Bayou Brides

by Linda Joyce

  Kayla released her hand, turned away, and poured from the decaffeinated coffeepot into a mug. Handing it over, she clasped Nola’s fingers around it. “I don’t know what to do.”

  “Cream? Stevia?”

  “For shit’s sake, Nola, this is serious.”

  “Right. And I’m serious about my coffee.” She was stalling to get all of the gears in her brain working in sync.

  “I’m in love,” Kayla blurted out.

  Nola blinked. She put down the mug on the stainless steel work island. “What?”

  “I’m so giddy…and scared, all at the same time. I jogged here at five thirty in the morning.”

  “You were…with Marquis? Until five thirty this morning?”

  Kayla beamed and nodded. “We made love all night long.”

  “All night?” Nola tried to wrap her mind around Kayla’s confession.

  “It was magical. Exciting. Naughty even.” Kayla’s smile turned coy.

  “Girl, what are you sayin’? You and Marquis…” Kayla never, that she’d ever mentioned, met someone and hooked up, least of all with a virtual stranger.

  “Did it about six times.”

  “A marathon?”

  “Don’t act so shocked. He triggered a hunger like I’ve never known. I’m in love.”

  “Whoa…” Nola shook her head. “Love?” It had to be the music. Marquis was a pied piper, and Kayla blindly followed, seduced by the tones of the trumpet.

  “Just thinking about him makes me wet. I wanna run over there now, wake him up, and have him for breakfast. I want to plant myself on him and—”

  Nola held up her hands. “Stop. I don’t need the naked details.” She’d believed Kayla would hit it off with Marquis, but love? Not with a musician. Only pitfalls in a relationship there. Sooner or later, the best horn blowers hit the road and toured. And Marquis was better than good, he was great. Summer festival season was coming. He’d probably be on tour, like he was last year.

  “If he were a dessert, he’d be a bananas Foster bread pudding with chocolate sauce.” A glow lit Kayla’s face. Her eyes widened, her smile softened. It was as though she had drifted off on a dream. “Tempting. Decadent. Warm. Sooo fulfilling.”

  Nola didn’t have the heart to crack the delicate meringue shell of her friend’s ideals. “You got it bad.” If she were a doctor, she’d diagnose the condition as fatal.

  “What do I do next?”

  “Next?”

  “I haven’t felt this way about a man since I lost my virginity in high school to Byron Guidry.”

  She’s comparing a high school boy to a man like Marquis? “What happened with that?”

  “Rex beat the shit out of him when I found out Byron was twenty-one, worked at a dealership, and Byron was banging his boss’s daughter on the side. He liked fast cars and fast women. I wasn’t fast—so he got it where he could.”

  “Kayla, I don’t know what to say. You and your brother are very different.” Lordy, Rex was full of surprises. She couldn’t imagine him losing his calm demeanor and actually taking someone down. Nola picked up her mug and drank the cooling coffee. Kayla’s confession had cleared away the cobwebs, but now a headache threatened.

  “Nola! Tell me. What do I do?”

  “Wait. This isn’t like that time Rex took you shopping for your first bra. I can’t measure your boobs and give you a size that fits. What did Marquis say when you left this morning? This is complicated stuff—like doing everything right and praying a soufflé won’t fall. No guarantees.”

  Kayla’s brow furrowed. “Say? We didn’t talk. Booze started everything. Music brought the ambiance. We made love. Lots of moaning and shouts of ecstasy, but talk? Who wants to ruin the mood with wasted words? We used our hands, tongues—”

  “Stop. I got the picture, but when you left this morning, how did you leave things?”

  “I don’t know what you mean.” Kayla shrugged.

  “Did you give him your number? Did he give you his? Did he say he wanted to see you again? What did you say to him? Did you have breakfast? What?”

  Kayla squinted her eyes closed. “He was asleep. I left him a note.”

  “What did you write?”

  “My full name and cell phone number.”

  “Oh girl,” Nola moaned. “I guess I’m going to take you bra shopping.”

  “I don’t need a frickin’ bra. I need that man.”

  “It was a metaphor. We’ll just have to see how it plays out. Love can be a chess game of desire. Who makes the next move? Well, technically, it’s his.”

  A buzzer sounded in the kitchen. “Deliveries.” Kayla went to the back door. “Hey, there! How’s my produce looking today?”

  “Greenhouse fresh.” The man placed a wooden crate filled with greens as a doorstop. “I’m going to have a good growing season this year. I can just feel it. I’ll unload what I’ve got. Is Rex here yet?”

  “Rex? No. I wasn’t expecting him.”

  Nola focused her attention on the man after hearing Rex’s name.

  “He had called and asked me to meet him here. Said he wanted to check in the produce with you. Also mentioned something about breakfast. I came early to deliver so breakfast wouldn’t put me behind schedule.”

  “Kayla, I’ve got to leave. Be at school before my first class at ten.” Nola crossed the kitchen to the office to retrieve her tote and purse. “I’m just going to change in here.”

  Closing the door and the blinds on the small window that looked out over the kitchen, Nola shed her yoga pants and t-shirt, then slipped into the skirt, blouse, and blazer. On Tuesdays and Thursdays, she taught some of the most privileged children in the city at a private school in the Garden District. She also met with select students for private lessons. Parents with money didn’t mean her students had talent, but the gig helped pay the bills and her students were always well behaved.

  She needed to hurry. She was already losing one job—at Arceneau’s—she couldn’t afford to be late and give the headmaster a reason not to renew her contract for the fall term. He’d tried to coax her into teaching summer school and was none too happy about being rejected, but the summer tour was planned and would pay nearly four times what the school did for the summer.

  “Later, gator.” Nola stopped when a woman blocked the door.

  “Hey, Kayla! You here?” a woman said. “Rex called me and asked me to help out with prep so you could start on breakfast.”

  “Did he now?” Kayla chewed the side of her cheek.

  The produce guy brought in another crate overflowing with fresh cauliflower. Nola sidestepped to avoid him.

  “Nola, wait. What do I do now?” Kayla called out.

  “Simple. Make breakfast. Be a chef. Bye!”

  “Damn it! You know what I mean.”

  “I’ll come by after your lunch rush, and we’ll talk about it then. Also, I have to rehearse this afternoon. See ya.” As she bolted, just outside the door, a brick wall of a broad chest stopped her. Her breath rushed out. She dropped her tote bag.

  Rex caught her around the waist and steadied her. She looked up into his steely blue-gray eyes, her body relaxing from his embrace. Her heart thumped a 12/8 beat. She moistened her lips expectantly. Rex lowered his chin. It was as though he read her mind, felt the desire she had for him racing through her body. Her mental faculties diminished whenever he touched her.

  As he stared into her eyes, she recognized what would come next. Her throat turned dry. She closed her eyes and waited with anticipation, impatiently wanting the delight his lips offered.

  “Rex!” Kayla shouted from behind her. “A word. In here. Leave the help alone.”

  Rex released her suddenly. Nola took a step back. A coolness seeped in and replaced the heat where he’d been holding her. Her heart sank. Disappointed, she shook her head to clear the fog.

  “Rex!” Kayla shouted again.

  “Got to go.” Nola fumbled to grab her tote bag.

  “Nola,” Rex said sof
tly. “Would you make time to talk with me this afternoon?”

  “No. No. Rex. Not a good idea.”

  “It’s important. Decisions that involve you.”

  “What’s up?” She narrowed her eyes, trying to read his mind.

  “I understand you’re headed out now…a job?”

  She nodded.

  “I’ve got some news that might not make Kayla happy. I’m guessing she’s going to need a friend. Seems you’re filling that position now.”

  How could one man rain such havoc in other people’s lives? First her job, and now Kayla? “I’ll be back at two thirty.”

  Trying to push Rex from her mind, Nola headed for Canal Street to catch the streetcar. When it stopped, she paid and flopped into a seat.

  “Man or kids?” an older woman in the seat behind her asked. In other places, purple, green, and gold Mardi Gras beads draped around someone’s neck might come off as odd, but in New Orleans, people loved their colors. It was the structured fascinator with the long peacock feather that made the woman stand out.

  “Pardon?”

  “The only reason a woman sighs that soul achingly deep is cuz of a man or a problem child.”

  Nola offered a weak grin and shrugged.

  “Though there are times,” the woman continued, “when a man is a child. Them kind is the worst.” She rose as the streetcar pulled to the next stop and then snapped her fingers at Nola. “Search your heart and stand your ground. You hear me?” She continued toward the front of the streetcar to exit.

  “It’s a man problem,” Nola called out.

  “I guessed as much, honey. Just remember what I said.”

  Nola slunk down in the seat. Search her heart? It and her body were speaking a different language from her mind. One beat to the blues, the other sang it—two very different things.

  She could turn her back on Rex, deny her heart, deny the physical desire he evoked. Maybe she’d risk the havoc he brought to her life, but for her kids. Teaching taught her to persevere. Kids thought they were invincible. Students pushed against every rule. Sometimes caused her to want to tear her hair out, and then in the next minute, they would do something incredible, like sing a song in perfect pitch or play a piece of music flawlessly. She needed to take cues from them—pool all her inner strength to deal with Rex. Her heart had to be invincible. She could find a way to rein in all her undisciplined emotions about him…

  Like imagining what it would be like if he stayed in New Orleans.

  And what a future with him could hold.

  Chapter 10

  Rex entered the small kitchen office. He removed his coat and hung it on a hanger behind the door, deliberately taking his time. No need for his sister and others to witness his body’s responses to the dark-haired beauty who had just run out. He adjusted his pants and grabbed a clean black apron to hide the obvious.

  Nola slamming into him set off a chain reaction, slamming his emotions and his brain into hypersensitivity. A moment more was needed to settle his mind. Calm and cool had to be maintained in order to deal with his sister appropriately. No sense in fueling the flames of a fireball. That would be like spitting rum on flaming bananas Foster. Something had set Kayla off.

  “Damn it, Rex! What’s up with breakfast?”

  “Coffee, first.” He went to the pot and poured a cup, fortifying himself before entering battle with her. He spied a mug on the work island with a slight smudge of pink lipstick. Nola’s. He breathed in, remembering the scent of her. The warmth of her body. The gentleness of her mouth. Damn Kayla for interrupting them. At least Nola had promised to return later. He looked forward to a few private moments with her…to continue where they left off yesterday. With a little coaxing, she would come around. Women like her—after all, she was a singer—thrived on emotion, and all of hers shouted she wanted him. Just as he wanted her.

  “Why is it that no one around here can function without coffee?” Kayla rested her fists on her hips.

  “You look like hell warmed over, Kayla,” Rex said dryly. “Maybe you could use some. Did you sleep at all last night?” He didn’t dare ask where or with whom, at least not now, but soon he’d get answers.

  “Rex. Hey, man. Breakfast. We still on?” The produce guy appeared in the kitchen doorway.

  “Sure, let me break some eggs. Why don’t you have a seat at the bar, and I’ll let you know as soon as the food is ready.”

  Kayla pulled out a slab of bacon and ran it through the slicer. “No grits.”

  “That’s okay, I’ll grate some potatoes for hash browns.” Hopefully, he’d sidestepped one of her bullets. Unlike his Smith & Wesson locked in the safe, it had only six chambers, whereas at the moment, Kayla was more like an assault weapon than a finely made revolver.

  Wham! Kayla slammed two potatoes on the counter. “This what you wanted, Chef?”

  “Green peppers and mushrooms, please. Would you join us for omelets?”

  “Do I need to? I have prep to start for lunch today.”

  Rex nodded. “I think it would be best. That’s why I had kitchen help come early. In fact, why don’t you go chat up Mr. Produce and find out why he’s charging us so much?”

  Kayla scowled and huffed on her way out of the kitchen.

  With food on the table, the three of them sat down in the quiet dining room in front of a window, and Rex unfolded his napkin.

  “This is mighty tasty,” the produce man said, digging in.

  “Good,” Rex replied. “Now, let’s talk money and produce. My New York business partners and I bought a farm in Pennsylvania. It supplies most of our organic produce for our restaurants in New York.”

  “Impressive,” the man said, taking another bite.

  “Now that my father has passed, this business belongs to me and Kayla. I want at least a ten percent reduction in costs of your produce, or I’ll find other sources.”

  His sister eyed him, but thankfully remained quiet.

  “But what about Henri—your uncle? I made a deal with him to supply all of your produce.”

  “Uncle Henri? Your agreement wasn’t with Papa?” Kayla asked.

  “When your daddy couldn’t meet his bill…a year ago thereabouts, I carried some balances over to the next month. Your uncle contacted me, told me he’d bought fifty percent of the business. He’d be paying the bills from then on. Never had a late payment after that.”

  Why would Uncle Henri tell such a lie? Anger igniting in Rex’s gut began a slow burn. What did Uncle gain from lying? Rex thought back on their last meeting…and his review of the account books. Was there something he missed in the audit? Had Papa struck other bargains and failed to note them anywhere? No…Uncle Henri, if he truly thought he owned fifty percent of Arceneau’s, would’ve spoken up already.

  “Your costs are higher than any other vendor. I’ve got quotes. I’d like to continue doing business with you, but we want a price break.”

  “Y’all in financial trouble?”

  “No,” Kayla said emphatically.

  Rex took a sip of coffee, deciding to remain silent and let Kayla step up. Gossip about financial troubles would be a blow to Arceneau’s reputation. The money situation hit the dire mark when Papa died. Kayla had to march into reality if the restaurant had any hope of surviving.

  “We are as strong as ever. Yes, it’s sad that Papa is gone”—Kayla pressed her hand to her heart—“but Arceneau’s is still a five-star restaurant.”

  “And my company supplies the freshest and best produce. We’re never late. Surely that’s worth something.”

  Rex bit back a snort. “Well, I can put together a package of investors and buy another farm to supply this restaurant.” Rex drummed his fingers on the table beside his plate. “Maybe I need to consider that idea more. There’s a lot we could do with a farm in Louisiana. Set up a bed and breakfast. Have harvest days for food banks at the end of each growing season. We could even supply to other restaurants locally. Create a cottage industry.”


  The man frowned. “My prices are already near rock bottom. I’ll be happy to go over my invoices for the last year. I swear, I don’t have room to cut ten percent from the bottom line.”

  Rex’s cell phone rang. He rose. “Please excuse me. I need to take this. However, based on our conversation so far, you need to do more to convince us not to find another vendor.”

  As he walked out of the dining room, he heard Kayla tell the produce man to take a breath—that she’d have a heart-to-heart talk with her brother and see if something couldn’t be worked out. Rex smiled. Kayla was taking a more active interest in the back side of the business. These sorts of conversations weren’t always pleasant, but necessary.

  Once out of earshot of his sister, he answered the phone, climbing the steps to the office on the third floor. “Hello? Rex Arceneau here.”

  “Mr. Arceneau, this is Biloxi Dutrey Trahan. We met at Fleur de Lis. You gave me your business card.”

  Rex smiled. “I recall.” Nice legs, but not Nola.

  “I know this is really last minute, but I need help, and since you know my sister…I thought I would see if you might lend us as hand.”

  “Nola needs help?”

  “Yes, sir. More than you know, but that’s a longer conversation.” She chuckled. “Our problem is next weekend, Saturday after this one. Our parents’ thirty-fifth wedding anniversary. Our cook fell and fractured her leg. She’s out of commission. My cousin, Camilla, who helps her run Fleur de Lis Café, is pregnant, and as of today, she’s on bed rest. We have nearly three-hundred guests coming. I need a caterer, which I hope is Arceneau’s.”

  Thoughts zipped through Rex’s mind. This could be the perfect opportunity to grow closer to Nola. Get to know her family.

  “Also,” she continued, “I was hoping you could recommend someone to fill in until Greta, our cook who runs the café, is back on her feet. Someone who can run a kitchen. Daily. For lunch. Also, we do have a wedding coming up. Your sister is making the cake. And we have a few other events sprinkled on the weekends for the next two months.”

  “Well…”

  “I’m desperate. Please say yes. Or at least ask me a bunch of questions that make me think you can be persuaded.”