Southern Comforts

by JoAnn Ross

  Another shrug.

  “Hey,” Cash said quietly, “Chelsea was talking to you, son.”

  “I don’t like the Nicks,” he mumbled.

  “Of course you don’t,” she said quickly. “I’ll bet you’re an Atlanta Hawks fan.”

  “Yeah.”

  His flat tone didn’t encourage continued conversation, but refusing to give up, Chelsea tried again. “I don’t know any Hawks players. But I did make friends with one of the Bulls last year when we were playing golf together at a charity tournament in Phoenix.”

  “Who was that?” Cash asked when Jamie stubbornly refused to.

  Chelsea smiled her appreciation. Then sat back, let the pause linger a moment and proceeded to name drop. “Michael Jordan.”

  That got the boy’s immediately attention. When his head practically spun around, Chelsea knew she’d just earned points.

  “You played golf with Michael Jordan?”

  “And Charles Barkley,” she said.

  Those blue eyes narrowed suspiciously. “But you’re a girl.”

  “True. And I’m a terrible golfer. But the guys were nice enough to give me a generous handicap. I had a great time. And even beat Barkley on strokes, but of course Sir Charles is a terrible golfer. Although he does tell great jokes,” she tacked on as an afterthought.

  “I don’t suppose you remember any of them,” Cash coaxed. Although his eyes were hidden behind his dark glasses, Chelsea could hear the humor in his voice.

  “Actually, I do.”

  For the next thirty minutes she told jokes and spun stories about her day on the links with the basketball greats. By the time they reached the dock and had backed the bass boat into the water, the formerly speechless Jamie had found his voice and was bombarding her with questions about his heroes.

  As they cruised the slow-moving, sinuous waterways, Chelsea decided that Jo was definitely right about the scenery being spectacular. The swamp, with its draped cypress, vegetation-choked lakes, and pine islands was a world apart, and although at first it seemed deserted, she began to notice that the rushes, cattails and sphagnum peat bogs fairly teemed with life.

  Swallows swooped gracefully, picking insects off the water, white ibis and great blue herons waded along the banks, and a dazzling flock of huge gray sandhill cranes took off with loud, guttural cries as the boat passed by.

  Lily pads were scattered over the dark water like flag-stones making up a garden path. Mallards streaked low over the lily pads, their honking cries echoing in the steamy stillness.

  “This is so amazing.” Chelsea spoke quietly, as if she were in church. “I never realized a swamp could be so beautiful.”

  Her wondrous gaze drank in the tupelo and cypress trees with their huge buttressed trunks, some a man would not be able to put his arms around. A natural garden, as lovely in its own way as the formal English garden planted by Jeb at Magnolia House, bloomed amidst the shadowed water. There were white and yellow water lilies and white clusters of floating hearts, the vine with silky gray seed plumes Cash told her was called old man’s beard, the spiked neverwets and the hooded yellow pitcher plants.

  A family of otters swam by, sleek bodied and graceful.

  “It’s the country’s largest wooded swamp. Some guy in the 1890s got the great idea to drain it with canals, but he underestimated the project and gave up,” Cash said. “See that?”

  She followed his gaze to a desolate-looking island of black and silvered stumps and trees. “It looks almost as if they’ve been burned, but surely that can’t be? With all this water?”

  “Drought causes the upper layer of the peat floor to dry out and burn,” he said. “Which is nature’s way of keeping the Okefenokee a swamp, by burning off all the excess brush and dried mulch, which opens it up again and creates more bogs and prairies.”

  “The prairies shake if you try to walk on them,” Jamie piped up. “That’s where it got its name. From the Indian name for Land of the Trembling Earth.”

  “But if the ground is unstable, how do the islands support all those trees?”

  “Ah,” Cash said, with a quick grin, “that’s the magic of it.”

  And it was magic, she decided, as the day passed. From time to time Cash would cut the electric trolling motor and he and Jamie would cast lines out into the bogs, reeling in catfish after catfish. Although they seemed quite proud of themselves, Chelsea privately thought the fish were the ugliest she’d ever seen.

  “Isn’t Chelsea going to get a turn?” Jamie asked late in the afternoon. The slanting sun had turned the water to a molten copper.

  “Oh, I don’t—”

  “Good idea,” Cash said. He handed his rod to her. “I’ve already got it baited. Let’s see how you do.”

  “I’ve never fished in my life.”

  “Then you’ve been missing one of life’s great pleasures.”

  “My dad always said that God doesn’t deduct the time we spend fishing in this life,” Jamie said encouragingly. “Cash says that, too.”

  “That’s because I learned it from your dad,” Cash said. “Who was a very wise man. Now—” he turned his attention back to the lesson at hand “—put your hand here, and your thumb right there on the line, just so.” He stood behind her, his hands over hers. “Now, relax your wrist, that’s a gal. I tell you, Chelsea, you are a natural-born fisherman.”

  “Fisherwoman,” Jamie corrected.

  “Right.” Cash leaned forward and brushed his lips against her earlobe as he murmured, “You are definitely all woman, Irish.

  “Okay,” he said, returning his voice to its normal conversational tone, “now see that little pool over there?”

  “The one with the enormous cypress in the middle of it?” It had to be at least thirty-five feet away.

  “That’s it. We’re going to drop this worm right beside that old trunk.”

  “I hate to ruin a perfect day arguing with you, Cash, but I think the chances of that are slim to none.”

  “Now darlin’, you just gotta have confidence in yourself. And trust me.”

  “I do.” She looked up at him, the warmth in her eyes echoing her words. “But fishing and life are two different things.”

  “Now that’s where you’re wrong. Fishing is life. The rest is just incidental. Ready?”

  She took a deep breath. “All right. Let’s get this humiliation over with.”

  Amazingly, the line whizzed from the reel, the fat night crawler flew through the air, then landed with a satisfying plop exactly in the spot Cash had pointed out.

  “You did it, Chelsea,” Jamie shouted.

  “Cash did it,” she argued.

  “We did it together,” he corrected. “I keep telling you, sweetheart, we make one heckuva team.”

  It was true. So true, in fact, that these past weeks she’d even begun allowing herself to consider the possibility of a future with this man. Her collaboration with Roxanne was coming to an end. If she followed her original plan, she’d soon return to New York.

  But the lush, love-filled days she’d spent in Raintree had her wondering why she couldn’t stay right here. With Cash.

  She pictured them, sitting out on the veranda of his house overlooking the river, sharing bits and pieces of their day. She imagined sharing the cooking duties in his restored kitchen. The cozy domestic scene was more than a little pleasing, more so, she suspected, because she so seldom cooked. Nelson had always preferred to go out. To mingle with friends, to see and be seen. He’d consider a quiet evening at home with popcorn and a video akin to doing hard time.

  She imagined them taking Sunday afternoon boat rides. With their children. Although she’d never experienced the idyllic family life she was envisioning, there was definitely something appealing about building a life and a future and a family with the man you loved.

  And she did love him, Chelsea assured herself. Maybe not seven years ago, she’d never know that, for sure. But she had no doubt that she loved him now.

 
Of course, he hadn’t officially asked her to stay, she reminded herself. Then she smiled as she decided that she’d just have to take matters into her own hands. Soon.

  As Jamie’s sudden shout dragged her mind back from her romantic thoughts of making a life with Cash, Chelsea realized something was causing the line to spin out of her reel.

  “Looks like she’s hooked Jaws,” Jamie said, his young voice literally trembling with excitement.

  “You may just be right,” Cash said.

  “Jaws?” Chelsea echoed. Surely there weren’t sharks in this swamp?

  “The granddaddy of all catfish,” Cash said. “People have been trying to land him for years. Looks like you hit the jackpot.”

  “Me?” Her voice was little more than a squeak. “Cash, I can’t possibly pull him in.”

  “Of course you can.”

  The line was still disappearing beneath the water. “Dammit, Cash—”

  “You just gotta have some patience,” he assured her. “Now, here’s what you’re going to do…”

  Much, much later, Chelsea was listening to Jamie tell the tale to his mother.

  “You should have seen Chelsea, Mama,” Jamie said. “That old catfish liked to pull her pole right in, but she kept fighting. And then, after she’d landed him, she had Cash take the hook out and toss him right back into the water.”

  “He’d managed to survive so long,” Chelsea explained. “It seemed he belonged in the swamp, instead of on someone’s dinner plate.”

  “That’s quite a story,” Sharleen Johnson said. She smiled at Chelsea. Cash had introduced the two women to each other when they’d first picked Jamie up that morning. Now they were in the kitchen of Catfish Charlie’s, where Sharleen was frying fish for tonight’s dinner crowd. “Why don’t you and Cash go clean today’s catch, while Chelsea and I get acquainted?”

  “But, Mama, Chelsea was going to tell me more about Mike.”

  “Come on, son,” Cash said, looping his arm around the thin shoulders. “I think your mama and Chelsea plan to indulge in a little girl talk. Which means you and I just became persona non grata.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “I’ll explain it to you. While we’re cleaning the fish.”

  Apparently knowing when he was licked, Jamie stopped arguing and went out behind the small frame building with Cash.

  “He’s a wonderful boy,” Chelsea said, when she and Sharleen were alone. “You should be very proud.”

  “I am. And relieved, because I thought for sure he was on the road to juvenile hall. Until Cash stepped in.”

  “He and Jamie certainly get along well.”

  “Everyone gets along with Cash. But he had to work to win Jamie’s trust. It isn’t easy on a kid, having a parent pass away. Jamie was angry. And distrustful, and had begun doin’ what these days the school administration calls acting out.”

  “My father died when I was a girl. I behaved so badly, my mother finally threw up her hands and sent me off to boarding school in Switzerland to let the nuns straighten me out.”

  “That’s tragic. To lose your father, then have your mother send you away. Too bad she didn’t have someone like Cash.”

  “Yes,” Chelsea murmured, thinking what a difference a supportive adult would have made in her life back then. “It is too bad. But then again, I don’t think there are many men like Cash in this world.”

  “Now that surely is the truth.” Sharleen picked up a sharp knife and began cutting a dressed catfish into chunks with swift, deft strokes. “I don’t suppose he told you that he lent me the money to keep this place going?”

  “No.” Of course he didn’t. She’d already determined that Cash was not the type of man to blow his own horn.

  “I didn’t figure he would. He insists it’s a gift, but it’s important to me to pay it back, so he agreed to accept fifty dollars a month. I figure at this rate, I’ll get it paid off in about the time Jamie’s kids graduate college.”

  Understanding pride, Chelsea refrained from mentioning that Cash certainly didn’t need the money anytime soon.

  Chelsea fell silent, watching the swift movements of the knife as Sharleen prepared more catfish for the fryer. She experienced a momentary regret for the seven years she could have been with Cash. Then, with renewed optimism, decided to begin making up for lost time.

  Cash was in the shower when the glass door opened and Chelsea entered, wearing nothing but a smile and a dazzling, gilt-edged feminine invitation in her eyes.

  “I read in this morning’s paper that the state’s expecting a drier than normal summer,” she said, plucking the soap from his hand. “That being the case, I decided it was my civic duty to do whatever I could to conserve water.”

  He watched the lather billow between her palms; his gut tensed, waiting for the touch of those slender hands on his body. “Sounds like a good idea to me.” His voice roughened.

  “I’m so glad.” She replaced the soap in the niche in the tiled wall then ran her hands over his broad shoulders and down his arms. “Did I tell you that I had a wonderful time today?”

  “I believe you mentioned that. On the way home from Catfish Charlie’s.”

  “That’s right. I did.” She smoothed the iridescent bubbles over his chest. Then lower.

  The touch of her fingers skimming over his stomach was like flame. Cash discovered, not for the first time since being with Chelsea, that hunger had claws.

  “Did I tell you that I admire the easy way you have with Jamie?”

  “I don’t remember that coming up.”

  “Well, I do.” Her slippery wet fingers curled around his tumescent penis and began stroking it from base to tip.

  “Chelsea—” He moaned her name, half warning, half plea. He leaned his head back against the tile and closed his eyes.

  “It got me thinking about children.” She caressed his wet chest with her lips; at the same time she took the straining penis in both hands marveling, as she always did, at his rampant masculinity. “Our children.” She flicked her tongue across a hard dark nipple and felt him shiver.

  She was about to kneel down, to share with this man she loved the most intimate kiss of all, when he caught her chin in between his fingers and lifted her gaze to his.

  Cash was struggling to comprehend her words. “Are you saying—”

  “No.” She laughed and combed her hands through his wet hair, fitting her body tightly against his. “Not yet. But, I was rather hoping that we could change that.”

  Cash felt the breath leave his lungs in a mighty whoosh. At the same time, hunger surged into his groin like wildfire. The need for her became unbearable. He took hold of her waist, his fingers digging into her flesh, and lifted her off the shower floor, impaling her on his throbbing shaft.

  When he felt her body opening to him, surrounding him, caressing him, he nearly lost control.

  With her back against the blue-and-white tile, with her legs wrapped around his hips, and her mouth locked onto his, Cash took her, standing up in the shower, while the water streamed over them, surrounding them in a hot, steamy mist.

  Later, after he’d managed to drag her to bed, where they made love again, and again, he held her tight and marveled once more at his good fortune to have been granted another chance with this woman.

  “I sure as hell hope you meant that,” he murmured against her throat. He was still inside her, enjoying the continued closeness, reluctant to surrender the warmth quite yet.

  “Meant what?” She pressed her lips against his shoulder, where a purple bruise from her teeth was beginning to bloom.

  “About children.” He lifted his head and looked directly into her eyes. “Because if you didn’t, we just took a hell of a chance.” It was the first time he hadn’t thought of protection.

  “I love you. And there’s nothing I’d like better than having your baby, Cash,” Chelsea said simply.

  He went still. And was silent for so long, Chelsea feared she’d made a horre
ndous mistake by being so open about her feelings.

  “Cash?”

  He saw the worry in her gaze and hated himself for having put it there. “I’m sorry.” He smiled and combed his fingers through her still-damp curls. “It’s just an amazing thing for any man to hear, Chelsea. I was trying to count my blessings and realized there weren’t enough numbers to even come close.”

  Tension drained out of her. She lifted her hands to his face and knew that whatever else happened in the future, she would always remember this as one of the happiest days of her life.

  “Does that mean you like the idea?”

  “What do you think?” With his eyes still on hers, he lowered his mouth to her lips. “I love you, Chelsea Cassidy.” The words he’d always avoided using came remarkably easily. “As for making babies with you…”

  His kiss was warm and sweet and filled with promise. One hand moved between them to knead her breast, while the other slipped under her, lifting her hips to press her more closely against him.

  The scent of the Confederate jasmine wafted in through the open bedroom window. Chelsea heard the call of a bird, the distant sound of a boat on the river. As her lips clung to his, she felt him growing inside her again and the outside world faded away.

  Her senses became tangled. She heard Cash murmuring sounds that told her his pleasure was as glorious as hers. That his love ran as deep.

  She arched against him, flesh against flesh, hearts beating in unison. Their eyes remained open, on each other’s face. He laced their fingers together, hands pressed palm against palm as they rode the rising swells together.

  And when she heard him call out her name, like a promise, and a prayer, when she felt him pouring himself into her, Chelsea wept with joy.

  The piece of paper had been slipped under his door at the River-Vu Motel on the outskirts of town.

  The note on the embossed stationery read:

  Dear George,

  I’ve been thinking about the old days. And how we were in love and how much I owe you. I now realize I’ve been unfair to you, because if you hadn’t killed Jubal, I could never have achieved the success I have today. But Vern proposed to me last night. George, do you have any idea how much money this man is worth? I’ve conceived a plan for us to have our cake and eat it, too. But we need to talk. Please meet me at Belle Terre. Tonight, at midnight. You will not be sorry, darling. Destroy this note.