by Lori Leger
John threw the towel in the bin and turned toward his father. “Nothing else. Why?”
“Not even prophylactics?”
“Why would I need rubbers on a first date?”
J.D.’s eyes widened. “Women are a lot looser than they used to be. There’s been a movement.”
John couldn’t keep the grin from his face. “That’s something. John David Ferguson keeping tabs with the women’s movement.”
His dad released a huff of laughter. “Well you have to these days or you’ll offend somebody. Used to be the only kind of movement I was interested in was a bowel movement.”
John lifted one hand, praying his pop would stop before he got into too much detail. “I guess you heard all about that on the talk shows, too?”
“No, from watching TV. Kids today got no damn sense of morals.”
“Well, Cyn and I aren’t kids anymore.”
“Compared to me, you are.”
“Geez, Pop. We’re not having sex on the first date.”
“What if she offers? You’d turn it down?”
“No. Yes. I mean she wouldn’t offer because she’s not that kind of lady. And if she would, I’d say no, because—she—well, she wouldn’t.”
J.D. frowned at his son. “You having some problems in your nether regions?”
John glared at him. “I am not.”
“Are you sure? If you are, your doctor can give you some of those little blue pills. There are a few different ones out there on the market now to combat the E.D. That’s short for Erectile Dysfunction, you know. Back in my day, we just said can’t get it up. Either that or the dead soldier syndrome.” He frowned slightly. “These days they’ve got acronyms for every damn thing. ED, VD, STD, PTSD … I guess the medical profession can’t be bothered with saying all those long words. And the media—well they do their part to make it sound cool. That bullshit gets on my last damn nerve.” His eyes suddenly sparkled with laughter. “I guess I should’ve said that BS gets on my LDN. But the point is if you got a problem down there they can help you out.”
John turned and walked away. “I’m not having this conversation with you, Pop. Not now. Not ever.” His old man wouldn’t let it go.
“It’s nothing to be ashamed of, you know. Of course the side effects of those pills sound pretty damned hellacious if you ask me—”
“Which I didn’t.”
“But I guess some guys think it’s worth it to have their soldiers standing at attention again.”
John turned, both arms raised, and frustrated out of his mind. “Would you put a cork in it?”
J.D.’s eyes widened even further. “A cork? That would be for a whole nuther kind of movement. Those folks even have their own parade. I don’t think they call them corks though. They call them plugs or some such nonsense.”
John’s hands fell to his sides. “You’re killing me, Pop.”
“I’m trying to help, Son. If you have erectile dysfu—”
“For the last damn time, I don’t have E.D.!”
J.D. harrumphed and turned on his heel. “Well, why didn’t you say so in the first place?”
Saturday trudged along achingly slow, until it was finally time to leave for his date. John dressed quickly then slipped on his good boots.
“Hmmm…”
He looked up from a last second touch-up to his tan Tony Lamas, to cast a look his father’s direction. “What—now?”
“Maybe you should have worn a suit, or at the very least, some nice slacks.”
He straightened to his full height in order to stare down at his father. “Cyn’s known me all my life. She already knows I’m not the suit and tie type. It’s a little late to start pretending to be something I’m not.”
“You don’t think she’s gonna be wearing her hospital scrubs and lab coat on the date, do you? She’ll probably get all gussied up for this. Seems like the least you could do is put forth a little effort.”
“That’s why I shaved. So I’d look like I put forth the effort. You wanted me to go looking grubby.”
“Scruffy, not grubby. Somebody named Cosmo said scruffy is equal to sexy.”
“Cosmo is a magazine, not a person. It’s short for Cosmopolitan.”
“Cosmopolitan? Those women drink those in the Sex and The City program your mother used to watch.”
“It’s also a magazine, and it sounds like you watched it too.”
“Well, sure. Tit for Tat. She sat through my old Gunsmoke and Have Gun Will Travel episodes. I sat through Sex and the City and the HGTV programs. It’s called compromise.”
John nodded. “Yeah, Pop. I seem to remember practicing a little of that in my eighteen years of marriage.”
J.D. ignored his sarcasm-laced comeback and handed him a piece of notepaper folded in half. “Here you go. Take a look at these on the way over there.”
John unfolded the paper and scanned it. “What the hell is this?”
“It’s lines. You know, kind of like pick-up lines, but there are several you might be able to use during the evening. They came from—”
“A talk show, I know.” John stifled a guffaw of laughter as he read from the sheet. “You look hotter than a Mexican tamale?”
“I came up with that one myself. C’est bon, huh?”
John re-folded the paper, would have dropped it in the trash bin if his dad wouldn’t have been watching. He stuffed it in the front pocket of his jeans instead. “Yeah, Pop. Thanks.”
He finally left the house, his father’s old-man-cackle and final comment still ringing in his ears. “Have fun, but be careful. If you can’t be careful, name it after me!”
In the ten minutes it took to drive from Lake Erin to Cyn’s mom’s place in Jennings, John was well on his way to working up a nervous sweat. By the time he knocked on the front door, he felt like a green teenager picking up his first crush. The fact was, Cynthia had been his first crush, and it hit home in a way he hadn’t expected.
He fidgeted with his collar then re-tucked his shirt into the back of his new jeans.
The door opened and Ms. Bess Robicheaux stood there, her face lit up at the sight of him. “Johnny, it’s so good to see you.”
“You too, Ms. Bess. You’re looking good.” He reached down to give the woman a hug.
She waved off his compliment. “Oh, pshaw—for my age, you mean? Old Father Time is trying like hades to make me old. I’m too darn stubborn to give in. I keep hoping if I wear the old fart down, he’ll leave me alone.”
John laughed, thinking this woman and his mom could have been cut from the same cloth, from looks right down to their sense of humor. “If anyone on this earth is capable of sending him packing, it’s you.”
“Come on in here. Cynthia should be out in a few minutes. How are J.D. and your mother? It broke my heart to hear about the Alzheimer’s—Marilee and I spent a lot of time together over the years. She called me a couple of months after Paul passed away, so upset. She’d just heard the news, said your father hadn’t wanted to tell her when it happened because she was so ill at the time. She was fighting her own battle with the darn ole chemo.”
“Yes ma’am. Pop asked me not to tell her when it happened. He wanted to keep her positive.”
“And it must have worked, because she sure beat it.”
John Michael nodded. He didn’t doubt one bit his father’s uplifting attitude helped push his mother through those dark days. He may be an ornery old coot for everyone else in the world, but for his wife, J.D. Ferguson had been nothing but indulgent and gentle. He turned slowly, taking in his surroundings. “You’ve got a nice little place here, Ms. Bess. When did you move to Jennings?”
“Two years ago. After Ham passed, Allie and her husband kept bugging me to sell the house and move closer to them. I was dead set against it, of course.”
“Someone must have been mighty persuasive.”
“I held off as long as I could, but then I slipped down my icy porch. No phone around and my neighbors were either out of town or at
work. I drug myself up the steps and called an ambulance. I was all bruised up.”
He sucked in his breath. “I hope you didn’t break anything.”
“Luckily, no. But it set things in motion. Long story short, I sold the family home and bought this place. It’s smaller, but easier to take care of and only a few blocks from Allie and her family.”
“And now, of course, you’ve got your other daughter here. How’s it working out—having two women in the same household?”
Her smile brightened her face. “I adore having her here. She’s at work all day, but it’s nice having her come home in the afternoons.” She looked up as Cynthia entered the room. “I’m so thrilled to have my daughter back where she belongs.”
Cynthia gave her mother a quick, one-armed hug. “I’m glad to be back here with you. I didn’t realize how much I missed living in Cajun country until I came home.” She grinned at John. “Hey, you.”
He had to swallow the lump in his throat in order to answer. “Hey.” He took in her appearance, suddenly wondering if he should have listened to his father.
She smoothed down her floral print dress, adjusted some kind of light-weight, lace cover up tied in the front to accentuate her breasts. “What’s wrong?”
He sent her a lift of a single brow. “To be honest, I’m wondering if I’m underdressed. You look wonderful, Cyn.” The look on her face told him he’d definitely said something right.
“You’re not underdressed at all, John Michael. You look wonderful, too.”
“Are you sure? Pop nearly convinced me to bring my jacket and a tie. I’m kind of wishing I had now.”
Was he kidding?
She dabbed daintily at the corner of her mouth with her pinkie, in case she’d begun to drool. He’d looked good in the hospital, wearing faded jeans and a dark blue T-shirt. But here, closely shaved and looking like he’d stepped right off the centerfold of a Sexy Contemporary Cowboys calendar—she fanned herself mentally. A hell of a lot could be said for a pair of new, good-fitting jeans on a man of John Michael’s stature. The short sleeved dress shirt, tucked neatly into the waistband of said jeans only added to the package. Her gaze raked in his appearance, from his tan leather belt, all the way down to his matching boots. She always did have a thing for men in western boots.
“You look nice, John Michael.” That may have been the granddaddy of understatements considering the drool-worthy figure standing before her. “Extremely nice.”
“Thanks Cyn. Pop went on so much about me wearing a suit and tie he had me doubting myself.”
“Good grief, in this weather? It’s too hot for all those layers this time of year down here.”
John lifted one hand and let it fall to his side. “Well, that’s what I thought, but he had his own ideas, and plenty of them, I assure you. Are you ready to go?”
Cynthia took the elbow he extended, looped her hand around his well-developed bicep, sucked in her breath at the feel of it. “Absolutely.”
Several minutes later, with both of them buckled in his truck, which he claimed to have cleaned up for the occasion, he broached the subject of his father again.
“You know, Pop was even trying to convince me not to shave yesterday and today. He insisted women preferred a two-day growth of beard over clean shaven.” He stopped, rubbed a hand along his chin. “Said women today found it sexy. I happen to think anything with that much sparkle to it should be a piece of jewelry. If it’s not, it needs to come off. There’s getting to be quite a bit of silver in my beard.”
She cocked her head at him. “I admit I like a smooth, clean shave on a man. Then again …” She left the comment hanging. With his lean, masculine build, dark hair peppered with silver, and Ferguson blue eyes—she suspected even on his worst day, this man looked better than the average fifty-three year old male.
He raised a single eyebrow. “You mean I could have saved a little time? Shown up looking scruffy, and you would have gone out with me anyway?”
She pursed her lips then nodded. “Possibly.”
Grinning, he started up his truck. “I’ll keep it in mind.”
“You do that, Johnny Boy.” She slapped her hands lightly on her thighs. “So, where are you taking me tonight? I hope it’s someplace special since it’s my first ‘first date’ in thirty-five years.”
His head drooped forward as he released a long sigh. “Guess I’ll have to cancel our reservation at Mickey D’s.” He looked up at her, his handsome grin giving him an almost boyish look.
“Definitely no Mickey D’s. In Oklahoma, I’d find myself craving fresh seafood—shrimp and oysters and stuffed crabs, if you’re looking for suggestions.”
He laughed. “Well, I don’t imagine fresh seafood is readily available in Oklahoma.”
“No, there were plenty of wonderful Mexican restaurants and steakhouses, but nothing that served anything much other than farm raised catfish that was fresh. The seasoning up there is a little different, too.”
“Nothing quite like Cajun cooking, is there?”
“You won’t get any argument from me. So, where are we going?”
He cocked his head and gave her a one-eyed squint. “It’s a surprise, but I’ve got reservations.”
She adjusted her seat belt. “It must be quite a drive. It’s a little early for dinner reservations.”
He grinned at her. “The reservations are for 5:15. It’s only twenty minutes from here.”
“You’ve got me all kinds of curious now. Why so early?”
“It’ll be packed by 5:30. You’ll see.”
She settled in for the drive, deciding to learn more about this man. “So, are you running Lake Erin Feed and Supply with your dad, now?”
“Oh, no. Pop’s been retired. I was running the place alone for twenty years. Bethie’s life insurance paid off our mortgage and all of Zach’s schooling. I bought a few rental properties that have paid for themselves over the years. Now they’re adding to my income. I never had time for fancy trips, or anything frivolous, so I’ve built up a sizeable nest egg.
A couple of years ago I asked Zachary if he wanted to take it over and he jumped at the chance. Now I have time to do the things I love.”
“Such as?” she probed.
“I have a couple dozen head of cattle, and since I was able to build the greenhouse I’d always wanted, I tend to my plants and vegetables. I start all the seedlings Zach sells in the store during planting season. And I can harvest produce a lot longer in a controlled environment.”
“Do you sell your vegetables at a farmer’s market or anything? I try to support those places as often as I can.”
“No. I just grow them for the pleasure of it. What I can’t eat, I give away to friends and family.”
She grinned. “Sounds like you stay busy.”
“I do, but it’s the kind of busy I love.”
“And Zachary’s keeping the family tradition alive with the store.”
“Four generations and counting. I’m still in Lake Erin, so I’m available to help out if something comes up with Zach.”
“Like infant twins?”
He nodded. “You got it. I expect I’ll be running the place for a month or two.”
“Sounds like a good life, Mr. Ferguson.”
“Well, I’m not a doctor or anything.”
“Stop that. It’s a very respectable living.”
He nodded. “Thanks, Cyn. We’ve always thought so.”
She turned in the truck seat to study his profile. “So, why didn’t you ever ask me out in high school? We used to have this flirty kind of relationship—and then suddenly, we didn’t.”
He sobered instantly. “Bad luck, I guess. Yours was the first face I saw after my folks told me about Jenna. I tore out of that office and there you were. Your eyes big and questioning, and your face was kind of flushed.”
“I was running a fever.”
“I know, Mom told me once I stopped running long enough to accept what happened. I must have r
un ten miles. When I got too exhausted, I stopped and walked back home. The thing is, for the next two years, every time I saw you it brought me back to that moment.”
“I’m sorry, John Michael.”
“No, I’m sorry, Cyn. You didn’t do a damn thing wrong. As a matter of fact, my mom had such a soft spot in her heart for you afterwards …”
“Because of the hug?”
He nodded. “Even as distraught as she was, she could feel you were feverish. As sick as you obviously were, you took time to show her how much you cared. Your simple act of kindness has always meant so much to her.”
“I’d like to see her again, John Michael. Do you think I could?”
He nodded. “I don’t see why not. Even though you haven’t changed much, don’t expect her to recognize you.”
“Where is she? I could go one day after work.”
“She’s at Extended Care Facility on Lake Street.”
“I know exactly where it is. I’ll try to stop by one day this week.” They exited off of I-10 Eastbound, and eventually drove north on one of the curviest little roads she’d seen since she’d been back in Louisiana.
Cynthia peered out through her passenger side window. “This reminds me of the Oklahoma boonies, without the hills. If it was dark outside and you were wearing a ski mask, I’d be a little worried right now.”
John Michael laughed. “Being as I’ve never skied a day in my life, I’d say you’d have reason to be. We’re almost there. As a matter of fact—you see the big, white sign up there?”
She squinted to see the sign, wondering if she’d remembered to bring her glasses. She rummaged through her purse, thankful to find them. Surely she’d have to read a menu. She found her lip gloss, and breath mints, both bound to come in handy if his restaurant of choice offered decent seafood. What if it turned out to be a steakhouse? Coming up empty on the floss picks, she made a mental note to stay away from steak.
“Our destination.”
She looked up as they pulled into a nearly empty limestone parking lot. The huge roadside sign boasted two large letters—D.I.’s—in a bold red against a stark white background.
“D.I.’s … I haven’t heard of it. Is the food good?”
