by Emery, Lynn
Lee was so engrossed, an hour passed as if by some magic twist of time. He decided to take a break from staring at the computer monitor. Lee flexed his hands and arms. Then he heard two voices, one deep and the other instantly recognizable.
“Cut it out,” Andrea snapped. “This is a clinic, not a singles bar!”
“Aw, c’mon. I’m just trying to make up with ya for the other day,” the man said in a wheedling tone.
***
Andrea frowned at the grinning man when she recognized him. He’d been one of the thugs who had accosted her the first day she visited the clinic. She wondered how he’d gotten in. Without thinking, she’d walked right into the last examination room and pulled the door shut behind her. Her heart thumped. The rest of the staff was up front.
“You must have better things to do with your time,” Andrea said, trying to sound as though she were calm.
“Looka here, give me a physical,” Bo said. “You s’posed to be takin’ care of people, ain’t ya?”
“If you leave now, we won’t have any trouble,” Andrea said.
“Ain’t gotta be no trouble. I wanna be friendly with you.”
Andrea took a deep breath. “I know we started off on the wrong foot, but—”
“We had our first fuss and now we gonna make up? I like that!” Bo let out a deep chuckle.
“Okay, you’ve had your fun for the day. Now, we’ve got people waiting. Please leave,” Andrea said. She still did not raise her voice.
“We haven’t finished talking, babe.” Bo took a step closer to her. “We got interrupted last time.”
“What is your problem? I don’t have time for games.” Andrea faced him without a hint of fear this time.
“I’ve got an appointment,” Bo said. He pointed to her clipboard. “Darrel Bowman. Check it out.”
She glanced down at the list. Sure enough, his name was there. “We’ll reschedule you to see the doctor.” Andrea turned to walk away and Bo grabbed her arm.
“Okay, I was rude the last time. I really wanted to, you know, apologize. Show you I’m not all bad.”
“I’m so touched,” Andrea said in clipped tone. “Now, let go of me.”
He released his grip. “I mean it. You helped my grandmamma out when she had that bad cough last week.”
“What’s her name?” Andrea was still quite suspicious.
“Miz Lucy Whitefield. She’s my mama’s mama,” Bo said.
“Miss Lucy is your grandmother?” Andrea exclaimed.
“Lives out on Frenchtown Lane,” Bo added.
Andrea remembered the feisty old woman and her daughter. Miss Lucy admitted freely to having lived a wild life in her younger days. She was seventy years old and only health problems had slowed her down. Stella was her fifty-year-old daughter, and still drinking heavily. Andrea had been able to tell by looking at her skin and eyes. They had talked about their children and grandchildren being in trouble all the time. Here stood six feet of living proof.
Bo nodded. “That other bi—I mean that other nurse in charge of the clinic before you didn’t even try.” Bo held out his hand.
“Thanks. But I’m doing my job.”
“Maybe you’ll let me treat you to dinner.” Bo’s eyes glittered now with something other than gratitude.
“Don’t mess up a good thing. We were just on the way to getting along.”
“Which is exactly what I’m talkin’ ’bout,” Bo said. He grabbed her hand and massaged her palm in smooth circles with his thumb. “We could get along even better.”
Andrea jerked her hand back. “You’re obviously in excellent health, so leave.”
“Nah, I wanna stay with you.”
Before Andrea could react, he’d backed her against the wall. He pressed his lean body into hers, forcing her to feel the hardness of his arousal.
“Come on, I can satisfy you in ways you wouldn’t believe,” Bo said in a low, husky voice.
“Get away from me,” Andrea gasped. She brought her hands up against his chest when Bo leaned in to kiss her.
“Give me a chance and you won’t be sorry,” he panted.
“What the hell?” she heard Jamal growl.
In two giant steps he crossed to Bo and slapped a large hand on the man’s shoulder. He dug his fingers into a soft, fleshy spot between Bo’s neck and collarbone. Bo’s leering grin melted into a grimace of pain, and suddenly he let go of Andrea.
“I don’t think this is part of the exam, is it?” Jamal tightened his grip.
“N-no,” the man grunted and gasped in response. “I was just… we …”
Jamal grimaced in fury. “I know what you were doing. This is a medical clinic, not a strip club. No groping, no suggestive comments. Got it?”
Bo gasped and wheezed. “You gonna break my bone, man. Let go.”
“You wanted medical attention, didn’t you?” Jamal’s voice was calm, cold. “How many times we gotta go through this? Leave the lady alone.”
“Awright, awright,” the man pleaded, closing his eyes against the pain. “Lemme go and I’ll leave!”
Andrea could not take her eyes away from Jamal. There was control in every inch of his muscular frame. She was sure he could really harm the man if he wanted to. But somehow she did not think he would, now that Bo was obviously subdued. With one hand he’d almost brought the huge man to his knees. Still his voice remained level.
Jamal loosened his grip gradually, and Bo let out a long, slow breath of relief. Jamal took his hand away but stood back with a wide-legged stance, ready for action.
“You want to say something to Miss Noble?” Jamal nodded to Andrea.
“Sorry,” the man mumbled as he rubbed his shoulder. “Sorry what?” Jamal stepped close to him and Bo winced.
“Sorry, ma’am.”
“And?” Jamal prompted.
“It won’t happen again.”
“Get out and don’t come back,” Jamal said. The man glanced at the door as though scared to move. “Go on.”
Bo hustled out, but not without throwing a hostile glance at Jamal. “Yeah, right.”
Andrea watched as Jamal strode out into the hall to make sure Bo was gone. He was lithe and powerful at the same time. She blinked hard. Jamal Turner was not her type, she argued. He was too charming, too sure of himself, and had serial lover written all over him. She had him down pat, right? No way would she ever fall for the muscle-flexing, beat-on-his chest type of man Jamal was, with his slick talk and sexy walk. Yet her pulse raced. He walked back into the room.
Andrea breathed hard, but not from fear. “Thanks,” she said softly.
“No problem. You okay?” Jamal’s sharp gaze swept her from head to toe.
“Fine. He didn’t really do anything. You didn’t give him a chance. How did you know … I mean, you got here so fast.” Andrea brushed her hair back from her face.
“I was in the computer room and heard your voice. You didn’t sound too happy, so I decided to check it out.” Jamal walked up to her with worry in his brown eyes. “Are you sure you’re okay? You looked rattled.”
“No, no. I’m just fine, like I said. Really.” Andrea moved away from him as she tried to compose herself.
“If you say so.” Still he eyed her as though he wasn’t convinced.
“What?” Andrea blushed at the protective force that radiated from him.
“Nothing. I just… Nothing.” Jamal looked away.
“You must have taken karate courses or something, the way you handled Bo.” Andrea glanced at his muscular arms as she spoke.
“Yeah, that and I grew up in a rough neighborhood.
In South Central you gotta know how to take care of yourself.” Jamal shrugged.
“I see. Sounds like a scary place.” Andrea stared at his lips; the way they moved when he formed words wove a spell that captured her.
“It could be. Just like here, there’s good people and bad people that live there. Course, it’s not as scenic as Bayou Blue.” Jamal smiled
.
“Right,” Andrea murmured. She stared into his eyes.
Jamal’s expression softened; his breathing became audible in the silence that stretched for several seconds. “I mean this place is more beautiful than I’d imagined it to be.”
“It is. A lot of trees and plants stay green even in win-ter. Then there are the bayous and swamps.” Andrea chewed her bottom lip gently.
“I’m glad I made this move, Andrea,” he said, his voice a soft rumble.
The sound of it, deep with hidden promise, sent a shiver all the way to her toes. “Lucky for me you did come to town. You’ve saved me twice now.”
“I guess that means me working at the clinic is a good thing?” Jamal’s dimple deepened along with his smile.
He exuded a potent combination of sexiness and boyish charm at that moment. She wanted to run her fingers through his dark hair and feel the texture of those ebony curls.
“Well… I guess it does.” Andrea smiled back.
A door slammed and voices approached. Andrea blinked hard and glanced away from him sharply. It seemed to her that the air between them crackled with electricity. Jamal cleared his throat.
“I’ll, uh, check around and make sure he’s gone,” he said.
“Good idea,” Andrea replied, her throat tight from the effort not to show how he was affecting her.
“Then we can walk out together.” Jamal wore an expression of gentle concern. “That is, if you don’t mind.”
“No. I was leaving after the last appointment to go to a meeting.”
He nodded and walked away. She stared at him for several seconds. Andrea was almost panting at the way his back pockets moved with each stride. It took all her willpower to tear her gaze away from him. Jamal Turner was dangerous indeed. She could well imagine the long line of smitten females he attracted just by curving that full mouth up at the comers. Well, she would not be one of them. After giving Katy several quick instructions, she headed out. Jamal stood at the door waiting for her.
“Keep this up and people will think you’re my body-guard,” Andrea quipped.
“You might need one around here.” Jamal walked be-side her. “And even though you weren’t thrilled the board hired me without consulting you, you could use the help.”
“It’s okay.” He held up a large palm. “A little muscle isn’t a bad idea with the rough characters hanging around.”
“Ahem, yes.” Andrea could not help but glance at his chest and arms again. “I think we can learn to work together.”
“So do I.” Jamal waited until she unlocked her car door, and then opened it for her. “See you tomorrow.”
“Goodbye.” Andrea got in and allowed him to shut the door firmly.
He stood outside until she drove out of the parking lot. Andrea glanced back to see him still standing there. When he waved, she waved back. The image of strength and caring stayed with her for the rest of the day.
***
Andrea looked around her mother’s living room. Charlene lived in an upscale town house in New Orleans right off St. Charles Avenue. Vibrant emerald green, deep purple and royal blue were represented throughout. The fine wool Oriental rug complemented the upholstered furniture. Drapes of deep taupe and green were pulled back from the windows. The room was just like Charlene, bright but not garish. Charming and elegant.
Andrea frowned. Yet it lacked something. This was not a home Andrea would come to at the end of a hard day and feel comfortable enough to leave her shoes in the middle of the floor. Her frown turned into a smile. It was just like Charlene to have the perfect showcase. A far cry from the homey “take off your panty hose and let it all hang out” feel of Gran’s house. Gran used to joke that Charlene used to line up her toy teacups just so. Charlene would faint if she were to find a ceramic knickknack on her fancy mantel.
Still, Charlene was making an effort to be maternal. Her invitation for Andrea to “work me into your busy schedule” had held just the right amount of guilt to make her point. Andrea could not be irritated since Charlene wanted to spend more time with her. Today was part of her campaign for them to mend their relationship, which was strained at best. Andrea made a silent promise to put forth more of an effort. Perhaps next time she would invite Charlene out. What could they do together? They had such different interests and tastes. Andrea was turning over this riddle when Charlene entered the room carrying a tray bearing coffee and the doughnuts she knew Andrea loved so.
“Here we go. Hot beignets from Cafe Du Monde.” Her reddish brown hair was cut short and feathered to frame her heart-shaped face. She was dressed in a taupe short-sleeved silk blouse tucked into white jeans. Silver dangle earrings sparkled as she moved. Charlene reveled in looking even younger than her forty-six years. She was delighted when people expressed amazement that she had a daughter Andrea’s age. Indeed, they were frequently mistaken for sisters, a mistake Charlene did not always correct. Andrea gazed at her. Their features were alike. Andrea had always felt she was a copy of her mother, but did not quite capture the spark of the original.
“I told you not to go to any trouble.” Andrea sat down at the dining room table.
She knew her mother was far from domestic. Yet Charlene had prepared fresh fruits, juice, and coffee. She’d been determined to make this mother-daughter breakfast special.
“Don’t worry, honey. I didn’t cut up the fruit.” Charlene giggled. “But even I can make good coffee. What kind of Louisiana girl would I be if I couldn’t?”
“I hope it’s not as strong as Gran makes it. That first cup she gave me almost made my eyes pop. Guess I’ve been drinking weak Yankee coffee too long.” Andrea laughed. “Gran is something else.”
“You mean stubborn.” Charlene sat down across from her and flipped open a cotton napkin that matched the place mats. “She’s got no business drinking coffee.” “She’s cut back on the number of cups she drinks. Only one a day. And her blood pressure is just fine.” Andrea dug into her bowl of fruit.
“All the same, herbal tea would be better.” Charlene sniffed. “But at least she listens to somebody”
“Don’t start. You two are always digging at each other.” Andrea shook her head as if she were chastising two bickering children. “Am I going to have to referee again?”
“Actually I’m in her good graces since I helped you get that job and come home. She usually ignores anything I suggest.” Charlene waved her fruit fork in the air.
Andrea stiffened. “Yes, and exactly what did you do to get me the job?”
“Ahem, I know some people in state government. We all belong to the Krewe of Ashanti. When I heard about the clinic—”
“How did you hear about it?” Andrea asked. “You don’t visit Bayou Blue very often.”
“Are you trying to say I don’t keep in touch with Mama? I call her at least once a month.”
“She told you about the clinic?”
“She might have mentioned it. I don’t recall.” Charlene shrugged and sipped from a china coffee cup.
“You talked to that man.” Andrea couldn’t bring herself to say his name. “Why can’t you just tell me the truth for once?”
“Now, wait a minute, young lady. I may only be sixteen years older than you, but I’m still your mother.” She put her cup down with a sharp clink.
Any other time, Andrea might have been amused. Not today. A dull, thudding headache started at the base of her skull. It was a familiar attempt to deflect Andrea from a subject Charlene did not want to pursue.
“This move back home was good for us all. Yes, I missed my child. Is that a crime?” Her mother added just the right plaintive note.
“Oh, Charlene, please!” Andrea shook her head.
“Don’t call me Charlene,” she snapped back. “I’m your mother.”
“Only when it suits you,” Andrea retorted. Pain flashed across Charlene’s face. Andrea immediately regretted her words.
“I see.” Charlene got up and went to the window. “I suppos
e you think Mama really raised you, that I neglected you.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it the way it came out. Re-ally.”
Andrea searched for a way to back away from this emotional cliff. They’d never openly discussed John Mandeville. As though by mutual agreement, one of them would quickly end any argument that threatened to open that deep wound.
“Maybe I’m not the ideal mother.” Charlene’s voice was sad and subdued. She turned sharply to face her. “But I do care about you.”
Andrea went to Charlene and hugged her. “Of course. I know.” She tried to smile. “Guess I’m the latest generation of smart-mouthed Ricard women.”
Charlene pulled back and held both of Andrea’s shoulders. “I only wanted the best for you, Drea,” she said, ignoring Andrea’s attempt to lighten the moment. “You have to believe me.”
“I do.” Andrea smiled. “And I’m glad you’re my mommy. Even if I do have to put up with people thinking you’re younger than me.”
“Oh, stop,” Charlene said with a pleased smile. “But you’re right about me choosing when to be your mother. I’ve darted in and out of your life like a bumble bee.” “Now, Char—Mother, I said I was sorry.”
“It’s time I follow your grandmother’s advice to grow up.” Charlene assumed a matronly expression.
Andrea looked worried. “And what does that mean?” “Just that I plan to be here for you. I don’t want you to end up on one of those horrible talk shows telling the world how awful a mother I am.” Charlene’s copper eyes widened.
“Oh, really.” Andrea laughed with relief. Her dramatic, lovely mother was back, thank the Lord. “Could you see me baring my soul on national television?” Charlene giggled. “I guess not.” Then her expression grew intent as she swept Andrea from head to toe with an appraising gaze. “In fact, you’re too restrained. Too serious.”
“Not that again,” Andrea said with a sigh. She went back to the table and sat down, with Charlene following close behind.