“Don’t he look wonderful?” she happily declared as I sat at the kitchen table. “I think every day he gets better and better. Why, soon he’ll be gettin’ ’round like his ole self again.”
“It may take some time, Ms. Marie,” I insisted, feeling Henri’s miraculous recovery may have reached a plateau. “His physical abilities may not improve much more. He will get stronger, but he may always have some problems with his right foot and hand.”
“Nonsense,” the doting mother responded as she refilled my mug of coffee. “My boy will recover just fine. He’ll get that hand back, and soon he’ll be runnin’ ’bout the place just like when he was mon p’tit’boug.”
“I hope so, Ms. Marie,” I said, picking up the mug of coffee.
“Why don’t you let me cook you somethin’, child? You’re so thin, and I don’t think you’ve been eatin’ enough since you came here. I’m worried about you, Nora T.”
“I’m fine, Ms. Marie.” I eagerly sipped my hot coffee.
“Miss your fiancé, I ‘spect.” She walked across the kitchen and put the coffee pot on the warmer.
I peered down into my black coffee as the guilt swirled within me. “It’s hard being away from him.”
“Is that why you stopped wearin’ your ring?”
I struggled to come up with some plausible explanation. “I didn’t want to damage it,” I eventually told her.
Ms. Marie came back to the table. “I saw it settin’ on your night table. I thought perhaps there was another reason.”
“No, there’s no other reason,” I assured her and then quickly took another gulp of coffee.
“Have you been to see Jean Marc’s house?”
I put my mug down on the table, avoiding her inquisitive gaze. “Yes, it’s quite beautiful.”
“Mais oui.” She took a seat in the chair next to me. “When he first came back from Texas I fretted ’bout him. That girl over there, you know the one he married….”
“Cynthia,” I inserted.
“That bonne a rienne, good for nothing woman. She broke his heart so I thought it would never heal. Then he started fixin’ up that cottage. Started workin’ with his papa at the company, and slowly he seemed to get back to his ole self. But somethin’ was still missin’ in him. I never could put my finger on it, until the other day at the hospital I realized what it was.”
I smiled at her. “Really? What was that?”
“It was you.”
My heart trembled and my jittery hand reached for my mug of coffee.
“You know, Nora T, I’ve watched you and Jean Marc ever since you were little, tearin’ ’round in the bushes, chasin’ mouche a mielle, what you say…bumble bees. All you ever had to do was call his name and he came a runnin’ to you. There was no one could make my Jean Marc smile like you could. I saw it again at the hospital; you walked in the room and my Jean Marc came alive. He’s been in love with you ever since you first came to Gaspard House, but somehow I ’spect you already knew that.”
I raised my head and confidently confronted her warm brown eyes. “Ms. Marie, I am marrying John Blessing. You’re right, I love Jean Marc, but as a friend, as a podna.”
She sat for a moment just staring at me, and I squirmed under the weight of her eyes. She stood from her chair and went to the sink.
“Did I ever tell you ’bout the time your Uncle Jacques asked me to the prom?” she inquired as she looked out the window behind the kitchen sink.
“I remember hearing something about it,” I admitted, not sure of where this conversation was headed.
Her oval face sobered and her eyes became touched with sadness. “I went with Emile Gaspard to the prom and turned your Uncle Jacques down. But do you know why I went with Emile?”
“No.” I took another swig of coffee.
“I was a very silly pet’t’ fille, Nora T.” She turned to me. “You must understand, I grew up poor and the Gaspards were the wealthiest family in Manchac. When Emile Gaspard even noticed me, I used to get motier faux…half crazy. Somethin’ your Uncle Jacques never liked. Your uncle, he was my beau in school. We even planned on marryin’ one day.” She gently stroked the deep umber granite countertop with her slender fingers. “Then Emile Gaspard came along. When my papa found out a Gaspard fancied me, he ordered me to drop Jacques Mouton and go to the prom with Emile. Said I had to do it for mon famile.”
“You and Uncle Jack?”
She nodded, smiling, “When I told Jacques ’bout what my papa had said, he understood and told me to go with Emile. Eight months later, Emile asked me to marry him and I agreed, but on one condition. I made Emile promise to give Jacques a job at Gaspard Fisheries. Jacques’ family was so poor. I wanted to make sure they’d always be taken care of, and workin’ for Gaspard Fisheries meant you were set for life in Manchac.”
“Did you love him?” I asked, wrapping my hands around my warm mug.
“Emile? I grew to love him, and two years later when my Henri and Jean Marc came, it was easier. I put Jacques out of my mind.” She sighed and looked away. “But then Elise Caldwell came to work as a secretary for Emile. She met Jacques, and I watched them fall in love, even went to their weddin’. Leavin’ the man you love is hard enough, child, but watchin’ him find love with another is a cruel reminder of what you gave away.”
“I never knew. Did my mother know about you and Uncle Jack?”
“Absolument.” She laughed, a light tinkling kind of laugh “Claire was madder than a tahyo when she heard I was marryin’ Emile Gaspard. Everyone in town knew she had eyes for the Gaspard family fortune. Not long after I married Emile, she set her sights on his brother Etienne, and she got him.”
“Did you ever tell Uncle Jack about this?”
“No need to, child. He always knew why I married Emile.”
“But now you two have a second chance. Aunt Elise and Mr. Gaspard are gone. You can start over.”
“There’s no second chances at love, Nora T. It’s either always there, shinin’ bright, or it dims out and fades away. The love I had for your uncle, I still have, but Jacques….” Her lower lip trembled. “He loved his Elise. Broke his heart when she passed on; broke my heart when I realized at her funeral that he’d found true love with another.”
I stared into my half-empty mug of coffee for a few moments, finding the nerve to say what was on my mind.
“Why are you telling me this, Ms. Marie?”
“Jean Marc, of course. You love him, don’t you, mon p’tit’? So don’t waste the rest of your life wonderin’. Marryin’ that doctor would make your mama happy, but you would regret it sooner or later.” She smiled as she took in my shocked face. “Parents are the burden to their children, Nora T, not the other way ’round. We try to make them happy, but in the end we’re the ones who suffer. My papa pushed me into marryin’ Emile, just like your mama is pushin’ you into marryin’ that doctor. Don’t make my mistake. Don’t settle for somethin’ you never really wanted in the first place.”
“Do you regret marrying Emile Gaspard?”
“I regret not takin’ a chance with Jacques Mouton. I was content with Emile and he was good to me, but perhaps Jacques could have made me somethin’ better.”
I put my mug on the table. “I think you and Uncle Jack still have a chance, Ms. Marie.”
She winked at me. “You and Jean Marc still have a chance, too.”
Chapter 21
After the house had settled down for the night, I went to the back porch and looked out in the direction of Jean Marc’s cottage. Through the trees I could see the glow of his lights. As a warm summer breeze drifted by, I entertained the idea of a life with Jean Marc. I thought of the way his body felt next to mine, the touch of his hands against my skin, and the passion his kisses awakened in me. A sudden rush of something unfamiliar overtook me. It was an overwhelming realization that this thing between us, this energy, was right. No acid churning in my stomach, no more twisted anger deep within the pit of my being. There was just
a pure sense of bliss.
I bounded down the porch steps and headed across the clearing behind the house. Like a moth eager to find guidance in the night, I set out in the direction of those cottage lights, determined to find out if what I felt for Jean Marc could last a lifetime.
When I arrived at his porch steps, I heard voices coming from behind the cottage. I slipped around the side of the house, trying my best not to make a sound. After I crept around the corner, I could see Jean Marc and another man loading boxes on to a small flatboat tied up to his dock.
“You know where to go, Pierre?” Jean Marc asked.
“Oui, past Owl Bayou to North Pass. The usual drop off point,” the other man said in a raspy voice.
“Come back here when you’re done.” Jean Marc paused. “You have your gun, Pierre?”
Pierre patted the butt of a gun sticking out from the waistband of his dirty jeans. “Loaded and ready, Jean Marc, but I ain’t ‘spectin’ no trouble.” He climbed into the boat and started the engine.
“Just keep your eyes open,” Jean Marc warned over the sound of the engine.
Pierre maneuvered the flatboat, piled high with boxes, away from the dock and into the swamp. After Pierre’s boat had disappeared behind a veil of darkness, Jean Marc marched down the dock and through the back door of his house. When I heard the back screen door slam closed, my heart rose in my throat. Suddenly, all of my mother’s ramblings about Jean Marc and his shady past came hurtling to the forefront of my thoughts. I slowly backed away from the side of the house, keeping my eyes on the empty dock. When I came around the corner of the front porch, I heard the sound of something moving behind me.
“Care to tell me what you’re doing out here?”
I twisted around to see Jean Marc with his .9mm pistol in his hand, glaring at me.
He grabbed my arm. “What did you see, Nora?”
“What the hell is going on, Jean Marc? What was all that about on the dock?”
He pulled me to the screen door on the front porch.
“You shouldn’t have been sneaking around like that. I could have shot you.” He dragged me inside the house and slammed the old cypress front door closed with his foot.
He let go of my arm. “What are you doing here, Nora?” he gruffly demanded as he placed the gun on a table by the door.
“Oh, no. You’re going to tell me what that was all about on the dock back there.”
“What do you think it was?” he asked, his voice peppered with anger.
“It looked like you were smuggling stuff through the swamps.”
He chuckled. “What would you know about smuggling?”
“I know what I saw, Jean Marc.”
He raised his dark eyebrows. “What you saw? Maybe I was shipping goods to another business, transporting shellfish or parts.” He walked toward the kitchen. “I never figured you to be the kind to spy on people, Nora,” he added over his shoulder.
I followed him to the kitchen. “I wasn’t spying. I came here looking for you.”
He removed two beers from his refrigerator. “Why?”
“I wanted to talk to you.”
He picked up the opener and popped the tops off both of the bottles. “I think we said just about all there is to say between us the other day. You’re going to marry that idiot doctor no matter my feelings for you. What else do you have to add?” He came up to me and handed me a beer.
I took the green bottle from his hand. “First, tell me what that was on the dock?”
He took a sip from his beer and moved toward the couch. “You’re not going to like hearing it.”
“But I would rather hear the truth from you than a lie.”
He had a seat on the couch. “You’ve seen my books. You know what a deep financial hole my company is in. How do you think I’m able to keep Gaspard Fisheries going?”
I approached the couch. “I know your family history. I’ve heard the stories. You’ve gone back to smuggling, haven’t you?” I took a drink of beer.
“You’re letting your imagination run away with you.” He scowled and then his features softened as his eyes studied me. “What would you think of me if I told you that I was smuggling?” he asked.
I sat down next to him. “Nothing would change between us, Jean Marc.”
“Are you sure about that?”
“How long has this been going on?”
He sat back on the couch, letting an unseen weight press him down into the soft leather. “Five years.” He glanced down at the bottle in his hand. “Twelve years ago when I returned from Texas, I tried, really tried, to make a go of the business. I sank all the money I had into the fisheries, but it wasn’t working. Finally, the money ran out and I had to go back to what I knew best. One run a month became five, and the money started pouring in. I’ve cut back in the past two years, and I have other men, men I can trust who need the money, making the runs now.”
“What are you smuggling?”
He shrugged as he evaded my eyes. “Electronics, booze, exotic animals, whatever is needed. I draw the line at drugs. I’ve never done that, and I never will. Smuggling is dangerous enough without adding drugs into the mix.”
“Is that why your man in the boat needed a gun?”
He nodded. “One can never be too careful.”
I knew I should have hurried out of that cottage, but I couldn’t. Something inside me refused to give up on Jean Marc. My father had always taught me that one should never judge a man because of what he has done without first looking at why he has done it.
“You need to get out of this business, Jean Marc,” I finally said as I placed my beer on the coffee table.
“I know, and I have been trying to do just that. There are other things I want to do with my life besides sleep with a gun under my pillow.” He swallowed back a long swig of the alcohol.
“What other things?”
He kept his eyes peeled on the coffee table before him. “Now that you know my dirty little secret, perhaps it would be best if you just tell me why you came here. Then you can head back to the house and never come here again. When cousin Ethel arrives next week, you can go back to your life in New Orleans.”
“I don’t want to go back to my life in New Orleans.”
He raised his eyes to me. “I find that hard to believe. I thought you were bound and determined to marry that doctor of yours.”
I edged closer to him. “I thought I wanted to marry John, but then I realized you were right.”
He grinned at me. “I was right? Right about what?”
I shrugged. “John. I can’t marry him. How can I marry one man when I really belong to another?”
His face became like stone. “Who do you belong to, Nora?”
“You,” I casually stated as I nodded to him.
He put his beer down on the coffee table next to mine. “What does dear Dr. John have to say about this?”
“I haven’t told him yet. I wanted to see what you thought of my idea first.”
Jean Marc’s face softened and he leaned toward me. “Are you sure? Considering what you have just learned about me, you might want to go right back to John.”
My heart began to beat furiously. My toes tingled and my stomach danced with butterflies. “I must admit, your smuggling activities do pose a problem.”
He moved closer to me. “Then I’ll quit, starting right now. I’ll find a way to make the business work.”
I placed my hand on his chest. “You will give it up, just like that?”
He positioned his lips right above mine. “Just like that.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Try,” he whispered, and then he kissed me.
An electric charge rushed through my body when he kissed me. I opened my mouth, accepting him, and he wrapped his brawny arms about my waist. As I eased into him, all the apprehension I felt about leaving John and disappointing my mother instantly vanished.
He pulled away. “I can think of a thousand rea
sons to tell you to get the hell out of here right now, Nora.” He stood from the couch and helped me to my feet.
I slipped my arms about his neck. “I’m not going anywhere, Jean Marc.”
He stared into my eyes. “Ever since I came back from Texas and saw you all grown-up, I have done nothing but think about you. I want you, Nora. I’ve always wanted you.”
“Perhaps that’s why I was always so mean to you. I was afraid to admit that I wanted you, too.”
He unclasped my arms from about his neck and led me toward the stairs. When he reached the foot of the steps, he stopped and placed his hands about my face. “Are you sure? I don’t want to rush you into this.”
I slowly began undoing the buttons of his long-sleeved blue shirt as I gave him a seductive smile. “We’ve waited long enough, Jean Marc.”
He took my hand and quickly pulled me up the stairs. When we reached the second floor landing, he lifted me into his arms and carried me down a short hallway to his bedroom door.
I bit down hard on his right nipple as he pushed the bedroom door open.
“You’re killing me, Nora,” he groaned as he took me to a large mahogany sleigh bed waiting in the center of the dimly lit room.
I giggled against him. “I thought that was the idea.”
Kissing my lips, he lowered me on to the dark green bedspread. He stood back from the bed and removed his shirt. “Two can play at that game,” he declared as he threw his shirt to the floor and climbed onto the bed.
He immediately began easing me out of my T-shirt and bra. His fingertips gently caressed my breasts and when he pinched my nipples, I moaned.
Aroused by his touch, I pressed my body against his warm flesh and reached down to the fly of his jeans. But when I began fumbling with the buttons, a pang of uncertainty gripped me as I remembered my encounters with John.
“What do you want me to do?” I asked breathlessly.
Jean Marc stopped and looked at me. “Do?”
Acadian Waltz Page 19
