Hot Touch

by Deborah Smith

  He arched a black brow rakishly. “Givin’ the animals fancy names, eh? Next shell want a rhinestone collar.”

  Caroline chuckled. “You’re not going to name her She-Dog. I protest.”

  A deep bellow punctured the night so close by that Caroline jumped and looked around her feet. Paul swung about, gazing at the veranda intensely.

  “ ’Gator,” he said in a troubled voice. “That’s the grunt you heard. Must be Big Daddy. He’s the only ’gator tame enough to come this close to people.”

  Caroline’s gaze followed his to a large hole torn in the white wooden slats at the veranda’s base. She shut her eyes and concentrated. “Uhm-huh. He’s under the veranda. He, uhmm, aha!”

  She patted Paul’s back sympathetically. “Doc, Big Daddy is Big Mama.”

  “Mais non!” He stared at her as if she’d just accused John Wayne of being a sissy.

  “Mais oui. She’s avoiding an overaggressive boyfriend.”

  He ran a hand through his hair and massaged the scar on the back of his neck. Caroline watched the odd, troubled gesture and was puzzled. “She’ll leave when it gets light, doc. What’s the matter?”

  “Get her out now.”

  Startled, she told him, “She won’t go. She’s not in the mood.”

  He cursed darkly and headed back inside the house, slapping one hand along his thigh in disgust. Caroline followed anxiously.

  In the kitchen he paced back and forth, and once again he raised a hand to rub the back of his neck. She settled slowly in a chair and watched him.

  “I never told you how I got hurt,” he said.

  Caroline nodded vaguely, bewildered by the sudden change of subject. She knew his scar by heart, just as he knew hers. It was an upturned crescent at the base of his skull, a dramatic ridge almost the width of her hand.

  “An alligator did it?”

  “No, no ’gator.”

  “You haven’t seemed eager to tell me,” she explained. “So I didn’t pry. I knew you’d tell me eventually. What happened?”

  He exhaled wearily. “When I was working at the track in New Orleans I got kicked by a horse.”

  “In the back of the head?”

  “Yeah. Nearly killed me.” He paused in his restless movements and looked at her with eyes full of old memories. “Bruised my spinal cord. I was paralyzed for about two months. From the neck down.”

  Caroline hunched over in her chair and hugged her suddenly queasy stomach. “Oh, doc. No wonder you don’t like to talk about it.” Tears came to her eyes. “And all the times you’ve listened patiently to me complain about my scar—”

  “Shhh. The hell I went through didn’t last for years like yours did.”

  “But you were paralyzed.”

  “Yeah. It was … I wouldn’t wish it on anyone. It’s what got me thinking about my life. It made me change directions. When I got well I bought this place.”

  They heard Big Mama bellow again. Paul’s expression went darker than before. “Dammit, see if you can get her out from under the house.”

  “I can’t. She’s not hurting anything. What’s wrong?”

  His jaw worked for a moment. He looked at her awkwardly, then announced, “It’s bad luck for a ’gator to crawl under your house.”

  “Ah.”

  “That was a what-a-cute-Cajun-superstition ah. Dammit, take me seriously.”

  Caroline spread her hands in a gesture of reconciliation. “Now, doc—”

  “I got kicked in the head a week after a ’gator crawled under my house in N’Orleans.”

  She gaped at him for a minute. So that was the cause of his sudden mood change. “Doc, it’s just coincidence.”

  He glared at her. “I never questioned what you told me about talkin’ to animals, but you think what I’m saying about superstition is silly, yes?”

  Caroline blushed. “I think you’re overreacting.”

  “Then you don’t understand Cajuns.”

  A cold thread of resistance wound through her. “I never said that I did.”

  “Or that you wanted to.”

  Caroline stood, alarmed. There was only one possible explanation for his sudden anger. “You’re upset about the film shoot coming to an end so soon now.”

  He held her eyes, searching them. Then he said gruffly, “Frank told me last night that you’ll have to take Wolf to film some scenes at the studio in Burbank. You knew that a week ago. Why didn’t you tell me?”

  Caroline slumped back into the chair and looked at him wretchedly. “I didn’t want to spoil the mood.”

  His anger dimmed a little. Sighing, he slowly nodded, admitting that she had been wise. Then his gaze hardened again. “That ’gator, he … she’s a bad sign. I don’t want you to go.”

  Her throat taut with unshed tears, Caroline whispered, “Doc, I have to go. But I’ll be back.”

  “To stay for good?”

  She shook her head. “To visit.” She looked at him with anguish. “I love you and I don’t want to lose you. Well work something out even if I live in California and you live here.”

  “This is your home!”

  Crying silently now, she shook her head. “No.”

  “I thought you’d changed.”

  “I have. I love you and I love this place. If I could transplant it and you to California, I’d be the happiest woman in the world.”

  “Transplant yourself here.”

  “I refuse to live in the same state with my mother’s family. Dammit, it’s beneath me. It’s a point of principle. I thought you’d accepted that.”

  “Pride!” he yelled. “Stupid pride! I don’t understand how you can love me so much and want to live all the way across the damned country.”

  “I don’t want to live across the country, but I can’t get you to leave Louisiana!” She held out her hands to him. “Paul, it’ll work. It’s not traditional, but it will work. “I’ll visit, I’ll call, I’ll write.”

  “I don’t want a pen pal, I want a wife.”

  She shook her fists at him. “You want everything your own way!”

  They stared at each other, lost in a gulf filled with shared pride and sorrow. Big Mama bellowed again.

  Paul waved a hand toward the veranda. “Go hide with her.”

  Caroline groaned with frustration. “You don’t give up.”

  “I do when I’m beating my head against a stone levee.” He pivoted abruptly and left the room.

  The old man drove an ancient, rusting pickup truck onto the set and staggered out of it before the crew’s security guard noticed him. He tripped over a tree root and fell to one knee, then splayed his arms out and pushed his tall, skinny frame up like a scarecrow.

  “Caroline!” he yelled in a heavy Cajun accent.

  Everything ground to a halt. “Cut!” the director yelled in disgust. Frederick, Dabney, and Wolf looked at the man curiously.

  Caroline, sitting in her chair just outside the bustle of activity, stared at the old man in astonishment. Lady rose from her place under the chair and took a watchful position. Wolf trotted over and stood beside her.

  Mistress, don’t be afraid. He doesn’t have badness in his face.

  The old man swayed and swept bleary eyes around the set. Wearing faded overalls and a baggy print shirt, his graying red hair sticking out at odd angles, he looked like a skinny Red Skelton playing Clem Cadiddlehopper.

  “Where’s ma petite-fille?” he shouted, looking distressed.

  Granddaughter. Caroline dropped the script and clutched the arms of her chair. Horror sleeted through her and made her mouth taste brassy with fear. Oh, dear Lord, no.

  She stood up, her knees weak, and stared at the invader in numb despair. The security guard grabbed him by one arm.

  “Lemme go, you crazy coot,” the old man protested, “I got to see my grandbaby! I heard she’s here, yes! You Américain’s can’t hide her no more!” He waved his arms and slurred a litany of colorful oaths, half in English and half in Cajun French. />
  Suddenly Frank was beside Caroline, a supporting hand under her elbow. “He’s drunk, Carrie.”

  “Get him out of here,” she whispered, her throat a dry well of humiliation. “How did he find me? Why did he find me? Oh, God, he’s my worst nightmare.”

  “Where is she? I’d know her. She had her mama’s hair and eyes! Caroline! I’m your kin!” He took a loose swing at the guard and missed.

  Caroline pressed her hands to her mouth. She felt the crew’s furtive, embarrassed glances and wanted to sink into the ground. She needed her sunglasses again, desperately. She was a violent old drunkard’s granddaughter, and she wanted to hide in shame.

  “Let’s take him to my trailer,” Frank said gently. “We’ll give him some coffee and—”

  “No,” she said harshly.

  “Carrie—”

  “Get him off this place.” She tilted a little. “Frank, I feel sick.”

  The security guard wrestled with the old man, whose rolled-up shirt-sleeves revealed strong, corded forearms. The guard’s face turned red with exertion. A cameraman ran over and grabbed her grandfather’s free arm.

  The guard called, “What do you want me to do with him, Mr. Windham?”

  “Petite-fille!” her grandfather called plaintively. He glanced around wildly, his gaze stopping on Caroline. “You’re her! Oh, Lord, those eyes. Michelle! My baby!”

  Caroline staggered back, jerked her arm away from Frank’s grasp, and turned blindly. “I’ll be at the house.” she said between gasping breaths. “Carrie.”

  She groaned. “I can’t take it.” Caroline strode away, Wolf and Lady at her heels. “Don’t go!” the old man yelled. “Michelle, don’t go! It’s Papa!”

  She walked faster, her hands knotted, her head down. His voice rose into a begging cry. “It’s Papa … non, merci, grandpapa! I come to see you! You’re my blood!” Humiliation overwhelmed her and she ran.

  Paul slid to a stop in the grand old foyer and looked around frantically. The sound of canine feet rushing across the hardwood floor above him drew his searching eyes to the staircase. Wolf and Lady careened to a stop at the edge of the landing and whined at him anxiously.

  “Caroline!”

  His heart thudding, he raced up the stairs and entered his bedroom. She was sitting in a big claw-footed chair that faced the window. Paul knelt beside it and studied her sympathetically. Her shoulders were hunched with tension and she’d slipped tortoiseshell-framed sunglasses over her eyes.

  Tears escaped from under them as she looked at him. “Where is he? Did he leave?”

  Paul cupped a hand around the back of her head and stroked her golden-red hair as if she were a distraught child. “His name’s Jacque. Jacque Ancelet. Frank sent the guard to drive him home. He lives over in Juliette. ’Bout an hour west of here. He read a newspaper story on the movie and saw your name. That’s all I could get from him before he passed out.”

  She turned to look out the window again, silent tears sliding down her face. “I have to go see him.”

  Paul felt a stab of dread. “Chère, no.”

  “You’ve always said I need to know the truth about my mother’s family.”

  He squeezed the back of her neck, massaging, coaxing. “Not this truth. This’ll only be bad.”

  She wiped trembling fingertips across her cheeks. Even behind her sunglasses he could see her frown of bewilderment. “You told me not to trust rumors.”

  “Jacque is no rumor. He’s flesh and blood.” Paul turned her face to him and clasped it between his hands. “He’s no good. So what? You’ve got a home here. I love you. The animals love you. Forget about your mother’s family.”

  She shook her head gently. “I have to go see them, Blue.”

  Paul got up and paced, his hands on his hips. “No. It’s gonna be bad. You’ll go back to California for sure.”

  “Why are you so upset?”

  He halted, his hands clenching. “The alligator. She’s a bad sign. I told you.”

  “Oh, Paul!”

  “It’s not just superstition,” he said between gritted teeth. “It means something. It means don’t go see your mother’s people.”

  She stood wearily, gripping the back of the chair for support. “Unless I find out what kind of family I came from, I don’t know if I can ever stay here.”

  His head drooped in defeat. “What if they’re even worse than you thought?”

  “I don’t know what I’ll do.” She came to him and stroked his face tenderly, her hands quivering. “But I know it won’t change how much I love you.”

  Paul drew a deep breath and said grimly, “Right now I feel like locking the door again and holding you prisoner until you say you won’t do this foolish thing. You’ll always be my woman, and that’s all that matters.”

  He stepped back. She looked up at him mutely, sorrow written in every line of her body. “It’ll be all right, doc.”

  “I’ll take you to see them,” he whispered, his voice gruff. “Even if it means I lose you.”

  Caroline’s hands went ice cold when she saw the dusty streets and quaint old storefronts of Juliette. She gripped the armrest on the Corvette’s passenger door, then used the other hand to check her white-rimmed sunglasses and matching scarf. Slipping a finger under the high, banded neck of her dress, she tugged it upward.

  “You’re well hidden, chère,” Paul said drolly, the wind whipping his words. “And you look rich and important. Relax.”

  Caroline smoothed the draped jersey of her dress, chic and charcoal-gray, meant to impress without shouting for attention. She lifted a heavy necklace of silver crescents and looked at Paul anxiously. “Simple but elegant.”

  He gestured at his black trousers and white pullover. “Simple but plain.”

  Caroline chuckled despite her nervousness. “There’s nothing plain about you, monsieur.”

  Her laughter died as he turned off the highway and guided the Corvette down a two-lane road bordered on both sides by flat expanses of marsh. In the distance she saw a grove of cypress trees and a small frame house among them.

  A chill ran down her spine. “That must be it.”

  Paul glanced at the directions he’d gotten from the security guard who’d driven Jacque Ancelet home. He slowed the Corvette. “There are lots of cars in the yard. He must have company. Maybe we should have called. Maybe we should go back to town and call. Or go back to Grande Rivage and come again some other day.”

  “No, Blue. I knew there were going to be lots of people here.”

  Paul swung the Corvette onto the side of the road and stopped a few hundred feet from the graveled driveway. “How did you know?”

  “I called my grandfather and told him that I was coming to see him today. I asked him to invite any of the family who wanted to meet me.”

  Paul groaned. “What did he say?”

  “He’s sort of shy, I think. He just mumbled something and said he’d do it.” She sat in silent melancholy for a moment, then said with a trace of her old sarcasm, “A house full of crummy Ancelets. Lovely. I’ll get the whole rotten picture in one day and then I won’t have to see any of them again.”

  “You don’t have to see any of them now.”

  Tears sprang to her eyes and she lifted his hand to kiss it. “Shhh. No matter how awful they are, I’ll always want to be a part of your life. I love you too much for anything else to matter.”

  He smiled sadly. “You love me but you’ll go back to California.”

  She shut her eyes and took a deep breath. “Let’s get it over with.”

  The house was basic clapboard and tin, but surprisingly well kept. The mild Louisiana fall let red geraniums continue to bloom in whitewashed truck tires. The ersatz planters were sunk in a sandy yard that bore broom marks where someone had tidied the ground. Caroline studied a porch hung with pots of begonias and furnished with metal lawn chairs painted blue.

  Her knees trembled as she crossed the yard. Paul’s hand was a strong, calm sup
port on the small of her back. She swallowed tightly as a screen door swung open and Jacque Ancelet stepped onto the porch, his eyes already riveted to her.

  Caroline felt Paul’s hand curl around her waist protectively. He drew her close to his side and whispered, “Anytime you want to leave, just say so.”

  She nodded. Her stomach twisted with a confusing mixture of distaste and pity. Jacque looked terribly awkward in an old blue suit that fit too loosely over the angles of his tall, skinny form. His feathery red hair was slicked back, and his face had the pink scrubbed look of a man who equated cleanliness with important occasions.

  The more important, the harder he scrubbed, she suspected. Why was he trying so hard to impress the granddaughter he’d forgotten years before?

  Caroline’s mouth flattened in a grim line as people bustled onto the porch behind him, all gazing at her with mingled curiosity and concern. She’d never seen so many shades of reddish-blond hair in her life. Here and there she noticed features that reminded her of her own—sassily tilted mouths, big dramatic eyes that dominated the rest of the face, chins just a little on the belligerent side.

  The crowd was as wholesome-looking as a church choir, and the collection of cars and trucks they’d left among the cypress trees were sparkling late models or older ones in respectable condition.

  Confusion brought a surge of anger. Just because they weren’t ne’er-do-wells didn’t mean they were likable.

  Her grandfather walked down the steps and stopped in front of her, his Adam’s apple bobbing with nervousness. He was a big scarecrow of a man, but there was a sense of dignity about the squared set of his shoulders.

  “I hope a crazy old grand-père didn’t embarrass you too much,” he said in heavily accented English. Caroline asked grimly, “Are you an alcoholic?”

  “No. I’m a coward.”

  “Uncle, shhh, that’s not true,” a man in the crowd said.

  Jacque shook his head in disagreement, his gaze never leaving Caroline. “I was scared to see my granddaughter again. ’Fraid she’d turned into an Américaine. So I had a few drinks.” He paused, frowning deeply. “I forgot that it don’t set too well with me.”