by Sandra Hill
“So, what was that bowlegged business all about?”
Charmaine finally asked that question as she drove down the one-lane road, heading toward the nearest supermarket. She needed to break the silence, which was as thick and tantalizing as the most intimate sexual banter in the confines of the small Jeep.
If that wasn’t bad enough, she kept taking her eyes off the road to stare at Rusty, who was a sight to behold in his faded, everyday cowboy work clothes. He had his long legs stretched out as far as they would go, which wasn’t far enough in the passenger seat, even pushed all the way back. His left arm rested on the back of the driver’s seat, just touching her shoulders with white-hot heat.
“You don’t want to know,” he said lazily, giving her a lingering sideways glance . . . and a grin. Meanwhile, he twirled a strand of her hair around one finger, over and over, a habit that used to annoy her but now felt kind of nice.
Actually, she didn’t want to know, but stubborn had always been her middle name. “Yes, I do.”
“Clarence was giving me romance advice.”
See where stubborn gets you, Ms. Smartie. Next time you’ll know to keep your mouth shut. “I beg your pardon,” she choked out. “Clarence telling you what to do? I don’t believe it.”
“Believe it.” He waggled his eyebrows at her, which prompted her to notice his eyes.
Merciful heavens! What was God thinking to give a man such thick black lashes and such beautiful dark eyes? “Like what?” Did I really ask him to elaborate? My brain is in hormone overload. I just can’t think straight when I’m around him. Never could.
“Oh, Charmaine. Tsk, tsk, tsk. Watch the road, honey. You almost hit that guardrail.” He laughed at the foul word she said, then continued. “If you really must know, Clarence says I should screw your brains out till you walk funny.”
“He never did!”
“Yes, he did. Not in those exact words, but the meaning was the same. ‘Ride you long and hard till you walk bowlegged.’”
“That was so crude.”
“You asked.”
They didn’t talk much after that till they got to the supermarket, Charmaine having decided to put a zipper on her lips. Besides, she couldn’t rid her mind of the image of Rusty riding her hard. They had gone down only two aisles at Albertsons and were in the produce section when Rusty started whining about going home.
“What is it about men and shopping?” Charmaine inquired idly as she examined a bunch of bananas, wondering if she had all the ingredients for Bananas Foster. She had a special recipe from a New Orleans Cajun restaurant. “Women see it for the orgasmic experience it can be, while men regard it as pure torture.”
“Hah! The only orgasmic thing I can imagine is you holding those bananas and me imagining what you could do with them. Holy crap, Charmaine, are you deliberately trying to torment me?”
Surprised, Charmaine looked from Rusty to the bunch of bananas in her hand. When understanding dawned, she flashed him a glower. “Not everything in the world is about sex.”
“Maybe not to you,” he said and stomped off to the apple section.
She watched him walking, with way too much interest. He wasn’t the only one with sex on the mind, truth to tell. His kiss last night had about knocked her for a loop. And staring at his tight butt in those tight jeans right now, well, sex about said it all.
A young college girl noticed, too. The blonde sidled up to Rusty and asked him a question about apples. Apples! Like that was what she was interested in with a drop-dead gorgeous cowboy. And Rusty, the jerk, just tipped his hat back and smiled down at her and answered her questions as if he were suddenly some Johnny Appleseed or something. Not that Charmaine was jealous or anything. But she was thinking about sashaying over there and walloping blondie over the head with the bunch of bananas she still held in her hands.
“I think the best ones are McIntosh, darlin’,” she heard him say.
Darlin’? Oooh, I’d like to wring your neck, you randy, stupid, too-good-looking jerk.
He sauntered back then and dropped a bag of McIntosh apples into their cart. “Shopping’s not so bad, after all,” he announced.
Forget neck-wringing. Shooting would be better. She practically growled at him, especially when he winked at her, understanding perfectly that she had not liked what she had just witnessed. “Be careful, stud, or you’re gonna land yourself back in jail on statutory rape.”
He jerked back as if she’d slapped him. “She’s twenty-one. Legal. She told me so. Not that I care. All I did was answer the girl’s question.”
Uh-huh, and apples and her giving you her age just went hand in hand. “Like you’re suddenly the apple expert? And you ask where the sex idea came from? Well, you just said something a few minutes ago about sex being on your mind all the time.”
“No, no, no. That’s not what I said, sweetheart. At least that’s not what I meant. You and sex are always on my mind these days.”
“Oh,” she said, and couldn’t help herself from grinning ear to ear. He still wants me. I mean, I knew he wanted me, but it is so damn good to hear him say the words. How pathetic can I get? “You are pathetic,” she said.
“Yep,” he agreed. “And so are you, being jealous of a young twit like that. Talk about! Like I would be interested in her when you’re around, waving bananas in my face.”
She dropped the bananas into her cart and pushed the cart away. But she was still grinning ear to ear.
Charmaine had the cart half-full and was ready to leave a short time later, but she had lost Rusty back in the paperback book section about ten minutes ago. She finally found him near the front of the store, down on one knee, talking to a German shepherd the size of a pony. Rusty had had a dog just like it when they’d been together, but Eli had been ten years old then, and he’d died about three years ago. At least, that was what Rusty’s father had told her. Well, this dog wasn’t quite like Rusty’s had been since it was a Seeing Eye dog, on a leash held by a middle-aged lady wearing dark glasses and sitting on a bench, talking softly with Rusty.
Charmaine’s eyes misted with tears, and her heart clenched with compassion for Rusty. This was how he must look when practicing veterinary medicine. Although he dealt more with large animals, like horses and cows, the principle was the same. He spoke gently, caressed the animal with nonthreatening, expert fingers, examining it for problems, and answered the questions of its mistress. He patted the dog when it allowed him to look inside its mouth, even let the dog give him a sloppy kiss on the mouth.
Rusty stood then. Just before he noticed her, she saw the hopeless stoop of his shoulders and the sadness in his eyes . . . things his pride would never allow him to show under normal circumstances. He desperately missed his work treating sick animals.
When he saw her, he immediately masked over his emotions and asked, “Are we done shopping? I’ve only had three babes try to pick me up. I’m losing my touch.”
“Oh, yeah! Well, I can top that. The butcher asked me if I’d like to see his meat,” she said, trying to match his light tone.
He laughed and shook his head at her coarse jest. “And did you check it out?”
“Nah! I told him I’ve got all the meat I can handle.”
“Guar-an-teed!”
Rusty might think he had fooled her, but Charmaine was smarter than the average bimbo. And, despite all her failings, she had a heart of gold, in her own humble opinion. As they made their way to the checkout together, Charmaine made a vow to herself. She was going to help Rusty get his medical license back. He hadn’t asked for her assistance, and she hadn’t a clue what she could do. But, by God, she was going to do it.
Maybe you should ask me for a little help, a voice in her head said. Charmaine was pretty sure it was St. Jude.
Chapter 5
One ringy-dingy, two ringy-dingy . . .
The phone rang following breakfast the next morning.
Clarence, Linc, and Jimmy had already left for the barn, and Ra
oul was about to join them.
Since he had already advised Charmaine not to answer the phone, just in case Bobby Doucet got wind of her whereabouts, he went over to the wall phone and picked up the receiver. “Hello.”
“Rusty, is that you?”
“Yes.”
“Lucien LeDeux here.”
“Hey, Luc. Did you want to speak to Charmaine?”
“Yes, but first there are a few things I want to tell you. Is Charmaine nearby?”
“Uh-huh.” What could he possibly want to tell me that he doesn’t want Charmaine to overhear?
She looked at him suspiciously, mouthing, “Luc?”
He ignored her and listened.
“Okay, here’s the deal. I sold her car and gave Doucet the twenty thou, and I made him sign a receipt for payment. He was not a happy camper. He wanted all or nothing, with the interest clock ticking away.”
“I figured as much.” Lordy, Lordy! Do I really need all this stress in my life?
“Threatening to go to the police turned him downright mean. I don’t think he’s Mafia, like Charmaine does, but he’s in some kind of lowlife mob that the police would be interested in.”
Not The Godfather, just one of the Houma hood, huh? “I’ve never met him before, I don’t think.”
“You’d remember if you had. He looks like a Cajun Danny DeVito. A short, little bastard, but ornery as a piss ant.”
Raoul laughed. “So, what’s the bottom line?”
“She has got to stay out of sight for a couple of weeks. Maybe I should find another hideout for her, though. I don’t want to get you in trouble. You know, with your parole board.”
“Not to worry.” I’m on the side of the good guys here. No harm in that. At least, I think Charmaine is a good guy. Hah! No question about that. Charmaine is very good.
“I’m going to continue to act as go-between with Doucet, try to set up a reasonable payment plan, but I can’t do it if Charmaine comes back to Houma too soon. Do you get my drift?”
“Gotcha.” Charmaine doesn’t know how to be invisible in a town like Houma. Hell, she’s like a blinkin’ neon sign here on a remote ranch.
“I’m also looking into your felony conviction.”
That surprised Raoul. I swear, Charmaine has the most interfering family in the whole world. “Who asked you to do that?”
“Charmaine.”
That figures. He glared at Charmaine, who was clearing the table of soiled dishes. She stuck her tongue out at him.
“Well, let me amend that. Charmaine didn’t directly ask me to help you. She just mentioned that you’d been framed. I know a good private investigator. Really good. Are you interested?”
“For sure,” he said, and jotted down the name and number on a nearby pad. “Though I don’t have much cash right now.”
“Use my name for a reference. He owes me.”
“Thanks for your help.”
“One more thing. Charmaine asked me to check out your divorce.”
“Oh?” Immediately he felt as if he had a boulder in his stomach.
“You’re not.”
“I already knew that.” The boulder churned, turning him a little queasy.
“Do you want to be?”
Divorced from Charmaine? “Yes. Sure. Hell, I don’t know.”
“That’s the same thing Charmaine said.”
Hmmm. Now, that is interesting. He glanced over at Charmaine, who was singing “Laughin’ My Way Back to Lafayette” along with Jimmy Newman on the radio and washing dishes in the soapy water of the sink. She kept the beat by rolling her hips from side to side, with an occasional shimmy thrown in. Raoul was pretty sure he was going to have a stroke or something by the time Charmaine left.
If she ever does leave, a voice in his head, or some place, said. He looked toward the front porch, through an open stretch of space between the kitchen, dining room and living room. There he saw a life-sized, plastic statue of St. Jude peering in at him through the window.
He groaned inwardly. Could it be?
Nah.
Wanna bet? the voice said.
He groaned aloud then. I am being attacked from all sides. I do not friggin’ stand a chance.
One ringy-dingy, two ringy-dingy . . .
Rusty was long gone, and Charmaine had just finished her phone call with Luc when the wall phone rang again.
Should she or shouldn’t she answer it? Rusty had ordered her not to, but then he was probably being overly cautious. On the other hand, Luc had advised her to be careful, too. Not answering a ringing phone bothered her. Maybe she could just pick it up and wait for the other person to speak first. That wouldn’t be so bad, would it? No risk there.
Tentatively, she held the receiver to her ear.
“Hello. Hello. Is someone there? Rusty?”
It was a woman. Charmaine bared her teeth and replied sweetly, “Mr. Lanier is not available right now. Who’s calling?”
“Amelie Ancelet. Dr. Amelie Ancelet. Since when does Rusty have a secretary?”
I’ll give you secretary, Ms. I-am-a-doctor-bigshot. But then the woman’s words sank in. “You’re a physician? What’s wrong? Is Rusty sick? Oh, my God, was there an accident or something and he’s in the emergency room? Did he fall off his horse?”
The woman on the other end laughed. A young laugh. “I’m a veterinarian. A friend of Rusty’s.”
I’ll just bet.
“Who is this, by the way?” the friend asked.
Charmaine took great delight in announcing, “Mrs. Lanier.”
“Huh?”
“Mrs. Rusty Lanier.” Oooh, boy, I am really pathetic, getting my jollies by proclaiming my wifehood. Not that I’m really a wife, but it does come in handy.
“Charmaine?”
Red flags went up in Charmaine’s head. “You know about me?”
“Of course. Rusty talks about you all the time. His famous ex-wife.”
Famous? I can just imagine what he said about me. Well, tit for tat, buddy. I really should not be doing this, but what the hell! “Not so ex, honey.”
“I beg your pardon.”
You very well should be begging my pardon . . . hitting on a married man. “We’re not divorced.”
There was a telling silence on the line. Friends, indeed!
“Would you tell Rusty that I called? And remind him about the party on Saturday night.” Amelie’s voice was chilly now.
“Sure thing, Amelie. I’ll give my husband the message. Bye-bye.”
Charmaine shook her head at her own juvenile behavior when she hung up the phone. It was only then that she noticed the St. Jude statue on the front porch where she’d placed it yesterday till she could find a place for it. Good ol’ Jude seemed to be watching her through the window. For one brief moment, she thought she heard the statue speak to her.
“Tsk-tsk-tsk,” it said.
One ringy-dingy, two ringy-dingy . . .
The next time the phone rang, Charmaine didn’t even hesitate to answer it.
“You got flowers on that there ranch?”
“What? Is that you, Tante Lulu?”
“’Course it’s me. Who’d ya think it was? Gina Lolla-whatchamahoozit?”
“Where’d you get this number? Luc wouldn’t even let me give it to my shop managers.”
“I got my ways.” She chuckled. “Actually, I’m in Luc’s office. Sylvie brought me over. Luc took her down to the file storage room to look fer sumpin. Hah! I know what they’s doin’ down there. Hanky-panky.”
“Auntie, you don’t know that.”
“Yeah, I do. He was lookin’ at her like she was a sweet beignet, and she was looking at him like he was one of them Chippendale fellas and she just happened to have a five-dollar bill in her pocket.”
Charmaine couldn’t help but laugh. It was true. Married for five years, Luc and Sylvie were still crazy in love with each other. But all that was beside the point. “Why do you want to know about flowers here at the ranch?”
“’Cause I was thinnin’ out my flower beds and I got lots of extra plants I could bring fer Rusty’s ranch. Irises. Magnolia bushes. Climbing roses. Okra.”
How okra fit in with all those flowers, Charmaine had no idea, and she wasn’t about to ask. “I’m not sure about you sending plants to the ranch. Rusty’s already upset about all the cleaning I’ve been doing inside the house.”
“Cleanin’? Is the place dirty?” Tante Lulu sounded gleeful at the prospect of a dirty house.
“Filthy. I swear, there are parts of this ranch house that haven’t been touched in years. I haven’t even started on the living room. Or the third bedroom. Or the pantry.”
“Oooh, oooh, oooh. Doan you be doin’ any more cleanin’ till I get there.” Aside from her healing arts, Tante Lulu enjoyed nothing more than a good spring cleaning, and, although it was winter, she would go through the place like a dervish and love every minute of it.
“Tante Lulu, I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to come here now. You might be followed by Bobby Doucet.”
“Hah! I ain’t afraid of that dumb dilly. Besides, I got a gun. And I need to get my car back. Oooh, oooh, oooh, I know what. I’ll have Remy drive me there in his whirly bird. No one can follow us then.” Charmaine’s half-brother Remy was a pilot. “Mebbe he’ll bring Rachel with him.” Rachel was Remy’s new wife.
Charmaine groaned. “Tante Lulu, believe me, Rusty is not going to appreciate your coming here. And the helicopter will probably stir up his cattle.”
Tante Lulu totally ignored her protests and went on to another subject. “Next week’s Thanksgivin’. You got a turkey yet?”
“No, I don’t have a turkey, and don’t you dare bring a turkey here.”
“I wasn’t even thinkin’ of bringin’ a turkey. Betcha I could talk that Clarence into shootin’ me a wild bird, though. Do you have all the fixin’s? Nevermind, we kin take care of that later.”
“I . . . I . . . I . . .” she sputtered. The idea of a Thanksgiving feast, Tante Lulu style, was more than Charmaine could fathom at the moment.