Blue Bayou

by JoAnn Ross

  “It's hard to explain, but marriage seemed like a good idea at the time. Daddy thought Lowell had a brilliant future, and while being a judge might have made him important down here, looking back on it, I think he liked the prospect of playing on a national stage.”

  Surprising herself by giving Jack even that much personal insight into her life, Dani wasn't about to tell him that she'd also hoped that marriage would stop her from thinking about him. And those painful, lonely months after he'd left.

  “You can't make anyone love you. Not even by trying to live up to expectations and tossin' away your life.”

  Dani ripped apart another shrimp. “Not that it's any of your business, but I don't consider the years I spent married to Lowell wasted.”

  “Because of your boy.”

  “Yes. Because of Matthew.”

  “He's lucky to have you, Matthew is.”

  The simple honesty in his deep voice took a little of the wind from her sails. “I'm the lucky one.”

  She'd never uttered a truer statement. During the nine months of her pregnancy, she'd been concerned, in the secret-most corner of her heart, that perhaps, subconsciously, she was trying to replace the child she'd lost. If that were so, it'd be a terrible burden to place on any infant. But the first time she'd held her son in her arms, she'd loved him with a power that had almost frightened her, it was so strong.

  Which was why, even considering how things had turned out, she could never regret having married her husband. Because if she hadn't walked down Beau Soleil's Gone With the Wind staircase that fateful day of her wedding, her precious child, the sun around which Dani's entire world revolved, wouldn't exist.

  As the conversation shifted to her son, Dani realized they'd slipped into playing roles. For a brief time, it was almost as if they were merely old friends getting together to catch up on life. Which, she supposed, if she had to stay, was better than focusing on the reality of their situation.

  She told him about Matt's generosity, his intelligence, his collection of Hot Wheels, and his love of books, which in turn led to Jack's novels, which he seemed surprised to learn she'd actually read.

  “I don't know why you'd be surprised. I am, after all, a librarian.”

  “Bet you don't read every book in the Dewey decimal system.”

  “No, but if the displays in the front of the bookstores and the library waiting lists are any indication, most of America must be reading yours.”

  The timer she'd set for the rice dinged. She took the lid off the pot. “Of course I knew, back in high school, that you'd become a famous writer,” she allowed, giving him that much, since she knew how hard he'd worked to overcome his father's belief that writing stories was “sissy work.”

  Having grown up with a larger-than-life father herself, Dani suspected Jack might not have found it all that easy to escape Jake Callahan's broad shadow. She wondered idly if he might still be trying to prove himself to the father he'd lost, then reminded herself that she didn't care.

  “You and Maman were sure as hell the only people in town who thought so.”

  “That's because no one else had read your writing.”

  She'd found the pages out at the camp while he'd been catching fish for their supper and had wept when she'd read the coming-of-age story of a boy whose Confederate father had been killed in the War Between the States by his Yankee uncle.

  “Writing is a relative term. What I did back then was scribble clichéd, sentimental claptrap.”

  “I liked it.”

  “You were easy.” He paused in the act of spooning gumbo into bowls. “Hell.” He blew out a breath. “I didn't mean it the way it sounded, Danille.”

  Dani shrugged as she carried the plates of shrimp jambalaya to the table. “I suppose I was, back then.” At least where he was concerned. “But I was young. And foolish.” And desperately in love.

  “And a lousy judge of literature.”

  She let out a short laugh, relaxing for the first time since she'd pulled the boat up to the dock. “So, what made you turn from historical drama to thrillers?” she asked as they sat down at the table.

  “They say write what you know.” His tone turned distant as he topped off her wine. “So, want to discuss our carpenter situation?”

  Able to recognize when a door had just been slammed in her face, Dani reminded herself of her reason for being here, in this kitchen that was both familiar and new all at the same time and launched into her carefully prepared argument.

  Thank you for dinner,” Dani said later as Jack walked her to the dock where she'd tied up the rental boat. “I can't remember the last time I had gumbo.”

  “You've been deprived, you.”

  “So Orèlia keeps telling me. Now that I'm back here, I'm going to have to learn how to cook the food I grew up eating.”

  She could not have said anything that better reminded him of the vast social chasm that had once separated them. Danielle had lived in luxury, while his widowed mother had slaved away over a hot stove making sure the judge and his pretty daughter never knew hunger.

  “Gumbo's not that hard. Jus' a combination of African and Indian recipes, some Spanish seasoning, and my own Cajun culinary genius.”

  “He said modestly.”

  “It's not braggin' if it's true.”

  “Good point. . . . I appreciate you sharing your carpenters.”

  He'd promised her two men. Which, Nate had already told him, would allow her to open the library in a few days, while still keeping her from moving into the more-damaged upstairs apartment. At least until after the judge's release. “Ready to go?”

  She ignored his outstretched hand. “It's very nice of you to offer to take me back to town, but it's not necessary.”

  “The hell it isn't. In case you've forgotten, the bayou can be a damn dangerous place at any time. But 'specially at night. You could get lost.”

  “I have a GPS.”

  “Which isn't gonna be worth squat if some gator decides to flip that little boat of yours and lands you and your fancy tracking device in the water. I'll bet M'su Cocodrile would find your sweet little female body one helluva tasty change of pace.”

  She shivered a bit at that. But held her ground. “It may surprise you to learn that I've grown up, Jack. I'm quite capable of taking care of myself. And my son.”

  “I've not a doubt in the world that's true. Any man with eyes in his head can tell that you've grown up just fine. Better than fine,” he decided, skimming a glance over her. “But I'm still taking you back to Orèlia's.”

  He flashed her a deliberately provocative grin. “Unless you want to spend the night here.”

  Because she feared arguing any further would only stir emotions that could lead to others far more dangerous, she threw up her hands. “All right. But I'm only agreeing because we're wasting time arguing.”

  “We'll take mine,” he said, when she started to climb into the rental boat.

  “I have to return this to Pete's Marine tonight or it's going to cost me a small fortune.”

  “Don't worry about it. I'll call Pete and tell him it's my fault, and I'll have one of the guys take it back in the morning.”

  Dani looked with misgivings at the shallow, narrow boat he intended to take her back to Blue Bayou in. “I would have thought, with all your money, you would have at least bought yourself some fancy bass boat with a big engine.”

  “Why would I want to dump more gas and oil into the bayou when I've got this?” He ran a hand over the narrow rub rail in a slow sweep that could have been a caress. “My daddy and I built this pirogue the summer before he got killed. She may be old, but she still rides on the dew.”

  “I've no doubt she does. But my boat rides on the water.”

  He folded his arms. “I never figured you for a coward.”

  “Good.” She tossed her head. “Because I'm not.”

  “Then prove it.”

  Blowing out a frustrated breath, she turned on him, hands splaye
d on her hips. “That's not only a ridiculously juvenile dare, it's an entirely unfounded accusation. If you knew even half of what I've been through, what I've had to help my son get through, you'd never dare suggest such a thing.

  “Oh, it's easy enough for you,” she said, on a roll now, “coming back to town like some kind of conquering hero, buying respectability—and my home—with all those damn buckets of best-seller money—”

  “Dieu.” He caught hold of the hand that she'd slapped against his chest. “Don't remember you havin' such a temper.”

  “I still don't,” she shot back. “Usually.”

  “It's good I provoke you.” He uncurled her tightly fisted fingers, one by one. “Shows you have feelings for me.”

  “Murderous ones.” She tugged on her hand. Without overt force, he refused to release it. “Dammit, Jack, if you're going to insist on taking me home, can we just get going?”

  “Sure enough, sugar.” When he trailed a fingertip over her surprisingly sensitive palm, unwilling desire spiked. Dani ruthlessly squashed it. “You know, you'd probably enjoy the trip better in the daylight,” he said. “Are you sure you wouldn't rather stay here tonight?”

  “In your dreams.”

  “Well, you know, I've already tried that. And while it's not bad, in its way, it's nothin' like back when you and I used to get hot and bothered and fuck ourselves blind every chance we got.”

  She tossed her head. “And to think I used to consider you reasonably sophisticated.”

  He irritated her further by laughing. “What did you know 'bout sophistication, chère? You were just a little girl.”

  “Apparently you didn't consider me too little to sleep with.”

  She knew she'd pushed too far when she felt him tense. “Let me give you a hand. Sometimes she's a bit tippy till you get settled in.” A razor-sharp warning edged his reasonable tone.

  Dani couldn't get a handle on the man. It was obvious he was no longer the bad boy of Blue Bayou. He did, after all, have a respectable occupation, which was not what most people in town had predicted. Despite having bought Beau Soleil, he certainly hadn't surrounded himself with the usual trappings of wealth she might have expected from a best-selling writer whose third book had sold to Hollywood before it was even written.

  He was still sinfully sexy, still sultry temptation personified. But there was a quiet strength surrounding him. Plus, although he refused to admit it, a genuine affection toward that big yellow mongrel he'd rescued and named and who so obviously adored him.

  Underlying everything else was an edgy, dangerous darkness she couldn't remember having been there before.

  She wasn't a coward. But neither was she eager to go back into that dark swamp alone. Assuring herself that all he represented was a ride back to town, Dani gingerly climbed into the pirogue she'd once been so eager to ride in back when they'd race across dark waters to his camp.

  For a while neither of them spoke as he poled the boat across the bayou, apparently navigating by instinct and memory. He'd always seemed at home here in the swamp. Which, she supposed, was why he'd chosen to return to Blue Bayou rather than buy a house in some trendy playground of the rich and famous.

  “You should be proud of yourself, Jack,” she said, finally breaking the silence. “You've done so very well.”

  “You haven't done half bad either. For a girl who was still a baby when her daddy married her off.”

  She thought, but wasn't about to say, that having a child alone, without any emotional support or love, tended to make a girl grow up real fast. Unfortunately, that didn't mean that she hadn't jumped from one bad relationship right into another worse one. “I'd graduated from college.”

  “Hell, that doesn't mean anything. You'd been so sheltered by the judge you didn't know a damn thing about the world. Wasn't a boy in town who'd dare as much as cop a feel with you for fear of the judge puttin' him in the slammer and tossing away the key.”

  “You weren't afraid.”

  He laughed, the sound echoing around them. “Hell, I was crazy back then.”

  “We both were.”

  “Mais yeah. That's sure true enough. But as soon as he found out you'd gotten yourself a taste of sex, the judge put you in a convent.”

  “I wasn't in any convent. It happens to have been a boarding school in Atlanta.”

  “Any guys livin' there?”

  “Of course not.” During the months at the home for unwed mothers, her mail had been censored, telephone calls monitored, and boys had been prohibited from even stepping foot on campus. But that hadn't stopped her from hoping Jack would arrive, like some knight in shining armor to rescue her. “Then after graduation I went to a Catholic women's college.”

  “Might as well have been convents, then.” He took a pack of cigarettes from his shirt pocket, shook one loose, and lit it.

  “There may not have been any male students. But I had dates. And sex.” All right, that may have been a lie, but Dani excused it as being none of his business.

  Jack exhaled a plume of smoke as he battled back the spike of jealousy. “Good for you. Maman wrote to me about your wedding.”

  He didn't reveal that he'd always suspected his mother had waited until after the ceremony for fear he'd try to return home and stop it.

  Would he have? Could he have? The two questions had bedeviled him for more than a decade. It had also caused him to get drunk on her anniversary for years.

  “She said it was like somethin' out of a fairy tale.”

  “Unfortunately it didn't have the requisite fairy-tale happily-ever-after ending.”

  “Must have been hard, moving in such powerful circles when you were still just a small-town bayou girl.” Jack suspected being rich back home in Blue Bayou, Louisiana, didn't mean squat in the nation's capital.

  “I didn't have much time for socializing. I was going to Catholic University in D.C. for my MLS, doing volunteer work, becoming a mother . . .”

  Her voice drifted off. She shook herself a little, reminding Jack a bit of how Turnip had tried to shake off last night's skunk stink.

  “There seemed to be a dinner or party or reception nearly every night, so I was honestly relieved when Lowell preferred attending most of them—except those hosted by constituent groups from home—with one of his aides or his chief of staff. It made sense, too, in a way, since they weren't really social occasions but political ones.”

  Jack thought about the photographs he'd seen of the woman her husband had left her for and suspected most women's internal alarms would have triggered at the idea of their husband spending his evenings with a woman whose glossy sophistication bespoke her Main Line Philadelphia heritage.

  In contrast, he had to smile when he remembered the day she'd talked him into taking her fishing with him in this very pirogue. In her neatly pressed navy shorts, white designer T-shirt, and a billed cap advertising Bernard's bait shop he'd plunked on her head to protect her face from the sun, she'd looked like a pretty girl on a Louisiana tourist poster. Her feet had been bare, her hair loose, her smile dazzling.

  As dusk had settled over the bayou, brightened by the flitting fluorescent green glow of fireflies, he'd taught her how to fry catfish in a beer batter, then they'd eaten them with grilled corn on the cob and shrimp cornbread he'd filched from his mother's kitchen.

  After supper they'd sat out on the screened-in porch of his camp and watched the molten sun dip into the water, giving way to a perfumed night lush with promise.

  The sex had been different that night. Slower. Sweeter. And infinitely more satisfying. It was only later, as he'd stared up at the canopy of stars while she'd dozed in his arms, Jack had realized, that somehow, when he hadn't been paying close enough attention, he'd fallen head over heels in love with pretty little rich girl Danielle Dupree.

  Yesterday's ball score, he reminded himself.

  “You were naive, keeping your husband on such a long leash.”

  She sighed. “If a man needs a leash, the
odds of keeping him probably aren't all that high, anyway.”

  Thinking back on that fateful day when the judge had succeeded in changing both their lives, Jack felt like sighing as well.

  “But I've thought about it a lot during these past months,” she said. “And I'm actually glad I was never jealous, because then I'd be a different person than I am. I don't want to have to use jealousy to keep my husband faithful.

  “I didn't suspect Lowell was committing adultery with Robin because I believed—and still do—that a solid marriage can only be built on a foundation of trust.”

  “That's probably a more effective theory if both people are deserving of the trust.”

  “Good point.”

  “I'd think you would have been an asset with the Louisiana campaign contributors. By marrying you, which pegged him statewide as Judge Victor Dupree's handpicked son-in-law, the guy overcame his working-class roots.” Jack remembered reading that the congressman had been the son of an alcoholic Gulf oil rig worker.

  “I suppose I was an asset. Until the scandal.” She looked away, out over the still black water. He studied the delicate profile that was etched on every one of his memory cells. “Then it was as if he'd never heard of Daddy.”

  “He sure took advantage of the judge's problems and bought Beau Soleil at a bargain tax-sale price fast enough.”

  “I'm trying not to think about that. Because if he wasn't already dead, I'd want to kill him.”

  “Sounds reasonable.”

  “It sounds terrible.” She shook her head. “I didn't really mean it.”

  “Didn't you? I'm not sayin' you really would have done murder. But didn't you at least imagine striking back after he humiliated you on television in front of millions of nightly news viewers?”

  “All right, I'll admit to a fleeting fantasy involving him driving a flaming Lexus of Death off the Francis Scott Key bridge into the Potomac River filled with politician-eat-ing sharks.”