The Cajun Doctor

by Sandra Hill

  “Whatever the lady wants.”

  There was a huge rainfall showerhead on top of the stall, at least two feet in diameter, and a number of wall-mounted showerheads designed to jet spray, pulse, wave, mist, and massage. There was even one called an aeration or champagne setting that was extra soft. Daniel demonstrated all of them on her. And then she reciprocated.

  They laughed and shivered and moaned, with ecstasy, not pain.

  He shampooed her hair, she shampooed his hair. They soaped each other down, and up.

  Then he pulled out the coup de gras from under a bench seat on the far side of the shower stall, where some waterproof sex toys were hidden, including what appeared to be suction cup handcuffs. Who knew? Daniel bypassed those and other weird looking objects and took a sponge from its plastic wrapper. Holding her gaze, he inserted a bar of soap inside the sponge, then turned on a switch, which caused the sponge to vibrate. God bless technology!

  “Are you game?” he asked, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes.

  “Are you?” she countered with equal mischief.

  By the time they finished and had to shower again, Samantha had come to orgasm three times, and Daniel roared to a climax so fierce he dropped to his knees afterward. Peering up at her as he fought for breath, he said, “You are a goddess.”

  And she felt like one.

  Maybe he wasn’t offering her everlasting love. But goddess? She’d take that. For now.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  And then the big gun arrived . . . in a lavender convertible? . . .

  Long after Samantha fell asleep, Daniel lay awake. Thinking, thinking, thinking.

  The lovemaking between them had been good. Spectacular, even. But the playful, teasing nature of the sex couldn’t hide the intense feelings boiling under the surface, despite his best efforts to keep it light.

  He almost wished he could be the kind of man Samantha yearned to settle with. One who could give her children and a secure home life. He couldn’t see himself being that man. Best not to go down that road. Not just because the prospect of fatherhood, knowing all the medical catastrophes that hit the young, was anathema to him.

  Samantha’s life was here in Louisiana. All her family and friends were here. Whereas Daniel, until recently, had been living like a hermit, and he still wasn’t settled. Maybe he would end up here at Bayou Rose Plantation, or somewhere else in the South, or maybe he would end up in Timbuktu. He was coming to the realization that it didn’t matter where he lived, it was the people who made it home. Surprise, surprise. The rest of the world knew this, he’d just been slow to catch on. At first, he just went where Aaron did, but individuals here on the bayou were beginning to wear his defenses down.

  And people weren’t far off base when they referred to him as a grouch or Mister Moody. He had only recently begun to shake the depression that overwhelmed him.

  A wuss, that’s what he felt like. A big, fat pussy! Real men didn’t obsess over the stones life threw in their path (i.e. a few kids dying of cancer, or rather, a lot of kids dying of cancer). Real men didn’t hide out in a bayou fishing camp. Real men didn’t get depressed.

  What a load of bullshit, he told himself. Depression was a malady, same as any physical illness. As a doctor he should know better. As a dumb man, not so much.

  For now, all he could offer Samantha was good sex, and plenty of it, with a dash of caring thrown in. Maybe that would be enough.

  He finally fell asleep, and when he awakened, she was gone. Checking his wristwatch, he saw that it was only seven a.m. He’d slept like the dead for five straight hours, which was something he hadn’t done in years. Too bad he couldn’t write a prescription for that on his trusty Rx pad. “300 mg good sex.” But then, someone would find out about it. He could see it now. He’d make the tabloid headlines for sure. Doctor self-medicating with sex! Then the bayou grapevine, aka Tante Lulu, would hear the news. She’d have him buried in St. Jude statues.

  Once downstairs, he saw that the animals had been fed and watered, probably exercised, too, by the contented look of them all. He assumed that Samantha had also checked on Max and the new kittens, as well.

  Emily immediately attached herself to him, rubbing against his pant leg. When she followed him to the back staircase leading to the kitchen, she oinked a few times, indicating that she didn’t do stairs well. So, he picked up the pig and carried her down to the kitchen and set her on her short legs. She immediately waddled over to the table where she could beg for scraps.

  Samantha was preparing scrambled eggs and toast for Angus and Lily Beth, who were already dressed for the day. Angus in clean cutoff jeans and a T-shirt that looked familiar. Yep, it was a Juneau “Beat Cancer” marathon shirt he’d gotten a few years back. And Lily Beth, looking better than she had since he’d met her, wore a blue Hawaiian print, tent-like sundress, what Aunt Mel used to call a muumuu. He had no idea where she’d come up with the thing since he hadn’t seen her with a suitcase or anything last night. Maybe it was something Samantha owned, for the odd occasion when she was feeling bloated or something. Lily Beth’s hair was pulled off her face into a single braid. Her skin carried that characteristic pregnancy glow, and her eyes were clear and sharp. The edema seemed to have disappeared. A day of rest had done wonders for her.

  Samantha was looking bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, too, if he did say so himself. She wore tight black cropped jeans and a short-sleeved, white tailored blouse. It was the first thing he’d seen on her that didn’t look like it came off a designer rack.

  He caught her gaze and winked at her.

  She blushed.

  Man, oh, man! Women were so predictable. They could rake a man’s coals, screw him upside down and sideways, then be embarrassed at a mere wink. He loved it!

  “I’m making a grocery list,” she said, putting a plate of eggs and toast in front of him when he sat down. “I don’t know how much longer we’ll be here, but we’re short on everything.”

  Daniel felt a foreboding at her mention of the duration of their stay. Was she already looking forward to the end of their “affair,” if you could call it that? “We’ll know more after Luc and the feds arrive. But, yeah, I can go to the grocery store later. I imagine you guys will be here for at least a few more days, unless the authorities insist you go into safe houses.”

  “I doan care what they say. I am not goin’ inta a safe house. They’d probably put me in some godawful place lak Chic-ag-o,” Lily Beth said in her Southern accent, which, frankly, made her sound rather dumb, not at all like the doctoral physics candidate she was. She must have guessed his thoughts because she added, “And someone needs to get the mail from mah office at the university. Mah teaching schedule fer the fall should be there by now. If I doan show up soon with lesson plans and evidence of research fer mah thesis, they’ll cancel mah assistantship, permanently. And I gotta buy textbooks fer two courses I’m takin’.”

  Daniel and Samantha exchanged glances. Had Lily Beth decided to give up her baby so she could continue her education, or did she have some plan that allowed her to do both?

  “I could probably sneak in and out at night when there aren’t many students around,” Angus offered.

  “No!” Daniel and Samantha said at the same time.

  Aaron strolled in then, clearly just coming in from a night spent who-knows-where. He looked longingly at the food, and Samantha began to whip up more eggs and put bread in the toaster.

  For a moment, Aaron stood in place, a frown furrowing his forehead as he studied Daniel, then Samantha. Then he grinned. “Hallelujah! The boy has fallen off the celibacy wagon!”

  “Aaron,” Daniel cautioned his brother. He and Aaron could sense certain things about each other that might not be apparent to others. Aaron knew what his twin had been doing all night, might have even shared some of the sensations. Too bad Daniel couldn’t use the same twin detecting talent to find out what Aaron was doing every night.

  Instead of teasing, Aaron addressed Samantha
, “You better not hurt my brother, or you’ll have me to answer to.”

  “Aaron!” Daniel said, louder this time.

  And Samantha seemed puzzled. “How could I possibly hurt Daniel?”

  “I’m just sayin’.” Aaron smiled from ear to ear at Daniel before plopping down onto the bench next to Angus, and saying, “Great tats! I hear you’re a computer genius. Can you help me get a virus off my laptop?”

  “Sure,” Angus said.

  “You were probably watching too much porn,” Daniel sniped.

  “Could be,” Aaron said agreeably, refusing to be baited. Daniel should take pointers from that lesson.

  Aaron said he had to get ready for work, even as he wolfed down his eggs and toast.

  “Don’t you need to sleep first?” Daniel asked, which he should have known would be a mistake.

  “I already slept,” Aaron said, standing to stretch with a wide yawn, “although sleep is overrated, as you well know, bro.”

  “How come I’m bro only when you’re leaving a mess for me to clean up?”

  “That’s because I’m your older brother.”

  “By two minutes.”

  Aaron shrugged. “Besides, this is your mess, not mine.”

  After Aaron left, Lily Beth remarked, “It’s nice to see two brothers so close.”

  Which was true, despite their constant ragging on each other.

  “My two brothers fought all the time.”

  They all turned as one to stare at Lily Beth. This was the first time they’d heard she had any family. Her parents died in a car accident last year and Daniel assumed . . . they all assumed . . .

  Even Angus looked surprised.

  “Lily Beth, you didn’t tell us you have brothers,” Daniel said.

  “Didn’t I? I have two. Paul and Vic.”

  “Do they know what’s going on? What’s happening with you and Angus? Why didn’t you go to them for help?” Samantha asked, apparently not caring how insensitive that sounded at this point.

  Daniel could see that the stress was getting to Samantha.

  “Vic is in I-raq. Too far away ta help. And Paul is a minister in a really conservative church in Alabama. He would never approve of mah having a baby out of wedlock, or giving up mah baby ta Dr. Coltrane fer adoption.”

  Well, big fucking deal! Daniel thought. It’s okay that strangers get involved in your problem, but don’t bother blood relatives.

  Lily Beth started to cry, realizing . . . a bit late, if you asked him . . . how her secret impacted all of them.

  Softening at the tears, Samantha patted Lily Beth’s shoulder and said, “That’s all right, honey. You might have to contact them, though, depending on how things pan out.”

  “The authorities might insist on notifying them,” Daniel guessed.

  “No, I’d rather go ta jail or get beat up by Dr. Coltrane than go ta Paul.”

  Beat up? Is that what Nick threatened her with? Beat a pregnant woman? I’ve heard that Nick is a loser, but that is low, even for him.

  “And I jist caint tell Vic, not when he’s in such a dangerous place. Last time he got bad news, when his wife left him fer her gynecologist, he went out and got himself wounded, bless his heart.” Lily Beth sobbed loudly now.

  That is just great. A gynecologist screwing his patient, who in turn was screwing her husband while he was away at war! Women did that all the time. Otherwise, Dear John letters would have never been invented. But this is another doctor to add to Samantha’s list of sleazeball physicians.

  In fact, he saw Samantha’s lip curl with disgust.

  Angus gave Samantha and Daniel dirty looks for making Lily Beth cry and helped the heavily pregnant girl get up and walk outside with him. He was trying to reassure her with remarks like, “Don’t worry. They can’t make you call your brothers.” Or “They’re just old farts who don’t know what it’s like to be young.” Or “We can always run away, except I don’t have a car anymore.”

  Lily Beth sobbed louder.

  Which left Daniel alone with Samantha in the kitchen, facing a bunch of dirty dishes, and an old-fashioned Philco radio on the counter suddenly playing some twangy Cajun version of “Jolie Blon.” The radio only worked intermittently.

  “Well, that went well,” Samantha said.

  “Did he really call us old farts?” Daniel said. “We’re not that old.”

  “To them, we are.”

  “Bet he wouldn’t call Aaron an old fart. It’s probably because I’m so stodgy. Folks are always saying that about me,” Daniel mused.

  “I don’t think you’re stodgy,” she said.

  “That’s because I gave you five and a half orgasms.”

  “You were counting?”

  “Damn right.”

  “A half orgasm?”

  “That time when I used my tongue to—”

  “Never mind!”

  They smiled at each other then, and his heart did a little flip-flop. Yeah, he knew how corny that sounded, especially for a doctor. But he did feel something. Suddenly, he knew that no matter how short-lived their affair turned out to be, it wouldn’t be enough.

  But there was plenty of time to think about that later. Instead, he said, “Wanna go back to bed and fool around?”

  “That’s the best offer I’ve had today.”

  Unfortunately, their window of opportunity closed before they had a chance to make it up the stairs. The hordes swooped down on Bayou Rose in the form of Luc and John LeDeux, a police chief and several deputies, the FBI, a bunch of muscle men in ATF T-shirts who looked like they could bench-press a bayou barge, and a “person-of-interest” whom one agent referred to as “a crazy old lady in a lavender convertible.”

  And then the posse arrived . . .

  There were five FBI agents, several ATF operatives, the local sheriff and his deputy, a state trooper, and several men who didn’t identify themselves. None of them wore uniforms. They sat around the kitchen table and on folding lawn chairs that had been brought inside, or they stood against the walls or in the doorways.

  Samantha had never been involved with anything illegal before, and the scene, heavy on testosterone and legal power, was rather daunting. She wouldn’t want to have any one of these guys after her.

  Lily Beth and Angus had just finished telling their stories, again, and answering numerous questions along the way. Samantha had heard the tale so many times, she felt as if she could recite it herself, verbatim.

  One of the agents was operating a tape recorder, and another was taking voluminous notes on a high-tech laptop that had Angus practically drooling with envy. Several times the men exchanged meaningful glances . . . meaningful to them, not to Daniel, Samantha, Angus, Lily Beth, or Tante Lulu.

  Tante Lulu, no longer a “person of interest,” was puttering around the kitchen counter making drinks and snacks while listening intently to every word being spoken, having interrupted only twice. The first time, to exclaim, “Holy Sac-au-lait! If Jimmy Guenot’s brains was dynamite, there wouldn’t be enough ta blow his fool nose. I know Jimmy’s mama, bless her heart. Let me tell her what her boy’s been up to, and she’ll tie a knot in his tail lickedy split.”

  “Shhh!” her nephew John warned. “Let the experts handle it.”

  “Hmpfh! That ain’t the bayou way.”

  The other time she interrupted, it was when Angus was telling them about Nick’s baby-selling scheme. “I do declare, I never heard such nonsense! I got a pistol in mah handbag. I’m a good shot, too. Been practicin’ on snakes in mah shower. Mebbe I should jist go shoot the rat. Bam, bam, bam!”

  Everyone turned in shock to the senior citizen hit woman, then turned to stare at her handbag sitting on the floor. It was big enough to hold a machine gun. John and Luc put their faces in their hands.

  “Some men jist need killin’. Thass a legal defense in Loozeeanna, ain’t it, Luc? Thass what Tee-John always sez.”

  Luc cautioned his aunt to keep her mouth shut or go home, in much gentle
r terms. After that, the old busybody remained silent, but her thoughts were clear on her expressive face. It didn’t help matters that today she sported a Farrah Fawcett wig, white pedal pushers, orthopedic shoes with pink ruffled anklet socks, and a black shell top with the neon colored words Hot to Trot emblazoned across her little chest.

  Samatha had known Tante Lulu for a long time and was no longer surprised by anything she said or did. Not so much others. At first sight of the bayou yenta, Brad Dillon, the head honcho from the FBI . . . a good-looking, crew-cutted guy from D.C., wearing a gray suit, blue and gray tie, and white dress shirt . . . had gone wide-eyed with surprise. But then he’d chuckled and said, “Now I’ve seen it all.”

  That was before he’d seen Maddie.

  “There’s a frickin’ cougar in your parlor!”

  Or the pig that followed Daniel around like a lovesick swain, or whatever you called a female admirer.

  “I’ve heard of guys who date pigs, but come on!”

  Of course, Clarence didn’t help matters with his constant refrain of “Holy shit!”

  Which did not amuse the FBI agent, at all. “I’m a crack shot with clay pigeons, you know? One bird or another, makes no difference to me,” he told Clarence up close and personal, nose to beak. And he was serious.

  Brad was a no-nonsense kind of guy, barely cracking a smile, except with Samantha with whom he was a little bit flirty. To Samantha’s delight, Daniel acted jealous, making sniping remarks about Brad under his breath, such as, “Probably sucks up steroids like lollipops.” Or “Didn’t anyone tell him the fifties are over with that haircut.” Or “If he winks at you one more time, I’m gonna puke.”

  “There are two separate cases here, the only link between them being Angus, as a gambler with loan sharking issues to the Dixie Mob, and Angus working with Dr. Coltrane in illegal baby trafficking.”

  Angus cringed, but Luc pressed his arm in assurance.

  “Despite their differences,” Brad went on, “we’ve got to act quickly on both cases. Normally, I would put you two in safe houses until all the legal proceedings are completed.” He was looking pointedly at Lily Beth and Angus. Ignoring their obvious displeasure, he added, “But there’s no time for that.”