Along the Cane River: Books 1-5 in the Inspirational Cane River Romance Series

by Mary Jane Hathaway

As if she could read Rose’s thoughts, Roxie said, “I could say we fell in love over our shared need for good Thai food, or the fact we missed the big city, or the fact he was reading Dante’s Divine Comedy. But really, I think the place is just blessed.”

  “See ya later, Cupcake,” an older man called as he headed for the door.

  “See ya tomorrow, Mr. Louis,” she called back. “So, how are you adjusting? You’re from Boston, right?”

  “Just moved from Baton Rouge.” Rose didn’t want to discuss which city she was from and how she got there. She searched for another topic. “So, that sweet he calls you Cupcake. Southerners have the market cornered on endearments.”

  “Oh, actually, that’s my name. Well, Roxie Sunshine Hardy, technically. But I’m the cupcake. Or was, for years.” The other waitress handed Roxie the mocha, and opening the display, she retrieved a beignet. Looking up, she caught Rose’s expression.

  “It was before your time. When I took over the bakery from my grandmother, I retired it. I was the dancing cupcake at Sunshine Bakery during my teen years.” Roxie waved her hands in the air and did an awkward shuffle. “Well, more recently, but we don’t like to talk about that.”

  Rose wasn’t sure what Roxie was talking about but she nodded anyway.

  “Well, what doesn’t kill you and all that,” Roxie said. “Plus, the moment I fell in love with Andy, I was stuck in inside that old thing, so I should really love it more than I do.”

  Taking the mocha and the bag, Rose gave up trying to understand the details of Roxie’s story. “Are you sure I can’t pay for this?”

  “Nope. It’s my welcome to Natchitoches. I’m sure I’ll see you around now that we’re back in town. Andy is Aurora’s godfather and we visit By the Book pretty often.” She gave her a wink and a huge smile. “Y’all enjoy that apartment, now.”

  Rose was thinking that Roxie was the friendliest person she’d met so far when she caught on to the ‘y’all’ and realized Roxie was smiling at someone behind her. The moment before she turned, Rose knew who would be standing there.

  “Bonmatin, manzelles,” Blue said. Dressed in jeans and a Tshirt, and freshly showered, Blue looked far more awake than Rose felt. He carried a thick book under one arm and his lips were turned up, as if he was privately amused by something. “So, you’ve met our local beignet expert.”

  “And previous occupant of the apartment,” Rose said. They exchanged a look and she felt her irritation at all the hinting fade away just a little. Everyone kept talking about the life-changing relationship that would sweep her off her feet and every time she heard about it, Rose remembered that she wasn’t destined for another chance at true love. Blue found it all as silly as she did. As much as she loved Alice, it was nice to know she had one friend that wasn’t from planet Crazypants.

  Roxie was already putting three sweet rice fritters in a bag and sprinkling in powdered sugar. “Belle calas, tout chaud,” she said, offering the traditional call to let buyers now the hot fritters were ready, and handed him a cup of black coffee. Beautiful and very hot.

  “Sont belles,” he agreed. He lay his payment on the counter and Rose saw the faint traces of ink were back. She smiled, imagining him at work early in the morning, maybe on the ‘shook foil’ poem again.

  “Li ay belle osi,” Roxie said, her tone nonchalant but she shot a significant look at Blue. She’s beautiful, too.

  Rose cleared her throat. It was too late to join in the conversation without it being painfully awkward but Roxie might go on talking about Rose to her face if she didn’t get a heads up.

  “Way, belle e Creole,” Blue said, laughing. “Li t’komprenn.”

  “Oh, goodness. Serves me right,” Roxie said, laughing. “You just don’t look―”

  “And it’s the blonde hair. It throws people,” Rose said. She couldn’t be mad at Roxie for assuming she wasn’t part of their community because Rose’s accent certainly sounded Northern. But being Creole wasn’t about a color, it was about a culture.

  Rose glanced at Blue, feeling an odd satisfaction with his response. He could have just said she was Creole, and not added the beautiful part.

  “You sure you two don’t want to take a seat? There’s a free table right over there. Asi-vou.”

  “We’re going to go sit by the river, but thanks, Roxie.”

  Rose usually didn’t like anyone answering for her but she was grateful for it today. A glance around the bakery told her that they were already the topic of that morning’s gossip. She didn’t want to try to enjoy her beignet, mocha, and book while under the watchful gaze of the whole bakery.

  “Oh, even better,” Roxie said, eyes brightening with approval.

  They said their goodbyes and headed out the door, each table going silent as they passed. As soon as they reached the sidewalk, Rose turned and said, “Sorry about that. You really don’t have to―”

  “We can’t stop here,” Blue whispered, laughing. “Let’s find a bench.”

  They strolled down the boardwalk, the river air feeling warm with the promise humidity. Rose felt the tension of the bakery conversation ease away. She never felt rushed to make a point or finish a thought with Blue, or even talk at all. Even now, they walked in comfortable silence.

  She pointed out a bench under a tree, the light shade giving some protection from the early morning sun.

  He waited for her to sit and then settled next to her. “How’s the book?”

  “Not as good as his Odd Thomas series, but it’s good enough,” she said. “What are you―?”

  He held up his book. “We couldn’t have planned it better.”

  Rose started to laugh, looking from her glossy five hundred page tome to his matching one.

  “Not as good as Odd Thomas,” he said, agreeing. “But the cookie man part had me pulling my feet back from the edge of the bed.”

  “I think What the Night Knows was much scarier.”

  “That’s a fact,” he said. “And have you read any of those short stories he’s been releasing? I think they’re better than his books. Maybe he was really a short story writer all this time and we never knew.”

  “Or just really versatile,” she said. “Whatever it is, I hope he keeps going. My greatest fear is running out of good books to read. It seems like every year we lose more and more great authors, and I’m not finding any replacements.”

  “I agree with you there,” he said.

  She looked back out at the river, inhaling the scent of freshly mown grass mixed with a hint of fried doughnuts on the breeze that drifted from the bakery. They were quiet for a time, sipping their coffee and watching the men on the boat across the river.

  “I have a question,” he said.

  “Ask away,” she said, feeling bold.

  “What do you really think of The Raven?”

  “It’s brilliant, of course. We watch this poor man driven crazy by a random bird. There are so many questions, too. Is the raven really saying ‘nevermore’ or is the man hallucinating? It says he’s been studying for hours. Maybe he’s lost his mind. Maybe the bird isn’t there at all.”

  Blue was grinning at her. “Glad you were just kidding. I don’t think I could be friends with someone who only liked that poem because it was in vogue.”

  Friends. It was nice to have friends again, especially those that knew you and didn’t judge the fact you were hung up on the guy who’d dumped you at the altar. She really could be open with Blue that way, and it felt like fresh air in a stale room.

  “In seriousness, it’s not just the addictive meter that just begs for someone to make a parody. I understand the point of the poem. The guy is begging for relief.” Rose said. “He wants just a hint that he’ll be reunited with his lost love in heaven. I get that desperation. I do. And I get his rage when the bird says he’s doomed to suffer his broken heart forever and that he’ll never see Lenore again. I think I spent a full year just being really, really angry at Richard.”

  “Take thy beak from out
my heart, and take thy form from off my door,” Blue quoted. “The only part that doesn’t ring true is when the guy falls down dead. For it to be really scary, he should live with that knowledge for another forty years or so.”

  “Exactly,” Rose said. “That’s the easy way out.”

  “Points off for the stupid ending, I guess.”

  “Stupid instant death,” she said.

  “Yeah. Stupid beak in the heart.”

  She looked out at the river, laughing. It had been a long time since she’d smiled as much as she smiled with Blue.

  “This is nice,” he said, as if he’d been thinking the same thing. “And it should help set that rumor mill in motion.”

  “True.” She picked up her beignet. “But what if it backfires?”

  He shot her a look, brows going up, but didn’t speak until after he’d removed another fritter from the bakery bag. “How so?”

  “What if it only encourages them? What if they just keep pushing us together?”

  “Naw. I’m a good Catholic boy. As soon as they think we’re serious, we’ll be under twenty-four hour surveillance. We’ll have chaperones coming out of the woodwork. Bix will be giving me man-to-man talks about how to respect a girl, and my Aunt Bernice will probably take up residence in our hallway to make sure there are no sleepovers.”

  She laughed a little at the idea of Bernice camped out feet from her door. “You sure?”

  “Pretty sure.” He took a bite and chewed, looking out at the slow moving river. A small boat was anchored on the other bank and two men fished from the deck. “And if not, we can pretend to be too embarrassed to talk about it.”

  Pretend was brother to the lie, and she wasn’t a liar anymore. The more she thought of their arrangement, the more it seemed like it was much too close to outright dishonesty. She took a sip of her mocha and the bittersweet chocolate lingered on her tongue like a memory. Her nightmare flashed in her mind and she shivered.

  “I just don’t love you anymore.”

  “What― what are you saying? I don’t understand.”

  “I’ve already said it twice. I don’t know how else to get it through to you. I’m sorry, Rose. I made a mistake. It’s better to call it off now than go through with it and get a divorce.”

  “Okay?” Blue asked, fritter paused in mid-air.

  “Just had a bad dream last night and it’s still―” She waved a hand, searching for a way to explain. “It’s hanging around, ruining this lovely day. If that makes any sense.”

  “I’ve had those.” He hesitated, then put down the fritter, reached out and hugged her around the shoulders.

  Rose leaned into him, letting herself absorb his touch. She certainly got enough human interaction during the day, with Aurora and the twins needing so much holding and care. But a part of her missed the feel of a strong arm around her shoulders and the way she fit against a man’s chest. She closed her eyes for a moment, remembering the way Blue had smelled in her dream. She’d erase that nightmare with a new memory, right then. She’d push reset on her morning, refusing to let Richard have the last word, even in her dreams.

  Blue kissed the top of her head and Rose smiled against his shirt. It was such a nice guy move. Henry seemed happy, but Rose wondered if she’d really thought it through before dumping Blue. He was very nearly perfect.

  “Your coffee will get cold,” she said, leaning back. It was odd. She didn’t feel awkward at all. Maybe because there were no expectations between them.

  “Hi, you two,” Alice called from the sidewalk. She was pushing a stroller with two car seats facing each other and her smile could have lit up the sky.

  Now it was awkward.

  “Oh, hey there.” Rose could hear Elizabeth crying and started to get up. Alice waved her back down.

  “No, no, this is your day off. I don’t want to disturb you. We’re meeting Paul and Aurora at the bakery. We’ll stop by and say hi on the way back if you’re still here.” She fairly skipped away.

  They watched her down the sidewalk, not saying anything.

  “We’re excelling at this deception,” he said.

  Rose started to laugh. “Not even trying, really.”

  “We must look like a couple falling in love,” he said. “Early morning coffee dates, watching the river.”

  “Snuggles,” Rose said. “Very important to have snuggles.”

  “If only they knew…”

  Rose nodded, her smile fading away. “You know, I skimmed a book yesterday where the woman’s husband dies, and a few months later she falls in love with the detective investigating his murder, and at the end they get married in the same church as her first wedding.”

  He made a sound in the back of his throat. “Stupid romance novel.”

  “Stupid plot hole.”

  “Stupid author.” She cringed a little at the bitterness in her tone. “To be fair, most people might not even catch how far from real life that would be.” Richard wouldn’t have. He hadn’t had any problem moving on from Rose.

  “Probably not. Did you guys have a church picked out?”

  “No, not a church. I really wanted to get married in this fancy club in Boston and he didn’t even care if we got married in a church. My mother thought a wedding at a country club was weird, but she didn’t object too much. She had more of a problem with the hefty down payment to reserve the date. What about you? Do you want to get married there?”

  She saw the flash of sadness in his eyes. “I mean, if… when… In a perfect world, if you were getting married, is that where it would be?” she asked awkwardly.

  “All of my family gets married at Isle Brevelle. If I tried to get married anywhere else, there would be a riot.” He shrugged, looking out at the river.

  “It’s a gorgeous little church. I remember going there when I was little. We came to Natchitoches a few times a year and I don’t remember much except for the river and that church.”

  He nodded “You should come take a tour. After it was put on the historic registry, they fixed a lot of the areas damaged by time and the elements.” He glanced at her, as if remembering she wasn’t very religious and maybe thought he was inviting her with an ulterior motive. “I’m sure you can come on a weekday.”

  “I’d love a tour. Should I call ahead? Will you be there this Sunday?”

  “I go to the cathedral.”

  “Because of ―” She stopped short. Henry had mentioned that her husband’s brother was the parish priest. Maybe she went there, too.

  “Right.” He didn’t ask how she knew. “And she got married at Isle Brevelle, too. Beautiful ceremony. I was invited, of course. Aunt Bernice took notes because she’s sure she’ll be helping plan my wedding there any time now.”

  Rose grimaced. One positive of having been dumped at the altar was that nobody wanted to plan your wedding. They’d already done it once.

  “Anyway, I thought I’d save myself some grief and go where I could really concentrate, instead of marinating in my own angst,” he said.

  She took a bite of her beignet, smiling a little at his description. She tried not to “marinate”, but some days were just like that. She couldn’t imagine living in the same town as Richard, watching him be blissfully happy at close range, much less attending his wedding. The smile faded from her face as she remembered the moment her ex coworker called all the way to Baton Rouge to tell her that Richard was marrying Sandra Bonhoffer. He’d always said he couldn’t stand her, the way she bragged about her designer clothes and high powered connections. He also mocked her wide nose, frizzy hair, and beady black eyes. And Rose had laughed.

  Her stomach clenched as she imagined what he was saying about her, and how Sandra would be laughing just as long at his cruel descriptions.

  “Hey, I didn’t mean to upset you,” Blue said. He sounded sincere but she didn’t turn to look.

  “I’m not upset.” He was going to think she was emotionally unstable if she teared up every time they talked. She finished of
f her beignet and rolled up the pink bakery bag. “I should go.”

  Blue put a hand on her arm. “I’m sorry. And definitely go if you want, but you don’t have to rush off. I’ll stop asking questions. We can just enjoy this.” He made a motion that encompassed the coffee, books, and the river. “We’ll read and enjoy the sunshine. In silence.”

  She felt herself wavering, hating her own sensitivity. Something about their conversations always ended up brushing up against her old wounds. She’d thought they were covered with thick scar tissue but this place, or him, made her feel raw and defenseless.

  But it had been so long since she’d simply sat next to someone and read a book.

  “Okay, but no spoilers if you’re ahead of me.”

  “Deal.” He flashed her a smile and she looked away.

  Rose opened her book and spent a few moments finding her page, trying to convince herself that she was simply avoiding drama. His comment had hit too close to home and her first instinct was to run, but she needed to be calm and rational. He didn’t need to know anything about her because they were just friends. Maybe even less than that. Acquaintances roped into pretending they were in a relationship. No strings attached and mutually beneficial.

  She stretched out her legs, focusing on the feel of the sun against her skin. The river flowed lazily in the distance. Snippets of conversation filtered through to her from the boardwalk across the grass behind them. She let her focus drift from the story, out toward the sparkling water, across the other bank, toward the row of banyan trees.

  “Well, who do we have here?”

  Rose turned and saw Blue’s father walking toward them from the sidewalk. He was wearing a three piece suit again, except it was now a light tan instead of the deep blue. His mouth was turned up in a smile but it was the most chilling smile she thought she’d ever seen. Rose hadn’t liked him from the moment they’d met, and her distrust only deepened as he made his way to where they sat.

  Blue stood and offered his seat. “Good morning,” he said. All the ease had gone out of his movements and he looked tense and stiff.

  His father didn’t respond. “You know, I got real curious about this pretty Miss Rose Black from Baton Rouge, so I did a little askin’ around.”