by Smith, C. P.
“While I’m tinkin’ about it, you didn’t get tipped out last night, you run off too quickly,” Rose informed Hope and then pulled out a wad of bills handing it to her. Staring at the money, she was confused, she was sure she’d gotten all her tips the night before. Turning to Rose, Hope tried to tell Rose she’d made a mistake.
“This isn’t—”
“You done good last night, ‘tite ange, take your tips and go have fun.” Before she could protest, Abby grabbed Hope’s purse, handed it to her and started pushing her towards the door. Trying, but failing to explain she would just go home, Hope was surprised at how quickly she’d lost control. Her mouth opened and closed, trying to find words to excuse herself from a night out on the town, but no one would listen. How the hell did this happen Hope wondered as she dragged her feet.
“You girls have fun, have a drink for Maman, you hear?” Hope heard Rose say as Abby pushed her out the backdoor and into the alley.
Abby folded her arm through Hope’s and started walking them towards the street, pulling Hope with her as her feet protested. Going out on the town didn’t seem smart, but she hated to let Abby down, mothers needed a night out every once in a while, she figured. Keeping her mouth shut, Hope decided one drink wouldn’t hurt; she’d just keep her eyes peeled for anyone suspicious. Though, in the crowds of the French Quarter, she felt safe from detection.
As they headed down Frenchman’s street, they kept passing bar after bar. In no hurry to stop it seemed, Abby kept walking and talking about her kids and husband. She explained that she loved them, but they drove her nuts most days, so a night away from them would be just the ticket. What she didn’t do Hope noticed, was stop at a bar. Not knowing the area well, Hope kept quiet and kept listening, laughing and responding in the appropriate places and before she knew it, they were on Decatur Street, and Jackson Square was in view.
She’d toured the square once since arriving but hadn’t had much time to take in the area extensively. Jackson Square was a large park, known for the artist and musicians who shared their craft for tourists. Artists drew their portraits and the musicians performed for tips. It sat directly across from the historic St. Louis Cathedral, with a large statue of Andrew Jackson, the namesake for the park, in the center.
It was early evening when they arrived, and a Jazz band had set up in the center of the square next to Jackson’s statue. They were playing bluesy tunes while tourists listened, and artists drew, but Abby kept Hope walking past the park until they crossed the street and headed straight to Café du Monde. This café was renowned for their café au lait and its French-style beignets. With its green and white striped awning covering the patio seating, and just cattycorner from Jackson Square, it was the perfect location to people watch. When they made their way through, Hope could see it was full to the brim with customers taking a break and enjoying the heady coffee and sweet beignets.
Abby pushed through the crowds of people looking around the patio for a table. After a moment more of searching, she moved them the edge of the patio that overlooked the square and found a table close to the street. The table had a great view of the square and all the tourists milling around, allowed them to people watch while they had their coffee. Though, Hope was surprised Abby had chosen a coffee house instead of a bar, but she wasn’t going complain, this was more her speed. She didn’t need to be drinking; she needed to keep her wits about her at all times.
Once they had placed their orders, unfortunately for Hope, Abby wasted no time in grilling her for answers.
“So, tell me about yourself, Hope,” Abby asked as they waited for their coffee. Hope had rehearsed her answer thousands of times, and the story she told people to protect them and herself about her past, rolled off her tongue with practiced ease.
“I just moved here from Arkansas, recently divorced, I wanted to start over in a new city.”
“Arkansas? You don’t have an accent.”
“I’m not from there, we moved for my husband’s work.”
“Where did you grow up?”
“Here and there, I was an army brat.”
“Why didn’t you move closer to your parents?”
“My parents are deceased, car accident.” Abby’s eyes widened then she gave Hope a small sad smile, as she reached across the table and grabbed her hand. She felt bad about the deceit, but told herself it was for the best. She wouldn’t be here long, anyway.
“I’m sorry that must be hard. No kids then?”
“No, my husband was, um, sterile.”
“Well, you’re still young enough; women have babies all the time in their forties; you should find yourself a good man and have one before it’s too late.” Ignoring the knot, she always got when she thought about what she’d lost; Hope smiled and nodded in agreement. Luckily, for Hope, the coffee and fresh beignets came before Abby could dig deeper into her past.
The coffee was sublime; the beignets smothered in powdered sugar and so good, Hope thought about buying some just to have at her apartment. After consuming their treat, they moved across the street to view the artists who had set up around the outside of the square. Several were very good and one man was wasting his talent sitting there in the square. He should be painting somewhere with a setting sun and offering up his work to a gallery somewhere.
“You know, Hope, I meant what I said. If you ever need to talk, I’m a good listener,” Abby began, taking Hope by surprise.
“Thanks, I appreciate that.”
“But you won’t?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“It was implied . . . Look, Rose and I have both noticed how quiet you are. We’re your friends, and I hope you know that you can trust us to keep any secrets you have.” Hope knew that Rose was worried about her, she could see it in her eyes when she caught Rose watching her, but she had no idea that Abby had noticed, as well.
“I know I don’t talk much about myself, but there really isn’t much to tell, that’s all.”
“Uh, huh. Well, keep in mind the offer is there, I mean it.”
“Okay, thanks, but I’m fine, really,” Hope replied, hoping Abby would change the subject.
As they wandered the front of the park, Abby’s attention seemed to be on the people, as if she was looking for someone. Hope was just about to ask if her husband was coming to join them when she heard the sound of a horse snorting air through its nose. She loved horses, dreamt of owning one as a little girl, but she’d never ridden. Turning, she saw a walnut colored horse and large carriage with the driver standing on the street corner. The driver offered rides around the French Quarter at a leisurely pace, the sign said, so she walked over to the horse and rubbed its nose, clucking her tongue at the horse. As she stepped down off the curb to get closer to the animal, a nearby car backfired, startling the great beast. The horse jerked its head back, knocking Hope in the chest and sending her to the ground just as the horse reared up. She threw her arms across her head to protect it; had no doubt the animal would come down on top of her. Hope heard Abby scream “Oh, my god,” just as strong arms suddenly grabbed her at the waist, pulled her off the ground and onto the sidewalk. Shaken, positive she was going to be trampled by a horse, Hope turned to say thank you and found the same dark, soulful eyes looking down on her for the second time in one day.
“You all right?” Nic asked, checking her from head to toe.
“I, I think so.”
“You think so or you know so?”
“I’m fine, really,” Hope replied as her bottom lip started to quiver. Taking a deep breath to settle her nerves, she tried to smile at Nic.
“Why don’t you sit down,” Nic told Hope as he watched her shake. His heart had about stopped when he turned the corner heading for Café du Monde for his nightly coffee. Hope had been standing rubbing the horse’s head when it knocked her to the ground. He’d started running towards her as the horse reared up, startled by a backfire, and pulled her into his arms just as the horse landed in the spot she had occu
pied. Twice in two days he’d come to her rescue, and he got the feeling she wasn’t exactly new to these precarious situations.
Turning Hope in his arms, he walked her to a bench and had her sit. Abby came over with a bottle of water she’d bought from a vendor and handed it to her. Both he and Abby stood over her as she took a drink, her hand shaking as she raised the bottle to her lips and drank deep.
“You better now, sugar?” Nic whispered to her as he kneeled down in front of her. Hope wouldn’t hold his eyes, just like last night, but she nodded.
“Well, that was enough excitement for one evening I think,” Abby laughed.
“I’ll second that,” Hope agreed. “In fact, I think I’ll head home and take a calming bath if it’s all the same to you, Abby?” Hope didn’t want to be there, not with Nic, he rattled her. She felt off balance around him and just wanted to slink back to her apartment.
“Ok, we can call it an evening. I’ll call my husband and have him come pick us up.”
“No, I can walk. It’s not that far from here,” Hope insisted, needing to get away as soon as possible.
“I’ll walk you home,” Nic told her and she started shaking her head no.
“NO! No, I’m fine you enjoy your evening.”
“I’m not lettin’ you walk alone; my momma would be cross with me if she knew I allowed a lady to walk home unescorted.”
“But—“
“You want us to wait for your husband to arrive?” Nic asked Abby as he helped Hope to her feet.
“No, it’s fine; we don’t live far from here, and I think I’ll get some beignets for the kids, you guys run along,” Abby smiled and then winked at Hope like they had a secret.
“You ready?” Nic asked.
“Really, I can walk home by myself,” Hope explained but no one listened.
Nic smiled at her, took her arm and folded it into his as he started moving toward the edge of the park. Hope looked back at Abby, who was smiling, watching them leave and then she gave Hope two thumbs up. What on earth?
“Which way?” Nic asked, pulling Hope away from thoughts of Abby’s bazaar behavior.
“Um, Royal Cross apartments,” she answered not thinking.
“You live at the Cross apartments? Jesus, that place is a dump, is it even safe?”
“I think so.”
“Does it have a deadbolt?”
“Of course.”
“Fire exit, smoke alarms?”
“Yes, but—”
“You need to find a new place to live, sugar—”
“Look, it doesn’t matter. It’s what I can afford,” Hope broke in but let slip she was short on cash. What was it about this guy that she couldn’t keep her mouth shut? Hope was done; she couldn’t take another minute in this man’s company, or she’d start spilling secrets to him. He didn’t know her, and she needed to keep it that way for his own safety. Determined to keep her distance, she pulled her arm from his and stepped back as Nic turned a confused look to her.
“I appreciate your concern, but I’m only here for a little while until I get on my feet, then I’m moving on. So you needn’t worry about my living conditions, in fact, you can just forget about walking me home, I don’t need your help.” She turned to leave, but Nic grabbed her arm stopping her.
“I said I’d walk you home and considering where you live, I’m doin’ it,” Nic bit out, trying to keep his anger in check.
“Well, here’s the thing, Mr. Beuve.” Hope leaned in looking him square in the eyes, “I don’t want or need your help.”
“Are you always this reckless?”
“Are you always this daft?”
“Daft?” Nic growled.
“You clearly have the impression I’m seeking your attention, but I can assure you that I’m not. If I never saw you again, you wouldn’t cross my mind.” The word liar ran through her head because Nic was a man not easily forgotten and she knew it.
“Is that so?” Nic chuckled.
“It is, now, if you’ll excuse me, I have better things to do than stand here arguing with you. Enjoy your evening, Mr. Beuve, maybe I’ll see you at the bar sometime.” With that, Hope turned on her heels, walked down the sidewalk, and disappeared from Nic’s sight.
Instead of being pissed, Nic was intrigued even more. Though he was sure of one thing, she hadn’t lied when she said she wasn’t seeking his attention. Hope was clearly hiding something, and her behavior told him what she was hiding was bad. She’d recoiled at a hand raised towards her face and a drunken man made her shake like a scolded dog. Yet, she seemed to have a core of strength she called on when she needed it. She was a mystery wrapped up in a mystery he didn’t have time for, but her reaction to him, and the drunk, had his mind working overtime, and the thought of her hiding, for whatever reason, set his protective instincts into overdrive.
Setting out after Hope, Nic kept his distance until he saw her enter her building safely. He watched from the street until he saw the second floor apartment in the front turn on a light, illuminating the street with its glow. A dark figure peaked through the blinds but didn’t move—watching the street—searching for someone. Nic’s jaw tightened and he felt his hands curl into fists. She was alone, scared, and hiding.
Not while you’re around to protect her, Nic thought as he pulled out his phone from his back pocket and dialed the number he knew by heart. When the rich Cajun accent answered, Nic got down to business. “Rosie, we need to talk.”
Chapter Six
The Bayou was in full swing when Nic entered. Cajun music was blasting from the sound system and there were diners at every table. The sound of silverware hitting plates rang out as they consumed their meals, but Nic ignored it all. Rose was waiting for him behind the bar, so he pulled up a seat, nodded once at Henri for his usual drink and watched as Rose made her way down to him with an intrigued look on her face. After Henri had placed his shot of whiskey in front of him, Rose leaned in for their talk.
“What’s this about, Cher?”
“Hope,” Nic responded and he watched the old woman’s mouth twitch into a smile.
“She a fine looking woman, no?”
“She’s a woman in hiding.”
“She dat’ too.”
“What’s her story?”
“Come to me dis’ week looking scared, hungry and beat down. I give her a job and dat’ it, I knows notin’ but dat.’”
“She hasn’t told you anything?” Nic asked surprised. Women as a general rule loved to gossip, he was sure Hope had told Rose her troubles.
“Some troubles cannot be spoken, Cher, you know dat’ bettah’ dan’ anyone.” Pausing to take a deep breath at the reminder of what he’d lost, Nic nodded in agreement, some things were hard to talk about.
“I know you well enough to know you’ve got an opinion on the matter. What’s your take?” Nic asked moving the conversation from him and back to Hope.
“She runnin’ from her past, from a man who used his fist I sure a dat.' A woman don’t look da’ way she looked unless it been bad dat’ much I can tell you.” Nic felt his jaw tighten when Rose said fist. The thought that any man would raise a hand to a woman made his blood boil, but when you took in how small and fragile Hope was he saw red.
“What you tinkin,' Nic?”
“I’m thinkin’ she needs to stop runnin’ and let people help her.”
“She won’t listen. Dat’ girl got one foot out da’ door anytime she here. She got to have a reason to stay and fight, pas de be̒tises.”
Thinking about Hope’s curves and those sky-blue eyes, Nic wanted to say he’d give her a reason to stay, but he knew he couldn’t make that promise. He had to focus on Nicky, not get involved with a woman.
“Then make her feel like she’s wanted here, give her a reason to stay, Rose. Invite her to your house; spend time with her out of the bar, anything that will build a connection.”
“I will do what I can, mon ami, but notin’ will keep dat’ woman here but love. She sc
ared for her life she is.”
“If you think that someone should be me then get it out of your head,” Nic sighed.
“I not tinkin’ about you. You too wrapped up in your own pain to give T-Hope what she need. I tink’ Henri could use a good woman and he need to stop his wild ways he do.” Rose smiled then looked over her shoulder at Henri. The man in question was a tomcat; bed everything that came into the bar that was a willing participant. Nic looked at the man, all playboy and not a lick of common sense that he could see. Then the thought of Henri looking out for Hope didn’t set well in Nic’s gut and a surge of jealousy flared when he thought of Henri touching her. Shit.
“Why don’t we concentrate on keeping her safe instead of fixing her up with the neighborhood manwhore,” Nic ground out.
“How you gonna do dat? She won’t let anyone help her. I say a man who falls for her is what she need. He’d protect what is his, no?”
“Yeah, if he’s any kind of man he protects what’s his,” Nic agreed and then thought of how he hadn’t protected the one thing in his life he should have protected the most.
Nic didn’t agree with Rose, he knew Hope needed to feel safe before she could get her life back on track, and she needed people in her life she trusted, not to be set up on blind dates. In Nic’s opinion, getting her out of that rat-infested building was the first order of business they should concentrate on, not her love life.
“You got bettah’ idea, Nic, I all ears,” Rose broke in after he’d been silent thinking.
“She’s livin’ at the Cross on Royal,” Nic informed Rose and then watched as she inhaled sharply with disgust. “She’s not safe there; she needs to move, period. She let slip it was all she could afford, so we need to find a place that we can control the rent. Do you know anyone with an extra room?”
Rose thought for a moment and then a smile crossed her face. There was a reason she always succeeded when it came to affairs of the heart—she was devious.
“I know da’ perfect place for ‘tite ange.”
“And that would be?”