Wild Jinx
Page 25
But what did Celine think?
Really, it was just a glorified cabin. Yeah, it had modern appliances in the little kitchen, and the bathroom had been remodeled last year. But it was small and had only one bedroom. Still, it was prime waterfront property, and the dwelling could always be expanded, or torn down for that matter, and a new house put up.
Later, they were in the kitchen, having fished and swum to Etienne’s heart’s content.
“So, what do you think of the place?” He and Celine were setting out already prepared po’-boys with side salads on his kitchen table.
“It’s great. Can’t beat the view.”
“Before I forget, there’s been an ominous silence from my family lately . . . regarding you and Etienne. That has every alarm bell in my head going off. I suspect they’re plannin’ something.”
“Like what?”
“You don’t want to know.”
“Not one of those embarrassing LeDeux events?”
“They better not.”
She picked up one of the St. Jude salt shakers on his table and laughed. She’d already remarked on the large number of St. Jude items around his house. “Maybe I should pray to St. Jude . . . to counteract whatever they’re planning.”
“Won’t work,” he told her. “Tante Lulu’s got the dibs on St. Jude.”
They spent the rest of the day together, hiking and relaxing on the porch which fronted the bayou.
John found himself watching Celine. A lot.
She was great with Etienne. Patient . . . like not losing her cool when he spilt grape juice on her shorts. Loving . . . the way she hugged him so much, and often for the smallest things, like catching a fish the size of a minnow. Stern . . . like refusing to budge when he begged for a dog. Smart . . . like having a knack for teaching him lessons without him knowing it, like making him count the number of different butterflies he saw.
And she was damn attractive. He already knew what those spectacular breasts looked like under the bra and T-shirt. So, of course, that’s all his sexually charged X-ray eyes saw. Her hair was a pretty dark brown color, but there were red and gold highlights here in the sunshine. Her pale blue eyes were one of her most interesting . . . even startling . . . features. When she bent over to examine a squeaking frog with Etienne, he noticed her butt—not fat but a nice handful for a man’s hands . . . his hands, to be precise. He also homed in on the back of her knees, which he’d like to lick some more.
Now that she wasn’t so pole-up-the-ass stiff with him and inclined to make sarcastic remarks to counter every little thing he said or did, he liked her personality, too. Quick to laughter. Really intelligent. Caring. Sexy. Oh, yeah, sexy, without being blatant about it.
Mon Dieu! I sound like one of those catalogues for a dating agency.
Not that he didn’t see Celine’s faults, too, but, hell, he had plenty of his own. Like standing here, gawking at her like a pimple-faced adolescent dork.
The thing was, the more he watched Celine and the more he listened, the easier he found it to say, in his head, I love you.
No, no, no, I don’t love her. I’m just thinkin’ about lovin’ her.
Celine glanced up at him then from the living room, where she was now setting up a DVD of The Incredibles. “Time for a bit of quiet time for a tired boy,” she told Etienne. Then to him, “Did you say something?”
“Uh, did you hear thunder?”
Sure enough, off in the distance, thunder rumbled.
“It’s probably just a summer storm somewhere,” she said. “I doubt if it will reach us.”
A voice in his head said, “Wanna bet?”
Chapter 21
He needed her knees . . .
Celine was in big, big trouble, and she was having too much fun to put a halt to the disaster headed her way . . . the disaster being in the form of one great big love bug.
Yep, she was falling in love with the worst possible man. No way would a guy like him be satisfied for long with a woman like her, even though he was giving her “the look,” now that Etienne had fallen asleep in the middle of his movie. His head was resting on folded arms on the rug, his little butt up in the air.
Her heart constricted as she watched John lay a St. Jude afghan over him with loving care. Oh, God! How could I resist loving a man who loves my son? Or a man who loves his aging aunt so much he actually uses a St. Jude afghan?
“You’re good with Etienne,” she remarked from the lounge chair where she was sitting, sipping at a glass of white wine. In a St. Jude glass, of course.
“It’s not hard bein’ good with him. He’s a great kid.” He walked over and took the wine from her, setting the glass on a nearby table. “I have to ask, did you make love with McLean last night?”
At first, her face froze up and he could tell she was going to refuse to answer, but then she disclosed, “No.”
“Good.” Pulling her to her feet and into his arms, he murmured against her mouth, “I’ve been a good boy all day. Gimme a little sugar for a reward.”
She did, looping her arms around his neck and kissing him warmly. “How was that?” she asked afterward.
“Hmmm. Okay.”
She swatted his shoulder and squirmed out of his embrace.
But he held on to one hand, raised it to his mouth for a wet, open-mouthed kiss on the palm, then said, “Come with me, chère,” and started leading her toward his bedroom.
When she dug in her heels, he looked back at her.
“Why?” Dumb question, she knew before the words were out of her mouth.
“Because I want to check out the back of your knees, babe.”
“This is so not a good idea.”
“I know.”
“We have issues coming out the kazoo.”
“I know.”
“Making love isn’t going to solve anything.”
“I don’t know about that. We get along better with body language than actual words. I want you, babe.”
She hesitated. “God help me, but I want you, too.”
So it was that she spent a long, lazy hour in John LeDeux’s bed, and it wasn’t just her knees he checked out. By the end of the day, she was even closer to falling in love with the baddest boy on the bayou.
Disaster, disaster, disaster.
Especially when there was a knock on the door which awakened Etienne, which prompted him to start crying. He was always cranky when his sleep was interrupted abruptly.
Celine dressed quickly, not bothering to put her hair back in its ponytail, but rushing out to lift Etienne onto her lap, where he whimpered and fell back asleep.
Meanwhile, John, wearing boxers and nothing else, went to the screen door. There stood the most gorgeous woman Celine had ever seen.
She was model slim and tall, about five-ten, with a long swath of coal-black hair hanging straight to her waist and sharply defined olive skin, probably Hispanic. She wore a gauzy, calf-length, multicolored skirt, a lavender silk blouse, and high-heeled purple slingbacks.
“John!” she crooned the second he appeared and opened the screen door. Launching herself at him, she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him warmly. Celine was pretty sure there was tongue involved, though probably only on the woman’s part. But John sure as hell wasn’t resisting. When the woman leaned her head back, still holding onto his shoulders with her belly pressed against his waist, she inquired in a sultry voice, “Did you miss me, honey?”
“Uh, sure, I mean . . . Eve, I have company.”
“Oh.” Releasing him, she stepped back and regarded Celine, then disregarded her as unimportant . .
. probably not pretty or hot enough for the bayou stud, in her opinion. But then she noticed Etienne, who was now awake but shy—staying in Celine’s lap. The woman studied Etienne more closely and probably saw the resemblance.
“This is Celine Arseneaux and her son Etienne. Celine, this is Eve Estrada. She’s an artist who’s been exhibiting her work in Paris this summer.”
“We should go,” Celine said, standing.
“You don’t have to go,” John said.
She glanced between him and Eve. “Yes, I do.”
Etienne started to cry, not wanting to leave.
John hunkered down on his haunches, trying to appease his now-howling son.
Celine was embarrassed beyond belief as Eve surveyed the homey scene. No doubt Celine’s recent sexual activity was apparent as well.
“I’ll walk you to your car,” John said then, after picking up Etienne and quieting him with pats on his back and shushing sounds.
Celine remained silent, both furious and humiliated.
“It’s not what you think,” he said, once he’d buckled Etienne into his car seat, and she was belted in the driver’s seat.
“You have no idea what I’m thinking.”
“Yeah, I do. You think I’m about to do two women in one afternoon.”
She shrugged. “Your reputation precedes you.”
“Fuck my reputation.” Immediately, he glanced at Etienne to see if he’d heard. He probably had. “I didn’t know she was coming here today.”
“Is she your girlfriend?”
“No.”
“Your lover?”
He didn’t answer right away, which was answer enough.
“Forget about it,” she said. “It’s none of my business.”
“The hell you say. Eve and I are not lovers now.”
She arched her brows. “You used to be?”
“Used to be, occasionally, but not for a long time.”
“How long?”
“If I asked you these kinds of questions, you’d spit in my face,” John complained.
“I’m thinking about it.”
“Three months.”
“Just before she went to Paris,” Celine deduced, then exhaled with disgust. “And now she’s here to pick up where you left off.”
“I thought we were doing well today,” John said with a tiredness she shared.
“I did, too. All the fool, me.”
He bristled, but that’s all. He should beg her not to go. He should tell he that he would get rid of Eve and they could talk. He should tell her that he hadn’t been with another woman in months. He should yank her into his arms and kiss her hurt away. But his pride reared its head, and he replied in kind, “That makes two fools, babe. You and me both.”
With that, she spun clam shell gravel as she exited his drive.
And they were right back to step one.
Invasion of the LeDeuxs . . .
There were LeDeuxs overrunning John’s home the next weekend, helping him put on an addition. With all these fingers in the pie, so to speak, his house would probably end up looking like one of those Rube Goldberg contraptions.
He’d always planned to enlarge his house, which had started out as a fishing camp. Now seemed like a perfect time.
Luc and Sylvie came with their three teenage daughters: Jeanette, Camille, and Blanche, with her boyfriend, eighteen-year-old Slick Eddie Comier, a hotshot Lafayette baseball player. Needless to say, Luc was keeping a sharp eye on Comier.
Then, there was Remy and Rachel with their horde of six children, five adopted and one biological, none of them married. Why Tante Lulu concentrated her matchmaking efforts on him, rather than some of them, was beyond him. One of Remy and Rachel’s kids, Maggie, who was born with Down syndrome, died four years ago. Rashid was studying music in New York City; the twins Evan and Stephan were in medical school; and Andy was a benchwarmer for the Saints football team. Still at home were Suzanne, a Cajun beauty, who would probably end up being Miss Louisiana one day, like her Aunt Charmaine, and their natural born son Michael, or Mike.
René and Val came with their preteens Jude and Louise, named after Tante Lulu.
Charmaine and Rusty brought three-year-old Mary Lou, who was having a great time running around with Etienne. His son had already told Mary Lou how babies were made . . . the spitting in the belly button business. Mary Lou had turned him green with envy because she lived on a ranch with real live horses. As a result, Etienne now wanted a horse, instead of a dog. Like that was ever going to happen. A horse on the bayou? I don’t think so.
Angel and Grace showed up, too, which was a godsend. Although John and his brothers had limited carpentry experience, Angel’s construction skills came in handy when they were trying to manage two new bedrooms, a second bathroom, and an expansion of the living room. Grace had finally managed to corral the younger kids into the front yard, where they were playing games.
Tante Lulu was, of course, directing the whole enterprise.
The only one missing was Celine, who’d declined to come. In fact, she was avoiding him, again, when he was not avoiding her.
It was a contest over who could be more immature.
Luc came up and sat beside him during one of the breaks. “How does Celine feel about this addition?”
He shrugged. “She considers it a threat. One more step in my trying to get custody.”
“Is it?”
“Maybe.”
“Tee-John, I had an informal talk with Judge Ainsley in family court. He says if you land in his case file, he’ll order mediation before he’ll even consider a custody petition.”
“Damn!”
“Should I try to set something up?”
“I suppose, but Celine will have to agree to come. Right now I’m not on her favorite people list.”
“Well, it has to be voluntary, on both parts. Can’t you convince her?”
At first, he frowned with pessimism.
But then, he had an idea. Grinning, he told his brother, “Hell, yes.”
He was John LeDeux. Celine was a woman. Enough said.
“Ha, ha, ha, ha!” the voice in his head echoed.
The pirate takes a wench . . .
“She’s not so hot fer Superman,” Tante Lulu told the ladies sitting on rockers on her back porch the next day, sipping tall glasses of iced sweet tea. “I found that out when I went to her office.”
The ladies—Charmaine, Sylvie, Rachel, and Val—craned their necks to look at her at the end of the row of rockers. Hers was smaller so her short legs could meet the floor.
It was a gray, misty day on the bayou. No animals or birds about. Not even Useless. But the sun would no doubt come out soon, like always, and dry everything up in minutes.
“Well, so much for that idea!” Charmaine was disgusted, the Lois Lane/Superman idea having been her brainchild.
“We were never going to get Tee-John in tights anyway,” Val remarked.
“We need a new plan,” Rachel said.
Val disagreed. “I don’t know about our interfering like this, guys. It was different when two people were clearly in love, but just didn’t admit their feelings yet. Or at least only one of them was reluctant.
Tee-John and Celine both claim not to be in love.”
“It ain’t interfering if it’s good works,” Tante Lulu asserted.
“I have a theory,” Sylvie mused. “I believe that Celine has always had a crush on Tee-John. Even drunk, she’s the type who wouldn’t hop into bed with a guy she didn’t care about, for a one-night stand anyhow. Then, having his child, I suspect caring has developed into something more. She may or may not admit it to herself, but that girl is in love.”
They all pondered that possibility, then nodded. Maybe they were just hopeful optimists, but Tante Lulu didn’t think so.
“How about Tee-John?” Rachel asked. “That is one wild boy. Roping him would not be easy for any woman.”
Tante Lulu waved a hand dismissively. “The love bolt’ll whack him good. In fact, he’s halfway there, iffen I
’m readin’ the signs right.”
“So, we need a new plan then.” Rachel again.
Tante Lulu put on her thinking cap. “There is that pirate party we were talkin’ about havin’.”
“That’s it! Tee-John will be a pirate, and Celine will be the pirate wench that he kidnaps.” Sylvie had had a problem with severe shyness at one time. Luc sure had cured her of that if she got ideas like this.
“I kin jist see Tee-John with one of those scarves on his head, and a mustache and a gold hoop in his ear and those knee-high boots with flaps.” Tante Lulu sighed. “He’ll look way better than Johnny Depp.”
“Where would he kidnap her to?” the ever logical Val wanted to know. “There aren’t any pirate ships about that I know of.”
“How about René’s old shrimp boat?” Charmaine suggested.
“Does that old rust bucket still float?” Tante Lulu asked.
“Yes, he took it out last year, but it’s kind of smelly. And it doesn’t look much like a pirate’s love lair.” Val grinned at that last.
“Puhleeze!” Rachel exclaimed. “I’m a decorator. There isn’t anything we can’t make into a pirate ship. Some sails, a pirate flag, some swaths of silk and braziers for the bedroom. Piece of cake!”
“And don’t forget those biker friends of Angel’s,” Val reminded them. “We ought to meet with them. Bet they’ll have lots of ideas.”
“Oooh, boy! What do you think our husbands are going to say about us meeting with Hells Angels?” This from Sylvie.
As one, they grinned, not at all worried. In fact, they looked downright gleeful.
“You know . . . ” Val tapped her chin thoughtfully. “We might even be able to rent one of those longships that are on the Hudson River every year. It would have to be a small one, of course, but—”
“Wouldn’t that be expensive?” Rachel worried.
“It’d be worth any amount of money ta me iffen it got Tee-John ta the altar,” Tante Lulu said.
“Are we sure about this? Before we go any farther, we need to be sure pirates are the way to go.”