Snow on the Bayou

by Sandra Hill

  “I forgave him long ago, child.”

  Emelie didn’t want to ruin the old lady’s day with all this gloom and doom. So she scanned the yard, where everyone was working industriously. Already there was a huge difference from what she’d seen on arriving here hours ago. “Aren’t people wonderful?” she remarked.

  “Yes. I have so much to be thankful for. Especially…” She choked up looking toward Justin, who was standing with his two SEAL buddies, talking and laughing, occasionally jabbing each other in the arm.

  Tante Lulu joined them then, huffing and puffing up the steps. “Lawd a mercy! You should get one of them elevator thingees, MaeMae. The kind where you sit down and it scoots you up the steps, faster ’n spit.”

  “I’ll think about it,” Miss MaeMae said, but they all knew she wouldn’t. It wouldn’t make sense with the time she had left.

  “Get me a sweet tea with ice, will you, hon?” Tante Lulu said to Emelie, easing her little butt down into an Adirondack chair.

  Inside the cozy cottage, Emelie was greeted by the singing of canaries and the squawking of exotic birds. When she peered closer at one brilliantly colored one, it said, clear as day, “Hoo-yah!” And the voice was identical to Justin’s. She had to smile. At least he wasn’t teaching it obscene words. Yet.

  Emelie had spent so much time in this cottage over the years, until Justin left. Whereas her father would have had a hissy fit if Justin had even dared step over their threshold, she’d been welcome here. And it didn’t seem to have changed at all.

  Thinking about her father made her realize they would be celebrating his birthday about now. She didn’t feel guilty at all about her absence. As soon as she’d decided to stay—or had been forced to stay—she’d called Francine’s number and left a brief voice mail. “Can’t come today. Sorry. Will talk later.” Then she’d turned her cell phone off and left it in the van.

  She delivered the iced sweet teas to Tante Lulu and Miss MaeMae. The two women were totally engrossed in some reminiscence about Tante Lulu’s fiancé, who had apparently been Miss MaeMae’s brother. He’d died during World War II. Then Emelie went back to the yard, where JAM motioned her over to help unwind a tangled mess of hoses under the porch. Tante Lulu had told her that he’d studied for the priesthood at one time, something she’d learned after a spirited discussion about St. Jude.

  “Have you known Justin long?” Emelie asked.

  “We were in BUD/S together. Geek was in the same class.”

  At her raised brows, he explained, “Basic Underwater Demoliton/SEALs. The training program for SEALs.”

  “It’s hard to picture Justin as a special forces guy. I mean, it must take all kinds of discipline.”

  “A wild one, was he?”

  “The wildest.”

  “He’s a great soldier. The best. I would trust him with my life. I don’t suppose he’s told you how many medals of valor he has?”

  “He hasn’t told me anything.” She thought for a minute. “Is that why he’s limping? Did he get injured in some battle?”

  JAM laughed. “Nah. He just landed the wrong way on a high-altitude jump.”

  She put a hand over her heart. “He jumps out of airplanes?”

  “Sweetheart, that’s the least dangerous thing he does.”

  At the concern on her face, he asked, “Why’d you let him get away?”

  “I didn’t leave him. He left me.”

  “Are you sure about that?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Hmmm.” They worked in silence for a few minutes before JAM asked, “By the way, where’s Cage’s brother, Phillipe?”

  “Huh? Justin doesn’t have any brothers. He had an uncle Phillipe who died during World War II. Phillipe Prudhomme was engaged to Tante Lulu before his death.”

  “Yeah, we know who Phillipe Prudhomme was. One of the early Navy SEALs.”

  “What? I didn’t know SEALs were around back then.”

  “Well, the precursors of SEALs. Frogmen, they were called.” They both paused again, taking in all this new information. Then JAM continued, “I could swear Cage told us about his brother who hated catfish and his MawMaw—that’s what he calls his grandmother—giving him this hokey proverb-type advice that ended up with him loving catfish, but all the catfish were gone.”

  She shook her head, equally baffled. “Why would Justin tell you he had a brother?”

  JAM laughed. “Pfff! Cage is always making up these crazy-ass stories about his grandmother and life on the bayou. The ultimate joker! We don’t believe half of his wild tales.”

  “Are we talking about the same person?” Maybe Justin had changed over the years. Hah! Who was she kidding? He’d definitely changed.

  They finished rolling up three hoses and tossing two in the trash.

  Back in the yard, the men and teenagers were just about done bagging up all the animal poop. So she joined Charmaine and Belle in setting out massive amounts of food and drinks on several folding tables around the hard-packed dirt clearing. The animals had done a job, literally, on what had been a lawn at one time leading down to the bayou, but Justin would have to wait until springtime to have the area roto-tilled and seeded. Would he still be here by then? God, she hoped so, for Miss MaeMae’s sake, because that would mean she was still alive.

  Additional pens were built for some of the animals—a potbellied pig, a sheep, a goat, and a dog. During the following week, they all agreed to try to find homes for these abandoned animals. And no, Emelie had insisted, she was not interested in a potbellied pig. Nor the monster dog, which kept sidling up and staring with different-colored doleful eyes at her. A cat, maybe. That dog, no. Not even if it did have silky fur once Max and Mike had shampooed it under a hose and brushed its tangled hair. Not even if everyone said it would make a good burglar deterrent for a single woman living alone. Still, she was the one to give the dog a name. Thaddeus.

  Tante Lulu let out a whoop of pleasure when she heard. “Didja know thass St. Jude’s second name? St. Jude of Thaddeus. It’s an omen, I declare.”

  An omen of what? Emelie wondered but wasn’t about to say aloud. Tante Lulu had been making too many hints about her and Justin. Speaking of whom, she and the scoundrel, who’d somehow managed to get her to stay here, were acutely aware of each other the whole day. Even when he wasn’t touching her shoulder in passing, or brushing a strand of hair out of her eyes when she was mixing another pitcher of sweet tea, he was always watching her, his heavy-lidded eyes following her every movement. And she watched him, too, which sometimes caused the edge of his mouth to quirk into the lopsided grin she had once loved.

  “Haul your sweet self over here, hon,” Justin said at one point near the end of the afternoon and led her to a two-seater wooden swing that hung from the limb of an oak tree down by the water. Mike and Max had painted it red that afternoon, half of the fast-drying paint going on their T-shirts and jeans. The boys were having a good time, competing with each other for the attention of Remy’s daughter, who was a mere two years older than them.

  “You’re being awful bossy with me,” Emelie complained, but allowed herself to be pushed down into the swing. She hadn’t realized how tired she was and leaned back, closing her eyes for a moment. As Justin lifted one arm over the back of the swing, she smelled the deodorant or soap he’d used that morning. Something piney, like Irish Spring. And either the swing was smaller than she’d thought or else Justin was taking up more room than needed because his thigh and hip and chest were aligned tightly against her.

  “Thanks for stayin’, Em,” he said. “I appreciate it, and I know my grandmother does, too.”

  “She looked good today, didn’t she?”

  He nodded. “She’s happy. It’s my goal to bring her as many of those happy moments as I can.” His voice cracked on the end, and she squeezed his thigh to show she understood.

  “You could do that up higher if you want,” he said, his wicked Cajun eyes dancing with mischief.

  She jer
ked her hand away. “What kind of things will you do to make her happy?”

  “Hah! The only thing she wants is… well, never mind.” He grimaced, then said, “She’s a simple woman. She really doesn’t want much. Nothing that money can buy anyhow.”

  “You,” Emelie guessed. “You being here is probably what makes her happiest.”

  He nodded and twirled a strand of her hair around one finger of the hand lying over her shoulder. Disconcerted, she ignored his finger and asked, “How long will you be able to stay?”

  “As long as it takes.”

  She arched her brows. “Can you stay as long as… well, indefinitely?”

  “I will, even if I have to quit the teams, but it probably won’t come to that. I’ve got liberty and medical leave coming. After that, I can probably go out on short missions if there were someone to stay with my grandmother until I return.”

  “I would do that.”

  He tilted his head in surprise. She thought he would ask her why she would volunteer, considering their history, but she beat him to the punch. “My grandmother was a friend of Miss MaeMae, as you know. And don’t bring up that ‘I’ve seen you in diapers, babe’ nonsense.”

  He raised both hands in surrender as if the thought had never occurred to him. But he grinned companionably and returned his arm to her shoulders.

  “Anyhow, my grandmother would be the first one here.”

  “So you would do it for your grandmother?”

  She shook her head. “I’m not saying it right. I was thinking a little while ago about how easily I’ve forgotten my Cajun roots. Being here today reminded me how wonderfully giving the Cajun culture is. Everyone is family. You help those in need, without being asked.”

  Justin nodded. “Same thing for me. The guys all call me Cage back in Coronado, short for Cajun, but it’s only back here on the bayou that I’m reminded of exactly what it means to be Cajun. Wanna dance?”

  “Huh?” She looked up to see several couples dancing a lively Cajun two-step to “Diggy Diggy Lou.” Max and Remy’s daughter. Charmaine and Rusty, who was one absolutely gorgeous man, cover model material, with his cowboy shirt and hat. He was a rancher, after all. Rusty did not look too happy to be dancing, unlike most Cajun men, who had a dance gene in their makeup. JAM was with Belle, who beamed her way and mouthed, “Wow!” Even Tante Lulu was dancing with Mike, who had to bend over to meet her diminutive height.

  “Do you remember the time you danced the shrimp?” she asked Justin suddenly as he pulled her up from the swing.

  “I remember the time we danced the shrimp,” he said, tugging her close into a tight embrace. He whispered against her ear, and his breath caused tingles to ripple to all the erotic spots in her body. “I remember a lot of things.” Then he twirled her under his arm.

  Justin liked to dance, obviously, as evidenced by his skill as well as his intermittent smiles and sometimes bursts of laughter. He danced around her. He came up behind her and brushed her behind in a suggestive way. When she turned to reprimand him, he swung her into a dizzying spin that forced her to hold on to his shoulders tightly. She laughed then.

  Emelie liked to dance, too, but she couldn’t remember the last time she’d let loose so freely. Music was in her soul, of course, and many a time when she sang at the club, she watched couples dancing and envied them. Unfortunately, there had been no man in her life for a long time. And Bernie, when they’d been together, had exhibited the smoothness of a moose on the dance floor.

  The next song on the CD player was slower. “Louisiana Man.” Most of the other couples had exerted themselves on the fast dances so much that they gave up now and went over to the refreshment table for drinks. Beer or the sweet tea, which Emelie had, in fact, made several times so far.

  Not Justin, though. He seemed to be on an adrenaline high as he tugged her close with both arms around her waist and lifted her arms to wrap around his shoulders. “At last,” he said, smiling down at her.

  Oooh, she was in dangerous territory. Justin’s smiles were deadly. He turned serious then. As they swayed from side to side, he stared down at her. The expression on his face could only be described as hungry.

  “Don’t look at me like that, Justin.”

  “How?”

  “Like we’re going to start something up again. We’re not.”

  He didn’t say anything, just smoldered down at her… and maybe tugged her a little bit closer. Or maybe she’d moved closer on her own.

  “I mean it, Justin. Stop smoldering at me.”

  He laughed then. “I do not smolder.”

  “Oh, you smolder all right,” she said teasingly.

  “So maybe my smolder should ignite your spark.”

  “Oh, please! Light my fire? That’s a little dated, don’t you think?”

  “Are you trying to say I’m not smooth? I’ll have you know, I’m known as the king of smooth back at Coronado.”

  “I don’t doubt that for a minute. And that’s my point, by the way. I’m here. You’re in California. The twain are not going to meet, buddy.”

  “Twain? I can think of another word for it.” He laughed.

  “Seriously, do you plan on staying here in Louisiana? For good?”

  “Hell, no! I have a job.”

  “Exactly. Don’t think for one minute that I’m going to have a one-night stand, or two, with you, then stand by when you dump me again.”

  “I never dumped you.”

  She waved a hand dismissively. “That’s all water under the bridge. We’re not going to rehash old history. And”—she glared at him—“we are not going to repeat old history either. As in, no sex.”

  He grinned. “That was blunt.”

  “Are we on the same page here, Justin?”

  “Not even close,” he said, and yanked her forward so far a gnat couldn’t fit between them. His teeth nipped at the curve of her neck before he repeated, “Not even close.”

  Just then Belle rushed up to them. “Em, it’s Francine. When she wasn’t able to get you on your cell, she called me.”

  Emelie could guess why she was calling. Daddy Dearest was missing her at his birthday bash. Big frickin’ deal! “Tell her I’m busy.”

  “It’s an emergency, Em,” Belle insisted.

  She and Justin stopped dancing and Belle handed her the phone.

  “Hello.”

  “Thank God, Emelie! Listen, your father had a heart attack. We’re on the way to the hospital.”

  Emelie slapped a hand over her own suddenly racing heart. “Is it bad?”

  “We won’t know until we get there. He’s awake, though, and asking for you.”

  Despite her hard feelings for her father, she said, “I’ll be there within a half hour.”

  “Say a prayer, honey,” Francine concluded.

  Emelie told Justin and Belle what she’d been told. She was already rushing toward the house to say her good-bye to Miss MaeMae and grab her handbag.

  “I’ll go with you,” Justin offered.

  “Are you crazy? One look at you, and my father will have another heart attack.”

  Justin shrugged, an admission that she was right. Justin LeBlanc was the last person her father would want at his bedside.

  “I’m okay going myself. The hospital is in Houma.”

  Thus it was that her day, which had started with a shock on visiting with Miss MaeMae, was ending with a shock. She shuddered to think what would come next.

  When she was about to back the van out of the driveway after several people moved their vehicles, Justin said to her through the open window, “We’re not done yet, chère.”

  She knew better.

  Chapter Nine

  There are benefits to some friendships…

  Emelie was nuts if she thought he’d let her go to the hospital alone to face God only knew what. So he jumped in his Jeep and followed her.

  She was already in the emergency room of Terrebonne General Medical Center, asking a nurse for information
about her father. Her voice was shaky and her skin was pale as a ghost when the nurse told her that her father was in surgery, an urgent bypass, but she could wait in the intensive care lounge for news. It would probably be at least three hours before he was in recovery.

  “Em?” Cage said when he came up behind her and put a hand on her shoulder.

  She jerked with surprise, gave him a glower, but then squeezed his hand. “Thanks for coming, but I really don’t think—”

  “I’ll stay out of the way,” he interrupted. “Your father will never know I’m in the building. I’m here for you, babe.”

  “Are you family?” the stern-faced nurse asked Cage.

  “Yes,” he answered quickly.

  “No,” Em said at the same time.

  The nurse folded her arms over her chest.

  “We’re engaged,” Cage lied. Where that one had come from, he had no idea, but Em was not amused. “Practically family,” he told the nurse with a grin. Before the nurse could ask any further questions, he took Em by the hand and led her away.

  “You’re outrageous,” she said.

  “I know.”

  But then tears filled her eyes. “My father’s never had any heart issues before. He always claimed to be healthy as a horse. What if he dies?”

  “He’s not gonna die, Em,” though he probably deserves to, the old bastard, “Your dad’s a tough old bird.” A buzzard, if you ask me.

  “I’m so angry with him over… well, things he’s done. How can I still love him and worry over him when I don’t like him?”

  “That’s life, sweetheart. What’s he done now?”

  “I can’t talk about it.”

  It was no skin off his nose, but the old fart must have really screwed up this time. “No problem. It has nothing to do with me.”

  “Actually…” she began, looking as if she might argue the point, but then nodded.

  There was a story here, but she was in too fragile a condition to be pressed.

  He tucked her into his side, and they walked toward the elevators. When they got to the visitors’ lounge, an attractive older woman was there. He soon realized that it was Francine Lagasse, whom Emelie introduced as her father’s longtime friend. Francine appeared to have been crying and still held a wad of wet tissues in her hand.