Tall Dark Stranger (Cajun Cowboys Book 1)
Page 2
His mind a muddle of conflicting thoughts and dire images, Joe said, "You know about the trouble between our families, and nothing's changed. They don't even know I've been seein' Anne."
"They do now. There were a half dozen photos of the two of you in her wallet and more on her cell phone."
"Why would she leave her handbag in the car?" Joe asked.
"She probably didn't have time to grab it. Flood waters washed out a section of highway and she could've been swept away by the force of the water when she got out."
"Swept away by the force…" Joe's words faded off.
And that's when the reality of what happened hit him. His last thought was of lowering himself into a chair as the room began to swirl around him.
CHAPTER 2
Broussard Ranch, six months later
Joe scanned a public notice posted in the newspaper the week before, a petition the Harrisons filed, waiving Louisiana's five-year waiting period to declare dead someone who'd been missing and whose body may not be recovered because of extenuating circumstances. Being exposed to imminent peril was the legal jargon. In Anne's case, it would be drowning in flood waters and being swept away, her body unlikely to be found because of the unthinkable no one talked about. Alligators.
The Harrisons were petitioning the court to declare Anne legally dead so they could put a plaque on their private family vault, which would also end further searching. But Joe was in no way ready to give up and quit looking. He was even considering coming forward and claiming he was the father of her unborn child, and protest declaring her dead just to keep the search going.
"It's been six months," Ace said, seeing Joe studying the notice for the umpteenth time. "Protesting would only drag things out and you'd have the Harrisons breathin' down your back. Besides, it would bring closure and you could get your life back together."
Joe knew Ace meant well, but there was no getting his life back together. There would always be a gaping void that Anne once filled.
He set the newspaper aside. "We have a two-and-a-half hour drive ahead of us so let's get goin' or we'll miss seeing the mare race." He knew he was cutting off further discussion with Ace about declaring Anne dead, but that's the way it had to be, for now.
When they stepped onto the front porch, Joe looked across the grounds to where his grandfather was directing things. The place was abuzz with activity as Cajuns from around the area, who'd attended Saturday mass the day before so they could help set up for the Sunday match races, dragged the giant barbecue grill out from under its wooden shed to its place of honor on a concrete pad. Several people were setting up folding tables and chairs under a canvas pavilion, while others swept out the barn where, by afternoon, Joe's father and brothers would have people hopping and dancing to syncopated melodies and the hot pulsing rhythm of Cajun music.
Catching sight of Anne's father, who was standing on the dirt road separating the cane field from the property line, Joe noticed that he was taking pictures with his cell phone, although nothing their grandfather was doing crossed parish restriction lines, except possibly the two men standing with their heads together, pads and pens in their hands, probably making bets.
Deciding not to give Charles Harrison any fodder for shutting down his grandfather's favorite weekend activity, Joe scurried down the porch stairs, and walking over to where his grandfather stood, snagged his arm before he could turn away and said, "Pépère, you might want to break up the betting between Bish LeBlanc and Firmin Landry." He gestured to where the men stood. "Harrison's takin' pictures."
Henri Broussard looked to where Charles Harrison stood with his cell phone aimed at Bish and Firmin, and said, "Harrison can go to the devil."
"True, but you might not want him takin' your favorite Sunday pastime with him," Joe replied.
"Firmin and Bish might be uppin' the ante, but they already placed their official bets last Friday," Henri said, referring to his regular Friday-night potluck where the closed community came together to eat, drink, and place bets on a big chalkboard in the barn in anticipation of the upcoming Sunday races at a place everyone now jokingly referred to as Broussard Downs.
Joe eyed the racetrack, a two-lane, quarter mile, fenced-in straightaway divided by a wooden rail so horses could run flat out without bumping into each other and throwing their riders. "Suit yourself. Meanwhile, Ace and I are headin' for the Fair Grounds to watch a thoroughbred mare run. She's got a sister, a yearling filly my brothers and I are thinkin' about buyin'. Her sire, Heesawarrior, is the all-time leading money earner in Louisiana."
Joe's grandfather looked across the recently-harvested cane field, where in the distance stood the two-storied plantation house the Harrison family had owned for several generations. With its wrap-around veranda and row of white columns, the house stood like a sentinel over the training track that separated it from the large horse stable. "You boys tryin' to keep up with what's goin' on over there with the thoroughbreds?" he asked, his tone reflecting his animosity
Joe followed the direction of his grandfather's gaze. "No, we're interested in pinhooking. We'll sell the filly for a quick profit in a claiming race as a two-year old in training."
Henri Broussard let out a derisive grunt. "Forget thoroughbreds. Y'all get yourselves a good quarter horse like Miss Maple and you'll have somethin'. Muddy tracks. Fast Tracks. It didn’t matter. All Miss Maple knew how to do was run and she never let anything outrun her. One match in Mississippi where she'd be racin' against a champion Quarter Horse, we matched for a lot of money, five or ten thousand on the race. Odds were against her so I knew there was gonna be a war after the race since I'd be takin' their money, so I told my jockey and handler when Miss Maple crossed the finish line to forget about the winner's circle, just leave the track, get her into the trailer and head out. That's how good she was."
"Okay, if we find another Miss Maple we'll buy her too," Joe said. "Meanwhile, I've gotta get goin'." Giving his grandfather an affectionate pat on the shoulder, he turned and went to join Ace, who was waiting in his truck.
Three hours later, Joe stood with Ace in the middle of a sea of people, all nudging their way toward the railing, while several thousand lucky souls took their reserved seats on bleachers inside the glass-enclosed building of the Fair Grounds race track in New Orleans. Sheesalady, the filly they came to watch, and the only filly in the race, was moving into the starting gate. She was a big chestnut filly, over seventeen hands high, with an unbeaten track record, and from the way she pranced toward the starting gate she was raring to go.
He felt a little buzz of excitement, which surprised him. For months he'd felt dead inside, like an automaton, going through the motion of moving cattle and working horses and all the usual activities ranch life demanded, but there had been no joy in anything. Although the idea of investing in a thoroughbred had been Ace's from the start, it would be, in an odd sense, a thread of connection to Anne, whose family had been breeding racing thoroughbreds for decades. But that invisible thread was the only connection.
At the sound of the starting bell the horses took off, accompanied by the announcer's excited voice yelling, "And they're off. Zydeco Cat takes an early lead. On the inside is Taking No Chances with Triple Trouble right there. Outrageous Fortune on the outside, Match Play three lengths back, and Sheesalady is dead last at eleven lengths off the leaders."
Joe eyed the long string of horses, in dismay. "You mean we drove two-and-a-half hours for this?" he said to Ace.
"Sheesalady always starts off last," Ace claimed. "Just keep watchin'. You won't be disappointed. Guaranteed."
Over the roar of an excited crowd, the announcer yelled, "They're at the three-quarter pole now and it's Zydeco Cat still in the lead, Match Play now goes second, Taking No Chances third, Outrageous Fortune forth, Triple Trouble fifth, and Sheesalady still dead last, ten or eleven lengths off the leaders."
Joe gave a dry huff. "I'm watching. Sheesalady better have wings on her hooves to win this race."
"She'll need it." Joe was beginning to think Pépère was right. Stick to quarter horses.
"They're at the half-mile pole now," the announcer cut into Joe's cynical thoughts, and after a rundown of the positions of the horses, he ended with, "… and Sheesalady still dead last with a lot of ground to make up if she expects to beat the boys. If she wins this she'll be a super filly."
Across the infield, and while heading into the far turn, Sheesalady began moving up, at which point the announcer said, "They're coming around the final turn and into the home stretch, and let's see… Sheesalady's starting to pick them off though. Sheesalady moving up to the outside, and it's Zydeco Cat, Match Play, Taking No Chances, Triple Trouble, Outrageous Fortune, and Sheesalady coming flying on the grandstand side, lengthening her strides and moving past Outrageous Fortune and Triple Trouble… And now she's soaring past Taking No Chances and Match Play, and there she goes past Zydeco Cat. This is un… be… lieve… able!! Sheesalady's leaving the boys in the dust. What a performance. Looked impossible but it's Sheesalady. Still unbeaten!" the announcer yelled as Sheesalady crossed the finish line nearly a length ahead of the others.
The crowd was ecstatic, clapping, cheering, waving Sheesalady Female Power banners, the announcer’s voice reverberating through the stadium. But in the midst of the deafening roar, Ace nudged Joe and said while pointing, "That woman over there. She looks like Anne."
Joe immediately turned his attention to a woman standing not more than twenty feet away, her hand on a section of wire fencing, staring off as if in deep thought, while around her the crowd was pumped up with excitement. "My God," he said, as adrenaline rushed through him, even while his mind told him it couldn't be Anne because the woman at the fence was 150 miles from where Anne disappeared. Still, he elbowed his way toward her, and before he could stop himself, he touched the woman on the shoulder and said, "Anne?"
The woman turned with a start, then fixing him with a pair of blue eyes that showed no sign of recognition, she said, "My name isn't Anne." Before she removed her hand from the fencing, Joe caught the glint of gold on her finger. His eyes fixed on a ring made of two parallel and connected gold cords that twisted to form a lover's knot, a ring he'd given to Anne, which she wore on her right hand, leading her family to believe she'd bought it for herself.
"It is you." Joe again looked at a face devoid of familiarity.
By now Ace was at his side, also staring in disbelief. "It's impossible?"
The woman backed away. "I'm sorry, but you've mistaken me for someone else." She turned abruptly and started walking off.
"Wait," Joe called out, still stunned at finding Anne alive, yet bewildered because she didn't seem to know him. When she continued walking he started after her, not wanting to lose her again, yet not knowing what to do if she refused to talk to him, for whatever reason.
Ace caught up, matching Joe's long strides. "You said she was worried about tellin' her parents you two were gettin' married. Maybe she faked her death and she's actin' like she doesn't know you?"
"She wasn't that worried. Besides, the night she disappeared she was in a car with Joyce Frye and Joyce drowned. That would be pretty hard to fake. Maybe she lost her memory."
"That doesn't explain how she managed to end up here," Ace said. "Her purse and wallet were in the car so there's still the logistics of travelin' across the state with no money."
"There was a lot of chaos and confusion during the flood, with rescue crews pickin' up people and takin' them to shelters," Joe said. "For now, I just wanna follow her to wherever she lives and try to find out what's goin' on."
As they approached the entrance to the Fair Grounds, just outside the gates stood a woman with a baby in her arms, and Anne headed straight for the woman.
"The baby," Joe said under his breath, feeling another rush of adrenaline as it came to him that Anne would have had the baby by now. Their son.
An instant later, Anne reached out and took the baby from the woman, and when they turned as if heading for a car, Joe quickened his pace and called out, "Anne, wait!"
Anne stopped and turned, but now she looked annoyed. "I told you before my name isn't Anne. Now, please leave me alone."
When she turned to continue, the woman with her placed her hand on Anne's arm to stop her, then eyeing Joe with a combination of curiosity and wariness, she said, "Do you know her?"
"Yes," Joe replied. "Her name is Anne Harrison and I'm Joe Broussard, the father of her son. Anne's my fiancée and she's been missing since the flood."
The woman eyed him guardedly. "Missing from where?"
"Lafayette. She had an apartment there, but she was about to marry me and move into my house on our ranch south of Abbeville. The car she was riding in left the road near Morgan City and ended up half submerged. They found the car with the body of the driver pinned behind the wheel, but the passenger door was open and Anne's been missing ever since. She was five months pregnant at the time."
The woman with Anne said, "I'm not doubting you're who you claim to be, but… umm, Anne, you say her name is, has been struggling with amnesia for months. Do you have any proof with you, something that could trigger her memory?"
"I have photos of Anne and me together." After retrieving his cell phone and pulling up a series of photos, Joe handed his phone to the woman, who fixed her eyes on the screen as she swiped through the photos they'd taken of themselves at a park shortly before Anne disappeared.
It was the day Anne learned she was having a boy, who they planned to name Joseph Beausoleil Broussard in honor of one of his ancestral grandfathers, the Acadian freedom fighter who in the mid-1700s led a group of Acadian exiles to Louisiana after the British drove them off their land and burned their homes. The photos showed Anne laughing in irony that whereas her father's family proudly descended from Brigadier-General Charles Lawrence, best known for overseeing the expulsion of the Acadians from Nova Scotia in what was termed the Le Grand Dérangement, now a little baby Cajun boy would take his place in the Harrison family tree, much to her family's mortification, Anne had delighted that day, with a touch of black humor.
As the woman continued to look at the photos, realization began to dawn. "I think we have the missing pieces to your puzzle," she said to Anne. "Take a look at these." She took the baby from Anne and handed her the phone.
While Anne scanned the photos, Joe stared at his son. It was almost incomprehensible, after months of a living hell while believing Anne was dead, to find her alive, and with their son. The Harrisons knew nothing of their grandson. Learning he and Anne had been seeing each other, on the same night they learned she might have drowned, had the family imploding, and he saw no reason to mention the baby. He didn't want to mention him. Their son had been a result of the consummation of their love and he'd wanted that memory to be his alone.
Focusing his attention on Anne again, he watched her face as she perused the photos, all the while searching for some sign of recollection in her eyes, but when she returned the phone to him she said, "I'm sorry, but I still don't feel like I know you."
"But you're wearing the ring I gave you. It has our initials, JB to AH, inside, right?"
When Anne nodded, the woman said to Joe, "My name is Karen Redman, and I think you should follow us to my house where we can talk. Anne lives with me."
Joe had an almost uncontrollable urge to pull Anne into his arms, afraid if she left with this woman, he'd lose her again. Even though he'd given her proof he was the father of her child, Anne still viewed him as a stranger, so he had little time to convince her to trust him enough to return home with him. "Give us a minute to get our truck and we'll be right behind you."
***
"Doesn't the name, Anne Harrison, trigger any memories at all?" Karen asked Anne as they drove to the house.
Anne shook her head. "I feel like I'm Julia Hanks now." She'd seen the names Julia Roberts and Tom Hanks on a Larry Crowne movi
e poster behind a glass in the front of a theater, and the combination gave her the names she and Tommy had been using.
"What about the photos?" Karen asked. "They must have sparked something. It's obvious they're photos of the two of you together."
Anne reflected on the images, scenes of two people laughing and enjoying each other's company, and the woman in the photo was definitely her. "I'm not questioning it was me with that man, but it was like looking at photos of myself with a stranger."
"He might seem like a stranger, but it's obvious he's Tommy's father. There's something about their brows that are alike, both have dark hair and eyes, and Tommy even has the man's clef in his chin."
"I'm not questioning that either," Anne said. "It just doesn't seem real, after months of living in a memory vacuum to find someone with a connection to my past."
She also had a ring on her finger with initials she'd stared at for lengthy periods of time while trying to remember a name, or a face, or anything of the man who'd fathered her unborn child. It had haunted her from the moment she came to an awareness that she was in a homeless shelter in a strange city, with no memory of who she was or how she got there, and with a protruding belly reminding her she was pregnant, but the memories of the man who'd fathered her child had remained hidden in the dark recesses in her mind.
"His story sounds credible," Karen said, "and knowing you turned up missing during the flood also fits since they were transporting people from overcrowded shelters in the flooded areas to different cities around the state. The automobile accident also explains the bruises on your face and even your loss of memory. He said the driver of the car drowned, which must have been very traumatic for you if you couldn't have helped her."
"I suppose it was," Anne said. "I just don't remember it."
"Probably because you don't want to," Karen added.
"That's not it at all. I do want to know what happened."
"I'm not talking about your conscious mind. I'm talking about the one that doesn't want to remember, the one that's protecting you from a traumatic experience, like seeing the driver drown, or being beaten up by Tommy's father, like you claimed."