BayouBabe99er (BookStrand Publishing Romance)

by Mickie Sherwood

  Sharlene wasn’t laughing anymore. In fact, she barely breathed.

  He followed his hand as his body curled to switch to the foot of the bed beside her. “What girl could refuse his enduring promises?” By now, his lips nearly burned the skin off her shoulder while his hand branded her thigh. “His irresistible charm?”

  Pillow talk was over.

  Sharlene raised his head. She caught his jaw with her fingertips. Emotions swirled wildly in his eyes, gluing their stares together. Drake’s intimate touch made contact just as her lips fused to his.

  “Ahhh!” Her exclamation mushroomed in the space, mingling their breaths together.

  Suddenly, banging at the front door interrupted the mood.

  “Who could be out in this awful weather?” he growled, never stopping his onslaught.

  Her words were difficult to deliver. “Ig—nore it. Th–they’ll go away.”

  Fist pounding rattled the doorframe.

  Drake’s reluctant separation helped Sharlene recover—somewhat. She was out of breath and shaky when she finally slid from the bed and straight into her robe. She padded barefoot to the door. “Who is it?” Her tone was far from congenial.

  “Sha?”

  She’d recognize that accent anywhere. “Mr. Clyde?” Sharlene flung the door open in the dusky, dark evening.

  “Lines down.” Clyde’s gaze strayed behind her into the gray interior. “It’s Moot!”

  Sharlene turned. A half-dressed Drake stood in the middle of the gathering room. He’d donned nothing but his trousers that still had the belt buckle dangling. He didn’t make another move.

  “Get her to the store, boy.”

  Clyde was off the porch by the time Drake pushed the door from Sharlene’s hand. He wrapped her up from behind. His grasp brought her fingers to his lips. That spurred her to flee and him to give chase to hurriedly dress for the departure.

  Chapter Eleven

  “What in the name of heaven?”

  A flurry of activity met their eyes as Drake bypassed the store in search of a parking place. There were none to be had as people swarmed all out into the street. He decided to double-park right in front of Clyde’s. Sharlene was out in the storm that continued to roar. Drake brought up the rear, maneuvering her in and out of the maze of people with an arm over her shoulders.

  “It’s a media frenzy,” she declared, ducking a time or two to avoid the cameras.

  Sharlene burst into the store and hustled on over to where Clyde sat manning the mobile radio. The scratchy transmission was loud enough to cause pain to the eardrum. Yet the jargon was too unclear to decipher. He looked up at her.

  She dashed water from her face. “Uncle Moot?” Her voice was hopeful.

  “He came tru’ clear as the day was bright early on, askin’ for you. Now, I can’t raise him.”

  “What happened, Mr. Clyde?” Drake’s agitated demeanor was pronounced when he stepped nearer. His eyes zoomed in on something on the rear dock. Correction. He zoomed in on someone on the rear dock.

  Her gaze swung to him.

  The suspicious look she laid on him was telling. Drake saw all the barriers dismantled by the quality time they spent in one another’s arms quickly reassembling. He knew the instant her emotions shut down. He no longer held any importance in her life, if ever he began to, except for being the enemy’s mouthpiece.

  “Why are they here?” She looked from him to Clyde for an answer.

  The store proprietor spoke up. “See them fellas over ther’?” He pointed to the deli corner of the store. “Moot’s fares.” Sharlene stared at the two shivering strangers. “Back ther’.” His head beckoned to the oil company’s public relations team. “Rescue boat was theirs.”

  Sharlene was confused. “Rescue boat?”

  Clyde offered what he knew of the continuing saga. “The storm came up out of the blue. No small craft warnings at all. Caught the BayouBabe six hours out. Around a rig being evacuated.” He paused to give Sharlene time to digest his story. The tale created a crack in Drake’s aloof façade. “Big waves rocked the boat. According to them, the pumps stopped working. The Babe listed starboard.”

  She closed her eyes tightly and gulped. “Uncle Moot’s—”

  “No, Sha!” He jumped to stop such talk. “You know Moot. He gon’ bring his Babe in.” Clyde and Drake shared a conspiratorial look. “That’s all. Found you in the swamp against the odds, didn’t he? Gon’ find his way home, too.”

  “Excuse me.” All three swiveled to face the two stragglers rescued from Moot’s boat, who now huddled under blankets. One asked, “Are you Skeeter?”

  “I am.”

  Drake took in how her spine straightened, like she wore the nickname with pride.

  “Moot asked us to see that you got this,” the other said while lifting a chain over his balding head.

  Sharlene accepted the chain from which hung a key. There wasn’t a doubt in her mind what it opened. “How was he when you last saw him?”

  “Determined.” The one speaking sought confirmation from his companion, receiving it in the form of a headshake.

  “That’s a Mouton for you,” she interjected.

  Drake leaned in. “I’ll be right back.”

  She gave him her back, mumbling, “Don’t bother.” Her eyes swept the room. Cameras, with their white lights, blinded her before she had time to blink. The next thing she knew, a microphone was shoved under her nose.

  “Nate Jackson. WXUE TV. Are you the next of kin?”

  “Next of kin indicates someone’s demise.” She took offense. “My uncle is very much alive.”

  The statement seemed to fly over the news reporter’s head. “I’m told he’s one of the early settler’s of this close-knit community.”

  Sharlene thought for a second. “I guess you could say that.”

  “He was a…scalawag…I believe is the term used to describe him in his early days.”

  “I’m not familiar with him in those terms,” she defended. Her attempt to end the unwanted interview took a nasty turn.

  He put the mike to his mouth. “I also heard there was a real Hatfield-McCoy encounter between the Moutons and the Cormiers. Are you familiar with that?”

  Her interested eyes searched the shadows for Drake. He was in deep conversation with a company man. And from the looks of things, he was far from happy. To be truthful, neither was she.

  “I’ll tell you what I’m familiar with as it relates to Pauchex Pass, Nate Jackson.” She used his entire name to add emphasis to what she was about to say. “I’m familiar with the fact people here are losing their way of life thanks to the negligence of an uncaring business neighbor.”

  “You’re talking about the oil spill,” he pronounced.

  “I am.” Sharlene challenged further. “Why aren’t you?” She looked dead into the camera.

  “I gather you hold the company totally responsible for what happened here?”

  “If you know otherwise, I’m sure the community would love to hear your findings.”

  “Let’s get back to the human interest story unfolding involving your uncle.”

  Angry now, Sharlene snagged the hand holding the mike. “I’ve used my background in finances to help some of the residents in the area avoid foreclosure of their properties. A major setback for lots of hardworking people caught up by greed and corruption.”

  “You have strong feelings about what happened here, don’t you?”

  “Of course I do. Any person unaffected by the plight of these people are either cold or callous, if not both.”

  “Did you know that same company used their resources to bring those two to safety?” He let that sink in. “That—your uncle refused the offer of rescue.”

  “No,” she muttered. “I wasn’t aware of that. But it doesn’t surprise me. He’s a principled man—” Sharlene’s narration ended abruptly when the newsman reclaimed his microphone and did the “cut” cue by slicing his hand across his throat.

  �
��Guess that was too much human interest for you.” She wiped her sweaty palms on her jeans in disgust.

  He shot back, “Not as much as the story about the duel over Becky Cormier will be.” Then he was gone.

  It was like changing dance partners for another strange man stared down on her. He was the same one who previously conversed with Drake. “Can I help you?” The inflection of her words held a lot of haughtiness. His look of disdain was unmistakable. Although the storm raged outside, he was immaculately dressed with not one blond hair on his head out of place.

  “You’re treading on dangerous ground, Miss Mouton.”

  “I could say the same about you—whoever you are.”

  “I represent the company you vilify on your blog.”

  “Mister, I can’t say this any plainer. You’d better get out of my face.”

  “Be careful, BayouBabe99er.” As quietly as he slithered in, he slithered out, baring his fangs as he went. “Two can play that game. Wonder if the authorities would be interested in an unresolved shooting?”

  Her jaw dropped.

  Drake stomped up on her so fast, she jumped at his voice. “What did he say to you?” His eyes narrowed when she looked at him.

  “Nothing,” she lied. Why she felt compelled to do so was beyond her. He was nothing to her. So what did it matter if her uncle was just implicated—twice—in a dubious act against his family members? “Was he rude?” His questions kept coming.

  “Drake, I can handle him. Don’t worry about it.”

  “Why the cold shoulder now, Sharlene?” His voice was gruff. “You weren’t so cold a few minutes ago.”

  “There’s no cold shoulder event going on. We had a momentary lapse of judgment. That’s all that it was.” She talked too much and was unable to stop herself. “What I’d like you to explain is…what nefarious deed is your company up to? Why is the media circus in town?”

  He remained silent though noise was all around them.

  Her head shook as she figured it out. “This is the beginning of a media blitz to gain sympathy and support, isn’t it? They were good neighbors because they came to the rescue of citizens in need.”

  She waited on him to dispute her conclusions. He never did.

  “They’ll use my uncle’s dilemma to skew public opinion.” She waited on his response. When none was forthcoming, she also asserted, “You tattled before…before—” Embarrassment colored her features reddish-brown. “I thought you were different.” Sharlene headed toward Clyde’s corner. “Guess I was wrong, traitor.”

  Drake found his tongue. “Sharlene?”

  Sharlene never stopped walking until she reached the mobile station. “Anything, Mr. Clyde?”

  “Sharlene!” It was Drake’s turn to be the center of attention when all eyes swung his way.

  Sharlene completely ignored him to concentrate on the crackly noises coming out of the speakers. Her only concern now was her uncle’s welfare. Nothing more. Nothing less.

  Chapter Twelve

  Twelve miserable hours was how long it had been since her arrival to town. She had twelve long hours to imagine the worst because there was no word on Moot. It turned out he was the only person unaccounted for of all the boats that were out yesterday. The surprise squall blindsided other experts as well.

  Sharlene took no consolation in that revelation. In fact, she pretty much kept to herself during the night feigning indifference as Drake went about his company’s business. He contributed to her misery. But he wasn’t solely to blame.

  The crowd ballooned as he kept tabs on her from afar. Every now and then, she saw a wistful look in his eyes when he looked at her. Somehow, Sharlene knew he would hang close even if she didn’t want him around. Her disappointment in his betrayal at outing her alias was never more obvious. He was persona non grata as far as she was concerned.

  Clyde waded through the throng of fishermen who stood vigil at the front door. “Sha, they leave in a minute. There’s a break in the storm.”

  She monitored the men geared up for the weather, surprised at what they were about to go do. Their scruffy, strong jaws were set with determination, giving her a glimmer of hope. They had their own problems. Yet, Moot’s friends and longtime neighbors were ready to take a risk on his behalf.

  “I’m going, too.” She pushed unsteadily from her seat. Her eyelids were so heavy that sandy irritation made her vision grainy.

  “No, Sha.” He batted down her idea. “You stay here. They best do this alone.”

  Sharlene took her place at Clyde’s side. They headed to the door where the group parted to make way for their exit. A murky mist filtered in the air, getting thicker as it rolled toward the water. The drizzle didn’t matter to her. All she visualized was the return of the BayouBabe with Moot at the helm.

  The people parade gathered in the gray morning on the dock where the boats and trawlers were moored. The fishermen broke ranks to continue on their way. As well-wishers waited, the deep rattle of motors signaled the fleet’s departure. Boat lights faded into the haze leaving behind the constant hum of straining motors.

  Slowly, the crowd dispersed, leaving her alone and shivering in the drizzle. Her ears perked to keep track of the diminishing pulsating sounds. She stared off into space, willing her eyes to focus into the cloudy vapors. They were out of sight no matter how hard she concentrated. Finally, all she heard was the waves lapping the support beams.

  A heavy yellow rain slicker settled around her. Sharlene didn’t have to guess the identity of the meddler. She recognized the grip caressing her shoulders from behind. The move to shield her head with the hood was the last straw.

  He made it too hard for her to hate him.

  Drake tagged along when Sharlene moved to a bench. She tried to keep her distance, because she didn’t want anything to do with him. That should have been clear from her name-calling outburst at the store. It seemed he failed to understand why she, all of a sudden, felt such animosity toward him. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have been dogging her steps.

  He claimed the far end of the same seat, like he was determined to wait her out.

  Sharlene kept her eyes averted, not wanting to give away the interest she had in why he didn’t just drop off the raincoat and leave. She wrestled with the sensational memory of his body all over hers. Just as those thoughts bubbled through her veins, branding her brain, his clandestine meeting in the back of the store swooped in to disintegrate the sizzling image in her head. She concluded Drake couldn’t be trusted.

  Drake could stand no more of the silent treatment. “Don’t lose hope, Sharlene.” His voice was barely audible. She looked at him—long and hard. The look scorched. However, it wasn’t with the same fire shared while in her bed.

  He inched closer.

  Sharlene took in his conspicuous movement while noting he sat unprotected in the inclement weather. The misty rain pasted his hair to his scalp. She stared at his profile. It seemed his chin jutted in defiance.

  “I’m a Mouton. They give hell. They don’t give up.”

  One minute he attempted to soothe her from a distance. The next, Drake slid right next to her. She searched his face as his eyes trained on the empty spaces over the water. A cunning reach stole her hand from her lap where he cupped it in his.

  “You sicced your dogs on me.”

  The complaint hit him out of the blue. “Something did happen back there,” he deduced. Drake was wrong if he thought they were on the way to recapturing the camaraderie. Her hand slowly slipped from his grasp as she rebuffed his touch.

  “I got a not so subtle suggestion that BayouBabe99er should think real hard before writing another post.”

  Drake dried his face with his hand. “You think I ratted you out. Is that it?”

  Sharlene pushed the hood back to look him in his eyes. “It’s funny how quickly the vultures dived in.”

  “I wouldn’t have made the trip down here if I had a hand in fingering you…” He hadn’t intended the double entendre and
quickly corrected. “I mean, your identity.”

  His meaning was crystal clear. “This is getting extremely complicated, Drake.” He remained seated when she stood. “It was a fulfilling fling. But I think it’s best for us not to see each other anymore.”

  Now, he stood and towered over her. “That’s not going to happen, Sharlene. I work where you live.”

  “I mean socially.” Sharlene’s senses swirled at his closeness. Several steps put her at the end of the pier. “Any association we have should be kept on a business level.”

  The static crackling in the air was from the push and pull of her catapulting emotions.

  “The people need you to be impartial. I realize that’s a hard row to hoe, your being a company man and all. You have a difficult job to do. I don’t want to interfere with that.”

  “My job is tricky. But—I’m good at what I do, Sharlene. I admit you’re an integral part of circumstances here. I just don’t see any reason to erase you from my personal life.”

  The sight as he rushed to her little corner of the world, as if he couldn’t stand the separation one more second, let fluttering butterflies loose in her stomach.

  “I hope you don’t think I condone how things transpired here. I mean, to benefit from someone else’s despair is not my forte.” The deathly quiet played up the sincerity in his voice. He held her at arm’s length while staring right into her eyes for consensus. “Believe me, Sharlene.”

  “I do believe you, Drake.” She yawned just as he released a relieved sigh. “I do, however, resent the oil company’s ploy to make nice for appearances’ sake. Just for the cameras.”

  Sleep dropped on her like a ton of bricks. It became impossible to keep steady on her feet or keep her eyes open. Full-blown fatigue commandeered her body. His weight caused the planks to creak as he sidled within inches of her. His body heat lulled her to lie against him.

  By this time, the drizzle stopped and the sky lightened.

  Guiding her back to the bench, he crooned, “It’s okay to nap, Sharlene.” Drake snuggled her under his arm. “I’ll wake you when Moot gets in.” She read the hopeful expression on his face that she would comply with his wishes, tempting him to put in, “He’s a Mouton, right?”