Love Letter for a Sinner (The Sinners sports romances)

by Lynn Shurr

  “I got that out of my system when I was young.”

  “Some men feel the need to repeat those years.” Her soft fingers moved up and down on his erection turning it hard again.

  “Not me.” Joe closed his eyes and thought how great he’d scored a psychologist for a wife. No need to take his problems to the team shrink, Dr. Funk, who had once diagnosed him as a sex addict. Ha! He’d proved Dr. Mind Fuck wrong.

  He’d married a woman who climbed aboard and moved over him until he forgot what they’d been discussing. He thought Tink, being tiny, liked to pretend she could dominate him. He let her believe that until the last moment when he rolled over taking her along for the ride and drove deep inside her body until she clenched around his penis and he let go with an ejaculation he’d been saving up for a week.

  Afterwards, they slept until the knock came on the door followed by the shout of, “Ten minutes.” Joe put on his grubby clothes and went out to be sprayed and dusted again for what he hoped would be his final encounter with Layla Devlin. Not like Nell to sleep through any noise or disturbance. Her mother’s ears were always cocked and listening for trouble in their household even in the dead of night. Maybe knowing she’d left the children in the good and competent hands of their staff which included a devoted housekeeper, a ranch manager with commando skills, a nurse who was a former nun, and a bona fide English butler, plus any friends and Sinners past and present who helped with Camp Love Letter allowed her to rest obliviously for a change. He realized the strain raising ten kids put on Nell, and she still volunteered her psychology skills at the health clinic. After this year, he’d be around to help more. She had his word, not that it wouldn’t be a struggle to give up the life he loved on the football field.

  ****

  The open carriage came to a stop near the corral. Joe dismounted from his horse and strode over to address its occupant, Layla in her fancy duds, her pale face shaded by a white parasol. He removed his hat respectfully. “Howdy, Miss Beth. What brings you out this way?”

  “Just passing by,” Layla said in the faintest of Southern accents. “I surely could use a cooling drink, and I believe you might as well. Is Jody here? I could ask him to join us.” Her violet eyes looked deeply into his in a way that said she had no interest in his fictional son.

  “Uh, I t’ink he’s in da barn.”

  “Cut! Joe, you aren’t playing a Cajun. Put those ‘t-h’s’ back in the words and leave out the ‘uh’. Again,” director Quentin Sibley said.

  “I-think-he-is-in-the-barn.”

  “Cut! No good. This is a simple sentence, but I want you to say it like you know what Layla is up to.”

  “I do,” Joe said.

  This time Layla delivered her lines as she leaned forward. The tight corset pushed her breasts up to new heights—about the level of Joe’s eyes from where she sat in the carriage. Joe botched his single sentence again. Cut!

  “Layla, you want the son. You aren’t supposed to come on to the old man,” Sibley directed. A red Sinners ball cap worn backwards protected his shaved head from the early June rays beating down on all of them. It might be a dry heat, but you could still bake tortillas on a rock. Joe licked his parched lips. Give him Louisiana air wet as a sponge any day. Old man. Now he was sorry he’d given Quentin the hat.

  “Could I speak to Joe for just a minute?” Nell stood at Sibley’s elbow. How long she’d been watching him struggle, Joe had no idea.

  “Who the hell are you and what are you doing on my set?” the director said graciously.

  Nell held out her hand. “Mrs. Joe Dean Billodeaux. Love your movies.”

  She didn’t. Joe knew that for a fact. Having too much sex and violence, they never got a showing in their home theater. She’d been against his taking this bit part, but the money spoke, and he thought he’d have fun playing a cowboy. After all, he did enjoy doing a cameo in a football movie called The Big Score, but then, he’d only had to play himself, accent and all, for a few minutes.

  “I believe I can help if you will let me have a word with Joe.” Nell reclaimed her hand from a rather aggressive shake.

  “Anything, anything if it gets this fuckin’ scene wrapped.” Sibley waved a remarkably hairy arm exposed by his tight, black T-shirt and gave her free rein. She stepped carefully over cables and around cameras. Upon reaching Joe, Nell tugged his shoulder down to her level. She whispered in his ear and walked away without giving Layla the briefest acknowledgement. This time her husband delivered the line with a suggestive drawl. The cameras kept rolling as the carriage driver, a black servant, helped Miss Beth down. Both men watched Layla sashay toward the barn, and Joe shot one of his sure-to-get-him-laid grins straight into the lens.

  “Now that’s a match won’t never happen,” he remarked to the driver.

  “The mayor won’t have none of it, but I brings her where she want to go.”

  Shaking his head, Joe moved away heading back to the corral. Cut. At this point his double usually stepped in to take the bullet in the back as the rustlers swept across the scene to abduct Miss Beth and raid the cattle, but that scene was in the can, thank le bon Dieu. Tomorrow, he could go home. Or maybe not.

  Joe walked over to his wife watching her admire his long stride. They’d never let their sex life shrivel despite having all those kids, but their privacy certainly suffered. He squeezed Nell’s waist. “I’m done here. What do you say we take a few days to ourselves before getting back to Chapelle?”

  “I’ve always wanted to see Acoma Pueblo,” Nell said quite seriously.

  “Not what I had in mind, sugar, but we can work that into our plans.” Then, she smiled.

  Twirling her parasol as if it had saw-edged blades on its rim, Layla Devlin stalked to them and sized Nell up with those violet eyes capable of portraying a myriad of emotions on command. At the moment, she favored hatred. “You are short and old like some sort of aging Tinker Bell.”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t aggravate Nell. She might be little, but her vertical leap is something to behold when she’s worked up. I’m the only one allowed to call her Tink.” Nell strained against Joe’s grip on her waist. “If I weren’t holding her back, she’d scratch your pretty eyes out in a minute.”

  The movie star stepped back nearly tripping on her long skirts. Layla shielded her precious face with the parasol. They laughed at her, which didn’t help one bit in allaying her anger. Quentin Sibley strolled over to their group oblivious to the tension. A man who liked to be in control, he swung one arm around Nell’s shoulders separating her from Joe and drew Layla in with a hand to her tightly-corseted waist.

  “Tell me how you got Joe to deliver his line. I might need to use that technique on other actors.”

  “I’m afraid it won’t work on anyone else. I simply said to use the tone he brings out when he knows our twin teenage daughters are up to something. Treat Miss Beth like the spoiled child she is, I said.”

  Layla Devlin’s eyes narrowed, the better to point her laser beams at Joe’s wife. Quentin roared with laughter and releasing Nell, slapped his knee. The actress shook off his other arm.

  “Yeah, all but three of our ten are teenagers, and four of those are girls. That’s why fathers get gray.” Joe took off his Stetson and raked his fingers through his still thick black hair shot through with enough silver it seemed to spark in the afternoon sun. The unruly curl that always escaped to his forehead made an appearance as sexy as ever regardless of a streak of gray.

  “Really?” Layla said with her full lips sullen and mean. “I thought you were only getting old. Didn’t the Sinners draft Rex Worthy right out of Texas A & M to take your place last year in case you couldn’t make it through another season?”

  “You haven’t seen Rex Worthy on the field very often now, have you? He won’t be getting playing time this year either. Besides, I think that boy ain’t right.”

  “Do not tell me another gorgeous guy is gay!” Layla punctuated that statement with a stamp of her high-buttoned shoe
, which might have been charming if she weren’t such a bitch.

  “I’m not sure about it, only he tells everyone who asks that he’s still a virgin. What kind of man does that? Most will tell a lie in the other direction if they are, like how many women they’ve bedded,” Joe offered.

  Layla jumped right on that statement. “So you were lying about all those women you had early in your career and how great you were in bed.”

  “I never claimed to be great. The ladies said that. Now that I am…more mature, I regret the way I carried on with women, but I haven’t been a virgin since I was fourteen.”

  “A football player and a virgin.” Layla grew thoughtful. “I’m a big fan of the Sinners. When does football season start again?”

  “September for the real games.”

  “We should be finished filming Savaged! by then, and I could use a rest. I do so adore New Orleans.” Oddly, her southern drawl had returned. “Would you show me around and introduce me to some of the players?” Her gloved hand reached out to touch Joe’s arm.

  He moved behind Nell and circled his wife’s waist with his hands. Nell rose up on her toes as if she might spring at any moment. Layla backed off.

  “Sure, the two of us would be happy to show you around. You can come to the ranch and meet the family. I’ll invite Rex, too,” Joe said over Nell’s head.

  “That would be so—pleasurable, I am sure.” Layla’s violet eyes darkened to a shade Nell would refer to as passionate purple when she told the story to her friends.

  Quentin Sibley, not a man who liked to be ignored, dusted his perfectly clean hands together. “We’re through for today. What say we all go out for a big steak dinner this evening, say seven. I’ll book a private room so we won’t be bothered by the public and bring Brandon Deal along. All the ladies want to meet him.”

  “Sorry, we have other plans, but great working with you, Quent.” Joe offered a hand grimy from being on the set.

  Sibley shook it rather gingerly. “Wish I could say the same. You got the look, Joe Dean, but not the talent, sorry to say. Keep your day job.”

  “I plan to.”

  Sibley moved off spouting orders to those who waited on his every word. Layla turned to follow, but Nell could not resist sending one last jibe her way.

  “And Miss Devlin, Joe is still great in bed.”

  Chapter Three

  Nell lay curled against Joe’s chest absorbing his warmth and lulling herself with the steady beat of his heart. Her husband slept. She did not. What she had to tell him wouldn’t wait much longer, but for now she let him rest. He’d gotten a small break from summer training camp and come home more tired than she’d ever seen him. Shortly, he’d be on the road again doing preseason games, though Rex Worthy, trying to show what he could do, would be on the field more than her husband.

  For now, she took comfort in the memory of their free time in New Mexico. She’d begun to think of it as their Last Honeymoon with sex more frequent and imaginative than any since their courtship days and early marriage. Because she wanted to see Acoma, Joe arranged for them to stay the night on the steep mesa with its cluster of ancient adobe houses. Not a luxury adventure, they spent the night in a cool, mud-walled room with one tiny window and used the outhouses lined up around the rim of the drop-off. Their hosts were generous and hospitable. She recalled that night sky filled with stars from end to end so close it seemed you could walk upon the path of the Milky Way as the natives believed their dead did in ancient times. Soon, she might be taking that road.

  Death stalked her mind tonight. She recognized the symptoms: tired all the time, nausea, vomiting, bloating. Cancer had reclaimed her, this time not leukemia, but possibly ovarian. She could hide her illness from Joe away at training camp and the children who were self-absorbed like all kids, especially the teenagers, but not from her housekeeper, Corazon, or Nurse Wickersham. They urged her to make an appointment with a doctor, a specialist. She decided to see her good friend and partner at the clinic, Dr. Arminta Green Bullock, better known as Mintay, and get her advice on how to proceed. First, she wanted to tell Joe and prepare him for the diagnosis. Once confirmed, they would break the news to the children together. To think she said she’d never leave them and now might not be able to keep that promise.

  Nell rolled aside and brought her knees and arms into a fetal position. She attempted to cry quietly, but Joe awakened. He stretched his six-foot-three frame the length of the bed. “You okay, Tink?”

  “I have something on my mind.” She tried to make her voice less weepy and kept her back turned from her husband. “Tomorrow, I’m going to see Mintay for a checkup. My cancer might have returned in another form.”

  Joe sat up, the sheets sliding down the smooth muscles of his chest marred here and there with small scars acquired on the playing field. They rarely bothered with nightclothes but kept some handy in case the children knocked. “Come here. Let me hold you.”

  “Not scared of catching cancer like you were when we first met?”

  “You know I got over that.” Since Tink stayed rolled into a ball, he turned her over and tucked her against him.

  “I was in remission when we met. Now it’s the real deal.”

  “You don’t know that yet. I’ll call Coach and tell him I’m not coming back tomorrow. Let Worthy do the passing if he’s so keen. I want to be with you when you get the diagnosis.”

  “Thanks.”

  Her voice sounded so anguished he wanted to shed a few tears, too, but he held steady for the both of them. Joe rubbed her back until she dozed. He swore he didn’t close his eyes for the rest of the night. What if he lost her? What would he do? How could he cope with ten kids?

  ****

  Only Dean, their eldest, noticed anything awry. “Dad, shouldn’t you be leaving for training camp? I mean, you don’t want Rex Worthy to get the jump on you. This is your last chance for the Super Bowl.”

  “That’s right. This year is one for the thumb. I’m going after that fifth ring with all I got, believe you me.”

  Too bad Dean wasn’t ready to step into his place on the Sinners team. Already six feet tall at nearly seventeen and being scouted by college teams, his firstborn had a brilliant future ahead of him. Reassured, the boy piled into the van driven by Knox Polk, their ranch manager, and, let’s face it, bodyguard, with the rest of the brood. By tonight, his family’s world might be much less secure.

  Joe insisted on driving to the clinic. Nell looked far too haggard from lack of sleep and possibly her condition to be trusted behind the wheel. They took the double cab truck because his legs cramped in the little red compact car she kept for errands and quick trips into town. As he lifted her into the big vehicle, he noticed for the first time the roundness of her belly, the thickness of her waist under the loose blouse she wore. He should have been aware of that last evening, but as usual, he was up for fun and games in the dark, never considering Nell might not want to participate. She’d rarely turned him down in all the years of their marriage except when really ill. Terribly ill.

  Her arms and face remained thin, her large, brown eyes underscored with blue shadows. She’d barely eaten any breakfast. A fast growing tumor, then, because he swore in June when Nell visited the set of Savaged! she’d had her usual spunkiness and small waist. What a great week that had been, maybe their last for a long time, but she would recover. He’d pull out all the stops to see she got well.

  They didn’t speak as they rode into town. Afraid jostling might hurt his wife Joe concentrated on avoiding potholes, the curse of all Louisiana back roads. Nell caught on when he swerved across the center line once too often.

  “I’m not in any pain, Joe. It’s just the nausea and vomiting that’s causing me trouble.”

  He tried to make a joke of it. “Not on my leather upholstery, please.” She didn’t laugh.

  Joe cleared his throat. “Look, if you do have cancer, I’ll hand in my retirement papers tomorrow.”

  Nell laid a cold ha
nd on his thigh and gave it a squeeze. “I know that is the greatest gift you could offer me, but don’t. I’d only feel worse taking away your last season, and we have plenty of friends who will help with the children if I’m in the hospital. I hope Nurse Shammy will be able to care for me at home most of the time.”

  That she’d thought all this out, never saying a word until last night hurt him worse than being buried under two linebackers. “I wasn’t with you when you had the triplets and should have been.”

  “My choice. I wanted you to finish your game. Besides, you delivered our twins. How many men could say that?”

  What a long history they had together. He’d thought they would have a long future ahead after he retired. Joe parked in front of the clinic and helped Nell down as if she were a branch of flower petals easily broken and bruised. Running ahead, he opened the clinic door for her and lingered in the opening after she passed.

  “I got a few errands to run. Mintay won’t want me in with you while she does the exam anyhow.”

  Joe saw the disappointment in her eyes, but knowing it would be only temporary, he could handle it. “I swear I’ll be back for the diagnosis. Don’t let the doctor tell you anything before I arrive.”

  Nell nodded. “Sure, no problem. See you in a little while.” She moved toward the examination rooms with her shoulders squared.

  Joe rushed back to the truck. Nell probably thought he couldn’t handle the situation, but he had lots to accomplish in a short time. First stop, the church of Ste. Jeanne d’Arc where he lit every candle on the Mary altar and prayed, “Mother Mary, spare my wife from cancer” each time a flame ignited. He left a large check in the donation box on his way out.

  Next stop, Ike’s Barber Shop, a place he hadn’t set foot in since he could afford three-hundred dollar haircuts. A place sporting a traditional red-and-white-striped barber pole outside and three chairs inside, Joe Dean had lost his childhood curls here to Ike’s scissors right before he started kindergarten. His daddy had put his foot down and said no son of his would go to school looking like a girl. His mama cried when Daddy brought the locks of black hair home in a bag for her to keep, but not Joe. He hated those curls and kept them severely in check since then, all except that one always flopping on his forehead—but the ladies seemed to love it, especially Nell.