Welcome to Temptation: A Romantic Comedy

by Hughes, Charlotte

  They crept down the stairs cautiously with Gator shining the flashlight in front of them. Although the water had gone down a bit, the first floor was soggy and full of mud. Gator turned to Reba.

  “You can’t stay here now. You know that, right?” The old woman refused to meet his gaze. “There’s no electricity, and everything down here is wet and needs drying out. I’ll try to find my boat, and if it’s still in one piece, we’ll use it to get out.” When she didn’t respond he went on. “We can take the hound and her puppies … but the cats will have to stay. You can put food and water out, and they’ll be fine for a couple of days.”

  “I can’t leave Mister Ed,” Reba said. “If there are snakes … well, they’d go right for him, you know.”

  At the sound of his name, Mister Ed squawked loudly. Gator sighed and shook his head. “Just let me see if I can find the boat first. We’ll tackle the other problems when we get to them.”

  “Where will we go?” Michelle asked.

  “There are several shelters in town, but I’m certain they won’t allow pets.” He paused. “You’re welcome to stay at my place—if it’s still standing,” he said. “At least until the two of you make arrangements.” He made his way to the back door, wrenched it open, and glanced out. All at once he laughed.

  “What is it?” Michelle hurried over and peered out the door. Gator’s boat had somehow come through a screen, and part of it rested on the back porch, which was ankle-deep in water. The propeller had been torn off the motor and was nowhere in sight. One oar floated nearby and Gator grabbed it, knowing it was their only link to civilization.

  “Wonder how long it’s going to take me to paddle the three of us ten miles up the bayou,” he said, his look amused, despite the arduous task that lay ahead.

  Before Michelle knew what was happening, they were both laughing, great hearty chuckles that brought tears to her eyes. Reba joined them, laughing so hard she got a stitch in her side. The land around them lay in waste, but for the moment they couldn’t get past the joy of being alive and unharmed.

  By the time Gator and Michelle managed to get the boat off the back porch, Reba had seen to the care of her cats and had boxed what supplies they might need for the trip. They located the other oar floating in the backyard near a shed. The hound and her puppies were loaded into the center of the boat where Reba was to sit, while Michelle sat in the front holding Mister Ed and his cage and feeling ridiculous. Gator shoved off from the back porch and began rowing.

  The bayou had changed considerably with the deluge of water, but it presented no problem for Gator, who knew the area like his own bedroom. They rowed while the first reports came in on the radio. New Orleans and the barrier islands it seemed, had received the brunt of the storm; almost a hundred thousand people were without power and thousands were homeless, but it had not been as devastating as Katrina and the levies that protected the city had held.

  At first Michelle was too engrossed in the sights around them to do anything more than stare. Here and there a warbler cried out, the first signs of life stirring after the storm. A bullfrog croaked from somewhere in the distance, and they caught sight of a white-tailed deer standing in the brush and mud looking at them in a dazed fashion. Still holding the birdcage in her arms, Michelle dozed. She awoke to the sound of a steady hum and glanced up as a small helicopter flew overhead. All three waved as the chopper dipped and circled over them, and then headed in another direction.

  “They’ll send somebody after us,” Gator said, giving Reba a reassuring smile.

  He was proved right. Within the hour a large boat rounded a bend of cypress trees. It was a welcome sight to the weary group.

  Chapter Three

  Once they’d been towed to the main pier, where Gator’s newer-model pickup truck was parked, Michelle climbed into the back with the birdcage and dogs, feeling self-conscious and very much as if they were Louisiana’s version of The Beverly Hillbillies. Gator immediately drove to the nearest shelter, which had been set up in City Hall. He parked his truck under a live oak so the animals would stay cool while they went inside. The mayor looked relieved to see Gator.

  “We’ve been searching high and low for you, boy,” he said, his cigar sending out puffy smoke rings over his head, as he completely ignored the no smoking signs along the walls. “I was beginning to think something had happened to you.”

  Gator briefly explained the situation, but was more concerned about how the small town had fared during the storm. While he and the mayor held a short meeting, Reba and Michelle grabbed a cup of coffee. Sleeping bags littered the floor, several of them holding sleeping babies. Here and there groups of children played with toys while their parents stood nearby. Some were distraught over the situation, others seemed relieved to have it all behind them.

  When Gator returned, looking tired and concerned, Michelle handed him her cup of coffee and he gladly accepted it. “One of our volunteer firemen has offered to drive you and the animals out to my place,” he said. “He checked earlier and found it still standing. You’re welcome to stay there, but I don’t have time to take you myself right now.” He glanced around. “As you can see, this place is a bit crowded, as I imagine the other shelters are. The motel down the street is full as well.”

  Michelle pondered the thought. The last place in the world she wanted to stay was with Gator Landry, but she didn’t want to argue the point at the moment with so many other problems to attend to. Besides, they had to do something with Reba’s pets.

  Michelle hated to ask the question: Were there any deaths?”

  Gator shook his head. “None in our town that I’m aware of. I can’t answer for other areas. Quite a few injured folks, though, which is understandable. The nearest hospital is thirty miles away so there is a long line at our local clinic.”

  “Can you drive me there?” Michelle asked. “They may need an extra pair of hands.”

  He looked surprised. “Yeah, sure.”

  “I’ll ride out to your place and see to my animals,” Reba said. “But if it is okay with you, I’d just as soon come back here. Several of the couples need baby-sitters so they can drive out and check the damage to their homes.”

  Gator nodded, already moving to the back of the building, with another man in tow. The women followed. Reba’s pets were quickly transferred to another vehicle. Michelle hugged her grandmother, and then climbed into Gator’s truck.

  The town had been hit hard, Michelle noted on the drive to the clinic. Power lines were down everywhere. Trees had been toppled, rooftops sheered from houses, metal signs bent or completely torn away. They passed a car that had been turned upside down, its wheels pointing to the sun, looking like a dead insect. The water had not yet receded significantly, but it hadn’t stopped the workers, who wore knee-high rubber boots to get around.

  “When do you think the telephone lines will be working?” Michelle asked Gator as he turned onto the main road. There was no cell phone reception because the local cell phone tower had been snapped in half by the storm.

  “Hard to tell. We have emergency communications in place with a two-way radio channel back up system we dusted off. Is there someone you need to call?” He glanced at her. Of course there was, he told himself. Any woman with her looks would have a man waiting somewhere. “A boyfriend, perhaps?” he asked, knowing he wasn’t being very subtle in his attempt to find out about her personal life.

  Michelle met his questioning gaze. “That’s kind of personal, isn’t it?” she said.

  Gator tightened his grip on the steering wheel. “Is that a yes or a no?” he finally asked.

  Michelle, caught up in the sights around her, shot him a blank look. “What did you say?”

  Gator sighed. “I’m trying to find out if you have a boyfriend, okay?”

  “Why?”

  “Just curious, that’s all.”

  “I’ve had my share of boyfriends, yes,” she said, wondering if he had picked up on the fact that she was speaking in t
he past tense. “What do you think I’ve been doing these sixteen years, sitting in some convent waiting for you to call? You never did call me, you know. Nor did you bother to write.” There, she’d finally said it. But she was about sixteen years too late, she reminded herself.

  He looked surprised. “You never gave me your address or telephone number.”

  “You could have gotten it easily enough from Reba.”

  Gator didn’t answer right away. “I really didn’t think you wanted me to contact you, Mic. After … that night. You took off like a bat out of hell.”

  “I was scared.”

  “Of me?”

  “Things were getting out of hand,” she said. “If I had stayed, we probably would have … well, you know.”

  “Would that have been so bad?”

  She swung her head around so that she was looking at him once again. “I was sixteen years old, for Pete’s sake! Of course it would have been bad.” She sighed. “I shouldn’t have sneaked out with you that night. I was just asking for trouble.”

  “Why did you?”

  “Because I’d never really done anything that daring before. And it had sounded so romantic when you suggested it. I was naive. I’m not so naive anymore.”

  Gator felt silly for questioning her. He’d been crazy to think she would be even remotely interested in him after all this time. Of course there would have been other men in her life, and maybe there was somebody special now. He knew she wasn’t married because Reba complained about it whenever he inquired about her, bemoaning the fact she would never have great-grandchildren. But kissing Michelle had brought back all those sweet memories of how she’d tasted and felt in his arms so long ago. He could only imagine what it would be like to make love to her. It was a bit late to think about those things now, he told himself. “I’ll arrange for you to call your boyfriend this afternoon, Mic,” he said softly, his voice resigned.

  “I can’t call him,” she said matter-of-factly as Gator pulled into the parking lot of a large clinic. “His wife might object.” She wasn’t sure what had made her say it, other than the trace of bitterness left inside her over the breakup that had taken place six months earlier. She wasn’t proud of her rancor; she had always been the type to forgive easily, but it still hurt from time to time.

  Gator didn’t respond right away. He parked his truck and turned off the engine. For a moment, he merely gazed at her, studying her profile. She was still about as pretty as they came, he decided. Her skin was flawless except for her nose, which was peppered with light freckles. She met his gaze. Her green eyes were cautious. “I’m sorry, Mic,” he said at last.

  Michelle arched her brows in surprise. “Sorry?” It wasn’t exactly the response she’d expected.

  He nodded. “I’m sorry you’re involved in something like that.”

  “I’m not involved anymore,” she told him. “I broke it off because he cheated.” She paused. “The woman meant nothing to him, but when she became pregnant he … Jeffrey … did the honorable thing and married her. We’re still friends, of course, since we have to work together. I guess I feel sorry for myself now and then, but I have a real problem with that sort of behavior.” She stiffened when she caught him smiling. “What’s so funny?”

  “I just thought it odd that you don’t kiss like a woman who’s pining away over another man.” Gator knew he wasn’t being very sensitive, but he couldn’t help himself. He didn’t want to hear about the man in her life so why the hell had he asked? Maybe he had double standards; Lord knew he’d had his share of women these sixteen years.

  Michelle felt the color drain from her face. He was, of course, talking about the kiss they’d shared during the eye of the storm. How like Gator to bring it up now, throw it in her face when she’d just confessed something very personal. “That didn’t mean anything. I was afraid of dying. I was looking for anything to take my mind off the danger we were in.”

  Gator’s jaw hardened perceptibly. The thought that she might have simply used him because the man she truly cared for was taken, irked him more than he wanted to admit. “Who are you trying to convince, Mic? Me or yourself?”

  She wrenched the door open. He was making fun of her. He’d seen how terrified she had been. She had asked him to kiss her and had let him hold her close afterward because it felt as though the entire world had gone mad. Well, let him mock her. “You can be a real bastard when you put your mind to it, Gator Landry,” she said. “I’d sooner drown myself in the bayou than get mixed up with the likes of you.”

  Gator winced at her words, but he knew he deserved it, even if he had been joking. Nevertheless, it was encouraging to know he could still rattle her. “Jeeze, Mic, when did you become so prickly?” He didn’t wait for her to answer. “You were such a sweet, shy thing when we met. Now you’re stuck on a married man and hurling insults at me. Next thing I know you’ll be scribbling four-letter words on the bathroom walls.”

  Michelle climbed out of the truck and slammed the door. “I’m not sixteen years old anymore,” she said through the open window. “I’ve seen the real world. I’ve worked with victims of drug overdoses, suicides, drive-by shootings and gang bangs. I’ve seen women beaten beyond recognition and—” She paused and shook her head as though to clear her mind. Why was she telling him all this? “You’re the last person in the world to judge me, Gator Landry. You’re unfit to call yourself sheriff of this town. Not only that—”

  “There’s no need to go on,” he said, his eyes bright with humor. “I think you’ve established your feelings toward me.” He started his engine. “But right now I have to get back to my duties. I may be a lousy sheriff, but I’m all these people have at the moment.” He put the truck into gear and drove away, leaving Michelle standing in the parking lot feeling foolish. She’d always said and done foolish things when Gator was around. She would have thought she’d have grown out of it by now.

  #

  The staff at the clinic seemed relieved to have her there. One of the nurses found her a clean change of clothes, handed her a bucket of water, and showed her where she could wash up. The clinic, just like City Hall, had a backup generator, which meant there were lights. The storm had taught her a new appreciation for the simple luxuries, she thought as she emerged from the washroom fifteen minutes later feeling refreshed, her long hair combed and tied back at her neck.

  Thankfully, there had been no deaths, although some of the people from the mobile-home park had been injured severely enough to be sent on to the hospital. An elderly man was brought in that afternoon with head injuries and a fractured leg. He’d been trapped under a collapsed building all night, and his condition was critical. While the doctor and his nurse stabilized him, Michelle assisted by applying a temporary leg splint. Once his vital signs improved, he was put into an ambulance and driven to the hospital. The staff spent the remainder of the day treating minor injuries, fractures, and strained backs.

  When Gator arrived back at the clinic at the end of the day, he found Michelle in the lounge eating a hot dog, drinking coffee, and looking as tired as he felt. A couple of the restaurant owners in town had donated food that would have gone bad with no refrigeration. She offered him one of the hot dogs, and he accepted it, suddenly realizing he hadn’t eaten all day. It had been one of the most grueling days of his life, searching through rubble for bodies. He’d found none, for which he was grateful. He’d deputized the volunteer members of the fire department, since there were no serious fires, and placed the men in town strategically to prevent looting.

  “Do you need to hang around here?” Gator asked. “You look as though you could use a rest.”

  She nodded. “I am tired. The reception room has been packed all day, but I think everything is under control now.”

  “Why don’t we drop by City Hall, pick up Reba, and go to my place,” he suggested. “I think we deserve a break after what we’ve been through.”

  “That would be nice.” She wadded up her hot dog wrapper and
tossed it in a nearby trash can. She still didn’t relish the thought of staying at Gator’s, especially after their argument earlier, but at the moment she didn’t seem to have much choice. “Just let me clear it with the others,” she said, hurrying out of the room.

  Ten minutes later they were on their way to City Hall. Neither of them spoke, and Michelle wondered if Gator felt as uncomfortable as she did. She decided she had better clear the air if she was going to be spending the night at his place.

  “Look, I’m sorry about what I said earlier,” she sputtered without preamble. She saw Gator’s look of surprise and went on. “I don’t know why I got so bent out of shape. Stress, I guess. This whole thing has turned me upside down.”

  Gator shrugged. “I had it coming. Sometimes I don’t know when to stop pushing.”

  “I’d like the two of us to be friends,” she said, “since it looks as though we’re going to be spending the next couple of days together.” She glanced away. “There’s no reason to harbor bad feelings over something that happened sixteen years ago.”

  Gator knew that she was right, that they should put their differences aside. And he had been holding a grudge all these years, he realized. When she’d run away from him that night, he suspected he had pushed her too hard. Or maybe she’d had second thoughts and figured him for some kind of yokel or redneck. She was a big-city girl, straight out of Baton Rouge, where, he’d been certain, the guys his age were more sophisticated. Besides, he was only eighteen years old, and, although he was taking a couple of classes at the community college, he had no idea what he was going to do with his life. What could he have offered her?

  Gator forced his thoughts back to the present. Michelle was looking at him, waiting for an answer. She wanted to be friends. How could a man be friends with the girl he’d first loved? Well, he would try anything once. “Sure, I’ll be your friend,” he said, breaking for a stop sign. “Why not?” It was crazy to expect more from a woman who was carrying a torch for another man.