Men Made in America Mega-Bundle

by Gayle Wilson, Marie Ferrarella, Jennifer Greene, Annette Broadrick, Judith Arnold, Rita Herron, Anne Stuart, Diana Palmer, Elizabeth Bevarly, Patricia Rosemoor, Emilie Richards

  She understood him better now. Being with his family had taught her more than she’d expected to learn. Perhaps Didi had said it best when she’d said that the four men, living without a woman to take them in hand, had almost been beyond hope. From what Antoinette had seen and from what Sam had told her about his childhood in New Orleans, it was apparent that he had never benefited from the softening influence of a woman in his life. His mother had been too busy; he had lived the remainder of his life away from women. Even the job he had chosen to do was essentially done in a male world, although that was changing with the addition of more women to the police force.

  Sam saw no need for what he’d never had. Depending on a woman for emotional support, for companionship, for love, was foreign to his background. She snuggled into his arms and wished that she could give him what she knew he needed. Sadly, she was a good enough psychologist to know that people have to make their own choices and their own mistakes.

  “So you’re awake.”

  She smiled against his chest. The night wasn’t going to be wasted, after all. “I wish you’d shaken me or something when you came to bed.”

  “I undressed you. I covered your sleeping body with kisses. I finally gave up.”

  He smelled like the soap she had used, too, and she tasted his skin to see if it tasted the same way. “I guess I’m a sound sleeper.”

  “But you’re not asleep now.”

  “I’m certainly not.” Antoinette allowed Sam to roll her onto her back, cherishing the feel of his body stretched over hers.

  “I wore you out today, didn’t I?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “I probably ought to let you get a good night’s sleep.”

  “You probably should.”

  “I’m not going to.”

  “You’d better not.”

  His laugh rumbled through her, and Antoinette gave herself up to the feel of his hands and lips and to the knowledge that they had another twenty-four hours before life intruded once more.

  The next time she awoke, sunlight was streaming through the windows, and Sam was nowhere in sight. She sat up and stretched, wondering why people slept on anything except Spanish moss. Certainly she’d had the best night of her life on the fragrant mattress. Her nightgown was on the floor beside the bed, and she slipped it over her sleep-flushed body before she went to look for Sam.

  He was on the deck, a cup of coffee forgotten in one hand as he watched a blue heron poised on the shore only yards away. Antoinette slipped her arms around his waist and felt how completely relaxed he was. She was good for him; she knew she was. And he was certainly good for her.

  “There’s coffee in the kitchen. I didn’t know when you’d wake up.”

  “I’ll pass, I think.”

  He ruffled her hair affectionately. “Do you think I make it with bayou water?”

  “I wondered.”

  “I bring in spring water for drinking and cooking. It’s stored underneath the sink in gallon jugs.”

  “I’ll be back.”

  When she returned with her coffee, Sam was arranging crates for them to sit on. “Not exactly deluxe accommodations.”

  “I’m very satisfied.”

  She made such a lovely picture. The mists of the swamp around them painted the morning in the style of one of the French Impressionists. Antoinette in the filmy nightgown, with her black hair falling over her shoulders and her feet delightfully bare, was a creature of the mists, too ethereal to be real. Sam doubted that he would ever stand on this deck again without thinking of her.

  “What would you like to do today?” he asked, determined to break the spell.

  “I want to see everything.”

  “What is everything?”

  “The bayou, the swamp. How far away is the closest marsh?”

  “Too far away to canoe. It’s down toward the Gulf. Don’t you know anything about Louisiana geography?”

  “I know more than I did yesterday at this time.”

  “What else do you want to see?” Sam sipped the coffee that had turned cold as he’d watched her.

  “A fais-do-do, Pierre Part, the rest of your family, a Cajun traiteur at work, an oil rig, Claude fishing for catfish.”

  “You forgot the Evangeline oak and the blessing of the fleet,” Sam said dryly. “You really like this, don’t you?”

  “I really do.” She stood, wandering to the edge of the deck. There was so much to see. Everywhere she looked, something new caught her eye. The bayou and the swamp changed momentarily. Now she watched a snake, dark and menacing, on a tree root on the shore. “I like your family, too.”

  “Real people?”

  For a moment she wondered if she’d imagined the sting in his words. Then she knew she hadn’t. “I’m not slumming, Sam,” she said finally. “And I resent your thinking I am.”

  It was the second time he’d had to apologize for the same slight. He remembered the day he’d accused her of living where she did just to rub shoulders with the common folk. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t push distance between us yet.” She didn’t turn. She just stood quietly sipping her coffee and watching the snake slither into the water. Then she shuddered. “We have the rest of this day and tonight. At least give us both that much before you put up your walls again.”

  He had gone inside the cabin when she finally finished her coffee and decided to dress to meet the new day. She passed him on her way to the porch to change. His arms shot out, and his hug was hard and oddly comforting. “I’ll show you everything I can today,” he murmured, his lips close to her ear.

  She treated it as lightly as she could. “Well, tell me how to dress, then, if I’m going to see everything.”

  “Comfortably.”

  “I’m comfortable now.”

  “But if you stay dressed like that, you’ll be undressed very quickly, and we won’t be going anywhere.”

  “Shorts and a shirt,” she said decisively. “And a long evening here, alone.”

  “After we eat dinner with Didi and Leonce,” Sam said, his voice distinctly apologetic. “But we’ll eat early.”

  “Didi wants to cook for us again?”

  “Didi wants to bend my ear about Martin. She thinks it’s her job to make sure the LeBeaud men live up to her expectations. If Didi had her way, Martin would have a steady job, find a good woman and settle down to wedded bliss like his brother.”

  “That Didi,” Antoinette said, tongue-in-cheek. “Where does she get those crazy ideas?”

  Sam laughed and hugged her again before he pushed her toward the porch. “The bayou tour leaves in exactly fifteen minutes. Since you’re such a prize tourist, I’ll show you a place that’s not even in the guidebooks.”

  “Another secret place?”

  “Another secret place.”

  “Make it five minutes,” she said happily. “I don’t want to waste even one precious moment of this day.”

  Chapter 11

  Antoinette eyed the supplies that Sam was bringing with them on his grand tour of the bayou and wondered exactly what he had in mind. “Hip boots?”

  “I told you we were eating with Didi and Leonce tonight. I just forgot to mention that we’re providing the main course.”

  “I’ve heard of desperate survivors of plane crashes eating boots, Sam, but I don’t think even they ate rubber boots.”

  Sam just smiled and added more paraphernalia to what was already in the bottom of the canoe. “We can get whatever else we need at Nonc Claude’s. I’m going to trade my canoe for his skiff. The place I want to take you is too far to paddle.”

  Antoinette tried to sound nonchalant. “I’m intrigued. What are those squares of mesh for, and those wires?”

  “You’ll see.”

  Claude and Martin were both gone when they arrived at the house. Tootsie was sitting patiently on the dock as if she’d expected them. She followed their progress to the landing, leaping up to cover Antoinette’s arms with big licks when she disem
barked. Antoinette played with Tootsie while Sam checked the skiff, which was tied to the dock. He made several mysterious trips into the house, loading the skiff with more supplies before he ushered Antoinette into it. Tootsie, obviously resigned to being left again, trotted up to the house and flopped down on the porch, watching as her mistress disappeared from sight.

  It was warm enough for Antoinette to be glad she’d worn shorts and a short-sleeved blouse. The sun sparkled on the water, and the early-morning mists had burned off to leave the air clear and fresh. Without any responsibilities for propelling the boat, she could enjoy the passing scenery. She counted birds: ever-present crows, red-winged blackbirds and wrens, plus water birds she couldn’t identify, along with the great egret and the blue heron which she could.

  She watched Sam, too, who was busy guiding the boat through narrow channels and wider swampy areas. His shirt was unbuttoned halfway down his tanned chest, and the ragged denim cutoffs he wore exposed most of his nicely muscled thighs. With the wind blowing through his hair and the relaxed expression of a happy man on his face, Sam was the consummate outdoorsman. There seemed to be nothing more important to worry about than how many fish he would catch and whether there might be an afternoon thunderstorm.

  “I’m lost. What direction are we going?” Antoinette asked after forty-five minutes of twists and turns that left her completely confused.

  “Can’t hear you,” Sam said with a grin.

  “Yes, you did. Why don’t you want me to know?”

  “Because this is a secret place. Once you see it, you’ll want to tell everyone about it,” he teased.

  She grinned back at him, pleased with his silliness. This Sam was a new one, and one she was glad to be acquainted with. Lounging back with her hands grasping her knees, she watched as he took yet another turn, pulled close to shore and cut the motor.

  “We’re here.”

  Antoinette surveyed the surrounding landscape. They were in a small cove where firm ground lay just out of reach through yards of marshy-looking grasses. There were two moss-covered live oaks, which reminded her of the ones they’d picnicked under at City Park, and dozens of smaller hackberries. A wide strip of black-eyed Susans and mayweed decorated the immediate shore leading into the water. Antoinette turned her gaze to the bottom of the skiff and knew immediately what the hip boots were for.

  “We’re going to wade to shore.” Silently she congratulated herself on sounding so wonderfully matter-of-fact. She pushed down thoughts of alligators and cottonmouths.

  “It certainly looks that way, doesn’t it?”

  “Is this a test of my outdoor skills?” she asked politely.

  “Questions, questions.” Sam selected a pair of boots and tossed them her way.

  “Sam, you have heard of quicksand, haven’t you?” She worried out loud, still trying to sound matter-of-fact. “Are you sure that we won’t sink into the mud and disappear?”

  “I’ve never heard of anyone who did.” He didn’t smile, but his eyes were dancing. “’Course, they wouldn’t have lived to tell stories, would they?”

  Antoinette could feel her spine straighten. “Sam,” she said, so sweetly she was afraid she might attract bees, “have you ever been to a Mardi Gras ball?”

  He grimaced, showing by that one brief expression exactly what he thought of the idea.

  “Well,” she continued, sweeter still, “you’ll be getting an invitation this year. Yes, you will. I’m going to have my mother see that you’re invited to the oldest, stodgiest ball of all, and I’m going to be sure the chief of police knows you’ve been invited to represent the force.”

  “Good at assessing weak spots, aren’t you?”

  “One of the best.” She leaned down to fasten the boots and tested their weight by lifting a foot. There was no question about it—she would sink as soon as she put one foot in the water.

  “All right,” he said grudgingly, “if you go under for the third time, I’ll pull you back up.”

  “Promise?” Antoinette watched as Sam nimbly vaulted into the water and miraculously sank only to the top of his boots. He grasped the boat and began to pull it to shore. The skiff was through the weeds and anchored next to solid ground before Antoinette could step out. “Why am I wearing these boots?” she asked.

  “Because you look so cute in them.”

  She made sure he caught her glare and bent to begin unfastening the boots.

  “And because you’re going to need them to set your nets,” Sam continued.

  Her hands fell to her sides. “The wires and cotton mesh?”

  “City girl, those are crawfish nets. You and I are under orders to bring fifty pounds of mud bugs back to Didi’s house tonight for a real Cajun crawfish boil.”

  The sun was higher in the sky, and the shade of the largest live oak had become a necessity. Antoinette lay on the blanket that Sam had packed and watched him check his nets. There were ten altogether, lined up in the tangles of weeds along the shore. They were baited with chicken necks and some part of a cow that Sam called “melts,” refusing to identify it further. Four of the nets were hers, a generous gift from a man who wouldn’t take no for an answer. Sam was catching more crawfish than Antoinette because he hopped up to check his nets and rebait more frequently than she did, but Antoinette was catching her share of the finger-length, bronze-colored “mud bugs.” She was secretly bursting with pride over her success.

  They had snacked all morning, first on cold squares of bread pudding left from their feast the night before, later on fruit. The Atchafalaya Basin was too generous not to offer them more, however, and Sam had set up several fishing poles before the nets had been secured, succeeding in capturing one large channel catfish almost immediately. The fish had been cleaned and filleted with a deftness that testified to his years on the bayou, and Sam, the man who supposedly didn’t cook, had fried it over a small camp stove, slapped it between thick slices of French bread and presented it to Antoinette with a flourish. Even considering that she was the po’boy connoisseur of New Orleans, she rated it the best she’d ever had.

  As delicious as it was, Sam’s lunch couldn’t take the edge off the anticipation of the dinner to come. The crawfish, which resembled miniature lobster, would be boiled with garlic, red peppers and spices. Corn on the cob, new potatoes, whole onions and pieces of spicy sausage would be cooked with them, and the whole meal would be eaten with no utensils as soon as it was cool enough to manage. A crawfish boil was a southern Louisiana feast, and even the most sophisticated gourmand in New Orleans responded to the thought of one by licking his lips.

  “Do we have our fifty pounds yet?” Antoinette asked lazily when Sam returned to drop to her side.

  “You’re not finished yet, lady. Your nets need checking.”

  “You don’t understand my strategy.” She ran the tip of her finger down his nose. “See, I’m a great believer in Darwin’s theory of natural selection. Only the strongest shall survive and all that? Well, if a crawfish gets in my net, I have to give him the chance to get back out. Otherwise, I’ll catch some of the best crawfish in this bayou. Then the gene pool will be substantially weakened—ouch!” She exhaled sharply. Sam was stretched out on top of her, their noses almost touching.

  “No Cajun man allows his woman to talk her way out of doing her job. And your job is to check those nets.”

  “I’m temporarily unable to,” she pointed out, threading her fingers together behind his neck. “Have mercy, monsieur. Besides, you’re only half Cajun.”

  Sam smoothed Antoinette’s hair back from her forehead. Their mood had been light all morning, and it had suited him perfectly. It had been a revelation that he could spend such relaxing time with a woman. Antoinette had no pretenses, no expectations. She wanted to be with him; she thoroughly enjoyed every new experience. He sensed that she, like he, rarely took the time to have fun, and now that she was, she was making the most of it.

  As the morning passed, he had found himself planning oth
er trips, wondering how he could fit all the things he wanted to do with her into their hectic work schedules. He had realized it would take a lifetime. The thought had been sobering but only for a moment. She had excitedly pointed out a colorful turtle sunning itself on a nearby log, and once again he had been drawn into the web of enchantment she was spinning.

  Jubilant little girl, sophisticated debutante, compassionate healer, enthusiastic, responsive lover. She was all the things a man could want in a woman. He’d never thought he wanted all those things, and he had never wanted any of them on a permanent basis. Now he realized how little he’d understood about himself.

  He didn’t even realize how his thoughts showed in his face.

  “Sam,” Antoinette said softly, their teasing forgotten, “it can’t be as bad as all that.”

  It was much worse, but there was no way to explain that to her, no way to let her know just how she could shatter his life if he let her.

  “Make love to me,” she whispered, wanting desperately to destroy the sudden shadows in the eyes that had danced all morning. “We’re hidden from the water.”

  He knew what a bad idea it was even as he began to caress her. She fit him too perfectly, melted into him in a way that left him wondering if he would ever be free of her. She was all the complications he didn’t need. And at that moment she was everything he wanted.

  They undressed hurriedly, helping each other so that they wouldn’t have to be separated. There were no leisurely explorations, no chances for building passion. It had arrived full-blown, making its own demands with no apologies. They gave in to it gladly, racing to the peak together.

  Afterward they lay entwined in the shade, letting the faint breeze from the water cool their sweat-slick bodies. When they rose to dress and check their nets one more time, they held hands as they trudged through the alligator weeds and water primrose.

  Sam took a different way back. He pointed out a channel that led to an egret rookery in a back-hole cypress swamp he had discovered as a teenager. He told her stories of the egret rookeries farther south in the marshes and on Avery Island to the west of them. He shared stories of his family and exploits of his youth. She listened with rapt attention, aware that moments of sharing this way were few and far between in his life.