The Long Hot Summer

by Rosnau, Wendy

  “I suppose I deserve that.”

  “Yes, you do. You’ve been thinking the worst of me since I got here.” He dropped his spent cigarette and ground it out with the heel of his boot. “The bottom line is, you don’t know me, and you don’t want to.”

  “That’s not true.” Nicole swatted at the dozen mosquitoes swarming around her head, glad she had worn a sweatshirt even though it was much too warm. “It’s just that—”

  “The gossip that arrived later today wasn’t what you’d expected. Does that mean you’re ready to listen? To trust me?”

  Listen, yes; trust him, no. Frankly, she didn’t think she would ever be able to trust a man again. “You knew your visit to the sheriff’s office would circulate. That the entire town would be privy to the information before long?”

  “That’s the way it works around here.”

  “You think you know everything, is that it?” Nicole was furious. “Did you also expect an apology? Am I playing right into your hands?”

  When he didn’t answer, Nicole spun around to leave, only to be pulled up short by his hand on her arm. “Easy. Don’t go running off all mad.”

  Nicole pulled her arm free and glared at him. “You set me up.”

  “No, you did that all by yourself.”

  She swatted at another swarm of mosquitoes. He reached out and pulled up the hood on her sweatshirt. “Come on. The bugs are making a meal out of you.”

  Boldly, he took hold of her hand and started deeper into the woods. Momentarily surprised, Nicole followed, as he easily maneuvered the twisted trail as if he shared some secret with the nocturnal animals that thrived on darkness. When they reached the clearing, Nicole saw the bayou in the faint moonlight, and knew where they were.

  Inside the boathouse, he ignored the light and guided her through the maze of clutter. Once they reached the stairwell, he let go of her and said, “Wait here.”

  In the dark, Nicole listened as his booted feet took the stair treads two at a time. Suddenly a muted stream of light brought him into focus at the top of the stairs, and she saw him clearly for the first time since he had frightened her in the woods. He wore trashed jeans, the worst pair she’d seen so far, and a brown T-shirt stretched over his chest. His black hair was damp and loose, as if he’d showered or, maybe, gone for a swim at the pond.

  Nicole sucked in a ragged breath, wondering why she had allowed him to bring her here, why she wasn’t in flight back to the house.

  “Cherie, you coming?”

  Nicole pushed the sweatshirt hood off her head, hesitated.

  “I don’t bite. That is, not unless that’s what you like.”

  His teasing was followed by a suggestive smile. If she had any sense, she thought, she would turn and run.

  At the top of the stairs, Nicole slipped past him into the apartment. The day had turned blisteringly hot after the rain, and without any fan the small room felt stifling even with the windows open.

  She unzipped her sweatshirt and slipped it off, leaving her in a white T-shirt and jeans. She glanced around, noticing that he had made several changes in the past couple of days. A worn rug lay on the wood floor in front of the rocker, an old-fashioned, metal reading lamp stood behind it. She hadn’t thought of him as the type to read, but a paperback novel on the floor beside the rocker claimed otherwise. He had scrounged an old flat-topped trunk from somewhere and turned it into a makeshift coffee table, which sat between the sofa and the rocker. It was all very homey and neat, and she couldn’t help but be impressed by the fact that he had invested some time in a few creature comforts.

  “You want something to drink?”

  Nicole turned in time to appreciate his lazy gait as he sauntered into the small kitchen.

  “Soda? Water?” he called out.

  “No. Nothing.”

  While he went to the sink, ran himself a glass of water and drained it, Nicole moved to the sofa and perched on one corner. Another glance around brought her face to face with one of her paintings. It hung over his bed—a picture of Belle Bayou. She’d painted it a few years ago. She remembered sketching for hours near the secluded inlet where the night herons made their nests. Bick had taken her there, and while she had become enthralled with her subject, he had caught a string of catfish. She’d gotten the worst sunburn of her life that day, but it had been worth it; she’d captured the bayou’s mystery and its beauty perfectly. She’d sold a number of prints, and afterwards she’d given the original to Gran for her birthday. She was curious as to why it was here.

  “Sure you don’t want something?” He came out of the kitchen.

  Nicole shook her head. “No. I’m fine.”

  He strolled across her line of vision and seated himself in the rocker. “I’m going to start tearing the roof off the house tomorrow, if it doesn’t rain. The yard will be a mess for about a week or two.”

  Nicole laid her sweatshirt on the sofa beside her. “We’ll put up with whatever we have to,” she assured him. She paused. “Tell me about last night.”

  “Like I told Tuck, a car tried to run me down on the county road.”

  “Are you sure? Maybe the person just didn’t see you.”

  “No, they saw me. I was at the old farm. I still own it, thanks to the old lady and—”

  “Wait! Back up. What do you mean, thanks to the old lady?”

  “Your grandmother is the reason I came back,” he told her. “She’s been paying the taxes on the farm ever since I left. Don’t ask me why. The place is worthless.” He ran his hands through his hair, frustration evident.

  “How did you find out you still own it. Did she write you?”

  “No, Griffin Black did. He wanted to buy it. I got the letter six months ago. At first I thought there had to be a mistake, so I came here from Lafayette to check it out. I left the courthouse and was headed here when I decided to stop for a cold beer at Pepper’s. After that, as they say, all hell broke loose.”

  Nicole was beginning to understand—that’s if she could believe him. “Do you think it was Farrel who tried to run you down last night?”

  “Maybe. Early this morning I called my parole officer, and he suggested that I report the incident to Tuck. He thought having a record of it would protect my position. That is, if something like that ever happens again.”

  “Do you think it will?”

  He shrugged. “I’m not going to pretend my being back doesn’t matter to some folks. I have a lot of enemies in this town.”

  “Why?”

  “That’s the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question. Some of it I understand, even deserve, but there’s a lot that has never made any sense.”

  “So now what? What if this person—Farrel or whoever—tries again?”

  “I’ll be ready next time.”

  Nicole sighed. “What does that mean?”

  “Relax. It doesn’t mean I’m going to go looking for trouble. I’m not.”

  “Maybe that’s what this guy is hoping for. Maybe he’s just waiting for you to lose your temper like before. From what I’ve heard, you have quite a temper when you’re—” Nicole clamped her mouth shut. She was doing it again, listening to the gossip and expecting the worst of him. “I’m sorry.”

  “You get that from Farrel this morning?”

  Nicole flushed. “He did warn me about you. Something about breaking windows and killing a dog.”

  “I did break a few windows when I was younger. The dead dog is bull. Should I take my turn and warn you about Farrel?”

  Nicole leaned back into the couch cushions and relaxed a little. “You don’t need to. One thing you should know about me, Johnny, I’m no chump. I’m not inexperienced when it comes to men with easy smiles, or who know just the right thing to say nine times out of ten. But that’s getting away from the point. If you screw up your parole, you’ll be sent back to prison. Don’t do it. If you don’t have a good enough reason to for yourself, think of Gran. She’s the happiest I’ve seen her in years. I don’t preten
d to understand why exactly, but I do know your being here is very important to her. And loving her like I do, I’m willing to do whatever it takes to keep her happy. You can’t let anyone ruin it for her, you just can’t!”

  “Take it easy. It won’t come to that.”

  He started rocking the chair slow and lazylike, his hands resting on the arms, his blunt-tipped fingers dangling limp over the edge. Nicole stood and planted her hands on her hips. “You bet it won’t, because you’re going to avoid Farrel Craig and anyone else who might try to draw you into a fight. Do you hear? Better yet, there is no reason for you to go anywhere near town.”

  “I’m a free man, cherie. I’ll go where I damn well please, when the hell I feel like it.”

  “That would be fine if you only had yourself to think about, but you don’t. You owe Gran. You’d still be rotting in prison if she hadn’t offered you a job and a place to stay.”

  “There’s another way of looking at that,” he countered angrily. “If she hadn’t kept my name on that worthless land deed all these years, none of this would have happened at all. I had no intention of ever coming back here until I got that letter from Griffin Black.”

  His bluntness made Nicole clamp her mouth shut. She turned away, unable to hold his potent gaze a moment longer. Finally, she walked to the window overlooking Belle. The moon had slipped through the clouds, and the picture it made was breathtaking. “Are you holding a grudge? Because if you are—”

  “I’m not holding a grudge. The old lady didn’t make me break Farrel’s nose or pull my knife that day at Pepper’s.”

  The sound of the rocker scraping along the floor warned Nicole that Johnny had gotten to his feet. She waited for him to say something, but instead he came to stand behind her at the window. She could smell his earthy scent, feel his breath next to her ear.

  “I’m glad you read Farrel this morning,” he drawled. “He’s not to be trusted.”

  “But you are?” Nicole’s gaze remained focused on the moon hovering over the bayou, casting gnarly shadows across the still water. She felt him shift his body, his thigh brushing her hip. “Are you trustworthy? Or are you working this situation to your advantage?”

  He leaned in, closing the last inch. He was so close, Nicole could feel his warm body against the length of her own. “What would that gain me?”

  Nicole turned, and wished she hadn’t; it put her practically in his arms. “Not a thing. I told you, I’m no chump.” He was too close. She suddenly felt in need of air. “I’ve got to go.” Seeing her sweatshirt on the sofa, she moved around him quickly and picked it up. When she turned back around, he was standing in the doorway.

  “Put it on,” he said. “Your skin is too delicate for the woods this time of night. Then I’ll walk you back.”

  “I know my way to the house.”

  “I’m sure you do, but as you pointed out earlier, I don’t only have myself to think about these days.”

  “I was talking about Gran, not me.”

  “Just the same, I’ll walk you back.”

  Two days later Nicole stepped inside Pepper’s wearing a baby-blue, straight jersey shift. The bar was wall-to-wall people. Tonight there was a live band, and everyone for forty miles around had turned out to hear it.

  She scanned the crowd looking for Dory. Normally, Nicole avoided bars, but Dory had convinced her that tonight was special. She found an empty table and took a seat—amazing, since every booth was bulging with serious party-goers.

  “Hi.”

  Nicole turned to see a redheaded woman standing in front of her. A pregnant woman. Her gaze fastened on the woman’s swollen stomach. She didn’t want to stare, but she couldn’t help it. She forced herself to smile and cleared her throat. “Hi. I’m Nicole Chapman, and you are…?”

  “Daisi Buillard. Mind if I join you?”

  “No. Not at all.”

  Daisi pulled out the only other chair at the table and took a seat. She was dressed in slacks and a cute T-shirt with Baby on Board written on it. “I noticed you right away. I’ve been meanin’ to give you a call and introduce myself, since we’re close to the same age—but you know how it is. What with workin’ and tryin’ to keep the house clean and hubby happy, the days just fly.”

  Nicole smiled, her eyes straying again to Daisi’s pregnant stomach. She tried not to think about her own baby and what might have been, but that was impossible.

  Daisi continued to talk, unaware that Nicole was becoming melancholy. “Are you waitin’ for someone. A guy?”

  “No.” Nicole leaned back in her chair and crossed her legs. “I was supposed to meet Dory at seven. She’s late. You must know Dory from the bakery? She’s—”

  “I know Dory. We went to school together. It’s not like her to be late. Maybe somethin’ came up.”

  That’s all she needed, Nicole thought. If Dory didn’t show up, she’d feel foolish sitting alone. She flagged the waitress and ordered a white wine. “Do you want something to drink?”

  “A diet cola,” Daisi told the waitress.

  Another fifteen minutes passed without Dory showing up. While Nicole flagged the waitress for another drink, Daisi motioned for her husband to come over. He was tall and lean. He wasn’t the most handsome man in town, but he had kind gray eyes, and it was clear he loved his wife.

  “Daisi and I are glad to see someone our age move into town,” he said. “There’s not many young people making Common their home these days. The norm here is to leave the minute you get out of school.”

  “Mel and me like it quiet,” Daisi interjected. “We bought the corner house on Mill Street.” She sipped her drink. “I heard from my mother that you’re an artist. That must be excitin’.”

  Nicole nodded, wishing Gran had kept quiet about her career. “It is,” she agreed.

  “How’s Johnny working out?” Mel asked. “He staying out of trouble?”

  Daisi elbowed her husband. “I told you, Mel, those bruises were from an accident. Why do you always have to make somethin’ out of nothin’?”

  “Maybe because anything having to do with Johnny Bernard usually ends up to be something,” Mel challenged.

  Daisi and Mel headed for the dance floor a short time later. Nicole watched as Mel pulled Daisi close, and together they cradled their unborn baby between them. It was painful to watch, but she couldn’t look away, the past returning with such force that her entire body ached.

  She ordered another glass of wine in the hope that it would numb her pain. To her surprise, it wasn’t a waitress who brought it, but Farrel Craig. “Hiya, pretty lady.” He set the drink down in front of her. “Mind if I join you?”

  Nicole had given up on Dory, but as she looked up and saw Farrel staring down at her, she wished her friend would suddenly appear out of a crack in the wall. Trying to be friendly, she faked a pleasant smile. “I don’t think I’ll be staying too much longer, but you’re welcome to the table.”

  “You don’t need to rush off. The fun’s just getting started.” He pulled out the empty chair and sat. “I’ve been watching you all evening, and I finally figured it out.”

  Nicole raised an eyebrow. “Figured out what?”

  “The reason you’re here. You’re dressed for dancing.” He held up his hand when Nicole was about to refute his declaration. “Just so you know, it’s not you, Nicole. The guys are interested—they’re just scared. Not too many women in this town have been educated past high school. You being from California and all, they don’t know how to approach you. So they’re sitting confused, waiting for someone else to make the first move, to see how he does.”

  “So you’re the designated ice-breaker?” Nicole asked, aware that Farrel was on the verge of asking her to dance. He was smooth, but not the smoothest she’d encountered—no one could be as smooth as Chad Taylor had been, she thought.

  “I guess. I’ve been enjoying the sight from over there.” He motioned to a prime booth that had a view of everyone who came in and out. “And ju
st so you know, I came to dance, too.”

  Nicole glanced toward the band just as they cut loose with another fast-paced, raucous song. Around the stage blinked two rows of pink neon lights. The accordion was loud, the guitar fast-paced, and the fiddler knew just when to challenge the beat with a reckless tempo that turned the crowd wild.

  Maybe it was seeing Daisi Buillard pregnant and so happy that made Nicole feel blue, or maybe it was just Farrel Craig’s coaxing smile and one too many glasses of wine, but, moments later, Nicole found herself in the middle of the dance floor wrapped in the arms of a man she didn’t even like. As he locked his hands around her waist and twirled her into the crowd, he said, “We’re going to clear the dance floor, sweet thing. Hang on.”

  He wasn’t kidding about chasing the other couples back to their tables. Nicole thought about the spectacle they were making, then quickly traded one concern for another—maintaining her balance and staying on her feet.

  Two songs later, they were the only ones on the dance floor, and the center of attention. Steadily the music grew more frenzied. Ribald hoots came from a nearby table as Nicole’s dress inched higher and higher. Worse, the wine decided to kick in all at once, and her heart began to race.

  Nicole, face flushed, wanted to stop. She wanted—no, needed—air. But the crowd kept clapping, stomping their feet and shouting encouragement from all sides of the room. On the next song, a slow, steamy Delta Blues, a dozen brave couples took their chances battling Farrel for room on the dance floor. The neon lights were doused, and it was then Nicole realized Farrel was, in fact, the consummate con man Johnny had warned her about. Within seconds, he’d wrapped his arms around her with great care and brought her in to him. Tenderly he began whispering compliments as he stroked the damp hair at her temple.

  It was well past midnight by the time Farrel ushered Nicole into the parking lot in front of Pepper’s. They had danced for hours and indulged in several drinks, and once outside, Farrel pulled Nicole close and stole a kiss.

  His mouth felt hot and invading. Hard. “What do you say we keep the night going,” he whispered. “I know a place where we can be alone.”