by Lynn Shurr
“What did you think of my husband?” Jane asked, clearly proud as could be.
“He’s, um, very impressive.”
“He’s scary, but he wouldn’t swat a mosquito—most times, unless the mosquito was a really annoying bloodsucker.”
“Good to know.”
The women put their heads together to plan for tomorrow now that they had an endorsement from the parish to add to their plea for an historic designation. Remy in the company of the ducktailed bruiser passed nearby. The preservationists strained to hear their conversation.
“You better set that bitch straight, Cuz. That pissant idiot, Duke, was worthless tonight, and we paid for his campaign. He got the ladies all wound up. The old man don’t like that kind of thing. Miss Lolly taught him in third grade, and he has a soft spot for her. I think the old dame is right. He won’t get another term unless he finds other backing.” Remy and his cousin kept right on walking.
“He called you a bitch,” said the outraged Jane.
“It’s a name I’ve been called before when I’ve taken a stand to save a building. I don’t care about that—most of the time.”
Celine wore a troubled expression. “I’m more worried about the implied threat that Remy should do something about you. I think we were meant to overhear that and consider it a warning. I can lend you one of our family’s bodyguards. He’s sitting in the car right over there waiting to see me home as usual.”
“I’ll protect Ms. Rossi!” Todd said. The offer would have been more effective if his long legs hadn’t tangled in those of the easel in that moment and sent him tumbling into the side of the truck.
Julia offered a hand and set him upright again. “Remy won’t hurt me, Todd. Never fear.”
“Glad you understand that,” said the man himself who had approached during the minor chaos. “Julia, we do need to talk. Don’t evade me this time. Come sit with me, and let’s hash things out. I’ll see you get back to Alleman.”
“Why not?” She turned her keys over to Todd. “Don’t wreck it.”
“Ms. Rossi, should I call the police if you don’t come back by a certain time?”
“No! And don’t tell my uncles where I am. I’m sure I won’t be long as there isn’t much to discuss.”
She walked away with Remy and left the others goggling at the sight. He helped her into the cab of his truck, took his seat, and turned on the engine. “We need the air-conditioning.” Except he locked the doors and pulled out of the lot too.
“Where are you taking me? I thought we’d talk here.”
“Back to Alleman eventually, the long way around. I can speak and drive at the same time.”
Julia had made a big mistake and knew it. Outside of beating her fists against the window and making a scene, she would go along for the ride and simply must trust Remy. Still, the manner in which he drove swiftly out of town and onto the back roads gave her the feeling of being abducted—kind of thrilling in its way since she believed herself absolutely safe with him.
Chapter Eleven
What worried Julia more was the huge, black SUV tailgating them so close its headlights blinded anyone looking in the side mirrors. Celine’s bodyguard? Julia didn’t think so. Remy flipped his rearview to night driving and continued on steadily at sixty, slightly above the limit.
“Julia, we’re bush-hogging the lot on Friday, and we’ll be putting in the new culverts to handle the bulldozers and the wrecking crane early next week. I know how slowly the government works. You won’t get your historic designation on time. Please back off.”
“What will happen if I don’t?”
“Trouble. My backers are the Broussards, my daddy’s people though he has nothing to do with them. They might not look like much, but believe me they have money, connections, and power. The old man who heads the family bears a class grudge against the Queen and wants her torn down.”
“You mean that obese geezer who takes the cover fees out at the Barn and tells everyone to pass a good time?”
“You’ve been to the Barn?” Remy gave her a quick glance, his face easy to see in the glare of those SUV headlights.
“Sure, we’ve been working at Alleman since January. My uncles wanted to try the burgers, and I wanted to listen to the music. Both were awesome in their own way. The old man doesn’t seem like much of a threat.”
“Believe me, you won’t be doing any more work in this parish if you cross him.”
“Not a big worry since most of our jobs are around New Orleans or out of state. I figured some kind of fix was in when you got the property for next to nothing and no one bid against you.” She got in her little dig.
“Knocking down the Queen will cost more than the value of the land she sits on, so not much of a fix, I’d say.”
“Anything else I should worry about?”
“Accidents could happen, nothing fatal, but discouraging.” Though Remy kept his eyes on the road, she read concern in the tense set of his shoulders and grip on the wheel.
“Would they do anything to Alleman?”
“I doubt it since they have nothing against the man who bought it, just you.”
The cab of the Remy’s red truck went dark as the SUV decided to pass on a curve and pulled into the other lane. The driver, hiding behind heavily tinted windows, didn’t speed up as he should have, just crowded Remy, their side view mirrors only inches apart. Julia’s heart accelerated as adrenaline rushed through her system. Out of her passenger window she saw only a narrow belt of clay, and deep, weedy ditches still holding water from the last rain.
Remy spoke no longer. He held the wheel steady, dropped his speed, and fell back as they came out of the turn. With a blast of his horn, the other driver screamed into the night.
“My God, was he drunk?” Julia hated how her voice quavered.
“No, just my distant cousin, Slick, playing chicken. You saw him sitting next to me at the meeting. You’d think a man pushing forty would be over childish games. When I was a teen driving a cherry red Mustang my granddad gave me, he scared me into a ditch one night. Totaled the car, but I survived with seatbelt bruises.”
“You could have been killed. We could have been killed.” Julia willed her hands to stop shaking.
“No, he picks his spots where there aren’t any oak trees or culverts to smash into—just in case he loses control. Slick isn’t a man who believes in seatbelts. Tonight, I let him win. I have precious cargo with me.”
She saw the gleam of his smile in the moonlight—and realized they’d arrived at the Black Box, the gate opening and closing as they passed. “Did you plan this?”
“Nope. You’re shaken, and we were closer to my place than yours.”
“I’m f-fine.”
He reached over and touched her arm. “You’re shivering. Let’s get you inside and settled down before I take you back to Alleman. Do you drink whiskey?”
“Not often.” Not since college when she’d had a couple of shots on a dare, but she didn’t want to sound like a wuss. Since she continued to sit in the cab, Remy came to her door and lifted her down. Her legs felt rubbery. He kept an arm around her as they walked to the door.
“Are you sure Slick wasn’t sending us a warning?”
Remy’s shoulders lifted and fell against her side. “Could be. You never know with him, whether he’s playing around or dead serious.”
She hunched at the word “dead”. Remy got her inside and up the stairs to the second level. He lowered her into one of his ultramodern chairs, went to the small built-in bar in the kitchen, took out a couple of glasses, and poured two shots of amber liquid. He handed her one, watched her sip, and wince. “Toss it back if you aren’t used to it. Get it down quick—though that is good sippin’ whiskey, as my grandfather would say.”
Julia followed his instructions. From her last experience, she recalled it went down hot and burned in the belly, but this seemed smoother than the cheap brand at the frat house. The warmth of the liquor spread through her ra
pidly.
Remy took her fingers his hand. “You’re still cold on a warm night like this. Have another.”
He handed her his glass. She tossed back the contents and slammed it down on one of his tiny tables next to the other. Julia attempted to stand up, but fell into the deep pocket of leather. Why fight it? At the moment, she had no good answer. Relaxing into the sling chair, she closed her eyes. The sound of Remy climbing his metal stairs with her in his arms woke her again. Headed to the bedroom. He provided a ready excuse.
“I thought you’d be more comfortable on the bed, Julie.”
“Sure you did…do, whatever.” She waggled a finger at his very nearby face. “Never call me Julie. That’s a little girl’s name. It’s Julia or Jules. The men like to call me Jules.”
“Because you are a jewel.”
“Oh, another cheesy comment I’ve heard a million times. No, no. no.” She shook her head against the arm that cradled her. “I think it makes them more comfortable with having a female boss. That’s my theory.”
“I’ll stick with mine. You are a rare gem.” Remy nudged open the door to his bedroom with his hip and crossed to his bed. The black satin felt so cool and smooth against her cheek, and the zebra skin a little prickly against her bare legs.
“Let’s make you more comfortable.” He unbuttoned the jacket of her suit and removed her heels. Propping Jules against a pillow, he raked his fingers through her upswept hair. Pins and clips went flying. It fell, thick and tangled into his hands. “All through that meeting I imagined doing this.” His lips moved along the side of her throat, and she no longer felt chilled.
Her finger wagged again. “Ah-ah-ah, we are enemies. We can’t be doing this.”
Remy raised his head and nearly poked his eye on that finger. He curled it down. “We’re frenemies, or maybe enemies with benefits, I don’t know which. Either way, I’ve thought about being with you again every day since the last time. This, between us, has nothing to do with deals or projects. It’s chemistry.”
“Like turning putty into plaster.” Her hand drifted down the length of his body. “I see the formula has worked again.”
“Are you willing?”
“As long as it has nothing to do with the Queen or Black Diamonds. We must keep this separate. I’m not nearly drunk enough to forget that.”
“Deal. Shake on it.” She offered her hand, and he kissed it.
Her cell rang in the pocket of her jacket folded neatly over a chair. “Don’t answer,” he whispered as if someone might hear.
“Have to. I’m sure Todd wants to call the police by now.” She walked to the chair and extracted the phone. “Hi, Uncle Sal. No, no, all is well. You don’t have to come anywhere for me. Our debate lasted longer than I thought it would and got very heated. I’ll be home shortly. Thanks for checking on me.” She rolled her eyes at the last statement as she disconnected. “You’d think I’m his daughter, the one he wouldn’t let date until she turned eighteen.”
“At least your relatives are caring, not downright scary.” Remy helped her into her jacket. She finger-combed her hair. No use trying to find those scattered clips and pins. “Will I pass inspection?”
Remy reluctantly gave her fully clothed body a once over, clearly wishing she wore less. “If they don’t remember how you wore your hair tonight.”
“Men rarely do.”
“I guess we’re ready to go. Your uncles have a deflating effect on me. Unless you want to stay the night.”
“Want to and must not are two very different things. I have to work tomorrow. Remember, we’re still at war.”
“The truce didn’t last nearly long enough.”
She tried to make it up to him with a prolonged kiss that required a lipstick check and the command, “Down, Boy,” to the action in his slacks.
The distance to Alleman wasn’t far. Julia asked to be dropped by the white entrance pillars. “Less trouble for both of us.”
He nodded. “Sorry it has to be this way.”
“For now.” She trudged up the drive toward the motorhome where Sal and Sam sat waiting in camp chairs, cold beers in hand, and Todd by their side. Their intern slept in the loft space over the cab so no sense in going to bed until the other men did. They’d put a bottle in his hand, too. Julia stayed far enough away to keep any of the men from smelling the whiskey on her breath.
“The guy didn’t have the manners to walk you to the door?” Uncle Sammy took a suck on his beer. “You make any progress on the hotel?”
“I asked him to let me out at the entry. No progress on the hotel, but I did learn his immediate schedule to tear her down. Todd, tomorrow we activate the phone tree again and organize a protest for Friday, early.”
“Couldn’t we just message everyone? It would take a lot less time.”
“Considering the average age of the members of both the Live Oak Preservation Society and the Historic District Committee, no. I doubt if they read their messages even if they have a smart phone.”
“Oh, I didn’t think of that.” Todd studied his beer bottle with ashamed gray eyes.
“You’re here to learn.” Thinking of a hot bath, Julia turned toward the plantation home.
“But, when am I going to get my hands dirty, make some lime putty, and spread plaster?” His earnest eyes were on hers again.
“Learning how to fight for preservation is just as important as mixing plaster, Todd, but maybe next week sometime.”
“Great! Oh, you look really nice with your hair down, Ms. Rossi.”
Her uncles did the double take with their thick necks. “Thanks. All those pins were giving me a headache. I took them out.”
At the moment, she really didn’t care if Sal and Sammy believed her or not. A hot bath awaited, and tomorrow she went into battle again.
Chapter Twelve
Remy’s phone rang far earlier than he’d planned to get up on Friday morning. The light slanted on his deck like a sundial reading seven or eight a.m. He planned to meet Stelly at the Queen around nine. Maybe the bush-hogger couldn’t make it since that was his number showing on the phone.
“Hello?”
“Remy, we got us a situation here at the hotel. Old ladies everywhere chained to the oak trees. You want I should call the police or go back home and get some bolt cutters?”
“No, no. That’s exactly what they want—to make a scene and get publicity. I’ll be there in a half hour or less.”
Dammit. He shoved himself into jeans and a T-shirt, put on boots, and did a quick brush of his teeth in case he ran into Julia close up. The hell with the shower and shave. Taking the stairs two at a time, he went to his truck and took a minute to find his bolt cutters in the storage shed just in case it came down to dragging senior citizens to squad cars. Not what he wanted. Maybe he could reason with them. Ha! The people of Chapelle went rabid over oak trees. The closer in age they grew to those trees, the worst they were.
Remy barreled to the Queen and braked into the turnoff to the hotel. The tractor, hooked to the parallel blades of the bush-hog, sat in the road with orange safety cones fore and aft while Stelly waved traffic around it. He gave Remy the nod. “Good to see you, boss. Look close. They almost blend with the trees.”
Miss Maxie’s red hair gave her away, though. She sat on the roots of one of the sentinel oaks at the entry, a cushion beneath her behind and a thermos of coffee by her side. The dark green sweater and matching afghan swathing her body against the early morning damp made her appear like a mossy growth on the wide trunk. A lightweight chain and padlock dangled where her waist might have been at one time. She unscrewed her thermos and poured a cup. “Would you care for some before I drink, Remy. Looks like you could use it.”
“No, thanks. You go ahead. Won’t be an hour before you need a bathroom break.”
“Oh, we’re all wearing our Depends this morning, even the youngsters, aren’t we girls?” Echoes of yes! sounded all over the grove.
He turned to Miss Lolly attached
to the other entrance tree. “You don’t seem too comfortable there.”
Miss Lolly glanced up from the large print library volume splayed on her lap and illuminated by a book light. A small cooler sat by her side amid the gnarled roots that greatly resembled her fingers. “A good book and a light snack is all I need, thank you.”
“I’m telling you, we aren’t going to harm the trees. They’re an asset to the property.” Remy spoke loud enough to be heard deep into the lot.
“We have to be sure,” said Miss Lolly with her turkey neck jutted forward in defiance.
“All right, then.” Remy returned to his truck and took a retractable measuring tape from his glove compartment. The boles of the ancient oaks had swollen over the drive in the years since anyone used that path. He took a careful measure between the twisted roots of the two trees, then walked to the bush-hog and compared the widths.
“We have a couple of inches on both sides, Stelly. Can you do it without barking the trees or taking a limb off an old woman?”
Stelly rubbed his short, dark beard, took off his LSU cap, and put it on again as he considered. “Yep, but I’ll have to back over the road and get it real centered before I move. You’ll take care of traffic?”
“Sure.” They laid out more safety cones in a bright orange lines. Several drivers waited unhappily on either side of the barriers as Stelly backed up, pulled front, backed up again as Remy waved the bush-hog closer and closer to the opposing ditch. He signaled to stop before the hog went over the edge. A pull forward and another back up to get everything straight. The tractor inched forward. The impatient sounded their horns.
A young man with a camera bobbing on his chest raced along the roadside. “Wait, wait! The Chapelle Clarion wants a picture of this.” He clambered into the ditch and out the far side, scrambled past the oak roots, and positioned himself directly before the tractor but a few paces back to get it and the trees in the shot.
