“Obvious?”
LJ glanced away. “‘Dangerous’ is what I meant to say. Carrying a hot pot of red beans over that hill with my big, clumsy feet.”
She bit the inside of her lip. There was definitely something going on with him, but she wasn’t sure she was brave enough to face whatever it was. Especially if it might mean the end of their dinners together. She sat down in one of his straight-backed chairs. “It’s fine. I’m just glad you called.”
Her gaze jumped toward the floor, focusing on the clean-swept boards. Out loud, it sounded way too accusing, and she’d decided on the way down she didn’t want to make a big deal out of those three days.
“I told you I’d be having dinner at the main house for a while.”
Had he said that? She couldn’t remember whether he’d said it was for one night or whether he hadn’t specified. But then, he didn’t have to answer to her. He could eat his dinner anywhere he wanted.
He kicked his boot against the floor. “Not sure why I bothered. Didn’t help.”
“Help what?”
His jaw flexed, the two muscles in it hard and separate for an instant. Then he smiled, though the lines of it didn’t sit just right. “I thought I’d try my hand at charming your daddy.” LJ’s cheekbones were high and beautiful and almost distracting enough she didn’t see how fast his smile faded this time. “I don’t like the way he looks at me.” He glanced at the stove. “I wanted that part of my life behind me, but I’m still the same person. Guess I shouldn’t be surprised some people are always going to think I’m a thug, no matter what I do.”
She crossed the kitchen, stopping when she realized his hands were caged in his pockets, not gesturing along with his voice or dancing across pots full of food. The oddness of it knocked her words a little off-balance, so all she could think to say was “LJ, no!”
He laughed. Just one choking note of it, and then he turned away, one hand coming free of his pocket to scrub at his face. “Shouldn’t have picked tonight to make red beans.”
“What?” That fucking word again. She was so sick of saying that word, of the squirmy question mark it carried with its single, stupid syllable. LJ’s back was right in front of her, his white T-shirt stretched over his shoulders and hanging thin over his lean waist. Close enough to touch, if she dared. And he was hurting. She could hear it, but she couldn’t decipher what he was trying not to say.
She laid a hand on his back. “LJ.” Suddenly it seemed so wrong that she still didn’t know what the initials stood for. “Tell me what’s wrong.”
He turned just enough so her hand slipped around to his side, and he caught it with his own, drawing it up his chest so he was holding her palm over his heart. It pulled her so close she could either tense and stand a breath apart from him or let her whole body brush the backside of his. She melted that last step closer. The toe of her cowboy boots brushed the heel of his, her breasts pressed into his back.
“I wanted him to think I was good enough.”
She caught her breath. LJ’s confession was so quiet she wasn’t totally sure she’d heard him right. “What are you talking about? You’re good at everything. Training, cooking, keeping all the employees from fighting with each other. Not to mention you were the one who caught that billing glitch with our account at the feed store last week. Just because my dad is grouchy, don’t think that means anything.”
He squeezed her hand and let go, turning toward the stove. “It ain’t no thing. Hey, you hungry?”
She dropped her hand back to her side, still warm where his body had been touching hers seconds ago. But his tone made it clear he didn’t want to pursue the topic. “Yeah. Can I help with dinner?”
“Not much left to do. Sorry I cooked without you. You have to take your time to soften up a pot of beans. Even then, they need to simmer nice and hot for a long time, until all the flavors start to borrow from each other a little bit.” He flashed her a quick smile, then bent to grab a pot. His other hand dipped into a drawer for a spoon as he dropped the pot on a burner, flicked the lid off onto the counter, and opened a cupboard. “Guess I forgot to start the rice.”
LJ never forgot anything in the kitchen. His was an orchestra performance, every piece perfectly timed, and no matter how much she teased him or messed up or got in his way, no piece ever fell out of that pitch-perfect timing.
Her boots punched the floor as she slipped around in front of him. “No.”
He frowned, catching her long braid and pulling it forward over her shoulder. “Careful. Burner’s on. No what, girl?”
“No, you don’t get off that easy.” She narrowed her eyes. “What’s wrong? If it’s my dad you’re worried about, never mind him. He’s got a rock for a personality and a bronze sword in the part of his brain that was supposed to help him adapt to the modern world.” She reached for him, his waist hard with muscle beneath his shirt. She tried to ignore that as she gave him a little shake. “You didn’t call me for days, and now you’re smiling all funny. We’re friends, right?”
He tugged her braid, his lips finding their smile again. “Yeah. We’re friends.” When he released her hair, his knuckles whispered over the highest curve of her breast. Her heart dropped a thousand feet in a second and then surged back upward, hammering toward his touch, but it was already over.
She stood between him and the stove, her palms cupping his hips over his battered belt, as close as they’d been that night when he’d caged her against the refrigerator and told her he wasn’t flirting—he was hoping.
“This is flirting,” she whispered. “That is, if you want it to be.”
“Andra . . .” He swooped down to her level, his lips trembling a breath away from hers before they touched, a quick and desperate brush that spoke of nearly failed restraint. She pushed up onto her toes and met him more firmly.
His arms slid around her back and lifted her into his solid chest. This time, he kissed her deep and slow, exploring her mouth in ways that left nothing private and nothing to be embarrassed about.
When he paused, tipping his forehead against hers, she realized her feet were dangling off the ground. Nothing about bearing her weight changed the way he stood.
“You sure know how to cheer a man up.” He chuckled breathlessly, and she smiled, feeling so light that she wondered whether it was his smile on her face, the one lit one hundred fifty watts brighter than the rest of the world.
He hugged her into him, his big hand sprawling over her back before he bent to set her on her feet, smoothing her braid forward again so it was away from the flames.
“See what happens when I make you New Orleans food?” He grinned and turned off the stove. “You get just like us. All grabby and wanting to take your clothes off.”
She tried to scowl at him, but her mouth wouldn’t cooperate. “I’m not stripping yet, Delisle.”
He laughed. “Finally saying my name right, too. Telling you, it’s all in the red beans.”
When he touched her shirt, she glanced down, wide-eyed, but all he did was gently rebutton the part of her collar that had come undone in the passion of their kiss.
She let her hands rest on his waist the way they wanted to. “Is that why you haven’t made me any southern food until now? Worried it’d make me all crazy like you?”
“Yup.” He ducked his head and kissed the end of her nose. “All crazy.” He stepped back enough so she could see his face, but not far enough she had to drop her hands. When their eyes met, his smile wavered a little. “It’s harder than I thought, you know? Smelling home. Not being there.”
“You miss it?” she whispered. Sometimes she missed home, and she still lived here. But it would never be the same as she remembered it from when she was young.
“All the time, baby girl.” He chuckled, the rumble deep in his chest only making it halfway to a real sound. “No way not to. That place is me. Sometimes
I think I’m a fool for thinking I could leave.”
Her fingers tightened, and she consciously relaxed them, not wanting to hold him too tight. Instead, she smiled. “So New Orleans is all dirty jokes and crazy-good food and happy horses?”
He laughed, the corners of his eyes crinkling in a pleased way that made her feel better. “It has plenty of dirty jokes, Andie-girl, though not everybody’s are as good as mine. And most of the food is even better than what I can make. In New Orleans, food isn’t something you eat and forget. It’s the way you live. Your time, your air. Your memories.” He paused, his belt soft and flexible under her palms. The leather was as warm as his skin. “As for horses, nah. I pushed a shovel in the City Park stables for a while, but they have all the trainers they need. New Orleans isn’t a place for horses. Too many tourists. Too many houses. Too many everythings except dollars.” He grinned. “Besides, in that city, they prefer mules, and we know how mule people are.”
She gasped theatrically, widening her eyes. “Not mule people.”
“Well,” he hedged. “They got pretty good mules.” He dipped his head to take a tiny kiss, and it was so casual she wondered if this was their new normal. If kisses were like his touches, his smiles . . . if they were just part of what it was to be close to him. She wanted to be special to him, as stupid and selfish as it sounded even to think it. She wanted to know him more deeply than anyone else did, to make him smile the biggest. But she had no idea how to even start.
“LJ, what does your name mean?” she whispered, strangely afraid he wouldn’t tell her.
He looked away and scrubbed a hand over his head, but then he smiled. “Aw, sweetheart, I gotta make a whole lot of love to you before you’ll forget to go running when I tell you that sad piece of business.”
She blinked. They still needed to make the rice. He’d said as much earlier. She turned away and grabbed a measuring cup. “How much water is it for rice again? Is the ratio two to one or three to one?” This was why she’d never make him smile as easily as other girls probably could. She was barely learning to laugh again herself, and she hated that there were so many things that still made her uncomfortable.
“Andra.” He stepped up behind her and tipped her chin back toward him. She unwound when she met his eyes. They were soft, concerned. They were so beautifully LJ. “That’s better,” he murmured. “All I meant was, I need to find a way to make you like me so much you don’t mind my stodgy old name. Let me see if I can show you, huh?”
She had to swallow to get a word out of her dry throat. “Okay.” Her vision whitened at the edges. What was he going to do? She sucked in her stomach, waiting for his fingers to grasp the button on her jeans.
When he touched her hair, she felt the tingles melt from her scalp all the way down her back. She squeezed her eyes shut, but it didn’t slow the strobe of lights.
His forehead touched the back of her head, his fingers swimming up the coils of her braid as his breath warmed the nape of her neck. She couldn’t think. Everything in her mind was slow and thick and lovely. A small click of plastic broke the silence of the kitchen when the bottom of her measuring cup sagged to the counter.
“Lyndon,” he breathed, and then he moved, his chin touching the other side of her braid and sending thrilling light shows of sensation up into her scalp. “Johnson.”
She dropped the measuring cup. She couldn’t tell by the sound whether it landed on the counter or the floor, but she needed to hang on to something. She reached back for his hands, and they found hers without her having to turn or even open her eyes. Their fingers curled together, and the oddness of the angle didn’t make a bit of difference. His lips touched a kiss in front of her ear, and she thought he might be smiling.
“Thirty-sixth president of the United States.”
She turned around, taking a deep breath that smelled spicy and savory all at once. “You’re named after a president?”
He dipped a nod. “Sure am. He came to the Lower Ninth after Hurricane Betsy to see what he could do for folks there. My mama wasn’t even born yet, but our family didn’t forget that. She wanted a great son, so she named him after a ‘great man.’” His face twisted like he’d stepped on a nail.
“LJ? What’s wrong?”
He dropped his head, closing his eyes. “I think she’s sick, Andie-girl. I think she doesn’t want me to have to come home, so she’s not saying, but I got a bad feeling.”
She caught his hands again, bringing them up to cradle them against her chest the way he had hers earlier. “Do you—could you be wrong? Have you asked her?”
He shook his head. “Can’t make things right,” he said in a gruff voice. “Not even for myself, and I know that’s all she wants.”
Her forehead furrowed. “Is that what you really think? Is that why you left?”
“I left because everybody there thinks that way.” His eyes came back open. “They think things are against them, that they’re never going to change. Ain’t saying they’re wrong, but I don’t want to live like that. I want to think I have a chance at something new.” He glanced away. “But I miss it. I don’t have any kin here. Y’all still have porches up here, but nobody sits on them. Hardly even play since I moved.”
“Play?” She squeezed his fingers, eager like every detail he shared brought them a little closer. Made him more hers, somehow. “You mean an instrument? Are you in a band?”
He focused on her, a smile tugging at his mouth. “See, back home, that’s not even a question. Everybody plays something. And a band . . . I play with three or four, depending on who has a gig. Jump in on a second line or a funeral when somebody I knew died or they could use a sax player.” He shrugged. “Whenever I needed an extra buck, I’d take the hike down to Royal Street and play a sidewalk set. Everybody did. Here, I think if I started playing music on the street, I’d get arrested or something.”
She winced. “Wild Falls isn’t known for its culture, I guess.” She wanted to know what a second line was, but she didn’t want to let him distract her from what was important. She took a step back. “Do you want to call your mom? We can make dinner later. I don’t want you to be worried about her.”
He hooked a finger into her belt loop and tugged her back over to him. “You don’t know my mama.” He wrapped his arms over her shoulders and rested his chin on top of her head. “Do you want to know what she’d say if I called?”
She nodded, the point of his chin biting into her head. Her stomach rumbled, and she hoped he didn’t hear it.
“‘Son,’” he said, lifting his tone to a fond falsetto, “‘when you’ve lived twenty more years and raised your own child, then maybe you can go demanding to know things that aren’t any of your affair. Until then, I can look after my own self and so can you.’”
Andra smiled. “I think I like her. I bet she’d scare the hell out of me.”
“She’d probably make you a pie. You’d be fine.” He kissed the top of her head. “Sorry. Here I am talking away and starving you. She’d whup my ass for that. You’re probably three days underfed as it is.” He turned away and started assembling dishes. “Kept thinking you’d come up to the main house for supper, but you never did.”
“I like it better when it’s just us.”
He smiled, not looking up from what he was doing. “Me too, Andie-girl. Me too.”
Sixteen
Usually after they did the dishes, LJ walked home. But this time, it was Andra’s turn, and she didn’t leave. Instead, she kept pointing to things around his apartment, asking where he got this thing or that, the story behind the few small objects he’d brought with him. Reading the backs of his western novels, smiling at his Miles Davis and Rage Against the Machine CDs, and teasing him about his outdated stereo. He talked until he thought for sure he’d lose his voice, telling some true stories and some outlandish ones, and some that were a bit of both.
When
she smiled, it made him feel good. He couldn’t stand to send her home when he knew all it would take was one call from his mama or one knock on his door from Andra’s father, and he might never get to see her again. As far as Bill knew, LJ had chosen to keep the job and walk away from the woman. His boss had no idea how impossible that choice would prove to be for LJ. Give up himself, his life, his dream. Or give her up.
How could he, when he couldn’t even look away from her face?
Andra was different tonight. Bolder. He couldn’t tell if it was because they hadn’t seen each other much this week or because he’d kissed her. He was afraid it might be because she’d seen through the cracks of him to some of the damage he usually kept hidden. He tried to be the one who always had a grin and a joke, because so many people had it worse than he did. But with Andra, maybe it helped her to know she wasn’t the only one with too much darkness in her rearview mirror.
When they ended up in his bedroom, he wasn’t sure what to think. He watched her out of the corner of his eye, wishing he had a nicer place to bring her to. He’d bought a longer bed because the old one left his feet hanging over the edge, but the new one barely left walking space in the small room. Plus, it was sitting right on the floor like it belonged to one of those drug dealers who always bought a king-sized pillow top from their first haul of little plastic bags, forgetting all about the frame that was supposed to go with it. On the far side of the hastily made blankets was his secondhand saxophone case, its edges glaringly frayed.
“Sorry about this,” he muttered. “I’m saving up for a bed frame.”
She frowned. “Furniture is supposed to be included with the apartments. You should have told us the bed wasn’t big enough.”
“I can buy my own bed.”
A little bit of the old stiff went back into her spine at his tone, and LJ wished he had kept his mouth shut.
Pride is a rich man’s vice, his mama’s voice reminded him.
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