The Road to Bayou Bridge

by Liz Talley

  Dear God.

  His nephew smelled dead.

  “Um, on second thought, I’ll keep Annie company. Haven’t had the opportunity to spend much time with her, either.”

  His brother frowned but dropped a kiss atop the baby’s head. Yeah, Nate knew when he’d been suckered, but he didn’t say anything more as he left the den, noxious fumes trailing behind him.

  “You’re good.” Annie smiled as she sank onto the couch adjacent from the recliners and propped her bare feet on the ottoman. “Almost as good as me.”

  Darby shrugged. “I’m the baby of the family—we’re born knowing how to manipulate the oldest.”

  “So does the wife. It wasn’t even his turn to change the baby.”

  Darby laughed. He liked this new addition to the Dufrene clan. Spunky might have been Annie’s middle name, something she’d need when up against his headstrong, set-in-his-ways brother. “Nate’s happy finally.”

  Her eyes darkened. “Yeah, so am I.”

  “I’m sorry I couldn’t come to the wedding.” Darby had felt guilty about missing his brother tie the knot, but could do nothing except send a nice gift since he hadn’t had enough leave to head stateside.

  “He missed having you there, but he understands. That’s the good thing about Nate. He’s reasonable, otherwise, he wouldn’t be here at Beau Soleil.”

  “Mother?”

  Annie laughed. “She’s hard to live next door to at times, but we love her. She’s a good mother even if a bit, um, managing.”

  “You mean Attila the Hun tries to control your life?” Darby shook his head. “Give her an inch of rope, she’ll take a mile, truss you up and drag you screaming and kicking behind her.”

  “She’s not that bad. Just always at war with herself. She professes to allow life to take its course, but like those engineers who control the Mississippi River levee, she wears herself out trying to steer it to come out the way she wishes.”

  Darby shifted in the recliner and took another slug of beer. His brother’s wife had Picou pegged, but she seemed remarkably tolerant of the interfering woman. He glanced at his sister-in-law and she stared back, an almost odd probing in her gaze. She shoved a brown curl behind her ear and sighed. “You’re her logjam in that river.”

  “Huh?”

  Annie shook her head. “Nothing. Never mind. Tell me about Spain. Did you enjoy living there?”

  He didn’t want to talk about Spain. He wanted to talk about what Annie meant, but she’d closed that chapter. Something told him not to try and go backward with this woman. So he didn’t. Instead he chatted about the country he’d left behind—the food, the culture, the really bad drivers.

  Nate walked back into the room during a story about getting lost when out on his motorcycle. He was Pax-free.

  “Where’s the kid?” Annie interrupted.

  “Left him in his crib gumming that toy you bought him. Turned on music to stimulate him.”

  “Classical?”

  Nate smiled. “Classic rock.”

  Darby vaguely heard Eddie Van Halen’s infamous guitar licks coming from the hallway. “Nice.”

  “We want a well-rounded kid,” Annie said, patting the spot next to her. Like a spaniel, Nate went to her. Bet she scratched his belly regularly. Of course, Darby understood the appeal of belly-scratching from a woman who had a vibe like Annie—that sort of vibe would have a man happily doing as bidden.

  It made him think of Renny.

  She had that vibe. Or she had at one time. Beautiful golden skin, tumbling caramel hair and a soft laugh that made a man twitch thinking about her hands on him. But she’d changed. Her laugh wasn’t easy, her disposition more guarded...even if some remnant of the past lurked in her eyes, in her voice. It was like a promised resurgence.

  He wanted to make her laugh again. To watch her glow in the light of the sun sinking over the Atchafalaya. To tangle his hands in that hair and make love to her under the full moon just as he’d done so many times.

  Hunger clawed at him.

  “Darby?”

  He blinked. “Huh?”

  “Want another beer?”

  “Sure.”

  Nate stared blankly at him. “Grab me one, too, when you come back.”

  Checkmate. Older brothers always had the last laugh. Darby huffed and got to his feet, heading toward the kitchen. “Annie?”

  “Me, too.” She nodded. Nate hooked her around her neck and kissed the side of her mouth. Darby made a face but smiled as he turned toward the kitchen. Seeing his brother happy satisfied him on a lot of levels. Nate had suffered through so much guilt regarding Della and had shouldered much of the burden of dealing with the estate and their mother that Darby figured the man deserved some peace with his woman.

  The kitchen was clean and modern with the smell of rich wood and laundry soap, and it had a specialty fridge built in for beer and wine. He grabbed three Abita Turbodogs and started back toward the den, wondering if he should confide in Annie and Nate about his strange marriage and ensuing divorce.

  Nice to share a burden, but did he want the drama?

  Because Picou would find out.

  Maybe.

  If he could keep it under wraps that would be best. Picou wanted a reason to keep him in Louisiana under her thumb. What better way to chain him here than to encourage some sort of romance between him and Renny?

  He knew that’s what she’d do.

  And there was a tiny part of him that wanted it, too.

  But the grown-up part of him knew he needed to forget his past and move toward a future. In Seattle. With Shelby.

  Damn it.

  He couldn’t summon Shelby’s face. She had blond hair, a nice pair of blue eyes to match a nice pair of breasts that filled out tight sweaters, but her face escaped him at the moment. His thoughts were full of sun-kissed skin and golden-flecked eyes. God, he had to stop thinking of her.

  “Lucille said you went to see Renny. Did you get to have that talk you wanted to have?” Nate held out an expectant hand.

  Ah, there it was. The best reason to head to Seattle—nosy kinfolk. “Yeah, just some things from the past. An apology and all that.”

  “For what?” Annie asked, accepting the cold bottle from him. “And we’re talking about Renny Latioles? The woman who lives in that restored gatehouse on the outskirts of town?”

  “Yeah. Darby and Renny were an item in high school. In fact, they tried to run off and get married when they turned eighteen. They were seniors and Dad blew a gasket. Only thing that saved Darby’s ass was that wreck. Of course it screwed him, too, since he got sent to military school.”

  “You tried to get married? At eighteen?”

  Darby shrugged. “We were young and in love. When you’re eighteen you think anything is possible...even getting out of being sent away.”

  “I thought I was in love with Lily Bamburg. We were going to get married and then breed and train lab puppies for hunters.” Nate ignored the bitterness in Darby’s voice, obviously not wanting to travel down that path of discord.

  “The waitress at Marmalades?” Annie’s eyebrows arched into her bangs.

  Nate laughed. “Two hundred pounds ago and before she had five kids, Lily was a looker. Plus she had an eye for a good retriever.”

  Darby didn’t like the direction the conversation took. He didn’t want to talk about his father, marriage or past loves—it was all too close for comfort. “So tell me about Della. What’s the deal?”

  Nate shrugged as Annie shifted her eyes away for a moment, growing contemplative as the conversation took a serious turn. “She’s scared...and she’s still grieving for Enola Cheramie.”

  Nate nodded. “It’s been more difficult than I thought it would be to reconcile her to this family, and some of that might be because your twin sister is a Dufrene through and through. Nothing done the easy way.” Nate took another pull on his beer and curled his arm around his wife again. Annie settled against him, but not in a girlish way, me
rely in a comfortable way. Nothing girlish about Annie except for her size. She was barely five foot two.

  Darby knew the MO of his family. They weren’t an easy lot. Fiercely loyal, insufferably headstrong and irrevocably passionate, the children of Martin and Picou Dufrene got their temperament honestly. Though his sister had been kidnapped and raised by an old bayou woman, she’d be no different. It was in her blood. “I guess I’m not good with understanding women, so I don’t know what help I can be. I—”

  “This is not about gender,” Annie said, a furrow between those serious gray eyes. “This is about being part of a family that is, uh, difficult at times. She’s been thrust into this culture, this name, and that’s a hard thing. Trust me.”

  Nate looked sharply at his wife. “What do you mean by that?”

  “You know who your family is. Been here longer than any other family in the region. Your great-grandfather was mayor, your uncle ran the bank, streets are named after your great-grandmothers and there’s a statue of your cousin in front of the city hall. About forty percent of the lands surrounding Bayou Bridge bear the name Laborde or Dufrene. It’s unsettling at times.”

  Darby’s gaze crashed into his brother’s. “Well, put like that...”

  “And your mother is a most determined woman.” Annie propped her chin on her hand and leaned forward. “That’s been the hardest thing for Sally.”

  “Is she still calling herself ‘Sally’?” Darby asked.

  “Why wouldn’t she? That’s what she’s been called since she was a baby. It’s what she knows and right now she’s clinging to everything she’s ever been and running from who she’s likely to become. She doesn’t feel comfortable in her skin, so she damn sure doesn’t feel comfortable here at Beau Soleil.”

  Darby sank back into the chair, knowing exactly how his sister felt, but even that might not be enough to put him on even keel with her. After all, he hadn’t seen Della since his parents had driven away that morning over twenty-six years ago to take him to town to see the doctor. He couldn’t remember that day without thinking about his mother’s face. It was all he could recall in his feverish state. His mother collapsing on the floor that night, holding the ransom letter left nailed to a tree in the garden. Something like that made an impression even on a three-year-old child.

  He didn’t know the woman his sister had grown into, raised in the backwaters of Bayou Lafourche with a woman who made her living from the land and waters of South Louisiana. She would be a stranger to him, so he doubted anything he said to her would change the way she felt about the Dufrenes or Beau Soleil. He told his mother he would try, and he would. That was the reason he’d dug out that old book the therapist had him make. The grief book that was to have helped him cope with losing his twin—the book that had led him to the marriage certificate.

  “I told Mom I would go down to Galliano and try to talk to her. I don’t know how she’ll react, but your insights help.” Darby rose from the cushioned leather depths of the chair and stretched. “I guess I should head back to the big house.”

  “I’d recommend you don’t alert our sister that you’re coming,” Nate said.

  “You don’t think?”

  Annie nodded. “I agree. May be a little unfair, but you don’t want her prepared to meet you. She’s hiding...and that means she’s hiding her emotions. And what this family needs, what your mother needs, is for your sister to let go and feel. Until she does that, she’s never going to heal from Enola’s death and she’s never going to open her heart to our family.”

  Nate smiled. “You said ‘our’ family.”

  “And I meant it.” Annie reached over and rubbed her husband’s shoulders.

  “If y’all start canoodling again, I may vomit.” Darby pulled on his boots and stood up, trying to ignore the warm, fuzzy vibes coming from the couch. “But thanks for the beers. I’ll let you know how it goes with Della. Sally. Whatever her name is.”

  “How about sister because that’s what she is,” Annie said, rising and grabbing a magazine. “And all you can do is try, right?”

  “Right.”

  Nate rose also, glancing at the clock. “I’ll catch up with you later. Annie and I will be in Baton Rouge tomorrow on a case so you’ll have to call on my cell.”

  “I think I might wait until Sunday afternoon. Maybe wait and catch her after Mass. And I didn’t know you worked on Saturdays. What do you do with the kid?”

  A glint hit Annie’s eyes. “Why? You wanna babysit?”

  “Um, after getting a whiff of that diaper, not really.”

  “He has a sitter who comes most days, and we work every day. Crime doesn’t take a break, so neither can we. Got an interview with a woman who may have witnessed an abduction and murder. She’s off tomorrow so we’re on the case.”

  “You see why I love her?” Nate smiled at his brother.

  “She was made for you,” Darby said, heading to the front door. For some reason those words conjured up the image of Renny. Made for him. How many times had he told her that, whispering it into her ear as they made out in the back of his truck? Plenty.

  But that was then and this was now. He was a different person, so Renny wasn’t made for him any more than Lily Bamburg had been made for Nate. Those had been the thoughts of an irresponsible boy. The hopes of a naive bayou girl. The dreams of two eighteen-year-olds who didn’t know the way the world worked. That dream was gone, cold ashes on a grate.

  But as Darby pushed out the front door into the cloak of the Louisiana night, sticky even in September, he knew he lied to himself.

  Because there was a spark smoldering beneath those ashes, awaiting a slight stirring, and Darby knew he needed to stay away from them.

  Needed to stay away from Renny or he’d be sucked into his past. And that might leave little room for the future he wanted.

  Far away from Beau Soleil.

  CHAPTER SIX

  RENNY WATCHED HER MOTHER’S Pomeranian hop about her feet before begrudgingly bending down and petting Hopscotch. The yipping dog squirmed, a stark contrast to Chauncey with his lazy swoop about the feet or aloof stare from across the room. Hopscotch was as in-your-face annoying as she was cute.

  “Come here, Hop-Hop, and leave your sister alone,” Beverly Latioles crowed in a voice reserved for babies and fluffy dogs.

  Renny refrained from rolling her eyes since the little apricot dog was her mother’s pride and joy. Hopscotch pranced over to Bev, licked her hand and then leaped into her lap. The dog turned her brown eyes on Renny and lolled out her tongue as if to say mine.

  “Isn’t she the sweetest little thing? I got her a new sweater at Target yesterday but it’s too warm to put it on her yet. Won’t she look adorable?”

  “Mmm-hmm,” Renny said, moving two of the brocade pillows off the toile couch so she could sit down. Good Housekeeping and Better Homes and Gardens sat in piles on the tufted matching ottoman that also held an antique platter for tea. A steaming cup of chai tea waited in a Royal Doulton Blue Versailles cup. For a few moments she sat in her mother’s precise world wondering how in the devil to bring up the fact the woman had been lying for eleven years.

  “You’re awfully quiet, honey. Not that you’re overly talkative any other day. Is everything okay at work? Or is this little visit about that Dufrene boy showing back up? We’re having lunch tomorrow...”

  Renny jerked her head. “Why would this visit be about him?”

  Her mother spread her hands and a new polished turquoise ring drew attention to her long nails. Beverly’s silver hair fell in long loping curls past her ears, almost to the gold lamé blouse. Her mother was Lafayette’s version of a Jersey Shore socialite replete with large sunglasses, glittering jewelry and over-the-top taste. “Anytime that boy was in the vicinity, your brain turned to mush and your panties hit the floor.”

  “Well, I’m wearing panties, Mother.”

  “Are you, dear?” Her mother smiled and extended a tray of sugar and cream. “Thinking with yo
ur head has led to good decisions in your life. Look at what it’s gotten you—you’re under thirty and a project manager for a huge reintroduction. But with that Dufrene boy you never thought with your head.”

  “You think it’s good I don’t have a social life? You think I can’t handle Darby?”

  Bev gave her a deprecating smile. “That’s not what I meant. As you know, I’ve actually found you some nice guys, men who will suit your nature.”

  “You can’t design a guy for me, Mom.”

  “I can try,” Bev said, a twinkle in her eye. “After all, I do want grandchildren one day.”

  Renny couldn’t figure her mother out, but didn’t have to at the moment. She had more pressing issues. “Actually, this is about Darby.”

  Her mother’s drawn-on left eyebrow kicked up. “So I was right? I had hoped you’d move past that whole sordid affair. I, for one, would like to forget I ever wore clothes from the Salvation Army and recycled aluminum foil. It wasn’t a good thing being so far beneath the Dufrenes. You were always a small, beautiful flower crushed beneath his boot heel. Why would you go backward, honey? I’ve vowed to forget about Bayou Bridge and those bad, bad memories. You should, too.”

  Her mother spooned sugar into her own cup and lifted it to her lips with a frown. Beverly Latioles had spent many years scrubbing spaghetti sauce from the tiled floors of many a home in Bayou Bridge. She’d also cleaned their toilets, dusted their ceiling fans and folded their undies before saving up enough money, getting a loan from a bank and starting a small cleaning business that had grown into a fairly large company centered in Lafayette and surrounding small towns. Of course, being a cleaning lady’s daughter hadn’t been a walk in the park for Renny, either. Neither one of them savored much about poverty and desperation. So, yeah, she had plenty she wanted to forget about Bayou Bridge.

  “But you lied to me.”

  Bev lifted her dark eyes and studied her daughter. A few seconds ticked off the cuckoo clock. “About what? About that boy’s intentions? About how he almost killed you?”

  “You know exactly what I’m talking about.”