Sherwood, Mickie - BayouBabe99er (BookStrand Publishing Romance)

by Mickie Sherwood

  “Goddammit!”

  “Don’t talk to me like that,” she demanded, preparing for a fight. “And lower your voice.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me he threatened you?”

  “What would you have done, Drake? You work for them.”

  The headlights cut a perfect horizontal line, splitting the darkness in half. Trying to mask the fallout of the argument was virtually impossible for Sharlene as Drake flew down the two-lane highway. Personal overtones of the dispute clamped her mouth shut. Disappointment and anger, emotions she had no right to entertain, reared their ugly heads.

  Shortly afterward, Drake veered off the highway and directly onto the private road that lead to Moot’s house. They traveled the half-mile through the thickets to the front door where he and Sharlene got out without a passing word. Sharlene opened the rear door to rouse Moot. Drake waited at her elbow to lend a hand.

  “Uncle Moot, we’re home.” She clawed at his arm to get him to stir.

  “I’ll get him,” Drake said.

  Sharlene pivoted only to find herself physically shuttled aside. “You get him then.” She had her doubts about Drake handling her uncle’s dead weight because of his wiry appearance.

  Apparently, Drake had no such qualms. She scrutinized him when he shifted Moot’s lower torso to clear his legs from the car, bent with a shoulder to his middle, and heaved him out—up—and over his shoulder. Sharlene retreated a step to avoid a collision as he backed into the clearance to avoid bumping Moot’s head. The quizzical look on his face deserved acknowledging, but she remained quiet about it.

  “What?”

  “What…what?” She covered her disbelief by preceding him up to the porch.

  He admired her sensual moves as she hopped up the steps in a hurry to open the door. Her actions caused him a tremendous discomfort. Moot’s frame was a feather compared to the pressure in other parts of his body. Just remembering the last time he and Sharlene climbed those steps together simmered the blood in his veins.

  She turned on the light, faced Drake suddenly, and caught the diamond glitter in his ebony eyes. Oh my God! I’m a cougar, and he’s a cub! “Bring him in here.” She dashed to Moot’s room and threw back the covers. “Lie him down. I’ll get him out of those damp clothes.” As soon as his head hit the pillow, she braced her palm on Drake’s upper arm to start his departure. “Thanks for your help.” Sharlene exchanged places with him and sped toward the door. “See you later, Drake.”

  The disapproving grunt swung her around. Drake had already removed Moot’s boots and worked on getting his wet jeans off. Next to hit the floor beside the sweat socks was his T-shirt. Sharlene cut him off when it seemed he was about to say something.

  “If you know like me, you’d stop right there.”

  “He’s a man. I’m a man.” He braced for a discussion he knew to come. “Better me than you.”

  “He’ll be so angry I let you anywhere near him.”

  “Sharlene, you had no choice due to your concern for his health. Remember, he spent hours battered by an angry sea. Your defense is his well-being.”

  She ransacked Moot’s chest for nightclothes, providing Drake a pair of clean striped pajamas. At that point, she left a man to do a man’s job. Sharlene busied herself in the kitchen putting the finishing touches on the coffee started last evening. Drake’s appearance provoked her to head for the door.

  “Thanks again.” She flung it wide open.

  “Aren’t you going to offer me a cup?”

  “I’m worn out, and I’m sure you are, too.”

  “You owe me the rest of the story, Sharlene.”

  “You know all I know.” She kept her answers short and curt to discourage his visit.

  Drake covered her hand, the one holding the door. “I really came to warn you yesterday.” He eased the door to a close. “I didn’t tell anyone your identity,” he promised, leaning closer.

  Sharlene ducked. “Business association only.” The coffeepot beeped right on time. She escaped right under his nose.

  Two mugs and the fixings hit the table. Sharlene used that distraction as her invitation for him to wander over to a seat. She bustled about the kitchen in an attempt to give the goose bumps that sprang up on her arms time to vanish before she joined him. She’d forgotten the warm, homey sensation that surrounded one when in the presence of someone special.

  Sharlene poured the steaming hot coffee, took her seat, and sampled her creamy, sweetened brew. She eyed Drake over the rim of her cup, cognizant that he pretended indifference to her blatant observation. Her secret thoughts evaporated into thin air throughout the cozy kitchen with each hindered breath she inhaled.

  * * * *

  The very idea Drake faced a challenge to his love sobriety intensified the nagging question about his future. He had muddled through life on autopilot since the tragic deaths of his family nearly four years ago. Work was his company keeper—his sanity regulator. Looking at the gorgeous redhead on the other side of the table had him wondering if he was ready for a heart fixer. Better yet, was she ready for him?

  He spooned sugar into his coffee, lounged back in his seat, and kept a daring eye on Sharlene. Sharlene returned his gaze. Her eyes shifted from his face to keep track of each sweep of his hand as the spoon clanged against his cup. The ticking seconds strengthened his resolve to pursue her affections. They sipped through a six-cup pot—slowly. Drake was satisfied to savor the quiet moment where only she existed in his world.

  * * * *

  Yet Moot’s eyes trained on them as he drew up short at the edge of the darkness. His drunken stupor caused the eerie sight before him. His knuckles pressed into his eye sockets. All was the same when they reopened. A time warp swirled, spinning him years in the past. The Cormier sitting at his table was none other than his lifelong enemy and girlfriend-stealing ex-friend. Rage ignited.

  * * * *

  Movement in the hall lured Sharlene to look over Drake’s shoulder just as Moot tottered forward. The determination on his face alerted her to his intentions. She knew Drake was unaware of the impending attack on him and yelled, “Uncle Moot!” She jumped too late to thwart the altercation, seeing the entire episode in slow motion.

  Drake struggled to his feet under Moot’s haphazard hold on his collar. His body knocked the table several times before he wrangled himself into position to subdue the older man. His arms angled under Moot’s armpits to latch his hands behind her uncle’s head. Moot’s thrashing collided with the table, crashing their cups to the floor, scattering stoneware shards all over the place. It was just Sharlene’s luck to get pushed down on her hands and knees in the debris field.

  Her screams halted the tussle as both men spun at the sound. Only Moot was out of breath and panting.

  “Stop it!” she yelled, angry at them for dominating her emotions.

  On all fours, Sharlene lifted one hand and then the other to inspect the damage. Fortunately, her injuries were minor cuts to the heel part of her palms. Drake’s strong hands on either side of her body hoisted her to her feet. She wrenched free and headed for the sink. Water irritated the red-tinged areas, prompting her to fan away the pain.

  Sharlene counted to ten in an effort to tame her temper. From her perspective, Drake was completely free of fault. He only defended himself. In her opinion, her uncle’s actions were unjustified.

  “Ya look just like ’im. Guess my head was mixed up.”

  Sharlene endured her uncle’s apologetic look. A swipe of a paper towel to dry her hands and she stooped to clean up the mess instead of responding to his comments. If she spoke up now, she was liable to say something regrettable. He’d had enough turmoil without her adding to his already weighty load.

  “Sha?”

  She gave him her undivided attention.

  “My head was fuzzy.”

  The trip to the trashcan cooled her temper. A covert look at Drake, and Sharlene remarked, “You owe us the short version of the long story, Uncle.”
>
  Drake stood riveted in place.

  Moot ho-hummed in indecision. Ghosts of the past seemed to haunt him. Would the likelihood of alienating her make him come clean? His eyes dissected Drake.

  Sharlene pushed the table back in place, claimed a seat, her mannerisms signaling her willingness to listen. “The duel?”

  “Back then, people lived by the code. Some even died by it. His grandpa was a poacher. Got what he deserved by his own wild shot. Weren’t no duel!”

  “This is all about poaching your traps, Mr. Mouton?”

  Sharlene heard Drake rush to wrap up the details in a nice, neat package.

  “Nothing, whatsoever, to do with my grandmother,” Drake proclaimed.

  “Ya do have her eyes…and his gall.”

  “He poached more than traps.” Sharlene summed it all up.

  “Sweet Becky was a bus rider on a mission to register voters back in them days. We soughta hit it off…me and her. Worked the area together ’til things got too dangerous and violent.” He sat like the load was too much to bear. “Took a lot to convince her she did her part—that, the rest was up to the locals. Put her on the Greyhound myself.” Moot’s look drifted into space. “Went behind my back, yo’ grandpa did. By the time I made it up north, he don’ snibbled, snuggled, and snatched her away.”

  They looked from one to the other.

  “Probably for the best, Uncle Moot.” Sharlene patted his wrinkled hand. “Those were intolerant times.”

  “Thought that part of my life was put to rest.” He got up slowly without his usual pep. “Guess I was wrong.” Those words conjured up the terrible loss as Moot slipped back into the darkened hallway.

  Sharlene chanced a look at Drake. He rooted in the same spot near the door. The strained silence was a partition separating them. She didn’t know what to say as her thoughts ran wild with the “what ifs” as it related to Moot and his trials, and the “why nots” concerning her friendship with Drake.

  Reasons not to get involved with him circulated in her brain on their second meeting. The list just kept growing. It was time to put an end to their fling. Nothing good could ever come of it. She was far too seasoned. He was too sorrowfully afflicted.

  She sighed before getting up to come his way. The hand she dabbed with the paper towel was confiscated by Drake, who tenderly thumbed the scratches. The premonition this was the finale of their friendship was overpowering. Her refusal to respond to his touch was the clincher.

  “Thanks for everything, Drake.”

  He didn’t argue when she withdrew her hand and opened the door. “I’d like to spend more time with you, Sharlene.”

  A timid smile touched her lips. “There’re too many years—”

  “Don’t do that. Make age an issue when it’s not.”

  “It’s not an excuse, Drake. It’s simply the truth. Your associations should enrich your life…get you closer to establishing your new future.”

  “I’m not opposed to a new future,” he explained. “If something develops in a relationship, that’s a good thing. I know I enjoy your company. The question is do you enjoy mine?”

  “My…company…is off-limits.”

  “I’ll take that as a yes.” He smacked her quickly on the lips and left her swallowing her rebuttal.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Once again, Sharlene sat in the bleachers with her uncle awaiting the start of the scheduled meeting. She sifted through the low-key murmurings detecting an attitude of hopefulness. Her outlook was similar because of her reinstatement into the working community. Her career bloomed. Now she divided her time between New Orleans and Pauchex Pass, continuing her endeavors to give something back.

  She searched the attendees for any signs of Drake. They managed a brief supper at Clyde’s one night over a week ago and had no contact since that time. She was extremely busy consulting. The ever-evolving crisis lassoed his time. She knew they would hook up sooner or later.

  The rolling hush over the crowd whipped her head around to take in the march of the company’s entourage. They settled onstage, their grim faces giving a sneak peek of what was to come. They were all pinstriped and dress-shirted down, including the lone woman in the group. Their aloof air screamed unapproachable. A sightless person could see the meeting was a wrap before it even got started.

  Sharlene ducked and dodged to peer between bodies in her effort to spot Drake. He wasn’t on the stage. He wasn’t at the info table. His face wasn’t one of those hanging in the doorway. She slumped back at the noise of the gavel rapping the table.

  “This meeting is called to order,” the man in charge said. “New developments have caused revisions in some of the stipulations set forth by the company.”

  That statement started the hiss and catcalls from the audience.

  “Mr. Esterhaus, our new liaison officer, will bring you up-to-date on the conclusions about the oil sighted in Pauchex Pass.”

  * * * *

  Sharlene’s erect posture alerted Moot to an internal storm in the brew. Her life was slowly getting back on track since she started work. There was a noticeable difference, too, in the return of her easygoing manner. He saw her stress reduce with the interest shown by that pain in his ass, Cormier. Moot solemnly admitted to the fascination Cormier emitted when in her company. Moot called it like he saw it. Their infatuation was a spark for all to see.

  He glanced at Sharlene. Who was he to object? Anyway, times had changed. Or had they?

  The steel in her spine compounded by the current introduction hauled his attention back to the stage. He zoned in on the multitude of complaints from his fellow residents and sniffed betrayal in the air. Moot didn’t have to look at Sharlene to know how she felt. The deep breaths and fidgets exposed feelings rubbed raw.

  “Wher’ that Cormier boy?”

  Sharlene’s mouth dropped at Moot’s question.

  “Mr. Cormier has moved on.”

  * * * *

  That answer was short and very telling. Sharlene heard little of the discussion after that revelation. Her mind wandered to private places shared with Drake. Remembering them, even now, set her adrift.

  “Sha.”

  The calling of her name burst the cloud bubble. She landed hard. “Yes, Uncle Moot?”

  “It’s over.”

  “Yes, it is,” she agreed, but for other reasons.

  Sure enough, the meeting ended and people escaped to either take their places in line at the table or shoot out of the door. She was clueless as to what happened. And—there was no way she’d ask her uncle for a rundown. To do so would give her dilemma away.

  Sharlene and Moot descended the bleachers, one careful step at a time.

  “It was kinda short this time,” he supplied, filling in the blanks he knew she missed by that faraway look in her eyes. “More paperwork ’cause they couldn’ rule beyond a shadow of a doubt the oil in the Pass weren’t their fault.”

  They streamed through the crowd tailing a line to the parking lot. Moot waited patiently while she absently took her time in closing the door. Her body was finally in, though the rest of her wasn’t there. The motor did its usual whine before it started up.

  Her mind was a million miles away. Yet Sharlene’s instincts kicked in when she realized he turned in the opposite direction from the house. “Where’re we going?”

  “It’s early. Thought a nibble at Clyde’s would be good.”

  “I’m not really hungry, Uncle.”

  “When you don’t want that red syrup?”

  He tried to make her feel better and she knew it. “You’re right.” She perked up a bit. “That’s just what I need.” A cool drink, not reminiscing about a warm body.

  Sharlene and Moot followed a line of vehicles, and they all headed to town. As it turned out, they weren’t the only ones patronizing Clyde’s this evening. He just made it there to unlock the door as they arrived. The Open sign flashed on in neon colors while they parked.

  “What’s going on?” Sha
rlene asked.

  “Clyde touched in the head, that’s what.”

  They parked up the street and got out to live Zydeco music strumming in the air. The stroll back to the store lightened her mood, especially seeing the string lights decorating the al fresco eating area. Her walk took on a little bounce the closer she got. Laughter swelled as those on the makeshift dance floor enjoyed themselves. They crossed the threshold, and the next thing Sharlene knew Moot had her in a backhand twirl in the middle of all the action.

  Her uncle was a real stepper in his alligator boots for someone nearing eighty. The gaiety infected them as they Zydeco-stepped their troubles away along with the rest of the town. The exertion stimulated the return of Sharlene’s appetite. After a while, she parted ways with Moot, who showed no signs of tiring as he crowded in with two female dancers, whirling one by each hand.

  Clyde had help behind the counter fulfilling orders as fast as requested. She waited her turn to order, keeping a lookout at the partygoers. The kaleidoscope of colors mesmerized her. Clyde’s tap on her shoulder startled her.

  “What ’cha having, Sha?”

  “I think we’ll try that boudin plate”—she pointed to the menu on the wall behind him—“with potato salad on the side, Mr. Clyde.” She had to yell over the music. “What are we celebrating?”

  “The annual white shrimp season.”

  “From what I’ve seen, there was barely any season at all.” She beat back the sadness.

  “All the more reason for this outlet. Gator huntin’ ’bout to start. We need to kick up our heels a little. Just look at Moot.” She scoped out the dance floor as he talked. “He don’t squander no second chance.”

  Sharlene’s grin showed all of her teeth as she spun completely around to watch. Her gaze faltered when a familiar outline dotted the doorway. She vacillated between her uncle’s constant movements and Drake’s stationary form. He staked out a new place just inside the door to observe the happenings. Then—their eyes collided.