by Sandra Hill
“I want to go home,” she said a short time later.
Luc, Remy, and René all looked at her, sighed with exasperation, and exclaimed with a communal “Jeesh!”
René stood next to her on the dock. Luc and Remy were in front of them doing something manly with ropes that would presumably allow the plane to lift off soon.
René had come out of the tavern a moment ago. Even though the tavern was still open, the band had quit for the night. Grinning at her unabashedly, he’d inquired, “How’d ya like my song, chère? I’m thinking ’bout sending it to BeauSoleil to record.” Luc had threatened to break his too-pretty nose then, especially when René informed an amused Remy about his “Cajun Knight” lyrics.
God must have been in a really good mood when he created these three gorgeous men, she thought irrelevantly now, just after making her pronouncement. But perhaps not so irrelevantly since the appeal of one of them was the reason for her current panic.
“I want to go home,” she repeated.
“Uh-oh,” René said.
“Oh, damn,” Luc said.
“I smell trouble,” Remy said.
“Really, I just want to go home. I don’t want to be any trouble, though. I can call a cab…or call my mother to send her driver.” She practically choked on that last offer.
“Do the words ‘spoiled brat’ mean anything to you?” Luc asked. “Or ‘over my dead body’?”
Raising her chin in silent defiance, she felt like a whiny child insisting on some impossible whim, but she had had enough of this “adventure” with Luc. She hated the way mysterious people or events were steering her life, and her lack of control with Luc had been the last straw. Who knows what she would do if she were in his company much longer?
Actually, she knew exactly what would happen, and that was the problem.
“You can’t go home, Sylv. Not for a couple of days, at least,” Luc told her with exaggerated patience.
“Yes, I can. I appreciate your letting me tag along so far, Luc, but I’m not cut out for this Die Hard/Lethal Weapon stuff.”
“And you think I am?” He raised his eyebrows indignantly. “You think I envision myself as some Bruce Willis/Mel Gibson fool?”
He was better than those two, in her opinion, but he didn’t need to know that. “I’ll hire a bodyguard, like you suggested,” she said. “Maybe your friend Claudia can give me a recommendation.”
“My friend Claudia isn’t going to give you diddlysquat, unless I tell her to.”
Oooh, he was making her so mad. First, he didn’t want to take her with him. Now, he wouldn’t let her go. “Listen up, Luc, this is the end of my trip with you. That’s final.”
“Uh, I don’t think so, ma’am,” Remy interjected, raising a hand like a little boy in a classroom. “There are a few things that have happened in the past ten hours or so that you two are not aware of. My boss needed me to deliver some parts to an oil rigger who lives in Houma. It would have appeared odd if I’d refused. The point is, I picked up some news. I had planned to fill you in during the plane ride.”
He had everyone’s attention now.
“There’s a warrant for Sylvie’s arrest, for one thing.”
“What?” Sylvie couldn’t for the life of her imagine any reason for her arrest. She’d never even gotten a speeding ticket, or a high school suspension. Besides, she was the one who’d been vandalized.
“Terrebonne Pharmaceuticals,” he explained, “claims you stole some of their property.”
She put her face in her hands. “I can’t believe Charles would do this to me. A warrant!” She shivered with apprehension as she comprehended that the spotlight would be on her for sure when she returned to town. A cold clamminess came over her skin…the precursor to one of her shyness anxiety attacks, she feared.
“Actually, you might look good in prison stripes, Sylv,” Luc quipped. She knew he was just teasing her, to lighten her fears.
“Hey, I could come sing ‘Jailhouse Rock’ for you in the slammer,” René added, also seeming to empathize with her devastated condition. “The Cajun version, of course.”
“If it’s anything like your ‘Cajun Knight,’ I’ll pass,” she said in an embarrassingly wobbly voice.
“You didn’t like my new song?” René cast wounded eyes her way. The boy, who was really only a few years younger than Sylvie, was way too good-looking for his own good. Those eyes probably worked on lots of women, but not her.
Still, she laughed, despite her dark mood.
“Hey, this is nothing to laugh about, guys,” Remy said. “At first, I thought the warrant was issued because of the formula…which may still be the case…but now I’m kinda thinking the property they want back is…” He looked pointedly at the Happy Meal box in her hand.
“Samson and Delilah?” she practically shrieked, and hugged the box to her chest. “They belong to me, bought and paid for with my own money.”
“Samson and Delilah?” René asked.
“Don’t ask!” she and Remy shouted as one.
“Fu—” Luc began, hesitated, grinned, then started again. “Full-fledged, furry sex machines. In other words, Sylvie’s lab rats.”
“Rats? You have real live rats in that tiny box?”
Sylvie nodded. “They’re miniature lab rats.”
“And cute as hell,” Remy observed.
Luc frowned at his brother. “They are not cute.”
“What’s all that noise they’re making?” René wanted to know.
Luc and Remy exchanged a look with each other and waggled their eyebrows at René. “Guess.”
Wanting to change the subject back to the important issue at hand, Sylvie said, “Well, a warrant is all the more reason for me to go back home and resolve this misunderstanding. My lawyer will handle Terrebonne Pharmaceuticals, believe me. Thank God I’ve got legal documentation for everything.”
“Did I mention that your mother held a press conference this evening at the state capitol in which she suggested you might have mental problems?” Remy went on. “She insinuated that a short stay in a restful resort might be called for.”
“Short, as in till after the next election?” René offered.
“Exactly,” Luc agreed.
Sylvie was horrified that her mother would do such a thing to her, and publicly, too. Anything to protect her reputation and political career from being tarnished by a less-than-perfect daughter.
Luc laced his fingers with hers and squeezed, apparently sensing her hurt. “Is that all?” he asked his brother.
“Well, other than Sylvie’s front stoop being loaded down with gris-gris dolls and other voodoo paraphernalia, that’s it for Sylvie,” Remy said. “Now, you, on the other hand, big brother, have got even more trouble.”
“How’s that possible?”
“Dad called me, and he’s practically frothing at the mouth.”
Luc shrugged. “Let me guess. I’m the biggest disappointment of his life. Always have been. Always will be. Must be my bad blood, from Mom’s side of the family, of course. Should have beaten the crap out of me when I was a kid…as if he didn’t try on numerous occasions.”
“That’s about it,” Remy admitted. The sadness of his face, and René’s, as well, told the whole story. Sylvie would bet that Remy and René hadn’t suffered nearly as much as Luc at their father’s hand because Luc—the big brother—had taken the blows for them.
It was Sylvie who squeezed Luc’s hand then. He gave her a questioning glance that was both surprised and oddly touched. He immediately masked his vulnerable expression with a scowl, but she had seen enough. More and more, Sylvie was discovering that Luc was not the man he pretended to be.
“Anyhow,” Remy went on, “Dad says that Cypress Oil is flying in their top lawyers, anticipating a court battle. He warned that you might lose your law license over this thing, if you’re not careful.”
“Did you bring that scientific equipment I asked for?” Luc asked him, undaunted.
&
nbsp; “Yep,” Remy replied.
“What scientific equipment?” she asked.
“The stuff you and I are going to use in the next few days to test the tributary waters.”
She gave him a chagrined look.
“We need something to while away the time,” he explained.
“And you couldn’t have informed me of that? Or asked my advice about what equipment I need?”
“You probably would have given me another lecture.” He shrugged. “Sometimes it’s better to just do it than ask for permission.”
“Luc! For shame! That’s the same advice you gave me when I wanted to kiss Evangeline Arnaud in the fourth grade,” René pointed out.
They all had to smile at that.
“Hey, it’s a multi-purpose bit of advice,” Luc said.
“Back to the problem at hand,” Remy reminded them. “From what Dad said, or didn’t say, I have to tell you that you are going to be hit from every angle on this water-pollution issue. The DER, the EPA, Louisianans who depend on the oil industry for their paychecks, hired thugs. Are you sure you want to get involved?”
“I’m already involved,” Luc said.
René looked at his older brother as if he walked on water. So did Remy.
“Oh, and I forgot. Tee-John is missing and Dad thinks you’re to blame,” Remy added. Although he threw the news out flippantly, she could tell he was concerned.
“Tee-John! What happened? How’s long’s he been missing?” Luc asked with alarm.
“Since early this morning…almost twenty-four hours.”
“Why did he run away?” René asked.
“I swear, if Dad’s been beating that kid—” Luc’s fists were clenched and his voice icy with anger.
“Maybe he just hightailed it to Tante Lulu’s. We all did that when we were kids and the old man was in one of his rages.” René was speaking, but Remy nodded as well.
Then Remy shook his head. “She hasn’t seen or heard from him.”
Luc frowned, obviously worried. “I’d better stick around and see if I can find him.”
“No, René and I will handle it,” Remy said. “You’ve got enough on your plate as it is.”
“Why is Dad blaming me for the kid’s disappearance?”
Remy shrugged. “You started running away about the same age. Maybe he figures you’ve been giving the kid tips. Either that, or the kid isn’t even missing, and this is just a piling on of charges to get you in trouble with the police.”
“God, when it rains, it pours around you, Luc,” René observed.
“Who’s Tee-John?” Sylvie finally asked.
“Our half brother,” Remy explained. “He’s only ten years old and lives with my father and Jolie Guillot, his…uh, mistress. Don’t you be worryin’ none, ma’am. Tee-John is a tough little critter.”
Sylvie thought she heard Luc mutter, “As a LeDeux, he’d have to be.”
Luc pulled Sylvie aside then. “You can’t go back home till we’re sure it’s safe…both from the greedy bloodsuckers at Terrebonne Pharmaceuticals, and from your bloodsucking mother. Oh, and the voodoo fruitcakes, too.”
After hearing all that Remy had related about the dangers to Luc, she’d almost forgotten the warrant for her arrest, and the ludicrous notion that her mother might have her exiled to some remote resort. Both ideas were so preposterous they didn’t merit serious consideration, except that a niggling fear wormed itself into her subconscious. Desperate people did desperate things.
Sylvie didn’t even bother to protest his characterization of her mother. “I don’t know, Luc. I have a bad feeling about the two of us going off like this.”
He lifted her chin with a forefinger and forced her to make eye contact. “This is about us almost making love, isn’t it?”
She blushed till the roots of her hair felt hot, then lied, “No.”
“Liar.”
“I’m afraid,” she confessed.
“Of the bad guys?”
“Not at the moment.” Not while I’m with you.
“Of being arrested?”
“Well, yes, but it would be more embarrassing than anything. I couldn’t bear to think of making a spectacle of myself.”
“Your mother?”
“I’m not afraid of my mother, but she does have the ability to mortify me with that kind of public exposure.”
“So what, then? What are you afraid of?”
She lowered her head and refused to answer or look at him directly.
“Sylvie?” He tilted his head in puzzlement, then gasped with shock. “Of me?”
Her head shot up. “No, you fool. Of me.”
He smiled then…a slow, lazy spreading of lips over bright white teeth. The jerk!
“See?” she cried. “This is not a good idea. You think it’s funny, and I think it’s bone-chilling serious.”
“Ah, Sylv, come on. You and I are adults. We can handle a day or two in the swamps alone. We have self-control.”
“Right,” she said, but what she thought was, Yeah, right!
Minutes later, while Luc was helping Remy load a few last-minute items in the plane, René gave her a warning. “Hurt my brother Luc and you’ll be sorry.”
“Me?” she demurred, a palm to her chest. “Why does everyone think I have the power to hurt Luc? Your aunt and Remy gave me a similar warning. Luc couldn’t care less what I say or do to him.”
“You can’t possibly be that blind,” was René’s only reply.
Within five minutes, they were boarding the hydroplane. That was when Remy gave them one last bit of information he’d somehow forgotten to impart.
“Did you know that Tante Lulu got a citation from the zoning officer in Houma today?”
“Why?” Luc drawled out, as if he wasn’t sure he really wanted to know the answer.
“Seems she was delivering some chickens to Sylvie’s town house. Seems she made a makeshift chicken coop on her patio. Seems the neighbors started to complain about all the clucking.” Remy glanced over at Sylvie and grinned.
She and Luc both groaned and put their faces in their hands.
“Do you have any idea what Tante Lulu means by ‘flocking the bride’?” Remy asked with seeming innocence. “And, by the way, who’s the bride?”
Then Remy laughed. And René did, too. Hilariously.
But she and Luc just groaned again.
The dark predawn skies lightened slowly to an ashy blue, then suddenly burst open over the bayou like a firecracker into clear blue skies, swirling white clouds, and a full orange sun. A perfect moment for the small Piper hydroplane to set down in the stream in front of Luc’s cabin.
Even this early, heat shimmered in the air and mist rose from the slow-moving water. A crimson-headed turkey buzzard wheeled over the trees before swooping down to the water, undaunted by their intrusion into its domain.
As the crow flies, their destination was less than two hundred miles from Houma. By plane, it had taken only thirty-five minutes to get there. But because of the endlessly meandering streams and tributaries, many of them so new that they were unnamed, it would have taken a day or more to reach the site by boat. Fortunately for them, there were a lot of bayous in Louisiana that were not yet civilized or known to men, especially since every time the Mississippi changed its course or flooded over, new bayous were created and old ones swallowed up.
There was no dock; so, Luc and Remy jumped into the shallow water, shoes and all, and made quick work of securing the light plane with ropes to an ancient stump on the sloping bank. It appeared as if Sylvie would have to go into the thigh-deep water as well, if she wanted to traverse the ten feet from floating plane to dry ground.
But no, Luc was holding out his arms to her. “Come on, Sylv. I’ll carry you.”
“Hah!” No way was she going to put herself in his arms again…not willingly…not even for such an innocent reason.
Remy waggled his eyebrows at them as he splashed by, already starting to empty the plane
of the many canvas bags of supplies he’d brought, some ordered by Luc and some filled by Tante Lulu.
She eased herself onto the ledge of the open door, Happy Meal box securely held to her chest, and eyed the murky water with distaste. It was stained the color of dark tea from the tannin of tree bark and fallen leaves. Out of her side vision, she saw a mama alligator cruise by with a baby gator on its back.
Luc laughed, apparently reading her thoughts, and scooped her easily into his arms.
A small squeak of alarm came from her mouth as she quickly wrapped one arm around his neck, the other still clutching the Happy Meal box. “I’m too heavy for you,” she protested weakly.
He chuckled and pretended to sway beneath her weight. But then he turned and headed toward shore, one arm under her legs, the other circling her shoulders. Sylvie didn’t even want to think about how good he felt and how secure she felt.
“Don’t you be worryin’ none, darlin’. You’re the perfect size for me.” He grinned. “To carry, that is.”
“I am not perfect,” she said, without thinking. Her eyes were fixed on the water, where she could swear she saw a black snake slither by, or was it just a long weed?
“Don’t tell me you’re one of those women who thinks thin is in, Sylv. Tsk, tsk, tsk. You know what really pisses me off? When a skinny female says, ‘I forgot to eat today.’ I mean, I’ve forgotten to mail a letter, or put the toilet seat down. But you gotta be some kind of a dumb twit to forget to eat, right?”
She had to smile at Luc’s sweet effort to distract her from the water. In fact, they were already on dry ground, and still he held her in his arms.
“Well?” he said, grinning down at her.
“Well what?”
“Don’t I deserve a reward for being your Cajun Knight?”
She shook her head at his foolishness. At the same time, her heart tugged at the vulnerable look in his eyes. Surely, the crude, rude lout didn’t care what she thought of him.
“Brave knights rescue fair damsels without thought of recompense. It’s known as chivalry,” she informed him with mock seriousness.
“Dumb knights,” he concluded, setting her on her feet. But then he surprised her by giving her a quick kiss on the lips. “Cajun knights are different from other knights. We believe in giving a little lagniappe with our chivalry.”