by Elena Aitken
The folks of Autre were tough. Chase would give them that. They didn’t worry about leaving scars behind and pain killers were a luxury rather than a requirement. He had to admit that some of the homemade potions and creams he’d been introduced to were intriguing though. They worked. It might have all been in their heads, but, if so, Chase’s head was right there with them. The salve they’d put on his hand after Ellie had dug out the splinter had been a damn miracle. He’d awakened the next morning with no pain and the wound half-healed already.
Mitch just chuckled. “I’ve cut on tons of dead bodies.”
“Alligators and catfish don’t count.”
“Aw, come on.” Mitch was clearly entertained. The way he had been for most of Chase’s time in Louisiana.
Chase was a spoiled rich kid from Virginia who had gotten his only bloody nose from getting whacked with a racquetball and whose only grass stains had come from falling down after a third Bloody Mary on the golf course.
Cadavers were fine. Chase could handle human blood and sticking needles into people. But walking around barefoot in the bayou and sticking his hands into a bucket of live bait and putting animals that looked like giant bugs in his mouth? He’d been a little squeamish while in Autre, he could admit.
Even as a little boy he hadn’t walked around in muddy water or played with worms and bugs. And he hadn’t eaten a crawfish—nor would he have even given it a try—until he met the Landrys.
He’d been getting over it, okay most of it, by the time he left Louisiana, though. Crawfish were damned good, and he’d gotten used to the bait. But walking around in water when he wasn’t wearing snorkeling fins and couldn’t see the bottom? That he hadn’t quite adjusted to.
Mitch, thankfully, had been entertained—especially by those snorkeling fins in the bayou—but also laid-back about it all. He’d taken Chase everywhere with him. Especially the bars in the small towns up and down the bayou. Mitch’s work for Boys of the Bayou required a lot of errands that meant frequent trips to the towns around Autre. That meant introducing himself, and Chase, to all of the women, all ages and sizes and backgrounds, that they ran across. It seemed as though Mitch couldn’t help but be charming and sweet and flirtatious. Chase had seen women from age seventeen to sixty-seven bat their eyes at his friend. Interestingly, however, Mitch hadn’t done more than chat and laugh and tease.
It was easy to tell that Mitch had a reputation with the women in the area, many of whom were absolutely gorgeous, and Chase was certain his friend was heterosexual, so after Mitch had a couple of beers in him one night, Chase had finally pressed Mitch about what was going on.
Apparently, Mitch had met a woman on a trip to Iowa in July. His cousin Josh and Josh’s veterinarian fiancé, Tori, had gone back to visit her family and to collect some more of her special needs farm animals to bring to Louisiana with her. Mitch had gone along to help with the goats and pig and donkey.
The only other thing Mitch would say was that he’d really enjoyed his first and only night in Iowa and that he was looking forward to going back.
Of course, he’d said it with a very satisfied grin on his face.
But even tight-lipped about his crush on the girl in Iowa, Mitch had made Chase’s two weeks in Autre a hell of a lot of fun. Mitch’s hands-off approach to the pretty southern girls had left more for Chase to flirt with. The weather and spicy food weren’t the only things that were hot in Louisiana.
Like Bailey Wilcox.
Dammit.
Chase sighed. Why was she always the one he thought about when he thought back on the summer of fun and flirtations? Bailey was… smart. A bookworm. A scientist. Not his type.
So, why did he keep thinking about her and the way her hair would fall down from its ponytail and her glasses and the too-big khakis she wore, even to the bar, and the fact that he’d gotten farther with her when he’d talked about alligators than he had when he’d tried to kiss her?
“Tell me about the hot girl across the table,” Mitch said. He was out on his front porch in a lawn chair, his feet probably propped up on the porch railing. He had a bottle of beer in hand and looked like he was kicking back for the evening.
Chase wished he’d grabbed a beer before hitting the couch. But now the sitting down felt too good to get up. He’d have to order a pizza from the place that also delivered beer. Of course, he’d have to get up once the pizza arrived. Still, it would save him a trip to the kitchen now. That was one thing he was going to miss about the big city when he was down on the bayou.
But Ellie always had cold beer and if he had a shot at gumbo or jambalaya every night, he wasn’t sure he’d truly miss pizza.
“Sabrina,” he told Mitch, making himself focus on the stunning red head who wanted to be a neurosurgeon.
“And she’s helping you out with anatomy huh?” Mitch asked.
Chase laughed and leaned his recliner back farther. “Yeah, sure. Something like that.”
“No? You haven’t asked her out?”
“Nah.” Chase shrugged. “It would be weird. We’re stuck together in class for the next three and a half years. Probably better not to go there, you know?”
“Sure.” Mitch nodded. “As long as it doesn’t have anything to do with a cute little nerd who’s got a very strange fascination with amphibians.”
Chase sighed. He and Mitch had gotten close. Close enough that Mitch had definitely noticed Chase’s stupid pre-occupation with Bailey. “Alligators aren’t amphibians.”
Mitch snorted.
He might as well confess even more now that he’d admitted he knew exactly who Mitch had been referring to. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I’ve been thinkin’ about her.”
Mitch gave him a knowing smile. “It’s always the hard to get ones.”
“Guess so.”
“Did I mention that Bailey’s been down here a few times?”
Chase almost sat up straighter. He caught himself though. No need to further confirm that he’d been thinking more about Bailey’s freckles and the horribly awkward almost-kiss between them than he was about Sabrina’s…everything. Sabrina was a knock-out. What the hell was his problem? “No. What was she down for?”
“First time, she came to check on that report about Gus.”
Gus was the river otter that lived under one of the docks that belonged to the Boys of the Bayou swamp boat tour company. A troublesome tourist had called the Louisiana Department of Wildlife and Fisheries after overhearing that Gus might be rabid. It wasn’t true but, apparently, someone official had to come out and check.
“She got assigned to that?” Chase asked.
Mitch lifted a shoulder, then his beer. “Or maybe she volunteered.” He took a long drink.
Chase was not going to ask if she’d asked about him. He was not. Going. To. Ask.
“She’s been down a few other times now too?”
“She stops by every once in a while. When she’s in the area. Checking on her frogs…or, sorry, gators. Whatever she’s tromping around in the bayou about.”
Chase could clearly picture her in hip waders, knee deep in murky water, her hands full of reptile. Which should have helped with the not-being-attracted-to-a-nerdy-scientist.
It didn’t.
He wanted to see her again. And try the kissing thing again.
Chase cleared his throat. “How is she?”
Mitch lowered his bottle and chuckled. “Disappointed.”
“Disappointed?”
“That you aren’t around,” Mitch said.
Chase felt a disproportionate amount of satisfaction at that.
“The first time was the worst,” Mitch said. “You didn’t tell her you were leavin’? She seemed shocked that you were gone. Like gone gone. That was kind of shitty of you, wasn’t it?”
“I—” Chase shook his head. “Nah. I mean, it was weird between us. Didn’t think I really needed to tell her anything.”
“Yeah, well, I wasn’t sure which thing she was more shoc
ked about—that you were gone or that you were going to med school.”
Chase grimaced. “The med school thing. I’m sure.” He didn’t want to think about how unimpressed with him Bailey had generally been. “What have you been up to?”
Mitch drank again, then said, “Work. Hanging out. You know.”
Chase nodded. Mitch had a pretty easy life, really.
“You talked to your Iowa girl?”
Mitch hesitated.
“Mitch?” Chase pressed, sensing something.
“We’ve been texting.”
“Really?” That actually surprised him. Mitch didn’t seem like the texting type.
“Yeah.” Mitch blew out a breath. “She’s a lot of work.”
“How so?”
“The long-distance thing sucks. Especially when she doesn’t really want to do the phone-call thing. Or the texting thing. Or the meeting half-way to see each other again thing.”
Chase almost snorted at the look on his friend’s face. Mitch looked put out. Mitch Landry had never looked put out. Probably in his life. Chase would guess he’d also never really pursued a woman before. Mitch didn’t put a lot of effort into much of anything, honestly. He didn’t have to. Work came to him. Fun came to him. Women came to him. He just sat back and let it all happen.
“She’s not into texting? At all or just with you?” Chase asked.
“Maybe all texting. But especially me.”
“And why’s that?”
“Because I live far away and we were supposed to be a one-time hook-up and ongoing texting kind of indicates a possible…”
Chase did snort this time as Mitch trailed off. “A relationship?”
Mitch gave a little shudder. But then he nodded. “I guess.”
“You’re not really into relationships either,” Chase pointed out.
“I know.”
“Long distance or short distance.”
“I know.”
“But when she texted you, you texted her back?”
Mitch didn’t answer right away.
Chase sat up. “You texted her first?”
Mitch groaned, letting his head fall back.
Chase laughed. “No more giving me shit about the alligator scientist, Landry. You fell for a girl over the back end of an alpaca.”
That was true. Mitch had met the Iowa girl at an alpaca farm.
“I know. What the hell, man?” Mitch asked. “You find a girl who’s into alligators hot. I can’t stop thinking of a girl who lives over a thousand miles away.”
“I think this is the definition of fucked,” Chase said.
Mitch just sighed and nodded.
“When are you comin’ back down here?” Mitch asked. “We need to get drunk.”
“Not ‘til Christmas, man,” Chase said. They were balls to the wall this first semester. But that would make his trip back to Autre all the better, he figured. He’d have earned the time off.
“Dammit.”
“I know.”
“Well—” Mitch tipped his beer back and took a big gulp. “—I’ll try to hold down the fort.”
“Do that,” Chase said. “And, uh…”
“Yes, I’ll tell Bailey hi and that you miss her.”
Chase frowned. Dammit. He hadn’t been thinking about Bailey.
Of course, that wasn’t true at all.
“No, definitely don’t do that,” he said. That would sound so stupid after the one time he’d tried to romance her. Or had she been trying to seduce him? Honestly, it all been so awkward, he had no idea now.
“And that you’ve been thinking about her,” Mitch said with a stupid grin.
Chase sat forward. “Don’t be an ass.”
“And that you can’t wait to see her at Christmas.”
“Remember that I’m learning to use scalpels,” Chase warned.
“And that you’re going to set all the frogs in the biology department free to prove your love.”
“There are no frogs…” Well, hell, there really might be frogs.
“Talk to you soon,” Mitch said chuckling.
He hung up before Chase could come up with a really good threat.
But the threat wouldn’t have been more than fifty percent serious.
Just like Mitch was only fifty percent serious about saying any of that to Bailey. Probably.
Chase thought about that. That would be…
Huh. Maybe not terrible.
Either Bailey would think he was a complete weirdo and avoid him altogether—making any more kissing attempts impossible—or, she’d think it was actually romantic and want to try the kissing thing again too.
Why did he want to kiss her so badly anyway?
He’d generally considered himself pretty good at kissing. Before Bailey.
Yeah, they probably needed a do-over.
Maybe with mistletoe this time.
Okay, fine, tell Bailey I said hi, he texted to Mitch before sitting back in his recliner and propping his feet up.
You’ve got it, was Mitch’s swift reply.
But only that, Chase added.
He didn’t get a reply.
That could be bad.
But he was definitely smiling when he picked up the phone to call for a pizza and beer delivery.
Chapter 4
December 22nd
“Get it!”
“I’m trying to get it. What do you think I’m doing?”
“It’s an otter. Just grab it!”
“Yeah, it’s an otter! They wiggle!”
Chase Dawson rolled over and blinked at the ceiling. He’d been awakened by alarm clocks, phone calls, sirens. Even roaming female hands. But never by an otter. Or, more specifically, by two big, loud Cajuns yelling at each other about an otter.
Yeah, he knew those voices. Josh and Owen Landry were banging around outside the house Chase was staying in. Sounded like they were in the backyard. Right under his window.
It was Louisiana, not Virginia, and even though it was December, he had these bedroom windows wide open. He couldn’t do that in D.C. He’d freeze his nuts off. But down here, at least for this Yankee, the crisp fifty-degree weather overnight was bliss.
“Son of a bitch! They also bite!”
Chase sighed. Being awakened in that cool morning air by the two guys who were, at least in part, responsible for his hangover, however, was not bliss. Chase pulled a pillow over his head and squeezed his eyes shut. Apparently, they’d found the otter. Now they just needed to grab it and get the hell out of here. Then he could go back to sleep for a couple of hours before he headed to Ellie’s bar for some good old cheesy grits to soak up the poison they called bayou whiskey. It was really just homemade moonshine. And it was evil.
But of course he hadn’t been able to resist their taunts that he’d been “up north” for so long that he’d forgotten how to hang with the bayou boys. A jar and a half of moonshine later and Chase regretted everything. Including the fried alligator and boudin balls he’d consumed for the first time in four months. He’d eaten them like he was a starving man.
Around two a.m. he’d sworn to never eat a fried ball of anything ever again.
“Dammit, you scared him! We’ll never find him now!”
Chase groaned.
“Tori is going to freak out,” Josh, Tori’s fiancé, said.
“You can handle Tori,” Owen said. “Bailey is the one we should be worried about.”
Chase sat straight up in bed. Then realized what he’d done. Damn. His head pounded and his stomach roiled with the motion, but that wasn’t the worst part.
He’d reacted. At the mention—and not even a mention directed at him—of her name. Just her name. Just her first name.
But here he was, now wide awake, sitting up straight, heart pounding.
Son of a bitch.
Bailey Wilcox.
The last woman on earth he should be reacting to.
He wasn’t sure he’d ever had a more awkward interaction with a fema
le in his life. And that included the great-aunt of the girl he’d gone home with in college. The girl who had left for class the next morning without waking him up—or warning him that she lived with her great-aunt, who only spoke German, and swung a baseball bat like a major leaguer. He was still thankful for exceptionally good reflexes and that, even half-asleep, he could outrun a riled up sixty-something-year-old.
Chase sighed and swung his legs over the side of the bed.
He’d hoped to sleep in, have a huge homecooked southern breakfast, and lots of loving attention from Ellie and Cora, the grandmotherly women who’d adopted him during his two week stay in Autre, Louisiana this past summer.
Now he was wondering where Bailey was and what she was doing and if there was a chance of running into her. Then reminding himself that he’d made an ass of himself and should be thinking all about avoiding her.
But to avoid her, he needed to know where she was and why Owen and Josh were talking about her.
Good thing Cora had a remedy for everything, including hangovers. Chase knew that he should be focused on Western medicine with proven research behind it. But dammit, Cora’s cream had healed a cut on his hand in two days. Two days. And he’d used her hangover cure far more often in a two-week span than he should admit. Her homemade potions and lotions were magical. Of course, he’d deny that to any of his med school professors, but that didn’t mean he didn’t have bottles and jars with handwritten labels on them all over his apartment.
“Shit, Maddie just texted.” That was Owen’s voice.
Oh, God, they were coming up the stairs. Groaning, Chase leaned over and grabbed his jeans from the floor.
“She’s running out of ways to stall Bailey.”
Chase froze with his zipper half-way up. Bailey was with Maddie? That meant she was down at the Boys of the Bayou office. The docks were about two hundred yards from Cora’s house, where Chase had crashed in the same bedroom he’d used a few months ago.
“Mitch said to drag Chase’s ass out of bed for help with Bailey.”
They were right outside his door. Chase fastened his pants, grabbed a T-shirt from his open suitcase, and reached for the knob. “I suppose y’all think you’re whispering?” he asked them, as he pulled the Georgetown University School of Medicine T-shirt on.