by JoAnn Ross
A not entirely uncomfortable silence settled over them.
The fog that had been blowing in from the sea had lifted. As Mary looked up at the vast, star-spangled sky, she thought how long it had been since she’d been far enough from city lights to actually see stars. And how much she’d missed them.
As soon as her release appearances for Selkie Bride were finished, she’d have to schedule in a trip home.
But at this moment, in this place that reminded her of the village that had played such a vital part in the woman she’d become, for the first time in ages, Mary felt herself beginning to unwind. A feeling that was, unfortunately, to be short-lived.
“Ready to go back in?” he asked as the musicians switched from “The Rising of the Moon” to the more sprightly “Emily’s Reel.”
“I suppose I should.”
It wouldn’t have been her first choice. She was a bit surprised, and pleased, by the way J.T. had slightly lowered his barricades, giving her a bit of insight, and even as Mary reminded herself that she should keep her distance, another, stronger part of her would have preferred they stay out here by themselves.
She handed him back his jacket, took a breath, and made the mental shift into public movie-star mode. Something that was far more exhausting than it looked to outsiders.
As difficult as her first meeting with J.T. had been, her introduction to his family was the first truly enjoyable part of the evening.
Good looks obviously ran in the Douchett family. His grandfather Bernard, who—she did the math—had to have been in his seventies though looked a decade younger, and his father, whom Mary guessed to be in his late fifties, both were still ruggedly handsome men and gave her an idea of how the youngest Douchett son would age.
The oldest brother, Cole, obviously doted on his wife, smiling down on her as she’d assured Mary that she’d seen every one of her movies.
“More than once,” Kelli said breathlessly. “I can’t wait until this new one’s available so I can have them as a boxed set.”
“I could get you a copy before it goes on sale, if you’d like.”
“Really? Oh, wow!” She pressed a hand against the front of the Barbie pink dress, as if to still her excited heart. “That would be so wonderful! Wouldn’t it, honey?” She beamed up at her husband before turning back to Mary. “Cole’s a huge fan, too. He usually doesn’t watch a movie more than once, but whenever I have yours on the Blu-ray player, he comes and watches with me again. I swear, he’s watched Siren Song more than Iron Man.”
J.T. tried to smother his laugh, but Mary heard it just the same. As she glanced up at him, she saw something that looked like humor in his eyes. But it came and went so quickly, she wondered whether it could have been merely a trick of the light.
“I love your shoes,” Kelli gushed. “I never would have thought to wear hot pink with midnight blue. But they so work.”
“Thank you.” Definitely not a Rodeo Drive fashionista, Mary wouldn’t have chosen the combination, either. But Leon had pressed, and although she still thought the dress was overkill for the occasion, she couldn’t deny that he’d nailed the shoes.
“My wife could have been a Hollywood star,” J.T.’s father, Lucien, announced.
“My husband exaggerates,” Maureen Douchett, who bore a striking resemblance to Maureen O’Hara, demurred.
“You would’ve been famous,” he insisted. “With a star on the Walk of Fame in Hollywood. She was second runner-up to Miss Oregon,” he informed Mary proudly, “which got some big-shot agent from Hollywood calling. But she turned down his offer, to marry me.” The way his eyes gleamed as he gazed down at his wife revealed that he still couldn’t believe his luck.
“It was a very small offer,” Maureen told Mary. She lifted a hand to her husband’s dark cheek. “While Lucien’s was impossible to resist.”
The chemistry between them was palpable, somehow shutting out everyone else in the restaurant, making Mary feel a bit as if she were intruding on a private moment. She also wondered how many women could ever hope to be as fortunate as the Douchett women appeared to be.
“I remember you,” Adèle Douchett, J.T.’s grandmother, spoke up suddenly. “You were that pretty girl J.T. dated for a while back in high school. The one who had the pregnancy scare.”
Silence dropped like a stone over the group.
“This is Mary Joyce, Grand-mère,” J.T. said, his gentle tone, which was far different from the guff one she’d heard thus far, revealing none of the embarrassment Mary knew he must be experiencing. “She’s an actress. Who plays the selkie queen, remember? You really like those movies.”
“Oh.” She looked up at Mary, squinting a little, as if to study her more closely. “Well, of course I remember those films. You’re a very good actress and my grandson’s right. I do enjoy those selkie stories.”
Mary smiled. “Thank you.”
She could feel J.T., standing beside her, begin to relax. A moment too soon.
“I suppose the reason I didn’t recognize you right off the bat is that you’re wearing clothes tonight.”
Touching her for the first time, J.T. put a hand on Mary’s waist. “The mayor’s trying to get your attention,” he said evenly. “As much fun as this has been, I guess you’d better get back to work meeting and greeting folks to keep the festival committee happy.”
“I suppose so.” Mary wished she could just sit down and spend the rest of the evening with the Douchetts, but unfortunately this trip wasn’t a personal one. “You must be very proud of your sons,” she told Maureen. “And it was a pleasure meeting you, Mrs. Douchett,” she said to his grandmother.
“The pleasure was mine,” the older woman said. She looked up at J.T. “If you’re as smart as your grandfather and I have always known you are, you won’t let this one get away.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.…Hell, I’m sorry,” he said to Mary as he practically pushed her across the wooden floor.
“You needn’t apologize for her.” Didn’t Adèle Douchett remind Mary of her own grandmother? “I like your family.” She glanced back to where J.T.’s grandfather Bernard Douchett had crouched down in front of his wife and taken her hands in his. Both love and concern were etched into his sea-weathered face. “And it’s obvious that both your parents and grandparents are still very much in love,” Mary said as she blinked back an unexpected misting in her eyes.
“There were times, growing up, when we were kids, that my brothers and I were embarrassed by the way our parents sort of made out while slow dancing here at Bon Temps,” J.T. said, revealing yet another personal tidbit. “No one else’s mom and dad were anything like that.” He shook his head. “But now that I’m older, I guess they set the bar for what I’d want if I ever get married.”
“It’s a high bar.” With her own father never having remarried after her mother had died, and the Irish not being all that publicly demonstrative, Mary hadn’t witnessed that type of deep and abiding love until her sister Nora had fallen in love with Quinn. “But I know exactly what you mean.”
He paused briefly to look down at her. He was, she thought, a bit surprised. “I may work in Hollywood,” she said. “But I have my own marriage role model in my sister and her husband. And I’ve never believed in settling for second-best.”
He gave her another of those long, inscrutable looks. Just when she thought he might be about to say something personal, Mayor Dennis was standing in front of them.
“There’s someone over here who’s dying to meet you, Mary,” she said. “He’s a state legislator who’s planning a run for the U.S. Congress, and a huge fan.” Taking Mary by the arm, she dragged her away.
Mary heard J.T. curse beneath his breath; then he followed.
12
Two hours later, they were back in the Whale Song honeymoon suite. “Can I get you anything?” Mary asked with the hostess manners her grandmother had taught her early in life. “Some wine? A beer, perhaps? Apparently people feel the need to drink
while on a honeymoon, because the bar’s well stocked with just about anything anyone would want. Including champagne. Which makes sense, given this is supposed to be the honeymoon suite.”
J.T. didn’t need any reminder of that huge bed that had seemed to take up the major part of the bedroom. The bed he had, when he’d taken her luggage in, momentarily fantasized about dragging her down onto.
“I wouldn’t turn down a beer.” He hadn’t drunk anything at the reception, just in case he’d be called to leap into duty. And although he could hear Kara reminding him that he was still technically on duty, it wasn’t as if he were going to chug down a six-pack.
“But you’ve been entertaining everyone for the past three hours,” he said. And, except for that brief time out on the porch, she’d worked every minute of it, succeeding in charming everyone in the place. “So sit down and I’ll get it. And whatever you’d like.” She had, he’d noticed, stuck to club soda with a twist of lime.
She didn’t argue but, going over to the built-in music system, pushed some buttons, then sank down onto the sofa that overlooked the bay, kicked off the strappy pink heels that were even higher and spikier than the leopard ones, and sighed in what sounded like relief.
“I’d love a glass of chardonnay.”
“You got it.”
Having been living in Bon Temps for the past six weeks, he recognized the haunting Irish tones coming from the ceiling speakers as Enya. His mother had long been a fan, which was one of the reasons why the album was on Bon Temps’ jukebox, and as he remembered that the singer had garnered a number of stalkers, he hoped to hell that Kara was right and he wouldn’t have to worry about that problem with this Irish star.
He could feel her eyes on his back as he got the beer and wine out of the cooler.
“I love your brother’s restaurant.”
“I do, too. My mom first opened Bon Temps shortly after marrying Dad—as a take-out joint in a building about the size of a broom closet, to hear them tell it. Since it was the only Cajun restaurant on the coast, it took off, and by the time Sax was born, it was bringing in enough income our dad was able to quit fishing and they ran the place together. They also provided all the entertainment. We kids grew up there and I still remember falling asleep listening to Mom singing like a nightingale on the big stage that used to be there.”
“That’s a lovely memory,” she murmured. “Some would consider running a restaurant, as good as your family’s is, a step down from being offered a movie contract.”
“You saw them together.” He poured the wine, opened the bottle of beer, crossed the room, and handed her the stemmed glass. “Did you notice any signs of regret?”
“Not a one.” She took a sip of the wine. “Perfect, thank you.”
“Hey, it’s your wine,” J.T. said with a shrug as he sat down in a blue striped wing chair, putting the white coffee table between them. “Thanks again for not saying anything to my grandmother when she brought up you being naked in those movies.”
“Actually, for the record, I wasn’t naked. In those beach and bedroom scenes when it looked as if I was, I was wearing a flesh-colored bodysuit. But you needn’t worry about me being offended. Your grandmother reminds me a lot of my own. Who can be more than a little outspoken, herself.”
“Grand-mère’s always spoken her mind. But after she hit her head in a fall, the doctors diagnosed her with dementia, which seems to have done away with any filters.”
“I’m sorry.”
And didn’t that make two of them? J.T. also decided it wasn’t his place to tell her that it hadn’t actually been him, but Sax, who’d had that high school pregnancy scare.
“The doctors don’t believe she’ll get any worse. But they also can’t guarantee she’ll get better.”
“It’s troubling to have someone you love have health problems,” she said. “I lost my mother when I was very young. And then my father when I was sixteen.”
“That’s rough.” He’d read that family history in her bio, including the fact that her mother had died giving birth to the youngest Joyce sister when Mary had been nine years old. But seeing the statement online wasn’t the same as watching the shadows darken her blue eyes at the memory.
“It wasn’t easy. Fortunately, my sister had returned home from the convent to step into our mother’s shoes. Nora’s always been the Joyce family rock.”
“Mom’s pretty much the Douchett family anchor,” J.T. said. “Though Kara’s one tough cookie, too.”
He told her an abridged version of how Kara’s Marine husband and high school sweetheart had been killed on a domestic call as a cop after surviving multiple tours in Afghanistan and Iraq. How she’d been a detective in California, then come back to take over her dad’s job when he’d been killed. And how Sax, who’d fallen in love with her back in high school—but hadn’t said or done anything about it, since she’d been in love with his friend—had won her over and now they were having a baby and getting married.
She ran a fingernail around the rim of her wineglass. “That’s a very bittersweet story that definitely says a lot about your brother. Not all teenage boys would’ve been that honorable.”
“There was a time, back in the day, when Sax was doing his best to play the town hellion. But he never was, deep down.”
He took a drink of beer, felt the cool slide down his throat, and, being that he was technically on the job, vowed this would be his only one of the day.
“The problem was that Cole, being the straight-arrow oldest brother, was a tough act to live up to. So, Sax pretty much quit trying during middle school and started carving out his own reputation.”
Of the two of his brothers, although he’d looked up to Cole, Sax was the one J.T. had envied. Even if he had spent a lot of time in hot water. Until his senior year, when he’d promised Jared Conway, who’d gone off and joined the Marines, to watch out for Kara and keep her from being lonely.
“What about you?”
He dragged his mind from those days when it was more than obvious to everyone but Kara that Sax had fallen hard. And, as it turned out, his feelings had been strong enough to survive all those years apart.
“Me?”
“Well, if Cole was the straight arrow, and Sax was Shelter Bay’s bad boy, what role did you take on?”
“Why, can’t you tell?” He flashed a grin. “I was the smart, handsome, charming Douchett brother.”
Hell, where had that come from? The past, he realized as he watched her baby blues open wide with surprise. Before he’d gotten so deep in the pit that even this morning he hadn’t been certain he was ever going to be able to climb out.
“I could tell that from the tie.”
He glanced down at the cartoon crawfish. “The suit and shirt belong to Cole, who, as I mentioned, was the respectable brother and insisted tonight’s occasion called for something more than flannel or leather over a T-shirt. I got the tie from Sax.”
“I like it. Though I suspect the leather jacket would’ve made most of the women in Bon Temps tonight happy.” She took a sip of the wine, studying him more deeply. “I feel as if I’m watching that old black-and-white TV quiz show. Would the real J. T. Douchett please stand up?”
He shrugged. Stretched out his legs and realized that since she was going to be in town for the next few days, she’d be bound to hear gossip.
“I liked being a Marine,” he said. “A lot. It felt like home from the first day. But I was living with even more brothers than I had been back here.”
“A band of brothers,” she murmured.
“Yeah. That was a great series, and although our war was different from that generation’s in a lot of ways, whenever you’re out there getting shot at by bad guys, you bond pretty tight. I always figured I’d stay in until they forced me out.”
He smiled, just a bit, at how naive he’d been. While he’d been able to handle the battle stuff, damned if it hadn’t been his last, far tougher stateside assignment that had lit the torc
h that led to his burnout.
“And although there’s nothing like the adrenaline rush of battle, I sure didn’t intend to do that the rest of my life. My plan was to move on to teaching full-time at the War College or maybe the Academy.”
“The Naval Academy at Annapolis?”
“Yeah. Like I said, I already have my BA and MA. And I just need to finish writing my thesis for my PhD in history.”
“Your thesis?”
“I got started on it while I was deployed, then got sidetracked. It’s on the role of Special Operations in low-intensity combat, unconventional warfare, and the increasing use of the military, including Special Forces, as on-the-ground diplomats with local populations going forward into the future. “
“I’m impressed.”
She also sounded surprised, making him wonder if she’d stereotyped him the same way he had her. Of course she had.
“I taught some classes at the War College which touched on the topic, and really enjoyed training the next generation of warriors. It’s important to know how to shoot, but the way things are changing, wars are going to be fought more with brains than brawn. And since I don’t see the world holding hands on the mountaintop and singing ‘Kumbaya’ and the Coca-Cola song anytime soon, military men and women are going to have to be prepared for new challenges.”
“Well,” she said again. She crossed her legs, leaned back, and gave him another of those long looks that had him feeling as if he were on a Hollywood casting call and she was trying to decide what role he’d be testing for. “A warrior-scholar. Aren’t you just one surprise after another?” she murmured, as much to herself, J.T. thought, as to him.
Yep. She’d definitely pegged him as just some jarhead with nothing between his ears.
“So, what changed your plans?”
“Let’s just say the idea lost its appeal.”