Red Letter Nights

by Alison Kent; Karen Anders; Jeanie London

  “Chloe, I have a shrink at work. I don’t need one at home.”

  “Do you talk to your shrink?”

  “I don’t really need to. I handle what I need to handle when I need to handle it.”

  Those deep green eyes were aglow. He gazed into them realizing she could see all the way through to his soul and knew every nuance of every cell there. He wondered if she was getting one of her “feelings” right now. It didn’t matter. He wasn’t talking about his job.

  None of that ugliness belonged here in Court du Chaud. He did what was required of him.

  She smiled a soft wistful smile and returned to the stove. For some inexplicable reason, he felt bereft as if she’d imploded and all her beauty and caring had left with her. What was with this woman that he wanted to spill his guts to her? Make that sparkle shine in her eyes and make her look at him with the tenderness and care he’d seen there last night when she opened the door. He’d moved so close to her in just a handful of hours. It was unsettling.

  He pushed his chair back and approached her. “Chloe, look, I’m sorry, but it’s not something I want to talk about.”

  She nodded her head, but didn’t face him, he couldn’t stand it. He clasped her shoulder and turned her. “I don’t talk about it because it makes it too real. Especially here in this court. It’s like a Christmas postcard with the big tree in the center, your café filled with light, the place alive with activity.”

  Her expression was serious. “People live their lives here, Jack. It’s not a fantasy. What you do for a living is real, too, and you can’t hide from reality. I know, Jack.”

  “I like my illusions, Chloe. Peace is really hard to find and I moved here to get some of it. It’s the most idyllic place I’ve ever seen.”

  The corners of her mouth turned up, but her smile was dim. “Who am I to disturb the peace then? It’s time to eat.”

  They dug into their eggs and Jack felt like a kid who wouldn’t share his toys. But his toys were violent and dangerous and he didn’t want Chloe exposed to that kind of hostility.

  She, more than anyone, was such a part of this court. Her café sat open and welcoming, just like its owner. And she reigned over the court like a queen. Everyone loved her. He could understand why.

  “So does Madame Alain know all that goes on here?”

  Chloe smiled, the twinkle back in her eyes. “She’s lived in the court the longest of any of the residents. What she doesn’t know she’ll ferret out. She loves discovering all the court’s secrets, so don’t expect this to stay quiet too long.”

  “As soon as she sees the smile on my face, she’s going to know what we’ve been doing.”

  Chloe laughed. “You’re right. I wish everyone could have the same experience.”

  “To hell with everyone else. This experience belongs to you and me,” he said, giving her a special grin and rising from the table.

  “Wait!” Chloe popped a piece of toast in her mouth, getting up from the table with the plate of half-finished eggs in her hands. “I’m not done yet.”

  He stalked her around the table as she scooped up a fingerful of eggs and slipped them into her mouth. Jack watched rapt as her pink digits disappeared between her lips. “Doesn’t matter, this goes beyond food.”

  Sliding her fingers slowly out of her mouth, she asked coyly, “Are you saying sex is everything?” She set her plate in the sink as he came for her.

  “Are you saying it’s not?” He pressed her against the nearest wall and braced his hands on either side of her head, his hips pushed deeply into hers. She gasped. So perfectly fitted to her, he likewise gasped when she pushed back.

  “Bite my tongue,” she invited, her voice husky and enthralling.

  “If you insist.” His lips covered hers, his tongue invading the warm recess of her mouth sucking on her tongue and gently biting. “Damn,” he murmured against her mouth, then along down her chin, which she tilted up, offering the tender skin of her throat. “I can’t believe how much I want you again.”

  He unwrapped her like a Christmas present, reverently, knowing the gift beneath was everything he could ever want. When his hands delved between the folds of her robe and touched creamy skin, he was lost, then found as her arms came around him.

  5

  “LET’S LAY HERE for the rest of the day,” Jack suggested.

  “That would be nice, but I’ve got to get to the café. There’s baking and the lunch and dinner menus to prepare. Chloe ran her hand up his chest to his jaw, his skin moist and smooth beneath her palm. “I’m sorry.” Resentment worked its way from a small bud into full bloom. It twisted inside her like barbed wire. She also had responsibilities and people who depended on her. Torn between her need to serve the people of the court and wanting to get closer to Jack, to discover what he was trying to hide, made that resentment easy to taste. But her café was a popular spot and people expected her to be there. Yet, Jack wouldn’t open up to her. Wouldn’t talk to her about what was bothering him. Even a simple discussion about yesterday made him pull tight into himself. Still, her sense of him grew stronger each moment she spent with him. That darkness inside him was eating him alive, and he didn’t realize the danger he was in.

  “Too bad. I have all day free. Come on, play hooky.”

  “No, Jack, I really can’t. I have a large order to prepare for a customer, deliveries and all the rest.”

  “So is your café doing pretty well?”

  “Yes, I’m solid.”

  “Then why don’t you hire more help?”

  “I have Tally and Anne.”

  “You work seven days a week. Why not take Sundays off?”

  “I can’t. Running a business is time-consuming.”

  He scowled and made no move to get up.

  “Come by the café for lunch and I’ll fix your favorite dish,” she cajoled. “What is it?”

  “Chicken, shrimp and andouille jambalaya.”

  “Yummy. I can make that for you with some crusty French bread, a nice crisp salad, some wine.”

  “Sounds like you have enough to do today. Why don’t you make me something special some other time?”

  “No. I can do it. No problem. Walk me down to the café?”

  After going to Jack’s town house so he could get dressed, they crossed the court, passing the large Christmas tree and piazza. Chloe went to ascend the stairs when a pair of well-worn boots caught her eye. She walked around a group of bushes to find a boy nestled in the branches.

  “What are you doing in there?”

  “Nothing.”

  She took in his tattered clothing and the look of hunger in his eyes. Fear, desperation beat at her senses. “What’s your name,” she asked gently.

  “Vincent St. Claire.”

  “Hi there, Vincent. How old are you?”

  “Almost seventeen.”

  “You looking for work?”

  The boy straightened and stared at her, hope fresh and clean pulsed across his face.

  “Yes. I could work for food.”

  “Nonsense. Three squares are part of the deal and minimum wage. That okay with you?”

  “Yes,” he blurted.

  She felt the shock of his good fortune long before she saw it in his eyes.

  “You can start by getting over to Foster’s two blocks over, and getting yourself a pair of black pants and two white dress shirts. Here’s an advance on your wages.”

  He looked down at the money she’d pressed into his hands. Then up at her as if she were a Christmas angel just appeared to him.

  “When you get back, there’s a broom in the kitchen. I’d like you to sweep everything inside and out. Then I’ll teach you how to set up the tables for breakfast. I’ll need you to bus tables when the crowd starts getting thick. Think you can do that?”

  “Yes.”

  “What are you waiting for?”

  When the boy ran off down the street, she turned toward the café.

  “I hope you know he’s not
coming back.”

  “He will. Oh, don’t go all NOPD blue on me, Jack.”

  “How can you be sure?”

  “I’m sure.”

  “Whatever he does, that was generous of you, but you have to be careful, Chloe.”

  “You told me to get some help. I got help.”

  “You know what I meant.”

  “Stop fussing and I’ll get you a beignet that’ll make you weep into your café au lait.”

  Chloe was true to her word and Jack enjoyed the pastry as the boy came back with his purchases. She told him to wash up and change in the bathroom. When he came out, she put him to work.

  The day was grueling and Chloe kept on, long into the night. She smiled as she made a note to herself to make some sexy sugar cookies for her friend Josie Russell for Christmas Eve, two days away. She couldn’t believe Christmas was almost upon them. Josie had lived at Court du Chaud her whole life and befriended Chloe when she’d opened up Café Eros and moved into the square.

  She actually should say she was baking more sugar cookies, since she’d baked several dozen for her friend since Thanksgiving. She hoped Josie knew what she was doing with number seventeen’s current occupant, the globe-trotting, high-powered shark, Max LeClerc. Max’s grandmother had passed away, so he was back to take care of the sweet woman’s belongings. Chloe’s chest got tight when she thought of Nana LeClerc and her penchant for thick chicory coffee. If Max hurt Josie, she’d make sure his next batch of cookies had appropriate messages on them like get lost and you suck. Even with the Mardi Gras committee, she and Josie hadn’t seen each other recently. They were long overdue for a girls’ night out.

  WHEN SHE WAS ready to close up, she came out of the kitchen. Vincent was sitting at one of the tables studying the mural of Captain Dampier.

  “Vincent, you’re still here?”

  “You didn’t tell me I could leave.”

  “Sure you can. Thanks for your help.” She felt his immediate fear as he looked out the dark windows. “Vincent. Do you have someplace to stay tonight?”

  “I could go to the shelter.”

  “I’ve got a small room in the back. It’s not much, but it’s clean and there’s a bed. I use it sometimes when I get a break. There are some books in there, a lamp and a small TV. You’ll have to use the restroom to wash up, but it’s available if you want it.”

  “Do I? Thanks, Ms. Matthews.”

  “Call me Chloe. I forgot to ask you. Did you deliver Madame Alain’s lunch to her all right?”

  “Yes and she speaks French.”

  “She does. You were gone a long time.”

  “She pulled me in the house and talked my ear off. Asked me a lot of questions.”

  Chloe smiled. “Did you endure it okay?”

  “I did. She wants me to come back again to talk. She’s a nice lady.”

  “Did you get enough to eat?”

  “Yeah. I mean yes.”

  But she saw the way he eyed her case. “You know, I forgot to wrap up these beignets and they’ll be stale by the morning anyway. Why don’t you take them back with you?”

  “Thanks, Chloe.”

  He clutched at the small sack he’d been carrying when she’d met him. “Do you have everything you need?”

  “The shelter gave me the necessities.”

  “Good. I’ll see you in the morning. Good night, Vincent.”

  “Good night, Chloe.”

  When she slipped past him, she felt a warning, a tremor of something dangerous. She looked at the painting of Dampier. “Are you up to your old tricks?” she murmured under her breath. But she felt nothing else.

  “Good night, Captain,” Chloe whispered as she went out the door and locked it.

  CHRISTMAS EVE day Chloe had given Josie her box of wrapped cookies, still chuckling about the spicy messages she’d written on each one. Josie was going to kill her.

  She closed early to get ready to meet Jack. She’d missed him the last two days. He’d been called into work, but he promised her he would be home in time for them to go to see his parents and siblings in Bayou Gravois.

  The days still hadn’t gotten cold, so she kept to her lighter clothes, a red stretchy top that clung to her rib cage and a short flirty skirt with holly leaves and berries decorating the slinky fabric.

  Just as she was putting the finishing touches on her makeup, there was a knock on her door. She opened it and greeted Jack with a kiss that was soon hotter than both of them could help. His hands did quick work with destroying her carefully coiffed hair.

  “Hey, Chloe. Time to laissez le bon temps rouler.”

  “Let the good times roll. Agreed.”

  “You made gumbo?”

  “I thought I’d give ton père a run for his money.”

  “He loves a challenge.” Grinning, he leaned and caught her chin in his right hand, stroking the pad of his thumb across the lush swell of her lower lip. “You look good, mon couer.”

  My heart. That’s what he’d called her. Chloe jerked back from him, batting his hand away. Her hold on her emotions and her libido was tenuous at best when this man was around.

  “Ah, what you do, sweetheart.” He brushed his thumb over her lip again.

  “Stop. I don’t want to be late and you’ve already made a jumble of my hair. Now, you can spoon the gumbo into the bowl while I go fix your mess.”

  She laughed as he kissed her neck and wiggled out of his grasp as he grinned at her.

  “Go. Fix. I’ll do as I’m told. Mon père will have my head if I’m late.”

  Later, as they passed the café, Jack asked, “How’s that kid working out? He giving you any trouble?”

  “No. He’s a hard worker. I let him stay in my back room.”

  “In the café, when you’re not there? That’s not a very good idea, Chloe. Maybe you should cut him loose.”

  Once they reached the car and got settled inside, Chloe explained, “I think if Madame Alain has her way, she’ll adopt the boy. She’s teaching him French whether he wants to learn or not. The whole court has embraced him. He’s doing odd jobs for a lot of folks.”

  “Does he have a place to be tonight?”

  “Ah. There is a heart buried in all that cop cynicism.”

  “Does he?” Jack repeated. “If not, we’ll bring him with us. One more won’t be a problem.”

  “You’re too late. Madame Alain has asked Vincent to celebrate Christmas Eve with her, but you are very sweet to offer.”

  “Sweet, yeah right.”

  “So what can I expect tonight? I hope there will be dancing.”

  “You won’t be able to avoid it. My family opens up the parlor, moves the furniture, everyone’s required to dance.”

  As they drove along the Mississippi, Jack said, “There’s a legend that says Cajuns used to set elaborate fires along the river. Beacons to guide Père Noel’s visits by pirogue. And to light the way for the faithful to attend Midnight Mass.”

  “What’s a pirogue?”

  “A Cajun canoe.”

  Soon they were turning into a driveway in front of a beautiful house. Once inside, Chloe was inundated with hugs from people she didn’t know, but laughed and joined into the rolicking good time. Loud music was playing, a large Christmas tree sat in the foyer, the rest of the house adorned splendidly for the holiday season with fresh fruits, winter berries, garlands and magnolia leaves, and full of magnificent period antiques.

  “Your parents’ house is magnificent.”

  “Where you at, T-Jack?”

  Jack turned at the sound of the woman’s voice. She was gorgeous. Dark hair, dark eyes, exquisite bone structure. Chloe was immediately jealous.

  “Ah my Le Le. Where you at, little sister?”

  Chloe relaxed her taut shoulders.

  “Jolie Castille.” The woman held out her hand. “You must be Chloe. Jack told me all about you.”

  “I hope not everything.” His sister’s curiosity assaulted Chloe’s senses.

 
“Only that you believe in a gris-gris ghost.” Jolie shuddered. “Scares me.”

  “Ghost? What ghost?” Christien asked as he slapped his brother on the back and spoke to him in French.

  “Gabriel Dampier.” Chloe was once again caught by the striking resemblance the brothers had to each other. Their devil-may-care attitude washed across her senses.

  “That old legend. Chloe, you should be ashamed of yourself,” Christien admonished.

  “Why you keeping this flower at the door?”

  A tall, lean man with graying hair and a twinkle in his eyes was the spitting image of his sons. “What you got in your hands?” He leaned forward. “Gumbo.” He looked at his son. “You make this to show up ton père, T-Jack?”

  Jack smiled and said, “Non, mon père, Chloe made it.”

  “It’s good, pa,” Christien said.

  “True? Better than mine?”

  “You’ve got to taste it,” Jack said, glancing at Chloe and giving her a wink.

  Jack’s father led Chloe to the living room. Turning down the music, he announced to the whole room what she suspected was that she was trying to upstage him. The whole room burst into laughter. Jack’s father then took her by the arm to the kitchen where a big black pot was cooking over the stove. The smell was heavenly.

  He took the plastic bowl out of her hands and threw the contents into a pan and turned up the heat. When it was hot, he collected two spoons. Meanwhile, the family had pushed their way into the kitchen as Jack’s father brought the gumbo to his lips. Chloe was proud of using the Cajun dark roux, a concoction of flour and butter cooked for twenty minutes to a thick consistency and added to dishes, namely gumbo. It took skill to obtain a dark roux and Chloe had perfected it over the years.

  Jack’s father tasted his own and then tasted hers. His eyes got very round and he turned to look at her. He took another taste. “Il est meilleur que le mien. Le secret est dans les roux!”

  Everyone laughed. Chloe looked at Jack. “What did he say?”

  “It’s better than mine and…”

  His father slapped her on the back. “The secret is in the roux,” Jack’s father translated.

  The room was so full of joy and good will, Chloe’s senses went crazy. A full grin split her face. She took the spoon out of his hand and dipped it into the pot. Taking a taste, she rolled her eyes in pleasure. “It’s wonderful.”