The Cajun Doctor

by Sandra Hill

  “About what?”

  “Anything. Everything. I’ll help in any way I can.”

  “While you’re flying over the Gulf?”

  “Yeah, but before and after that.”

  Daniel headed back to the big house, knowing the majority of the problems had landed in his lap. It was his fault for answering Aaron’s phone, but still . . .

  There were times like this when he wished he was still hibernating in the fishing camp on the bayou. No one had bothered him there. He’d been alone, like he wanted to be.

  Or had wanted to be.

  Or should want to be.

  Whatever!

  Chapter Fourteen

  In the still of the bayou night . . .

  Although he didn’t expect any bad company anymore tonight, he found himself scanning the perimeter of the property, and he checked the door locks after he entered the house. Not that any goons with ill intent couldn’t enter by smashing one of the ten-foot-tall windows fronting the house! Hopefully, the dogs, cats, or pig would ward them off.

  A flash of summer lightning cracked overhead, and in the distance, he could hear the rumble of thunder. The humidity level was at about a hundred and fifty percent. They’d have a rainstorm soon. The funny thing about the bayou was that the storms came sudden and often, but usually only lasted a short time, then dried up with a full blistering blast of heat or sunshine, all in a matter of minutes. It was the hurricanes that posed the biggest threat here near the coast, but this wasn’t hurricane season.

  Feeling grungy, he decided to take advantage of Aaron’s high-tech shower. Which reminded him of the high-tech fridge Aaron had mentioned. He had to smile. As if they needed a keg on tap at all times! Or some hoity-toity party drawer!

  The shower with its 360-degree, rain forest attachment did feel good. He was almost a new man after he dried off and put on a pair of running shorts and flip-flops. He didn’t own any PJs.

  He was about to go back downstairs and make a cup of coffee. No sense trying to sleep now. It was two-thirty a.m. and dawn would be here in a few hours. Not that Daniel couldn’t sleep on demand, no regard for the clock, a habit required when he’d been a practicing doctor on call. Navy SEALs thought they’d invented standing REM sleep, where a soldier could catch a bit of sleep, standing up, eyes open, maybe only five minutes at a time. They had nothing on physicians who had to be mentally and physically alert, even after a few days on their feet. Many a time, he’d worked two-day shifts, then crashed for a full twenty-four hours.

  When he was about to pass Aaron’s bedroom, he noticed the door was half open; so, he decided to check on Samantha. Just to make sure she was all right. (Don’t laugh.)

  The wind was up, another indicator of the impending storm, causing the open French doors to bang against the wall. All of the bedrooms on this level opened onto a balcony that wrapped around all sides of the mansion. So far, the banging doors hadn’t awakened Samantha, but just to make sure, he walked softly across the bare cypress floors and closed the doors. That was another on the long list of needed improvements for the property: latches to secure the French doors when open.

  The room was dark, but he could make out basic shapes, including Samantha, who was hugging one edge of the king-size bed.

  As he was about to leave, she murmured, “Is that you, Daniel?”

  He stopped and looked at the bed. She was still lying down, but propped up on both elbows.

  “Yeah. Sorry if I woke you.”

  “I was only half asleep. Too much on my mind. What time is it?”

  He pressed the light button on his watch. “Two thirty-five.”

  “Oh, Lord! I don’t know how I’m going to make it through another day, with so little sleep.”

  “You’ll manage. You’re a strong woman.”

  “You think?” she asked. Then, “Are you being sarcastic?”

  “A little.”

  “I can’t believe how much has happened in the past twenty-four hours.”

  “Sweetheart, twenty-four hours ago, we were having hot sex, in our dreams,” he reminded her.

  “Don’t remind me,” she said on a groan.

  In the dark, like this, the groan sounded kind of sexy. He still had muss-mess on the brain.

  “I’ve been making a list. In my head. Of all the things I . . . we . . . need to do tomorrow . . . rather, today.”

  He groaned then, too, and not at all in a sexy manner. A list maker! He should have known she would be one of those anal retentive list makers. He had things going on in his head, too, but not lists. Unless they were lists of things he wanted to do to Miss Muss.

  “Sit down,” she invited.

  At first, he thought she’d said “lie down,” and every sensible thought in his head dissolved and dropped with a thud to a spot between his legs.

  There were no chairs in the room. But then, in another flash of lightning, she waved toward the bottom edge of the bed, catty corner from her mile-away spot at the opposite corner.

  Ah! So, it wasn’t an invitation to act out one of their sex dreams.

  As if! a voice in his head said. Or maybe it had been her, sensing his rising libido.

  Maybe I should take another rain forest shower. A cold one.

  Or maybe I should invite her to join me. And not so cold.

  No, no, no!

  Down, libido, down!

  Lowering his butt to the bed, he exhaled loudly. “Maybe I should give you my list first. It’s probably way shorter.” And has only one word on it. Sex.

  “You have a list?”

  “Don’t sound so surprised. I do have a brain,” although it’s in sleep mode at the moment, “even if you think I haven’t been using it since I gave up medicine.”

  “I never said—”

  “I need to examine Lily Beth,” he interrupted, before she started backtracking and tried to be nice, which would be a real stretch. He knew what she thought of him. “Not an internal exam. Just a check of her heart rate and blood pressure. If there’s nothing apparent causing her swelling, at the very least I’ll have to get a urine sample and draw blood for testing.”

  “You could draw blood here?”

  “Probably lose my license, if I had one, a Louisiana one, that is . . . a real one, not a Tante Lulu quickie-stamped one . . . but, yeah, I can draw blood and Lily Beth can surely pee in a sterile cup. My medical bag is up to date with basic supplies.”

  “You couldn’t test the blood and urine here, though. Could you?”

  “No, I’d have to take them into Houma. The director of a cancer center there would do it for me. He owes me.”

  He could tell she wanted to question him about that connection, but she restrained herself and asked, instead, “Do you think there might be a problem?”

  “I have no idea. Edema is normal during pregnancy, especially the later months. The usual swelling of hands, face, legs, or ankles. Like Lily Beth exhibits. But edema can also be a precursor to preeclampsia, blood clots, and even cellulitis. Another cause of swelling could be anaemia, but that can be cured with better food choices and iron tablets. I can almost rule anaemia out because your ex would have caught that if he’s been checking her regularly.”

  “Blood clots? Preeclampsia?” Samantha groaned and pressed the fingertips of both hands to her mouth.

  “Those are extreme cases,” he was quick to add. “This is probably just normal edema, aggravated by the stress of their situation and all the running around during the past twenty-four. But it’s best to be safe.”

  “Agreed. But, Daniel, you have to know how sorry I am for dragging you into this mess.”

  Oh, please! More attempts at niceness! It was enough to make him barf. He liked her better when she was being snarky. “Don’t worry. You’ll pay. Later.” Oh, God, I sound like a bad romance novel. (Not a good one, a bad one.) Rhett says to Scarlett, “You’ll pay later, Scarlett, my dear.”

  “What do you mean?” she snapped.

  “Never mind.” Face i
t, I’m no Rhett.

  “You better not be thinking about that kiss.”

  On the other hand, she must be thinking about the kiss, too, if she brought it up. Hmmm. “Who? Me? What kiss?”

  “Just because I let you kiss me—”

  “No revisionist history here, sweet pea. You kissed me back. Don’t you dare deny it.”

  “It was all part of the act.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “And there won’t be a repeat.”

  “Unless Mutt and Jeff show up again.”

  “Whatever.”

  “You must admit it was a really good kiss.”

  She said nothing.

  “Anyhow, I’m calling Luc LeDeux this morning. We need his legal advice. This situation is beyond my expertise.”

  “Mine, too.”

  At least she was no longer arguing about involving an outside person. Not that Daniel was an inside person, to her! Although there were times when he wouldn’t mind being inside her.

  Oh, shit! Did I really think such a thing? Crude, crude, crude! Rhett would never think something like that. Would he?

  It must be those outrageous sex dreams.

  Wipe your mind clean, boy.

  I don’t even like her.

  What does like have to do with sex?

  A lot.

  I wonder if she’s wearing that fuck-me red-and-black silk sleep outfit.

  Another point for the crude gods!

  “Depending on what Luc suggests, we may or may not have to involve the authorities,” Daniel advised, surprised that his voice didn’t sound raw and sex-deprived. “The police, ATF, FBI . . . hell, I don’t even know which agency.”

  “That is a last resort,” she said emphatically. “Let’s see what Luc says first before we involve anyone else.”

  “So, what’s on your list?”

  “I have to go to work today. I have a conference call scheduled at the foundation office at ten, and a lunch meeting of the Starr Foods board of directors.”

  “Oh, no! Uh-uh! Unless you’re planning on taking all these animals with you, along with Angus and Lily Beth, you’re not leaving me here alone.”

  “But—”

  “No buts. You can call in sick.”

  “It would only be for a few hours.”

  “No.”

  “The animals pretty much take care of themselves, except for Emily who is very needy. Oh, I forgot, Emily has an appointment at the Pet Psychiatric Clinic in Lafayette. Her depression is getting better, but she still has periodic episodes of crying.”

  Has she lost her freakin’ mind? A pig crying?

  Good thing I didn’t hit the sack with Samantha. Assuming she would be willing. Which she probably wouldn’t be. Like in a million years. I do not need a nutcase relationship. I have enough nuttiness in my life.

  I wonder if Rhett ever felt like this.

  Still, there is that thing she did with her tongue in our last dream.

  “I don’t suppose you’d take her?”

  “Who?” His brain was still back in sex la-la land.

  “Emily.”

  “The pig?” he asked, just to be clear.

  “Yes. To the clinic.”

  “No.”

  “I think Emily likes you.”

  “Nice try.” If Aaron were here, he’d be making jokes about my sorry love life, that the only female I can get is a pig.

  “Oh, all right. I’ll notify my office that I won’t be in today.”

  If she expected his thanks, she had another think coming.

  “I’m supposed to deliver three of the puppies to new homes today, though. That, I can’t cancel.”

  “I’ll go with you,” he offered. Just to make sure she didn’t disappear on him and stick him with her menagerie. And it would be three less creatures in this zoo. Plus, maybe they could stop along the way and buy a bedroom set for one of the guest rooms (Aunt Mel’s, if she came) and a new fridge.

  Stop along the way?

  Yeah, right.

  Maybe I should stop along the way and get a brain transplant.

  “Another thing, no new rescues while you’re staying here,” he said.

  “Meanie,” she grumbled.

  “I think I’m being damn generous.”

  “You’re right. Sorry.” Then, out of the blue, she said, “You better go now.”

  Huh? “Why?”

  There was a long pause before Samantha revealed, “I haven’t had sex in over a year.”

  Oh, boy!

  Oh, boy oh boy oh boy!

  He blinked at her, not because he was trying to see in the dark, but his brain appeared to have shorted out. A definite possibility, he decided, when he told her, “Neither have I.”

  The silence could be heard like a gong.

  “Why did you tell me that? Was it an invitation?”

  “No! Just a statement of fact. Maybe a reason why it would be better if I were not staying here.”

  Another ploy to shuffle all her problems off on him.

  Well, two could play that game. “Or a reason to stay,” he suggested. Now, that was a Rhett-type remark, he decided with a smile, which she luckily could not see.

  Daniel left before he said or did something he would later regret, any more than he already did. He took another shower. Forget rain forests. This time he dialed a blistering Arctic blast.

  It didn’t help a bit.

  Tara was never like this . . .

  Samantha thought she’d never be able to sleep, but then she zonked out so soundly that she didn’t wake until seven a.m. Usually, she was up and about at dawn.

  One reason for her late awakening was lack of her animals calling for business, the animals all being downstairs and behind closed doors. Plus, she’d been exhausted, mentally and physically.

  And she wasn’t going to think about the effect Daniel’s kiss had on her last night, or her revelation about her nonexistent sex life, not to mention his own words about his equally celibate lifestyle. It gave a girl way too much to think about it. Luckily, she’d had no more of the annoying sex dream fantasies about him. Maybe they were gone for good now that she was in such close proximity to the Alaskan bad boy.

  Jeesh! When did I start thinking of Daniel as a bad boy? And why Alaskan since he seems to have settled on the bayou?

  When he began to star in my dreams, that’s when. Alaskan or otherwise.

  But he’s a nerd.

  A sexy nerd.

  She made a quick trip to the bathroom . . . no time for a shower . . . and grabbed a pair of cropped sleep pants to go with her sleep shirt, and a pair of thongs for her bare feet. Then she rushed down the wide stairway toward the second parlor where the only sound she heard was “Holy shit!” Opening the pocket door, she discovered all the animals, except for Clarence, were missing. The cover had been taken off his cage, and she noticed that there was clean water and birdseed. For once, the bird was quiet and seemed to be staring out the window near his cage, almost with a yearning expression on its face. If birds even had expressions! Maybe it wanted to be free, to fly outside. Yeah, right. She should be so lucky!

  A quick peek showed that Angus and Lily Beth were still asleep in the front parlor, curled up on their respective air mattresses. Daniel had suggested that the pregnant girl would be more comfortable in Aaron’s bed upstairs, but Lily Beth said she was too tired to trek up all those steps, and Angus was sticking to Lily Beth like glue.

  Angus was wearing only a pair of Star Wars boxer shorts, and Lily Beth wore boxers, too, hers imprinted with pink stars on a white background. Both of them were loaners from Daniel, even the pink ones. Samantha had been too tired last night to ask where he’d gotten them. On top, Lily Beth had a white sports bra that left her big belly free of restriction.

  Samantha’s heart went out to the two of them. Yes, they’d brought a lot of trouble into her life, but at this moment, they seemed so darned innocent, even Angus with all his silly piercings and tattoos. They’d been sucked in by
Nick’s on-again/off-again charm, just as she had at the same age and level of naiveté.

  For a brief blip of a second, she entertained an outlandish idea. Maybe I could adopt Lily Beth’s baby.

  Immediately, she discarded that notion. She should be thinking of ways to help the girl keep her baby, not ways to take it away.

  She closed the door quietly and made her way down the hallway to the back staircase that led to the first floor kitchen. Looking down, she saw the imprint of her flip-flops in the dust-covered floors and steps. In fact, the entire house was covered with a film of dirt, which was to be expected in a structure under renovation, but some of this dirt and grime was decades old. Good thing they didn’t have any furniture yet. The whole place would need a thorough cleaning first. It was the kind of thing a bachelor, or bachelors, like Aaron and Daniel, would hardly notice. And she certainly hoped they would furnish the rest of the house from someplace other than IKEA, hardly historically appropriate for this old house.

  There was an upscale coffeemaker sitting on the counter, the only thing less than fifty years old in the empty kitchen, as far as she could tell. The fridge, for example, was a putrid avocado color that had been retired back in the 1970s. A matching green Kelvinator electric range was missing two burners, and its oven door was hanging on one hinge.

  The kitchen was huge with a gray flagstone floor, cracked in some places. A massive, walk-in, brick fireplace, now inoperable, had been used for cooking in the mansion’s early days, although there was also a separate building, known as a summer kitchen, for cooking to avoid the intense heat.

  Samantha poured herself a mug of surprisingly good coffee, and stepped out the back door to a wide, roofed verandah, where slaves would at one time have done house chores. There would have been benches here, and perhaps a rocking chair or two. Even a table for folding air-dried laundry, or preparing vegetables for dinner, like snap beans or peas. There might even have been dried herbs hanging from the rafters.

  Old houses like this held a genetic memory, in Samantha’s opinion. If you sat and listened, with eyes closed, you could almost see and hear and feel the people who’d passed through this place.