by Jessie Cooke
He’d been surprised when Sally had left her little house again that night after returning from the Jokers’ clubhouse. He had already settled in for the night to watch her from the boughs of the giant cypress tree in the back yard that provided a clear view right into her bedroom window. He’d already been touching himself just thinking about it and it wasn’t until the sound of the Harley’s engine growled to life that he realized she was leaving again. He’d jumped down and landed too hard on his right ankle, twisting it sideways and cursing too loudly. Thankful that the sound of her bike drowned him out, he limped as quickly as he could around front, just in time to see her driving away. He’d been furious as he hobbled up the street to where he’d parked his old pickup, thinking she was headed back out to the Jokers’ clubhouse, and because he instantly headed that way, he almost missed her.
He turned right on Dauphine and it was only by chance, or fate, as he liked to believe, that he saw the reflection of her bright red gas tank in the window of the Museum of Death as she shot down along the street that ran parallel. More curious than ever now that she wasn’t taking her usual route to the Jokers’ clubhouse, he followed her as closely as he could without giving himself away. It would have gotten harder once she started along the backwoods route to Atchafalaya since there wasn’t much traffic at that time of day...but by then he knew where she was going. He’d known about the cabin for years, and he’d even spent the night there a few times, rolling naked in her bed, and smelling her perfume. He hung way back and by the time he got to the cabin she was already inside. He wouldn’t be able to sit in any of the trees and watch her there...but this was better. He’d taken the key one day and had his own made, so once she went to sleep, he’d be able to slip in and watch her...and it would feel ten times better to shoot his load in the privacy and warmth of the cabin than it did in the tree in the backyard of her little house. He’d had so many orgasms, in so many different places, sometimes with just the memory of what she looked like, or smelled like, on his mind. But lately fate had been more on his side than ever. He’d made friends with one of the Jokers, so he had an inside line...and once he finished bringing Evan “Blackheart” Babineaux to his knees, Sally would be free at last, free to finally give herself to him, heart and soul.
7
Blackheart wadded the note up in his big hand and squeezed, as if trying to squeeze the life out of it. His head was still pounding, and he’d spent over an hour trying to convince the cops that Gabriel had been assaulted while simply helping Le Pirate load some fishing supplies onto one of his shrimping boats. That meant, of course, that as soon as they left, he had to get in touch with the captain of the ship and make sure they offloaded anything they didn’t want the cops to find before they came back into port. That wouldn’t be a problem, but what the cops would be interested in knowing, once they went out and checked out the site at the docks, would be how many shell casings they’d find. The Jokers had unloaded their guns into the darkness, hoping to kill, or at least wound, whoever was shooting at them. They’d looked around when the shooting stopped, but hadn’t found so much as a trace of blood. Blackheart had them pick up what they could find then, but the sun would be up once the cops got out there and they’d have much more of an advantage.
Once the cops left, he’d asked Le Pirate if he wanted to go to the ER too. He’d declined, telling Blackheart that “Miss Sally” had patched him up just fine. When all was settled at the house, Blackheart had gotten on his bike and headed for the hospital. He hadn’t even gotten inside before Le Singe stopped him to let him know that Gabriel was in ICU and there was a guard outside the door. No one would be allowed in who wasn’t immediate family. Which meant that the police wanted to make damned sure they got to talk to Gabriel before anyone else did, to see if his story matched the one Blackheart, Le Pirate, and a few of the other guys they’d talked to had given them. It wasn’t an impossible situation, just another roadblock, adding more to his pounding headache. He sent Le Singe to wake up Gabriel’s grandfather. The old man wasn’t Blackheart’s number one fan, but he loved his grandson and he’d do anything to keep the boy alive and out of jail. They’d have to let the boy’s Paw Paw in to see him and the old man could make sure he knew what to tell the cops when they showed up.
As soon as he was satisfied he’d done all he could for the night, he headed toward Sally’s house. The sun was coming up and Blackheart was so exhausted that holding the Harley up was almost physically impossible by the time he parked it in Sally’s driveway and climbed off. He was surprised to not see her bike, but she did have a little garage that she parked it in sometimes. Not taking the time to check the garage, he’d used his key and let himself in. Sometimes when she was pissed off at him, she’d throw on the chain lock. He’d been relieved to find she hadn’t done that this time. It at least meant she’d let him come in and lie down...if not do what he wanted to do beforehand. Even with all the stress and bullshit that he’d been through that night, he was still horny. But he wasn’t the kind of horny that having one of the club girls get him off was going to satisfy. Watching Sally in her element, bandaging wounds and stitching them up...something about that had always turned him on. Not to mention that just Sally herself did it to him every time he laid eyes on her. He’d loved her since he was twelve years old, and sometimes a man didn’t just need sex...he needed some lovin’.
Of course it took him all of two minutes to find the note she’d left him and realize he wasn’t going to get that. Now he threw the paper across the room and watched it hit the wall and slide down to the floor. If he weren’t so fucking tired, he’d get back on his bike and go find her. He was pretty sure she’d be at the cabin...but he didn’t have that much energy left and he’d probably kill himself or someone else if he tried. Instead, he dug through her medicine cabinet until he found something that looked like it might cut through some of the pain in his head, stripped off his clothes, and buried his big body underneath the blankets on Sally’s little bed. It smelled like her, and if he couldn’t have her, that would have to do.
Sally woke up to the sounds of the swamp outside and she rolled over and stretched and smiled. She’d finally fallen asleep, sometime around sunup. The clock said it was after noon already now and she felt refreshed. She threw back the covers and walked over to the window. She loved not having to worry about neighbors looking in at her. Not that they really could in her little house in the Quarter, unless they walked right up past the trees and ivy and peered inside. But it was still just nice knowing she was the only one out here. Clad in her white cami and matching white cotton shorts, she pushed open the window and took a deep breath of the swamp air. The smell of the nutria from the night before was gone, and all she could smell now was sweet cypress blossoms and the gentle fragrance of the menagerie of critters that lived in the swamp. Calm settled over her and as she turned from the window and headed into the kitchen to make her coffee, she wondered why she didn’t do this more often. She might be more productive and be able to tolerate her job better if she got away more. Peace was what her soul needed, and more often than not when she was within an arm’s reach of Blackheart or the club, it was absolutely not what her soul got.
Sally made her coffee and then slid on a pair of slippers and took it out onto the front porch to drink. The sun was already high and hot, but the shade of the trees all around her made it bearable. She sat down in one of the rocking chairs, curled her feet up underneath her, and sipped the warm magic potion from her cup. For just a second, she closed her eyes and let her other senses take over. Like an animal, or maybe a blind human, she smelled something unfamiliar before opening her eyes and seeing the man standing there looking at her. Startled, she let out a little cry, jumped to her feet, and spilled the hot coffee down her leg. “Fuck! Jesus!” The man was holding a fishing pole in one hand and a tackle box in the other. He dropped them both and ran up onto the porch, pulling his flannel shirt off as he did.
“Here, use this,” he told her. Fro
wning at him, Sally took the shirt and wiped at the still burning liquid all over her leg. When she finally had it dried off and it had stopped burning, for the most part, she turned the frown back on the man.
“Who the hell are you? Why are you out here sneaking around?”
The man smiled. He was about her age, maybe a little younger, and although she was angry with him and suspicious, she couldn’t help but notice how attractive he was. He had dark brown, wavy hair that was cut like a man who wore suits to work every day might wear it, and big, chocolate brown eyes with lashes that would make a supermodel jealous. He wasn’t tall for a man, maybe 5'9" or 10, but in the white t-shirt he wore now that he’d given her his overshirt, she could see that his muscles were tight and cut. He had a tattoo sticking out of the sleeve of one arm. She couldn’t see all of it, but she did see the “Semper Fi” across the bottom. He was a Marine...at least at one time. “I’m sorry I scared you,” he said. “I was as startled to see you as you were me.”
“You were the one on my property staring at me, so I doubt that,” she said. His eyes fell to her chest, just for a second, but she was suddenly self-conscious. The shirt she was wearing was thin and didn’t leave much to the imagination. Holding the shirt he’d given her across her chest she said, “And I’d thank you to keep your eyes up here.”
He chuckled then. “I’m sorry, miss. I didn’t even realize what I was doing. But as I was saying, I was surprised to see you. I come out here fishing a couple times a month and I’d never run across another living soul out here before.”
“You were fishing?” she said, suspiciously.
“Yes, ma’am. I’ve been out since dawn.”
“Where’s your fish?”
He chuckled again. “I didn’t catch anything worth keeping today. I usually don’t. I’m not very good at this.”
“Yet here you are, trudging around the swamp like gator bait.”
That time he actually laughed. It was a rich hearty laugh, and in spite of herself, she liked the sound of it. “I never come out here without packing heat,” he said. “I’m not up for wrestling any gators.” For some reason that made Sally think about Evan. His father had taught him how to wrestle gators when he was just a boy, and Sally had watched him do it on many occasions. Evan didn’t sell them for meat the way his father had. He only messed with them if they needed to be relocated because they were terrorizing his club, or someone he cared about. Usually he put them back out into the swamp, just far away from any humans. Sometimes he’d take them to the gator ranch two parishes over, the same one his father sold gators to, back in the day. On at least one occasion he’d had to kill one that was just too stubborn to see things his way. That one was over 7 feet long and hung on the wall in his office. Sally often thought maybe the gator was a sign to anyone who thought about messing with him that he’d already slain a giant. Realizing she’d been silent a long time, suddenly, she looked at the man again and said:
“I can’t blame you for that. But this is private property.”
“I know,” he said. “It used to belong to a friend of mine.”
Sally’s Paw Paw had owned the land for over fifty years and before that, his paw had owned it, and his before that...the man was lying and if there was one thing Sally hated, it was a liar. Cocking an eyebrow at him she said, “Oh, really?”
“Yep. His name was Andre Guidry, coolest old man I ever met.”
Sally frowned at him again. There was no way her Paw Paw had a friend she’d never met, and he didn’t commonly hang out with people forty years younger than him either. What is this guy trying to pull? “What’s your name?” she asked.
“Oh, forgive my terrible manners,” he said. Holding out his hand he told her, “I’m Lucien Williams.” Sally didn’t take his hand. She continued clutching the shirt to her chest and said:
“So tell me, Lucien, how did you know my Paw Paw?”
He dropped his hand and his brown eyes widened. “You’re Sally? Oh my goodness! I guess I should have known. Andre talked about how beautiful you were all the time. Damn...he was right.”
“Okay, that’s enough,” she said. Lucien looked surprised and she went on, “My grandfather didn’t have many friends and he certainly didn’t run with men his granddaughter’s age that looked like they should be wearing a three-piece suit and sitting behind a desk somewhere. My grandfather was...”
“An eccentric, superstitious old coot who believed in magic...black magic to be more precise,” Lucien finished for her. She narrowed her eyes at him and said:
“Why have I never seen or heard of you?”
“Well, first of all, you’re right. I usually do wear three-piece suits and sit behind a desk. I own a consulting business in N’awlings.” “N’awlings” was the first thing he said that even sounded like he was from the south. He was definitely not Cajun, the name “Lucien” notwithstanding. His speech was very articulate and borderline formal. It was almost foreign to Sally’s ears because she heard anything other than deep south or Cajun so rarely. She realized he was still talking and pulled herself out of her thoughts to listen. “When I was a kid, my family used to rent a cabin out here every summer vacation for a few weeks.” He paused and looked at her, almost like he was waiting for her to say something, but when she didn’t he went on. “Anyways, I ran into your Paw Paw one day when I was out fishing alone. I was just about sixteen then, I think. He was a funny old man and we fished together and the next two years after when we came back for vacation, I’d visit him. He talked about you a lot. He was really proud of you.”
“I’m sorry,” Sally said, still slightly suspicious. “He never mentioned you.”
“Well, maybe I’m pushing it when I say we were friends. I thought a lot of him, but I was probably just some pain-in-the-ass kid to him that asked too many questions and disturbed his peace. I was heartbroken when I got home from overseas and realized he’d passed away not long after I joined the Marines and shipped out. I thought about contacting you, to give you my condolences, but I was afraid that might be just too weird, considering I was a complete stranger. He just talked about you so much that I almost felt like I knew you,” he said, with what looked like a genuine smile.
Sally had been away at nursing school when her Paw Paw first got sick. The doctor had called her to come home and she’d taken a semester off to be there to look after him until he passed away. She’d gone back to school for almost a year after that...so, she supposed it was possible her Paw Paw had made a friend while she was gone...but trusting didn’t come easily for her. Lucien was watching her face closely, but he waited and let her process what he was saying. Finally she said, “Okay then, I apologize for jumping down your throat. But this is still private property...”
Lucien held up his hands, palms out. “You’re right, and I’m sorry. Your Paw Paw and I used to meet out here on some Sunday mornings, and honestly, those were some of the best days of my life. I miss him. I know I shouldn’t be out here without permission and I apologize for disturbing you. I’ll go now...you’re okay, though, right? I mean your leg, it’s not burned too badly? I feel terrible.”
Sally looked down at her leg. It wasn’t even red any longer, just a light pink color in places. It wouldn’t even blister; she was fine. “I’m okay,” she said. “And don’t feel too bad, sometimes I spill coffee on myself when I’m all alone and sitting on a flat surface.” He smiled and once again she thought about how attractive he was. “And you know what? I don’t care if you want to fish here. If it was okay with Paw Paw, that’s good enough for me.” Sally didn’t like being so suspicious of people. It came from growing up poor on the bayou, always having to worry about what the men’s intentions were when they approached her. Then it had only gotten worse from years of hanging around the Jokers. They were the most suspicious lot she’d ever met, Evan especially.
“Thank you, you don’t know how much that means to me. I’m really glad to have gotten to meet you, finally, Sally. You’re everything A
ndre said you were, and I’m honored. But I’ll get out of your way. I’m sure you didn’t come all the way out here to be bothered by the likes of me.” Sally wouldn’t know what came over her when she thought about it later...most likely it was the muscles and the deep brown eyes...but suddenly she heard herself saying:
“You know what? I just made a pot of coffee. Would you like a cup?”
Lucien’s eyes lit up and that sexy smile was back. “You have no idea how much I’d love that, Sally.”
8
One Week Later
Blackheart gently nudged the petite woman out from between his legs, tucked himself in, and zipped up his jeans. Le Singe had just walked in, and he hadn’t been enjoying the BJ much anyway, or he wouldn’t have even cared they had an audience.
“Thank you, ma petit, excuse us now.”
The young woman smiled at him, shyly. She was new around the club and today had been Blackheart’s first taste of her. He wasn’t sure if she wasn’t very experienced, wasn’t very good, or if the fact that he couldn’t get his mind off Sally was just getting in the way of everything lately, even getting off. He waited for the woman to leave the room before looking at Le Singe and saying, “Did you find her?”
“She was at home, boss.” He sat down in the chair on the other side of the desk and Blackheart could tell by the look on his VP’s face that was as much as he wanted to say, but he waited because he knew the rest would come. “She said she’s not wearing one of your patches and she doesn’t answer to you.” Blackheart had left her several messages that week, and he’d even sent some of the younger guys out to tell her he needed to talk to her. He’d been overwhelmingly busy, or he’d have gone himself...and he’d been getting progressively more pissed each time Sally refused to answer one of his calls or come out to the club. He’d finally sent Le Singe because he and Sally had a pretty good relationship. He thought if anyone could talk her into coming out, it would be his VP.