Stay with Me Forever (Bayou Dreams Book 6)

by Farrah Rochon

  However, once they arrived home her mother’s mood changed.

  Paxton was adding leftover food scraps into Heinz’s food bowl when Belinda came upon her, her expression devoid of the sunniness that had been there all night.

  “Is there something I should know about you and Sawyer Robertson?” her mother asked.

  Paxton’s head popped up. “We’re working together. You know that already.”

  “What I saw tonight looked like a bit more than just colleagues shooting the breeze.”

  “Really?” Paxton chuckled as she walked over to the kitchen faucet and filled a plastic cup with water.

  “The question,” Paxton said as she poured the water into Heinz’s water bowl, “is what’s going on between you and Sawyer. There was a weird vibe between the two of you tonight.”

  “I was just shocked to see someone like him in my bar.”

  “Someone like him? Sawyer isn’t an alien,” Paxton said.

  “He’s a rich boy from the other side of the creek.”

  “Just because he comes from money doesn’t automatically make him a bad person,” Paxton said.

  Wait. Had she really just said that? Did she believe that?

  Yes. She did.

  “I just want you to be careful,” Belinda said. “I know what it’s like to have a rich boy charm the pants right off of you.”

  Paxton knew she was talking about her father, though she rarely thought of him in those terms. Damien Gaines was the boy who had gotten her mother pregnant. Period.

  He’d come from a family of means. They weren’t on the scale of the Robertsons—few in Gauthier were—but the Gaines were well-off by most standards. Back when Paxton was in high school, Belinda had imparted what Paxton considered a cautionary tale. She told her how Damien had sweet-talked her into sleeping with him, and once he found out she was pregnant he had denied it ever happened. Her mother was also adamant that she had not been with anyone else, so even though there had never been a paternity test, Paxton had no doubt that he was her father.

  Not as if it mattered.

  Belinda had been both mother and father to her, and she’d done a damn fine job of it.

  Damien Gaines now lived over in Saint Pierre, a small town just east of Gauthier. Paxton would run into him from time to time, but she never so much as nodded his way. He was a nonfactor.

  Her mother had always been afraid of Paxton falling into the teen pregnancy trap, even though she hadn’t been a teen in nearly two decades.

  “Mom, you don’t have to worry about me,” Paxton assured her. “I know how to take care of myself. You taught me well.”

  “I know you can take care of yourself physically. I’m worried about your heart.”

  Paxton gathered her in a hug and squeezed. “I can take care of that, too.”

  And she would. When it came to her heart, she would do everything she could to protect it.

  * * *

  Using the flashlight app on his phone to illuminate the dead bolt, Sawyer inserted one of two keys that he suspected opened the lock on the front door of the building he hadn’t stepped foot in since his dad purchased it more than four years ago. The telling click of the lock rang out into the still night; the only accompanying sound was the howl of an owl off in the distance.

  Once inside, Sawyer used the phone to locate the building’s lights, flipping them on and breathing a sigh of relief.

  “Good job, Mike,” he said.

  Michael Bastian, who had worked for years as a foreman at the lumber mill, had taken over maintenance of the building soon after his father had bought it. It was just before the cancer diagnosis, when Sawyer’s life had taken yet another heart-wrenching turn.

  He spotted a push broom leaning against the wall. He grabbed the thick handle and, despite the room being virtually spotless, proceeded to shove the thick bristles along the vinyl tile flooring. The monotonous motion was surprisingly soothing, giving his brain a much-needed break from all the thoughts that had been swirling around in there for the past couple of days.

  Between the plans for this flood protection system that were starting to make him more and more nervous by the second and what seemed like an insurmountable task of breaking past that barrier Paxton had built up against him, Sawyer didn’t have time to think of much else. But a germ of an idea had managed to burrow its way into his head after talking with so many of the mill’s workers at Belinda Jones’s sports bar.

  It wasn’t until he’d passed it on his way to the bar’s grand opening that Sawyer even remembered exactly where this building was located. He didn’t get out to Landreaux all that often. He didn’t have a reason to. Other than one small filling station that doubled as a grocery store, a few churches and the bar, the area was made up of mainly residences.

  But many of those residents were his father’s loyal workers, men and women who made it to work at the lumber mill before the sun came up. Hardworking people whose families would benefit from a place where they could hang out in the afternoon and on weekends, a place like this building.

  Over the past four years Sawyer would get the occasional phone call from Mike, inquiring about plans for the space, but up until now Sawyer didn’t have an answer. During the final year of his life, he and his dad never had a chance to discuss it. Sawyer had been content to let the building sit there unused.

  Until now.

  A flash of light through the uncovered window caught his attention.

  There wasn’t another house for a half mile on either side of the stretch of highway that led to the bridge over Landreaux Creek. Sawyer carried the push broom with him as he made his way to the door.

  A rusty Ford pickup, circa 1981, pulled up alongside the Buick. The driver’s side door opened and the overhead light illuminated the truck’s cab, revealing Mike Bastian’s leathery face.

  Sawyer broke out in a smile as he leaned the broom handle against the outside wall and walked over to the truck.

  “How’re you doing, old man?” he asked, clamping Mike’s callous palm in a handshake before bringing him in for a hug.

  Mike returned the hug, then slapped Sawyer on the shoulder.

  “Don’t you go scaring me like this. You had me thinking somebody had broken in here. Myra Jacobs called Felicity at the house and told her she’d spotted the lights on here but didn’t see my truck. You’d better be happy I didn’t grab my shotgun. Your behind could be full of buckshot right now.”

  “It’s nice to know so many people are keeping an eye out,” Sawyer said, patting Mike on the back as they returned to the building.

  Mike took him on a quick tour, showing him where he’d repaired the wall after frozen pipes during last winter’s brief freeze had burst. Mike had also taken liberties with the kitchenette, installing a new wash bin he’d found for a cheap price on Craigslist.

  “Why didn’t you tell me about this?” Sawyer said, reaching in his back pocket for his wallet. “How much do I owe you for it?”

  Mike waved him off. “I’m not worrying about no money, boy. If I didn’t spend it on the sink, Felicity would spend it on all those knickknacks crowding the house. Teapots are her new thing. Got more damn teapots in that house than the British.”

  Laughing as he stuffed the wallet back into his pocket, Sawyer followed Mike into the main area of the building.

  “So, what you doing all the way out here?” he asked. Sawyer told him about the bar’s grand opening, which, of course, Mike had already heard about.

  “I decided to drop in here and see how the building was holding up, since it was on the way home,” Sawyer told him. “You’ve taken good care of it.”

  “Nothing else to do now that I’m retired from the mill,” Mike said with a shrug.

  “Don’t you think it’s time we do something with this place?”
Sawyer asked. “My dad wouldn’t want it to just sit here, giving you an excuse to get away from Felicity every now and then.”

  “You’d better not tell her that,” Mike warned.

  “I won’t.” He laughed; then he sobered. “I’m serious, Mike. My dad and I never discussed it, but I think we could maybe turn this place into a rec center for the families of the mill workers who live over here in Landreaux. There are a lot of them on this side of the creek. Don’t you think they would appreciate a place for their families, something close to home that doesn’t require them driving all the way to downtown Gauthier?”

  He walked to the far end of the room. “I’m picturing five or so computer stations here. And maybe in the corner over there we could do a reading area. Hell, this place is big enough to put in a wall or two. They can hold several different events at one time.”

  Sawyer couldn’t be sure he’d ever seen Mike wearing a smile as big as the one on his face right now. On the average person, it would barely be considered a grin.

  “Earl did a pretty good job with you,” Mike said, that smile widening even more. “When your mama passed on he was scared as hell that he would mess you up, but Cheryl Ann would be proud of the son he raised.”

  Sawyer couldn’t deny the pride warming his chest. “Thanks, Mike. That means a lot coming from you.” His hands on his hips, Sawyer looked around the vast empty space. “So, what do you think?”

  Mike patted him on the back. “I think I got myself a new excuse to get away from Felicity’s teapots.”

  Chapter 6

  Paxton pulled into the gravel parking lot of the Gauthier Lions Club’s lodge, surprised to find it empty. Was she the first one here?

  “Hmm, I guess miracles really do happen,” she murmured as she checked her lipstick in the rearview mirror.

  A moment later, Sawyer’s gleaming BMW pulled up next to her car. He looked over at her and smiled. He wore dark sunglasses, and, my goodness, but they looked good against his rich mahogany skin. Paxton sucked in a swift breath, praying it would help to regulate her heart rate.

  “Lord, I want this man,” she breathed. Getting out of her car, she sucked in another calming breath. Her blood was still simmering after last night’s near kiss. She needed to find some control if she was going to make it through today without taking Sawyer up on his offer.

  And she was determined not to take him up on his offer.

  Maybe.

  Sawyer met her at his front fender, sans sunglasses.

  “Good morning,” he greeted her.

  Two seconds had passed and she’d managed to refrain from pushing him onto the hood of his car and climbing on top of him. That was a good start.

  “Good morning,” Paxton returned. She nodded toward his car. “I see you got your baby back.”

  “And not a moment too soon. I couldn’t take another day in the Buick. I was just about to start jogging to work.”

  Her gaze immediately dropped to his well-toned chest, which no doubt benefited from the evening jogs he told her he took after work. Her eyes darted back up to his, which creased slightly at the edges with his smile.

  “You can look,” he said with a grin. “I don’t mind.”

  Paxton rolled her eyes and released a frustrated sigh.

  “Hey, you two! Good morning!”

  Paxton turned to find Mya Anderson striding toward them.

  “Thanks for coming out so early,” Paxton said to her in greeting. “I appreciate you taking the time out to show us the storm damage.”

  Mya Dubois had created a gossip firestorm when she left Gauthier weeks after high school graduation, and she was the subject of even more gossip when she returned fifteen years later to attend her grandfather’s funeral. Instead of hightailing it back to New York, she’d remained in Gauthier and eventually married her old high school sweetheart, Corey Anderson.

  Corey and Mya had discovered Gauthier’s recent claim to fame, the room in the Gauthier Law Firm that had been confirmed as a stop on the Underground Railroad. Mya, who had once shunned her hometown, had become Gauthier’s biggest advocate. She now served as a pseudomayor/community leader, following in her grandmother Eloise Dubois’s footsteps.

  “I should be thanking the two of you,” Mya said. “Getting that millage tax passed was one hurdle, but making sure the best flood protection system possible is put into place is what really matters. Having two lifelong residents handling this project is more than I could have ever hoped for.”

  “It’s going to be more than sufficient,” Paxton said. She glanced quickly at Sawyer, who’s expression remained neutral. “From what I hear, your grandmother and the rest of the members of the Gauthier Civic Association had a lot to do with getting out the vote and pushing the measure.”

  “To be honest, they didn’t have to do much pushing after Tropical Storm Lucy blew through. The flooding was unprecedented, and in so many areas that hardly see standing water in the streets, let alone the kind of flooding we all saw with that storm. It became obvious pretty quickly just how much this new flood protection system is needed.” Mya motioned for them to follow her. “Let me show you some of the damage that occurred here.”

  They entered the lodge, which was known mostly for the monthly pancake breakfast it hosted but which also served as an after-school day care center.

  “Insurance covered a fair amount of the damage, but not all of it. The Lions Club held fund-raisers to cover the rest of the repairs. The building was out of commission for months.”

  “Isn’t this where they hold the youth summer camp?” Sawyer asked.

  “Usually, but they couldn’t hold it here last summer. The school board allowed the organizers to hold an abbreviated two-week summer program in the school cafeteria, but the school also took in some water and had to undergo its own repairs.”

  Paxton studied the drawings taped to the walls, crayon masterpieces with smiling stick figures. There were also posters with positive affirmations, healthy living guides and quotes encouraging kids to eat right and engage in at least sixty minutes of physical activity per day.

  “They were still building this place when I left for Little Rock,” she murmured. “It looks as if they do a lot here with the kids.”

  “It has been a great addition to the community,” Mya said. “The previous building was much smaller.”

  “It’s still a pretty long drive for some in the community,” Sawyer commented. “There isn’t a place like this in the Landreaux area, is there?”

  “No,” Paxton confirmed with a shake of her head. “I wish there were. We could use something like this on the other side of the creek. There’s so little for kids to do there.”

  He stared at her for a moment, a curious look about him, before redirecting his attention back to Mya. “Do you know how high the water got in here?”

  “Actually, I can show you.” Mya motioned for them to follow her. “They still haven’t changed out the drywall in the storage closet.”

  She flipped on a light in a closet at the rear of the room. It was faint, but Paxton could make out the line that rimmed the wall. It was nearly a foot from the floor.

  “Goodness, there was that much water?” she asked. “How long did it take to recede?”

  “That was another thing. Because the ground was already so saturated and the rivers nearing flood stages because of a heavy rain the week before, the water took days to recede. Everyone I talked to said that they had never seen anything like this, especially in this part of town.”

  Paxton nodded. “My mom said the same. Thankfully, Harlon’s Bar is raised. It would have gotten a lot more damage if it were sitting on a slab instead of pilings.”

  Just the thought sent a spiral of unease skittering down Paxton’s spine. She’d heard the stories and seen pictures and videos, but it wasn’t until th
is very moment, until she saw with her own eyes how high the water had climbed, that it truly sank in for her. If it had rose a foot, what would stop it from rising two feet, or three feet, with the next big rain event?

  What if that perfect storm scenario Sawyer had talked about came to pass?

  Actually seeing the damage made the importance of what they were doing hit home for Paxton like nothing else ever could. Her mind immediately conjured up the topography maps stretched across the conference room table. How much had the landscape changed since they were drawn up? If she looked at them right now, would it show that this area of Gauthier was elevated and thus shouldn’t have flooded?

  She had faith in her team at Bolt-Myer, and didn’t want to question the work they’d put into this project, but the writing was literally on the wall. That faint waterline signified so much.

  Sawyer was right. There was something going on here, and Paxton had the sinking feeling that if they didn’t get to the root cause before they started working on the design phase of the project, Gauthier was destined to see a repeat of what had happened with Tropical Storm Lucy.

  Their next stop was the elementary school. The damage sustained had not been as extensive as at the Lion’s Club, but several classrooms were still out of commission nearly a year after the flooding.

  “There were several homes that were damaged, too, right?” Sawyer asked as they walked along the gravel lot behind the school.

  “A few, but many of those have been repaired,” Mya said.

  “We should still talk to the owners,” Paxton said. “I want to get an idea of how bad the flooding was and how close it has come to anything else they’ve seen in recent years.”

  “We should probably tour the animal shelter, too,” Mya said.

  Paxton stopped short, her stomach dropping. “The animal shelter?” she asked. “I didn’t realize it had been hit, too. Shayla never told me.”

  Mya nodded. “It was. Thankfully, all the animals were saved. Callie Webber, the vet over in Maplesville, volunteered her practice as a makeshift shelter. But it was all still pretty traumatic for the animals.”