Bayou Heat

by Donna Kauffman

  Erin’s eyes stung with tears. Ridiculous, since she never cried. But then she’d never been the recipient of such heartfelt words before.

  “Don’t worry, chèr, I don’t plan to—”

  He began to pull his hand away. Erin held on tight. “No, it’s not that. I’ve just never …” She looked down, took a breath, blinked her eyes a few times, then looked back up. His gaze was once again shuttered and she felt as if a cold fist had wrapped around her heart. “Don’t do that,” she whispered.

  “Don’t do what, Erin?”

  “Shut yourself away.” She swallowed. “From me.” He tugged his hand once again, but she held on more tightly than ever. “You have your reasons, Teague. I know that. But you don’t have to with me. Because I do understand. And what I don’t, I want to.” She squeezed his big hand in hers. “I enjoyed the years I spent traipsing the globe with a larger-than-life father, but back here, my life made for a sort of fascinating side show attraction. People ogled and questioned, but rarely looked past the exotic trappings to the real person inside. So you’re right, I do know what it’s like not to be accepted for who and what I am. And it’s especially hard when you think who and what you are isn’t such a bad deal.”

  He lowered his gaze to her hand on his, then slowly turned his palm upright and rewove his fingers between hers. “That’s just it. I’m probably the worst deal you could make, Erin McClure.” Then he tugged her hand and she slid across the seat and into his arms. “Just don’t deal me out yet, okay chèr?”

  “Mais yeah, ange,” she whispered back. “The deal is on.”

  His mouth, when it came down on hers, was warm, wet, and gently persistent. An entirely different kiss than the ones in the bayou, yet far more powerful. Erin was immediately intoxicated.

  She opened to him and he took, slowly, thoroughly, until her entire body felt like just-melted candle wax. Pliant, languid, heated.

  He lifted his head, his gaze on her face for several long heart-pounding moments. Then she looked at his mouth, those lips, damp from kissing hers, and a small moan escaped her. He groaned deep in his throat and took her mouth again.

  This kiss was hard, needy, demanding. She returned it, taking from him as he took from her.

  The sound of someone clearing his throat made Erin jump, her squeal of surprise swallowed by Teague’s mouth on hers. Swearing under his breath, Teague gently shifted her from his arms before turning to greet their unannounced company.

  Marshall stood on the other side of the truck door, his expression unreadable. Erin struggled to pull herself together. Knowing her cheeks were red and her lips somewhat swollen didn’t make it any easier.

  “Marsh, I need a favor,” Teague said.

  “So you said on the phone.” If he was surprised by the request, it didn’t show. “I assume this has to do with Dr. McClure here.”

  Erin frowned. Dr. McClure? Marsh had been calling her Erin since practically the day they’d met.

  “I want her to stay here, at least for the next few days.”

  “What?” Erin demanded, butting into the conversation. “I couldn’t possibly stay here.”

  Marsh bent down and looked past Teague to her. “It’s no problem. I’ll just have Mazzy open up one of the upper level bedrooms. You’re welcome to stay as long as you want.”

  “Thank you,” Teague answered for her. He pushed open the door. “Let’s get your gear.”

  “You seem to think this issue is settled.” Erin leaned over a bit so she could address both men. “I appreciate the thought and your concern.” More quietly, directed to his ears only, she said, “I imagine there is more to this than a simple request. Don’t do this for me, Teague.”

  Before he could protest, she turned her attention to Marshall. “And I appreciate your willingness to help. I just don’t think it would be wise to stay here. Collegiate politics and all that. Me staying here … well, this is a small southern town, Marshall.”

  He shook his head. “The Sullivan name goes a long way toward taking care of all that, Erin. And, believe it or not, helping you in this way will actually score points with the dean. He’s counting on you getting that grant extension and bringing more attention to the college.”

  Teague slid out of the truck and was around back lifting out her gear before she could get her door open.

  Marshall met her as she climbed out. “It’s none of my business what’s going on, but—”

  “You mean Teague didn’t explain?” It occurred to Erin then that Marshall might be wondering all kinds of things after what he’d just witnessed between her and his half brother.

  “He called and asked if he could borrow a room for a week or so.”

  Erin’s eyes widened. “And you didn’t ask why? Has he done this before?” She shook her head. “Never mind, I know he hasn’t. I appreciate the offer. I’ll try not to be in the way. And I doubt I’ll be here a full week.”

  Marshall smiled. “Mazzy loves fussing over company. And with Father out of the country for the next month at least, you’ll be lucky to escape before Labor Day.”

  “Mazzy?”

  “Our housekeeper and reigning instiller of terror and decorum.” This time his smile was more sincere.

  “You handled Belisaire, you and Mazzy’ll get along famously, I’m sure.”

  Knowing there was no tactful retreat at this point, Erin said, “Then thank you, Marshall. I appreciate your generosity.”

  “Oh, don’t thank me. The Sullivans are renowned for their generosity. I’m only following family tradition.” His sarcasm was obvious, but he turned to get her gear before Erin could comment on it.

  By the time she caught up with him, Teague was saying, “I appreciate this.”

  “I owe you one anyway.” Marshall bent to pick up her duffel. “That’s what families are for.”

  Erin thought she saw Teague wince, but by the time Marshall disappeared into the house, his expression was guarded again.

  He turned to her. “I’ll be in touch later today. Stay here until you hear from me. If you want to go to your office later, let Marshall take you. Or wait for me.”

  Erin stared at him. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

  “Dead.”

  She swallowed despite herself. “Do you really think we need to go to this extent because someone left a—”

  “Erin, promise me you won’t leave here without Marshall or until you hear from me.”

  Retreating, but with full intentions of mounting an attack later from a different front, she nodded. “I brought my notes and tapes. I can work here.” She pulled her backpack on. “And I do appreciate this.” She glanced at the house. “Hard to bitch about the accommodations.”

  His expression softened, and Erin felt that pull deep in her belly again. “I’ll be in touch, chèr.”

  Marshall reappeared in time to hear the last part. “You aren’t coming in?”

  He looked at Marsh. “No. I have work to do.”

  Marshall frowned. “Your first time here in fifteen years and—” He broke off when he saw Erin’s eyes widen and Teague swore under his breath. “Mazzy will have my head for dinner and my behind for dessert, Teague,” he added, but the light tone was sorely strained.

  “Like I said, thank you, Marshall.” He walked around the truck to the door.

  Erin was close behind him. “Wait a minute!” He climbed in the truck and closed the door before she could stop him. She gripped the open window as he turned the ignition. “Teague, don’t. Why didn’t you tell me?” He turned to face her. “Why?”

  He stared at her for several long moments, then simply said, “Wait for me, okay?”

  She sighed in defeat. “I’ll try.”

  He frowned. “Don’t try. Do it. Promise me.”

  “What makes you think my promises are any good?”

  He didn’t so much as blink. “Promise me.”

  “Okay, okay, I promise.”

  He nodded, satisfied. Then he was gone, leaving her st
anding in the driveway slightly out of breath.

  She’d just been given a gift, the magnitude of which she was only beginning to understand.

  His trust.

  NINE

  “I swear, man, I have no idea who did it.” Skeeter took another hard pull on the butt squeezed between his thick fingers before tossing it into the bayou.

  “Somebody’s nervous,” Teague said sharply. “You said you’d made it clear to Arnaud’s people that she wouldn’t be a problem, that I had it under control. If someone from our side did anything to make him suspicious this close to the buy down, heads won’t be the only thing that roll.”

  Skeeter pushed off the side of the boathouse and paced to the end of the pier and back. He shook his head. “No, no. I was with Johnny this afternoon. Arnaud confides totally in him. I tell you, everything is cool.”

  Teague swore under his breath. Then who the hell was messing with Erin? Could it really be a coincidence? Just one of Belisaire’s people upset enough with her intrusion to do something foolish? And what about that first note?

  Well, if that was the case, Belisaire would find out and handle it her own way. But Teague had to be certain.

  And that meant talking to Belisaire.

  Frustrated and more tense than he’d like to be to stay sharp, Teague turned back to Skeeter. “Set up the buy for Sunday like we planned. I don’t want anything to spook Arnaud. I’ve got a meeting later tonight with the Haitian contact. Make sure the boats will be here on time. I’ll be in touch.” Without waiting for a reply he turned to leave, then stopped and turned back.

  “I’ve busted my ass for almost a year playing two sides against the middle, Skeet. We’re this close.” He held his fingers up in a pinching motion. “But deal or no deal, I don’t want anyone messing with Dr. McClure again. You hear anything, anything, you contact me immediately. Hear?”

  “Mais yeah, Teague. Will do, man.”

  Teague strode back up the path toward Belisaire’s hounfour. He sincerely hoped she was unoccupied at the moment. His patience was at an all-time low and, love her though he did, Belisaire tried it at the best of times.

  He steadfastly refused to think of Erin and where she was at the moment. He’d done the right thing in putting her there. Beaumarchais was the safest place she could be. If she stayed there.

  He frowned as feelings he’d repressed for too many years crept back to haunt him. He’d expected to feel many things upon seeing Beaumarchais again—betrayal, confusion, anger, hatred—but not emptiness. He felt hollow, to the point of a physical ache.

  The worst part of it was, until he stood there in the shadow of the home he’d been born in, he hadn’t realized he’d been hollow all along. Beaumarchais owned a part of him no matter how fast and far he’d run. How had he not known that?

  He’d watched Erin as she spoke with Marshall. She looked good silhouetted by Beaumarchais. As if she belonged. He could visualize her in the large airy rooms, running down the wide curved staircase, sitting at the grand table in the main dining room.

  A smile curved his lips. Likely with notes and plant specimens scattered over the cherished antique cherry table, glasses perched on her nose. She’d probably have poor Mazzy growing samples of unpronounceable things on the back sun porch and labeling test tubes for her.

  Realizing he’d just had a positive feeling in conjunction with a place that had forever meant only pain, anger, and loss, stopped him in his tracks. He pressed a fist just below his breastbone. That hollow feeling disappeared when he was with her.

  That was what she did for him, why he was so captivated by her. She filled him.

  “Teague?”

  Belisaire’s commanding tone snapped him from his startling revelations.

  “Right here, Grand-mère,” he answered automatically, feeling too off-balance to face her right now, but having no choice.

  She moved around the cypress roots crawling along the narrow path and stopped in front of him. “We need to talk.”

  “Yes, we do,” he said, taking the lead, praying she’d let him keep it for once. “Do you know who left petro gris-gris in Dr. McClure’s bathroom last night?”

  “What is happening to Erin isn’t the main concern right now, chèr,” was her only answer.

  Teague knew better than to push, but he couldn’t resist. “I put Erin at Beaumarchais. With Marshall.”

  For the first time in his entire life, he’d surprised her, but there was no satisfaction in the accomplishment. Instead it made the hairs on his neck stand on end.

  “You did not bring her to me.” She studied him closely and he tried not to fidget under the scrutiny. “You are using not only your head in this, mon chèr. This pleases me more than you can know.” She stepped closer and laid her small, fine-boned hand on his cheek.

  Teague looked down into her black eyes and was rocked by the realization that she was an old woman. Though she wore her wrinkles like a tree wore rings—with pride in her strength and longevity—she suddenly looked tired and frail to him.

  “Grand-mère,” he whispered, feeling a clutch in his chest. He turned his head and pressed a kiss on her palm.

  “Yes, Teague, things they change. Soon, nothing will be the same as before. But remember, things that won’t show themselves to the head, will to the heart.” Her hand tightened for a moment. “And this works both ways, do not forget that.”

  Without another word, she turned and headed slowly toward her hounfour.

  Suspicion and dread filled him. “Grand-mère, wait.”

  “Teague, is that you?”

  Teague’s head came around sharply. Before he could respond, Erin came into view from a path to his right.

  “What are you doing here?” he demanded. “I told you to—” He broke off and closed the distance between them as another thought occurred to him. “Did something else happen, Erin?”

  “Belisaire summoned me. She told me you were here and that I was to come.”

  Teague swore under his breath. “So damn manipulative and to hell with the consequences.”

  “What’s wrong? She didn’t say why I was to come, just that you were here and it would all be clear later.”

  His unease grew. “Oh, she’s in fine mystically vague form today. If I could just get my hands on—” He broke off, knowing he wasn’t really angry with Belisaire. There were forces at work he knew nothing about, and therefore couldn’t control.

  “I passed her on the path. She asked that we both come to the hounfour.”

  “Well, God forbid we keep her waiting.” He’d left Louisiana determined to control his life, and he had. Along with everything around it, as well. He’d become cold, clearheaded, thorough, and totally in control of himself and those he dealt with.

  Until he returned home. Now he felt as if his life were spinning beyond his control once again and he hated it. With a passion that frightened him. Because to feel that depth of emotion he had to care. Deeply. Fully.

  He didn’t want to care. To feel. Not like that. Not ever again.

  “Let’s get this over with. I have a lot to do today.” He pushed past Erin and started up the path. He couldn’t hear her behind him, but he knew she was there. He felt her.

  “What does she want? You were just talking to her, what did she say?”

  “Nothing.” And everything. The heart sees what the head cannot. And vice versa. He shook his head, knowing better than to analyze or question it. Belisaire was always right. And the meaning always revealed itself sooner or later. He just wished for once he could see it coming. He had a feeling this one was going to hit him exceptionally hard. “She’ll tell us what she wants when she wants. Control is her game.”

  “Ah, runs in the gene pool I see.”

  Teague slowed a half step, but didn’t look back. “Better than the alternative.”

  “Yes, but tough when only one of you can control at a time.” She caught up with him, placing her hand on his arm.

  This time he stopped and
looked at her. “I don’t want to control her,” he said. “Or you. I just want you both to be safe.”

  “Control the situation that controls us then?”

  “Something like that.”

  Erin lifted her hand to his face. “Thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “Wanting to keep anything bad from happening to me or Belisaire.” She smiled. “Although I’m pretty sure I’m the only one that feels that way.” He simply stared at her, nonplussed. “I’m not saying I need you to watch out for me, Teague. Or that I even want you to. But that you want to, that you are trying, well …”

  Her gaze dropped from his almost shyly. Shy? Erin?

  He lifted her face to his with a hand under her chin. “It’s not just that I want to, Erin,” he said quietly. “I can’t not do it. I—I need to.” He stepped closer, his voice dropping to a rough whisper. “Nothing bad can happen to you. Do you understand?”

  Erin stared at him.

  “I think I do.” She cleared her throat. “But if something does happen, Teague, it’s not your fault, or responsibility.” She blew out a sigh. “That’s what Belisaire meant about us making our own choices.”

  “And what if my choice is to do whatever is necessary to make sure you don’t get caught in the middle here?”

  “Middle? In the middle of what, Teague? What’s going on down here?” And what is your role in it? she begged silently.

  “You’re being threatened. I don’t know who or why, and Belisaire isn’t talking. I just want to make sure it’s safe for you down here.”

  There was no doubt in her mind that he wasn’t telling her everything. Marshall had made a few comments earlier that day as he helped her settle in. They had niggled at her, but at the time she hadn’t understood why. “Marshall is concerned about you,” she said carefully.

  There was the slightest twitch in his jaw.

  “Oh? And why is that?”