Seven Day Fiance: A Love and Games Novel (Entangled Bliss)
Page 7
Cane may think he’s Cajun, but Cajun country’s gonna rock his world.
She glanced at her fiancé for the week. For all her stress about acting the part, she deserved a freaking Oscar for her performance during the ride. Pretending Cane’s kiss hadn’t knocked her silly or melted her into a puddle of goo on the floorboard of his truck had required skills Angie hadn’t known she had. Forget about passion scaring the crap out of her or being utterly out of her league sexually. If that was what she’d been missing, then sign her up for more. A whole lot more. She wasn’t breaking out the lingerie, and there was no way in Hades she was ready to do the nasty, but those kisses were mighty fine. As long as she kept that line between charade and emotion in place and her fool mouth from practically declaring her virginity in the process, she was good to go.
Cane caught her staring and sent a flirty wink. Busted.
Flinching, Angelle dropped her gaze, digging the scuffed toe of her cowboy boot into the soft grass, hoping with everything in her that he hadn’t also read her thoughts.
“Petite fille, you gonna grin at the ground all day, or are ya gonna give your mama a kiss?”
Laughing, she raised her head and squinted into the sun. “Well, it is a pretty fine patch of ground.” Her mother smiled as Angelle ambled across the driveway and made her way up the weathered steps. She leaned down to hug the woman’s neck. “Hey, Mama.”
Angie could be eighty years old with grandchildren of her own and the tiny dynamo holding court on the church pew would always be Mama. And the salt-and-pepper lovable grump beside her would always be Daddy. When she turned, he stood and pulled her into his strong, Old Spice–scented arms. Angie blinked back tears. Why had she stayed away for so long?
Reining in her emotions, knowing everyone was watching, she nodded toward the sea of faces scattered around the yard. “Did you declare my homecoming a town holiday? Because if not, I think some of your good people are playing hooky.”
The beloved mayor puffed up his chest, but she caught the twinkle in his eyes. “Don’t you talk about my constituents, petite fille. These good people missed you, yeah.” He looked away and cleared his throat. “So have we.”
Seeing the solid, stoic man get sentimental nearly broke the dam on those tears she’d blinked back. “I missed you, too, Daddy.”
They stared at each other for a long moment, him tight-lipped and nodding, her losing the war on her emotions. Luckily, a familiar voice cut in saying, “Little Red, ain’t nobody was missing this show.”
Angelle spun around with a squeal, causing her gathered aunts, uncles, and cousins to laugh as she raced forward. Lacey Sonnier, her blond-haired pixie other half, hopped off the porch railing. Growing up, they’d been thick as thieves, spying on their brothers, telling tales in the stables. Their marathon phone sessions grew less frequent after the first few months in Magnolia Springs, and a punch of regret hit Angie’s chest for not keeping in better touch.
Wrapping her in an enthusiastic hug, Lacey twirled her around, plopped her back on the ground, and announced, “Our Cracklin Queen’s returned!”
With only a slight wince—she was mostly used to her cousin’s antics by now—Angelle rolled her eyes. “And ready to pass along the title,” she muttered with a laugh. She had nothing against the honor, other than the requirement of eating her weight in fried pork fat. It just felt like one more tie to the old Angie. The girl she was trying so hard to leave behind.
Lacey grinned. “Honestly, Little Red, you didn’t think you could sneak back and not stir up the phone tree, now did you? You’re the hottest piece of gossip this town’s seen in years, and everybody wants in on it.” A heavy footfall came from the steps, and her blond eyebrows flew toward her hairline. The buzz of conversation around them ceased. “Especially when the gossip looks like that.”
Angelle couldn’t believe it. Just that fast, the enormous lie she’d told had slipped her mind. Memories of her and Lacey pranking their older brothers had swept her away so completely that she’d blanked on all the reasons she was here. This wasn’t a simple family reunion. She was a woman on a mission. A mission to prove how fabulous she was doing on her own, and convince her hometown that quiet little Angie had somehow landed the sexy beast standing behind her.
Lacey muttered a string of naughty curses under her breath, utilizing the words holy and hot in ways that made Angelle blush. Or maybe that was the man himself. She turned to smile at her so-called betrothed, and her breath stuttered.
Holy boudin balls, is right.
There was no denying that Cane was scrumptious—and completely out of his element on her family’s weather-beaten porch. There wasn’t one thing that she could point to and say, that’s what targets him as a city boy. It was everything put together.
It was just Cane.
From his sexy, disheveled hair (sans ball cap), to his stubbled jaw and lack of cowboy boots, Cane screamed city. Add in the trademark battered black leather jacket draped over his thick forearm, and you had the epitome of an outsider. Sure, his casual outfit was common enough, but the way Cane wore it made all the difference.
Dark wash jeans rode low on his trim hips. Black cotton hugged the defined muscles of his chest and arms. He held out a large, calloused hand, beckoning her closer, and a hint of a tattoo peeked from beneath the edge of his sleeve. Angelle’s heart thudded.
Mine, she wanted to scream to the row of female cousins creeping closer, even as she darted a glance at her daddy, wondering if he’d spotted the ink. Instead, she swallowed past the lump of nerves lodged in her throat and placed her hand in his. “Everyone, I’d like you to meet Cane Robicheaux.”
His mouth lifted in a slow, devastating grin as he tucked her into his side. A chorus of sharp inhales met the embrace. And when the dimple popped in his left cheek, Angelle heard Lacey mutter, “Oh my.”
Turning back to face her family, Angie added, “My fiancé.”
Three, two, one…
Feet hit the deck as her relatives surged forward. Wood creaked, metal clanked, shoes scuffed. Of course, they knew she was bringing him today, had been scoping him out since the moment they pulled onto the road, but she’d just given the green light for the inquisition.
Her oldest brother, Ryan, reached them first, but Troy and her daddy were right behind. Her parrain, three uncles, and five male cousins followed. All the women watched from afar, but from the looks in their eyes, Angelle knew they were every bit as curious.
Ryan folded his arms across his chest. He narrowed his eyes and lifted his chin, but the man beside her didn’t flinch. Her police officer brother was strong, formidable, and seven years Cane’s senior, but there was no beating her fake fiancé when it came to general bad-assery. After what seemed like a solid minute of silence, Ryan relaxed his stance a fraction, and with a glance at Angelle, held out his hand. “Welcome to the family.”
Happiness and guilt warred in Angie’s gut, but she joined the others in a sigh of relief as the two men shook hands. “Thanks for having me,” Cane replied, and the sincerity in his voice tightened her stomach. For one brief moment, she let herself imagine what it would be like if this were real. Then Troy stepped forward, and Angelle whisked that unhelpful thought away.
Ryan may be the eldest, but Troy was the brother they needed to win over. They were the closest in age, and over the years, he and Brady had become friends. The two men had a lot in common, and they’d counted on being brothers one day. In fact, Angelle was surprised (although thankful) Brady wasn’t standing beside him right now. He must be waiting with the others in the backyard. But Troy’s friendship with her ex, coupled with his need since childhood—especially since Amber died—to stand as Angelle’s protector, made her extremely nervous. She loved her brother. Respected his opinion. And under normal circumstances, his approval would mean everything, along with her daddy’s. But this wasn’t normal. It wasn’t real. Knowing that didn’t make the situation any easier, however. It added a whole new dimension.
Troy’s brow furrowed as if he’d read her thoughts. He probably had, because his own were clear as day on his face—they’d be discussing this later.
Turning back to Cane, he said aloud, “Troy Prejean.” Reaching back, he snagged his wife’s hand. “And this is my wife, Eva.”
As the tall blonde stepped forward, Angie held her breath. The rest of the porch seemed to follow suit. This was it. The moment her brother would or would not give his approval. Troy’s thin lips pressed together and then he said, “Good to meet you.”
Angelle flinched.
Anywhere else in the world and Troy’s greeting probably would’ve been fine. But in the south, in Cajun country, in this situation, that was as close to fighting words as a welcome got. The renewed rigidity of Cane’s spine said he noticed. And he wasn’t the only one.
After Troy, her parrain was up next, followed by her cousins and uncles, each man welcoming Cane and issuing similar statements of cool acceptance. It was unclear whether this was in solidarity to Brady or protecting their Little Red against the big bad city boy. But either way, she and Cane had an uphill climb ahead, and Angelle had no one to blame but herself. By always keeping to the background, following the path others laid out for her, she became the girl everyone looked out for, took care of, and protected. While she appreciated their love, she was now a grown woman. She could make her own choices.
Eventually, all the men fell back. And only Daddy and Papa remained.
Cane glanced at Angelle as the older men stood there, nodding stiffly. It was the first time she’d ever seen the Magnolia Springs playboy nervous. He had a right to be. Troy may prove difficult to win over, but her papere was the patriarch of the family. And the only true path to her family’s acceptance would have to come from her daddy.
And honestly, Angie couldn’t tell what was going on in the man’s head.
He and Brady’s dad were close—the mayor and the chief of police. They were old friends who’d expected to become in-laws. Then there were the unmistakable similarities between Cane and her sister’s ex. But Angelle wasn’t Amber. She wasn’t a teenage girl rebelling against her parents. She was an adult bringing home the man she loved—er, that she wanted her daddy to believe she loved.
Now those dang horseflies were back, dancing the two-step in her belly. She may be a woman, but she was still a “good girl” at heart, and the thought of disappointing her father twisted her insides. Cane squeezed her side as if he could sense her anxiety, and her daddy’s eyes widened a fraction. Lifting his gaze from Cane’s large hand around Angelle’s waist, Daddy looked at Angelle and then at the amassed crowd. Music floated on the wind but the porch was silent, waiting. Cane’s grip tightened.
The familiar mayoral smile slid into place as her daddy stepped forward and slapped Cane on the shoulder. “Hope you’re ready to eat, son.”
Cane’s slightly forced grin returned. “Always, sir.”
…
Angelle’s childhood home reminded Cane of his own. Stained wood, family collages, and crucifixes. Potted plants lined the windowsill, colorful magnets decorated the refrigerator, and warm rugs covered the floor. She’d implied she came from money, but nothing about this house screamed wealth. It was simple, laidback, and well-kept. And it made Cane like the Prejean clan even more. He understood their lukewarm welcome. It made things slightly more difficult, but he admired her brothers in particular for their protectiveness. If Sherry brought home a stranger who looked like him, Cane would be cautious, too. Setting his bag down in what appeared to be Ryan’s former room, he scanned the trophies staggered on the bookshelf and released a breath. The show was on.
After he got the old man’s shoulder slap, Angelle’s mom had led them back here. She’d kindly, but pointedly, explained that they’d be maintaining separate rooms while under her roof, then smiled and offered him a cold drink. Although the sleeping arrangements weren’t conducive to his plans, Cane couldn’t help but smile. The sweet and sassy woman reminded him of his own mother, and he missed her like crazy.
A family picture on the nightstand snagged Cane’s attention. A mud-splattered Ryan sporting a UL Lafayette uniform and holding a football dominated the frame. His smile was wide and carefree—but that’s not what drew Cane’s eye. It was the scrawny redhead perched on his shoulders. Strolling over, Cane picked up the photo with a smile. Angelle couldn’t be more than five or six years old.
On Ryan’s right stood a teenage Troy with his arms extended in the air, his face full of acne. On his left, with one hand on Angelle’s knee and the other flipping off the camera, was a young girl with dyed-black hair and heavy makeup. Even with the gunk, it was obvious she was a Prejean. Her smirk was teasing, her eyes full of laughter, and the love in Angelle’s eyes as she watched her was unmistakable. This was Angelle’s sister. A sibling Cane hadn’t yet met. And if he had to guess, the sibling that had been ten years older.
Cane studied the family dynamic for a few more moments, curious about their history. Wondering if he’d ever find out. He didn’t know Angelle well, but he’d become somewhat of an expert on reading pain. There were ghosts tied to the memories of her sister. Secrets that, if he was right, had changed his favorite redhead…something Cane knew a thing or two about. For now, he wouldn’t push her for details or answers. He’d keep it light and carefree. But he would keep watch.
With a final glance at Angelle’s gap-toothed smile, he returned the photo and then followed the sound of her sultry, whiskey voice down the hall.
“Thank the Lord Mama didn’t ask to help me unpack,” Cane heard Angelle say as he neared her opened door. “I’d have sent her to an early grave.”
Nudging the door wider, he glanced around the room, noticing the frilly lace, collection of stuffed animals, and the fact that she was alone. Cane grinned. “Knock, knock.”
Angelle startled, a fist of purple silk clutched near her heart. Her fair cheeks flushed as she followed his gaze and she quickly spun around, shoving it deep within her suitcase.
So Angelle had packed lingerie for the week. That was promising.
He leaned a shoulder against the doorframe, smiling. “Were you just talking to yourself, sweetheart? I have to say that rosy glow has me wishing I’d kept quiet a little longer. Seems I might’ve liked what I overheard.”
Scowling, she shoved her hand through a section of thick auburn hair. “Nonsense. Despite what the women of Magnolia Springs have caused you to believe, not every thought or conversation revolves around the almighty Cane, you know.”
“I never said it did, darlin’,” he replied with a wink. Her cheeks burned a touch brighter. Call it a hunch, but Cane had a feeling the lady protested too much. And with her making it a point not to look anywhere near his general direction, he figured that was a good thing.
She bit her lip and twirled his mother’s ring.
A very good thing.
With a huff, Angelle turned back to her suitcase and hastily lifted a large pile of clothes from inside. She spun to carry them to the dresser and ended up ramming her foot into the wooden bedpost. “Dang it all!” she cursed. Or what passed for a curse from Angelle.
Face scrunched, knee bent, still avoiding his eyes, she hobbled forward with her chin held high. Having witnessed similar incidents in their ninjitsu class more times than he could count, Cane knew better than to offer any help. Nothing made her madder or more edgy than calling additional attention to her awkward mishaps. So he stood there, fighting a grin, and speculating over what made her so flustered this time.
“You do realize—” She stopped to look at her full hands, then at the closed dresser, and pursed her lips in a frown
. Cane stepped forward and slid open the drawer, and she nodded. “Thank you. You do realize,” she continued, slipping the clothes inside, “that small welcome on the porch was only the beginning, don’t you?”
Her voice held a warning that Cane didn’t understand. The week had just started, and he knew they had plenty of acting left to do—hopefully involving more of that tight little body pressed against his. But from where he’d stood outside, things could have gone a whole lot worse. So he asked, “Huh?”
“That was just the first wave of people,” Angelle explained, bumping the drawer closed with her jean-clad hip. This girl had him so twisted that even that small wiggle got his blood pumping. Cane gritted his teeth. Countless women had waltzed through his life wearing a lot less and trying a lot harder, but all this sweet thing had to do was grin, and he was turned inside out.
“What we have here is a good old-fashioned boucherie,” she declared.
Blinking away visions of taking her on the four-post bed, Cane asked, “A boushe-what?”
“A boucherie,” Angelle said again, this time with a smile. “It’s a pig slaughter, a Cajun country thing. It’s a big to-do, so we normally only hold one for special celebrations, but I guess our homecoming fits the bill. Mama said people have been here since six a.m., butchering, making boudin and grattons and hog head cheese, simmering stews, and smoking chops. And when I say people, Cane, I mean second cousins, third cousins, family friends, and more of my daddy’s constituents. Not to mention Brady and his family. Most of those people are still in the backyard.”
The fact that such an event existed, much less they reserved it for celebrations, was shocking. But not as much as discovering he hadn’t just met the entire population of Bon Terre on her front porch.
Shaking his head, Cane couldn’t help but laugh. “I own a Cajun restaurant. At crawfish boils, my family plays Cajun music. My dad used to speak Cajun-French from time to time, and I can make a mean gumbo with the best of them. I didn’t think it got more Cajun than me. But it looks like this city boy is about to be schooled.”