Soul Reckoning

by Nancy E. Polin

  “I know Luke respects him immensely.”

  The man made a little acknowledging sound in his throat and took a sip of coffee.

  Luke had pulled up the one lonely chair and sat holding his old friend’s hand. His lips moved, but the words would never penetrate beyond them. They were meant for Henry and Henry alone. Something warm and unexpected glowed deep inside Rowan at the honest affection she witnessed and she had to look away to keep the tickle in her nose from erupting into glazing tears.

  “Luke is a good man, ma chère. I know he can be…” Andy shook his head, a low chuckle escaping. “As asshole sometimes, but tragedy has a way of leaving a mark. Not everyone comes back, you know?”

  “No, they don’t.” Her heart thrummed.

  “He shut too many people out, so they gave up, went on. But you know how that goes. A few of us hung in, because we remember who he is and what he’s capable of.”

  “And what’s that?” she whispered.

  “The type of man who’d give his life for those he cares about. And he almost did.” Andy turned and studied her for a moment before his eyes retreated and his skin flushed. “You don’t know. I’m sorry … I just assumed because you’re both here…”

  “It’s not like that.” She wasn’t exactly sure what it was, though, at least not anymore. Things had become much more complex than she’d bargained for.

  “I see. Well, you’ll forgive me if I leave it at that. Luke will talk to you, or he won’t, but it’s up to him. I guess I started babbling again. Pardon … I’m sorry.”

  “I understand.” Rowan reached out and squeezed the man’s arm. “Anyway, this isn’t about Luke or me. This is about Henry. We’re here for him.”

  “Yes. Thank you. I appreciate that.”

  Inside the room, Luke leaned forward to listen as the old man spoke. He nodded, a grim smile turning the corners of his mouth up. Gently, Luke released Henry’s hand, got up, and kissed him on the forehead. The tenderness of the gesture overwhelmed her and despite her struggle, a tear escaped and rolled down Rowan’s cheek. She swept it away and turned when Luke walked out.

  Before she could say anything, the sound of footsteps filled the hall and a plump woman with a pretty face enfolded Andy in her arms, murmuring to him in French.

  “I think it’s time for us to go. Henry’s grandkids will be here soon.” Luke angled his head and Rowan fell into step with him as they headed for the elevators.

  ****

  “Well, hell.”

  The rain came down in opaque sheets, flooding the streets and sidewalks and peaking the humidity into triple digits. It coated her skin with a sticky film and the idea of riding in the rain actually held some appeal. “We’re not all that far, right?”

  “Not really.” He cocked his head. “We could always call a cab for you.”

  “What the hell for?”

  A smile twitched his lips, but his eyes remained somber. “Okay, your call.”

  Luke mounted the bike and waited while she did likewise. Rowan wrapped her arms around him and hesitated before resting her cheek to his back. She could hear his steady heartbeat and the whoosh of his breath, and for some reason, she took comfort from it.

  Despite the deluge, he took his time, remaining vigilant. When they finally returned the bike to storage and made the trek home, they were soaked through their clothing. Despite the heaviness of the air, the rain felt cool against her skin.

  Rowan stopped to tilt her head upward, enjoying the flow over her face and throat.

  “Don’t turkeys drown that way?”

  “Good thing I’m not a turkey.”

  This time he did smile, barely a smirk, but his worry seemed to retreat in the expression. He stared at her intently and heat burst in her cheeks.

  “Stop that.” She began walking again, pushing her hair back, feeling its weight against her shoulders. “You’re creepy when you stare.”

  “Am I?” He strode beside her, slitting side glances down her way.

  Rowan became a little too conscious of her clothing sticking to her and she plucked at her top in an attempt to compensate. Not that it did a lot of good. The rain had tapered off a bit but still remained steady. She was also a little too aware of that dark-blue gaze on her. In a rush, gooseflesh dotted her skin and she pressed her lips together, swearing internally.

  They were a half-block from The Galloping Goose when he reached out to take her arm, his grasp firm but gentle. “Rowan.”

  He’d stopped, head down but peering up at her. His midnight eyes were troubled and an underlying tension simmered within. His body stiffened and he opened his mouth as if to say something before shutting it with a shake of his head.

  “Is something—”

  Before she realized it, he pulled her against him, framed her face and pressed his lips to hers. Swallowing her squeak of surprise, his hands glided down to secure around her waist when she opened to him, gentle and soft, building into passion. With little hesitation, she reached up and threaded her fingers into his wet hair, leaning into him, even as her logical side wondered what the hell she was doing.

  Rain funneled down and around them and his hold tightened, molding her close, his mouth setting her on fire, sending ripples of heat through her flesh, through her loins. One hand snaked up to weave into her hair, tugging her head back for better access, the kiss hungrier, ravaging.

  Her body shook, blood burning from the inside out. Rowan ran her hands across his shoulders, allowing one to caress his cheek, skin smooth and firm from his recent shave.

  The world and rain dissolved around them until the distant sound of yelling snapped her back and away. With some hesitation, Luke let her go, watching as she hurried away.

  ****

  A couple of teenagers standing under an overhang across the street hooted, clapped, and grinned. Both were carbon copies, hair flopping in their eyes and skateboards in hand.

  “Don’t you guys have school or something?” Luke called out, his voice rumbling with displeasure.

  “Teacher in-service day, dude! Better catch her. She’s trying to ditch ya!” They screamed with laughter when he turned to see Rowan steps from the tavern, pulling out her keys with shaking hands.

  He caught up with her as she pulled the door open and slipped inside. His heart continued to race, heated passion still firing within its beats. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”

  “Are you, really? Sorry, I mean.”

  Frowning, Luke gazed down at her, seeing the lovely flush settle across her cheeks. Soft gray eyes had shifted to coal, lips parted, light makeup smeared from his impulsive kiss and a rainy morning. He shook his head. “No, I guess I’m not.”

  “I don’t know what to think of you. You’re rude, abrasive, often condescending, but I don’t think that’s really you. I think it might be a smokescreen designed to scare people away.” She stepped close and he held his breath. “I think you do it to protect yourself from caring too much, but guess what? Your armor is cracking. I can see it,” she murmured, as if to herself.

  “What did Andy say to you?”

  “He made some assumptions, but when he realized I didn’t know what the hell he was talking about, he clammed up.” She reached up to trail her fingertips down his jawline. “You have good friends, Luke.”

  With a sigh, he leaned down to rest his forehead to hers and closed his eyes. “I don’t want to care about you, Rowan.” Or want her, but he did so much it burrowed into his soul.

  He felt it, a whisper of her lips against his. “Then why do you?”

  “I can’t seem to help myself,” he murmured in truth, losing himself to her for another moment before she pulled away with a gentle pat to his chest.

  “Since we still have a business to run, I need to go change.” She walked away from him and he watched her go, heart leaden but trembling. He’d gone ahead and fallen into the trap he’d sworn he’d never allow again.

  Now he had little choice but to see things throu
gh, praying the fates wouldn’t choose to rip his life apart a second time.

  Chapter Seventeen

  “You aren’t an easy person to reach.”

  Rowan took a breath and cringed, wishing she’d forgotten to turn on her ringer. On top of everything else, this was the last thing she needed. “Hi, Mom. How are things?”

  “Good, actually, although I have the feeling you’re avoiding your dad and me.”

  In the background, she could hear the rise and fall of Vivaldi. Rowan imagined her mother sitting in the corner of the white leather sectional, gazing out the picture window at the perfectly landscaped back garden, sipping some Pinot and listening to Winter. Like retail, Mom was always one season ahead. Melancholy stole through Rowan as it always did, but the low burn of anger followed behind. After everything she’d experienced, her parents’ world seemed all the more ridiculous and superficial.

  “That’s silly.” She kept her thoughts from entering her voice and stopped in mid-stride on her way out the door. Christy’s youngest son had spiked a fever early in the day, so Rowan needed to take her place. Friday nights were a bear and she couldn’t leave Taylor and Zoe on their own, at least not in good conscience. Besides, she desperately needed to stay busy. It was the only way to block out the insanity. “It’s been kind of crazy getting everything organized.”

  “Did he leave a mess for you to sort through, sweetheart?”

  “No, not really. The place has a solid foundation, solid customers. I think it just needs a little TLC.” She dropped onto Jimmy’s battered but comfy, old couch, surprised when her enthusiasm surged upward. “I have lots of ideas for a bit of a facelift, but also to bring in more customers.”

  “That’s wonderful. You were always so creative. I can only imagine what you could do if you’d finished school.”

  Rowan’s enthusiasm withered. “I’m doing all right.”

  “Oh, I’m sure you are. I was only saying—”

  “I know what you were saying,” She swallowed a sigh, pinched the bridge of her nose, and threw out a bone. “Maybe I’ll even go back when things calm down. LSU is a good school.”

  There was a long pause on the other end. She was probably helping herself to a second glass of wine. “That would be lovely, Rowan.”

  As nice as the words were, the stilted tone said a little more. LSU wasn’t Stanford. Rowan ignored it. “Anyway, how’s Dad? Any new and interesting patients?”

  The simple question sent Patricia Broussard O’Herley into a session of who’s who in the wonderful world of plastic surgery. Rowan didn’t really listen, biding her time, and jumping in when her mother paused for a breath. “I’m sorry, Mom, I really need to go. It’s Friday night, so you can imagine how busy it’s going to be.”

  “I know bars can get kind of rowdy on the weekends. I hope you’re watching out for yourself.” It must have been the tail end of Winter because Andrea Bocelli now replaced Vivaldi.

  Rowan gritted her teeth. “It’s not that kind of place, Mom. We’ve got some great people who come in here.”

  “Speaking of people, is that Meunier man still there? God, I hope not. I understand your uncle was helping him out—Jimmy was always a little foolish in that department, but I presume the man has moved on by now.”

  Stilling, Rowan grasped the phone a little tighter, loosening her hold when her fingers cramped. “Jimmy mentioned Luke Meunier to you?”

  “During one of his more lucid moments. The situation was tragic, losing his wife and daughter that way, but he couldn’t continue to live in that bar. That’s not much of a life for anyone. People like that can sometimes get a little too comfortable and I wouldn’t want him to take advantage of you.”

  “Of course not.” Rowan’s throat and mouth felt parched as her breath whooshed in and out, dry as sand. Her heart thumped in her temple and she rubbed it with her fingertips. “Um, I’ll talk to you later, Mom. Give my love to Dad.”

  Nauseated, she disconnected.

  ****

  Rowan moved as fast as she could, gaining a quick admiration for food servers. On a customer’s suggestion, she’d arranged for another local band and the crowd they brought in hummed with energy and appetite. She was too busy to think about current events, let alone worry over them. Everything felt normal, real, tangible, and the whole idea of voodoo slid into the ridiculous.

  As she flitted between table, kitchen, and bar, she could feel the sultry weight of Luke’s gaze and tried not to react. Knowing a little about his past brought heaviness to her heart, but it still couldn’t keep the tingle from lighting her blood. Torn, she tried to balance her attraction and her compassion. When it didn’t work, she concentrated on the job.

  During one of Rowan’s loops, Margie hooked an arm though hers and Rowan smiled at her. “You’re turning into one of my best customers. Was that the case when Jimmy owned the bar?”

  The woman grinned back, speaking loudly over the background chaos. “Well, you do bring in some great entertainment. I think he was content to leave it as your local, neighborhood watering hole without a lot of hoopla.” Her smile dimmed a little. “I wanted to ask how everything was going, I mean, personally. The last time I saw you, you seemed a little upset.”

  At the concern in the woman’s dark eyes, Rowan considered, for the briefest of moments, telling her about the coating of supernatural oddness that had been plaguing her, but she snuffed the impulse. Everything around her was jumping and moving to the beat of everyday normalcy and her fear now seemed groundless. Besides, if the woman wasn’t superstitious, she’d probably think she was crazy. “I’m fine. Just a little transition stress, I suppose.”

  “Did you find out if your uncle had any outstanding debts or problems?”

  Rowan shrugged. “Not really. Doesn’t seem important now.”

  The older woman studied her, as if trying to decide if she spoke the truth before glancing beyond her. “Looks like you have a fan club.”

  Turning, Rowan winced as Justin beamed toward her from his side of the bar. The light only dimmed when he had to mix up a drink for a customer. Behind him, Luke watched, expression a little too neutral. “He’s … sweet…”

  “But annoying?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “You didn’t have to. How are things going with the surly bartender who lives in your storage room?”

  “We’re … co-existing.”

  Margie eyed her for a long moment, a smile flitting across her face. She nodded as if coming to some internal conclusion. “Lack of bloodshed is always a good sign.”

  Uncomfortable, Rowan peered around, noting craned necks her way. “Listen, Margie, I hate to cut this short, but I’m starting to get the stink eye from some of my customers, but maybe we could get together sometime soon for lunch. Right now, though, is there anything I can grab for you…?”

  Margie swirled a cocktail at her. “I think I’m good for now. Go take care of your business.”

  Rowan continued her circuit, replenishing drinks, checking burger orders, and trying to dodge extra-friendly hands, unsuccessful at her last table when an inebriated customer cupped her ass. Abruptly turning and pulling away, she shot him a narrow-eyed look that had him dropping his own gaze in shame. He shifted from her annoyed eyes to stare at the wall and sulk.

  Luke had one of her drink orders waiting, throwing up a brow when she leaned against the bar. “Seems you have your hands full out there.”

  “I can handle it.”

  “I noticed.”

  She gazed at him, a little surprised to see the glint of anger in his eyes, but to his credit, he said nothing. Very wise. The last thing she needed was her bartender going Neanderthal on a drunken customer with frisky fingers.

  Luke jerked his head and she moved closer, barely suppressing a shudder when his warm breath tickled her ear. “I wanted to let you know that Dave got back to me.”

  Rowan stared at him for a moment before awareness echoed dully. The normalcy of the evening left on
one heavy sigh. “Oh.”

  “Right now they’re in Florida but will be heading back the day after tomorrow. She’s agreed to meet with us, but suggests you stay close to home for the time being.”

  “I’m starting to feel stupid about this.”

  Luke reached out and rested his hand over hers for the shortest of moments, his flesh warm against hers. “Growing up in this area, you hear a lot of superstition, but Mrs. Leroux has always been amazing at splitting fact from fiction. Give her a chance.” He shrugged. “Best-case scenario, she dispels some fear, worst case, she gives you some protection. Just don’t take it lightly.”

  His gaze pressed against hers, his expression annoyingly neutral, eyes intense.

  After a moment, she nodded. She already worried about her sanity, so there was little to lose.

  “By the way, if that guy touches you again, he’ll need a spotter to take a piss for a month.” He smiled when she frowned at him.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The band had broken down their equipment, tossed down some complimentary beers, and now gradually moved everything out. A few regulars stuck around, but closing time ticked near, giving Rowan plenty of room to ponder her situation.

  It had been better when they’d been busy. Zipping around kept the worry at arm’s length, but now, thoughts crowded her brain, dark and unwanted. The steady thump of a headache rose from the base of her skull and she rubbed at it, distracted.

  The day had been insane. Just that morning, she and Luke had ridden out in search of his shaman, or whatever the hell she was. Then there was Henry lying in a hospital bed while his family waited for a miracle. And then there was … Luke.

  Squeezing her eyes closed, Rowan pressed harder at the ache in her head, wishing to dispel her uneasiness and turmoil. He was one more complication she hadn’t counted on.