Bayou Vows

by Geri Krotow

  “I’m not a boat builder!”

  “This would be a social worker job.”

  “I’m fine with my job for now.” It was futile. She knew both Brandon and Henry had heard the lie, and Jeb, though silent, always saw through her bullshit.

  “Having my life blown apart, then put back together in such a wonderful way, gave me time to think.” Brandon stared at Poppy, wrapped his arm around her small waist, and pulled her up against his side. He kissed her on the mouth before he turned back to Jena, who fought against squeezing her eyes tight and covering her ears. It wasn’t younger sister icks from seeing her brother and his girlfriend’s open affection, either—more like the pangs of regret she got when she watched Henry dote on Sonja and her burgeoning baby belly. She was alone in the world.

  Brandon didn’t seem to notice her private pity party, though.

  “Hear me out, Jena. I want to open a facility in NOLA that offers help to those who need it most. Sure, I could sign a check over to any one of a dozen charities, but there are so many cracks in the system that need filling. How many times have you told us that? I’d love to see you go after your dream. Let me help you get there, at least to start. I’d be a ghost contributor in the long run.”

  Jena blinked, shook her head. “I think it’s great that you want to make a difference, Brandon, but I don’t want your money. I totally support whatever it is you want to do, of course. But I have my own career.” Hadn’t she always found her way? Until last month, but she wasn’t counting that. Couldn’t.

  “But you’ve said yourself you’re ready to move on from working for the state.” Brandon dug in his heels.

  “For God’s sake, Jena, have some common sense about it all.” Henry grabbed a celery stick from a large stainless steel platter and dunked it in bleu cheese dip. “If you don’t want to take the money outright, then look at it as a loan. You’re not getting any younger, and you’ll want to get this idea of yours off the ground as soon as you can. That way you’ll be set for the rest of your working life. Aren’t you the one who always emphasizes the timeliness of social work? There are children and their families to save right now, today. Time’s a-wasting.”

  “Henry’s right. Let me help you go for your dream, Jena. You’ve done your time in public service with the State of Louisiana and the US Navy. It’s your turn,” Brandon chimed in.

  “It’s still public service, the social work center you’ve talked about starting over the years.” Jeb’s voice wrapped around her like it always did. His observation revealed he hadn’t missed one iota of the conversation—or of her desires when she’d confided in him about her career dreams. They’d had the best conversations, right after the hot sex.

  Would memories of their sexy times ever die?

  Brandon named a figure he was willing to donate.

  Jena gasped. “You don’t have that kind of money to throw around right now, Brandon. And I don’t want to talk about this in front of everyone.”

  He held up his hand. “I know it sounds like an exorbitant amount, and you may not use all of it. But I’m going to need the tax break if I’m going to get Boats by Gus going again. And take it from someone who’s run his own business for over a decade: It takes a huge amount of personal investment, and time, before you’ll see a turnaround. I’ll provide annual private donations as well, but it won’t be enough to keep it all going. That’ll be your job.”

  “I haven’t agreed to anything here.” She’d fought enemies of freedom and found placement for the least desirable foster children abandoned by their parents and the state, but at the Boudreaux table, she’d always be the little sister. The girl who needed a little extra boost.

  “The reason I’m bringing it all up here is because Henry and Sonja have already agreed to help with the legal side of it all.”

  “Whatever you decide, Jena, we’re going to support it. It’s a way to evolve your family legacy in New Orleans, too.” Sonja’s reasonable voice shook Jena more than her brother’s forthright offer. If she refused, she was sinking an entire family vision. Crap.

  But if she agreed, she’d be able to start her new life now—no waiting, no searching for an in-between job to shore her regular household bills. A surge of hope mixed with anticipation swirled around her insides. It was the most promising thing to happen to her since she’d come back to NOLA.

  “Let me get this straight. You’re going to donate funds for me to find a place to build and run a community social service nonprofit. No questions asked, no telling me how to do it?”

  Brandon nodded. “Exactly.”

  “When can you have the funds ready?”

  He grinned and looked at Jeb briefly. “Already have them. From the funds that you didn’t need for the ransom.”

  “Okay. I’ll need to find a building first.”

  “That won’t take long. The real estate market is flooded with old office buildings.” Henry began to carry the food out to Brandon’s veranda.

  Jena waited until everyone else was outside, then spoke to Brandon alone. “You’re not doing this because you feel sorry for me, are you?”

  He barked a laugh across the granite island. “Sister, pity’s the last thing that I’d ever feel for you.”

  She let a slow grin form before she held out her hand. “Okay then. I’m in. Deal.”

  Brandon clasped her hand and they shook.

  * * * *

  Jeb watched the Boudreaux siblings parry back and forth over the delicious brunch. Brandon’s veranda looked like a hotel restaurant, complete with floor-to-ceiling windows that converted to screens to accommodate the Louisiana humidity and temperatures.

  He was careful, so very careful, to keep his observation of Jena to a minimum. He had no doubt that each glance he gave her was filled with his self-disgust at going along with her ruse that she’d “needed” him. But keeping his eyes off her was next to impossible. Their attraction continually hummed, invisible yet palpable.

  “Did you hear that, Jeb?” Brandon’s voice roused him.

  “Sorry.” He shoved a huge scoop of omelet into his mouth. “Too busy enjoying the fixings.” Although the food tasted like balance sheets—nothing could break through his rumination.

  “Brandon asked if you know anyone who’d be willing to work the financials for Jena, for a lower salary at first, but then more as the project gets off the ground.” Poppy’s head tilted at an angle that reminded him of a cat waiting for a mouse to emerge from a gutter spout. His stomach tightened.

  “Since I’ve been working the books for Boats by Gus for most of my career, I don’t have a lot of CPA contacts in town. But I’m happy to search the professional database I have access to.”

  “You’re getting ready to leave soon, aren’t you?” Henry’s question was fair, but discomfort tugged at his gut.

  What was his hang up? He’d already told her he was leaving. He wiped his face with the bright linen napkin—definitely a Poppy touch in Brandon’s previously minimalistic décor.

  “Yes. I’ll be flying to Atlanta on Tuesday.”

  “Atlanta?” Jena’s face looked…frozen. Did she think for one minute he’d stay any closer than two days’ drive or a plane flight away? He mentally shook himself. Jena didn’t care where he went.

  “Yes.” He named a national accounting firm. “They’ve given me an offer I can’t refuse.”

  “Congratulations!” Brandon’s cheer was sincere, and soon the others chimed in. But Jena remained quiet, withdrawn.

  “Thank you.”

  “Well, damn, there goes my proposal.” Brandon casually reached for his drink. Jeb recognized it from when they’d worked together, taken out a client they were courting. Brandon was slick and polished in the art of a business deal.

  Jeb decided to beat him to the punch.

  “I’ve never worked with a nonprofit before, so I’d be a terr
ible choice.”

  Henry’s brow rose, and Brandon nailed Jeb with a glance. “I’d never think of allowing you to forgo such a lucrative opportunity, bro. You’ve earned every cent you’re going to earn in Atlanta. At some desk, with no view of the bayou.” Brandon softened his jab with a smile, but Jeb’s insides began to itch. He had no reason to stay here. He had every reason, in fact, to leave, to get out while his heart and pride were still somewhat functioning.

  Poppy began a conversation with Sonja and Jena, clearly moving the group to safer territory. He took advantage and spoke solely to Brandon.

  “I’m sorry, but I’m not the man for the job.”

  “I never said you were. Let it go, it’s okay. You’ve done enough for our family.”

  Jeb knew Brandon wasn’t lying, that he was indeed grateful that Jeb had acted quickly enough to save Jena’s life. But it still gnawed at Jeb that he’d broken the friendship code with Brandon. He’d had no reason, other than his own sheer panic over Jena’s situation, to not tell Brandon why he was taking the money.

  If he helped out Brandon this one time—in fact, helped the entire family as they launched their do-gooder project, would he assuage the guilt that still plagued him?

  His stomach flipped. It was the only sign that this was what he was supposed to do, because every fiber of his being—besides his gut—was telling him to get the hell out of Dodge and run. Drive. Fly. To anywhere but New Orleans. Anywhere there wasn’t even a slim chance of ever running into Jena again.

  Brandon clapped him on the shoulder. “I mean it, Jeb. Let it go. It was a stupid idea on my part—I still hope you’ll think about working with me again someday. I get it; you need to strike out on your own. That’s fair.”

  “I’ll do it.” The words escaped his dry mouth, and he immediately felt a rush of relief. Yes, this would be his payback to Brandon. “But only for a month. I have a thirty-day wait option in my contract with the Atlanta firm.”

  “Are you sure?” Brandon’s excitement was evident in his sparkling eyes, but he stayed stock still, as if afraid the smallest movement would make Jeb change his mind. Brandon’s belief in him was humbling, and it shored up his resolve to do the right thing.

  “I’m positive. You have me for thirty days.”

  “Jena’s project has you for thirty days.” Brandon let out a sigh of relief as he corrected Jeb. “Thank you, bro. It means the world to me.”

  “My privilege.” It was going to be his private hell to have to see Jena for another month. At least it’d be in the light of day, with other people around. No place for temptation.

  Because no matter how sure he was that they were through, Jena’s presence remained a siren song to his dick.

  Are you sure it’s just your lust?

  He ignored his conscience, like he suspected he’d have to do every day of the next month.

  Chapter 3

  “Jeb’s agreed to be your numbers man, Jena!” Brandon beamed as he loudly announced Jeb’s commitment to the group. Sonja and Poppy cheered, Henry nodded with approval, and Jena’s mouth gaped open.

  “What? No, you can’t do this, Jeb. You’ve got to take the job in Atlanta. I’ll find someone. There are always college grads looking for placement.” She’d covered her surprise with refusal in the blink of an eye.

  “But they don’t have the experience I have.” Jeb wasn’t going to back down now. “And I can help with more than the numbers. When Brandon and I got Boats by Gus off the ground, we each did everything, from mopping floors to hanging roof shingle.”

  “That’s not necessary.” Jena’s chin jutted out and angry sparks danced in her eyes. “Brandon’s providing a generous amount to start with. I’ll be fine.”

  “It’s for the entire community, Jena.” Jeb stayed calm, met her fiery gaze, ignored the way his body wanted to soothe her. “And don’t fret; I’ll be gone in a month, if not sooner.”

  Mollified, she reached for her iced tea and said no more. Jeb stood up. “I’m going to hit the desserts. Can I bring anybody anything?”

  No one answered, so he walked into the dining room, where Poppy had arrayed a mind-boggling dessert buffet.

  Jeb helped himself to a second slice of Poppy’s peach pie, wishing he’d never agreed to come today, yet at the same time knowing he’d done the right thing by offering to help. He’d thought of the Boudreauxes as his own family ever since he’d become fast friends with Brandon in elementary school. After college, it seemed natural for he and Brandon to work together, as they both brought different skill sets to the table. Brandon had the vision to build boats, and Jeb loved numbers and sales.

  “Here you go.” He startled as Jena spoke next to him, then spooned a dollop of whipped cream onto his pie—but her demeanor had nothing to do with sweet.

  “Thanks.” He moved to go back to the veranda, anywhere but next to her, where her scent drove him crazy. And he could feel her body heat along his side. Too close.

  “Not so fast.” They were alone. Chatter from the veranda trickled in, but no one would hear their conversation.

  “We’ve said all there is to say, Jena.” He didn’t want a repeat of their earlier bathroom rendezvous. Hell, he’d been nanoseconds from saying to hell with his resolve to not touch her. And if he touched her…

  “You’re kidding, right?” She stared at him, using her infinite well of patience. Except Jeb had a new perspective. Even though Jena had always made him feel like he was the only man in the room—in her life, in the world—he knew it was a lie. All of it. She’d hidden a secret life from him for years. It was one thing when she’d broken up with him toward the end of college, told him they both needed to move on.

  He’d tried to. And for a while, he’d convinced himself that he had.

  “We are nowhere near done talking, Jeb. But enough about that—what made you say “yes” to Brandon?”

  “I’ve already explained my answer, and my terms. I can help for a month. That’s it.”

  If not for the Boudreauxes, he wouldn’t have had a safe place to hang out as a kid. He wouldn’t have become best friends with Brandon, and he wouldn’t have the career experience he did, no matter how disastrously Boats by Gus had ended.

  “Why are you agreeing to this? To putting us through this?” The tortured gleam in her eyes made him want to kiss her, hard, then take the whipped cream and…

  “Hey, you two, save some pie for the rest of us.” Henry stepped up to the banquet and helped himself to more dessert. “God, I love peach pie. Poppy used Mom’s recipe, according to Brandon.”

  “Thanks for leaving me to sink out there, bro.” Jena poured herself iced tea, adding three slices of lemon. It was always three slices. She liked tart, and her favorite dessert was key lime pie, but she’d take lemon meringue in a pinch.

  “You okay?” Henry’s concern made Jeb want to sink through the floor. Had he groaned aloud?

  “I’m good.” Jena squared her shoulders.

  Henry’s blue eyes were back on Jeb. “You’re not going to change your mind about this, are you?” Henry was slick—like Hudson, a gifted attorney. Jeb knew when he was in over his head.

  “I’m not going to tiptoe around it, Henry. I owe your family. You’ve always been here for me. And I’d like to do my part.” It wouldn’t kill him to help Jena out, see the NPO get going. Thirty days. Then he’d leave. Because having to work with Jena every day and maintain the distance he required for his sanity? It’d be his undoing.

  “You can’t do it because you feel you owe anyone, Jeb. It has to be something you’re passionate about, or you’ll be miserable. Trust me, I’ve been there.”

  And Henry had been there, working in his father’s firm on cases he didn’t care about. Since Sonja had come into his life he’d made changes.

  “Thanks, man. I’m not a social worker, but giving folks a hand has always appealed to m
e.” Jeb didn’t want to talk about it anymore, because the smooth-talking Boudreauxes were not good at taking no for an answer. Especially Jena, who sipped her tea as if she had all the time in the world. As if she hadn’t spent the years since college risking her life for her country.

  What had Jeb ever done, besides survive?

  Henry cut an extra slice of pie for Sonja and walked away with two heaping plates. Resigned to Jena’s interrogation, Jeb leaned against the furniture and took a bite of the pie. Jena loved the chase, so he’d end it before it started.

  “Go ahead, Jena. Shoot.”

  Her thumb pinged against her sweating glass, and she shifted on her feet. “I won’t take advantage of it. If you decide to work with me, I mean.”

  “I know. But I won’t be working for you, per se. I’m doing this for Brandon.” Jeb still smarted at how she’d brushed off her I love you text too easily for it to have meant anything but what she’d said it was—a frantic cry for help during a desperate time.

  “You know? How do you know? To be fair, you haven’t ever seen me in a professional capacity. I’m very businesslike. Nothing like how, how…” Her cheeks looked like the skin of an overripe peach. But he had no desire to ease her discomfort.

  “I’ve seen you in a professional capacity my worst nightmares couldn’t have produced. Is that what you meant to say, Jena?”

  She blanched. “I can’t apologize enough for the hell I put you through, Jeb.”

  “Forget about it.” God knew he’d never forget seeing her so beaten and broken, not knowing if she’d survive the ghastly cut on her face. Knowing he’d have no reason to go on if she didn’t make it. The irony hit him square in the gut—she’d survived, and he had all the more reason to leave.

  “I’m only helping out as a kick-start deal. Temporarily.”

  She nodded, her mouth in a grim line. He resented that their ease, the complete unself-consciousness between them, was gone.

  “I know you want to help my brother out, but forget it. This will be my project, and I don’t need you. You’re right, we need to move on with our lives.” Her blue eyes regarded him with a coolness he’d never experienced from her, not in the two years they’d agreed to their sexy friendship. This was the detached woman who’d dropped him like a hot potato senior year of college. He realized now that by then she’d been recruited by the CIA. She’d picked her career over him, a youthful choice he didn’t fault. He’d wanted space between them then, too. For different reasons. He hadn’t been ready to face the very adult emotions Jena stirred in him.