Junior suspected his secret though. Mack hated being hit on the football field. He would run like a cat with a tail afire carrying the ball and go out of bounds when the hounds of the defense neared. If Junior as a cornerback ever caught up with Mack in a game, he’d hit him hard and pop that ball out, not with malice, but because he wanted to do his job well.
Mama Nell said, “At least you won’t be far from home.” Joe leaned over her and shook Mack’s hand. “Not everyone gets to be a Sinner. Do your best and wait for free agency.” Good advice, but Mack had wanted to enter the draft last year as a college junior which would have put him one year closer to that free agency. While his dad might have wavered, his mother did not. All Billodeauxs finished college. Period.
Junior didn’t even ask his parents if he could quit school early to go pro. Each one of them owned a Super Bowl ring presented for courageous services rendered to the Billodeaux family. The rings, earmarked for his education, sat in a safe deposit box to be sold if necessary to pay the fees. No need as it turned out. An LSU sports scholarship came through, a good thing because he wouldn’t have gotten an academic one. His grades were decent, but not brilliant, primarily because Junior Polk cared more about three other things: food, football, and Xochi Billodeaux, but not in that order.
“You,” said his mama, grasping his cheeks, “will be the first in my family to graduate from university.” His dad had suggested military service if football didn’t work out, an idea that made his mother cry. He’d craft a good sports career, absolutely he would, and then move on to his carefully considered retirement plans.
The numbers went up and up. No one called for Junior Polk as they had for Mack, now absent, talking on the phone in another room. The Sinners chose twenty-ninth out of thirty-one. Damn Dean Billodeaux for being such a hotshot quarterback that his team always got into the playoffs and won their conference last season. What if they didn’t want him either? He’d go into the second night of the draft after everyone went home from the party. Junior clutched both sides of his snack bowl so tightly it might have snapped. A small hand he knew and loved took it from his grip and set it aside on the coffee table.
Xochi squeezed his fingers and warmth flowed up his arm. “Don’t worry. Everything will be all right.”
Did she remember the last time she’d said those words to him as a girl twice his age? Yes, really, since he’d been five and she’d turned ten when a gang of bullies cornered a pudgy Mexican kid with a cone of pink cotton candy grasped in one hand and a caramel apple in the other. They took his treats and shoved him behind one of the trailers at the street fair celebrating the sugar cane harvest. He had twenty dollars from his mother for rides and food. Mostly, he’d spent his on corndogs and sweet stuff.
His dad had his eyes on the horde of Billodeaux kids, the ones he got paid to protect, and no easy task either since they tended to scatter in all directions no matter what his commands. But, Xochi noticed. His attackers, probably six-graders from the public school who didn’t know him, street kids who came without parents or money to spend, shoved him down into the dirt and damp straw covering a mud puddle. Emptying his pockets of what change remained, they landed a few kicks to his sides and pummeled his
soft belly until he barfed up his corndogs and fries, his orange drink, and the deep-fried Twinkie. Then, Xo was upon the bullies like an avenging Aztec goddess, her black curls flying from the scarlet ribbon that bound them, her small fists balled tight and hard. She went right for the head, blackening more than one eye and splitting lips, a fierce fighter whose name incongruously meant blossom. “You leave Junior alone!”
The cowards ran. At first, he thought the sixth-graders were terrified of a girl nearly their age and very sturdy, but a tall shadow belonging to his father blotted out the hot September sun and cast him into shade from his place on his back, wiggling limbs like a helpless turtle. If the bullies didn’t know him, they did recognize his dad, the ex-Special Forces warrior who guarded the Billodeaux children. “Get up, Junior. Stop blubbering if you haven’t broken anything. I’ve told you not to get separated from the troop. Stick around Dean and the older kids.”
Junior sat up. His snot mingled with the vomit on his cheese yellow T-shirt with the LSU tiger roaring on the front. He wasn’t a tiger, never would be. Xochi squatted beside him and wiped his face with a handful of paper napkins and a bottle of water she took from her small red backpack. “Don’t worry. Everything will be all right,” she said as she scrubbed at her own bloody knuckles, skinned on the enemy’s teeth.
Xo didn’t see auras as a child. If she had, his would have glowed with adoration. Junior became a tiger, not for his loving mother or his stern father, but for her. If the Sinners didn’t draft him now, he might have to live far from Xochi. Dios mio, let them choose him!
