Along the Cane River: Books 1-5 in the Inspirational Cane River Romance Series

by Mary Jane Hathaway

  “Hm, well, let me think.” Blue put a finger to his chin. “How about when we’re never seen out together and nobody else in town knows we’re dating? That’s a pretty big sign.”

  “Good point.” She seemed to be rethinking what she’d clearly considered a brilliant move. “I guess I shouldn’t have…”

  “Lied to my father? Yeah, I try to avoid doing that.” He was smiling but Rose seemed to take offense at his words.

  “Well, sorry for caring, but he was being a huge jerk to you and I thought it would be nice to make him eat his words.” She crossed her arms over her chest.

  “You can’t win with him. Don’t even try. He’s always ten steps ahead. And if you try to be sneaky, he’ll sniff you out in no time, but he won’t tell you. He’ll let you go on with your lie just for fun.”

  Something like fear crossed her face. “Well, then let’s not lie. We’ll… be whatever he wants to think we are.”

  Blue threw his hands in the air. “Isn’t that the same thing? Eventually it has to end.”

  “Really?” She stood up. “Think about it. You’re not dating anyone. Neither am I. Alice has got this crazy idea we’re doomed to be together. Won’t it be easier just to go along with it? At least, on the outside,” she quickly clarified.

  “But maybe I’ll find someone and then what will we do?”

  Her cheeks went pink and she seemed to be trying to decide whether to answer. “You’re not going to date anyone because you’re in love with someone you can’t have.”

  He stood up in surprise. “Who told you that? Alice? Paul?”

  “No, no. It wasn’t anybody.” Her face was still flushed and she dropped her gaze to the ground.

  “Tell me who it was,” he said, voice low. He couldn’t imagine how Henry would feel if she found out. A slight chill went through him at the thought of her husband, Gideon. He didn’t seem like a man who’d be comfortable with that situation. The man had been in prison for murder. He’d repented and reformed but he surely wouldn’t take kindly to Blue’s case of unrequited love.

  “Annabel Lee,” she said, meeting his eyes.

  He slowly slumped onto the desk, letting out a sigh.

  “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to hurt you.” Her voice was quiet.

  He remembered how she’d fought with him in the poetry aisle, refusing to accept how someone could move on, saying how she was the loyal one. “You’re in love with someone, too.”

  “He’s getting married in a few months. To another woman.”

  Blue nodded. There was a terrible finality to it. Of course marriages could be dissolved legally and nearly half of them didn’t work out, but for him, it was a permanent state. Especially when the people were as in love as Henry and Gideon. “We weren’t even really dating. I just fell so hard, so fast. It’s not her fault at all.”

  “You’re definitely not shallow, then,” she said softly.

  “No, ma’am.” He’d never talked about it with anyone. “And you? Were you together very long?”

  “Five years. Four months before the wedding…” She didn’t finish her sentence and tears filled her eyes.

  Blue crossed the room and gathered her into his arms. He knew how the pain surged up out of nowhere, choking you, making it hard to talk or breathe. Henry hadn’t ever meant to hurt him, he was sure of it. She probably didn’t even know. He couldn’t imagine being dumped after five years, and practically at the altar.

  After a few minutes, Rose leaned back. “Stupid love.”

  “Stupid broken hearts.”

  “Stupid people who think we can just get over it,” she said. “I don’t think I ever will.”

  “I know,” he said, and in that moment he decided her plan was a good one. “So, let’s give everybody what they want. We’ll pretend to be dating. Alice and Paul and Bix will stop forcing us together. My father will stop bringing up my lack of a girlfriend. We won’t feel pressure to be social with anybody else.”

  “Just one thing.”

  He stepped back, giving her space. Maybe she was afraid he’d expect some kind of public displays of affection. Maybe he was already making her uncomfortable.

  “No lying.” Rose shrugged a little, as if she thought it sounded childish. “I don’t want to lie to everybody.”

  “But won’t we―?”

  “No, I think we can just say we’re getting to know each other. We will be, really. If we spend any time together, I’m sure I’ll learn something about you.” She smiled. “Besides the fact you’re a lawyer, you like babies, and you have a jerk for a dad.”

  “That’s pretty much it. Me in a nutshell.”

  “I doubt it.” She smiled up at him. After a moment, she stepped away, as if just realizing they still had their arms around each other. “But I won’t harass you for details on your private life, of course.”

  “Go ahead. I have nothing to hide, really. And you’re certainly easy to be around. I feel like we’re friends already.”

  An expression flickered in her eyes and was gone. “To friendship,” she said, holding out her hand. “And getting everyone off our backs.”

  He took it and shook. “To friendship.”

  “Oh,” she said. “And I guess I should tell you that I’m not related to any Blacks in Baton Rouge.”

  Blue grimaced. “That’s a problem. My father will definitely check into that.”

  “I’m also not using my real name.”

  He choked. “Not… what?”

  “Because of everything that happened, I wanted to get a new start.” She sounded defensive. “Alice and Paul know.”

  Blue felt like he was glimpsing another side of Rose. Of course he’d known she was dealing with some kind of hurt, but he hadn’t realized the extent of how it affected her life now.

  “And now, I should get back. Paul’s got a big meeting this afternoon. Andy’s flying in with some Chinese businessmen and Roxie’s coming over with Mark.” She waved a hand. “I sound like I know who these people are but I don’t.”

  “You’ll like them. All of them.” He’d always been proud of his small group of friends, thinking they were the most welcoming and kind group of people he knew, but now he felt another layer of affection for them. For people like Rose, they were the best kind of people. She wouldn’t be hurt again, not here. It was a place of safety.

  After she was gone and he settled down at his desk, he opened the file his father had dropped. He was defending Railpot practically blind. And just because he ran his own office didn’t mean that he could just lose a case and not worry about it.

  He was expected to win. It was a non-negotiable. If he didn’t get Railpot declared innocent, there would be consequences and they weren’t as simple as losing a promotion. At the moment, his father was dumping cases on him but he could just as easily keep him from getting another one, ever. Being on Lee Chalfant’s bad side was a sure way to sink your business, and Blue knew that being his son wasn’t any kind of protection from his vengeance.

  Chapter Ten

  “Memories are dangerous things.

  You turn them over and over, until you know every touch and corner,

  but still you'll find an edge to cut you.”

  ― Mark Lawrence

  Rose settled next to Blue on the couch and gazed around the two hundred year old converted barn, thinking it looked like something from architectural digest, but homier. There were bookshelves full of vintage books, pine wood floors, turn of the century antiques, and stained glass windows salvaged from a church. An old chandelier hung from one of the exposed beams in the vaulted ceiling and tiny shimmers of color sparkled in the cut crystal. Add in the comfortable furniture, children’s toys, the Creole folk songs softly playing from hidden speakers, and Rose thought Alice and Paul’s home was almost as beautiful as By the Book.

  “Cozy,” Blue said, arching an eyebrow toward the kitchen. Down the hallway, faint sounds came from the kitchen where their hosts were doing the dishes.

  R
ose chuckled softly. “Isn’t it? We’ve been stuffed full of the best jambalaya, entertained with a dozen delightful stories of how they first fell in love, and are told to make ourselves useful while they clean up.”

  “I would have said they’d planned it all, but I don’t think Elizabeth can be bought or bribed to sleep on command.” He gazed down at the little baby in his arms. Elisabeth had a tiny green bow in her dark hair and her cream-colored nightgown said LET THE WILD RUMPUS START in bold letters below a small sailboat. Elizabeth also wore striped blue and orange socks, but Rose wasn’t sure it was connected to Where The Wild Things Are, or if Alice just had a kooky sort of style.

  “Definitely not. But Emily Jane might have taken a bribe of extra milk or maybe some good poetry,” she said. Emily Jane slept soundly, snuggled against her side. Her little shirt was tucked into stretchy flowered leggings but Rose could still read ‘If you look the right way, you can see the whole world is a garden’ in swirly script. The Secret Garden was one of her favorite books when she was young and Rose had the sudden urge to read it again. She wondered if she’d love it as much as an adult, or if the magic of the story would be dimmed by her years of living in the real world.

  “And who knew Aurora went to bed so easily?” Blue said.

  “Not me.” She smiled over at the little girl spread eagle on the floor. Aurora had announced she was going to watch “the sparkles” of the chandelier, and while Blue and Rose chatted quietly, Aurora had drifted off. She looked like she’d fallen asleep in the middle of making a snow angel, arms thrown wide. She wore a rainbow colored tutu and her teal shirt spelled out ‘The more he gave away, the happier he became’ in glittery cursive. Rose knew it was from The Rainbow Fish story but somehow, with Aurora’s dark curls were spread out around her head and her red sequined shoes glimmering in the low light, Rose thought she looked less like a sparkly fish in the ocean than a floor-bound chandelier.

  Rose turned to Blue, remembering something from earlier in the day. “What were you reading today?” She felt her face go warm at the abruptness of her question and said, “If you don’t mind my asking.”

  He shot her a look, one side of his mouth tugging up. “Why would I mind?”

  “I thought it just sounded rude, the way I said it.”

  “You can ask me anything. We’re dating, after all.” He winked and Rose thought once again how right it was that Blue was the most eligible bachelor in Natchitoches. And someone else should be sitting in her spot.

  “Well, if that’s the case, what’s with the ink?” She reached out and touched his fingers. “Or, really, why won’t you say how you get those stains? I’ve been thinking and thinking, and I can’t come up with any kind of nefarious activity that involves ink.”

  “Ah. Just a hobby. I’m not very good, so I didn’t want to mention it.”

  “In case I asked to see whatever it is?”

  He nodded. “You know those old documents they have on display at the Cane River Creole National Historic Park?”

  “I think so. The land deeds and freed slave records?”

  “Right, well, I saw those on a fourth grade school trip, right after I’d seen some Civil War letters and I got it into my head to learn Spencerian script. After that I moved on to Engrossing and Illumination.”

  “So you’ve been learning calligraphy since fourth grade? That’s incredible.” Rose saw Blue differently now, and she wasn’t sure why, exactly. Maybe it was because they lived in a parish where the manly hobbies were fishing, hunting, frog gigging, and crawfish catching. She couldn’t imagine him spending countless hours focused on the delicate precision work of illumination.

  “Not continuously. There were years there where I was too busy or… had other hobbies.”

  “I’d love to see it sometime,” Rose said, then clapped a hand over her mouth. “Sorry.”

  He smiled at her, brown eyes crinkled in laughter. “It’s okay. If I ever have anything turn out, I’ll be sure to show you.”

  “I’d love that.” She watched Aurora for a few moments, admiring, as always, the way her face was the perfect mix of Paul and Alice. As much as she loved her little nephews, Aurora was the most beautiful toddler she’d ever seen. She wanted to sit and watch her for hours, but usually didn’t get the chance since Aurora was always a blur of motion. “So, what were you reading?”

  “The Talented Mr. Ripley,” he said. “I’ve decided to read every book ever nominated for the Edgar Allen Poe Award by the Mystery Writers of America.”

  “What a great idea.” She paused. “Wait. You mean all the novels who’ve won the award? Or just nominated?”

  “Nominated,” he said, grinning. “There are dozens. I’ve read a lot of them before, but I still thought it was a good list.”

  “Oh, it is,” Rose said again. “Would you mind if I joined you?”

  His eyes lit up. “A very small book club of two. Perfect.”

  Rose was quiet for a moment, enjoying the sound of Emily Jane’s soft breaths. Blue glanced around the room, as if trying to find another topic.

  “So, what are you reading now? Still into Tennyson?”

  She laughed, surprised that he remembered. “Yes, actually. Among other things.”

  “And is he a favorite of yours?”

  Rose shrugged. “It’s weird how it happened. I was reading an article and it mentioned how he composed his poetry while walking. They say if you read it aloud, especially In Memorium, that really long one about his best friend who died, you can hear his footsteps.” She laughed a little. “The article author said he could tell Tennyson had a ‘heavy tread’ and it was such an intriguing idea that I decided to read it.”

  “Just to see if you could hear Tennyson’s footsteps?”

  She started to laugh harder. “Yessir.”

  “And did you? Was it like The Tell-Tale Heart thudding in your ears?”

  Rose could hardly catch her breath. He was teasing her and she deserved it. “Nope. And the poem was really, really long. But I decided I might as well read everything else he’d written while I was at it.”

  Elizabeth whimpered in her sleep and he rocked her, still smiling. “So you didn’t find a single poem that proved this person’s theory?”

  “Well, maybe Late, Late, So Late.” She tried to remember exactly how it went.

  “I’ve never heard that one.”

  “It’s a whole lot of ‘lates’,” she said. “I’m sure Alice has Tennyson in here.”

  “We’ll never find it, though. And I’m afraid that if we asked them, they still wouldn’t leave the kitchen,” he said.

  She had to agree. It had been at least fifteen minutes. Unless they were scrubbing down all the pots and pans, or had wandered away to another room, it was obvious they were trying their very best to stay out of Blue and Rose’s way.

  “Well, let’s look. Alice owns a bookstore. I bet there’s a method to her collection.” Blue edged off the couch, careful not to disturb Elizabeth.

  She followed suit, walking toward the eight foot shelves that spanned the length of the room. “But she shares shelf space with Paul.”

  “Does she?” Blue looked around. “This may be all hers.”

  Rose realized she didn’t know that much about Paul. In a way, he seemed as committed to the bookstore as Alice, and although he threw out as many literary references as Alice did, Rose hadn’t seen him with any books. She wondered if he were an ereader type.

  “Look, Sara Teasdale, Katherine Tynan, Mark Twain. I guess no Tennyson. He’d be right here.”

  She looked around the living room at the hundreds of books. “Aren’t those all from the same time period? Maybe that’s how it’s arranged.”

  She could hear him laughing softly from where he stood. “Oh, boy. This is going to hurt, trying to recall my college lit classes.”

  Rose just smiled. Blue couldn’t be over thirty and seemed to have a perfectly good memory. “Tennyson’s a Victorian poet. We need to find the Victorians.”r />
  He inched along, scanning the books. “And why are we doing this again?”

  “Not exactly clear on that, but I know you started it,” she said. Truthfully, she was having more fun just talking to Blue than she’d had any of the nights she’d stayed in her apartment. The dinner had been forced on them but she couldn’t say she wasn’t having a good time.

  “There is a lot of Browning in here,” he said. “Practically a whole shelf.”

  “I think they were Victorian.” She abandoned her area and joined him. “Wow. Lots of Elizabeth Barret Browning. I wonder why they didn’t name Elizabeth after her instead of Elizabeth Gaskell.”

  “We’ll have to ask,” Blue said, still reading titles. “Anne Brontë, Emily Brontë.” He turned and spoke to Emily Jane in Rose’s arms. “We’ll read you a poem or two later, when you’re awake.”

  She smiled at the image. “Make it something cheery. Emily Brontë always seems so sad,” she said. “Lewis Carrol, Arthur Conan Doyle, Thomas Hardy. I think we’re getting closer.”

  “Gerard Manley Hopkins. Like shining from shook foil.”

  “I don’t know him but I like the sound of that.”

  “One of my favorites. That was my project, the one I ruined the day we met.”

  Rose glanced at him. The warm glow of the chandelier didn’t reach their corner and she had trouble reading his expression. “Are you teasing me?”

  “No, ma’am.” He didn’t turn to look at her. “Illumination and calligraphy lend themselves perfectly to poetry, I think. And the Psalms. ”

  The idea of Blue sitting in his apartment writing out Bible verses seemed so much stranger than copying the Declaration of Independence. Then she reminded herself of how the Psalms were songs, as poetic as anything by Tennyson.

  “You think that’s weird.” He looked at her now, half smiling.

  “I― No, I… Well, maybe a little.”

  “Some people say singing a hymn is praying twice but sometimes I have the same feeling when I’m working on a verse.”

  She nodded and turned back to the shelf. She didn’t pray at all, let alone twice. “So, you’re religious?”