Wild Jinx

by Sandra Hill

  “Bull! I don’t want you checking out anything about me.”

  He waggled his eyebrows at her, as if to show he was definitely checking her out. “What? It’s okay for you to dig into my past, but reciprocation is taboo?”

  He had a point there. She crinkled her nose at him.

  “What’s with you two sniping at each other all the time?” asked Caleb Peachey, an ex-Amish Navy SEAL, of all things. Caleb was overly serious and rarely spoke about anything personal, Celine had noticed. Getting his life story wouldn’t be easy. “You two got a thing goin’ on?”

  “No!” she and John said as one.

  “Mebbe,” Tante Lulu interjected.

  Celine’s head swiveled on her neck to stare with shock at the old lady behind her at the stove. She hated to admit it, but Tante Lulu was the most interesting of them all. Outrageous in appearance and the things she said, the old lady had a reputation throughout the bayou as a respected healer. “Where would you get such a ludicrous idea?”

  John laughed and put his hands up in a “Not me!” fashion.

  “Doan go gettin’ yer thong all bunched up, Celine. I jist said mebbe.”

  “There is no maybe,” Celine insisted, her face flaming at the mention of her wearing a thong. She never wore thongs, but they were all probably picturing her in one.

  “Methinks the chick doth protest too much,” Adam murmured.

  The chick? With still heated face, she decided to ignore the bunch of them and resumed eating the shrimp étouffée which Tante Lulu had placed before them along with warm French bread and a crisp green salad smothered in vinaigrette dressing. “The food is delicious,” she remarked. “As good as any meal in a French Quarter restaurant. I expected to see cold sandwiches and bottled water.”

  “Not with my aunt,” John pointed out. He and Tante Lulu exchanged warm smiles. It was obvious that they were really close.

  “Thank ya very much, sweetie,” Tante Lulu said to her. “We’s havin’ okra ice cream fer dessert.”

  Celine’s head shot up, along with a few others at the table.

  “Jist kiddin’. There’s beignets and coffee comin’ up.”

  “I hate okra,” Celine said with a shiver of distaste.

  “Ya cain’t be Cajun and hate okra,” Tante Lulu contended. “How come ya doan have a Cajun accent? And what’s with them blue eyes?”

  “I was born in Houma but moved away with my parents when I was six. My mother was half Cajun. I didn’t come back ’til I was in high school to live with my grandfather. My mother died of cancer when I was fifteen, and my father . . . ” She paused, not wanting to mention her father’s suicide,

  “He died soon after. I guess I moved here too late to take on Cajun traits.”

  Tante Lulu squeezed her shoulder, obviously aware of her father’s suicide, and the gesture touched Celine in the oddest way. In that instant, she realized how much she missed a woman’s touch . . . a mother’s touch, actually. She blinked back tears.

  Ronnie, Jake, John, Adam, Caleb, and Brenda began talking about what they hoped to accomplish the next day. Apparently, they would be working from dawn ’til dusk, if necessary. Celine was glad to have the attention diverted away from her.

  They really were professionals, which was enlightening to her. In the past, she’d viewed treasure hunters as delusional crackpots out for a quick buck. But these people, even Ronnie, who had been a corporate lawyer, took treasure hunting seriously. Trained divers. Computer savvy. Mechanically proficient. Able to work as a team. All these things, along with their research talents, impressed her more than she’d expected.

  Everyone in southern Louisiana knew about the pirate Jean Lafitte. He was part of their heritage.

  Both the good and the bad. Yes, he had been an out-and-out pirate, even involved in the slave trade at one point, but he had also been a hero. Never attacking an American ship . . . in fact, aiding the Americans in the war against the British. Giving to the poor. Not to mention having a reputation as a great lover.

  If by some remote possibility the Jinx team was successful in recovering any of the Lafitte treasure, it would be making history as well as a financial boon. One thing puzzled her, though. “Tante Lulu . . .

  John . . . how did you get involved with Jinx? They’re based in New Jersey.”

  “Six years back, I went ta Atlantic City ta bring my nephew home,” Tante Lulu said. “He was strippin’.”

  Why am I not surprised. Celine raised her eyebrows at John.

  “Hey, I like ta dance.”

  “Well, ya doan hafta be showin’ yer hiney ta dance.”

  “It was only two weeks, and I did it on a dare,” John told Celine.

  Everyone at the table was chuckling and shaking their heads at John. Apparently they knew him and his antics well.

  Yep, great father material. “I saw you dance one time. At a high school dance marathon for some charity.” Why she’d felt the need to impart that news to John was probably an indication of her nervousness.

  “Really? Was I good?”

  “Very good. You won, as I recall.”

  “Did I dance with you?”

  “No.” Good grief! She would have had a heart attack in those days if he had even asked. To her chagrin, she felt herself blushing.

  “Tsk-tsk-tsk! Even I know better than to tell a woman I don’t remember her,” Adam said to John.

  “I didn’t say I didn’t remember Celine. I didn’t remember dancing with her.”

  “Same thing.” Adam smirked at John. “Maybe I could teach you something about Yankee finesse.”

  John told Adam what he could do with his finesse.

  Tante Lulu smacked John lightly on the shoulder with a wire whisk.

  Then John frowned, no doubt taking in her heated face. “Did I hurt your feelin’s by not askin’ you to dance, chère?”

  Yes! “Hardly!”

  He was still frowning.

  “That’s like not remembering a woman after you’ve nailed her,” Adam went on.

  “Adam!” Tante Lulu, Ronnie, and Brenda all said regarding his crudity. Tante Lulu gave Adam a whack with the whisk, too.

  But that remark caused John’s face to flush, and hers to turn even redder, for different reasons, obviously.

  Beside her, she heard Caleb chuckle.

  Enough! “Brenda, did you say something about having a little girl?” Celine asked, opting for a change of subject.

  Brenda began a story about her eleven-year-old daughter Patti that soon had everyone laughing.

  The little girl was obsessed with American Idol and had talked her father into getting tickets for the finals last year, which proved to be an embarrassing mistake when Ryan Seacrest shamed Lance, who was tone deaf, into coming up onstage and doing a short duet with Paula Abdul to “I’ve Got You, Babe.”

  “Speakin’ of American Idol, how’s yer sister Lizzie doin’?” Tante Lulu asked Caleb. Tante Lulu looked at Celine and explained, “Caleb’s sister is a wonderful singer. She wants ta be on American Idol.”

  Celine flashed Caleb a sideways glance of surprise. “Isn’t she Amish?”

  He nodded with a grimace. “Lizzie made it through the first round two years ago, but then she got mono and couldn’t continue.”

  “She called herself an Amish J-Lo,” Tante Lulu elaborated.

  “Now, she calls herself an Amish Carrie Underwood.” Caleb smiled, and, whoo-boy, a smile from this taciturn man was unexpected and dazzling. He was a testosterone- oozing hunk, for sure.

  “Actually, she’s gonna participate in the tryouts in New Orleans next month.”

  “Ooooh, thass nice. Mebbe we kin all go support her.”

  “Well, she and Patti should get along,” Brenda said. “She’ll go nuts when I tell her. I’ll mark the date on my calendar.”

  “Do ya think Patti will like havin’ a baby sister or brother?” Tante Lulu asked Brenda.

  Brenda gasped.

  Uh-oh! Good old tactless Tante Lulu.
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  “What makes you think I’m pregnant?”

  Tante Lulu waved a hand dismissively. “It’s not ’cause yer gettin’ fat, if thass what ya think.”

  Celine had only been here a few hours, and already she knew about Brenda’s constant and unusual diets, even though she had a Marilyn Monroe–style figure that men loved. “Brenda, honey, I’m a traiteur. I can sense these things.”

  Brenda’s face flushed with embarrassment.

  “Are you happy about this pregnancy?” Ronnie asked after giving Brenda a hug.

  “Yes. And no. I would like another baby. Of course, I would. But I’m thirty-nine years old.”

  “I was almost thirty-five when I had Julie Ann,” Ronnie pointed out. “Does this mean you’ll stop working with Jinx?”

  “Just for a few months. Maybe a year, but I want to come back eventually. My mother lives with us. She’ll help with the baby, just like she did with Patti. Lance will help, too.”

  Now, that would be a story. Lance Caslow. Mr. Mom.

  Tante Lulu patted Brenda’s hand. “Not ta worry. Wimmen have babies much older t’day, even when their boobs are saggin’ and their bottoms have gone all mushy.”

  The old lady was outrageous.

  “Babies are a blessin’, no matter when they come,” Tante Lulu concluded.

  Maybe not so outrageous.

  “Do you have any children?” Ronnie asked Celine, out of the blue.

  “Yes,” she replied, taking herself and everyone else by surprise. Oh, my God! Oh, my God!

  Why did I admit that?

  Because it would be like slamming my own son, that’s why.

  Do I subconsciously want John to find out?

  Of course not. I’m just an idiot.

  She could tell that her slip shocked John. He leaned forward and turned his head to the right so he could see her better. “I didn’t know you were married,” he said, frowning. He was probably trying to remember if she’d ever said that precisely.

  Her heart was beating so fast she feared everyone could see it through her T-shirt. “I’m not married,” she replied without looking his way. “But I’m engaged.” I’ve never been embarrassed about being a single parent . . . at least not in the past. What’s going on here?

  And I never lie, either.

  Oooh, what is it they say about lies and how they always come back to bite you in the butt? Any more of this and I’m going to have to wear armor on my behind.

  “Oh, no!” Tante Lulu said. “Tee-John, how could this be? Ya know what I thought . . . about Celine and the thunderbolt and such?”

  “What thunderbolt?” Celine asked.

  “Don’t ask,” John advised her, then stood and hugged his aunt. “I told you it wasn’t the right time, Auntie.”

  “Is yer fiancé the baby’s daddy?” Tante Lulu asked.

  That was really intrusive, but Celine didn’t think she could back down now. In fact, she felt as if she’d stepped into quicksand of her own making. “Uh, no.”

  “When’s the weddin’?” John asked in an oddly grim voice.

  “Uh, not for a while. Darryl is . . . uh . . . in Afghanistan. A war correspondent.” Quicksand, quicksand, quicksand.

  “No kidding? What’s his last name? What squad is he embedded with? Maybe I know him?” This from Caleb, who probably still had lots of contacts in the military.

  The situation was spiralling out of hand. She needed to get the focus off her and the blasted fiancé.

  “Boy or a girl?” Brenda asked. “Your child, I mean?”

  Thank you, God! “Boy. His name is Etienne,” she said, pronouncing it with a drawn-out A-T-N, like ATM. “He’s . . . uhm, four years old.” That must be about her sixth lie in less than five minutes.

  She was going to confession first thing when she got back home. But, no, maybe not. In order to get absolution, she would have to promise to correct the lies.

  Meanwhile, John was studying her way too closely.

  Something was wrong here. John wasn’t sure what it was, but his antennae were on red alert. He’d taken a class in college on body language—one of those easy-credit courses—and he would bet his badge that Celine was lying about something. In addition, he’d had a few conversations with Jake about

  “tells,” the little body giveaways that experienced poker players knew how to hide, but not the average person.

  Celine was lying through her teeth about something.

  But what?

  And why?

  Hmmm. She must have been a junior or senior in college when she got pregnant, after he’d graduated. He wondered who the father was, whether she had ever been married, and how she’d managed to complete her education while caring for a newborn. But he could see how uncomfortable she was discussing her private life, even about her fiancé, who would no doubt adopt her son.

  Tante Lulu was still shaking her head with disbelief. “I jist doan understand,” she muttered. “St.

  Jude never gets it wrong.”

  Well, at least this development would take Celine out of his aunt’s crosshairs in the bride hunt.

  “Etienne is a rascal, all right. An adorable rascal.” Celine must have been talking while he’d succumbed to his shell shock. “Practically from the moment he was born, he’s been driving me nuts with his antics. And then, when he’s caught, he just flashes one of those irresistible grins, and I cave.

  He’s got the mischief/charm thing down pat.” She seemed to be babbling. With nervousness. How odd!

  “Sounds jist like Tee-John,” Tante Lulu said.

  Celine flinched, as if his aunt had made a derogatory remark.

  Now, that was insulting . . . that she didn’t want any kid of hers being at all like him. What am I?

  Slime?

  “Should you be diving if you’re pregnant?” Celine asked Brenda, clearly wanting to change the subject.

  “I’m only two months along, and this isn’t a particularly deep dive.”

  “Do ya have a picture of yer boy?” Tante Lulu wasn’t about to let Celine off the hook so fast.

  “No!” she said, way too vehemently for such an innocuous question. They were drowning in oddness here. “I mean, not with me.” She glanced his way and blushed.

  This was getting curiouser and curiouser.

  And he could tell that Tante Lulu’s antennae were up, too.

  Celine was hiding something.

  Maybe it was about the father. Could it be someone he knew? Yep, that must be it.

  But she was uncomfortable with Tante Lulu, too. That narrowed the field down a lot. Someone he and his aunt both knew. Hmmm.

  Was there anything lower than a man who made babies, then disappeared from the scene? That’s probably why Celine was so skittish. She’d been dumped by some two-bit piece of crap and left with a bun in the oven.

  He shrugged. It was none of his business.

  Chapter 7

  Beware of ladies with funny tea . . .

  Tante Lulu took a break after cleaning up from dinner. And, yes, she thought of herself as Tante Lulu, like everyone else, instead of Louise Rivard.

  She was out on the porch, listening as Tee-John teased Brenda, trying to draw the young woman out of her obvious blues. Now that she was pregnant, she probably wanted to be home with her husband and little girl. Cajun music played softly in the background . . . a song by a band named BeauSoleil, she thought.

  The boy—and yes she thought of Tee-John as a boy, even though he was twenty-eight—was good at heart, and she loved him almost more than all the others. He’d had to live with that devil Valcour LeDeux longest. Lots of people thought he was wild and worthless, even though he’d settled down when he took that cop job a few years back. She knew better. All his running around and joking was like a mask he put on. Inside he was still the little boy who came running to her cottage with welt marks from his hiney to his shoulders. And it wasn’t only one time, either. To this day, she got tears in her eyes thinking about the things she’d se
en done to this child. Luc, Remy, and René had had each other, and her of course, when Valcour LeDeux had gone off on one of his rages; Tee-John mostly only had her.

  At her request . . . okay, demand . . . Tee-John was pruning the climbing roses that were growing every which way almost as high as the roof. She’d given René cuttings from her own garden to plant here years ago when he rebuilt the cabin, but then everything grew like wildfire in this tropical heat.

  “So, what do you say to a NASCAR driver when you’re about to make love? Va-va-voom?” Tee-John continued to tease Brenda.

  Brenda, who was painting her toenails with first one foot, then the other, propped on the porch rail, smiled at him and said, “No. I say, ‘Gentleman, start your engine.’”

  “Good one! Hey, I could paint your toenails for you? I’m real good at it.”

  “I’ll bet you are,” Celine muttered behind Tante Lulu.

  “You mean like the movie Bull Durham?” Brenda asked.

  “Yeah, but better.”

  Celine snorted. “You’re no Kevin Costner,” she teased.

  “Yeah, but better,” Tee-John repeated, this time to Celine with a waggle of his eyebrows. Tante Lulu would have to talk with the girl later; she needed to know snorting was not ladylike. On the other hand, that rascal Tee-John did tend to bring out the snort in a lady.

  “Lance would kill you,” Brenda told him. Now that she was finished, she put the cap on the nail polish and put both feet on the rail to dry.

  “He could try,” Tee-John said, over-confident, as usual. Then, craning his neck to the side so he could see Celine, he offered, “I could do you, Celine.”

  Celine made a choking sound, and everyone on the porch or in the front yard smiled. Tante Lulu smiled, too. These two put off more sparks than a Fourth of July sparkler.

  Done with his pruning, Tee-John came up onto the porch and tugged on one of Brenda’s blonde curls. “Did you hear about the blonde who thought General Motors was in the Army?”