The Road to Bayou Bridge

by Liz Talley

  “Shaking it?”

  “Your booty, girlfriend.”

  Renny pushed through the door leading to the lobby of the office. “Sure. I’ll think about it.”

  But she wouldn’t. Carrie had poked a soft spot in her psyche—one she tried to ignore. Renny didn’t want to squirrel herself away like some disfigured misanthrope. No, she wanted to be that game gal who didn’t mind the stares, whose zest for living and glowing smile chased away any thoughts of pity. A small part of her wanted to be the girl she used to be...but it was only a small part. The rest of her liked her life as it was. Simple. Driven.

  Safe.

  She dashed that last thought because what was wrong with living safe anyway? Having control was a good thing, considering she’d spent a good deal of time having no control over anything—even her body. Most of her doctors were convinced she’d never walk again. And here she was walking out of her office door.

  Okay, the pitch in her step still bothered her. Vain, stupid and weak, sure, but walking into a bar, aka meat market, wasn’t fun when a girl unintentionally lurched herself at men. So she didn’t go to bars. Or singles mixers. Or on blind dates.

  Renny angled across the gravel parking lot nestled into the grasslands of the Black Lake Conservation Area and slid into her crossover hatchback. The early fall sun shone overhead, spotlighting the small field office invading the natural landscape. The actual lake lay only fifty yards away and she could hear the low hum of a boat on the water as she cranked the engine.

  Going to Beau Soleil would be hard. She hadn’t been back in over ten years, and that had been only to meet Darby in the cloak of the night with a backpack holding her nightgown, a spare T-shirt and a toothbrush. So long ago. So utterly stupid.

  So, no, it wasn’t going to be much fun for her tripping down memory lane—all because L9-10 had an adventurer’s soul.

  The only consolation was Darby wouldn’t be there.

  In fact, other than the occasional holiday, he hadn’t returned to Beau Soleil. Renny hadn’t laid eyes on him since that horrible night, and she really hadn’t wanted to see him again. Not since she’d woken up in the hospital and realized she’d meant less to him than his family, than his damn place in the not-so-grand society of Acadiana. The anger at him had burned hard and deep in her gut, fueling her desire to get well if only to prove to him she didn’t need him anyway.

  In one way, Darby’s disinterest had given her life again. Had given her purpose, so finally after years of hating him, she’d let the hard kernel of pain go.

  Now she felt nothing.

  Or at least she’d convinced herself she felt nothing.

  Life was more tolerable that way.

  * * *

  RENNY PROWLED THROUGH the dense brush bordering the abandoned rice field sitting several acres off the Bayou Teche. L9-10 wasn’t where the GPS tracker indicated.

  Hmm. Had the bird somehow lost her tracking device? Or maybe some predator had eaten the bird, device and all? Improbable but not impossible.

  Thorns tugged at the material encasing her legs. Luckily, she kept her protective costume and rubber boots in the trunk of her car for times such as this, so her jeans and T-shirt were protected by the white sheeting. A draped hat with a screen obscured her face so she resembled an odd-looking astronaut prowling through the prickly vines and brush rather than an everyday biologist.

  “Ow,” she muttered under her breath as she unlatched a nasty vine from the sheeting. She needed to be mindful of keeping a silent, remote figure in case she actually found her rogue crane. Handlers were always careful to erase any human aspect of their form when interacting with the cranes. The goal was to produce birds as wild as possible—birds that avoided human contact.

  Where are you, L9-10?

  She swiveled her head left and right, scanning the swaying marsh grass that was little more than five acres in scope. Then she raised her eyes and scoured the tree line across the wet grass bordering an inlet from the sluggish bayou to her right. A flash of white appeared before disappearing completely.

  “Got ya,” she whispered as she stepped over the barriers Mother Nature tossed in the way of all wetland biologists and conservationists. The hum of a boat on the bayou accompanied her muttered curses as she slogged through the grasses toward the area where she’d glimpsed the flash of white. L9-10 obviously had taken to roosting in one of the ginormous oaks dappling the remote landscape. Perhaps she was showing a creative way to adapt. Maybe she’d found something to eat in the wide-spread branches of the tree. Or maybe she’d taken to the thick limbs because an alligator sat below her.

  Renny stopped walking and stared at the big gator on the sloping bank, tail halfway in the marsh water, basking beneath her poor L9-10.

  “Damn it.”

  The huge prehistoric reptile lay sprawled with its baby claws spread looking like a socialite on a cocktail cruise. Wasn’t in a hurry to go anywhere, especially since its next meal perched a few feet above, solemnly contemplating the marsh.

  Perhaps the bird’s tracking bands had snagged on something or perhaps it was already injured.

  “And what are you doing here, big boy?” Renny whispered. Gators were notoriously shy and didn’t frequent populated areas. But this little patch of St. Martin Parish was remote and near fresh water teeming with crawfish, snakes and frogs, along with the animals that fed on them. It was odd to see the gator away from a large body of water, but perhaps it was protecting hatchlings, since it was September. That would make her dangerous.

  Rotten luck for L9-10.

  Renny stood completely still many yards from the seven-foot gator and contemplated her course of action. She wanted to get the crane to safety, but where was safety? The purpose was to release the cranes into the wild. The wild had big teeth. The cranes had to learn how to adapt and live on their own. She didn’t want to go all Darwin on L9-10, but it was about survival of the fittest.

  But L9-10 wasn’t just any bird. She was a very expensive endangered species like the American alligator below her had once been.

  Nature couldn’t win this round.

  Renny would.

  Even if it went against all she believed as a biologist. But how was she going to get L9-10 away from the gator?

  A loud crack sent Renny ducking for cover.

  She covered her ears and crouched down just as the gator started thrashing, its long tail whiplashing the ground as it moved toward the tree line.

  “Good Lord,” Renny squealed as L9-10 took flight right over her and two hunters appeared to the left of her, heading for the gator that now moved toward the inlet hidden behind the trees. Three more gunshots followed, clouding the area with something invasive and foreign.

  Renny unplugged her ears and looked frantically around for L9-10, but the crane had taken flight, which made her wonder why the silly bird hadn’t taken to the skies in the first place to avoid being al fresco dining for the now-doomed gator.

  Two hunters leaped from an ATV and moved quickly toward the place where the gator had disappeared. It had not been a boat she’d heard earlier, but rather a camouflaged, glorified golf cart favored by hunters. One of the men caught sight of her and stopped. He did a double take.

  Well, she was an odd sight.

  This man, clad also in camo, lowered his gun and moved toward her, his strides long and purposeful as he tramped through the lowland.

  Renny tugged her draped hat off and started digging for her credentials. She’d already received permission from Picou to access the land, and these hunters themselves could be poaching on Dufrene property, though she was fairly certain the man who’d slipped through the tree line heading for the bayou was Nate, the oldest Dufrene brother.

  “What the hell?” the man coming toward her muttered, shaking his head.

  She lifted her eyes and her mind clicked and whirred as a horrible realization bloomed in her brain.

  She blinked once before trying to school her features into something other than
shock.

  The man she hoped to never lay eyes on again was standing right in front of her, looking like a model for The Great Outdoors Magazine.

  Darby Dufrene had come home to Beau Soleil.

  CHAPTER TWO

  DARBY DOUBLE-CHECKED the safety on his rifle and feasted his eyes on the woman who had always revved his blood and jacked with his mind. Renny had not changed much—still as rare and earthy as the Louisiana wetlands she now protected.

  Oh, he knew she was a biologist, because his mother dropped in little asides about her during their rare conversations. But he’d not anticipated how her very presence, hell, her very scent, would affect him. Renny smelled exotic, like rainforest sunrises and Indian marketplaces.

  Good Lord. What had he put in his coffee that morning? Or maybe all that weird music his mother had on when he left was making him loopy.

  “Renny,” he said, unable to keep the pleasure at seeing her out of his voice. He’d come to Beau Soleil to find her and here she was.

  “What are you doing here?” The tension around her mouth spoke more than her words. Okay. Not very happy to see him.

  “Home for a visit.”

  She swallowed and glanced over his shoulder. “You have a permit to shoot gators?”

  “I’m not shooting gators. Nate is. He still has five tags left.”

  “But you have a gun in hand.” She pointed toward his dad’s old rifle.

  “Only as a precaution. We were about to bait some hooks when Nate saw the gator.” He gestured to the cold weapon. If she was this confrontational over his brother legally shooting at a gator, how would she react when he told her he was her legal husband? Wouldn’t be good. Suddenly he was glad he held a gun. “I thought you were a biologist or something, not an agent.”

  She looked hard at him and her brown eyes narrowed. They were pretty brown eyes—eyes that could flash in anger as easily as they could widen then glaze over in pleasure. He remembered those eyes. “I am a biologist, but I also work for Wildlife and Fisheries, and we take violations seriously.”

  He smiled. “Good to know. I’ll make sure I don’t get out of line while I’m in town.”

  She frowned. “You always get out of line.”

  “Well, I’m pretty much an inside-the-lines kind of guy these days, Ren. Naval officer, attorney and all that.”

  “Right.”

  “You don’t sound convinced,” he said with a laugh. “Though I just got my separation papers. Guess I’m no longer in the navy, or rather no longer active duty.”

  Damn, he was rambling. Telling her things no one would have interest in. Get control, Dufrene.

  Renny licked her lips, drawing his attention away from grumpy brown eyes to a part of her he’d always lavished attention upon. She was nervous, not flirting at all, but her tongue sliding between those plump lips had the same effect. He ripped his gaze away.

  “Well, congratulations. Hope you enjoy your visit,” she said, but he was almost certain she’d meant, Hope you die a painful death.

  Her whole attitude puzzled him. She was the one who hadn’t wanted him anymore—did she have to be so damn cold about it? But what did he care? Two weeks tops before he headed to Seattle, but there was work to do before he left, and part of that job stood right in front of him.

  Renny twisted to glance behind her, and a piece of caramel hair tumbled against the white sheeting she’d draped herself in. When he’d first seen her, he’d had a flashback to those government guys in E.T. “Well, I’ve got a bird to track down.”

  “Yeah, I saw that. What was it? It was huge.”

  “Whooping crane. She’s out of her natural habitat, or what we think to be her natural habitat. I think a storm a few weeks back blew her north, so that’s why I’m here. I stopped by the house and cleared it with your mother before coming out.” She paused a moment and then cleared her throat. “She didn’t tell me you were home.”

  No, his mother wouldn’t, would she? Picou had suggested this very area for setting a few baits for the gators. Not coincidental at all. “Who knows? She’s been distracted lately with my sister and all.”

  “Yeah, I heard about Della. Amazing that y’all found her,” Renny said, pushing her hair back from her face. The Louisiana heat had her flushed and tendrils of hair stuck to the curve of her cheek—something that made her undeniably attractive in a mussed-up, natural way. In a way that made him want to peel that white-drape crap off her and find out how her curves had filled out over the past eleven years.

  “Yeah, that’s the main reason I’m home,” he said, wondering why he was giving her all the details about his twin sister, his job, what he was doing on his own family’s property. Seemed natural to reveal his thoughts to Renny—just like in the past. He resisted the urge to scratch his neck. Mosquitos. Forgot how viscous they could be in South Louisiana.

  “I’ve got to—”

  “I need to talk—”

  They both spoke at once before snapping their mouths closed. Pink bloomed on Renny’s cheeks as she shifted uncomfortably. “Uh, sorry.”

  “No, I want to ask if maybe we can get together and talk? We have some things we need to work out, and I don’t think this is the best place.” He slapped another mosquito.

  She shook her head. “Look, the past is the past. We don’t have anything more to say to each other. We were young and stupid and—”

  “Hey,” Nate called from behind him. “Where’d you go? That was a big son of a gun, and I needed you to man the pole. Too late now. That gator sunk in the bayou like a stone.”

  Darby didn’t turn toward his brother, but he could hear him getting closer. He couldn’t take his eyes off his wife. Okay, not his wife, but, still, his wife. It had been so long and she looked as good as a piece of pecan pie and a cup of chicory coffee—the epitome of all things Southern and Louisianan. He hadn’t expected to feel anything for her. He’d thought his feelings toward her childlike and gone in the wind like the world he’d left behind. But like a shadow, his past clung to him refusing to allow him to forget who he was, where he’d come from, and the girl he’d once loved.

  Why was that so?

  He didn’t want to feel anything for Renny. Or for this flooded field he stood in. Or the creaky boards squeaking beneath his feet as he climbed the stairs in the house in which he’d been raised.

  He had to be done with Renny and Bayou Bridge. He had a new life waiting for him, and if all went as planned with Shelby and the job at her father’s firm, it was a given the sophisticated blonde would one day wear his great-aunt Felicia’s yellow diamond.

  He just had to deal with the women of his past before that could happen, and unfortunately, both Della and Renny were like a backlash in his fishing reel. Not easy to untangle.

  “Oh, hey, Renny,” Nate said, halting beside him. “What’re you doing out here? And what’re you wearing?”

  “A costume.”

  “Early for Halloween, isn’t it?” Nate cracked. Darby glanced at his brother, who’d grown a hunting beard like so many guys did when mid-September rolled around. Nate’s eyes crinkled and Darby almost didn’t recognize the former sheriff’s detective who’d nearly ground his nose off in an effort to solve cases. His wife, Annie, and son, Pax, had softened him, given him laugh lines and a lightness in his step.

  Renny finally smiled and Darby felt as if someone had punched him in the gut. Good Lord. Obviously this was about more than the past. He had to dash a crazy impulse to grab Renny by the shoulders and kiss her. This wasn’t good. He was no longer a horny, devil-take-it guy with no responsibilities and a flask of Crown in his back pocket.

  “Required when we’re approaching our cranes. Don’t want them to trust humans, so I go around playing Casper.” Renny shrugged with another guarded smile.

  “Mom told me we had a crane on the property. She was pretty excited about it because the crane is a family symbol to her. She wanted to try and get a picture.” Nate’s gaze searched the tree line behind Renny. �
��Thought I saw it take off over there.”

  She turned around. “Yeah, she’s likely in another tree. I need to a get a visual on her and then I’ll go. I doubt she’ll stick around too much longer because her natural habitat is the grasslands below here. But who knows, maybe the whooper likes the way your crawfish taste.”

  “Mmm, crawfish. Haven’t had those in years,” Darby said as the thought of five pounds of the fire-red mudbugs accompanying a bottle of locally brewed beer made his mouth literally water. Wasn’t the season, but surely he could find some at the Crawfish Palace over in Henderson. But what would slake the old desire welling inside him for Renny?

  Maybe a well-placed knee when he told her they were married? “Hey, Ren, I’ll give you a call, okay?”

  “No.”

  Nate made a whirring sound before balling his hands and flinging them apart. “Crash and burn.”

  “Shut up, Nate. Not a date. Just some stuff Renny and I need to clear up.”

  Renny shook her head, and he thought he glimpsed some flash of hurt. Or maybe it was regret. Something. “I don’t think there’s anything to catch up on, and I have plans this weekend with some friends, so...”

  He could tell she was lying. He always could. Not a conniving, lying bone in Renny’s hot body, and speaking of which, wasn’t she burning up in all that white draping? She should take her costume off and show him what the good Lord had bestowed on her while he’d been doing push-ups in the mud and studying jurisprudence. “I get you may not want to spend any time with me, but there really is something we have to talk about. Like a must.”

  A wrinkle settled between Renny’s dark eyebrows and he decided he didn’t like that wrinkle much. She was too beautiful to scowl. “Okay. Fine. Your mother has my information including my cell number. Call me and we’ll find a time to talk about whatever you’re so hell-bent on saying to me. But right now I have to go.”

  She turned and started toward the place where the bird had disappeared, and that’s when Darby noticed her limp. Rolling with a small lurch. Jesus.