Hurricane Season

by Amanda McIntyre

  “It appears from this that her husband is from France—a big surgeon now in New Orleans. They’re off with their grandkids visiting relatives she told me.”

  “Sounds like old money.” Caroline eyed the richly woven tapestry hanging on one wall of the front sitting room.

  “You do realize, I’m on to your little game,” Louise said, eyeing her.

  Caroline rose an impervious brow. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “You haven’t said another word since we got here about that gorgeous guy you saw on the plane.”

  “It’s been a rather complicated evening if you recall.”

  “Did you happen to get a look at the guy on the dock?”

  Caroline frowned at her friend. “I didn’t stick around to check him out. I was in a bit of a hurry.”

  Louise shrugged. “Just thought I’d ask. You know, last time fate offered you a hot guy, you moved to Europe and lost him.”

  “Are you talking about he-who-shall-not be-named-but-lives-in-Montana?” Caroline asked. “I hear he’s happily married.”

  Louise shrugged. “I always liked him.”

  “We were both to young. It would never have lasted,” Caroline said.

  Louise shrugged. “So, what’s your excuse this time?”

  She narrowed her gaze on her friend who in truth was just being honest. Honest hadn’t always worked well for Caroline. Though her parents maintained a social façade of the happy family, in secret there were lies and deceit that she and her brother had been forced to live with. The concept of soul mates, happily ever after scared the living daylights out of her. It was much easier to live alone than chance embroiling herself in something that wasn’t real.

  “I’m just saying that maybe fate has intervened again with plane guy,” Louise continued. “You said yourself you felt the sparks clear to your toes”--she gave her a wicked smile—“and other places.”

  “I’m not a teenager unable to control her urges,” Caroline said. “And despite what you think, I’m not that desperate. I don’t need a guy to make me feel complete.”

  “Who said anything about happily ever after? How about happily right now?”

  Caroline sighed. “I think I lost the piece of paper that had his phone number on it.”

  Louis dropped her head to the back of the couch and let out an exasperated sigh. “Are you serious? You lost it? Did you check your purse?” Her friend stood and made a beeline to the front hall where they’d hung their coats. “You know you haven’t changed one iota. You were always losing stuff in college,”—she called from the hallway—“clothes, shoes….”

  “Homework,” Caroline called over her shoulder, then smiled. There was a reason they were such good friends. Caroline owed getting through her senior year to Louise.

  “Damn straight and half the time I’m not so sure that it was your preoccupation with a certain cowboy that made you forgetful.”

  Caroline chuckled softly. That much might have been true. It had been her first encounter to a real cowboy and the fact that he was good friends with her brother made it all the more convenient. But she’d burned her bridges a long time ago and after the wedding she’d attended with her brother a couple of years ago, it was clear the cowboy had moved on—even if the woman had been a former Vegas stripper with tongue piercing and purple hair.

  “I’m going to check out the library,” she called as she walked across the well-worn wooden floor. There was no carpeting, only beautifully ornate rugs that appeared to be as antique as many of the other pieces in the house.

  She reached inside the door of the dark room, fumbling for a light switch and gasped when the room illuminated in a radiant glow of the brass and crystal chandelier hanging from the tall ceiling. Round frosted globes covered each lightbulb that—Caroline assumed—had likely once been kerosene. As she scanned the room, she realized it was a room devoted entirely to reading. Dozens of books lined the built-in bookshelves. A massive overstuffed chair and ottoman sat tucked in the front corner of the room with a small side table and floor lamp providing a cozy nook.

  Cheerful floor-length curtains in a bright paprika-spice hue covered the long windows facing over the front porch. A heavy wood mantle framed a red brick fireplace.

  Caroline stood on the fade Persian rug, amazed that this was this family’s summer cottage. Nothing had been left to question the heritage of its owners. Many framed paintings of art and on the back wall was painted a mural of what she suspected was the property at one time, with a small river tributary running through the field. The only thing missing was family photos. There were none to speak of anywhere, but Caroline justified that the owners would certainly have taken those down if renting to strangers.

  “Louise?” she called out, wanting her friend to see the room.

  There was no answer.

  Taking another sip of wine, she glanced outside the front window-pitch black in the country except for the spray of light stretching out on the lawn from the open curtains. A shiver ran over her shoulders at the thought of being out so far from anyone—and of the stranger down on the dock.

  Admonishing herself for her overly dramatic thoughts, she turned and choked on a scream. Louise stood at the archway holding up a piece of yellow paper in her hand. A gleeful smile lit up her eyes already bright from too much wine. “Found it!” She started to put it in Caroline’s hand.

  “Now wait. Maybe I should hang on to this. We don’t want you losing it again, do we?” She crooked her fingers to emphasize her point.

  “I won’t. Give it here. Where in the world did you find it?” Caroline took the paper and scanned the message. She wasn’t great at telling from penmanship about a person’s personality, but she noted, he printed his name. Clearly, he wanted her to know who Gavin Beauregard was.

  “Beauregard? Didn’t you mention that the owners name was Beauregard?” Caroline asked.

  Louise nodded. “I did. It’s possible he’s related. There are only a ga-zillion Beauregard’s in the state of Louisiana.” Then she shot Caroline a wicked grin. “Then again, maybe he has a key and will stop by for a visit?”

  Between the stranger on the dock and the man on the plane, this weekend getaway had turned into fodder for some author to write a sexy suspense story. Caroline had never envisioned herself as one of the heroines in those books. She’d read a couple while in college, but they’d only reminded her of what she hadn’t been able to find. She smiled, thinking of the news she’d just received from her older brother that he’d become engaged. They’d not yet set a wedding date, which made sense to Caroline. Better to have a long engagement than to jump into the deep end not knowing what lay beneath the surface.

  “Whew,” Louise wiped her brow. “I forgot how humid it could be down here. Come on, let’s go see if we can catch a breeze from that screened-in porch along the back of the house.”

  Caroline shut off the light and hurried after Louise.

  “Bingo,” her friend said, stepping out from the kitchen to the back porch that ran the length of the back of the house. The view beyond was dark ad pitch but Louise seemed unfazed as she pulled the chains to start up the twin ceiling fans on the glossy white-wainscoting ceiling. The wood floor, marred smooth with traffic and time lent character to the simple furnishing. And old white kitchen cupboard served as a place to hold books and a stack of board games.

  A long white wicker sofa, its cushions covered in a bright floral chintz sat along the back wall facing what Caroline was certain was a breathtaking view in the light of day. A single high-backed rocking chair flaked one side of the couch. Between them a small white wicked end table with a lamp.

  “Do you want more wine?” Louise asked as she cranked open the windows allowing in a semi-cool breeze. She walked to one end of the porch and opened the door, propping an old stone against the door. Outside the crickets and frogs sang a symphony in the still night.

  “I’m good thanks, but I wouldn’t say no to a few more of thos
e peanut M & M’s we left in the front room.”

  “Hey, if its takes chocolate to get you to call that number, I’ll hand feed them to you<” she called from the kitchen. “But I’m bringing more wine as back up.”

  Caroline sat at one end of the couch, facing the open door at the end of the porch. “It’s getting late. I don’t think tonight is a good idea,” she answered. She wished Louise would hurry the hell up. She felt like one of those characters in some John Carpenter movie where the heroine suddenly finds herself alone. “Louise--?” Caroline stopped mid-sentence as her friend appeared from the kitchen balancing another bottle of wine, two glasses, and the bowl of candies.

  “Look what else I managed to find…your phone. And lo and behold, it’s all charged up and ready to go.” She tossed the phone to Caroline as she settled in on the other end of the couch and put the candy dish between them.

  “Call him,” she popped a candy in her mouth, motioning to the phone.

  “It’s late,” Caroline reasoned. A dubious look was her friend’s response.

  “Don’t force me to do this for you,” she warned.

  “I have the number.” Caroline waved the paper in the air.

  “I have the photographic memory,” Louise retaliated. “Look, Caroline. It’s what...almost eleven. Down here, things are just getting started. Trust me. If this guy is as good-looking as claim—he’s not asleep.” She three her hands in the air. “In fact, he’s probably sitting there, waiting for you to call. Come on, girl. You don’t want to break his heart, do you?”

  Caroline stared at her insistent friend unable to find another excuse. Some dark-haired, fine-looking man, mid-to-late thirties with gorgeous blue eyes and a killer smile gives out his phone number after one look on a plane? How desperate was he?

  “What if he’s one of those guys that lures unsuspecting women with a great body and sexy smile?” She gave it one more try.

  “He gave the old woman seated next to you the note because you had your earphones on and were lost in your music—oblivious to any signals the poor guy may have been trying to send you.” Louise said. “Oh wow, you don’t think that he knew the old lady and she was in on it, too?” Louise gave her a wild-eyed look.

  Caroline sighed, realizing that her friend was mocking her possible overly dramatic view of the situation. It was nothing more than a two people locking eyes on a plane and taking a chance on fate. “Fine. But if he doesn’t answer, then I’m hanging up.”

  Louise rolled her eyes. “Whatever.” A buzzing sound alerted her friend to pick up her phone. “Shit. It’s my boss. I have to take this, --she rose holding the phone to her ear-- “but then I want to talk about where I want to take you in the Quarter tomorrow.” She motioned to Caroline’s phone and grinned as she disappeared inside the house.

  Alone again, Caroline had nothing more than a bowl of candy, a half full wine bottle, and a stack of board games as her defense to whatever lurked out there in the woods and the swamp beyond. “Good Lord,” she muttered and picked up her phone. “It’s now or never.” She eyed the number as she dialed, careful to punch in each number through the wine-buzz her brain was currently experiencing. Taking a deep breath, she put the phone to her ear and waited for the first ring.

  The stillness shrouding the house was deafening as she waited through another ring. Her ears perked, honing in on a sound so infinitesimal she couldn’t be sure if it was real or imagined. Was that Elvis Presley’s Blue Suede Shoes? She glanced at her phone questioning her sanity. It must be from a bar someplace down the road, the breeze being just right to set it over the air currents.

  A deep-throated male sigh brushed over her ear as the call was answered. Another subtler sound, skating close to a sexual moan followed. Caroline’s eyes widened and her horrified gaze met Louise’s as she returned to the porch. Frantically, she disconnected the call, praying her number would show up as an unidentified caller.

  “Well?” Louise stood at the door.

  “If his ringtone is Blue Suede Shoes, then I’m pretty sure that the man I shoved in the river tonight might well be Gavin Beauregard.”

  Chapter Three

  Not even chicory-laced caffeine was enough to clear the fog in Gavin’s brain. He’d sat on the edge of his bed going over the all-too-real dream he’d had. One that included a phone call somewhere in the midst of it all—which was crazy—because he’d never bother with a phone call if he was with a woman—and certainly in the midst of what had been going on—or so it seemed. He rubbed his hand over his head, hoping to rearrange the brain cells that clearly were not connecting on all gears just yet.

  Taking a swallow from his mug, he grabbed his T-shirt and pulled it over his head, then slipped into his jeans and driving moccasins. He checked first the deck of the boat and dock for any visitors of the reptilian variety that might be dozing on the boat. He crossed the small bridge connecting to the dock that allowed for a grill and additional seating. Glancing at the ominous cloud wall beginning to form on the horizon over the gulf, he realized a tropical storm could make for an interesting evening for folks not used to the frequency they blew in down here in August. It was prime hurricane season along the Gulf coast. Mother Nature had shown the residents here just how deadly she could be. But it gave him a sense of pride that slowly the towns and parishes had begun to bounce back-maybe with added caution—but resilient as ever.

  An uncanny chill swept over him as he approached the family plot. Scintillating thoughts of his erotic dream flitted through his mind. It’d been like heaven to breathe in the scent of her skin, to feel his lips again on hers.

  Not to mention it was completely insane.

  Until he found the magnolia twig with a single blossom laying in the tangled sheets this morning. He glanced up and spied the old magnolia tree, it’s leaves a vibrant green with clusters of snowy white petals clinging to its branches. Spent blossoms littered the ground and headstones. The old wrought iron gate squawked as he opened it to step inside. A larger stone, left as a makeshift bench for contemplation was covered with vines and petals. He brushed away the debris and sat down across from Olivia’s headstone and read the epitaph--

  Beloved wife and mother-Olivia Marie Thibodaux-Beauregard. Forever in Our Hearts.

  As Gavin read the words, he remembered the day, twelve years ago, almost to the day that he’d had her headstone commissioned. Jesus, her parents had been pissed that she had wanted to be buried in their family crypt. But she loved the summer cottage, the houseboat and made it clear she wanted to be buried together with him.

  He let out a sigh as though expelling a last remnant of helpless grief. It’d had been over a dozen years. It felt like only yesterday. Where had the time gone? His gaze drifted to the field of what was once sugar cane—now mowed and turned into grazing pasture.

  The sound of female voices followed by laughter, prompted him to stand. He narrowed his gaze shielded from view by the small grove of trees guarding the small gated cemetery plot.

  He couldn’t decipher the words, but his eyes zeroed in on one of the women. She was slender, not skinny. She wore a simple sundress that left her shoulders bare. Her dark hair skimmed against her pale flesh captured a similar memory of days gone by. Her face was shielded by sunglasses and a fashionable straw hat to protect from the rays through the gathering clouds. The dress skirted her calves and with sandals gave her a willowy appearance. She laughed at something her friend said and a whisper of freedom breezed across his heart. Familiar emotions of carefree days, without a care in the world, welled with wistful melancholy inside him.

  A high-pitched squeal snapped his attention back to the pair as the wind caught the dark-haired woman’s hat and sent it tumbling over the ground. The winds’ invisible fingers lifted her raven tresses and sent it swirling joyously. Her carefree laughter wrapped around him. He glanced at Olivia’s headstone, hearing her words once more—“I’m letting you go. Promise me you’ll move on.”

  Olivia’s ghostly plea washed
over him. A reminder that more than enough time had been spent in his grief. “You will always be my first love,” he muttered, staring at her epitaph. “But maybe you’re right. Maybe it’s time. Help me, Livie. Help me to love again.”

  “Excuse me,” a female voice said.

  Startled, Gavin turned toward the voice, hoping that his strange plea to his dead wife hadn’t been heard by others, especially the beautiful woman standing on the road looking at him.

  Her eyes widened with her shocked expression. “You,” she said. “On the dock…last night?”

  Gavin found his tongue. The similarities to Olivia were striking—the dark eyes, dark hair--or perhaps he was seeing what he wanted to see. That wasn’t fair to her. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.” He managed to get out.

  The wrought iron fence stood between them. She pressed her lips together and glanced back at her friend. “Well, I just wanted to say I’m sorry for pushing you into the water.”

  He chuckled and held up his hand. “Under the circumstances, it was perfectly understandable.”

  She refused to meet his eyes.

  “And for calling you so late last night and interrupting....”

  He opened his mouth to refute the claim, but had no idea how best he could explain what she might have heard. “Um, no problem.” He glanced up the road and saw her friend, arms folded across her chest. “Hey, maybe we can start over--” He started to open the gate and she took a step back.

  “My friend is…um, waiting. It was nice to meet you, Mr. Beauregard. Enjoy your boat.” She hurried off, hat in hand.

  “Hey, I didn’t catch your name--” His voice trailed off as she broke into a sprint. He stepped onto the dirt road and watched the car speed off down the two-lane highway. He’d royally blown a second chance at an introduction. Maybe the Universe was trying to tell him something. “Maybe it’s not meant to be, Livie,” he said, glancing at her headstone.