by Francis Ray
“What’s going on here?” Jacques asked, coming from the back of the gallery.
“I came to apologize,” Claudette said, standing by Kristen’s chair. “I’m afraid I’ve made things worse.”
“You mean you finally see Maurice for the user he is?” Jacques asked, but he was kneeling in front of Kristen. “Rafe?”
“Yes,” Kristen said, her voice trembling as violently as her body.
“I understand,” Jacques said with a wealth of meaning. “Go home and try it tomorrow.”
“I can’t stay here. I’m going home. To Shreveport.” She took her purse from her bottom desk drawer and stood. Her teary eyes pleaded for his understanding. “I’m sorry.”
Coming to his feet, Jacques waved her words aside. “I’ll take you home.”
Kristen shook her head. “I’ll be fine. You can’t close the gallery.”
“I can.”
“I can stay here,” Claudette offered.
Both looked at her.
“You don’t have to. I can manage.” Kristen extended her hand to Claudette. “Thank you for coming to see me and for clearing my name with Dr. Robertson.”
Claudette took her hand and held it securely. “I’m just sorry there was a need and that you had to go through this.”
“If I hadn’t, I wouldn’t have gotten to know Rafe better.” Her smile unbearably sad, she left.
“I feel responsible for her,” Claudette said, watching Kristen, her head bent, walk down the street.
“You shouldn’t. You were as much a victim as anyone,” Jacques told her.
“I was a fool.”
“You were lonely and vulnerable,” Jacques said, hoping no one came into the gallery until he could tell her what was on his mind.
“Gossip is going to run rampant when this gets out.” She told him everything. “The Thibodeaux name will be dragged through the mud.”
“Why don’t you give them something to talk about?” He took her hand, felt it jerk in his. “Have dinner with me tonight. In fact, how does your schedule look for the next twenty or thirty years?”
“What?”
“I love you,” he said without hesitation. “I didn’t realize it until it was too late.”
Claudette’s heart thumped. She was attracted to Jacques, felt comfortable with him, but was that enough to build on? “Jacques, I don’t know. I haven’t had much luck with men.”
The gallery door opened and a couple entered. Jacques immediately went to them. “There’s an emergency and I have to close.” He pulled a card from his pocket and scribbled in it. “My card—and I’m offering a forty percent discount on your purchase as my way of an apology.”
“Thank you, we’ll certainly be back.”
Jacques closed the door and flipped the “closed” sign. “Where were we?”
“No one has ever put me ahead of business,” she said softly.
“That’s because you hadn’t met the right man,” Jacques said. “James and Maurice don’t count.”
Shock crossed her face. “You knew about James?”
“We were at a party together a week before he died. He’d been drinking and I took him home. He told me about your marrying secretly, but he had to agree to an annulment or your parents would have filed charges against him because he was twenty-one and you were sixteen.”
Stunned by the revelation, her eyes widened in disbelief.
Jacques never suspected she hadn’t known. Taking her by the arm, he gently urged her to a chair in front of Kristen’s desk. “He loved you, Claudette. A private detective your father hired found you the day after you eloped. James said you were the only one who ever believed in him.”
“I thought he had used me.” She gazed up at him with misery in her eyes. “I thought I had made another mistake with Maurice just as I had with James.” She shook her head, still trying to take it all in. “How could they have done that to me? To him?”
“Your parents were very rigid in their beliefs and what they wanted for their daughter.” Jacques leaned back against the corner of the desk and folded his arms. “They didn’t think James was good enough. They might have been right. He tried to straighten up, but the night he was killed in the one-car accident, he’d been drinking and using drugs.”
Her hands clutched in her lap. “I might have saved him.”
“Or he might have taken you down with him. Your parents were only doing what they thought was best. It’s tough being a parent,” he said thoughtfully.
Claudette looked at him. “Damien is wonderful. I’m proud to have him working for me.”
“Thank you,” Jacques said. “It wasn’t easy. He was rebellious as a teenager.”
Her lips curved and she relaxed against the chair. “He still is.”
Jacques’s arms fell to his sides. “What do you mean?”
Claudette could smile about it now, although at the time she had been annoyed with Damien. “He came to me last week and told me he was dating Angelique, that she had worked her way though two years of undergrad school as an exotic dancer and if I had a problem with it, he’d see me in court if I tried to fire him.”
Jacques grinned. “That’s my boy. He does make me proud.”
Her face softened. “He had a good example.”
He caught her hand and hunkered down in front of her, saying a little prayer that he could get back up without embarrassing himself. “Does that mean you’re going to go out to dinner with me tonight?”
Her hand trembled in his. It surprised her how much she wanted to go. “Jacques, I just threw my hus—Maurice out of my house, but I still feel like a married woman.”
“You’re not, and that’s all the more reason to go out and celebrate.” He kissed her hand. “We’re not as young as we used to be. We wait too long and the parts might not work.”
She blushed and then laughed. “Jacques.”
He picked up her other hand. “It’s good hearing you laugh again.”
“There hasn’t been much to laugh about lately.” Maurice had made her feel desire, but he had never given her laughter. She had a feeling Jacques could give her both. “I don’t know.”
“Stop thinking about what your father would have wanted, what people will say,” he told her, a hint of frustration creeping into his voice. “Do what you want.”
Her hands trembled even more in his. “I haven’t done a very good job of that in the past.”
“That’s because you haven’t had me,” he coaxed. “What do you say we give us a try?”
Claudette stared down into his warm brown eyes. Jacques was one of the most honorable and dependable men she knew. Deceit wasn’t in his nature. “If I say no, will you ask me in a couple of weeks?”
“Yes.”
She smiled and felt a lightness in her heart she hadn’t felt in a very long time. “Then ask me and we’ll see.”
* * *
Kristen ran an errand, called Angelique, then caught the 4:30 flight out of New Orleans. Even though she was routed through Houston, the taxi pulled up in front of her mother’s and Jonathan’s home in Shreveport shortly before seven that evening.
Picking up her small carry-on, she started up the curved driveway to the sprawling one-story ranch house nestled among towering oaks and rang the doorbell. They had wanted to give her a key, but she hadn’t wanted to impose on their privacy.
Kristen rubbed her hand up and down on her white trousers. She hadn’t called. She had no idea if her mother was at home or at one of her many volunteer meetings. Kristen’s hand clenched, and she glanced back toward the street. The likelihood of a taxi passing was slim to none. She was about to sit in the red deacon’s bench on the wide porch when she heard the lock turn.
Eleanor’s eyes went from elation to concern on seeing her daughter. In less time than it took Kristen to draw in an unsteady breath, she found herself enveloped in her mother’s arms, breathing the scent that was uniquely hers. She held on and let the tears flow.
“Ho
ney, you’re home now. I’m here. Whatever it is, I’m here.” Somehow, Eleanor managed to get a sobbing Kristen and her luggage inside to a Queen Anne chair in the living room off the foyer. They sat in the same cushioned seat until her tears quieted.
Kristen opened her purse for a tissue and dried her cheeks. “I didn’t mean to cry all over you.”
“Honey, what is it?” Eleanor asked, smoothing Kristen’s hair back from her face.
“I’m pregnant.” The story poured out. By the time she finished, she was digging in her purse for another tissue. “I love Rafe so much, but my love only brings him pain.”
Furious, Eleanor muttered under her breath about a part of Rafe’s anatomy that she’d like to bring a little pain to and prevent him from fathering another child.
“Mother, please don’t hate him,” Kristen pleaded, then tucked her head. “It was only that one time. We both … it wasn’t his fault. I went to his place.” She finally looked up. “He believes in his father’s legacy of cruelty more than he believes in us.”
“Come on, let’s get you in bed and I’ll bring you some tea,” Eleanor said. She felt happiness at the thought of Kristen having a baby and anger that the father hadn’t cared enough to stand by her and share what should have been a joyous occasion.
“He’s making you a tea caddy for your birthday.” Kristen swallowed hard. “He made me a writing box. I forgot it. His work is beautiful.”
Eleanor didn’t trust herself to say anything. She helped Kristen to her feet and into the bedroom she used when she stayed with them. After putting her to bed, Eleanor went into the kitchen and picked up the phone. “Jonathan, please don’t be in surgery.”
He answered on the third ring. “Dr. Delacroix.”
“Oh, Jonathan!” Eleanor cried, her arms circling her waist as she leaned her head against the white cabinet.
“What’s the matter, Eleanor?” Jonathan asked, his usually calm and self-assured voice rising in anxiety.
“It’s our baby. I just put her to bed after she cried her heart out.” Eleanor reached for a napkin and dabbed the moisture from her own eyes. “She’s pregnant with Rafe’s baby.”
“I’m on my way.”
“Your patients—”
“Can be rescheduled or seen by Malcolm or Gerald,” he said, referring to the two associates in his practice. “What kind of man would I be if I took care of another man’s family and neglected mine?”
“I love you,” she said quietly.
“Love you, too.”
Eleanor hung up the phone, debating if she should call Adam and ask him to come. He and Kristen had always been close. Perhaps he could help, but she had a bad feeling that only Rafe could take away Kristen’s misery. Eleanor had always liked him. She had been in the courtroom in Little Elm when he’d shown the judge the scars on his back to help Lilly win her divorce case. There was something lonely about him that pulled at you, but at the moment she wanted to make a eunuch out of him without anesthesia.
The phone rang while she was debating what to do. She quickly lifted the receiver. Rafe, let this be you. “Hello.”
“Hello, Mother, it’s Adam.”
Eleanor tensed. There was no mistaking the distress in his voice. “What is it? Is Adam Jr. sick again?”
“Myron is dying and he’s asking for Lilly,” Adam said flatly. “She insists on going and I refuse to let her go by herself. We’re waiting on the cab.”
Lilly’s ex-husband continued to cause problems for her family. “You’re right to go with her. You want to drop Adam Jr. off here?”
“No. She needs him.”
“And you,” Eleanor said, understanding completely. You needed your loved ones around you even more in a crisis. “This won’t be easy for her.”
Adam snorted. “He wants her forgiveness so he can die in peace—never mind all the hell he put her through or the pain seeing him will cause. I can understand why Rafe refuses to go.”
Eleanor’s grip on the phone tightened. “Have you spoken with him today?”
“Lilly’s tried several times but she keeps getting his machine,” he told her. “We’ll call when we reach Houston. We’re staying at the Wyndham. There’s the cab. Let Kristen know, will you? I think she and Rafe have become pretty close.”
“Yes?” What an understatement. Rafe, I could cheerfully strangle you for doing this to Kristen, for making her miserable at a time when she should be happy and celebrating.
“’Bye, Mother.”
“Good-bye. Take care.” Eleanor hung up the phone. Adam and Lilly had enough to deal with without being worried about Kristen.
The back door leading from the kitchen to the garage opened. Jonathan came in with his arms wide, reaching for her. With a muffled cry, Eleanor sought the shelter and comfort of his embrace.
thirty-one
It was almost ten when Rafe returned home Saturday night. He slowed down to make the turn to his place. His thoughts were troubled. For the first time, he hadn’t experienced a sense of pride and accomplishment when making a delivery. He hadn’t cared about the praise or the offer of referrals or even the check he’d tucked absently in his shirt pocket. All he could think about was Kristen and the devastated look on her face when he said good-bye.
It was like a knife to his gut. She’d thank him one day, but now she had to hate him for taking her virginity and leaving her with nothing, not even a kiss good-bye.
Rafe saw the motion light had been triggered before his truck straightened on the mile-long driveway. He wasn’t concerned. A small animal could activate it. As he neared his shop, he saw the beat-up station wagon. Frowning, he pulled up just as a slender young man jumped out of the front seat. He appeared to be in his early twenties and wore a black-and-white striped shirt.
“Hi, your name Rafe?”
“Yes, can I help you?”
“I got a delivery for you. Kinda hoping you’d be a little longer. She’s paying me to wait as long as it takes.” He opened the back door and leaned down. “Wake up and come here.” He straightened and turned with a fat, black puppy and promptly handed the animal to Rafe.
Automatically, Rafe accepted the dog. His calloused hand unconsciously, gently stroked the shivering animal. “What are you doing?”
“I told you. Making a delivery.” The young man grinned, patting the dog on its broad head. “She paid me twenty dollars an hour to wait. Said she didn’t want to leave him in a cage or anything.” He glanced around cautiously. “You don’t really have an alligator around here, do you?”
Rafe tensed. “Kristen sent you?”
“Yeah, that’s her. Some babe, ain’t she?”
At Rafe’s hard look, the young man backed up with both hands outstretched. “Just making an observation, man. She wasn’t paying attention to me or any of the guys. She was just looking for him.” He pointed to the puppy. “He’s pure Lab. Protective and loves water. He’ll be good company for you, she said.”
Even hurting, she’d thought of him. He deserved to rot in hell. “I don’t want him.” Rafe tried to hand the animal back.
Hands upraised, the young man took another step back. “No can do. She said you might try to give him back. He’s bought and paid for. Besides, she gave me an extra fifty to make sure he stays. Wouldn’t wanna upset the lady any more now, would you?”
That caught Rafe’s attention more than the soft lick on his hand. “She was upset?”
“Crying like a faucet.” The deliveryman opened the car door. “Women get emotional over the strangest things. I better be going.” He handed Rafe a thick envelope with his free hand. “His papers, shots, diet, and all that good stuff. You’d be surprised what stupid things people feed puppies.” He slipped inside the station wagon. “Any problems, our number is on the front of the envelope.”
Rafe gazed at the fading taillights, then down at the dog that had gone to sleep in his arms. How had she known that he’d always wanted a dog? His father had coon dogs, but they were for hunting, n
ot for playing with. “I can’t keep you.”
He’d have to take him back. He climbed into his truck.
* * *
Seventeen minutes later, Rafe rang Kristen’s doorbell. The sleeping puppy in his arms didn’t stir at the sound. Impatiently, he rang again. He glanced at his watch: 10:32. She had to be at home. The thought went through his mind that she might suspect it was him and just not answer. He didn’t blame her.
Determined to leave the dog, he went next door to Angelique’s. She could take care of the animal until morning. He wasn’t becoming attached to another thing he’d have to give up. Kristen was enough.
The door opened. Angelique stood there, with Damien directly behind her. Neither appeared happy to see him. “Hi, Angelique. Kristen didn’t answer. I need you to keep him until morning.” He held the dog out to her.
Angelique folded her arms over her black top. “Kristen gave him to you.”
“I can’t keep him.” Just like he couldn’t keep Kristen.
“You’ll have to see Kristen about that.”
Regret entered his voice. “She won’t answer the door.”
“She isn’t there to answer it.”
“Where is she?” he asked, fear shooting through him as he whipped his head back around toward her door.
“Shreveport.”
He whirled back around. “Shreveport? Is everything all right?”
“She just wanted to be around people who loved her unconditionally.”
Rafe winced and drew the puppy closer to his chest. “When is she coming back?”
“I don’t know. She quit her job.”
Rafe shut his eyes. He’d done it again. Forced her to leave another job.
A gentle hand on his arm caused his eyes to snap open. “Kristen cares about you. If you care about her, you know where to find her in Shreveport.”
“She’s better off without me,” he said, each word more painful than the last.
“Kristen doesn’t think so.” Angelique reached out to stroke the dozing puppy. “She didn’t want you to be by yourself ever again.”