by Linda Joyce
Table of Contents
Excerpt
Praise for Linda Joyce
Biloxi
Copyright
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
A word about the author…
Thank you for purchasing this publication of The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
“Oh, Nicholas, I can’t handle more conflict.
Camilla is grumbling about going back to Wyoming for the summer. She and Jared are arguing about it. My parents are thinking of selling their home—I love visiting it in the Garden District—and buying an RV, like the one James’ grandparents own. Aunt Macy constantly bickers with Momma, they’re like pecking hens…I’m tired with a capitol T.”
“Which is why, I want my mother to come to the wedding. If my father is my best man—maybe there’s a chance of reconciliation. He’s been sober for a long time…but she could be the catalyst for even more change. It’s a risk I want to take to bring my family together again. You, of all people, understand that.”
Biloxi rose and paced. “Do you understand the explosion that could take place? Your mother materializes out of nowhere, just in time for the wedding. Then you want to change who represents you as best man? All so close to the wedding. It’s a slap in the face for my brother. My mother will be so insulted. Grandmother Elise will be so disappointed.”
“I’ll tell them. I’ll shoulder the responsibility for this.”
Throwing up her hands, Biloxi shouted, “You don’t understand. The minute after you tell my mother, Hurricane Deidre will be on the phone calling me to demand to know why I didn’t warn her. I’m damned if I do and damned if I don’t. Damn it to hell! Is all of this worth it? I just don’t know anymore.”
Praise for Linda Joyce
“Southern writers have their own unique vibe; Linda Joyce conveys that oh-so-genteel, tradition-bound warmth with her Fleur de Lis romance series, while maintaining the fiercely independent fervor of the Southern lass in star-crossed love.”
~Susan Coryell, author of A Red, Red Rose
~*~
“When I read Linda’s books, I am swept away. I don’t follow along with her characters, instead I become those people. Linda writes with such emotion and clarity, you can’t help but fall in love. Dedicated, goal-oriented, overcomes struggles, hope, joy, love. These are a few of the words I would use to describe her people. They are real individuals. Her books are a refreshing escape!”
~Taylor Anne, author of Smoke and Mirrors
Biloxi
by
Linda Joyce
Fleur de Lis Brides, Book 2
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
Biloxi
COPYRIGHT © 2017 by Linda Joyce
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Contact Information: [email protected]
Cover Art by Diana Carlile
The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
PO Box 708
Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708
Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com
Publishing History
First Mainstream Women’s Fiction Edition, 2017
Digital ISBN 978-1-5092-1214-9
Fleur de Lis Brides, Book 2
Published in the United States of America
Dedication
This book is dedicated to those
who seek to do the right thing,
sometimes against all odds,
just like Biloxi Dutrey.
Prologue
Biloxi Dutrey pushed the kitchen screen door open with her foot while steadying a tray in her hands. The late afternoon April sun warmed her. She breathed in the rich aroma of coffee as she placed the tray on a side table. On the back gallery at Fleur de Lis, she relaxed after the monthly family meeting.
“I brought cream, sugar, and those green packets you like, Branna.”
Biloxi sank into an empty rocker and gazed at her family. Her cousin, Branna, rocked Anaëlle in her arms. The sleeping baby had been the constant topic of conversation. It was amusing to watch grown men, her father, uncles, and cousins, reduced to soppy messes over a one month-old’s tiny fingers, toes, and cupid-bow mouth.
Camilla, her other cousin, nodded to Branna. “Do you want a blanket or anything? Is there something I can get for you?”
“Coffee and all y’all is what I need.”
“May I join in?” Nola, Biloxi’s sister, stepped closer to the group.
“Of course.” Biloxi motioned her over to the last empty chair. Her younger sister’s interest in family affairs had grown since she experienced all the work it took to repair their home and gardens after Hurricane Katrina for the last eight months.
Biloxi relaxed more. Home and family meant everything. Safety, creativity, love, and food. All were intertwined into the fabric of Fleur de Lis. She especially enjoyed the chats with her female relatives and looked forward to catching up with them each month.
“We’ve been fortunate,” Camilla said. “We have each other. Not everyone in our community has been so lucky. But I think we’re doing our best to reach out to those in need.”
With the conversation going on around her, Biloxi’s thoughts drifted. The family had managed Christmas and New Year’s Eve with a subdued spirit four months after the storm. Instead of buying gifts for each other, they bought gifts for others in need. They hosted a holiday open house in the same tent that served as a marriage chapel for Branna and James last October. Aunt Macy insisted they host the annual Valentine’s Ball, not the formal affair of years gone by, but a bonfire, music, and community potluck to bring everyone together. Dancing had allowed everyone party and laugh.
Yet, the first Mardi Gras after the storm had been dismal. A half-dozen pickup trucks pulled small, barely decorated trailers. Only one marching band participated. There was no second line. However, it gave everyone a reason to celebrate and look forward to good things to come. Sticking to tradition provided a normalcy everyone craved.
The big family news—the early arrival of Anaëlle in March. Branna and James were ecstatic, but exhausted parents. They’d also decided to stay longer in Lakeview since the economy in Bayou Petite was nowhere near what it was before the storm. Jobs remained scarce.
“Biloxi?”
“Oh. Sorry for drifting off.” Biloxi took the offered cup of steaming coffee from Nola. “We’ve had some uplifting moments to keep us moving forward. We need to find something to celebrate in April and May.”
“In June, we have your wedding,” Nola said. “I’m so excited to be a bride’s maid.”
“Your wedding will be the crowning jewel for the year.” Branna smiled.
“I know brides are supposed to be the star of the show, but for me, all the work we’ve done at Fleur de Lis—it’s the show-stopper. Just to have everyone home, including the Old Aunts and all their sweet doting, will make it my dream wedding. I feel a bit sad for my Nick—he’s never located his mother. It would be amazing to have her, along with Edward and his grandmother, in attendance.”
“It is curious thing that she’s never been found,” Camilla sipped from her cup. “But the women of Fleur de Lis love
him lots. Maybe that will give him some comfort.”
Biloxi looked at the faces of her loved ones. They grounded her and sustained her, and marrying Nick would make her world complete. Her family had buried the past, but Nick’s past wasn’t so easily remedied. Where the heck was his mother? If she was dead, how would he ever find her?
As clouds drifted in front of the sun, a cool breeze blew. Biloxi shivered. When the sun emerged, she tried to shake of a lingering unease. Things were going well. After surviving Hurricane Katrina, whatever might happen couldn’t be worse.
As the conversation turned to babies and other things, Biloxi shivered again. The gnawing unease wouldn’t let go.
Chapter 1
The month of May would never be the same. Biloxi sucked her bottom lip as Nick opened the front door to his house. Her eyes misted. Funerals were depressing. Surely after hundreds of years, someone could conceive a better way to send off the dead. She found comfort in her conviction that the souls of the Old Aunts would not evanesce. Otherwise, losing both of them would be too much to bear.
She tugged on the neckline of her dress. The funeral garb had to be stripped—now. Black A-line dress with sheer sleeves, zipped in the back, and above-knee hem imitated a straitjacket. Not that she’d ever worn one, but she’d gamble on Fleur de Lis that her imagination got it right. Restrained was no different than suffocating.
Too bad the cloud of sadness surrounding her couldn’t be removed as quickly as clothes from her body.
When the front door finally opened, Nick stepped aside. “Ladies first, chèr.”
She caressed his cheek and brushed his lips lightly as she passed, never tiring of his sweet term of endearment. Nick was her anchor. Always supportive. Always understanding. It didn’t hurt that he rocked jeans and a Stetson. He was her man. She’d do anything for him.
Removing her heels, she clutched them and ran barefoot up the stairs. “Come help me with the zipper, please,” she called over her shoulder, not wanting to wait a full sixty seconds more for freedom from the constricting clothes.
“Be there in a second.”
“Hurry, Nick.”
A thrum of anxiety pulsed through her. She had imagined after the wakes and funerals, sadness would lift and the strength the Old Aunts carried through life would vibrate in her. As annoying and demanding as the old women were until the end, no matter their initial hatred of Nick, the Old Aunts exuded a quiet fortitude she hoped to inherit. What character they had shown when putting aside their longstanding prejudice of Trahans, even embracing Nick as her fiancé.
Opening the closet door in Nick’s bedroom, she placed black shoes on a rack. Tugging at the waistband, she stripped off black panty hose like peeling away a cellophane wrapper.
“Finally!” Freedom from nylon allowed her to breathe. Air-conditioned coolness against her newly exposed skin lifted her waning energy slightly. But a steady beat of grief and something more—the unsettling realization of the fragility of life—hung heavy in her heart.
“No one else can die,” she whispered, fighting for a moment of peace. She didn’t expect heaven to heed her command, but speaking the words added a bit of steel to her fading fortitude.
She backed until her bare legs met the bed, then she fell backward spread eagle. Had she been foolish to put the wedding on hold? Nick had been irritated, but not outright angry when she decided to postpone their wedding until she could walk down the staircase at Fleur de Lis in a bridal gown. Her decision wasn’t just to please the Old Aunts or to maintain a sense of propriety in the community. The planned delay gave her a sense of accomplishment—delaying gratification for something she wanted so much, as though she’d truly graduated to adulthood and deserved to be the true Keeper of Fleur de Lis. But now the notion seemed just as ridiculous as her insisting they live separately—she at Fleur de Lis and he at his home—until they married.
“Nick, you have the patience of a saint.” She hugged herself. In less than a month, they’d be married at church and have the reception in the grand ballroom at home. Looking up, she expected to see the Old Aunts smiling down, a sign of their blessing.
And Nick was a blessing. She wanted him, his love, his kisses, his body, and someday his babies. What they shared intimately always left her pulse pounding and heart soaring. With him, she could conquer even the worst of situations, as evidenced by all the repairs and improvements at Fleur de Lis after the destruction brought by the storm. No hurricane would stop her with Nick in her life.
The sound of her fiancé climbing the stairs floated to her, along with the sound of ice cubes bumping against glass. Nick must have poured himself a drink.
“Selfish man, he didn’t offer to bring me one.” Four Roses. Her favorite whiskey. Neat. She rarely ever drank, but today she needed a double. Twice in only ten days, she’d donned the black dress. First for Great-Grandmother Marie’s funeral, then today for Great Grandaunt Grace’s, who passed a few days ago. Two funerals in less than two weeks…Funeral directors, Biloxi decided, possessed no sense of humor. The man had rolled his eyes and practically pouted when she jokingly asked for a discount since they bought two coffins, funeral services, and headstones in a single month.
Rising, she paused at the opening to the closet. “I’ve never been the little-black-dress sort. Even when I shot fashion.” She fingered a sheer sleeve. “A sea of black today. I will never wear black again. Life is too short, and everything looks better in living color, including me.”
“Let me help you.” Nick set two glasses on the nightstand—his with ice and hers without. He had thought of her—then crossed the bedroom, standing behind her. His kindness warmed her heart.
“I can’t wait until you’ve moved all of your clothes in here. Not long now. Barely a month.” He unzipped the dress. Cool air kissed her skin. He caressed her shoulders, brushing the dress away. His touch sent tingles zipping through her veins. Fabric pooled at her ankles. She stepped out of the circle made by the dress and tossed it on a nearby chair. She wanted to feel Nick—all of him.
Wrapping his arms around her waist, he pulled her close, her back resting against his strong chest. He kissed the side of her neck. “I like it when you wear nothing at all.”
Twinges of want popped to life like sparklers flashing at night. She lifted her chin. Nick’s lips claimed hers. Tender kisses, firm and insistent. The heat of his lips warmed her to her core. She turned in his arms, wrapping hers around his neck and pressing herself against the full length of him. Excitement ignited a burn only he could satisfy. The playful tease of his tongue seduced. Making love only a few hours after the funeral caused her a second of contemplation, but the need to feel loved and alive overrode any sense of propriety.
He scooped her up and carried her to the king-size sleigh bed they’d recently purchased together. Soon she’d be Mrs. Nicholas Trahan. No better time than now to christen the bed.
“Make love to me, Nick,” she whispered as he hovered over her, his arms preventing their bodies from melding together. “I need to feel all of you.” She pulled at the buttons on his crisp, white dress shirt with the same urgency that pressed inside her, hurrying as though a stopwatch marked wasted minutes until her naked body intertwined with his.
Ding dong.
“What the hell?” Nick said.
“Ignore it.” She captured his cheeks and squeezed gently until his lips puckered, then she kissed him. Licking his bottom lip, she drew his full attention. “Take off your pants.”
Ding dong.
“Nick? Biloxi?” Pounding on the front door followed.
“We know you’re home!”
She recognized the lilting voices. The first one, Grandmother Elise Dutrey. The second one, Suzette Trahan, Nick’s grandmother. The two women had formed an unlikely alliance after Nick had proposed to her.
“They won’t go away until we answer,” Nick said, rising from the bed.
“Don’t go,” she pleaded, then lifted and removed her black silk slip. In a
playful pose—arms braced, back arched, legs crossed at her ankles, she motioned for him to return to the bed.
“Stay where you are, chèr. Don’t move. I’m going to ravish you as soon as I get them gone.” Nick left the room in a rush. His bare feet smacked out a quick tempo as he descended the stairs.
“I should’ve spread my legs. Bet he wouldn’t have ignored that invitation,” she grumbled, flopping backward on the bed
Ding dong.
“Nick? Biloxi?”
Biloxi groaned. Sometimes she envied Branna living miles away in Florida, especially when family became a pain in the butt. Yet she loved them all and the minor inconveniences were the price she paid, and in the end, she couldn’t abandon Fleur de Lis the way Branna had.
Downstairs, Nick opened the door.
“Hello, ladies.” Nick’s voice traveled up to her.
The pair of interlopers entered the house, their heels tapping against the wooden floor.
“Well?” Elise raised her voice. “Where’s my granddaughter? Not in the kitchen, I’ll bet.”
“Why don’t you take a seat in the living room. Biloxi is changing clothes.” Nick’s volume increased as though he thought she might not hear his booming octave. “And she’ll be down in a minute.”
Biloxi sighed. Nick’s clues weren’t subtle. Their late afternoon tête—à—tête complete with sexual satisfaction had been chucked in order to entertain the new generation of granddames. When she had a moment alone, she’d have a little chat with her grandmother. Recently, she’d taught her how to text, and Grandmother needed to utilize her newest skill before invading Nick’s house ever again.
“Biloxi?” Suzette called out. “We’re going to make tea.”
“Save me, Lord,” Biloxi prayed. “They know not what they do.” If Suzette wanted tea, then the topic she had come to discuss must be serious.
Biloxi slipped on jeans and a t-shirt before joining Nick and their unwanted guests downstairs. She greeted her grandmother with a peck on the cheek, then headed to the kitchen.
