by Lynn Shurr
Table of Contents
Title Page
Praise for Lynn Shurr
She’s a Sinner
Copyright
Dedication
A SINNER’S LEGACY
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Epilogue
A word about the author…
Thank you for purchasing this publication of The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
“Alix, would you like to dance?” Tom offered.
“Oh, yes!” She shot to her feet.
Tille appraised her outfit. “You should have worn the black. You look like a Catholic school girl about to take her first communion.”
The hurt that passed over Alix’s face prompted Tom to say, “I think you look like a bride.”
“That’s what I thought—sort of bridish. Let’s dance.”
The music had turned frenetic, so not a chance of him holding her close. Tom went into what Dean called his war dance, among many other choice expressions. He jerked his arms over his flaming red head and lifted his long legs almost in time with the music. Dancing, not his greatest skill. Alix did the same. They circled the dance floor. Were people staring?
He noticed Vince Barbaro come out of the shadows and ask Tille to dance. Alix’s sister had worn short black spandex that clung to her rear and cupped each braless breast held up by straps that crossed behind her neck. Vince watched her boobs jiggle as he did a few Saturday Night Fever moves designed to impress. She’d worn heels high enough to increase her mammary motion. Both seemed happy with their choice of partners.
The door to Mariah’s Place opened letting in a shaft of low, long-lasting summer sunshine. As usual, the couple who entered stood there for a moment waiting for their eyes to adjust to the dark. The sunbeam illuminated them from the back as if they were surrounded by holy light, an anointed pair—Dean and Stacy…
Praise for Lynn Shurr
“Shurr is a wonderful storyteller.”
~The Romance Studio
~*~
“Lynn Shurr’s sinfully delightful New Orleans Sinners series is sure to please both non-sports fans and sports fans alike. Do yourself a favor and dive into the world of the Sinners.”
~Farrah Rochon, USA Today Best-selling author of the New York Sabers football series
~*~
“Very easy reads, well written, combined with conflict, believable plots and secondary characters that make the story come alive.”
~Jane Lange, Romances, Reads and Reviews
~*~
“What I love about these books is that they appeal to any audience, not just those who love sports…Another theme I would say plays heavily into the books is love and acceptance. I love how deep and well written the characters are.”
~Juliette Brandt, Paperbacks and Frosting
~*~
“Lynn Shurr stories have that distinctive Louisiana flavor…and make you eager for another taste.”
~J.L. Salter, author of Scratching the Seven Month Itch
~*~
“The author has created a family full of surprises with the Billodeaux bunch. After reading just one book, I am eager to read more about this colorful family.”
~Rachel’s Willful Thoughts, The Romance Reviews
She’s a Sinner
by
Lynn Shurr
A Sinner’s Legacy, Book 2
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
She’s a Sinner
COPYRIGHT © 2015 by Carla Hostetter
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Contact Information: [email protected]
Cover Art by Diana Carlile
The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
PO Box 708
Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708
Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com
Publishing History
First Champagne Rose Edition, 2015
Print ISBN 978-1-5092-0338-3
Digital ISBN 978-1-5092-0339-0
A Sinner’s Legacy, Book 2
Published in the United States of America
Dedication
For Lauren Silberman,
female kicker,
who tried out for the NFL in 2013
A SINNER’S LEGACY
The children of Joe and Nell Billodeaux
who fulfilled the prophecy that they would have
twelve offspring, this way, that way, all ways
Dean Joseph Billodeaux—Joe’s illegitimate son by a one-night stand with a woman who planned to shake him down for money. He is adopted by Nell who believes she cannot have children of her own. Current Sinners quarterback. (Wish for a Sinner)
Thomas Cassidy Billodeaux—a redheaded son who enters the family through an open adoption with a teenage mother. His birth father is Joe’s no-good cousin. He is a kicker for the Sinners. (Wish for a Sinner and Kicks for a Sinner)
Jude Emily Billodeaux—twin of Ann, conceived by in vitro fertilization using eggs purchased from Nell’s sister, Emily. (Wish for a Sinner)
Ann Marie Billodeaux (Annie)—Jude’s quiet twin. (Wish for a Sinner)
Lorena Renee Billodeaux (Lori)—First of Nell’s little frozen babies to be born, one of the triplets. (Kicks for a Sinner)
Mack Coy Christopher Billodeaux—Second of the triplets to be born. (Kicks for a Sinner)
Trinity Billodeaux - Youngest of the triplets and named for the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, smallest of the three and in need of a powerful saintly help to survive. (Kicks for a Sinner)
Xochi Maria Billodeaux—child of Joe’s no-good cousin by a young Mexican woman. She is Tom’s half-sister and is adopted into the family after the terrifying deaths of her parents. Her name means “blossom” in Aztec. (Kicks for a Sinner)
Teddy Wilkes Billodeaux—a child with spina bifida abandoned by his mother at Nell’s health care center and adopted by the family. He believed himself to be Joe’s natural son. (Paradise for a Sinner)
Anastasia Marya Polasky (Stacy)—daughter of Nell’s sister, Emily, and a bogus Polish prince. She becomes a ward of the Billodeauxs upon her parents’ deaths, but is never adopted by her own wish. She arrives on their doorstep the same day as Teddy. (Paradise for a Sinner)
Edith Patricia Billodeaux (Edie)—a normally conceived child, twin of Rex. (Love Letter for a Sinner)
Rex Worthy Billodeaux (T-Rex)—Edie’s twin brother and future Sinner’s quarterback, maybe. (Love Letter for a Sinner)
&nbs
p; Chapter One
Rookie Day at the Sinners’ football training camp in Metairie, Louisiana, and the May sun beat down unrelentingly upon the newbies, the wannabes, and the has-beens. Tom Billodeaux, placekicker for the team, thought Coach Marty Buck simply wanted to sweat the new guys for the hell of it since he’d had them dress out in full pads and helmets. At least, he hadn’t called for stockings, too. Lots of hairy legs showed as the new recruits and a bunch of walk-ons ran through their drills. If they thought Coach paid no attention behind those dark sunglasses and beneath that red Sinners cap covering an ever-increasing bald spot in his white crew-cut, they would be so very wrong. Age had honed Coach Buck to stringy whipcord muscles and scored his face with lines as deep as crevasses, but the brain beneath the hat still contained every detail of running a successful football team.
Sitting squarely between his kicker and his punter, Marty Buck said, “What did you think of that one, Lightfoot?”
Brian Lightfoot, a punter known for his long kicks and elegant placement, shook his head sadly. “I pity the boy. That was a high school performance. He took three steps before making his kick, a big waste of time. My guess is he’s a placekicker, but thought he’d give punting a try when he heard I announced my retirement. Frankly, the rest weren’t much better.” Brian smoothed back his long dark hair made distinguished by small wings of silver on either side.
“Yeah, we got the usual mishmash—university players who weren’t drafted, really young guys who aren’t going to college, and some old dudes who want a few more years in the league. A few of the relics would do, but I don’t want to go through this again next year. None of them have your talent.”
Lightfoot regarded his nicely manicured nails. “Of course not. That would be very hard to achieve,” he replied without false modesty.
“Take a good look the next candidate. What we have here is Ancient Andy Mortenson’s grandchild.” Buck referred to the Sinners’ very first placekicker known for his strong leg and amazing longevity. Only three major kickers adorned the history of the expansion team, Andy, Howdy McCoy, and now Tom Billodeaux, well-schooled by his predecessor and stepfather and not going anywhere else anytime soon. He planned to play as long as those who had gone before and helped to earn five Super Bowl rings.
Tom felt free to comment about a possible rival. “Wouldn’t Andy’s offspring be trained in placekicking? He runs his own camp for kickers.”
“Like Brian said, we only got an opening for a punter. Still, a punter with placekicking skills could be your backup.”
“Don’t need one.” Tom shook his head hard enough to flick off some of the sweat that ran down his freckled, boyish face.
“You never know.” Coach cupped his hand around his mouth and shouted, “You’re up next, Lindstrom. Let’s see what you can do.”
A lanky figure narrow in the shoulders even with the pads, but long in the leg trotted onto the field. A fringe of straight, pale blonde hair splayed out from the back of the black helmet. Around six feet tall with a light build, Tom estimated. “I’m not sure he could take a hit or throw a block if necessary.”
“Some people would say the same about you, Billodeaux. Don’t get your panties in a wad. We ain’t looking to replace you.”
“Where did this guy come from anyhow? I keep track of college kickers and haven’t heard of a Lindstrom playing anywhere.”
“Straight from the soccer field. No football experience,” Coach Buck said. His kickers groaned. “Hey, hey, give the kid a chance like I did Lightfoot once upon a time.”
“So true. Good legs,” Brian said. “Long, nicely developed, but not bulky—and possibly waxed which is more than I can say for Tom.” He regarded his own sleek, olive-toned limbs displayed in khaki shorts topped by a pink polo shirt. “I think I’m overdue for a manscaping.”
“We ain’t running a dating service, Lightfoot,” Coach Buck growled at his openly gay punter. None of the team cared so long as he did his job and left them alone. All kickers were weird in one way or another anyhow.
“I’ll have you know I’m in a committed relationship,” Brian replied.
Tom leaned his red head across Buck. “Mama Nell would say just don’t get hurt, Uncle Brian.” Not that Brian actually was his uncle, but in the extended Billodeaux family honorary relatives just seemed to accumulate. Lightfoot had been his stepfather’s friend forever.
Coach Buck slammed his clipboard on his knees. “Could we get our heads back in the game? Lindstrom, you ready?” The black helmet bobbed. The coach gave the long snapper the signal. The football sailed through his legs and landed with a thwack into big hands that turned the laces outward. Taking two steps, the punter’s left instep met the dropped ball firmly but not too hard and lofted it into the air.
Brian Lightfoot started his stopwatch. The football landed forty-two yards away, bounced twice and came to rest. “Hang time in the air four point two seconds. Classic.”
“Could be a lucky kick,” Tom said, unwilling to offer a compliment to a soccer player who hadn’t paid his dues, even though he’d spent his own grade school years playing that game since Mama Nell wouldn’t let her boys on a real football field before middle school.
“Let’s see another one, Lindstrom,” Coach bellowed. “Can you do any better?” The helmet bobbed. “Bolivar, give the kid a better snap this time, huh?”
The ball soared fifty yards before coming in for a landing. Brian checked the hang time. “Five seconds. Call me impressed.”
“Jesus Gawd, a left-footed punter and a good one. I always wanted me one of those. Belichick works with ’em, and I can see the advantage—that reverse spin is bound to mess with the return team.” Both men stared at their coach. Rare to see dour Marty Buck elated about anything. Mostly, he excelled at chewing players to bits for their screw-ups.
Tom felt he needed to point out a well-known fact. “Belichick says it’s just a coincidence he has left-footed punters.”
“My left nut! He’d do anything to mess with the other team. A left-footed punt is like water going down a toilet backwards in Australia. It confuses people. Now I got me one.”
“I’d like to see one more punt,” Tom said.
“You’re a tough sell, Tommy, but why not? I’m lovin’ this. Lindstrom, one more time.” Coach signaled the long snapper again.
Another punt flew down the field clear to the five-yard line before coming to rest and bumping out of bounds. The special teams coach out on the field galumphed over despite his excessive bulk and delivered such a mighty slap of congratulations to Lindstrom’s back that it pushed the kid forward a little. Brian Lightfoot fanned his handsome face. “Omigod! A perfect coffin corner punt. I’ve only done that twice in my entire career. If I weren’t in love already, I’d be falling for the guy right this minute.”
Coach Buck snorted. “No, you wouldn’t. Lindstrom, come over here.”
The new kid approached with the special teams coach trailing right behind with his wild gray hair flying and a big, shit-eating grin on his face. “I think we have ourselves a new punter,” he announced before the two came to a full stop before Marty Buck.
“I’d agree,” said Brian Lightfoot.
“You, too, Billodeaux?” Coach Buck elbowed his kicker.
“Yeah, I guess so.”
Tom might only be a placekicker, but fans chanted his nickname when he came out on the field—Tommy the Toe, Tommy the Toe. He wondered what they’d call a phenom like the Lindstrom kid. He’d have to work closely with the punter. The guy would hold the ball for him. If he didn’t already room with his brother, Dean Billodeaux the quarterback, on the road, they’d share accommodations. While the game went on, the two of them would be keeping their legs warm together apart from the other players. He swallowed his little spate of jealousy, stood, and offered a hand. “Welcome to the Sinners, Lindstrom. Exceptional work out there.”
The answering grip was light and the palm a little soft and damp. Tom swore the nails were coated with
a clear polish. Brian would approve, as he’d never been able to drag Tom in for a manicure. Maybe those long, tanned legs were waxed, but they could do the job.
The voice that issued from the depths of the helmet came out soft and low. “Thank you. That’s a great compliment coming from Tommy the Toe. Morfar will be so pleased.”
“Morfar?”
“That’s Swedish for grandfather on my mother’s side.” Lindstrom unlatched the black helmet and revealed a face possessing strong, high cheekbones, a straight, slim nose, nearly white brows, wide lips coated with a pink gloss, and eyes as clear and blue as the sky over the fjords in high summer. All of this was framed by straight light blonde hair, blunt cut at the shoulders and wispy bangs hanging sweat-soaked across her heat-flushed forehead. “But please, call me Alix since we might be working closely together.”
Coach Buck cackled. “I got y’all, each and every one of you. This is Ancient Andy’s granddaughter. I wanted her to have a fair shake.”
Brian did his usual gallant shtick. “Enchanté, mademoiselle. A magnificent performance.” Brian Lightfoot, his luminous dark eyes gleaming, bowed and kissed her somewhat large but feminine hand. The punter put her other hand to her cheek and blushed.
One thought ran through Tom Billodeaux’s head as he stood aside watching. If Brian hadn’t fallen in love with Alix Lindstrom at first sight, he surely had.
Chapter Two
“As far as I’m concerned you got the job, but we have to run it by the higher-ups,” Coach Buck told the young woman. Coach pointed a certain finger skyward, whether indicating his opinion of the administration or thanking God for a left-footed punter was difficult for Tom to tell. “We’ll be in touch. You can get out of here now.”
