by Sandra Hill
“Whoa, whoa, whoa! I haven’t even had a chance to discuss that proposal with Dan yet. He’s been kind of distracted.”
“I know.”
“What’s the rush?”
“Things are moving faster than they expected, and apparently it will take some planning for us to be ready to house the girls here.”
“Dan is going to have a bird. And, good Lord! What if Samantha has her babies before this all comes down? How can she bring babies into this . . . chaos, or even danger?”
“That’s why I wanted to talk to you. They’re mentioning doctor exams, therapists, social workers, even Charmaine giving them beauty treatments. All to be done on the hush-hush. I’m not qualified to set that all up.”
“And you think I am? I suppose that’s why Snake has been trying to contact me.”
“Probably not.” She felt her face heat.
“What?”
“That’s why he sent me. To convince you.”
Aaron’s eyes went wide with astonishment. “Ouch! Talk about pricking the balloon of a guy’s ego. You being all hot and oooh-oooh-oooh for me was just an act to convince me to participate in more crap.”
She winced at his words. Can a zap be unzapped? She was about to correct his misimpression, but he was off on another tangent.
“I just can’t believe that Snake—a priest—sent you to seduce me into agreeing to his cockeyed plan. He’s usually a straight shooter.” He gave her a disgusted look. “And here I thought I was the one seducing you. Was your orgasm an act, too? No, I know the signs, and you had the signs, cupcake.”
Here’s a news flash, Lover Boy. I am now officially zapped out. “Don’t be an ass. You know very well that Brother Brian meant that I should convince you with words . . . verbal arguments.”
“I don’t know about that. Snake and I go way back. I wouldn’t put it past him, not in a priestly minute. Especially now that he’s on the God team. He must figure the end justifies the means.”
Fleur was stunned that Aaron could be so far off base. “You think I would agree to have sex for the mission?”
He suddenly seemed unsure. “Maybe.”
She would have tossed ice water in his face if her glass wasn’t empty, and he knew it, too, as his eyes followed her hand reaching, then slapping down on the table. “I did not use sex as a tool,” she said through gritted teeth.
He studied her closely, looking for signs, she supposed. Different kinds of signs now. “Well, then, I’m sorry if I offended you,” he offered grudgingly.
It would take a lot more than a reluctant “I’m sorry” to wipe away his vile accusation. Just like a man, he thought his slate was wiped clean with a few casually thrown words of apology. If Aaron only knew! The shelf life on what he had just said was, like, forever.
The angry expression on his face had relaxed. Of course it had. But then, perhaps sensing that all wasn’t forgiven, he added, “You must admit, I had cause to be suspicious. It was a complete turnaround for you to transform into a sex kitten on me when you’ve rejected my every move in the past.”
She had no answer for that, and the most alarming thing was that the term “sex kitten” didn’t immediately raise her hackles. She should be mortified. She wasn’t. Was she finally, finally, finally healing? Had she reached the point where any simple remark about sex wasn’t taken as a personal slur on her past?
Well, these were questions for later. She had other, more pressing issues. Now that Aaron had voiced his misgivings about Brother Brian’s methods, a seed of doubt was planted. Fleur had to wonder.
Could the monk be so devious?
No.
But Aaron is right on one point. The cause is extremely important to Brother Brian. It is to us all.
Darn it, Aaron! You’re turning my mind upside down.
“That’s nothing compared to what you’re doing to my mind,” Aaron replied. “Mine is upside down, inside out, and twirling like a helicopter prop.”
Fleur felt her face heat. She hadn’t realized that she’d spoken her thoughts aloud.
“Since I first saw you asleep on my recliner tonight, I swear my brain has been on a one-track muddle of erotic fantasies, Miss Goldilocks,” he continued.
“What’s with the Goldilocks stuff? You turning into a pedophile now?”
He gave her a look of mock horror. “This is a grown-up Goldy fantasy.” He was probably teasing her to relieve the tense mood she was in, that they’d both been in since her blowup.
“Ah, well, scrap that fantasy,” he said, smiling.
Forget apologies. Aaron could melt the hardest heart with that smile of his, dimple and all. “Gladly,” she replied.
“I was leaning more toward a striptease in a nun outfit, anyway.”
Zapped again!
Busybody, busy bee . . . same thing! . . .
Louise was unable to sleep. She had cabin fever. Well, mansion fever.
She hated being cooped up here at Bayou Rose. She missed her family . . . her other LeDeux family. Not just Daniel and Aaron. Her garden needed tending. She itched to see the damage at her cottage and to dig in cleaning up. And her traiteur clients—Holy Crawfish!—they must be banging on her door, looking for their usual remedies. A person couldn’t just bop down to Walmart and buy gator snot salve or JuJu tea.
But then, after dinner tonight, Brother Brian gave her the news. They were having company. The ex–Navy SEAL priest, and Louise’s friend, Mother Jacinta, and maybe a few other nuns. After that, the girls—those poor girls that had been kidnapped and prostitutin’ for years—were to be brought here for a short stay, and they would be needing all kinds of help.
“Did Daniel and Aaron agree ta all this?” she had asked.
“They will,” Brother Brian had promised.
She was doubtful, especially about Daniel who was a stick in the mud at the best of times, not like now when he was nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs. But then, she reminded herself, Brother Brian was a priest, even if he didn’t look like one. It must be true. She brightened, no longer bored and antsy. So much work to be done! Even though it was ten o’clock, she called Tee-John. “I have a list,” she said right off.
He groaned.
“Are you asleep?”
“Not anymore.”
“I need two dozen of them St. Jude statues, the little plastic ones. And medals . . . a bunch of them, too. On chains.”
“Where are they?”
“The storage shed.”
“The last time I went in there, about fifty boxes fell on my head. And a black snake scared the shit out of me.”
Yeah, and if you only knew what was in some of them, you’d have a heart attack. Note to self: Hide the box of condoms. “Stop yer complainin’. Yer fool head needs a few thumps.”
“Can’t someone else go? I should be stickin’ close to home in case Celine decides to pop her baby out real quick-like.”
Pff! Isn’t that just like a man, to think that childbirth was an easy-peasy, painless popping procedure? Like bread from a toaster? “Far as I know, yer wife won’t be poppin’ nothin’ fer another six or eight weeks, jist like the other preggers women in this family.” And wasn’t that a miracle that Samantha, Charmaine, Luc’s wife Sylvie, Remy’s wife Rachel, René’s wife Val, and Celine all got bit by the baby bug at about the same time? They blamed her, as if she had that kind of hoodoo power. Now, St. Jude . . . that was another story. Note to self: Work on baby shower with Mel. Time’s a-wastin’. Babies don’t wait.
“Are you still there?”
“’Course I am. My mind was jist wanderin’.”
He muttered something about “What else is new?”
So much it boggles even my mind! “Speakin’ of babies . . . go inta my pantry and see if the jar marked ‘Love Potion’ is still there. If it is, bring me a handful. Ya kin put it in a zippy bag.”
“Uh-oh! A love potion. Who’s yer target, chère?”
If the boy was in front of he
r, she’d give him a good wallop fer disrespectin’ her skills. “Target? I’ll give ya a target. I’ve gotta help Aaron and Fleur.”
“Isn’t Fleur a nun or somethin’? But wait. That wouldn’t stop you. As I recall, you worked your magic on Grace O’Brien at one time, and she was an ex-nun?”
Note to self: Call Gracie and introduce her to Fleur. Lots in common. “Thass right, and Fleur isn’t even a full-fledged nun yet; so, I ain’t interferin’ with God’s work.”
“Un-huh,” Tee-John said, disbelieving. “Maybe those two aren’t meant to be together.”
“Bite yer tongue, boy. Aaron is already head over hiney in love with Fleur, and she’s halfway there. She jist needs a little push.”
“We could always resurrect the Cajun Village People act.”
Her family put on a wonderful (some folks called it outrageous) Cajun version of the old Village People music revue to serenade someone who was dragging his or her feet in the love department. It almost always worked, probably because the person was too embarrassed not to give in. They’d even done one at Angola Prison. Talk about! Note to self: Dry clean Red-Hot Mama dress in case needed.
“I only order that when things get desperate. They ain’t desperate yet. While yer at my cottage, grab that picture of me and Phillippe that’s next ta my bed. And pick me a bushel of okra. Plus, I must have tomatoes ripe on the vine. Bring those, too. Make sure that Useless gets a bucket of Cheez Doodles fer all his good work chasin’ away them bad guys. Oh, and look in the purple douche bag in the bathroom closet and grab me some bullets fer my pistol. Never know when those bad guys might show up here, and I only have a few rounds. On the way back, ya might stop at Boudreaux’s General Store fer some of their spicy-dicey pickles. Ya cain’t find them nowhere else. Samantha has a cravin’, and they’re the best thing on dressed po-boys, although they do give a body wind.” Into the silence that followed, she asked, “Didja fall asleep, Tee-John?”
“No, I’m awake. Unfortunately.”
“Yer a good boy, Tee-John.”
“Now you’re butterin’ me up.”
“Love ya, sweetie.”
“Love ya back, you old bat.”
After that, Louise called Charmaine and said right off, “I have a list.”
Brotherly love, a cure for almost everything . . .
It was almost midnight, and Aaron was about to call it a day and head for the sack, when he heard footsteps coming up toward the living room. His mood lightened. She’d come back. After three hours! But she came back!
Man, she owed him for the past three hours of frustration. She was going to rake his coals, big-time. And he didn’t care if that sounded crude, or not.
Okay, he could compromise. He would be nice, despite the royal kiss-off he’d been given, and he didn’t mean kiss in the usual, lip-lock manner. So, he would tend her coals first. Yeah, then she could tend his fire.
He smiled, but only for a moment.
“Damn!” When he saw his brother emerge from the stairwell, his mood immediately deflated back to its previous condition. “Oh, it’s you,” he said.
“Thanks for the welcome.”
“Sorry.”
Dan had obviously not shaved since this morning, and his nighttime stubble was not designer attractive. (Charmaine had taught Aaron about designer stubble.) His dress shirt was unbuttoned at the top and wrinkled, not the norm for his usually well-groomed brother. There were some dark stains on his khakis.
“Dan! Is that blood?”
“Nah! Just kid barf. I stopped at the clinic after visiting with Samantha, and one of the toddlers was having a bad reaction to chemo.”
That his brother, a pediatric oncologist who had been burned out for years, could say that without cursing or going into a deep depression was an indication of just how far he’d come in healing since they moved to Louisiana. A lot of that was due to Samantha.
“How’s the soon-to-be mommy?”
“Hanging in there.”
He sensed something wrong with Dan, though. Twins had a way of feeling each other’s emotions. So, he knew what to ask next. “And the daddy?”
“Not so good. It’s hard being so positive and calm around Samantha when, in fact, I’m scared shitless.”
“Oh, man!”
“I see every day in my practice all the bad things that can happen to babies. What if . . . ?” His voice choked off.
Aaron walked over and gave his brother a hug. “Stop torturing yourself, Dan. The babies are fine.”
“I guess.” Dan glanced over at the empty bottles on the counter, then looked pointedly at him. “Got any beer left?”
“A few,” he said, grabbing a cold one out of the fridge but deciding not to have any more himself. He’d had several after Fleur left, and instead of getting high, he was feeling low.
Dan stared at the almost fully level recliner and plopped down into the other one. He took a long draw on his beer, then said, out of the blue, “Remember that kid who died back in Alaska, Deke Watson?”
“Yeah. The one who finally pushed you over the edge.”
“I don’t know about that. My burnout was more a cumulative . . . well, that’s not important anymore. Here’s the thing. I was thinking . . . if one of the babies is a boy, we could name him Deke.”
“Hmm. And if the other baby is a boy, he could be Zeke. Deke and Zeke. Has a ring to it.”
Dan choked midswig. “The names don’t have to rhyme, you know. Ours don’t.”
“Yeah, but it’s more fun that way. You do know that other kids will call him Deke the Geek.”
“You think? I wouldn’t mind if my kid was a geek, but I wouldn’t want him to be teased . . . or bullied.”
“On the other hand, if the other baby is a girl, she could be Monique.” Aaron waggled his eyebrows at his brother. “Hubba hubba, as Tante Lulu would say.”
“Good Lord!”
Aaron put the other recliner into an upright position and sank into it with a sigh.
They sat in silence for several moments, watching the Tonight Show on low volume. Jimmy Fallon and Adam Sandler were engaged in some half-ass comedy routine that had the audience howling.
“Have you made any decision about taking that job in Baton Rouge?” Aaron asked.
“Yes. It’s a golden opportunity I can’t pass up, and Samantha is with me, either way. I haven’t officially accepted yet.”
“Congratulations, and I think you’re making the right decision.”
“Are you sure you’re going to be all right here, alone? I feel like I’m abandoning you.”
“We’re not conjoined twins, you know. We can live apart. Besides, Baton Rouge isn’t that far away. We’ll see each other all the time.” Aaron was trying his best to be upbeat, but he felt like hell. This break with his brother would be huge, and they both knew it.
“Maybe you won’t be alone here,” Dan offered, raising his eyebrows in question.
Aaron made a snorting sound.
“What’s got you in a mood? Things not going well with Mother Teresa?”
“Actually, I made some inroads tonight, but it is slooow going.”
“And you’re not used to that,” Dan said with a grin. “Are you sure she’s worth the trouble?”
“Was Samantha worth the trouble?”
“Hell, yes!”
“Ditto.”
“Anything I can do to help?”
“Nah. Well, actually . . .” He stared at his brother. “Houston, we have a problem.”
“Uh-oh.”
“I hope you don’t have any immediate plans to fill those cottages.”
“Let me guess. You’re moving in some nuns, and you’re going to turn the mansion into a convent.”
“Not nuns,” he said. “Prostitutes.”
Dan put his face in his hands, then raised his head to look at him. He was grinning. “You’re opening a brothel?”
“Very funny. We need a place to temporarily house some of the rescued girls. About
a dozen of them.” He explained what that would entail. With each thing Aaron mentioned, Dan’s mouth gaped wider.
Finally, Dan said, “I’m not going to tell Samantha about this.”
“Good idea.”
“And, if I were you, I wouldn’t tell Tante Lulu, either. Move her out somewhere else until this is over.”
“Too late,” Aaron said. “She’s probably planning a welcome party as we speak.”
“Can I move in with you?”
“No. And here’s another thing. Tomorrow, an ex–Navy SEAL rogue monk and a couple of nuns will be arriving.”
“Well, that settles it. I’m moving over to the doctors’ quarters at the medical center until this blows over.”
“Aren’t you afraid I’ll install a swimming pool while you’re gone?”
“Go for it. That would be the least of the outrageous things you’ve done lately. In fact, maybe you can have all these visitors digging the hole for you.”
“There’s a thought.” Aaron paused. “On the other hand, are you allowed to have roomies at the medical center?”
Well, fiddle-dee-dee! . . .
Fleur had no trouble sleeping that night. In fact, she overslept. It must be true what they said about . . . well, never mind!
When her alarm went off at seven a.m., she stretched and got up, reluctantly. She caught herself smiling.
Smiling?
What is that about?
No, I don’t want to know.
A vague memory of an erotic dream tugged at her, but she couldn’t recall the details. No, her memories this time were of the make-out session with Aaron last night. It hadn’t even been real sex, and yet she’d had her first ever orgasm. How embarrassing was that?
She was the last one up, or one of the last ones, she realized, when she went into the bathroom and saw a number of damp towels hung on the racks. She took a quick shower, which was a sacrifice, the high-tech sprays being a hedonistic invitation to dwell overlong. Then, she donned clean clothes. White capri pants; a black spandex, racerback tank top; and white athletic shoes. Her damp hair was piled atop her head, twisted, and held in place with a claw comb.