Swamp Happens: The Complete Swamp Bottom Series

by Cora Kenborn

  I’d turn the damn thing off, but I was expecting a call from a repair company with an estimate for the damages to one of our boats. Apparently, while we were dealing with Savannah’s incarceration and my surprise birth, Duck took one of the DuBlanc commercial boats for a joyride to impress a few ladies and ran it into the dock.

  One of those ladies, being the infamous Heather. There was no accounting for taste, but then again this was Duck.

  “Look what I found everybody!” I looked up just in time to see Bam-Bam clear the front porch railing with not one, but two enormous blowtorches. Since each hand was occupied, his landing was less than graceful, and he fell right on his ass while making sure to save what was most important—the ammo.

  Seizing the opportunity to remove myself from a potentially explosive situation and dive straight into another one, I pointed toward my cousin and walked toward him with a smile. Apparently, Savannah had the same idea because she arrived about the same time I did with her arms crossed and a smirk on her face.

  “Whatcha got there, Bam?”

  Bam tucked both torches against his chest and dusted off his pants. “Fire.”

  Sav clasped her hands behind her back and walked a circle around him. Bam watched her curiously, still with his same goofy grin. “I see that,” she said. “What do you plan to do with it?”

  “Blow shit up.”

  “Feels a little like déjà vu, huh, Sav?” I couldn’t help but laugh. Almost a year ago, after Pappy’s wake, our cousin decided it was the perfect gathering to test the melting temperature of everything in his path. The only thing missing now was…

  “BOOM! We blow up all zee shit!”

  Uh-oh.

  A loud creak shot through the air like a cannon as the front door flew open. Every eye turned as Babs shuffled across the porch clad in an orange mumu, her orthopedic shoes squeaking along the broken wood. Taking an impressive leap off the last few steps, she waddled after Bam-Bam and snatched one of the blowtorches out of his hands while screaming in Russian.

  “Good thing Sheriff Tucker is already here,” I muttered, watching them trot off with their arms linked as if they were following the bayou yellow brick road.

  Savannah snorted. “Who? You mean the one running behind them with a fifth of whiskey and a pistol?”

  I barely opened my mouth before our illustrious sheriff, clad in just his boxers and a smile, chased after them proclaiming himself to be the alligator king of the bayou.

  “Wow, some things don’t ever change, huh?”

  “I would hope not.”

  As if on cue, my phone rang again. Keeping my expression blank, I pulled it from my pocket and scanned the text.

  You can’t just ignore me. We have to talk. Please, Adelaide.

  Son of a bitch.

  I felt my sister’s eyes on me, so I swallowed my anger and reached for the button to darken the screen when Savannah slapped a hand over mine. “Who’s that?”

  “Nobody important.”

  “Addie,” she warned, drawing out my name.

  I knew where this was headed, so I changed the subject while prying my phone out of her death grip. “How’s married life?”

  “You’re doing that avoiding thing.”

  “What avoiding thing?” I knew exactly what avoiding thing she meant, and I also knew if anyone would call me on it, it would be Savannah. The woman was a fucking bloodhound. “Oh, have you and Pope talked about a honeymoon?”

  “That avoiding thing,” she said, throwing an accusing finger in my face while keeping a strong grip on my phone. “The one where you ignore me and keep asking questions. Well, this is me, big sister, and that shit doesn’t work with me. What’s going on?”

  “Nothing’s going on.” Trying a diversion tactic, I stepped to the side and scanned the crowd. “Have you seen Charlee? Mama had her, and it’s time for her to eat.”

  Good, Addie, talk about your boobs. That always freaks people out.

  Unfortunately, as I distracted myself, Savannah snatched the phone out of my hand and slapped a hand over my face, successfully keeping me at arm’s length while she read the text. Through a break in her fingers, I watched her eyes go from suspicious to furious.

  “Fuck no, Addie.” Still holding me in place, she began to text back one handed.

  No!

  Flailing my arms like a drunk windmill, I tried to slap the phone out of her hand. “Give me that!”

  “No! Absolutely not. I forbid this.”

  There was no telling what she was texting back. Curses? Threats? Several creative ways to go fuck oneself? “Let me handle this!”

  “Fine!” she screeched, finally releasing my face only to shove the phone in it. “Handle it.”

  Breaking our stare down, I snatched the phone with a growl and typed a return text that was swift and to the point.

  Fuck off.

  Flipping it again, I pressed the screen against her nose. “Happy?”

  She narrowed her eyes and scanned my two-word response while nodding. “For now. But I’m not letting this go.”

  Tucking my phone back into my pocket, I muttered under my breath, “Yeah, I have no fucking doubt.”

  Her head popped back up, fire flashing through her eyes. “What was that?”

  Shit.

  “I said I love you.”

  Dubois parties were infamous for lasting all day, and this one was no exception. What started at ten o’clock in the morning had continued through countless bottles of vodka, a few rounds of can shooting, one three-legged race that ended with Duck hog-tied and naked in the back of Pope’s jeep, and a barbecue that fed half the parish.

  Most everyone had either passed out or meandered home, and only hardcore partiers and family remained. Babs had long disappeared inside the house, which worked out well for me because Charlee had finally calmed down enough to eat, and I needed something other than a barrel to sit on. With a blanket draped over my chest, Zep stood watch as I rocked in my grandmother’s chair and fed our daughter on the front porch of my favorite place in the world.

  “So how does it feel to be an old married fart?” Zep laughed, slapping Pope on the back as he drank the last sip of his beer.

  Pope cocked an eyebrow and smirked. “Pretty good. How about you, Father Time?” Zep just laughed and grinned. The insults got more colorful the more beer they consumed, and Savannah and I exchanged amused glances as they ribbed each other back and forth.

  “Hey,” Duck said, letting out a loud belch as he scratched his newly boxer clad ass. “What the hell’s with the fancy schmancy car?” Popping the top on another beer, he lifted it toward the winding dirt driveway where a very shiny and very expensive black Bentley rolled slowly toward the house.

  My heart slammed hard against my ribs, my hold tightening on Charlee as I followed Duck’s unsteady hand.

  “Oh, God. Oh no.” Squeezing my eyes closed, I said a silent prayer then cracked one open, peering through my lashes.

  Damn it.

  Instinctively, Zep landed a heavy hand on my shoulder. “Addie, what’s wrong. Why the hell are you so pale?”

  Before I had a chance to form a coherent sentence, the rear passenger’s side door opened, and a tall man dressed in an impeccably tailored gray suit stepped out. I recognized him immediately and held back a laugh as he tugged on the sleeves of his jacket and tipped his chin our way. I’d forgotten how well the upper class performed the art of the unpleasant pleasantry. Managing to insult those beneath you while making them feel important was a skilled taught by the rich and heartless.

  I should know.

  For the first time in Dubois history, the front porch of Babs’ house fell silent, and although I didn’t think he understood why, Zep’s fingers tightened around my shoulders.

  Wrinkling his nose as he rounded the car, the man sighed as he pulled out a handkerchief from his pocket before bending down to dust off his shoes. I watched in complete fascination, not because there was one shred of feeling left in me,
but because I struggled to find one thing about him that remotely appealed to me.

  Nope, nothing.

  As his step got closer, Savannah stomped to the front step, and handled his unwanted presence with her usual delicate finesse. “What the fuck do you want, Shit Stain?”

  My eyes pinged to Zep, whose gaze remained locked on Savannah as her words sank hard and deep into his head. The two men in my life had never met, and although Zep didn’t even know what Roland looked like, my sister’s body language was unmistakable.

  And so was Zep’s.

  “Motherfucker.” The indifferent curiosity that had filled his eyes seconds earlier now darkened into pure hatred. His body stiffened, and with every tick of his jaw, his fingers dug into my skin.

  Savannah tilted her chin over her shoulder, lowering her voice as Pope moved in behind her. “Get ready. Some shit’s about to go down.”

  As Roland walked toward us, I glanced around at five different reactions—none of them welcoming. Zep clenched his teeth so hard I was positive he had cracked a molar, Savannah curled her lip as if a walking pile of shit had invaded her personal space, and Bam cracked his neck as he flipped the switch on the remaining blowtorch.

  I didn’t want anyone to get hurt, but I’d be lying if I didn’t admit a part of me felt a surge of pride the moment Roland climbed the first step to the porch and Zep, Bam-Bam, and Duck crowded around me like a pack of guard dogs.

  Roland let out one of his patented sighs—the kind that used have me begging for his forgiveness for whatever sin I’d inevitably committed. The memory sickened me, and I narrowed my eyes as he climbed to the top step, carelessly shoulder checking Savannah on his way toward me. The bump was a slight one, but it was enough to induce a heated response from a new husband.

  A new husband who could legally shoot him dead.

  I never saw Pope move. One minute he was behind Savannah, and the next he stood chest to chest with my ex-husband. “Touch my wife again, and you won’t make it back to that car.”

  Roland laughed, either demonstrating a new-found love for death wishes or genuinely not recognizing Pope from our Shreveport confrontation. “I’m not interested in your wife. I’m here to talk to my wife.”

  The word grated on my last nerve so much I wanted to ball it up and shove it down his throat. “I’m not your wife anymore, Roland,” I huffed, my voice muffled by the wall of testosterone in front of me. “We’re divorced, remember?”

  His eyes shifted around Pope, searching me out. “Adelaide, we need to talk.”

  It was times like this that made me question Roland’s mental well-being. Not only had he driven onto my grandmother’s property uninvited, which from past experience was just asking to get his nut sack blown off, but he brazenly ignored four sets of cracking knuckles ready to swing on command.

  Hearing Charlee’s soft snores, I reattached my clothing and glared at him. “What are you doing here?”

  “You wouldn’t answer my texts, so I had to come.”

  I winced as Zep glanced down at me with a mix of surprise and irritation. Lowering my gaze, I stared at my lap, watching his fists clench out of the corner of my eye as he stepped forward. I knew his body language by heart, and I could tell by the way every joint in his body locked at one time he was two seconds away from murder.

  Unfortunately, not everyone was so perceptive.

  Roland sighed, rolling his eyes at the wall of muscle blocking his path. “Can we go somewhere to talk in private?”

  “No. Whatever you have to say, you can say in front of my family.”

  Irritation flashed across his cleanly shaven face, and just as he shifted to move around Pope, Zep took another step forward and blocked his path. Glaring, Roland shooed him away with the back of his hand. “Do you mind?”

  Zep didn’t budge. “I wouldn’t take another step if I were you.”

  Despite the low warning in Zep’s growl, Roland shook his head as if he were merely stopped at an inconvenient traffic light. “Fine, have it your way. Brandi and I are finished, Adelaide. I made a mistake, and I admit it. I was going through a phase, but it’s over. I want you back, sweetheart. Surely ten years of marriage still mean something to you.”

  “You mean Brandi left your ass,” I snorted, pushing back on my heels enough so that the aged rocker squealed against the cracked wooden porch.

  Roland’s jaw clenched before he remembered a Bordeaux wasn’t allowed to show emotion and quickly returned to a cool smile. It wasn’t in his DNA or upbringing, and one of the reasons I’d returned to Terrebonne so out of touch from the woman I’d been when I’d left.

  I hated him for that. And I couldn’t let it go.

  “Those ten years meant so much to you when you were cheating on me, huh, Roland?”

  “None of that matters now. We belong together, so I’ve come to take you back to Shreveport with me.” Opening his arms, he tried his hardest to appear gentle, and I had to bite back a laugh. The soothing smile he forced made him look more constipated than sincere.

  “Oh, Roland. I’ll give you an A for effort, but honesty works as well for you as fidelity.”

  I might as well have told him all of his stocks had tanked. Because the Grinch-like smile immediately dropped, revealing his true snarl. “Pack your things, Adelaide.” Stopping himself, he scanned my cotton dress and rolled his eyes again. “On second thought, leave them here. We’ll buy you clothes that can’t be bought at a self-check-out.” Muttering to himself, he ignored every warning he’d been given and cleared the last step, barreling toward me.

  I never stopped rocking. Not once. Not a single part of me was worried.

  Extending his arm, Zep shoved him once in the center of his chest, knocking him down a couple of steps with little to no effort. “I told you not to move. You don’t listen too good, do you?”

  Roland’s arms flailed, trying to find balance. “Who the hell are you?”

  Zep’s hand fisted by his side, ready to swing. “I’m her—”

  Nope. Nope. Nope. This is where I take over.

  “Zep…” Supporting Charlee’s head, I hoisted myself out of the rocking chair and broke through the wall of men blocking me. Moving beside Zep, I loosened the hold on the blanket, allowing it to drop low enough to reveal the secret I’d been hiding. The moment we were exposed, Zep pulled me to his side, and still in protective mode, Bam and Duck flanked me on my right.

  Several silent beats passed before Roland raise his hand and pointed at my chest. “What the fuck is that thing?”

  Zep stiffened beside me. “That’s my daughter, you asshole.”

  “A baby, Adelaide?” Raising an eyebrow, Roland rubbed his chin. “You’ve given birth since you left me?” Narrowing his eyes, he shifted them from me to Charlee to Zep and then back to me. “And how can we be sure who the father is?”

  “First of all, let’s be clear, since you seem to have selective memory problems. You kicked me out,” I corrected. “And secondly, I know math isn’t one of your finer talents, but babies don’t gestate for two years.”

  A round of collective snorts broke out all around me.

  If I could high-five myself right now, I so would.

  An angry flush spread up Roland’s neck. “I don’t know why I’m surprised. Send the trashy swamp girl back to her roots, and she becomes trash again.” Craning his neck, he scanned the hand that secured Charlee’s head to my shoulder.

  My left hand.

  Smirking, he dug out his handkerchief again and wiped his hands as if being near me had soiled them. “Well, I see no ring, so congratulations on being a whore. I always knew you had it in you.”

  “Oh, hell naw.” Letting out a huge belch, Duck stepped forward and shoved his newly opened Budweiser in front of my face. “Hold my beer, Ads.”

  If I hadn’t so been so distracted by Duck’s dumb ass, I would’ve stopped him. Or maybe I wouldn’t have. Regardless, before I could push Duck’s arm away, Zep cocked his fist and swung. The hit came
quicker than any of us expected—a hard blow to the chin that sent Roland spinning around so fast he performed a complete three-sixty off the porch and landed flat on his ass at the bottom.

  My mouth dropped open, and I didn’t know whether to yell at Zep to stop or stand there laughing my ass off.

  My decision was made for me when Zep cleared all six porch steps in one jump and was on Roland within seconds, laying punch after punch into any part of his body he could reach.

  “That’s for calling my daughter a thing,” he growled, slamming his fist into the side of Roland’s ribcage. As soon as he pulled his fist back, he landed another punch deep in his stomach. “That’s for calling the woman I love a whore.” The last one hit Roland square in the nose. “And that’s for being a general pain in my fucking ass.”

  Although Roland deserved every bit of what Zep was doling out, I’d never been one to encourage violence. Determined to end this, I tried to shove Charlee into Savannah’s arms, but Pope stopped me.

  Resting a hand on my arm, he glanced toward Zep and shook his head. “Let him handle this himself, Addie. He’s overdue.”

  Turning my chin over my shoulder, I watched the father of my child defend my honor without one ounce of guilt. My morals were strong, but when a police officer tells you to shut up and let your man beat the shit out of your ex, fuck it, you shut up and let your man beat the shit out of your ex.

  “Get up you piece of shit,” Zep growled over him.

  “You’re crazy,” Roland garbled, crossing his arms over his face in a futile attempt to ward off any more blows. “I can sue you for assault!”

  Amused, Zep glanced back at us and tossed his thumb over his shoulder. “He thinks I’m crazy. I don’t know, do y’all think I’m crazy?”

  Staring at Roland, Pope slung his arm over Savannah’s shoulder and shrugged. “I wouldn’t cross him, and I have the law on my side.”