Sherwood, Mickie - BayouBabe99er (BookStrand Publishing Romance)

by Mickie Sherwood

  “What’s going on?” Drake inquired, rubbing furiously at his face, arms, and legs.

  “Calamine lotion.” She had to admit, “It works. But—” Finishing her statement was useless since Drake snatched the bottle for the pour.

  He lathered a handful over his face and neck first, opening his eyes to see her amused gaze. He wondered why Sharlene resisted. The stinging promptly subsided. Next to follow were his arms and legs where the medicated lotion smeared over his skin without disappearing. The harder he rubbed—the wider the smear. He peered at his outstretched limbs.

  “Tried to warn you, but, you wouldn’t listen.” Her belly laugh was at his expense. It was her turn to take possession of the medicine. Sharlene used the dab approach, dotting only the raised areas of her skin.

  Soon, the delicious aroma of eggs replaced the smell of the calamine lotion. Moot stepped to the table with three plates weighed heavily with grits, eggs, and pan sausage. Toast and coffee came on his return trip. That was when Sharlene’s stomach did a recall. Her last meal was hours and hours ago.

  Moot took his place with a hearty bite before his rump hit the seat. Sharlene dug in. Drake eyed his meal with his full fork stranded in the air. Moot’s head bowed over his plate.

  “Uncle, you’re a hoot a minute.” Sharlene directed Drake’s fork to her mouth, did an exaggerated chew, and clutched her throat with her tongue hanging out the side of her mouth. A snicker spilled out.

  “Not yo’ time, Cormier,” Moot relayed. “Not yet.”

  “Uncle Moot, don’t say things like that.” Her attention returned to her plate. “You’ll scare him.”

  Drake braved a bite while listening to the banter across the table. He watched the exchange, noting the two shared a genuine affection. They forgot about him as their conversation lapsed into Cajun French, Sharlene stumbling to find the right words. Moot instructed her when memory seemed to fail her.

  There was no denying they talked about him, for occasionally all eyes shifted his way. He didn’t care. He was confident Sharlene held the key to his survival while in the Mouton household. So Drake let his tired muscles relax.

  “This is good sausage,” he exclaimed. The talking stopped.

  “Alligator,” Moot offered.

  Drake choked.

  “Better you eat ’em than they eat you,” Moot declared with a hint of humor.

  “I see your point.” He suffered another big bite to keep from offending his host. “How old is your granddaughter, Sharlene?”

  The question clearly caught her totally off-guard. Yet she smiled pleasantly when she replied. “She’s two and quite a handful.”

  “Is she as easygoing as her grandmother?”

  “In my company less than five hours and already you know I’m easygoing?”

  “Your contagious smile supports that.” His fork scraped up the final dregs of food.

  “What you see is what you get, Drake.” She looked over her fork at him. “Unlike the fake concerned façade of your coworkers.”

  That was a jab if ever he heard one. He wouldn’t take the bait. Not while under the roof of his known enemy. “The shots I got today will definitely come in handy. They’ll force their hand.”

  “Call me a cynic. I don’t believe it’ll make a difference. The only thing that matters to the powers that be is the bottom line.” Sharlene pushed her unfinished plate away. “Ask me. I know.”

  Drake called her bluff. “How do you know, Sharlene?”

  Moot’s fork rang when it hit his plate.

  “I’m a casualty of the quest for a bigger bottom line, Drake.”

  “You lost your job,” he surmised, slapping his hand on a paper towel.

  “The banking department I headed took a trip overseas. All of my people ended up on the street.” She took her plate to the sink, raking the scraps in the garbage.

  “Damn. That’s too bad,” Drake said sympathetically. “You’ll find something better.”

  “Where have I heard that?” she asked with loads of sarcasm. “Oh, yes. After every rejected interview for the last ninety-nine weeks.”

  “Ninety-nine weeks?”

  “Did I stutter?” she quipped. “I’ve been living off my savings and what little freelancing brings in.”

  “I’m sorry, Sharlene.” Drake left the table.

  “Save your pity for the ones big oil is messing over.” Her reach for his plate was futile. Drake emptied and washed his own to drop it in the drain board.

  “I mean it when I say I’m here to help.” He snagged her hands. “Trust me.”

  The silent member in the room recognized a scene from his own storybook. He was of little consequence during their dialogue. At this point, he was invisible. There was one way to break the spell.

  Moot threw the towel Drake had earlier, and it hit Drake’s chest.

  Moot had his attention. “Wash up and get out, Cormier.”

  He did exactly that with no fanfare—only a soft “good-bye” to Sharlene.

  Chapter Seven

  “Well, wouldn’t you know it? He did it, again.”

  Sharlene traipsed down the hall that was brightened by the early morning light. The door to Moot’s bedroom swung open on squeaky hinges. Sharlene peeped in to satisfy the belief he dodged her purposely. His sanctuary was orderly and spotless, all except the crumpled bedspread caught under the mattress.

  Sharlene went to straighten it out when a sliver of yellow under the closet door hooked her attention. The lure was too great to ignore. She was powerless to initiate a retreat. Her feet glided and the next thing she knew, she was standing in the open closet. Beside the business mailer was an unlocked metal box that provoked Sharlene to give in to the temptation.

  She lowered her standards and snooped through all of his personal papers.

  “Oh, Uncle Moot.” A hand flew to her chest in accompaniment to the hollow intake of breath.

  Shoving the papers back into the envelope, she ran from the room. A quick shower, light makeup application, and she hopped into the two-piece banker’s skirt set she brought along for another round of interviews in the city. All dressed up and smelling good, Sharlene stepped into her supple leather pumps, latched on to her shoulder satchel, and dashed to the front door.

  All of a sudden, she screeched to a stop. Transportation. She had none to town. Not by land, anyway. A brief visit back inside for sneakers and off she raced to the waiting pirogue.

  Soon, she cut the motor and paddled to the pier outside of Clyde’s once getting to town. The boat bobbed and weaved as she draped her jacket over her shoulder. The shoulder strap held it in place as she hiked up her skirt for the one-handed climb up the ladder. Although the going was rough, she managed to get to the landing without incident.

  Sharlene hustled into the establishment, glad for the rush of cool air that greeted her.

  “Sha,” the proprietor called out. “What brings ya here all gusset up?”

  “The pirogue,” she supplied flippantly. Then, remorse set in. “I’m sorry, Mr. Clyde. That was uncalled for. I’m just hot, tired, and bothered.” She headed to the ladies’ room in a hurry.

  Once refreshed and presentable, Sharlene made her appearance. “I need a taxi. Is there one in town?”

  “No, Sha. But the local runs through here.”

  “What time does it pass?”

  “’Bout ten.”

  She looked at her watch. It wasn’t quite nine-fifteen yet. “I’ll just have to wait.”

  He moved from behind the counter at her distressed look. “Things okay?”

  “Honestly, no.” His interest seemed sincere. Yet she dared not share her uncle’s predicament. “Something’s come up. I’ll run into the city and be back by the time Uncle Moot docks.”

  “Well, you better get going. Got to catch it at the filling station.”

  “The more things change, the more they stay the same, I guess.” Sharlene had to shake her head at the throwback to days gone by. She changed into her
dress shoes. “See you later.”

  Sharlene left the shop with a sense of urgency that had her at the ticket window and the only one in line to board the bus. She shifted her weight from hip to hip impatiently. Before long, the Greyhound pulled up to invite her onboard with open doors. There weren’t many riders. However, all eyes were on her as she scanned for just the right seat for the trip. The door closed, starting her on the journey of discovery.

  A taxi ride after the bus and now she crossed the threshold of the banking institution holding Moot’s loan. She was immediately doused with the regrets. It took a little finagling to shove all of her private anxiety back into hiding. Her mind had to be clear for this meeting.

  “I’d like to see the manager,” Sharlene requested once reaching the receptionist’s desk.

  The younger woman answered, “I’m sure one of the representatives can help.”

  Sharlene smiled sweetly and agreed. “I’m sure they could. But they’d end up referring me to the manger, anyway. So I’d like to cut to the chase.”

  The receptionist gave in, made the call, and a stone-faced man materialized.

  “May I help you?”

  “Are you the branch manager?”

  “I am.”

  “My name is Sharlene Mouton. I’m here on behalf of my uncle.”

  “Won’t you come this way, Miss Mouton?” He ushered her into his office behind a glass partition. “I’m Mr. Palmer. Won’t you have a seat?”

  “Thank you for seeing me.” She sat to withdraw the envelope from her bag. “I believe you’re in violation of the law, Mr. Palmer.”

  He reached for the extended papers. “I’m sure you’re mistaken, Ms. Mouton.”

  “Mr. Palmer, I don’t have a lot of time. It took me two hours to get here. And I know your time is valuable.” She waited, watching as he scanned the pages. “Melvin Mouton’s livelihood was impacted by the Gulf oil spill. He made timely payments prior to that fiasco.”

  He looked up but remained mute.

  “I’m here to cover his past-due payments and request an extension.”

  Walking around his desk, the banker responded, “The circumstances are unfortunate, Ms. Mouton. Lots of people are in the same shape as your uncle. We’re not in a position to give preferential treatment no matter how tempting.” He laid the notification on the desk in front of her.

  “Take a closer look at the date.” He reclaimed the pages. “The new disclosure law went into effect before the issuance of this notice of default.” His grotesque expression said he realized he had a big problem. “What you’re holding in your hand borders on predatory lending practices, Mr. Palmer.”

  “Miss Mouton, our bank didn’t create the problem—”

  “I’m aware who’s at fault, Mr. Palmer,” she interrupted, her mind swinging to Drake and back to the problem at hand. “I hope you and I can bring this to a reasonable conclusion that benefits everyone involved.”

  “I can see your point,” he admitted. “Let me see what can be done to correct this.” He rose and started to the doorway.

  “My papers, please.” She wasn’t about to lose the only proof she had.

  “Wait here.”

  Watching him go, Sharlene’s mind traipsed back to the real culprits.

  * * * *

  Drake held down a seat at the impromptu meeting in the conference room. Getting summoned at the end of his day was just what he needed on a Friday evening. Voices droned on and on with insignificant complaints directed at media bias. According to the public-relations officer speaking, the oil company was getting hammered, not only by print and visual, but by the blogosphere, as well.

  Drake squirmed in his chair, disinterested.

  “Who is this BayouBaby, anyway?”

  A member corrected, “BayouBabe99er.”

  The tone of the question held such animosity it got Drake’s undivided attention. Still, it was the screen name that jerked his thoughts elsewhere.

  “This blogger is singlehandedly stoking the fires with posts critical of our management of this problem. Like we controlled the mechanical operations of that rig! There was a failure. But it wasn’t ours!” The speaker’s jowls sagged. “Find her. Now!”

  “Do we know she’s really a she?” Drake pitched out his theory. “Could be a male hiding behind the name to avoid detection.” All in the room seemed to consider the possibility, evident by their thoughtful stares and shaking heads.

  “He…she, I don’t care! Put a stop to it!” The man in charge punctuated the command by stomping out of the room.

  Everyone took his departure as a dismissal, except Drake. He propped his elbows on the table as he sieved through the tidbits that mattered to him. Typing in the name provided, his cell phone’s browser came back with a surprising list of results. He spent the next few minutes reading the posts and subsequent comments. In the midst of his concern was laughter at her thinly disguised referral to him.

  His broad view narrowed. He was on his feet, practically running to his office for the mad dash to the village. From what he read, there was nothing libelous in the posts. Basically, they were simply uncomplimentary. His keys rattled as he swept his office with his eyes before leaving.

  * * * *

  Sharlene sat, victorious, and scanned the countryside from her bus seat. She felt like she could take on the world. A plan formed in her mind based on the success of her venture. Empowerment flowed in her veins. Maybe, it was her calling to help residents navigate the red tape. It paid zero in monetary benefits. On the other hand, the payment yielded was the potential for a humongous euphoric dividend.

  Chapter Eight

  Drake missed Sharlene the other day, which was why he waited his turn in line for an audience. People milled outside of Clyde’s to have their turn at her expertise. She reviewed documents with true diligence to recommend a course of action. Simply put, a large number of the public wasn’t aware the consumers had added protection against the overreach of some in the lending community. She provided them a starting point to have loans reevaluated.

  Finally, it was his turn to stand at her table. She graced him with the smile she shared so freely. It dismantled all of his defenses. The course he charted to call her out became difficult to maintain.

  “Got a few minutes to take a break?”

  “Why not?” I’m finished for the day.” Stuffing her case, she invited, “Walk with me.”

  They left Clyde’s to stroll the quiet street to Moot’s truck. Sharlene stored her things and led him down to the water’s edge. “You look troubled, Drake. Have you gotten the results back?”

  “Not yet.” He guided her to another area lined with benches where he brushed at the dust with his hands before she sat.

  “It’s beautiful out here today. Wish I was on the boat with Uncle Moot.”

  Drake claimed Sharlene’s hand. The contact triggered a rush in his bloodstream. “I’m concerned about you.”

  “Me?” She wiggled her hand free. “Why?”

  “BayouBabe99er.”

  “What?” Her shock was undeniable.

  “Are you BayouBabe99er?”

  “What’s a—what was it? Bayou babe—”

  Drake saw skills in the way she smiled at him while keeping the surprise off her face, even if it did come across in her question.

  “Don’t act innocent with me, Sharlene.” Drake’s expression was stern. “Okay. If that’s the way you want to play,” he began. “Whoever she is…they’re launching a crusade to stop the blogging.”

  * * * *

  What Drake shared was very interesting to her. “Should this bayou booby be worried?” She snickered.

  “This isn’t a joke.” His eyes were coal black and hard-looking. “They’ll devour you faster than any alligator in the swamp.” He left her sitting with a stunned expression when he stomped to the railing.

  “Last time I looked…this was still a free country.” Sharlene missed when their conversation took such a personal turn. She
approached him while noting the darkening clouds on the horizon rolling their way. “I believe you’ve veered from the true reason you’re in the village, Drake. And that’s to help the people here.”

  He faced her.

  “That includes you.” Drake’s voice was low and husky, hinting at intimacy.

  She looked up at him. “You didn’t think that a few days ago.”

  “I was wrong for that. I apologize.” A stray raindrop landed on her cheek. He took it upon himself to smooth it away with his pointer finger.

  The gentleness of his touch tripped her heart. The time for a man to make her knees tremble was in the past. She refused to get trapped into falling for that tingly feeling, especially when someone who looked to be only several years older than her daughters brought it on. Sharlene pretended indifference.

  “You guessed right,” she admitted. “I’m BayouBabe99er.” She threw that smile on him. “What gave me away?”

  Drake grunted. “Moot’s boat is named—what? BayouBabe, right? How long have you been unemployed?”

  “Too much?”

  “Just a bit.”

  They spent quite awhile on the dock—just talking. The longer they shared stories, the deeper the infatuation that took hold. It took nature to break up their little tête-à-tête with a sudden deluge that sent them running for cover. Once up the hill, Drake broke toward Clyde’s. Sharlene took off in the opposite direction, heading for the truck.

  Drake stopped. “Where are you going?” he called over his shoulder.

  “Home.” Sharlene thought it best to call it a day. Drake was dangerous to her well-being, for he awakened feelings she had managed to subdue for years.

  “But we need to decide what—”

  “Drake, there is no we. I can take care of myself.” She took off again as the raindrops got bigger. Her voice drifted on the breeze. “You just take care of the people.”

  She threw herself under the wheel to quickly turn the key in the ignition for the getaway. It finally happened. The truck refused to start. Not a whine or even a groan from the engine. Sharlene looked at the heavy rain sheeting the windshield. “Great!”