Under The Kissing Bough: 15 Romantic Holiday Novellas

by Kathryn Le Veque

  She shoved his hands away and adjusted the quilt herself. “Tell me what you’re talking about.”

  “It’s what’s here that makes me want to go back to New York.” He lifted her chin when she looked down at her knees. “June heard you.”

  Tears filled her eyes. “I’m so awful.” He brushed away the tears. “I chastised Edward for doing the same thing. Saying hurtful things about my family in ways that were not meant to be insulting but derogatory nonetheless. And I’ve been upset by unpleasant things that were said about me when the person saying it didn’t know I had heard him. Now, I’m doing the same thing.”

  “Are all of those really the same, Camille? It sure as hell doesn’t sound like it to me. Of course, I’m not really sure what you’re talking about. It’s all a bit encrypted.”

  She shrugged. “Yes, they are the same. People were unintendedly hurt by words spoken.”

  Hunt saw pain reflected in Camille’s watery eyes now and it bothered him it was there. “Who upset you with. . . how did you say it, unpleasant things said about you?” She looked at him but didn’t answer. “I can see the pain in your eyes, Camille. Who was it? Your mother? Your father?” Her eyes fluttered when he’d mentioned her father. “Ah. It is your father. I can see the sadness and pain in your eyes from it. I feel it pulsing off of you, sweetheart. Tell me what happened. It may lessen your pain if you share it with me.”

  A tear slid down her cheek. She shook her head and he knew she wasn’t going to tell him. “You feel too much already.” She wiped the tears away. “I believe you have a special gift to understand a person’s soul, Hunt.” She sucked in a deep breath. “I wish you didn’t see and understand so much.”

  He leaned back. “Me too.”

  “But you don’t understand all of it. You see the feelings. Pain, hope, joy, fear, love. You can’t always know how those feelings were born, nurtured, and destroyed.” She stood. “For your sanity and peace of mind, I don’t want you to know those things as you look through the camera lens. It’s already too much of a burden for one man to bear to see what you see. You deserve your peace and your place of respite.” She faced him and he stood. “I won’t ever be the person who robs you of your peace. . .I. . .” She shook her head, not wanting to finish the sentence.

  He knew she was going to tell him that she loved him. He also knew that she felt it was best for him to not know it. His chest hurt, seeing her walk away and stand alone at the bow of the boat. Should he follow her? She’d told him why she’d left Fa La La a year ago – to let the dust settle over the dissolution of other people’s dreams for her and another man. They weren’t her true dreams, but she’d let the community make them hers for a long time. Was that still what was driving her away? Should he delve into it further? Should he try to convince her to stay?

  Crap. He ran his hands through his hair. She was a smart woman who made critical decisions that meant life or death for a person. Shouldn’t he trust her with making decisions for her own life? She was leaving Fa La La. That left him, who was trying to make a new life for himself on Cypress Island, possibly only seeing her at Christmas and an occasional meet-up in New York if he was traveling through. They’d had one exceptional rainy afternoon together under the tin roof of an old lopsided cabin, when the world went away and he enjoyed the absolute harmony and peace of being with the sun.

  His heart ached more and more with each step he took moving away from her. He looked up at the wheelhouse and saw June. She was resting her head on T-Dud’s chest. He had his arm around her. When she saw Hunt looking at her, her eyes widened – almost in a plea. A plea for what? What did she want with him, the man that was ruining her village, her way of life, so he could have his own? T-Dud looked at his wife and followed where she was looking. His proud shoulders dropped. He spoke to June and she took the wheel of the boat. Hunt moved toward the wheelhouse door, knowing T-Dud was coming to speak to him.

  “I’ve got eyes and June has enough power to get me to act on what I see,” T-Dud said, his tone a little angry. “Youz should know what I just found out.” He swallowed hard. “Let’s walk to the back of the boat.” When they got as far from Camille as possible, he continued. “Youz are a stubborn man, who cares more about himself than his neighbors, but Camille sees something in you—so does June. I guess, if I wasn’t too ticked off at you to admit it, I do too.” No, it wasn’t anger, Hunt realized. It was pride. “I hurt my bebette. I said something I shouldn’t have. June thinks you should know. She said you care about my daughter. Is that true?”

  “Yes. Very much so. But before you say something personal you might regret–you should know, Camille’s leaving Fa La La. No matter what you tell me, I have no say in that. I wouldn’t try to tell her what to do either. I think too much of that has been done.”

  T-Dud nodded. “Fair enough.” He proceeded to tell Hunt anyway.

  HUNT FOR CHRISTMAS

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  “This came from your thumb,” Camille said as she handed a storage bag with a fish hook inside to a very brave six-year-old little boy sitting cross-legged on the narrow ER treatment bed, in the recently renovated ER at Bayou Regional Hospital. “Next time I see you, I hope you’re handing me a storage bag with fish in it that you caught.”

  “I will. I promise,” he said, his eyes big and bright as he studied the hook.

  Camille walked out of the room, and down the short hall with its highly polished gray floor to the brightly lit shared ER physician’s office. It was laid out a lot like the wheelhouse of a trawl boat. She stared at the large computer monitor in front of her, not really seeing anything. She wished she didn’t feel anything either.

  Trying to cope with the decisions she'd made now and almost a year ago was why she’d said yes to the CEO of the Bayou Regional Hospital in Cane, who’d called late the night before to ask her to help him get out of a bind. He needed a board-certified ER physician the next morning to cover a twelve-hour shift. Since he and many of the administrative staff had helped her with between-semester jobs, reference letters, and scholarships to help pay for her costly medical tuition, she couldn’t refuse him. Besides, it was best that she spent a full day away from Fa La La and Hunt.

  Especially Hunt.

  Through his amazing photography, his actions, and his words, he’d exposed who he was to Camille. It was why, in the short time they’d known each other, she’d fallen in love with him. But walking away from him in order to give him what he needed was the hardest thing she’d ever had to do in her life. And she’d had to do some pretty hard things. She wanted to be with him, to love him, laugh with him, share her life with him. But because she truly loved him, what she wanted didn’t factor in. When he’d said he needed peace to survive, she believed him. She understood it because she understood him. He needed what he got from Cypress Island being his home.

  And, the people of Fa La La needed their homes too. Whose survival was more important? Camille couldn’t answer that. As a physician she’d always tried to save everyone, not having to make the call on who lived and who died. She’d tried to do the same here, once she knew what she was dealing with. But it was an impossible situation.

  Save Fa La La or save Hunt.

  What she could decide was what she had to do to get through her pain from leaving Fa La La again and from leaving Hunt. Since she’d returned, she’d rediscovered all of the reasons she loved her childhood home. Sharing the traditions, the people, and the history with Hunt had given her that gift. She hadn’t resolved all of the things that sent her away, but leaving her family was breaking her heart almost as much as walking away from the man she loved.

  Almost.

  Camille pressed her hand to the ache in her chest. She wondered if her next painful breath was going to crush her ribs. When patients wound up in front of her claiming they were dying of a broken heart, she attributed their symptoms to anxiety, depression, spasms from crying too hard, but not a broken heart. Now, she understood.

  “Dr. C
omeaux, you have a patient in treatment room one,” a nurse’s voice told her over the intercom. Camille looked at the digital clock on the wall. One hour before her shift was over.

  “Well, it took you long enough,” Tante Pearl said in Cajun French, when Camille walked through the soft green curtain inside the enclosed glass room. But, it wasn’t Tante Pearl who was there for medical attention. She was sitting in the visitor’s hard plastic chair. It was Hunter. Her heart slammed against her chest. She quickly went to him, pulling on her exam gloves.

  “Hello, Camille,” he said, a crooked grin on his face.

  She swallowed hard. He’s okay, she told herself. He wasn’t in the critical care or the trauma suite. And he was sitting upright, with his legs hanging off the table. But there was blood on the collar of his tan shirt, a lot of it. She immediately started looking at his skull. “What happened, Hunt?”

  “I had a run-in with a broom.”

  “He didn’t have no run-in. I cracked it over his head,” Tante Pearl said in broken English. She pushed up her black, cat’s-eye glasses and folded her arms over her pale green housedress with hollies on it. “I’d do it again, too. Only I’d use the mop and not take a chance to ruin my good broom on his hard head.”

  Camille looked at Hunt and saw the twinkle in his eyes, despite his injury. Her heart thudded hard in her chest. She had to stay away from him, it was just too hard to have such strong feelings and know he was off-limits. She moved a little closer to him to tend to his wound and his fresh, his clean scent wafted to her. He smelled like the crisp, cotton duvet where they'd made love. “Why did you hit him with your broom, Tante Pearl?”

  “Oh, c’est rascal.” She looked at Hunt and frowned, but Camille saw something else in her expression too. She wasn’t as angry as she pretended to be.

  “Truth is, Doc,” he said, smiling at Camille. “I tried to steal a kiss from her. Someone told me if a girl stands under the mistletoe, she can’t deny a fella a kiss.”

  “See, what I tole you.” She nodded.

  Camille laughed. Even with her heart in a battle with loving this man and resisting him, he still could make her laugh. “I need to close that up.” She stepped out and spoke to a nurse, who followed her back in with the staple kit and injection.

  “Oh, no,” Tante Pearl, fretted. “This ain’t good. Oh no.”

  “The good news is: I don’t have to shave your hair. Bad news is you’ll need three staples. I recommend getting the local to numb it.”

  “I trust you with my life, Camille. Do what you think is best.”

  She looked at him, the syringe in her hand. Dear Lord, she wanted to kiss this man, hold him, love him. No. Her decision had been a good one. She quickly did her job and closed his wound. She was checking her work, when the door opened.

  “Knock. Knock. Knock,” Pierre said, just inside the door, but behind the curtain. “How’s the patient?”

  “He broke my broom,” Tante Pearl said in English.

  Pierre walked in and Hunt started laughing. “Well, I’ll be damned,” he said, looking at Pierre from head to toe.

  Pearl made the sign of the cross. “Watch your language.”

  “Navy dress slacks and blue shirt? An expensive silk tie?” Hunter shook his head. “You’re a fraud?”

  “No, I’m CEO of Bayou Regional Hospital. I also grew up in Fa La La. I inherited my father’s boat and enjoy using it when I can.” He kissed Tante Pearl on the cheek. “I’m buying you a padded broom so you don’t hurt anyone else.”

  “You’re discharged, Hunt.” She started to shake his hand as she did with all of her patients, but caught herself before she reached for his hand. He wasn’t like any of her other patients. To touch Hunt again would be a temptation beyond any she’d had to face in her life. She signed the chart and handed it to the nurse who walked in.

  Pierre immediately handed Camille a heavy manila envelope and lowered his voice for just her to hear. “I don’t need to know right now. Monday will be fine.”

  She opened the folder, responding in hushed tones as Pierre had. “An employment contract? You want to hire me?”

  “Hell, yeah. I need you. It’s not easy getting doctors to work at smaller hospitals, even regional hospitals.” He tapped the folder. “Your family wants you here.” He shrugged. “What more can a person ask for—oh, money. You’ll see that’s in there too.”

  “But I have a job in. . .”

  “In the contract. We’ll negotiate and pay, within reason, to release you from that employment agreement.” He walked to the door. “See you.”

  Camille walked out of the hospital, still in her scrubs, but now wearing her UGGS instead of her work tennis shoes. Hunt was standing next to a black Range Rover in the spot where she’d parked her momma’s car. “I assume you had something to do with why the car is missing and I don’t have to call 911.”

  He nodded. “You might still have to make that call, if you don’t get in the car P-D-Q.” He grimaced and hiked his thumb toward the car. “Tante Pearl said her blood sugar is low and she needs to eat a praline or she’s going to turn into a rougarou. Whatever that is. It sounds 911 worthy.”

  Camille laughed and her heart broke a little bit more. No one made her laugh like Hunt did. She’d miss his sense of humor if she went back to New York, which she knew she should do. “Rougarou is a Cajun werewolf.”

  “Yikes." His eyes widened and his mouth pulled tight as he pretended to be frightened. He looked into the backseat of his SUV. “No fur on her face or arms yet. We’d better hurry.”

  Camille climbed into the front seat and he drove toward the Cane boat launch not that far away. “How’s your head?”

  “Fine.”

  “She’s threatened all of us with that broom for decades. This is the first time she ever actually followed through.”

  “My lucky day.” He motioned to Tante Pearl in the back seat. “Is that her snoring or is her inner werewolf coming out?”

  Camille glanced at her aunt but her thoughts turned to the conversation she had to have with Hunt. She looked at him and his smile faded. “I think we should just say good-bye now,” she said, her throat tightening. “My flight’s Monday morning, but I’m thinking of spending a day in New Orleans before I leave.”

  She couldn’t bear seeing him again tomorrow. She looked out the window, surprised they were already at the boat launch parking lot. Camille was both glad for it and sad.

  “Momma and Papa are here to get us?” she said surprised, seeing them standing on the wharf.

  Hunt walked to her door and opened it. He leaned inside. “I’m not saying good-bye, but I’ll take a kiss.” He reached in his pocket and pulled a small cluster of mistletoe leaves over her head. She sucked in a breath.

  “You don’t know what you’re asking of me.”

  “I sure the hell do.” He grabbed the back of her head and lightly kissed her mouth like she was as fragile as spun sugar. She tried to remember everything she could about this long, beautiful final kiss – the texture of his full bottom lip, the pressure of his smooth tongue, the heated mingling of their breaths. . .

  A hand flew from the back of the car and smacked Hunt in the head. He jerked up and hit his head on the ceiling of the car. “Son of a. . .” he bit the final word, out of respect for a woman who’d smacked him on the wound she’d given him. He waved the mistletoe for her to see.

  “Mon Dieu.” She opened the door and stormed away toward the boat.

  Camille started laughing. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t laugh. Let me look at your head.”

  “I’m fine.” He motioned to her parents, still waiting on the dock. “Go on. Talk to your parents. I’ll be right behind you.”

  She took a deep fortifying breath to calm her nerves as she walked on board and into the wheelhouse as Hunt released the lines and climbed on board. He remained on deck, while Tante Pearl stayed in the wheelhouse where she could sit securely and warmly. Camille spoke freely in front of her great-aunt, and so d
id her parents. They trusted her to not judge and to not repeat what was said during the twenty-minutes ride to Fa La La.

  “I’m sorry,” her papa said, tears in his eyes. “I’m ashamed of not always trustin’ you. I shouldn’t have ever thought or said what I did dat night before you left. I had no idea you heard me. Youz momma only tole me because Hunt said she needed to. I’m so sorry.”

  “Hunt? How did he know Momma knew I was there? I didn’t know.” Camille thought of the last night she was in Fa La La before she moved away. She’d come to her parent’s house to visit after work. Her mother and papa were in the kitchen having coffee and cake, talking. They didn’t know she was there, as they kept speaking to one another about her. Her papa was blaming her for Ben falling in love with another woman and for being too picky to settle for another man. Her heart had broken, little by little with each word he spoke. Then, when he’d said she’d chased Ben away with her cold, uncaring, selfish behavior for reasons he didn’t understand after he’d already fallen in love with the grand-babies he imagined they’d have, her heart split in two. Her momma must’ve heard her leave then and never said anything about it.

  Why hadn’t she?

  Now, over a year later the three of them were talking about it. Her momma explained she felt it was Camille that needed to speak of it when she was ready and that if she’d told T-Dud before then that his daughter had heard him, he wouldn’t wait for when she was ready. Her wise loving momma had given her the space she needed. Her papa’s eyes were bright with unshed tears as he described his hurtful words about her as “unforgivable’. Yet as they neared Fa La La, she forgave him. He’d explained to her how he’d met Ben’s fiancé, Elli, that day and liked her. The day her papa had uttered those words in confidence to his wife, was the day that he had given up on his dreams for her marrying the man he’d loved as a son and had already considered a son-in-law although neither Camille nor Ben said that would be so.

  Camille accepted her papa’s apology and asked her parents to forgive her for not thinking about their feelings through all of this, too. She could see by their expressions that she was, indeed, forgiven and still deeply loved.