A Cajun Dream (The Cajun Series Book 5)

by Claire, Cherie

  Philip took a deep breath and staggered to the front of the inn. A tall American with a rifle stood guard at the door. The dark-haired man, missing several teeth, was distinguished by a scar running across his left cheek up to his unclean hairline. He studied Philip thoroughly.

  “My dear man,” Philip said as he climbed the front stairs. “Are we expecting the president?”

  Toothless remained silent and Philip wondered if the incredibly ugly man was doing his job or didn’t understand the joke. Philip pointed the bottle of rum toward his rifle. “Are we keeping something out or keeping something in?”

  The American frowned. Perhaps it was his accent.

  “Why the rifle?” Philip finally asked.

  “I’m looking for someone,” the American mumbled.

  Philip looked worried. “Do I have reason to fear? I’m staying the night in this inn.”

  “Doubt it,” Toothless replied. “It’s a private fight.”

  Philip raised a hand to his chest in relief. “Thank goodness, my man. On that news, I think I shall have another drink.”

  Raising the bottle to his lips, Philip caught two important revelations: René crossing the hallway and reaching the back stairs and the American licking his lips as he watched Philip drink. After pretending to take a sip from the bottle, Philip handed the rum to the other man. Before the American could accept the gesture, another armed man appeared from around the corner of the building. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he shouted.

  “Just a sip,” the toothless man replied.

  “Who is this?” the other man demanded, pointing to Philip.

  “Another patron of the inn,” Philip said, bowing politely.

  “He’s French,” he said to the toothless man. “You know the rules.”

  “He ain’t the Cajun,” Toothless said.

  “How do you know?”

  Toothless gazed at Philip thoughtfully. “He’s too fancy dressed.”

  The other man slapped Toothless on the arm. “You know the rules. He’s French. Blow the whistle.”

  Toothless hesitated, still gazing longingly at the bottle of rum. Philip started to say something witty, something to throw them both off track, but Toothless quickly raised the whistle to his lips and appeared ready to blow. Philip moved instantly, sending a fist into the man’s ribs, knocking the breath from his lungs.

  Before Philip could formulate his next move, however, he heard a crack at the back of his head and a flash of pain before he disappeared into darkness.

  Somewhere in the black night a light came on and Amanda hoped she was not dead after all. She heard voices, laughter, the sound of a bell like those used on ships. Sea gulls. Water beating against a shore. This couldn’t be the afterlife, she thought, with such familiar earthly sounds. The pounding pain that continued at the base of her skull was not something that would follow her into heaven.

  She tried again to rise, but the pounding intensified. She willed herself to a seated position, fighting the nausea rising in her chest. Slowly, she raised her head, careful not to make any sudden moves to set the room spinning once more. Within minutes, she was sitting up, her back resting against a wall.

  I can do this, she commanded herself, feeling the tears well up. I will do this.

  Looking around the meager room, Amanda tried to make sense of what had happened. She remembered the fais do-do, the smile on Alcée’s face when he played Jolie Blonde at the LeBlanc house. Her father speaking of the Marquis de Lafayette. Water at a well.

  Gazing toward the wall where light was streaming in through the open window, Amanda suddenly recognized the painting. A ship with an English flag sailing among high waves, its bow sporting a scantily clad woman. She had seen it before. At a time when there were sounds of the sea outside the room.

  Dear God, Amanda realized with horror, I am in Port Cocodrie.

  Instantly, she remembered the fire, the screams of the horses as they kicked at their stalls. She recalled the fear that had raced through her veins when Tanner’s face came into view. And something that landed hard on the top of her head.

  I will get through this, she insisted, rising from the floor, her back flat against the wall for support. I have to get away.

  “Going somewhere?” a voice sounded from behind, a voice Amanda knew only too well. She dared not look around for fear of fainting. Instead, Henry Tanner emerged from the shadow of the doorway, standing before her with a rifle in one hand.

  “Why did you bring me here?” Amanda asked, trying to keep her voice calm. “What could you possibly want from me now?”

  His cold black eyes stared down at her unemotionally, while the thin lines of Tanner’s lips rose in a smirk. “I thought we had a deal, darling Amanda. You wanted romance, and I needed three thousand dollars. Only now, the price has risen.”

  “You’re crazy,” Amanda said, inching away from him along the wall, heading for the open door. The thought of Katherine strangled by this man constricted her voice. “I only asked for an escort to a dance. I never dreamed you would take advantage of me.”

  “Nonsense,” Tanner said, following her. “You asked for it all, and now I expect to get paid.”

  “My father will make arrangements,” Amanda continued as she felt the threshold beneath her fingers. “You only need to speak to him.”

  Tanner laughed as he slammed the door shut before her. Leaning down so close to her face Amanda could smell the whiskey on his breath, Tanner said sarcastically, “Don’t worry, my dear. If your father shows up, I’ll be glad to do the talking.”

  Amanda shut her eyes, willing the horrid man from her sight. She knew he lingered in front of her when his hand slid down her cheek, around her neck to the bodice of her gown. “I think perhaps it’s time I collected interest on you as well. If William McDuff can raise the debts, then so can I.”

  While Tanner’s hand fumbled with the top buttons of her dress, Amanda heard a whistle being blown on the ground floor. Thankfully, the noise caused Tanner to divert his thoughts. She opened her eyes to find him rising and moving away, a smile dancing on his lips.

  “If your father doesn’t grace us with a visit,” he said, reaching for the gun powder and pouring a small amount in the gun’s pan, “then maybe your Cajun husband will.”

  Amanda heard the hallway’s wooden planks giving way to a person’s footsteps. Someone was nearby. Help had arrived. She screamed seconds before Tanner slapped her hard across the face. But instead of being furious with her actions, Tanner grinned and raised his rifle at the closed door, cocking it slowly and taking aim.

  “Your Cajun should arrive any minute now. Thank you for that.”

  Still reeling from the burning slap and the bump at the back of her head, Amanda tried to sit up and concentrate. She had to do something quick. She heard the footsteps moving down the hallway, heading straight for the door and in the line of Tanner’s fire. If René had indeed followed her here, he wouldn’t stop to think. His only aim would be to save her, no matter what trap he was walking into.

  As the footsteps halted on the other side of the door, Tanner set the gun at his shoulder. Amanda saw the doorknob move slightly. If she yelled, he would bolt inside. But if she said nothing, he would surely be killed.

  “Stupid Cajun,” she heard Tanner utter.

  Realizing her advantage in knowing French, Amanda yelled her instructions. “Move away from the door,” she shouted in French.

  The gun exploded, sending a blaze of fire across the room. The ball blew apart the wooden door, and Amanda heard the sickening sound of a body fall on the other side. Through the smoke and splintered remnants of what remained of the door, Amanda recognized the cottonade shirt Marie Rose had lovingly made for her son. René lay dead on the hallway floor, blood covering his head and shirt.

  Everything began to spin again as Amanda screamed and rushed toward René. She felt Tanner’s arms pulling her back inside, but she refused to be afraid, pounding him with her fists and clawi
ng his face with her nails. Tanner hit her hard across the face, a blow forceful enough to make her stop yelling. She began sobbing, falling to a defeated heap on the floor.

  “Bitch,” Tanner yelled at her, wiping the blood from his face. “You’re going to pay for that.”

  Tanner grabbed her wrists while raising her skirts to her waists. Amanda knew what was coming, but she no longer cared. René was gone. And it was all her fault.

  Use your head. The thoughts flowed through René’s mind, seeping into his silent mind as if in a void. Only a fool rushes in.

  He was hurt; somewhere he was bleeding profusely. He felt the warm liquid ooze down his face, burning his eyes. His head must have stopped the bullet, he thought, for he could hear nothing and most of the blood appeared to be covering his face. He had to be dead. No one could have withstood a direct shot at that close range.

  Then René remembered Pierre’s fall from the oak tree last spring, the blood pouring across his forehead in a stream. They had all feared a busted head, only to find a gash the size of a small fingernail.

  René moved his fingers and found them in working order. He slid his hand along his trousers, brushing aside the fragments of wood until he found his pocket and the handkerchief inside. Raising the cloth to his face, he wiped the blood from his eyes and found the blood’s source. Right above his right ear the bullet had grazed his skin. He was alive. And he still had time.

  If Philip’s words of advice were not enough to convince him, the pain searing his forehead sure did. He had no choice but to use his head, he thought grimly. The pain wouldn’t allow him to think of anything else.

  Except dear Amanda. He remembered her scared scream and her warning just in time for him to move to the side of the door. He would concentrate on saving Amanda, and kill anyone in his path.

  René fought the desire to lose consciousness as he rose from the floor. Through the hole in the door, he made out Tanner’s back. The bastard was removing his jacket and shirt while Amanda lay weeping on the floor before him. She would not cry for long, René vowed.

  He entered the room slowly through the doorway, pulling the pistol from his waist and placing it at arm’s length at the base of Tanner’s skull. René could hear nothing, but saw Tanner stiffen when he pulled the lever to a fully cocked position.

  “Get your damn hands off my wife,” René said slowly and succinctly.

  René knew Tanner heard him, but God, why couldn’t he hear himself? The world had gone eerily silent, except for the incessant thunder reverberating through his mind.

  Tanner swung around and laughed. He said something with a cocky smile on his face, but again, René heard nothing. It was just as well, René thought. He had to concentrate. Use his head. René stared relentlessly at Tanner, his eyes never leaving his face.

  Tanner glanced behind René and smiled again, as if he wanted René to believe his men were behind him. René continued to stare at him, refusing to take the bait. If there were men at his back, René still held the gun to Tanner’s head.

  Tanner leaned back slightly, still smiling his wicked grin. He said a few words to René, but René’s arm never faltered. Then Tanner said something that registered. “Shoot him,” René read from his lips.

  For a moment, René doubted his safety. Still, he held his ground, his eyes locked in a duel with Tanner’s.

  Suddenly, a blast came from behind. Even though his hearing had not fully returned, René could detect a pistol firing. A vibration rocked the floor, but as far as René could tell, he stood unharmed.

  Tanner’s eyes grew wide with fear. If his men had followed him to the room, René assumed someone or something had interfered. Tanner’s eyes betrayed him; he was caught and he knew it.

  Panic, you son of a bitch, René thought, as he watched Tanner eye his pistol on the side of the bed. Reach for it.

  Tanner lunged toward the weapon. In the split second Tanner made his decision, René fired his pistol, the smoke of the gunpowder filling the room. As the air slowly cleared, René saw Tanner’s body lying motionless on the floor, a bullet hole through his forehead.

  The danger abated, René felt the blood rushing from his head. He fell to his knees as the strength slowly waned from his limbs and the pain intensified. The room began to spin, and he felt an angel grab him and hold him close. Staring down at him with eyes the color of a summer sky, he saw her form three words.

  He couldn’t hear himself repeat them, but he said them nonetheless. “I love you, too.”

  The pungent fog of burnt sulfur surrounded him and René turned to find James grabbing his arm, a look of concern on his face and a smoking gun in his free hand.

  “We’re undefeatable when we work together,” René said, sending him a grim smile just before the room faded to black.

  A Cajun Dream

  Chapter Eighteen

  “I don’t understand,” Amanda said, her heart and head still pounding from the fear. “What was Uncle Philip doing in Port Cocodrie?”

  The Judge sighed, placing a hand at her temple. “All in good time, Amanda. Now, you must rest. You’ve had quite a shock. We could easily arrange a room for you....”

  “I’m not leaving him, Father.”

  “Your father’s right,” Philip said, holding a wet cloth to the back of his wounded head. “We will have time to explain later.”

  Amanda stared at the door leading into the room where James had carried René. The town’s physician was called, and for more than twenty minutes he had been attending to René’s wounds.

  “It appears that I have plenty of time,” Amanda said grimly.

  “He is going to be fine,” James said.

  Amanda turned and gazed at the man who had amazingly metamorphosed within a few day’s time. Only a week ago he angrily dismissed her marital worries, retreating into his darkened parlor and slamming the door on both her and the subject. Only a week before she first considered being escorted to a ball with Henry... Amanda shuddered at the thought of the man who now lay dead on the third floor of the Port Cocodrie Inn.

  Without knowing that James had risen and come to her side, Amanda felt his arms wrapping tightly about her. “It’s over now.” James kissed the top of her head. “It’s over.”

  Amanda snaked her own arms around her father and placed her cheek against his warm, rough lapel. If only that were true, she thought. If only the doctor would tell them René was going to be all right.

  “Will you all ever forgive me?” she asked.

  “Someone once told me there was never a problem without a solution,” James said, repeating Virginia’s favorite saying with a slight smile. “I think it’s time we moved on.”

  The door opened and the physician emerged from the darkened room. Before he could utter a word, Amanda heard René calling out for her. Without forethought, she lunged past the doctor and headed straight toward his bedside, never caring about revealing petticoats as she climbed on to the bed. René sat up and eagerly cupped her face, while Amanda’s fingers traced the length of his bandage.

  “All you all right?” René asked her, his eyes searching her face for signs. “Has he hurt you in any way?”

  Amanda shook her head, tears escaping her eyes when she realized how deep the shotgun blast had penetrated the side of René’s head. “Can you hear me?” she asked, afraid there would be no answer.

  René planted soft kisses on her cheeks while his fingers reached into the blond curls that escaped their hairpins and were lying loose about her shoulders. When he didn’t answer, Amanda feared the worst.

  “Yes, I can hear you,” René said softly, holding her face close to his.

  “I’m fine.”

  “Of course you are,” James said, placing a comforting hand on René’s shoulder. “We will do everything in our power to get you well.”

  “You’re a hero now,” Philip said coming around the side of the bed to shake his hand. “Because you used your head.”

  “René,” Amanda said, “I’d
like you to meet my uncle.”

  “We’ve met,” René said, giving Philip’s hand a firm shake.

  Amanda gaped at first René, then Philip. When she began a series of questions, Philip held out a hand.

  “Later, mon petite,” Philip said, then he turned to James. “You were right. He does have a good handshake.”

  “Hero,” James repeated thoughtfully. “Now, you must run for office, my boy. You could win any election you choose.”

  René gazed back at Amanda. “Is he talking about what I think he’s talking about?”

  “Politics, my boy,” James continued while Amanda laughed at René’s grim expression. “After what happened today, you could have your choice of positions. As long as you don’t choose the parish judgeship, of course.”

  “Nonsense,” Philip interjected, “He’s going into the importing and exporting business with me. I could use a sharp mind.”

  “Gentlemen,” Amanda said firmly. “What René needs now is rest.”

  The Judge again placed a fatherly hand on his shoulder. “I think Amanda is right. We should leave you two alone for now.”

  “An astounding idea,” Philip agreed. “Let us leave the newlyweds to themselves and seek some company in the nearby pub.”

  “So, it wasn’t an act, after all,” René said to Philip, sending him a sly grin.

  Philip winked, then reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a small wrapped package. “A wedding present,” he said, handing the package to Amanda. “This is all the rage across America. You would know that if you lived in a civilized city.” Philip shot James a teasing look and James grimaced half-heartedly while he waved off the remark. Amanda couldn’t help wonder when the two estranged men had become reunited.

  Philip’s expression turned more serious as he gazed back to René. “I think you will find it very interesting, mon ami, Very interesting, indeed.”