by Shurr, Lynn
So, he was one of those guys. Figured. “Both my older brother and my dad are petroleum engineers. My brother is working in Helena now, and my father is teaching some courses at Montana State University in Bozeman since he retired.”
“Good for them. They stayed the course. I didn’t.” He finished his wine and poured another glass full to the brim this time.
“But, you must have gone on to get helicopter flight training.”
“Courtesy to the U.S. Army. When college seemed a waste of time and money, I enlisted. Four years in the service, two of those in Afghanistan.”
“That must have been an interesting experience.”
“If you like grit in your food in summer, freezing your ass off in winter, and praying the Russkis haven’t sold the war lords any rocket propelled grenades lately. I don’t really like to talk about it.”
Jane grasped another straw of conversation. “Your family. I met your grandmother at the closing on the house. She’s still very sharp for all her physical infirmities. You told me about your mother, and you have a step-father who shoots ducks.” She took another appreciative spoonful of gumbo. “Brothers? Sisters?”
“Half-sister, half-brother. Brittney is a waitress out at Broussard’s Barn same as my mom. Doyle, he wanted to follow in my footsteps and signed up for the service when he should have stayed in trade school. Only he didn’t have the brains to get into flight training. He takes after my step-dad, not the brightest bulb in the bin but a good kid. Doyle thinks it’s great the army taught him to drive a truck so he can have a career like me when he gets out—if he comes out alive. I keep telling him always stay in the middle of the convoy, don’t take point or drag. If he gets blown up by an IED, it will be my fault for not being around to talk him out of it, but I was doing my second stretch in Afghanistan at the time and me getting that medal didn’t help discourage him. Now he’s over there, and I’m home safe and sound.” Merlin wiped his hand over his mouth as if he tried to stop the rush of words.
Jane wanted to take that hand and have it lie quietly in hers. “People make their own decisions for better or worse. You can’t blame yourself for that. What did you do to win a medal?”
He stood as abruptly as she had earlier in the evening. His gumbo bowl sat empty, his salad barely touched, and his wineglass down to the dregs again. “I didn’t deserve to be decorated. Look, I’m tired from doing your yard work. I need to leave.”
“Won’t you stay for dessert?”
That tight, suppressed smile appeared on his shadowed face again. “Ask me that another time and I just might, sweet cheeks. Keep the rest of the gumbo. Good night.”
****
Merlin closed the door behind him and escaped from the light of the kitchen. He paused under the old pecan tree and gazed at the moon dressed in blood red by the haze of the low-burning fires cane farmers set to burn the stubble. The warm air remaining after the day’s heat coaxed a few cricket frogs to come forth from their crannies and start a chorus of song.
He breathed deep, the way he was supposed to when agitated. Anti-social behavior, a symptom of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, according to the army psychiatrist. Jesus, he’d spilled more to Jane in a half hour than to the shrink in the past year. Now, he’d blown it with her. His plan to practice living a normal life with a night out dining and dancing with a pretty woman had gone up in smoke quicker than gasoline poured on the chaff.
Good thing the owner of the helicopter company had served in ’Nam and understood, knew that when Blackie Tauzin said he’d die before letting anyone in his care come to harm, he meant it. Sure Braxton Rice had written him up a couple of times, once for not shaving, and another for being surly to customers. Shaving more often, not a problem. Playing nice when all he wanted to do was fly his aircraft free and in silence to reach his destination safely took some effort. He should have made more effort with Jane. If only she hadn’t asked about the medal. He heard the backdoor open and didn’t move. She’d spot him then, brooding under her tree like a stalker.
“Merlin, are you still out here?”
Only his granny, his mom, and now Jane called him Merlin. Everyone else knew the name Blackie suited him better.
“Yeah,” he confessed. “Just looking at the moon for a minute before I go.”
“Are we still on for that dinner? I do owe you.” Jane started down the steps.
“Better stay where you are. Snakes eat little bunnies like you.”
“Where?” Her head swiveled from side to side trying to find the venomous reptile in her grass. If only she knew.
“It’s gone for now. Tomorrow night. Dinner and dancing at Mulate’s. Music starts at seven. I’ll be over here early to plant those flowers. We’ll have plenty of time to clean up before we go.”
“That’s a date then.”
“Yeah, a date.” Go figure, a real date with a good woman, something he never thought he’d have again.
Chapter Five
Merlin failed to ring the doorbell. Jane wouldn’t have known he was out there on hands and knees by the newly revealed flowerbeds if she hadn’t been wandering around her house with a bowl of breakfast granola in her hand wondering when he would show up. Much as she liked to sleep in on Saturdays, she’d gotten up early, put on khaki shorts, her pink T-shirt from the 10K run, and her sneakers, all to prove she wasn’t such a slug when it came to yard work. She finished her cereal in a hurry and put the bowl in the sink. Grabbing the pot of coffee from the maker, she selected a sunny yellow mug and sauntered casually out the front door, across the porch and down to where Merlin worked.
Frilly, purple ornamental cabbages filled the center of each circular bed. Flats of plain yellow pansies and another variety, purple and white with markings like droll little faces sat beside where Merlin knelt. He picked up a six-pack of plants and gently squeezed one from the base of its plastic container. Tenderly, he placed it deep in a small hole and pressed the earth firmly around the stems. Why did that simple act make her mouth go dry?
“Coffee break,” Jane said brightly.
“I barely got started here, but yeah, coffee would be good.” He rocked back on his heels, folded his long legs Indian style, and accepted the mug without getting up. There he sat, his striking blue eyes catching the early morning light, his black beard another day thicker, right about the level of her crotch.
She poured. “I should have brought real sugar and milk for you.”
“Black is fine. Your coffee is weaker than I’m used to.”
Not sure if that statement was an insult, Jane nestled the coffeepot in a clump of grass and yanked a pansy from its holder. “Let me plant while you drink that.”
“No! You’ll tear the roots. Pinch it out from the bottom.” He made a squeezing motion with his free hand a few inches from her breast.
Beneath her pink T-shirt, Jane’s nipples puckered. Well, two could play this game. She wrapped her hand around the holder of one plant and squeezed. A spray of purple and white flowers squirted free. “Like this,” she said, keeping her voice low and breathy while staring at the bulge in his jeans, a significant bulge, too.
“That’s right, Green Eyes. Now put it the hole and tamp that soil tight around it.” Merlin shifted, drawing his knees up in front of him.
She would so show him what she could do! Jane got on her knees and raised her rump in the air. She wiggled it in his face as she leaned over and pushed the pansy into the ground, firming it with pats of her hands. Only she’d forgotten about the newly installed traffic light requested by Councilman Freeman to make left turns into Cane View Estates easier for people who brought his townhouses.
This early on a Saturday, few cars passed, but those that did were stopped by the light and formed a short line in front of her house. A fisherman towing a bass boat with his SUV shouted, “Shake it, baby!” Two teenage boys in a pickup truck hooted and whistled. A white-haired lady returning from eight o’clock Mass at the Catholic church down the road took the time to rol
l down the automatic window of her bus of a Buick and comment, “Disgusting!”
Abruptly, Jane sat on her bottom, pulled up her knees, and buried her blazing face in her very dirty hands until the light changed and the traffic moved on. Merlin, however, fell back in the grass and laughed so hard he punctuated each guffaw with a fist pound to the earth. If she’d aroused him, it sure didn’t show now.
“I guess I don’t do provocative and sexy very well,” she stated.
“You do it just fine, baby doll, even if you are dressed like a camp counselor. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, I haven’t laughed this hard in years. Feels good. Real good—like a lap dance.”
How those blue eyes of his could sparkle when amused. “Well, macho man, I think you killed your chance of ever getting one of those from me. I’d hate to have you collapse onto my hardwood floors with a fit of the giggles. Coffee break is over. Get back to work.” Jane seized the coffee pot and empty mug to take inside along with her humiliated self.
“Oh, honey, I never giggle. Come on, help me with the planting, but it might be best for you to keep your behind on the other side of the bed, the flowerbed, that is. I see Mass is letting out at Holy Mother, and we don’t want to cause any elderly women to have heart attacks. This is the color scheme, purple in the front and back, yellow on the sides. Granny always did like to show her support for the LSU Tigers.”
“Okay.”
They worked in silence until all the flowers created a merry display of purple and gold. Merlin sprinkled some fertilizer, then attached a hose to the outdoor tap and gave the plants a good soaking. Jane could see the mischief in his eyes just before he turned the hose on her.
“Now for the wet T-shirt contest!”
Dodging did not help. The spray pursued her across the lawn and up the porch until she gained the safety of the front door. From a small crack she shouted, “I was going to invite you for lunch, but now you can just eat grass!”
Another spritz hit the door. “Can’t anyhow. I want to go out to Harley’s place and borrow his wood chipper. That’s my step-dad, Harley David. Yeah, I know. He was born to be a biker and tries to live up to his name. We might as well make mulch out of the clippings. It should age a while before we put it on the plants though. The parish used to pick up yard waste the first of the month, so we need to get it done before then.”
“Every six weeks now. The parish needed to save money, and this was one way of doing it,” Jane corrected, opening the door wider. “We aren’t supposed put our clippings on the curb until that week. I guess it will stay there until just before Christmas since we missed the last pickup.”
“The chipper will take care of most of it. Say, you better get out of that wet T-shirt. I can tell you’re cold. Don’t want you to get sick before our big night out. Be ready at six-thirty.”
Jane slammed the door on his wicked laughter.
By five p.m., Merlin had reduced a huge pile of branches to tiny chips and created an impressive mulch pile next to the garage. Jane admitted to herself she wouldn’t have to pay for mulch for several years to come, not that she had a great deal of use for mulch. Still irked about the wet T-shirt, she stayed inside and used her laptop to work on the proposal.
Let him go for coffee at the hideous convenience store with the six gas pumps Bernard Freeman put up at the crossroads on the other side of the traffic light. Its glaring lights burned all night long blotting out the stars. The odor of fried chicken invaded her yard twice every day and the boxes often ended up in her ditch. No wonder the great horned owl that once called the pecan tree home had flown away. Even the name of the place offended—the Fast ’N Fun, as if it were some titty bar.
Merlin Tauzin was just a big, womanizing jerk. She’d thank him for his hard work by going dancing with him just this once, and she’d pay for both their dinners. Dancing, not her strong point, especially not Cajun dancing. Oh, she’d go out and gyrate around in a crowd, but at Mulate’s serious dancers took the floor, each one outdoing the next with their footwork and twirls. The thought made her stomach nervous.
The annoying, distracting grind of the wood chipper ceased. She peeked through her kitchen curtain to watch Merlin put down a ramp and haul it into the electric blue truck possessing a color very close to that of his eyes. Those eyes turned her way. Caught!
“Six-thirty,” he reminded her, got into the cab, and drove away.
Only an hour and a half to get ready! No, no, plenty of time. No need to primp and impress this man. It wasn’t as if he were some state senator with a vote that could give more money to improving the environment of Ste. Jeanne d’Arc Parish. But what to wear? Mulate’s like most Louisiana dance halls called for casual. Jeans would be fine, but she found herself taking a dress from the closet.
The shimmering blue-green of the fabric ramped up the color of her eyes. It had a snug bodice but wasn’t terribly low cut. The skirt, loose and flirty, would flare if she spun around. That called for wearing pantyhose. After her shower and blowing her hair dry, she put on a green lace bra and panties and struggled into the nylons. Bending before her mirror, Jane blended the lightest touch of bronze eye shadow on her lids and curled her lashes. Foundation, a few strokes of blush, a light slick of pale coral lipstick, and she declared herself ready to go once she curled the ends of her hair under and fastened the necklace made of chunks of recycled glass in the same shades as her gown.
Shoes, what to do about shoes? Flats would make her seem small next to Merlin. Her work pumps, too dowdy. Four-inch heels and she’d be a danger to herself and everyone on the dance floor. She settled on bronze-toned sandals with two-inch heels and stocked a small matching bag with a credit card, twenty dollars, her license, a lipstick, a pen, comb, tissues, and her ever handy pepper spray. You never knew when it came to men. A last quick spritz of hairspray, and done. She hadn’t primped—much.
The doorbell rang. She’d half expected him to let himself in the backdoor, but he’d come around the front and filled that doorway as only a big man can. My God! Merlin had shaved, showing off his impressive jaw. For a split second, he reminded her of someone she couldn’t place, but oh hell, he looked toothsome. He wore a deep blue shirt that he didn’t need to bring out the color those eyes and a loose black leather jacket over dark jeans. She expected to see his usual athletic shoes on his feet or maybe boots, but instead he wore black leather shoes, supple and shining, dancing shoes, the kind of shoes someone on Dancing with the Stars would wear.
“Ready to go?”
“As ready as I ever will be.”
Jane turned to lock her door. I am in big trouble now—her last thought as Merlin took her elbow and guided her to his truck, but she said instead, “We could save gas if we took my car.”
“No way, baby, no way. My legs would cramp up in a car like that.”
Instead of letting her clamber into the high cab of his truck, Merlin placed his big hands around her waist, lifted her up, and snugged her into the pristine tan leather seat. “Buckle up now, bunny.”
“I will, cowboy,” she retorted, the thrill of being raised up so easily still making her toes curl, but she would never confess it to anyone.
He took the back road to Breaux Bridge, shooting past the half-harvested cane fields ten miles over the limit as if he knew every bend and straightaway. They passed Broussard’s Barn where his mother and sister worked without a glance from Blackie. Its lot was beginning to fill. Generally, the place had good music, cheap drinks, decent bar food, and an atmosphere that still reeked of its early days as a speakeasy. People could and did get married there since the proprietor had his justice of the peace license. Being closer to Chapelle, Jane wondered why they didn’t just go there, but he’d called the tune, the time and the place. Tonight, she would dance at Mulate’s.
Chapter Six
With the place packed as usual on a Saturday night about the time the band began warming up, Merlin and Jane accepted a booth near the bar. Without asking Jane’s opinion, he ordered an ap
petizer of boudin sausage balls, rye on the rocks for him and a red wine for her.
“How do you know if I eat pork products or want red wine?” she challenged.
He pondered for a moment. “Never seen you drink anything but red wine, and I figured if you eat duck and andouille gumbo you got nothing against sausage. If you don’t like the appetizer, more for me.”
“Are you going to order my dinner, too?”
“Nope, not now, but the Catfish Mulate’s is great.”
When the drinks and appetizer came, he ordered the specialty, fried catfish topped with etouffee, a stuffed potato, and coleslaw. Jane selected the same requesting that her catfish be grilled.
“You got it, honey. We girls have to watch our figures way, way more than a big, good looking guy like this,” their middle-aged waitress said, giving Jane a wink. She plunked down a red plastic basket full of French bread and trotted back to the kitchen with their order.
Jane frowned. “Did she imply that I’m fat?”
“Nope. She was flirting with me.”
“At her age!”
“I appeal to all ages, sweetheart.”
“You know it infuriates me when you call me names like that, Merry. For my next drink I want a rum and Coke with a twist of lime. Make that Diet Coke.”
“Now you just want to embarrass me by asking for that when I go up to the bar.”
“Maybe, Lin.”
Jane succumbed to two boudin balls. She’d dance them off. Merlin downed the other four before their dinner arrived. By the time they finished eating, twosomes crowded the small square of the dance floor, and a busload of tourists admired them from the sidelines. A couple of children who danced better than Jane ever would stole the show. Just the thought of going out there ruined her meal. She asked for a box to take half of it home. Merlin finished every scrap of his and mopped up the last drop of the pink sauce with a piece of crusty bread.
“Ready to go for a spin?”
“I’m not so sure…”
He pried her from the booth like a reluctant oyster from its shell, found an opening in the swirl of dancers, and moved them into place. Merlin held her close for the fast two-step. He led so masterfully she never made an error in footwork. She laughed as he spun her out and brought her back, looped his arms behind her and did a brief promenade before plastering her against his chest again. He let her have some space for a slow Cajun waltz with the triangle setting the beat, but gripped her tightly for the following country-western number. When the band called for a line dance to get the single women without partners out on the floor, he led her back to their booth.