by Sable Hunter
Glory shouldered her bag and focused on the short distance she had to go. She was a little dizzy, but considering the condition she was in, she couldn’t complain. As she walked, she avoided the cracks in the sidewalk. In the mind-games she played with herself, stepping on a crack was tantamount to wishing her life away.
The sun shone down so hot, there were visible heat waves rising from the concrete. Glory pulled a water bottle from her knapsack and took a swig. Staying hydrated was one of the few concessions she made to the list of a billion do’s and don’ts the doctor had burdened her with.
Don’t get too hot.
Don’t hang upside down. No jungle-gym time.
Don’t travel to a high elevation. Thus, don’t ride in an airplane.
Don’t bathe in too hot water. So, no hot tubs.
Don’t smoke. Gross. She wasn’t going to do that anyway.
No heavy lifting.
No bench pressing. Yea, right.
No isometric exercises. No push-ups. No big loss.
No alcohol. Bummer.
No rigorous sex. Now, hold on a minute…
How did one define rigorous sex? Oh, Glory had ideas. Some hunky dude taking her up against the wall. Bouncing her on his cock. Slapping her ass while he rammed into her from behind. Nailing her to the mattress while he pounded into her… “Damn.” She took another sip of water and stopped to let her heart slow down.
A snort of laughter escaped her lips. She couldn’t even fantasize about sex without nearly passing out. After a few seconds, she put away the water bottle and started off again. One thing about it, if she ever got the chance to engage in rigorous sex, she was gonna do it.
There were some things worth dying for. And some things worth living for.
Glory figured love and sex fell into those categories.
Continuing on her way, she let her eyes rove over the rundown Baton Rouge neighborhood. She’d graduated high school a few weeks before, and now Glory was determined to get a job. Maybe, at the Coca-cola factory. Her intent was to earn as much as she could and give her folks her whole paycheck. Paying them back for the sacrifices they’d made was paramount in her mind. Her eyes grazed over the small houses, the second-hand cars, and the dried-up landscaping. Nothing upscale about this community. Her stepfather never failed to point out that it was her fault they had to live in such meager circumstances.
And he was right. Glory knew he was right.
Still, it wasn’t her fault. It wasn’t her choice. This was just her lot in life.
Taking her cell phone from her pocket, she attempted to call her mother once more. Over the past few days, she’d been unsuccessful. No one answered, and Vivienne hadn’t returned any of her texts or messages.
Odd. Now, it said she had no service.
Weird. She was in the middle of town.
Seeing her house come into view, Glory picked up speed.
No over-exertion. She refused to be a couch potato.
But…she slowed down, the mental list of things she should avoid filtering through her brain.
No decongestants or anti-inflammatory drugs. Suffer in silence.
No foods high in sodium or refined sugar. In other words, BORING food.
And absolutely, in no uncertain terms, should she ever, even remotely consider getting pregnant. Never. This sad fact had been stressed and re-stressed.
Pregnancy will kill you.
You will not survive. You will die. Dead.
Glory didn’t know what her future held, she didn’t know if she’d ever fall in love. She hoped she did. Living her life without knowing what love was like seemed tragic. And if she did get pregnant…if by some miracle the possibility of a child existed…
Well, she’d cross that bridge when she came to it.
Coming to the familiar mailbox, the one with the dorky fish on top, she turned left and began making her way to the front door.
Funny. There was no car parked outside. No chair on the front porch. No lawn tools propped up by the garage.
No curtains on the windows.
What the heck?
Taking out her key, she opened the door and called. “Mom? I’m home!” She knew there wouldn’t be a welcoming committee, there never was. Although her mother detested Glory’s habit of going walkabout, they’d agreed to disagree about this long ago. Vivienne had always said, I’ll get a phone call one day, they’ll find you dead on the side of the road. To which she’d replied. I’d rather die doing something I like than waste away living on the safe side.
Once she stepped over the threshold, about five seconds passed before what she was seeing made sense.
The house was empty.
Deserted.
“Mom! Lexi!” She threw down her knapsack and raced through the house, holding a hand over her heart, as if trying to insure it didn’t beat out of her chest.
The kitchen was empty.
The living room was empty.
Her parent’s bedroom was empty.
Lexi’s room was empty.
The only room in the house that had anything in it was hers. But she had no bed, no furniture, there were just two sealed up boxes sitting in the middle of the floor with a note taped to it.
With her chest heaving, Glory sank down beside the boxes and grabbed the piece of paper with shaking hands.
Glory
As you can see, we’ve moved. Ray got a chance at a job in Florida and we pulled up stakes. You’d been planning on getting a job and I’m sure you’ll do fine. We needed a fresh start, too many unpleasant memories in that house. I wish you well.
Mom
P. S. By the way, we had to cancel the cell phone service. When you get your own plan, try to get the same number so I can get in touch with you.
Glory stared at the paper. Her family had left her behind! Grief, confusion, and helplessness flooded her chest. She tore open the boxes, looking to see what she’d been left. A few clothes, that was it.
No money. No phone. No way to contact her family.
How was she supposed to survive?
Glory laid back on the floor and stared at the ceiling. She’d only been there for a few minutes, when the sound of the front door opening met her ears. As fast as she could, Glory got to her feet and bounded toward the front. “Mama?” She breathed a sigh of relief. It had all been a joke, they’d come back for her.
But it wasn’t her family.
A real estate agent stood there, clipboard in hand, with a couple who’d come to view the house.
They looked at her with questioning eyes.
“I’ll be out of here in a bit, I just came back for something…I left behind.”
With tears streaming down her face, she returned to her room, grabbed a small duffle and stuffed as many of the clothes into it as she could. Before the agent and his clients found her, she’d gathered all she could and made her way through the house and outside. Slamming the door behind her, she stood still a moment and tried to decide what she was going to do, where she was going to go.
Hanging her head, she made an effort to calm herself. The last thing she needed was to pass out over this. Rubbing her eyes, Glory tried to think.
Okay. This wasn’t so bad.
Not much different than a walkabout.
There’d been times when she had stopped at restaurants and washed dishes for a meal, she could do that. Odd jobs. Sleeping in the park.
Yea. Glory smiled. This could be fun.
Taking the first step down the sidewalk, she smiled. Her family might not want her, but that was okay. She had her whole life ahead of her.
And there was no telling what her future might hold.
CHAPTER TWO
Five years later
Some men should never be fathers.
As he steered his fishing boat up to the rickety looking dock, T-Rex Beaumont was haunted by the words of warning his mother had whispered so long ago.
Bad blood runs through your veins, boy. You’re big like your father,
you’re his spitting image. You have his temper; you know you do. Chances are, you could turn into him, hurt someone you love like he hurt your sister.
Pushing the bad memory from his mind, T stood to tie off the boat. “Wait, Buford. You don’t need to be running around without me,” he reprimanded the black leopard, Catahoula cur pup who was bouncing from stem to stern with excitement. Hearing lively Zydeco music coming from the small shop, T-Rex smiled. He loved Cajun music. When he’d heard through the grapevine that this little store was once more open for business, he wondered who was foolish enough to attempt to resurrect Calvin’s Bait and Tackle. Even though it’s proximity would save him countless miles and hours if he didn’t have to drive into town for gas and supplies, he was an exception. Not many people lived in the swamp outside of Loreauville, this was as far back in the boonies as you could get and still call the place civilization. T couldn’t imagine how anyone could think they’d make a living out here. The only way Calvin had managed was because his Social Security check supplemented what he could rake and scrape from the bait shop.
Stepping onto dry land, T glanced over his shoulder as he heard a bull alligator bellow. Sure enough, he could see a big pair of yellow eyes staring at him from about fifty yards away. Judging by the distance between the eyes, the gator was a monster, thirteen feet if he was an inch. “Go to bed, lunch isn’t being served today.” Just to make sure, he went back to the boat and got a length of rope and attached it to Buford’s collar. The pup had been known to jump in the water after a frog and that would be a very bad idea today.
“Why are you telling that alligator to go to bed? Have you been out in the sun too long, Atlas?”
The husky, yet unmistakably female, voice caused T to jerk his head around so fast, he’d be sure to have a crick in his neck come morning. Calling him Atlas was fitting, sometimes he felt like he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. At first, he couldn’t find her, then his eyes finally settled on the hood of an old, rusted, red Mustang, circa 1969. The car had been sitting in that same spot for as long as he could remember, but it had never sported a hood ornament like this one.
T swallowed hard, his mouth went dry, and he blinked his eyes twice, trying to confirm that what he was seeing was real and not some leftover figment from one of his wet dreams. Licking his lips, he endeavored to form words. “Go to bed is Cajun-speak for ‘get out of here’.” If she didn’t know that, this vision sent from heaven to tempt him wasn’t from around these parts. “Who are you?”
Before she answered his question, he knew the answer.
She was trouble. Trouble with a capital T.
“I’m Glory. Glory Bee Hudson. No snide remarks necessary, my mama was drunk the day I was born.” She bounced down from the car and immediately turned and bent over to talk to Buford who had strained to the end of his leash, begging to be petted by the pretty woman.
He knew the feeling.
‘Holy Jean Lafitte’, he whispered, his attention riveted to a pair of tight jeans that lovingly encased long legs and a heart-shaped ass. She also wore a pair of brown cowboy boots with variegated stitching. A picture of her riding him like a rodeo bronc burned its image into his head. “As far as names, I think I’ve got you beat.” He held out his hand. “Rex Allen Beaumont, but everyone calls me T-Rex or T.”
“Seriously?” Her laugh was a burst of joy. “T-Rex? I mean you’re big enough, but your arms aren’t short, thank goodness. One of your parents loved dinosaurs, I take it.”
As he stood there in the bald-open, being blinded by a South Louisiana summer sun, T didn’t even feel the near record temperature. He was too focused on bright amethyst eyes, bee-stung lips, and a waterfall of honey blonde hair. “In Cajun country, putting a T in front of a boy’s name is like placing Jr. at the end. It means ‘little’ or ‘son-of’.”
“Yea, I know, T-Rex. I’m just teasing you. But you sure aren’t little anywhere I can see.” Slower than molasses, she let her eyes skate down his body, below his belt, and down to his boots and back up.
There was no way T could control his response; his cock woke up and flexed.
“What size shoe do you wear?”
“Sixteen,” he breathed the word out like a confession. Shit – he needed a drink. T forced the urge down. Thoughts of Lauren Middleton and his AA meetings helped him fight the familiar battle.
“Damn, are you the same big everywhere?”
A different kind of heat rose from his groin and flashed over his face. “Do you really want me to answer that?” When Glory saw he was blushing, she laughed and he was mesmerized by an angel face with a sprinkle of freckles across her upturned nose. Every warning signal he’d carefully engineered in his psyche started sounding their alarm.
“No, no need. My eyesight is pretty good.”
There was no doubt she was teasing him. Hell, her whole body teased him. Despite the voice in his head telling him not to, he let his eyes drop to behold the swell of soft breasts revealed by a red tank that didn’t quite meet the waistband of her jeans. He felt an overwhelming urge to go to his knees in front of her and press his lips in an open-mouth kiss to that ribbon of smooth flesh just below her belly button. Shaken to the core, T realized he couldn’t look at her without wanting to love on her and that was one thing he couldn’t allow himself to contemplate. Wanting something so sweet and not being allowed to touch or taste was pure torture. Maybe she was just passing through. Yea, that would work.
On her side of the parking lot, Glory felt her heart race.
Wow.
All doubts about her walkabout leading her to Iberia Parish were gone. Her choice of destination hadn’t been accidental; Glory was so hungry for family that she’d searched high and low until she found some. Here she’d reconnected briefly with her mother’s brother, Calvin Boudreaux. Though they’d only met once or twice when she was little, he’d taken pity on her and given her a place to stay, such as it was. Since moving to the swamp, Glory had soaked up the atmosphere, history, and ambiance of the region like a dry sponge. Everything fascinated her – the food, the lore, the legends. But nothing affected her to such an extent as the man who stood before her.
Face to face with this stranger, she felt…odd. A good odd. Their stillness, this mutual measuring of one another should have been awkward – but it felt…right. There was something about this guy. Sure, he was hot. He had this warrior, gladiator thing going on. A Cajun Paul Bunyan, complete with a plaid shirt unbuttoned halfway down a chest that appeared to be every woman’s tactile dream.
But it was more than that.
While they eye-fucked one another from across the unpaved parking lot, she could feel something passing between them. A recognition. Her skin tingled and she felt warm and alive. With absolute certainty, she felt she was here to meet this man, to be something important in his life. What, she didn’t know.
His sex slave would be a good place to start.
When he didn’t say anything, she just jumped in. “I suspect you’re here for more than just ogling me. Won’t you come in and cool off? I have a pitcher of lemonade made. Are you thirsty?” She held out her hand to the dog, who gave her a friendly lick.
T-Rex felt tongue-tied. The words were slow to leave his lips. “I need some oil for my boat, that’s all.”
“Okay, I think I can fix you up.” She held the screen door open for him. “What weight?” He told her and she moved to the appropriate shelf and knelt to find the right can.
“So, you bought the place?”
“Ah, no. Most days I don’t have two nickels to rub together.” She stood, laughing, shaking her head, making all that golden hair bounce around.
T’s fingers itched to know if it was as silky as it looked.
“Calvin is my uncle. He’s just letting me see if I can make a go of this old place. After his boys moved to Houston, I don’t think he felt like he had a reason to stick around. He and his wife pulled up stakes and floated down to the coast. I think Calvin plan
s on fishing for the next year or so.” Admitting to being related to the Boudreaux’s could be a good thing or a bad thing – depending. As far as she was concerned, Calvin was nothing like his sister. In fact, he’d been appalled when he found out what his sibling had done to her flesh and blood. He’d even called and told her so, which was the one and only time Glory had heard her mother’s voice in years. Vivienne had seemed happy to hear she was well, but didn’t offer for her to join them. At least her mother knew where she was now…
As far as Calvin was concerned, the old man was a conundrum, part renegade and part Robin Hood, a person who’d lived by his own code of honor. As far as she could tell, there were two schools of thought about this branch of her family. In certain circles, they were considered entrepreneurs and in others, a low-class bunch of thieves who made their living off the land. Watching his face closely, Glory tried to ascertain which camp Mr. Beaumont might fall in.
Instead of pursuing the topic, he ignored it. Okay, Glory thought, I just told him way more than he wanted to know. “Sorry, I talk too much.”
“No problem.” He just didn’t want to encourage her. There was something odd in the air – an expectancy, like something important was about to happen and he needed to get out of here before it did. Picking up the blue and white can, T hunted for a price tag. Finding none, he asked. “How much?”
She told him the price and he laid down the money. Handing him his change, Glory wondered at the tightly wound, sexually repressed vibe he was giving off.
“Keep the change,” he barked, picking up the oil to leave.
“Gee, thanks, a whole eight cents.” She was just giving him a hard time; she didn’t expect a tip. “Can I give Buford some water?” Yes, she was trying to do anything to get the big hunk to stay a little longer.
“He’s fine thank you.” Something suddenly dawned on T. “How did you know his name?”
“I watched you pull up, heard you give the little rascal heck for bouncing around.” She’d been outside picking up trash from the yard when she heard the boat coming up the river. The man cut such a striking figure, Glory couldn’t help but sit and watch as T-Rex steered his boat to shore. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like some lemonade? I’ve got some fresh made pecan pralines to go with it.”