Beauty and the Bayou
Boys of the Bayou Book 3
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: 978-1-7338901-2-0
Editor: Lindsey Faber
Cover design: Angela Waters
Cover photography: Lindee Robinson
Models: Michael Scanlon and Kandace Gauthier
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Epilogue
About the Author
More from Erin
1
“Nailed. Pounded. Drilled.”
Sawyer Landry stopped with his hand on the doorknob to his office and turned at the sound of a male voice. He didn’t see anyone and it sounded like the voice was coming from around the corner of the building.
“Don’t forget hammered and banged.”
He also didn’t recognize that female voice. It wasn’t Kennedy, Maddie, or Tori. There weren’t many other females who’d be down here at this time of day. Sawyer scowled and headed around to the dock. Who the hell was here at seven in the morning? Was someone here early for their boat tour? Or were there some teenagers making out down here on the dock where they didn’t think they’d be caught?
“Of course, there are also terms like pole and shaft and good old tool if you want to go with nouns versus verbs,” the guy said.
The woman laughed. “Why are there so many sexual terms that are also construction terms?”
“Well, building is hot and dirty.”
Sawyer’s scowl deepened. He didn’t see anyone on the benches outside their main building where the tourists gathered to wait for their airboat and swamp boat tours, but the voices were coming from over here for sure.
“Come on, you have to stretch,” the guy said a moment later.
“I’m trying. It’s too long.”
“Use your other hand.”
“I can’t. I need that one right there.”
“How bad do you want it?” the guy asked her.
“Bad,” she said. “But I might need to get someone else to do it.”
“Hey, there’s only so much I can do from here.”
“I know.”
Sawyer stepped around the last row of benches and saw…not what he’d been expecting to see.
A woman was lying on her stomach, hanging off the edge of the dock, reaching under the boards with one hand, while gripping the railing with the other to keep from pitching over the edge.
She was dressed in dark green hip waders—tall rubber boots that covered not just the feet and lower leg but went all the way up to the hips—and a bright orange life jacket. There was also a bright yellow hard hat beside her on the dock.
“A little more,” the man’s voice said. From underneath the dock.
Sawyer had no idea what was going on.
He was, however, aware that this was the first time he’d stopped to admire a woman’s ass in about nine months. The space between the top of the woman’s boots and the lower edge of the life jacket framed the magnificent curve of a denim-covered ass that stopped him in his tracks. Literally.
Not a bad way to start a Monday morning.
But fine ass or not, there was a stranger lying on his dock, dangling over the edge, doing…he had no idea what. He didn’t know what to think of her outfit and the hard hat, either. Was she here to go fly fishing? Boating? Build something? She seemed dressed for all three. Her conversation about pounding and nailing came back to him, and Sawyer was proud of the fact that his gaze only lingered on her ass for another millisecond.
“What the hell is going on?”
“Eeep!” The woman gave a startled little scream and jerked.
The motion started her body sliding forward, headfirst off the edge of the dock, her hand slipping on the railing where she was holding on. Or trying to.
Well, shit.
Sawyer instinctively took a huge step forward and grabbed for the first thing he could get a hold of—the back waistband of her shorts.
He pulled her up, sliding her until she was completely on the dock. There was a moment where they both just paused. Then suddenly she rolled to her side and pushed up onto her knees. The move, with his hand still tucked in the back of her shorts, brought Sawyer down onto one knee. The perfect level for her to throw her arms around his neck. Apparently.
She squeezed him tightly as she gushed in his ear, “Oh my God, thank you!”
Sawyer simply couldn’t move. He hadn’t been expecting anything about her reaction. Hell, he hadn’t been expecting anything about her. He found himself frozen with her pressed against him, gripping his neck tightly. And his fingers against the bare skin of her lower back below her life jacket. Her silky, warm bare skin.
“Juliet!” the male voice called from down below them. “Are you all right? What the hell happened?”
The woman pulled back and looked up at Sawyer for a moment. Then she blew out a breath and gave him a half smile. “Thank you for saving me.” She unwound her arms from around his neck and started to sit back on her heels.
But his hand was still tucked into the back of her shorts and that kept her pressed against him. Surprise and awareness flickered in her huge, brown eyes and Sawyer realized he hadn’t been hugged by a woman other than his mother and grandmother in months. It had a lot to do with the fact that he bit the heads off of most of the women—okay, most of the people—around him on a regular basis.
Suddenly he pulled his hand from the shorts and sat back. The woman did the same, taking a deep breath.
Was her heart pounding because she’d nearly pitched over the edge of the dock and gone headfirst into the mud below? Or was it because being pressed up against him had done something to her libido like it had his?
Did it matter?
He didn’t even know who the hell she was, and she was trespassing.
“You shouldn’t just go around hugging strange men.” He pushed to his feet.
She scrambled to stand as well and took a big step back. “Oh, wow, you’re totally right. I just…reacted. Sorry about that.”
For a second, Sawyer lost track of what they’d been talking about.
This woman had more than a gorgeous ass. She was stunningly beautiful from the front, too. Even in a bright orange life jacket.
She also smelled like lilacs.
He realized that he’d gotten a huge whiff of her scent when she’d been in his arms. It had to have only been a few seconds, and he’d been a lot more focused on the skin against his fingers. But yeah, she smelled like lilacs.
That didn’t seem to fit now that he took her all in. She had long dark hair streaked with red and gold, skin that was a warm beige, and the biggest brown eyes he’d ever seen. She also had curves. Really, really nice curves. Even in her goofy outfit, it was impossible to miss the generous breasts, flared hips, and gorgeous ass. Okay, he couldn’t see that ass now, but he remembered it. Well.
The hip waders didn’t fit her. She was short and the tall boots were loose on her, causing a gap at the top that gave him more than a glimpse of the smooth, fawn-colored skin of her thighs.
Cinnamon. If she smelled like cinnamon, that would fit. No, cardamom. And yes, he knew what cardamom smelled like. His grandmother
and her best friend cooked and baked constantly, for family and for a living. This girl definitely should have smelled spicy rather than flowery.
And that might have been the stupidest thing he’d ever thought in his life.
But she was checking him out, too. Her eyes ran over him from head to toe. There was six feet and four inches of him to go over, and it took her a little longer than it had taken him to scan her five-foot-five or so. Or maybe she was just taking her time.
He let her. He was a stranger. They were alone. In a new-to-her place. She should be sizing him up.
Or maybe he just liked her eyes on him.
He noted that she didn’t study the scar that ran from the corner of his mouth, up over his cheek, to his hairline. She didn’t avoid looking at it, either. She’d taken it in like she’d looked over his shoulders and hair and boots. Like it was just a detail to catalog.
He hadn’t even thought of being with a woman since the accident that had caused that scar, and he was shocked by the urge to flirt—or step close and catch this woman’s mouth in a kiss—that shot through him now. Hell, did he even remember how to flirt?
Finally, after the silent perusal had stretched a little beyond two people just meeting for the first time and nothing more, he pushed all of those thoughts away and propped his hands on his hips. “I was talking about you,” he told her.
Yeah, he wasn’t upset about the way she threw herself into his arms after he’d saved her. He could use a little more appreciation for the things he did to keep people safe around here, as a matter of fact. Sawyer shook his head. That was a whole other, ongoing issue that had nothing to do with this here and now.
“Getting up close and personal with a guy who just walks up on you suddenly when no one else is around could be damned dangerous.” As he spelled it out for her, he realized just what a great point that really was. He frowned. “Seriously, you shouldn’t be down here alone. What the hell are you doing? What if you’d fallen off the dock and no one was here?”
She glanced at the railing. “I knew I should have tied myself to the post.”
Sawyer blinked at her. “What?”
“I thought about tying a rope around my waist and around that post.” She pointed to the upright that supported the corner of the roof that extended over the dock on this side to provide shade. “That way if I slipped, that would have kept me from going over.”
“Or it could have ended up wrapped around your neck with you still hanging over the edge,” Sawyer said with a scowl. “Or it could have slipped down and ended up around your ankle and you could have gone over the side and then swung back and whacked yourself against the dock underneath.” He could see those scenarios plain as day in his mind and his scowl deepened. It took him a second to focus on her again and realize that she’d gone a little pale. “Hey, you okay?” he asked. Was she going to pass out? Shit, what would he do then? He supposed he’d carry her over to Ellie’s, his grandmother’s place. Everyone would be there having breakfast.
He stepped forward. He needed to keep her from crumpling to the floor and whacking her head that way first, he supposed.
She took a step back.
Sawyer frowned and stepped forward again.
She held up a hand to stop him. “What are you doing?”
“Making sure I’m close enough to catch you if you faint.”
She swallowed. “I’m not going to faint. I don’t think,” she added.
Sawyer sighed. “I really need to you not to faint.”
Her eyes widened. “You need me not to faint?”
He nodded. “I really don’t want to explain you and”—he looked around—“this. And if I have to carry you, unconscious, into my grandma’s bar, I’m going to have to explain. And I don’t even know who you are or what you’re doing here.”
“Well, if you don’t want me to get woozy, you have to stop talking about how I could have strangled myself or given myself a serious concussion.”
“But you could have,” he said simply. It was a fact.
She nodded. “Yeah.”
Sawyer cocked an eyebrow. He wasn’t used to people agreeing with him when he did his worst-case-scenario thing. Mostly people rolled their eyes. Sometimes they argued with him. Sometimes they tried to reassure him. The only thing he wanted and liked, however, was when people said, “You’re right. I’ll be careful.” That was all he wanted in life. Well, and for people to actually be careful.
The bayou wasn’t a place to fuck around. There were a lot of things that could be dangerous here. From the insects, snakes, and animals to the sun, weather, and the bayou itself. Drowning was a possibility out here just like it was around any body of water. His brother, sister, and cousins had all grown up down here. They should know what they were doing. They should know what precautions to take and what to do if something happened. But he’d lost a friend who’d known the bayou like the back of his hand, and Sawyer had since become obsessed with keeping everyone else safe.
He knew others used the word obsessed. He owned it. He didn’t care what they thought. As long as everyone stayed safe, they could think he was an asshole or a kook.
That included this woman.
“So how do I get down there?” she asked, moving toward the railing and looking over.
“Down there? Under the dock?” he asked. “You don’t. You keep your sweet ass right up here.”
She glanced at him quickly. Probably because of the “sweet ass” comment. Oh, well, she could think he was a sexist pig or that he was hitting on her. Again, he didn’t care. As long as she really did keep her sweet ass up here.
“I dropped my phone down there,” she said after a second.
“Too bad.” He shrugged.
She frowned. “Too bad? I can’t just leave my phone down there.”
“Well, there’s no way to get it.”
“I can’t climb down there somehow?” she asked, looking around. “I could climb down the bank there.” She pointed to the rise behind the muddy, grassy bank.
“No, you can’t.”
“Why not?”
“You might slip and fall in.”
She swallowed hard but said, “I have hip waders and a life jacket on.”
He looked her up and down, this time not trying to hide it. She’d practically invited him to. “Why do you have hip waders and a life jacket on? And a hard hat?”
“Because I thought I might need to wade into the water or walk through mud.”
“You don’t know how to swim?”
“Isn’t it always safer to have a life jacket on around water?”
Sawyer opened his mouth. Then snapped it shut. Having a life jacket on around water was, of course, safer than not having one on. That was just common sense.
He supposed he was used to a lack of common sense around here.
He and his brother, Josh, and cousin, Owen, owned and operated one of the most popular tourist attractions outside of New Orleans. Boys of the Bayou Swamp Boat and Fishing Tours offered airboat tours as well as fishing and hunting expeditions. They took hundreds of strangers out on the bayou every week. The majority of those people had never been to the bayou before and had very little practical knowledge of things like alligators and snakes, and many had a surprising lack of knowledge of boat and water safety. At least in Sawyer’s estimation. Added to that, the fact that many of the groups were bachelor and bachelorette parties, fraternity and sorority groups, spring break revelers, and other similar gatherings, who had decided to step out of New Orleans for a little more unique experience, there was also a general party air—and often blood alcohol levels above “totally sober”—that contributed to people not taking his safety talks as seriously as they should.
His family and other people in Autre, Louisiana didn’t take things as seriously as Sawyer would like, either. They’d grown up here and thought they knew everything. But familiarity led to complacency and a feeling of invincibility that could be damned dangerous.
That’s what had happened to Tommy.
A shaft of pain went through him, as it often did when he thought of Tommy, his business partner and best friend. He and Tommy Allain had been inseparable since they’d been born. Their grandfathers and fathers had been best friends, too. They hadn’t really had a choice but to like one another, but it had worked out that they’d had everything in common and disagreed on nothing that a bottle of whiskey and some fishing couldn’t fix.
Most days, he still couldn’t believe Tommy was gone. It had been nine months but it hadn’t gotten less painful. The only thing that felt better was the gash on his face and even that still twinged sometimes.
So yeah, Sawyer overreacted when it came to safety.
He didn’t give a fuck how everyone else felt about that.
“And the hard hat?” he asked when he couldn’t come up with anything else to say about her life jacket.
She lifted her chin. “I think head protection is incredibly important at all times.”
Okay, that was a weird answer. Who thought about head protection “at all times”?
But damned if he didn’t like it.
He was the last guy to fault someone for being prepared. Even overly prepared.
He realized that he really liked that this gorgeous creature was also cautious.
Was he developing a little fetish for protective wear? Well, that was fucking weird. But he supposed there were worse things.
“So why can’t I go down there with all of this on?” she asked, waving her hand down her body to indicate everything she was wearing.
“There are cotton mouths down there.” It was true. He’d burned one nest, but there was a good chance there were more. One thing they were never short on down here was critters.
Her brown eyes widened. “Those are snakes, right?”
“Yep. Nasty ones. Very poisonous.”
“Damn,” she breathed. “I didn’t look up snakes.” She squinted up at him. “Can they bite through rubber boots like these?”
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