by Liz Talley
“I’m not a brat,” he sniffled, tears filling his eyes. She’d never seen a kid cry so easily. His damp eyes narrowed. “What’s a brat?”
“Someone who insists on getting his way all the time, every day, and when he doesn’t, he throws himself down on the ground, kicking and screaming until everyone is miserable. No one wants to play with a brat.”
The boy cocked his head like an inquisitive puppy. “But I thought you liked soccer?”
She nodded. “I do, but I’m hot, tired and my ankle hurts. I don’t want to play. I want you to consider how others may feel and alter your behavior to show you care about them.”
“Oh,” he said, walking toward the other rocker and sitting down. “I didn’t know you had a hurt ankle.”
“Because you don’t listen. I told you this morning.”
At that Spencer frowned. Such a little man already. Didn’t want to hear he was in the wrong. Probably would never stop for directions either. “I listen. I just didn’t hear you.”
“Oh, well, that explains it.”
They sat for a moment. Annie felt the gun against her side, the back of her tank stuck to her like new skin, and mosquitos buzzed in her ears, but she didn’t move.
“I’m sorry,” he said, propping his elbows on his dirty knees and looking plaintively at her.
She nodded. “I accept you apology. Saying you’re sorry is very non-brat-like.”
“I don’t want to be one of those guys. When I go to kindergarten, I want kids to play with me and stuff.”
“If you learn to listen to others and use their ideas sometimes, you shouldn’t have a problem.” She stood and held out a hand. “Ready for mac and cheese?”
He took her hand and turned, wrapping his arms around her thighs. “You are a good nanny, Annie. I’m glad Mom fired Sophie. She never played with me at all and she called me a brat all the time. I didn’t know what that was.”
Annie didn’t know whether it was all the crap that had been going on, or the thought she’d done something right for a change, but emotion welled in her throat. She stroked Spencer’s sweat-soaked head. “I’m glad I’m your nanny, too.”
And for once she meant it.
Spencer dropped his arms and tilted his face to her. “I want extra cheese on my mac and cheese.”
She crossed her arms and lifted an eyebrow.
“Um, please.”
She smiled. “Okay.”
They turned to go inside and found Nate watching them. His expression was warm, and something about his catching her having a good moment with Spencer rather than her normal incompetency pleased her. “Hey, Mom made spaghetti with Italian gravy for dinner.”
Annie looked at Spencer. “Spaghetti and meat sauce.”
He thrust both fists into the air. “Score!”
Spencer disappeared like free beer samples at a bar.
“Guess he was hungry,” Nate commented, moving onto the porch and closing the door behind him. “I don’t know why you think you’re not good with kids. I overheard the conversation. Pretty good if you ask me.”
“I didn’t ask.” She didn’t want his praise. Or maybe she did and that’s what made her feel so confused. Everything felt tense, as if she walked a minefield, expecting to be blown to smithereens. “Sorry. I’m tense.”
“Preaching to the choir,” he said, sinking into the chair she’d occupied minutes before. “Picou has been dragging out all the family recipes since I told her about Sally coming for a visit. She’s determined to make copies of her great-grandmother’s praline recipe along with Uncle Reuben’s shrimp creole. She made Aunt Cecile’s Italian gravy and meatballs in celebration. Why would food matter?”
Annie leaned against the door frame. “Soothes her and she needs something to keep her hands busy. Food is comfort. My mother did the same thing. Made chocolate chip cookies every time she was upset or nervous.”
He smiled. “I don’t know much about your family.”
She shrugged. “I don’t talk much about them. My mother passed away and everything fell apart.”
He didn’t respond, maybe because he knew about things falling apart, about holes unable to be filled. But all that had changed when he walked into that school nearly a week ago. He would no longer carry the burden of an empty place. Sally would fill that one when she finally realized she had a family who’d loved her once…one that would love her again. And Nate would carry guilt no longer.
She cleared her throat. “So, you hear from the lab?”
“Got a hit on the prints early this morning.”
She stiffened. “You didn’t tell me earlier.”
“I am now. We’ve got uniforms canvassing the neighborhood surrounding the church. More hitting hotels surrounding I-49.”
She felt aggravation creep up her spine. “You should have briefed me this morning. Instead I spent the day drawing stick figures and playing Candy Land. We’re partners.”
“In a way,” he said, flicking leaves off the porch with the toe of his loafer. “You couldn’t do anything. Your job is to stay with Spencer. It’s the only thing that gives me comfort. I looked at your record. You were a good officer in the Air Force and a good agent. I know he’s safe with you.”
“You should have told me. My firm has files and this guy might be in them. You didn’t even give me a name to check.” She couldn’t believe he was cutting her out of the investigation. What the hell? They’d worked together the whole day before, and her instincts to give chase to the suspect gave them the lead. So now he was taking over and giving her the babysitting job?
He shook his head. “I didn’t see anything on a meth head named Sean Shaffer from Georgia. Besides I already sent the info to Ace this morning.”
“You what?”
“Saved you the trouble of sending it to him. It was no problem. I’ve been intending to speak with him anyway. He said he’d run the dude through his—”
“We were working together,” she said, unable to stop the flood of anger. He went over her head to her boss? How would that look to Ace? Like she was an incompetent fool who couldn’t do her job well enough. Another woman who had to depend on a man to do it for her.
“You’re angry?”
She glared at him. “No, why would I be? You reported information on my case to my boss. I’m sure he feels confident I’m handling things down here. Bet I get a gold star by my name for having my job done for me by the capable Nate Dufrene.”
“I thought I was doing you a solid. This isn’t about ego. It’s about Spencer and solving the case.”
“You think this is about my ego?”
He arched a brow.
“No, dumbass, this is about my job. I’m in the middle of a probationary period and I need to look like I can handle this without some other guy doing it for me. I make my own reports.”
He stood. “You’re acting irrationally.”
“Irrationally? You’re overstepping your bounds. I never told you it was okay to talk to my boss. This is my case.” She jabbed her pointer finger into her chest. “Step off.”
“This is my case. I wasn’t stepping on your toes. Just doing my job. Expediency is critical at this stage and I took time to come here and give you an update. Because you feel sidelined doesn’t give you the right to snap my head off.”
Annie bared her teeth. “I knew there was a reason I didn’t like you. You’re an asshole.”
Anger shone in his eyes. They were no longer warm and chocolaty. “Nice. I’m covering your ass and you’re acting like Spencer. Do I need to give you a lesson on being a brat?”
“I know you didn’t just say that,” Annie said. Rage ate at her and she wanted to hit him—partly because he was right. She felt sidelined and useless. Relegated to bodyguard status, no more important than Brick. But the other part of her was furious he’d failed to see what this case meant to her. It was her trial period, her key to a future with a firm of good standing, a ticket to getting her life back on track.
“Look, there’s no need to get your panties in a wad over this, Annie. I’m sorry I didn’t let you report to Ace. I didn’t think it was a big deal.”
She didn’t want to talk to him anymore. Calling Ace and repairing the damage Nate had done was more important. This was her fault. Again. She’d let her emotions get in the way, and like a misty-eyed romantic, had forgotten she had one reason to be in Louisiana—and that was her job. She pulled the gun he’d loaned her earlier from the shoulder holster beneath her jacket, holding the stock out to him. He took it and looked up, confused. “I don’t need this anymore. I can do my job without you.”
Turning on her heel, she pushed through the screen door, refusing to acknowledge knot in the pit of her stomach, trying to forget she’d put her faith in a man who obviously didn’t get who she was. Didn’t matter his action had been unintentional. It was a wake-up slap to the face.
And she had a case to solve.
On her own.
Only then could she go back to California and start her life again.
Nate didn’t follow her, and she didn’t blame him. Maybe she had overreacted, but what he’d done had been worse. He’d taken what he knew and ran with it, leaving her behind kicking a damned soccer ball.
Whatever she and Nate had between them was over before it started. No need to discuss anything after they closed the case. If she didn’t focus on her job and moving ahead, she’d get left behind. She’d already sacrificed her career once. She wouldn’t make the same mistake twice.
So why did it feel like a piece of her had died?
Maybe because it had.
Her hope for something genuine and good with Nate had just withered. It left a bitter taste in her mouth.
But it was for the best.
She needed to go home. Forget Louisiana. Forget the hunky detective and his high-handed tactics. Absolutely. Soon Beau Soleil, the Dufrenes and the case would be a fading memory.
But then she remembered she could be pregnant with Nate’s child.
She walked into the kitchen where Picou sat eating spaghetti with a child who probably wore more sauce than he’d eaten and wanted to cry.
But Anna Mendes didn’t cry.
She sucked it up and moved ahead.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
THE FEAST DAY ARRIVED with no other developments in the case. Nate had gleaned some information but nothing leading to apprehending Shaffer. The man was in the wind.
Nate had done his own legwork, talking to a few people who had seen Shaffer around town, sometimes accompanied by a dark-haired woman. No one could describe her other than she dressed scantily, looked like an addict and had brown hair often covered by a baseball cap. One storeowner said she looked familiar but in a generic way. Whatever that meant.
Normally with such a description, he’d assume her to be a prostitute, but there were no working ladies in Bayou Bridge. Shaffer could’ve picked her up in Baton Rouge or Lafayette, so he’d sent a request for help to those cities, hoping for a bite.
So far, they’d made no progress.
But, this morning he’d take a small break. He had shrimp to boil, ladies to hoodwink into running the face painting booth, and a sister coming home for the first time in twenty-four years—even if Wynn had told everyone it was a cousin of the Dufrenes down from Monroe.
The weak morning sunlight hadn’t broken through the clouds yet and reminded Nate of the rainy days they hadn’t had in weeks. The sun would break soon, heating up earth that was already dry and crunchy. He needed to call the fire department before they started the fire for the boil. Thankfully, they’d scratched the plans for the cochon de lait.
Father Benoit met him at the church door. “Morning, Nate. Looks like the rain will hold off. I know we need it terribly, but I’m thankful the Good Lord didn’t see fit to send it on the Arch Angels Feast Day.”
“True. Maybe we’ll get some later this week.”
With the obligatory talk of the weather aside, they got down to business. Several parishioners were busy setting up more tents. A few vendors had come from around the area, selling candles, hot sauce and handmade lace. The Feast Day had originally involved only a picnic, but in typical Bayou Bridge fashion, it had evolved into something much grander. Bayou Bridge folks liked a reason to get together, cook and make merry.
Picou met him under one of the tents. His mother’s excitement was palpable. “Have you heard from her?”
He couldn’t resist. “Who?”
His mother punched him. Hard. “Don’t mess with me, Nathan Briggs Dufrene.”
He rubbed his arm. “No. I haven’t spoken with her since Wednesday. I told her we’d meet at Beau Soleil around lunchtime. Once we get everything going here, we’ll slip back home. She’s bringing her boyfriend and hopefully they’ll come to the festival and see the community. Might make her more comfortable to be around others. You have to remember how she feels, Mom. Be patient with her.”
Picou’s violet eyes flashed with irritation. “I will.”
“I mean it. She’s skittish. Treat her the way you did the injured fawn you found several years back. And try not to look all googly-eyed at her the whole time. I promised her we wouldn’t let the cat out of the bag until she’s ready.”
His mother nodded. “I’ll try, but I feel so full, like I’m bursting at the seams.”
“I know, but this will be harder than you think for her.”
His mother narrowed her eyes before turning away, pointing several men with tables toward what was to be the eating area. His mother was hardheaded and never liked to be told what to do.
Told what to do.
He did a lot of telling people what to do. It was his father in him, he supposed. So he was high-handed? Did that give Annie the right to treat him like an insufferable ass? Maybe. But he’d treated her like any other partner he’d ever had. Wynn had never accused him of cutting him out of an investigation, nor had anyone else. Partners consulted with one another, but they didn’t seek permission to move forward when there was a lead. He’d never considered Annie would think he was undermining her when he’d called Ace. He’d only thought of the case.
Lord, he didn’t understand women at all.
He tried to tuck the thought of Annie out of his mind, but her memory was as stubborn as his mother. He needed to talk to her. Apologize for going over her head, but she wouldn’t return his phone calls. She meant what she said. She was through with him.
And that hurt more than he wanted to admit.
Luckily, his shrimp-boil experts showed up and took his mind off women and placed it squarely on the crustaceans awaiting their hot bath.
Three hours later, he sat with Picou on the porch of Beau Soleil, telling his mother for the fifteenth time that, no, she didn’t look old, and “yes, the blue caftan was a good choice.”
“I’m not sure. It’s unconventional. Did she seem conservative to you? Should I have put on my linen pants with the khaki tunic?”
He had no idea what she was talking about. “You look fine, Mom.”
Picou stared down the empty road. “She’s not coming. She changed her mind.”
He folded his hands over his stomach and tried to look calm. Picou had him in knots. “She’ll come. She’s a Dufrene. She’s been curious, you can bet.”
Silence fell, only to be broken by Spencer, whooping onto the lawn, followed by Annie.
Nate’s heart pinged when he saw her. She wore jeans, a sleeveless orange shirt and a frown. Her hair curled in ringlets around her face and all he could think about at that moment was putting his lips on the delicate collarbone peeking out from beneath her blouse.
She parked her hands on her hip. “Spencer, I told you to stay in the back. Picou and Lieutenant Dufrene are busy.”
Oh, it was Lieutenant Dufrene now.
Spencer ignored her and ran up the steps. “Annie says we can’t go to the Feast Day. That it’s dangerous. I want to go. Will you take me?”
Picou didn’t take her eyes
off the road. “You have to mind Annie, Spencer. She knows what’s best for you.”
“But I wanted to get my face painted like a tiger, and Lucille said they have cotton candy there. Please!”
Annie climbed the steps, not bothering to glance Nate’s way, and grabbed Spencer’s arm. “I said you have to stay in the back.”
Spencer jerked away. “Not fair. You said we’d go to the festibal.”
At that moment a Toyota Prius rounded the curve in the drive.
Picou sat at attention. “Oh, God, she’s here. She came.”
Nate rose, stepping around a wriggling Spencer, and walked toward the steps. He caught Annie’s light floral scent on the breeze stirring through the oaks. Even though she was mad enough to spit at him, it somehow calmed him. He tapped Spencer on the noggin. “Do what Annie tells you to do.”
The child’s eyes grew big and he allowed Annie to take his hand and tug him toward the front door.
“Who’s that?” Spencer said, digging his heels in once he saw the car stop in the graveled parking area.
Picou stood up, her hands clasped. “That’s my daughter.”
* * *
ANNIE HADN’T PLANNED ON witnessing the reunion between Della and Picou, but for some reason, she couldn’t look away from the woman she’d grown so fond of in a few short weeks. Picou’s face held a sort of ethereal light that spilled around her. The woman had talked of auras ever since Annie had been at Beau Soleil, and at that moment, Annie saw the older woman’s aura—it was pure light.
She stopped tugging Spencer and watched as the doors of the small blue car opened. Nate walked down the stairs, toward it. A man stepped from the driver’s side, offering his hand to Nate, who took it immediately. The man was whip thin and wore wire-rimmed glasses. He was handsome in a yuppy-accountant sort of way.
Then Della emerged from the passenger’s side.
Annie heard Picou’s intake of breath and couldn’t stop herself from closing the screen door and watching the older woman see her grown daughter for the first time.
It was an intensely personal moment, but Annie couldn’t go inside. If she left she’d miss seeing God’s hand at work. Even Spencer fell silent.
