Tall, Dark, and Cajun

by Sandra Hill

  All day, he and Rachel had made gentle love, they’d fished, they’d eaten their catches, they’d made gentle love, he’d shown her a beautiful bayou spectacle—two blue herons having sex in a way that involved among other things the male and female twining their necks around each other for long periods of time—after which they’d made gentle love again . . . he and Rachel, that is. Not the herons. Well, actually, the herons, too.

  Now, they lay in the downstairs alcove bed watching the bayou sunset, all orange and brilliant blue. His arm cradled her shoulder. Her face pressed against his chest, her fingertips tracing the outline of hair surrounding one nipple. There was nothing sensual in her actions or their posture in bed. It was a quiet time, a moment of peace in the world and their relationship. He found himself praying suddenly, something he hadn’t done seriously in a long time. Please, God, help me find a way to make this work.

  Remy hadn’t told Rachel yet, but he had to leave for Houma early tomorrow morning, at dawn, without her. It was only a temporary situation, an emergency with the DEA operation that required his presence and flying skills for the D-Day operation. He was going, but no way would he risk her life by bringing her with him. Nope. Luc and Tee-John would arrive here to take over his “babysitting” duties for Rachel until his return. Not that he would ever use the “babysitting” term around Rachel.

  “Rachel,” he started.

  “Remy,” she said at the same time.

  “I have something to discuss with you.”

  “Me, too.”

  “You go first,” he offered, wanting to avoid as long as possible the argument they were sure to have.

  “Remember when I told you about all the years I spent in foster care,” she said tentatively.

  “Uh-uh.”

  “Well, I’ve experienced firsthand just how many children there are out there in need of mothers . . . and fathers.”

  He stiffened, suddenly suspicious. She wouldn’t. She promised. Surely, she wouldn’t.

  “Children of all ages . . . even babies. I don’t need to give birth to feel like a mother, and you don’t need to fertilize an egg with your sperm to be a father.”

  He disengaged himself from their embrace and shot off the bed. “How dare you! We had a pact.”

  “Screw that ridiculous pact. You and I are adults. We need to talk about this if we’re ever going to have a future. Please listen to me.”

  “No, you listen to me. I will not talk about my sterility to you or anyone else. It is a dead subject. Just because we made love doesn’t give you that right.”

  “Not just because we made love, but because we love each other. That gives me the right.” Rachel had climbed off the bed and stood before him now, unwavering.

  “Let’s get this straight once and for all. I’m never going to be a father—not to my own kid and not to some unwanted freak in a foster home.” Oh, my God! Immediately, he regretted his words. But it was too late. Rachel stepped back from him as if he was the freak. He was. What kind of man would say such a thing, even in the heat of outrage? “Rachel, I am truly sorry. I didn’t mean that.”

  She waved a hand in front of her as if his apology didn’t matter. Tears pooled in her eyes and were beginning to seep out, despite her blinking. “This freak doesn’t want or need your apologies. Sometimes people say what they really think when they’re angry, and maybe that’s really how you feel. Lots of people do.”

  “I don’t. Dammit, I don’t. God, how did this get so turned around? I just don’t want to talk about my sterility.” He could feel tears burning his eyes, too. Tears, for chris-sake! He hadn’t cried since the accident.

  She noticed his tears and, offended as she was, her expression softened toward him. He did not want her pity. “Forgive me for my stupid remark, Rachel, but forget me. Children are obviously important to you, or you wouldn’t have brought it up, against my wishes. Accept it. There will not be any children with me.”

  “But—”

  “No buts.” He turned away from her. Maybe a walk would clear his head. He saw no way out of this disaster, though, clear head or not.

  “Oh, Remy, it’s just that Jill suggested that I rethink my resentment over your not telling me about your sterility. She said you might be overly proud—that male pride is a powerful thing. She said you might be thinking that it made you less of a man, which is ludicrous, of course. So, that’s why I brought it up. I had to try. Can’t you see that?”

  Remy went board stiff. Blood rushed to his head and he reached for a chair to support his suddenly dizzy body. When he turned around, he was still rigid, but with fury now. “You told someone about my sterility?”

  “Just Jill and Laura, my two friends back home.”

  “Two people! You discussed my secret with two friggin’ strangers?”

  “Not strangers. My best friends. You’re probably never going to meet them. Why should you care?”

  “I care.”

  She was wringing her hands with distress now. Tears ran down her face. She was really, really upset.

  But Remy didn’t care. She wasn’t half as upset as he was. Talk about betrayal! “Who’s next, Rachel? Your grandmother? My aunt? Charmaine? Your ex? Why not broadcast it on the local radio station? ’Remy LeDeux isn’t the man you think he is. Talk about!’”

  “I would never tell anyone else,” she said indignantly.

  “Yes, you would. You’re a woman. You’re stubborn as a mule. You think you know what’s best for me. If you thought in your own deluded mind that discussing my sterility with them would help me, you would do it in a minute.”

  The hand which she raised, then lowered in defeat, told him he’d made an accurate assessment. “I love you, Remy,” she said hopelessly.

  “Too bad love isn’t enough.” With that, he left the cabin, steeling himself against the sound of her sobbing. The screen door slammed with a clatter after him. Once he was outside, he looked skyward and asked with utter despair, “What do I do now?”

  Try prayer.

  Oh, Brother!

  Luc was in a helicopter flying toward his bayou cabin with Tee-John, wondering why in God’s name he’d ever allowed his brother to accompany him. Even the pilot, Remy’s friend, John Pitre, couldn’t stop smiling. As always, Tee-John’s questions were outrageous and intimate, intended to tease and shock.

  “How did it feel when you got snipped?”

  “Just peachy.”

  “Did it hurt?”

  “No.”

  “Can you still get it up, same as before?”

  “Tee-John!”

  “How am I going to know these things if no one tells me?”

  “Read a book.”

  “Do they have books on vasectomies?”

  “I’m sure they do.”

  “Dieu, what do you think Ms. Arsenault, the librarian, will think when I ask her about books on vasectomies? Oh. I can always tell her it’s so I can learn about your operation. You went to school with Ms. Arsenault, didn’t you?”

  “Don’t you dare!”

  There was a moment of blessed silence as they contemplated the sun coming up over the horizon, always a spectacular sight in the bayou. It never came up slowly. Always an explosion of light, the sun and clouds looking like yellow fireworks chased by billowy white smoke.

  “Do you need me to come back for you?” John asked.

  “Nah,” Luc answered. “Remy will leave in his hydroplane once we get there, and he’ll come back for Rachel, and us, tomorrow. Hopefully.” Luc was worried about Remy and his involvement in this DEA project, but it was his brother’s business. All he could do was offer to help. Still, his role as big brother never stopped, and he wished he could do more to protect Remy. Sometimes he even felt responsible for not having been there to protect him from the Desert Storm crash, which was ridiculous, of course. At least, that’s what Sylvie told him all the time.

  “I have another question,” Tee-John said.

  Luc groaned, and John grinned.
>
  “Did you ever try one of those penile rings?”

  “WHAT?” he and John both exclaimed at the same time. John immediately started laughing under his breath.

  “A penile ring. You know, one of those things you put on the base of your limp dick which gets tighter and tighter when dickie gets thicker, if you know what I mean.”

  Dickie? Dickie, for chrissake! “You are impossible!” Luc was laughing himself. “Where did you ever hear of such a thing?”

  “Saw one in a sex shop on Bourbon Street.”

  “And what were you doing in a sex shop on Bourbon Street? Wait, don’t tell me. I don’t want to know.”

  “Does that mean you’ve never tried a penile ring?”

  “You could say that.”

  “Do you think Remy is shacking up with this Rachel person?”

  “I think that’s none of your business.”

  “Do you think he’s ever tried a penile ring?”

  “I think you ought to ask him. There he is now.”

  Looking out the side windows of the ’copter, through the still dim dawn light, they saw Remy standing on the bank near the hydroplane. Just then, Luc’s cell phone went off. It was Remy.

  “Hey, Luc, I’ve got to get out of here right away. Rachel’s still asleep. I’m going to take off. Then John can pull the ’copter in close to my spot and drop a rope ladder for you and Tee-John to disembark.”

  “Be careful, Remy.”

  “Will do. And thanks, Luc. I owe you one.”

  “No prob.”

  They circled about, watching as Remy waded into the stream, then jumped into his plane, which was already running. Within minutes, Remy was in the air and they were on the ground, watching John fly away, too.

  “Think the fish are bitin’?” Luc asked Tee-John.

  “Hah! There’ll be catfish for breakfast.”

  Trouble always comes in twos

  The sound of a running motor awakened Rachel just after dawn. Trying to ignore the noise, she pulled the sheet over her head. The noise continued, followed by a different-sounding motor, a whirring sound.

  At first, she forgot where she was and imagined that a car took off from her townhouse parking lot back in the D.C. suburbs. But the whirring sound didn’t fit with that picture. Soon reality began to seep into her consciousness. She remembered her horrible argument with Remy and how she’d tried all night, until two A.M., to get him to talk with her. He’d refused, not just to discuss their disagreement, but to speak with her at all. Every time she’d approached him, he walked away. Finally, about three A.M., she’d drifted to sleep.

  So, that couldn’t be cars she heard. It must be the airplane. Then she heard voices.

  Oh, my God! Could the drug dealers have found us? No, that couldn’t be it. The conversation isn’t heated. And, be-

  sides, the two voices have a Cajun accent. Wait, I know who that is. It’s Remy’s brother, Luc.

  She didn’t want to be caught wearing Charmaine’s baby-doll pajamas; so, she quickly jumped off the bed, then reeled back at the force of the cry-headache that assailed her. More gingerly, she got up then and dressed in a pair of shorts and a T-shirt, then hurried downstairs.

  It was Luc, all right, and a young boy of about fourteen who resembled Luc.

  “Luc,” she said, coming into the living room, where they stood with duffel bags.

  “Rachel,” he said in return, then introduced the boy. “This is my brother, Tee-John. Tee-John, this is Rachel.”

  They nodded at each other.

  “Where’s Remy?” she asked, noticing his absence.

  Luc and Tee-John looked at each other in surprise, then glanced back at her guiltily.

  “Didn’t he tell you?” Luc shifted nervously from foot to foot.

  “Tell me what?”

  “That he had to go back to Houma this morning. An emergency.”

  She cocked her head to the side, not fully understanding yet. “Remy left, without telling me?”

  “He said you were asleep,” Tee-John explained. “He probably didn’t want to disturb you.”

  She gave him a look that clearly said that wasn’t reason enough.

  “Uh-oh,” Tee-John said. “Someone’s in big trouble, and for once it ain’t me.”

  “Keep quiet,” Luc told his brother.

  “He’ll be back tonight, or tomorrow at the latest,” Luc explained, sensing her distress.

  “Did he tell you that?”

  “Yes. Yes, he did.”

  It didn’t matter if he came back or not. Rachel felt as if a knife had been stuck in her back. He left, he left, he left. Now she would never have a chance to rectify their differences. She just knew it.

  “When did Remy make arrangements with you to come here?” she asked as a niggling suspicion hit her.

  “Yesterday morning,” Luc answered.

  She inhaled sharply at the pain of Remy’s betrayal. Before they’d ever had the argument, he had intended to leave and not tell her. That’s how little he trusted her, even before she’d broken their pact.

  “So, you’re the one, huh?” Tee-John asked then, smiling from ear to ear. Good heavens, were all the LeDeux males this good looking? Apparently. This one must have the pick of all the local Cajun teenage girls.

  “Don’t ask,” Luc warned her.

  Too late. “The one what?”

  “The one that Remy is crazy in love with.”

  “Not anymore,” she stated flatly.

  You win some, you lose some

  For eleven straight hours, Remy didn’t think about Rachel or the disaster that had become his life. He hadn’t had a moment to himself until now, six P.M.

  In the end, he returned to his houseboat. His shoulder ached from the gunshot wound he’d sustained this afternoon, which had been treated and bandaged at the local hospital. Other than that, he was all right.

  Well, no, he wasn’t all right. The pain in his shoulder was nothing compared to the pain in his heart. He hurt so bad, and there was nothing he could do to make it better. All day he’d been able to push thoughts of Rachel aside, but now he had to face the facts. It was absolutely, and totally, over. He’d put the final punctuation mark on that with his remark about foster kids being freaks; she’d put the final punctuation mark on it by discussing his sterility with other people. That didn’t mean that he didn’t still care. Of course, he loved her, but like he’d told her, love was not enough.

  For twelve years, Remy had had to live with the outward marks of being half man, half beast. People saw his mangled flesh and pitied him; they couldn’t help themselves. But he couldn’t bear to have people know that he was half man inside, too. The kind of pity that would engender would be unbearable.

  Enough! He couldn’t keep going over this in his mind. And he couldn’t keep avoiding the call he had to make. He flicked open the cover on his cell phone and called Luc.

  Luc picked up instantly. “Where the hell have you been?”

  “Sorry I haven’t called sooner, Luc. I had to make a little trip to the emergency room.”

  “The hospital! Are you hurt?”

  Like you wouldn’t believe! “I’m fine. Just a shoulder wound.”

  “How’d the DEA operation go?”

  “Successful. Six arrests, one of whom is critically injured, and two dead. Larry Ellis has a pretty bad concussion, and is in intensive care. On our side, there were two other minor injuries. About six million in drugs confiscated.”

  “Holy shit! So, it’s over?”

  “For now. We didn’t get the bigwigs in the cartel, but maybe some of the arrestees will spill their guts.”

  “You’re going to continue to work for the DEA, aren’t you?” Luc asked with a huge sigh.

  “I hope to.”

  “Rachel isn’t going to be happy about that.”

  His silence spoke volumes. But then, he had to gulp several times before he could speak. “How is she?”

  “Alternately, so devastated she can b
arely stand, and then so angry, she swears a blue streak.”

  “Rachel? Swearing?”

  “Oh, yeah! I think Tee-John’s been taking notes.”

  He had to smile at that, but only barely.

  “She’s outside with Tee-John right now, taking a walk. Tee-John’s been grilling her on Sex and the City type stuff.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “Nope.”

  “Did you know that she made a bonfire out of her ex-fiancé’s exercise equipment, and that he took twenty-seven different kinds of vitamins and muscle enhancers? Tee-John’s been eating up everything she says. She won’t tell us what you did to her, though.”

  Thank God for that.

  “Did you ever have a penile ring, by the way?”

  “WHAT?”

  “Don’t be surprised if Tee-John asks you about it. Anyhow, I see Rachel out front now. You want me to go get her?”

  “No,” he said quickly. “Just tell her . . . just tell her that a helicopter will be there in the morning to pick you all up.”

  “Can I assume that you won’t be the pilot?”

  “Right.”

  “Oh, Remy, don’t do this. If you want my opinion—”

  “I don’t give a rat’s ass about your opinion. Not on this subject.” He inhaled and exhaled to calm himself down. It wasn’t Luc’s fault that his life was falling apart. “Anyhow, can you give Rachel a message for me?”

  Luc hesitated. Finally, he said, “Okay. Shoot.”

  “Tell her I’m sorry.”

  “You are one dumb schmuck.”

  Ditto, the voice in his head said.

  Surprise, Surprise

  Rachel arrived back at the small airport in Houma the next morning.

  She hadn’t really expected to find Remy waiting for her there. If he hadn’t felt the need to tell her that he was leaving, if he hadn’t felt the need to call her and let her know he was wounded but all right, if he hadn’t felt the need to come for her himself. . . well, she would have been surprised to see him there. She would be less than honest, though, if she didn’t admit to being hurt at his absence.

  She felt like the walking wounded herself as she emerged from the helicopter and started to walk across the tarmac. She wanted nothing more than to get back to Granny’s home before she broke down. She looked up, then did a wide-eyed double take at the person she saw emerging from the waiting room of the terminal. It wasn’t Remy, of course. Not even Beau, or Granny, or Charmaine.