“Don’t mess up your hair! And stop crying. You’re always crying over nothing. You’ll never have any friends actin’ like that.”
Fighting for control, arms stiff at her sides, fists clenched, but the idea of Mama taking the clippers to her curls is too scary.
“I give up! You’re such a cry baby. Nobody loves a cry baby.”
Rose adjusted the line of her mouth upward into a smile and tucked her curly blond hair behind her ears. Her gaze was unflinching. The V-neck of her pale green linen blouse had shifted under the strap of her satchel and she smoothed the fabric flat against her chest. Nothing about her was noteworthy. Rose could be replaced by any woman under thirty standing in line at the grocery store and she liked it that way. A memory flickered into view. Her, standing in a long, deep blue silk sheath dress, diamonds at her throat and wrists, laughing up at a handsome man in a tuxedo. A rush of warmth shot through her, immediately followed by the bitter chill of betrayal.
It had been months since she’d thought of Richard. Memories of their life together had retreated, shielded by a thick layer of emotional scar tissue. She hobbled along well enough until some unwanted change prodded just the right spot and he popped into her mind, as clear and real as if she had walked into his arms.
The little currents of air coming from the river should have brought some relief, but the dome of the clear blue sky seemed to trap every ounce of early spring heat, glossing her skin with a visible sheen of sweat. The weather was oppressive, like a storm that wouldn’t break, and Rose recognized the feeling. It was one she’d carried for the last four years.
“Welcome to Natchitoches,” she whispered.
“Well, thank you, but I’m a native.”
The softly accented baritone voice made her startle, but she regrouped and turning slowly, adopted her best casual expression. “That was for me, actually. I didn’t see a welcome wagon, so I had to welcome myself.”
Rose’s first impression of the man was happiness. Most people faked the smile and their eyes held some other emotion: curiosity, boredom, exhaustion, irritation. He was taller than Rose, but about her age, and handsome in a generic sort of way. Dark hair cropped short, a nice suit in a summer weight to beat the heat, leather shoes. “Then you haven’t been here more than a few minutes. Any longer and you’ll have a crowd of women at your door, all carrying baskets of goodies,” he said. His eyebrows were heavy but expressive, conveying friendliness, and a growing amusement that carried a question―
Rose realized she’d been giving him the full body scan and stepped away from the door. “Sorry for blocking your way.”
“Not a problem.” He smiled again and Rose had another flash of certainty. Happy. He held out a hand. “I’m Blue Chalfant.”
Rose really didn’t want any complications with this job and friendships always came with complications. But it might carry weight with her interviewer if she walked in already having made a friend in this city. Getting in good with the locals was the key to success in little towns like Natchitoches.
Blue. Southern people and their names. She was lucky she hadn’t been named Pearly Mae. “You’ll have to guess mine,” she said and took his hand. Rose liked the warmth of his palm against hers.
He laughed out loud. Rose wondered if he knew he was happy, or if when asked, Blue would give a list of complaints like every other person on the planet. She’d started to notice that even people who said they were happy didn’t really look it. Maybe especially those people. Not that she was an expert on the subject. She hadn’t been happy in a very long time. Content, rarely. Resigned, certainly. But not happy.
“An impossible task. I don’t even know where you’re from,” Blue said, letting go.
“I’ll give you a hint. It’s a color, like yours.”
“Violet,” he said.
“Really? I don’t think I look like a Violet. Sounds old.”
“It’s my great aunt’s name.”
“Oh.” Rose let the word hang in the air between them. “I hope this great aunt is exceptionally witty and attractive.” Flirting was one of her skills, along with blurring the truth, sweet talking, and giving a hard sell chock full of disinformation. She had given up all those bad habits, but when she needed it most, Rose let herself flirt just a little if she thought it would serve her purpose.
“All of that and a good Christian woman, to boot,” he said. “But she also complains quite a bit about her intestinal travails. How about Amber?”
“Hm. Nope.”
“Crystal?”
“Is crystal a color?” A middle aged woman with leopard print shirt walked toward the door to the bookstore and Rose took a step back to let her pass.
Blue frowned. “Maybe not. Olive?”
“Thank goodness, no.”
“Hazel?”
Rose cocked her head. “I actually like that name, but no.”
“Tawny?”
She grimaced.
Snapping his fingers, Blue said, “Ruby! I should have thought of that first. My friend Bix Beaulieu’s wife is named Ruby.”
“Sorry.” Rose almost laughed as his triumph crumbled into confusion. She liked the way his brown eyes telegraphed his emotions and she wondered if Blue could lie at all.
“I never knew there were so many girl names based on colors. Coral? Ebony? Kelly?”
“Kelly green? Interesting. But no. Should I give you another hint?”
His eyes narrowed and Rose saw a flash of stubbornness. “I think I have an above-average vocabulary. I can do it. Sienna?”
Rose shook her head.
“Scarlett?”
“Oh, that’s a good one. Very Southern.”
“But you’re not.” Blue didn’t seem to judge her for it.
“I am. Just not exactly local.” Rose knew what he was hearing. Years of living in Boston had stolen most of her accent and moving back to live with her sister in Baton Rouge hadn’t returned it to her. She’d worked hard to lose the drawl and had been proud when anyone expressed surprise at her Southern roots. Some might say it was minor, a simple change in inflection or a choice of presentation, but looking back, Rose could see how eager she had been to lie about who she really was.
“Jade?”
“No, sir.”
Blue stared down into her eyes, deep in thought. She tried hard not to laugh and wondered if there were people watching them from the other side of the bookstore’s glass windows. Blue’s expression was intense, his body perfectly still as he mentally ran through every girl name he knew.
“Okay, maybe you’re named Pink, like the singer.”
“Close.”
Instead of relief, Blue looked even more irritated. “Close? Scarlet is close to pink. So is Ruby. Close to pink? There aren’t any more red names. There’s nothing else…” She could see the moment the right name occurred to him. He let out a groan. “Rose.”
“Winner, winner, chicken dinner.” It had taken longer than she’d expected, standing in the muggy air outside the little bookstore, but she was confident she’d made a positive impression on this handsome man. No matter what job he held, the suit indicated he was a professional of some sort. He was likeable, and probably well connected. Maybe even from a wealthy local family. Walking inside with a ready-made ally would count in her favor, she was sure of it.
“Of course, you didn’t guess my last name,” she said.
“But how could I―?” His brown eyes crinkled in laughter. “Not another color.”
“We’re half the rainbow, you and I.” She held up a finger. “Actually, I’m the whole rainbow, in a way.”
“Black,” he said
Uncomplicated joy. It was infectious. She wondered what it would be like to be near someone like Blue, day after day. As if in response to the thought, yearning stretched unbidden from where it had been sleeping so quietly near her heart. How life would change if she could bask in Blue’s happiness, like thawing the ice from her veins in front of a blazing fire, or standing in
the sun after wandering through a long, cold night.
But nobody wanted to be the happy one in a relationship, acting like some kind of emotional heating pad for a damaged partner. Rose carried too much baggage to be with anyone. She needed allies and advocates, but not friends.
“So, Rose Black,” he said. “No middle name?”
She froze for a second. Using her mother’s maiden name was one more way to bury her past and here she’d been playing Russian roulette with a stranger. Flipping a lock of hair over her shoulder and giving him a flirty look, she said, “No. I just thought a little game would be fun. This way you’ll never forget me.”
“Do many people forget you?” His eyes narrowed but his question was soft and she felt his assessment of her shift.
In her fear, she’d gone too far. The hair flip was a younger girl’s move. This guy was happy, but he certainly wasn’t stupid. She’d slid so easily back into bad habits, where the flirting preceded the lie and the lies were the foundation of getting everything she wanted. That wasn’t who she was anymore.
“It was nice to meet you, Blue, but I’d better get inside. I have an interview and I’m―” Checking her watch, she saw that her small window for scoping out the new job had shrunk to a sliver. Eleven minutes. “Very close to being late.”
Blue’s eyebrows went up as he reached for the handle. Rose noticed the tips of two of his fingers were tinged with paint or ink. “Interview? You’re going to work in By the Book?”
A little brass bell tinkled as the door swung open. Rose stepped through the doorway, wished with all her heart that she could say yes. The quiet store full of leather-bound antique volumes looked like heaven on earth. Or her idea of heaven. Not that she thought about heaven very much anymore. She was pretty sure she wasn’t going to get in, so there wasn’t much use worrying about it.
The cool air enveloped them. Her gaze wandered over the long aisles of solid wooden shelves and she inhaled the unmistakable scent of thousands of old books. The light fixtures were old iron work, the tin type ceiling tiles held court far above them, black and white tiles floor gleamed under their feet, and a red overstuffed chair begged for someone to sit down for a long afternoon’s read. It looked like a movie set, or something she’d read once in a book. It was perfect. For the first time in a long time, Rose felt like she’d come home.
Chapter Two
“Me and you, we got more yesterday than anybody. We need some kind of tomorrow.”
― Toni Morrison
No one came forward to greet them. There was a young woman sitting in a blue chair near the corner of the room. She didn’t have a book in her hands, but was simply watching them with a pleasant expression. Rose glanced around at the customers and figured she’d have to announce herself to someone at the front. The long counter was empty except for a sleeping gray cat near the cash register. Alice Augustine, the owner of the building and the mother of the three little ones, was an enigma. There was very little about her online, but there was more than enough about her husband. Paul Olivier was one of the wealthiest men in the country and owner of Screenstop, a chain of high tech gaming stores. Glancing around the shop, Rose couldn’t reconcile the two in her mind.
She realized she hadn’t answered Blue’s question. “No, not in the bookstore, but somewhere close.”
“Do you always speak in riddles?” Blue’s voice held an undertone of laughter.
Riddles. It was her default mode. Rose shook her head, “No, sorry. I―”
“Hey there, honey.” They both turned to see an older woman taping a flyer to the front window of the store.
“All done for the day?” She directed the comment at Blue but her dark eyes were on Rose. The woman barely came up to her shoulder but Rose somehow felt small under her gaze.
“Taking a late lunch, Aunt Bernice,” he said, giving her a kiss on the cheek. “And you? Aren’t the archives open today?”
“They’re replacin’ the tile in the front rooms. What a hassle. I get a few days off, though, so I won’t complain. I was just putting up flyers ‘cause we’re short a player again.” She reached up and smoothed her hair, still watching Rose. “Mais, aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?”
Rose felt a swell of satisfaction. She was already considered a friend. Maybe not a close friend but definitely not a stranger. And true to the myth of everyone being related in a small town, they’d already run into some of his family. “Oh, we just met,” Rose said. “Seconds ago, actually. I’m Rose Black.”
“I bet everyone calls you Rosie.” She went on without waiting for an answer. “I’m Bernice Watterson and my nephew has forgotten all his manners. But with such a pretty face, I can’t really blame him.”
“Now, now,” Blue said but he didn’t sound too irritated. “Don’t scare her away. She just might join your team.”
“Really?” Bernice handed Rose a flyer. “The Gutter Gals are the best bowling team in the parish but most of us are…” She cleared her throat as if it hurt to say it. “Of a certain age. The last few years we’ve lost some of our best players to elbow and knee strains.” She peered at Rose’s elbows as if looking for any sign of arthritis in the joint.
Rose glanced down at the neon green flyer, trying to decide what to say. She didn’t like bowling. Didn’t even like watching it on TV. She imagined herself on a bowling team of little old ladies, looking like a gangly Amazon in their midst.
“Why don’t you play with Susie Crocker? She’s such a nice girl.”
“She’s not a nice girl, Mama. She pulls my hair and she stuck her gum on my book.”
“Well, you’re not trying hard enough to make friends. Take her a little somethin’ today. Maybe that yellow daisy pin of yours.”
“Mama, that’s mine!”
“Don’t be selfish. Her daddy runs the hardware store. Give her the pin and make friends.”
“Why, thank you,” Rose said. She could learn to love bowling if she had to.
“Are you just visiting? Young people don’t want to live here. Nothin’ much happening and the weather is atrocious. It’s so hot I saw two trees fightin’ over a dog,” Bernice said, taking back the flyer. “I can’t blame you, honey. If Cane River wasn’t part of my flesh and bones, I’d be on the next bus to New York.”
“You hate New York,” Blue said.
“Well, then Seattle. I hear it’s real nice there.”
“That’s quite a bus ride. At least two thousand miles. Probably more.”
“I’d make some friends. Two thousand miles isn’t so long if you got people to talk to, right?” She put a fist on her hip as if she’d won the argument.
“Sure, Aunt Bernice. Not so long at all.” Blue started to laugh and Rose decided she loved the sound of it: not too loud, no edge to it at all. Then there was the way he put a hand to his chest, as if trying to hold it all in.
“Oh, you.” Bernice swatted his arm with a flyer. “Now where are you from, Rosie? Somewhere up North, I can hear it in your voice.”
She hesitated. Even using another name, someone might piece together a Rose from Baton Rouge who had been living in Boston. The story had been in the papers for months. Her gaze flitted to Blue. She wasn’t going to lie, but she’d spent so long lying that it was hard to tell the truth.
“She doesn’t have time for the full Natchitoches treatment, Aunt Bernice. She’s interviewing for a job and she’s going to be late if we don’t let her go.”
“Here?” Bernice looked shocked. “Bix is gettin’ old, that’s for sure, but his eyesight has been going for nearly twenty years and it never slowed him down. ‘Course, maybe he wants to spend more time fishin’. Gideon and Fr. Tom are always taking him out river camping. Or maybe Charlie isn’t coming back, now that she’s got that degree.” Bernice clutched Blue’s arm. “Maybe Charlie’s getting married to Austin! We’ve already got Roxie and Andy’s wedding in August. Oh, this’ll be wonderful! ”
Rose felt a bit of sympathy for this Charlie, mar
ried off by the gossip mill at just the merest hint of someone new arriving. “I’m applying for the position of the nanny to some newborn twins and a two year old girl.”
“Nanny?” Blue repeated, as if he hadn’t heard right.
“For the twins?” Bernice asked.
Rose nodded and prepared herself for what came next.
Bernice was going exclaim about how that was a terrible job and didn’t Rose know how she’d be run ragged. Or maybe Bernice would say Rose was a saint for wanting to spend her waking hours with anybody under twenty.
Rose glanced at Blue and saw him open his mouth to speak. He’d probably say the world needed brave souls like her to do the dirty work. She’d heard it all. The comments that sounded admiring, but underneath really said she was crazy. Everyone knew babies cramped your style and after enough time in their presence, you started to lose your mind. You ended up speaking in grunts, wearing stained clothes, and smelling like dirty diapers.
Blue spoke first. “You’ll love them. I didn’t realize Alice was looking for a nanny.”
“I don’t think they ever advertised the position,” Rose said. “It was all done word of mouth.” Her sister’s husband worked with Paul’s business partner on a project and somehow that had turned into Rose getting a chance at a job that she hadn’t even known existed.
“Well, bless your heart,” Bernice said. “Most people run like a scalded haint when they’re faced with a baby, let alone three of ‘em. Now me, if I were any younger I’d try to beat you to it. Aurora has such a charmin’ little personality.”
“Most people think toddlers have sleep patterns and levels of cleanliness instead of personalities. And I hope charming isn’t code for ‘holy terror’.”
“Not at all. Aurora is God’s gift to this bookstore. I can barely remember what it was like before she arrived,” Blue said, glancing around at the sunny foyer. Customers dotted the large main room and Rose could hear murmurs of conversation.
God’s gift. Rose and God weren’t on the best terms. Maybe He wouldn’t be so happy with Rose being the one to care for His gift. She motioned to the bookstore. “It’s certainly a beautiful place.”
Along the Cane River: Books 1-5 in the Inspirational Cane River Romance Series Page 99
