Книга - The Road to Bayou Bridge

The Road to Bayou Bridge
Liz Talley


As a wild teenager, Darby Dufrene tore up the roads around Bayou Bridge. However, years of serving in the navy have reformed him. Now that he's discharged, he's ready to settle down…just not here in Louisiana. But his "quick" visit becomes the opposite when he discovers that a long-ago, impulsive wedding he had with Renny Latioles was not annulled.Fine. He and Renny are in perfect agreement–an uncontested divorce and he'll be on his way. Too bad the crazy attraction that pulled them together before is just as strong, and it isn't listening to logic. Spending time with her makes him crave more. It could be they're still married for a reason.…







Married by mistake…or by design?

As a wild teenager, Darby Dufrene tore up the roads around Bayou Bridge. However, years of serving in the navy have reformed him. Now that he’s discharged, he’s ready to settle down…just not here in Louisiana. But his “quick” visit becomes the opposite when he discovers that a long-ago, impulsive wedding he had with Renny Latioles was not annulled.

Fine. He and Renny are in perfect agreement—an uncontested divorce and he’ll be on his way. Too bad the crazy attraction that pulled them together before is just as strong, and it isn’t listening to logic. Spending time with her makes him crave more. It could be they’re still married for a reason.…


“Something about you here in my kitchen, in my space, freaks me out.”

Darby wiped his mouth and contemplated Renny. “I’m not real comfortable being here myself, but it’s got to be done.”

She cocked her head. “Why? It’s been years and we’re both different people. Is there really a need to drag up old feelings? Can’t we let it be what it was—two crazy kids looking to thumb their noses at authority then learning they weren’t as smart as they thought they were? We were both to blame for what happened, so we don’t need apologies.”

“It’s not about apologies, though I do think I owe you one. I had no idea you were injured so severely in the accident.”

“You wouldn’t have because you never bothered to come see me.”

“What are you talking about? You refused to see me.” Truth was evident in his gaze. He wasn’t jerking her chain. The surprise in his reaction was honest.

“I never refused you anything. Ever.” Renny sighed. “That was the problem.”


Dear Reader,

Homecoming stories are a particularly satisfying read; in fact, they are my favorite type of story. There’s something fulfilling about watching two people fall in love a second time around, so I couldn’t wait to get my fingers on the keyboard to write Renny and Darby’s story. After all, I’d been thinking about them from the very beginning of The Boys of Bayou Bridge series. I knew them and their past, so writing their story would be a snap, right?

Wrong. Like the Louisiana weather, Renny and Darby weren’t easy to figure out, and as each chapter unfolded, they evolved into complex creatures who kept me guessing. See? Sometimes even an author is surprised by her own story.

And what a story it is—manipulative parents, a surprise marriage and whooping cranes. Yes, whooping cranes. Not to mention a little voodoo.

So grab a mint julep, or a mint tea, and give me your best Cajun accent. It’s time to go back to Beau Soleil with its shadowed past and eccentric matriarch. It’s time for gators, fishing and a piece of Lucille’s pie…and most importantly, it’s time for Darby Dufrene to walk the road back to Bayou Bridge.

I hope you enjoy this last book in The Boys of Bayou Bridge series. I love hearing from my readers—you can drop me a line at www.liztalleybooks.com (http://www.liztalleybooks.com) or write to me at P.O. Box 5418, Bossier City, LA 71171.

Happy reading!

Liz Talley

P.S. Look for my next book coming in December 2012!




Liz Talley

The Road to Bayou Bridge





www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


ABOUT THE AUTHOR

From devouring the Harlequin Superromance novels on the shelf of her aunt’s used bookstore to swiping her grandmother’s medical romances, Liz Talley has always loved a good romance. So it was no surprise to anyone when she started writing a book one day while her infant napped. She soon found writing more exciting than scrubbing hardened cereal off the love seat. Underneath Liz’s baby-food-stained clothes, a dream stirred. She followed that dream, and after a foray into historical romance and a Golden Heart final, she started her first contemporary romance on the same day she met her editor. Coincidence? She prefers to call it fate.

Currently Liz lives in north Louisiana with her high-school sweetheart, two beautiful children and a passel of animals. Liz loves watching her boys play baseball, shopping for bargains and going out for lunch. When not writing contemporary romances for the Harlequin Superromance line, she can be found doing laundry, feeding kids or playing on Facebook.


For my grandmother Grace,

with her French temper, bayou roots and love of a good bargain. No doubt you’d find kinship with Bev…though you’d never admit to it.

You were a strong woman even if you

never filled up your own gas tank.

I miss you.


Contents

CHAPTER ONE (#u7be516fb-1950-5eb6-bea5-6cb63c9a5b29)

CHAPTER TWO (#ud3c29f54-ef89-56dd-84de-19f0d3d76584)

CHAPTER THREE (#ua5f789f3-a851-5e3e-9c3c-02cc343f9d99)

CHAPTER FOUR (#uc29169c6-a83f-574d-8101-23b6af5c06a8)

CHAPTER FIVE (#u3ee673d6-885a-5758-a832-4c946b183d1a)

CHAPTER SIX (#u530ed8da-dbb4-5f77-be67-55075df28867)

CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER NINETEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

EXCERPT (#litres_trial_promo)


CHAPTER ONE

August 2012

Naval Station, Rota, Spain

THE PAPER ACTUALLY SHOOK in Darby Dufrene’s hand—that’s how shocked he was by the document he’d discovered in a box of old papers. He’d been looking for the grief book he’d made as a small child and instead had found something that made his gut lurch against his ribs.

“Dude, come on. The driver needs to go.” Hal Severson’s voice echoed in the half-full moving truck parked below the flat Darby had shared with the rotund navy chaplain for the past several years. His roommate had waited semi-good-naturedly while Darby climbed inside to grab the book before it was shipped to Seattle, but good humor had limits.

“Just a sec,” Darby called, his eyes refusing to leave the elaborate font of the certificate he’d pulled from a clasped envelope trapped in the back of his Bayou Bridge Reveille yearbook. How in the hell had this escaped his attention? Albeit it had been buried in with some old school papers he’d tossed aside over ten years ago and vowed never to look at again, surely the state of Louisiana seal would have permeated his brain and screamed, Open me!

Yet, back then he’d been in a funk—a childish, rebellious huff of craptastic proportions. He probably hadn’t thought about much else except the pity party he’d been throwing himself.

The moving truck’s engine fired and a loud roar rumbled through the trailer, vibrating the wood floor. The driver was eager to pick up the rest of his load, presumably a navy family heading back to the States, and his patience with Darby climbing up and digging through boxes already packed was also at an end. Darby slid the certificate back into its manila envelope, tucked it into his jacket and emerged from the back end of the truck.

Hal’s red hair glinted in the sunlight spilling over the tiled roof, and his expression had evoled to exasperation. The man was hungry. Had been hungry for hours while the movers slowly packed up Darby’s personal effects and scant pieces of furniture, and no one stood between Hal and his last chance to dine in El Puerto de Santa Maria, the city near the Rota Naval Base, with his best comrade. “Let’s go already. Saucy Terese and her crustacean friends await us.”

“Not Il Caffe di Roma, Hal. I don’t want to look into that woman’s eyes and wonder if she might greet me with a filet knife.”

“You ain’t that good, brother,” Hal said in a slow Oklahoma drawl. “She’ll find someone else on which to ply her wiles when the new guy arrives.”

“You mean the new guy whose name is Angela Dillard?”

“The new JAG officer’s a girl?”

Darby smiled. “Actually she’s a woman.”

Hal jingled his keys. “Entendido.”

“Your Spanish sucks.”

“Whatever. Now get your butt in gear. There are some crabs and sherry with my name on them.”

Darby tried to ignore the heat of the document pressing against his chest. Of course, it wasn’t actually hot. Just burning a hole in his stomach with horrible dread. He was an attorney and the document he carried wasn’t a prank, but he couldn’t figure out how the license had been filed. His father had virtually screamed the implausibility at him nearly eleven years ago—the day he’d shipped Darby off to Virginia—so this didn’t make sense. “Fine, but if Terese comes toward me with a blade, you must sacrifice yourself. If not, Picou will ply the sacrificial purifications of the Chickamauga on you. She’s been waiting for five years to get me back home to Beau Soleil.”

Hal rubbed his belly. “Did they perform human sacrifices?”

“Who? The Native Americans or Picou?”

“Either.”

Darby grinned. “I don’t know about the Chickamauga, but my mom will go psycho if I don’t climb off that plane.”

“Consider it done. No way I’m left to deal with your mother. She makes mine look like that woman from Leave It to Beaver.”

“Your mom is June Cleaver all the way down to the apron and heels.” Darby knew firsthand. Her weekly chocolate chips cookies had caused him to pack on a few pounds.

“I know. All women pale in comparison.” Hal opened the door of his white convertible BMW, his one prideful sin, and slid in. He perched a pair of Ray-Bans on his nose and fired the engine.

“Except our housekeeper, Lucille. Can’t wait to get my hands on her pecan pie.” Darby took one last look at his beachfront flat before sliding onto the hot leather seats of Hal’s car. He’d already shipped his motorcycle to the States weeks ago. He wanted it available when he got to Seattle and went in search of apartments, though he knew he’d likely have to sell it in favor of a respectable sedan. With all that Northwest rain, he’d have little chance to take as many mind-clearing drives as he had along the coast of Spain. Plus, Shelby hated it.

“Well, say goodbye, dude,” Hal said, sweeping one arm over the sunbaked villa where Darby had spent the past two years, before pulling away and heading toward the motorway that would take them into the city.

“Goodbye, dude,” Darby said, parroting his friend. He smiled as the wind hit his cheeks, but as soon as he remembered the document, his smile slipped away. Trouble brewed and this homecoming would be no cakewalk despite the pecan pie that waited.

“Are you sad? Thought you’d been ready to leave Rota since you got here, Louisiana boy.”

How could Darby tell him his mood wasn’t about leaving the base and his small adventure in Spain but about the marriage license he’d found in his high school trunk? He could, but there was no sense in ruining his last night with the man who’d become like a brother to him over the course of his deployment. With Hal being the base chaplain, most would think him an odd choice of roommate for a formerly degenerate bayou boy, but something about Hal clicked as soon as Darby met the man who’d been looking for a flatmate. Having Hal as a friend, guide and trusted mentor had made the move overseas tolerable. In fact, after a few months, Darby had downright enjoyed himself.

And he’d found Shelby through Hal.

And when he met the blonde teacher who taught at the American school on base, he knew he’d finally grown up, finally left his confusion and his past behind. Here was what he’d been looking for—a beautiful woman, a promising career, if the interview went well, and a clean slate in a new place—so he’d flung the dice and shipped his things to Seattle rather than home to Bayou Bridge.

He patted the inside pocket of his jacket.

But maybe he wouldn’t be moving forward as soon as he’d planned.

Because he was fairly certain he was legally married to Renny Latioles.

* * *

RENNY LATIOLES ADJUSTED her reading glasses and stared at the computer screen. How did L9-10 get so far away from the Black Lake Reservoir? And even more disturbing, why was the damn crane on Beau Soleil property?

“She still there?” fellow biologist Carrie Dupuy asked, mindlessly sipping the bitter coffee that had been sitting in the urn all day long. Coffee stayed brewing at the Black Lake station where they worked side by side on the reintroduction of the whooping crane into South Louisiana.

“Yeah, and I don’t get it. It’s over sixty miles from the habitat you’d think she would prefer. No other crane has gone that far to the north. There isn’t a lot of marsh in that parish even with the wetlands receding.”

“It’s been well over a week, Ren. Maybe you better head up and get a visual. Make sure she’s not tangled up in something.”

“But the bird is moving around in a fairly large perimeter. If you look at this satellite map, you can see the field it’s inhabiting.” Renny dragged a finger across the screen. “Look. Woodlands, bayou and one abandoned rice field.”

Carrie frowned at the computer. “I agree. It doesn’t make sense, but obviously L9-10 has found a little slice of heaven in St. Martin Parish. Maybe this is a good thing, this adapting and surviving in an atypical area, but we need to check this out in person, and since you live up that way...”

Renny pushed back from the screen, rolling toward the filing cabinet sitting a few yards away. She grabbed a fresh logbook.

“Why not just take your computer?”

Pushing tendrils of hair out of her eyes, Renny shook her head. “Nope. Going old-school. Especially since Stevo lost the tablet in the basin. I’ll take handwritten notes and then add them to our files when I return. If L9-10 decides to stay in her new digs, I’ll have to spend a bit more time close to Bayou Bridge.”

“Easy for you because you live there.”

Renny shook her head. “It actually worries me since you’re heading to Virginia in a few weeks.”

“I’ll call Stevo in Baton Rouge and see if he can send Ruby back to work on field notes and mind the fledglings. The captive cranes seemed to like her. She even got L-3 to take walks with her.”

Renny nodded. “She’s a good grad assistant. Glad we got her instead of that smarmy ex-fraternity president.”

As the project manager carrying out the reintroduction of the whooping crane into the wintering grounds of Southwest Louisiana, Renny had tremendous pressure to succeed on her shoulders. The federal and state grants only stretched so far, and after losing one of the released cranes to natural predators earlier that summer, she felt even more driven to prove all was going as planned. Private donors liked to see results—successful results—or they didn’t open their wallets. And at the rate their funds were dwindling, they needed to tread carefully.

Renny felt something sink in her stomach. Ironically, L9-10 was on Beau Soleil property, which, come to think of it, wasn’t so odd considering the Dufrenes owned lots of land in St. Martin Parish. No problem except there were far too many painful memories attached to anything named Dufrene—even an abandoned rice field.

Darby.

His image flashed in her mind. Long legged, brown from the sun, alligator smile. He’d been pure pleasure in a pair of worn jeans. God, she’d loved him so much. Loved the way he touched her, loved the way he made her feel. Wild, alive, made for him.

Of course that had all been a lie.

A young girl’s dream of what love should be. And she wasn’t a young girl anymore.

The real Darby hadn’t looked back. He’d left Louisiana and the girl he supposedly loved behind. Left her behind broken both physically and spiritually. But his dismissal had made her stronger. Had made her who she now was, and she was damn proud of what she’d become.

She shook herself.

“Rat run over your grave?” Carrie asked.

“Yeah, something like that.” Renny pulled off her reading glasses and tried not to think about the rat. Darby was behind her and she’d made peace with herself and what had happened...or rather what had not happened. They’d been eighteen, high school seniors and majorly naive. She’d long ago forgiven both herself and the wild Dufrene boy who’d talked her into loving him.

Besides, she was too old to worry about those feelings again, even if she would soon have to deal with his mother. And Picou was never easy to deal with. On the surface, Picou Dufrene seemed docile and enlightened in her yoga gear and caftans, but underneath the feathers and fluff was a woman of pure steel. A woman who always got her way.

Just like her youngest son.

“You heading out now?” Carrie wrinkled her nose at her coffee cup. “How long has this been sitting in the pot?”

“Long enough to grow hair on your chest,” Renny said, sliding the journal into the beat-up leather tote she’d bought the day she got her master’s in biology. “And, yeah, I’m going to head up and see what’s going on with L9-10. She was always such a skittish bird. Should have known she’d settle down in some weird location. Damn storm.”

Carrie set her mug down. “But a good opportunity for us to see how far they’ll stretch the habitat. Go. Call me later and let me know what you find, and then go have yourself a good weekend. As in, go do something fun for a change.”

“I have fun.” Why was everyone pushing her to go out and lasso a man? Even her mother, who’d formerly harped on the evilness of the opposite sex, had started “suggesting” Renny go somewhere other than church for her social life. Renny was Bev’s only shot at grandchildren. Forget biological clocks. Grandmother’s clocks were wound tighter.

“If you call sitting in a pirogue watching herons mate fun, then I guess you do. Come on, it’s Friday, Renny. Don’t let your leg keep you from shaking it.”

“Shaking it?”

“Your booty, girlfriend.”

Renny pushed through the door leading to the lobby of the office. “Sure. I’ll think about it.”

But she wouldn’t. Carrie had poked a soft spot in her psyche—one she tried to ignore. Renny didn’t want to squirrel herself away like some disfigured misanthrope. No, she wanted to be that game gal who didn’t mind the stares, whose zest for living and glowing smile chased away any thoughts of pity. A small part of her wanted to be the girl she used to be...but it was only a small part. The rest of her liked her life as it was. Simple. Driven.

Safe.

She dashed that last thought because what was wrong with living safe anyway? Having control was a good thing, considering she’d spent a good deal of time having no control over anything—even her body. Most of her doctors were convinced she’d never walk again. And here she was walking out of her office door.

Okay, the pitch in her step still bothered her. Vain, stupid and weak, sure, but walking into a bar, aka meat market, wasn’t fun when a girl unintentionally lurched herself at men. So she didn’t go to bars. Or singles mixers. Or on blind dates.

Renny angled across the gravel parking lot nestled into the grasslands of the Black Lake Conservation Area and slid into her crossover hatchback. The early fall sun shone overhead, spotlighting the small field office invading the natural landscape. The actual lake lay only fifty yards away and she could hear the low hum of a boat on the water as she cranked the engine.

Going to Beau Soleil would be hard. She hadn’t been back in over ten years, and that had been only to meet Darby in the cloak of the night with a backpack holding her nightgown, a spare T-shirt and a toothbrush. So long ago. So utterly stupid.

So, no, it wasn’t going to be much fun for her tripping down memory lane—all because L9-10 had an adventurer’s soul.

The only consolation was Darby wouldn’t be there.

In fact, other than the occasional holiday, he hadn’t returned to Beau Soleil. Renny hadn’t laid eyes on him since that horrible night, and she really hadn’t wanted to see him again. Not since she’d woken up in the hospital and realized she’d meant less to him than his family, than his damn place in the not-so-grand society of Acadiana. The anger at him had burned hard and deep in her gut, fueling her desire to get well if only to prove to him she didn’t need him anyway.

In one way, Darby’s disinterest had given her life again. Had given her purpose, so finally after years of hating him, she’d let the hard kernel of pain go.

Now she felt nothing.

Or at least she’d convinced herself she felt nothing.

Life was more tolerable that way.

* * *

RENNY PROWLED THROUGH the dense brush bordering the abandoned rice field sitting several acres off the Bayou Teche. L9-10 wasn’t where the GPS tracker indicated.

Hmm. Had the bird somehow lost her tracking device? Or maybe some predator had eaten the bird, device and all? Improbable but not impossible.

Thorns tugged at the material encasing her legs. Luckily, she kept her protective costume and rubber boots in the trunk of her car for times such as this, so her jeans and T-shirt were protected by the white sheeting. A draped hat with a screen obscured her face so she resembled an odd-looking astronaut prowling through the prickly vines and brush rather than an everyday biologist.

“Ow,” she muttered under her breath as she unlatched a nasty vine from the sheeting. She needed to be mindful of keeping a silent, remote figure in case she actually found her rogue crane. Handlers were always careful to erase any human aspect of their form when interacting with the cranes. The goal was to produce birds as wild as possible—birds that avoided human contact.

Where are you, L9-10?

She swiveled her head left and right, scanning the swaying marsh grass that was little more than five acres in scope. Then she raised her eyes and scoured the tree line across the wet grass bordering an inlet from the sluggish bayou to her right. A flash of white appeared before disappearing completely.

“Got ya,” she whispered as she stepped over the barriers Mother Nature tossed in the way of all wetland biologists and conservationists. The hum of a boat on the bayou accompanied her muttered curses as she slogged through the grasses toward the area where she’d glimpsed the flash of white. L9-10 obviously had taken to roosting in one of the ginormous oaks dappling the remote landscape. Perhaps she was showing a creative way to adapt. Maybe she’d found something to eat in the wide-spread branches of the tree. Or maybe she’d taken to the thick limbs because an alligator sat below her.

Renny stopped walking and stared at the big gator on the sloping bank, tail halfway in the marsh water, basking beneath her poor L9-10.

“Damn it.”

The huge prehistoric reptile lay sprawled with its baby claws spread looking like a socialite on a cocktail cruise. Wasn’t in a hurry to go anywhere, especially since its next meal perched a few feet above, solemnly contemplating the marsh.

Perhaps the bird’s tracking bands had snagged on something or perhaps it was already injured.

“And what are you doing here, big boy?” Renny whispered. Gators were notoriously shy and didn’t frequent populated areas. But this little patch of St. Martin Parish was remote and near fresh water teeming with crawfish, snakes and frogs, along with the animals that fed on them. It was odd to see the gator away from a large body of water, but perhaps it was protecting hatchlings, since it was September. That would make her dangerous.

Rotten luck for L9-10.

Renny stood completely still many yards from the seven-foot gator and contemplated her course of action. She wanted to get the crane to safety, but where was safety? The purpose was to release the cranes into the wild. The wild had big teeth. The cranes had to learn how to adapt and live on their own. She didn’t want to go all Darwin on L9-10, but it was about survival of the fittest.

But L9-10 wasn’t just any bird. She was a very expensive endangered species like the American alligator below her had once been.

Nature couldn’t win this round.

Renny would.

Even if it went against all she believed as a biologist. But how was she going to get L9-10 away from the gator?

A loud crack sent Renny ducking for cover.

She covered her ears and crouched down just as the gator started thrashing, its long tail whiplashing the ground as it moved toward the tree line.

“Good Lord,” Renny squealed as L9-10 took flight right over her and two hunters appeared to the left of her, heading for the gator that now moved toward the inlet hidden behind the trees. Three more gunshots followed, clouding the area with something invasive and foreign.

Renny unplugged her ears and looked frantically around for L9-10, but the crane had taken flight, which made her wonder why the silly bird hadn’t taken to the skies in the first place to avoid being al fresco dining for the now-doomed gator.

Two hunters leaped from an ATV and moved quickly toward the place where the gator had disappeared. It had not been a boat she’d heard earlier, but rather a camouflaged, glorified golf cart favored by hunters. One of the men caught sight of her and stopped. He did a double take.

Well, she was an odd sight.

This man, clad also in camo, lowered his gun and moved toward her, his strides long and purposeful as he tramped through the lowland.

Renny tugged her draped hat off and started digging for her credentials. She’d already received permission from Picou to access the land, and these hunters themselves could be poaching on Dufrene property, though she was fairly certain the man who’d slipped through the tree line heading for the bayou was Nate, the oldest Dufrene brother.

“What the hell?” the man coming toward her muttered, shaking his head.

She lifted her eyes and her mind clicked and whirred as a horrible realization bloomed in her brain.

She blinked once before trying to school her features into something other than shock.

The man she hoped to never lay eyes on again was standing right in front of her, looking like a model for The Great Outdoors Magazine.

Darby Dufrene had come home to Beau Soleil.


CHAPTER TWO

DARBY DOUBLE-CHECKED the safety on his rifle and feasted his eyes on the woman who had always revved his blood and jacked with his mind. Renny had not changed much—still as rare and earthy as the Louisiana wetlands she now protected.

Oh, he knew she was a biologist, because his mother dropped in little asides about her during their rare conversations. But he’d not anticipated how her very presence, hell, her very scent, would affect him. Renny smelled exotic, like rainforest sunrises and Indian marketplaces.

Good Lord. What had he put in his coffee that morning? Or maybe all that weird music his mother had on when he left was making him loopy.

“Renny,” he said, unable to keep the pleasure at seeing her out of his voice. He’d come to Beau Soleil to find her and here she was.

“What are you doing here?” The tension around her mouth spoke more than her words. Okay. Not very happy to see him.

“Home for a visit.”

She swallowed and glanced over his shoulder. “You have a permit to shoot gators?”

“I’m not shooting gators. Nate is. He still has five tags left.”

“But you have a gun in hand.” She pointed toward his dad’s old rifle.

“Only as a precaution. We were about to bait some hooks when Nate saw the gator.” He gestured to the cold weapon. If she was this confrontational over his brother legally shooting at a gator, how would she react when he told her he was her legal husband? Wouldn’t be good. Suddenly he was glad he held a gun. “I thought you were a biologist or something, not an agent.”

She looked hard at him and her brown eyes narrowed. They were pretty brown eyes—eyes that could flash in anger as easily as they could widen then glaze over in pleasure. He remembered those eyes. “I am a biologist, but I also work for Wildlife and Fisheries, and we take violations seriously.”

He smiled. “Good to know. I’ll make sure I don’t get out of line while I’m in town.”

She frowned. “You always get out of line.”

“Well, I’m pretty much an inside-the-lines kind of guy these days, Ren. Naval officer, attorney and all that.”

“Right.”

“You don’t sound convinced,” he said with a laugh. “Though I just got my separation papers. Guess I’m no longer in the navy, or rather no longer active duty.”

Damn, he was rambling. Telling her things no one would have interest in. Get control, Dufrene.

Renny licked her lips, drawing his attention away from grumpy brown eyes to a part of her he’d always lavished attention upon. She was nervous, not flirting at all, but her tongue sliding between those plump lips had the same effect. He ripped his gaze away.

“Well, congratulations. Hope you enjoy your visit,” she said, but he was almost certain she’d meant, Hope you die a painful death.

Her whole attitude puzzled him. She was the one who hadn’t wanted him anymore—did she have to be so damn cold about it? But what did he care? Two weeks tops before he headed to Seattle, but there was work to do before he left, and part of that job stood right in front of him.

Renny twisted to glance behind her, and a piece of caramel hair tumbled against the white sheeting she’d draped herself in. When he’d first seen her, he’d had a flashback to those government guys in E.T. “Well, I’ve got a bird to track down.”

“Yeah, I saw that. What was it? It was huge.”

“Whooping crane. She’s out of her natural habitat, or what we think to be her natural habitat. I think a storm a few weeks back blew her north, so that’s why I’m here. I stopped by the house and cleared it with your mother before coming out.” She paused a moment and then cleared her throat. “She didn’t tell me you were home.”

No, his mother wouldn’t, would she? Picou had suggested this very area for setting a few baits for the gators. Not coincidental at all. “Who knows? She’s been distracted lately with my sister and all.”

“Yeah, I heard about Della. Amazing that y’all found her,” Renny said, pushing her hair back from her face. The Louisiana heat had her flushed and tendrils of hair stuck to the curve of her cheek—something that made her undeniably attractive in a mussed-up, natural way. In a way that made him want to peel that white-drape crap off her and find out how her curves had filled out over the past eleven years.

“Yeah, that’s the main reason I’m home,” he said, wondering why he was giving her all the details about his twin sister, his job, what he was doing on his own family’s property. Seemed natural to reveal his thoughts to Renny—just like in the past. He resisted the urge to scratch his neck. Mosquitos. Forgot how viscous they could be in South Louisiana.

“I’ve got to—”

“I need to talk—”

They both spoke at once before snapping their mouths closed. Pink bloomed on Renny’s cheeks as she shifted uncomfortably. “Uh, sorry.”

“No, I want to ask if maybe we can get together and talk? We have some things we need to work out, and I don’t think this is the best place.” He slapped another mosquito.

She shook her head. “Look, the past is the past. We don’t have anything more to say to each other. We were young and stupid and—”

“Hey,” Nate called from behind him. “Where’d you go? That was a big son of a gun, and I needed you to man the pole. Too late now. That gator sunk in the bayou like a stone.”

Darby didn’t turn toward his brother, but he could hear him getting closer. He couldn’t take his eyes off his wife. Okay, not his wife, but, still, his wife. It had been so long and she looked as good as a piece of pecan pie and a cup of chicory coffee—the epitome of all things Southern and Louisianan. He hadn’t expected to feel anything for her. He’d thought his feelings toward her childlike and gone in the wind like the world he’d left behind. But like a shadow, his past clung to him refusing to allow him to forget who he was, where he’d come from, and the girl he’d once loved.

Why was that so?

He didn’t want to feel anything for Renny. Or for this flooded field he stood in. Or the creaky boards squeaking beneath his feet as he climbed the stairs in the house in which he’d been raised.

He had to be done with Renny and Bayou Bridge. He had a new life waiting for him, and if all went as planned with Shelby and the job at her father’s firm, it was a given the sophisticated blonde would one day wear his great-aunt Felicia’s yellow diamond.

He just had to deal with the women of his past before that could happen, and unfortunately, both Della and Renny were like a backlash in his fishing reel. Not easy to untangle.

“Oh, hey, Renny,” Nate said, halting beside him. “What’re you doing out here? And what’re you wearing?”

“A costume.”

“Early for Halloween, isn’t it?” Nate cracked. Darby glanced at his brother, who’d grown a hunting beard like so many guys did when mid-September rolled around. Nate’s eyes crinkled and Darby almost didn’t recognize the former sheriff’s detective who’d nearly ground his nose off in an effort to solve cases. His wife, Annie, and son, Pax, had softened him, given him laugh lines and a lightness in his step.

Renny finally smiled and Darby felt as if someone had punched him in the gut. Good Lord. Obviously this was about more than the past. He had to dash a crazy impulse to grab Renny by the shoulders and kiss her. This wasn’t good. He was no longer a horny, devil-take-it guy with no responsibilities and a flask of Crown in his back pocket.

“Required when we’re approaching our cranes. Don’t want them to trust humans, so I go around playing Casper.” Renny shrugged with another guarded smile.

“Mom told me we had a crane on the property. She was pretty excited about it because the crane is a family symbol to her. She wanted to try and get a picture.” Nate’s gaze searched the tree line behind Renny. “Thought I saw it take off over there.”

She turned around. “Yeah, she’s likely in another tree. I need to a get a visual on her and then I’ll go. I doubt she’ll stick around too much longer because her natural habitat is the grasslands below here. But who knows, maybe the whooper likes the way your crawfish taste.”

“Mmm, crawfish. Haven’t had those in years,” Darby said as the thought of five pounds of the fire-red mudbugs accompanying a bottle of locally brewed beer made his mouth literally water. Wasn’t the season, but surely he could find some at the Crawfish Palace over in Henderson. But what would slake the old desire welling inside him for Renny?

Maybe a well-placed knee when he told her they were married? “Hey, Ren, I’ll give you a call, okay?”

“No.”

Nate made a whirring sound before balling his hands and flinging them apart. “Crash and burn.”

“Shut up, Nate. Not a date. Just some stuff Renny and I need to clear up.”

Renny shook her head, and he thought he glimpsed some flash of hurt. Or maybe it was regret. Something. “I don’t think there’s anything to catch up on, and I have plans this weekend with some friends, so...”

He could tell she was lying. He always could. Not a conniving, lying bone in Renny’s hot body, and speaking of which, wasn’t she burning up in all that white draping? She should take her costume off and show him what the good Lord had bestowed on her while he’d been doing push-ups in the mud and studying jurisprudence. “I get you may not want to spend any time with me, but there really is something we have to talk about. Like a must.”

A wrinkle settled between Renny’s dark eyebrows and he decided he didn’t like that wrinkle much. She was too beautiful to scowl. “Okay. Fine. Your mother has my information including my cell number. Call me and we’ll find a time to talk about whatever you’re so hell-bent on saying to me. But right now I have to go.”

She turned and started toward the place where the bird had disappeared, and that’s when Darby noticed her limp. Rolling with a small lurch. Jesus.

“She limps,” he whispered under his breath.

Nate’s gaze jetted to his. “Yeah, the wreck nearly killed her, remember?”

He shook his head. “No. I knew she broke her leg, but I didn’t know much about it. Her mother wouldn’t even let me see her and then when—” No sense in bringing up what had happened after the accident with his father. “You know, doesn’t matter anymore. I didn’t know Renny had been affected to such a degree.”

His eyes landed on the back of the slim woman moving through the grasses in her big, ugly white boots that came to her knees. The white drape covered the rest, but there was no disguising the pronounced limp. Something jabbed at his insides. Not pity because he could never pity anything as uniquely beautiful as Renny, but something sharp and bitter. Regret. Shame. Guilt. Something. Because he’d done that to her. He’d broken the girl he’d loved. And that stung. Even if no one had allowed him to make it right all those years ago.

Of course Renny hadn’t wanted him or his apology. That much had been made absolutely clear that damp May afternoon when he stood waiting for her in the obscene raucousness of Jackson Square and accepted there would be no more Darby and Renny.

“Come on. Let’s set out bait. Annie said if I bring that slop in my bucket back to the house, I could sleep on the couch, and I like my bed.” Nate headed for the ATV and the rotting chicken he had been marinating in his back shed for the past week in anticipation of alligator season.

With one last glance at the flash of white disappearing into the brush, Darby turned and followed his brother. “I’m in the mood for crawfish. Want to head over to Henderson?”

“Nah, Annie cooked something in the Crock-Pot. Take Renny and rehash all the good ol’ days.”

He would if he could, but he had a feeling getting Renny to go anywhere with him would be akin to Hercules facing his twelve feats. Almost impossible.

* * *

RENNY TRIED TO CONTROL her trembling hands, but the shaking that had originated deep inside her belly had spilled over. Even her teeth chattered—incredible since it was a blistering ninety-one degrees outside.

Darby Dufrene.

Here.

In Louisiana.

She closed her eyes, for a split second wondering if perhaps she’d fallen asleep in her office chair and had a horrible nightmare.

She opened her eyes and stared at the rough bark on the tree dead ahead. Nope. Still at Beau Soleil.

Could a girl ever prepare to run into her ex?

No, not totally. But she had been remarkably calm considering her sweaty hair was plastered to her neck and she was wrapped up in a white drape like an old couch hidden beneath a drop cloth. Plus, she wore not an ounce of makeup. Yeah, not prepared, but at least she hadn’t shaken in front of him. She turned her thoughts to the task at hand. Put him out of sight. Put him out of mind.

She placed the hat that swathed her face back on and cautiously approached the crane, trying to make her steps as level as possible even though chances were good the bird would recognize her uneven gait and feel some measure of safety.

Up ahead L9-10 flapped its wings as it clung to the lowest branch of a scrubby tree where there wasn’t much room for a five-foot crane. The tracking device was firmly affixed and the bird looked healthy, so other than gathering some water samples and making some notes on the general area the bird inhabited, there wasn’t much left to do.

Why are you here? she mouthed as she looked up at the bird. The crane twisted its head, the black eyes alert to Renny below her, but it didn’t do anything more than grow still. The encounter with the gator had spooked the bird, but the familiarity of the white costume had a marked effect.

Renny glanced across the field as the ATV rattled up the embankment, carrying Darby and his brother away from the field, and the separation was enough so her hands stopped trembling and her heart stopped thumping against her rib cage.

Dear God.

He’d looked so good. Different but good. His bearing was exact, no longer loose and rolling, and his carriage more erect. No lazy smile, no flirty blue eyes, no privileged fraternity boy blond hair flopping over his brow. Darby Dufrene had changed...and she hadn’t expected that.

But why hadn’t she? It had been over ten years since they’d last seen each other. Darby had moved on to military school, the Naval Academy and law school. This was no boy slinking among the oaks with a fake ID and a naughty promise for some grown-up fun. This was a man who’d served his country, broadened his shoulders and his horizons, and maybe forgotten the Louisiana girl he’d left behind.

Something zinged in her chest.

Renny shook her head, furious at herself for feeling any sort of hurt or regret over the man who’d ridden away and not looked back. She didn’t need him—then or now.

What did he have to say that was so important? It was too late for an apology, but maybe he’d truly grown up and wanted some sort of closure crap like ex-lovers demanded in all the movies.

Fine. She’d give it to him.

But she’d make sure she wore some lipstick and washed her hair first. No sense in looking like a backwoods coonass.

Her cell phone vibrated in her pocket and she pulled it out and looked down. Her mother. So not the person she wanted to talk to at the moment, but if she didn’t answer, Bev would call over and over again until she did. Her mother was nothing if not persistent.

She moved away from the crane moving through the trees skirting the bayou and answered it on round two.

“Hey, Mom.”

“Darby Dufrene’s in town. Just heard it from my hairdresser, and I wanted you to know.”

“Well, I’ll try not to tear his clothes off and impregnate myself when I see him.”

Bev huffed. “Don’t get smart with me.”

“I’ve already seen him, and my clothes are buttoned up tight. You can stop panicking.”

“Where did you see him? Aren’t you still at work?”

Renny walked to a viable spot, bent down and filled a vial with water from the flooded field. “Technically, yes. But one of our cranes got blown north and has found a home at Beau Soleil.”

Silence sat for a moment. “Beau Soleil? You’re joking, right?”

“I wish I were.”

“I worry about you, you know,” her mother said, her voice slightly softer than normal. Bev Latioles made no bones about loving her daughter, even if at times that love felt like a blanket thrown over her head. Renny was always covered. In fact, Bev had even had a friend run a background check on a guy she’d dated a few years back.

“I know, but I’m a big girl and don’t need you worrying about me. Especially about an old high school boyfriend. We were kids, Mom. He doesn’t have the same effect on me that he once did.” Renny took one last look at the bird and started making her way back the way she came, hoping that the words she’d uttered were indeed true.

“Good because that boy was nothing but trouble, and I happen to know leopards don’t change their spots. Your father taught me that hard lesson.”

“So you’ve said time and again, Mom.” Renny didn’t want to talk about her father. Or Darby Dufrene. Or any man for that matter.

Not that she’d completely given up hope on finding a special someone, but her social life lay gasping for air on the side of the road. She’d been cursed in the guy department lately and had become a bit too settled in her own protective bubble of work and renovating her house.

“You know I’m not trying to stop you from finding a good man, honey, but I don’t want you to go off track again because I know how charming Darby can be.”

“You don’t have to worry about that, okay? Darby and I are ancient history. Besides, he’s in town visiting his family.”

“But I heard he’s out of the service and looking to join a law firm. Jackie said Helen Hammond told her that Picou said she was trying to get him to stay around here and practice. So this might not be only a visit. Just be careful around that boy. He’s hurt you enough, sweetheart.”

Renny shook her head and tried to tamp down the aggravation welling inside her. Bev meant well—she always meant well—but Renny was too old to have to explain herself to her mother. “I appreciate your caring enough to call me and warn me, but the last thing I want is anything to do with Darby Dufrene. There’s nothing between us but some faded memories.”

Renny heard her mother blow out a breath as she wove in between the trees, heading back toward the utility thruway where she’d parked her car. “Good, honey. Well, I suppose I’ll see you Sunday for my birthday? Aaron is taking us to lunch.”

“I’ll be there.” Renny clicked off the phone and tried not to growl at the blank screen.

Mothers.

Did they ever let go or was hers just abnormally leechy?

Probably just hers.

The hum of the ATV broke her from thoughts of being smothered to thoughts of the very man her mother had warned her about moments ago. The man her mother loved to hate almost as much as Renny’s own father. She’d never understood why her mother had hung on so long to her anger at both, especially since Bev seemed relatively happy with her boyfriend, Aaron, a passive, bald chiropractor she’d met a few years ago.

But Bev didn’t have to worry about Renny.

She wanted nothing to do with Darby.

No ties bound them.


CHAPTER THREE

“YOU DIDN’T BOTHER TO mention Renny Latioles was out on the land today,” Darby said as he poured a glass of ice-cold milk into one of the tall tumblers that had occupied the kitchen for as long as he could remember.

“No, I didn’t,” Picou said, stirring something on the huge Viking stove. It smelled like feet, but Darby wasn’t going to say as much. Maybe he’d head over to the house Nate and Annie had built a mere mile away and check out Annie’s Crock-Pot dinner.

He took a sip. “Why?”

His mother shrugged. “No real reason. Figured it wouldn’t really make a difference, though I suppose I should have told her you and your brother were out toting guns. Oversight on my part.”

Darby narrowed his eyes at her erect form, covered from head to toe in black spandex. A long silver braid parted her shoulder blades, the only color on a palette of black. Odd choice in outfit even for his kooky mother, but her clothes didn’t matter. Only the fact she’d already started manipulating situations for her own reasons. What they were, he couldn’t guess.

“Yeah. So, I’ve been meaning to talk to you.”

“Yeah?”

“About Seattle.”

“I don’t want to hear about it, Darby.”

“I know you don’t, but it’s where I’ll be calling home for the near future.”

The spoon clinked against the pot. She turned and met his gaze with eyes the same color as his own. “Why would you want to live there? It rains all the time. How is that interesting?”

“I’m not concerned with interesting. I’m ready to start a new chapter in my life and that city fits the bill, and besides, I told you I met somebody. Right now it’s not serious, but if things go as planned, I’m thinking she’s the one.”

Picou snorted. “The one? How long have you known her? Two months? That’s not nearly long enough to know the color of her toothbrush much less if you’ll suit for the rest of your life.”

“It’s blue, and I haven’t made any decisions regarding Shelby, but you’re the only parent I have, so I’d appreciate some support.” He wasn’t going to tell her the only reason he knew Shelby’s toothbrush was blue was because he’d watched her pick it out at the commissary. He and Shelby hadn’t been intimate yet because he didn’t want to rush their relationship. They’d both agreed to allow things to build as they got to know each other better.

His mother looked away, spun and turned down the fire under the saucepan. “That figures.”

“What?”

“Blue toothbrush. Sounds boring.”

He almost laughed. “Mom, come on. You haven’t even met her and you’re writing her off. Besides, Nate only knew Annie for three weeks before he promised happily ever after.”

“You’re not your brother, and I’m not writing her off. I’m sure she’s perfectly lovely. I just can’t imagine you living on the West Coast. This place has always been such a part of you. Never figured you wouldn’t come home once you were done roaming.”

“I’m home now, and there are these things called airplanes. You climb inside, buckle up and they get you where you need to go pretty quickly.”

His mother frowned. “And cost an arm and a leg. I happen to be fond of my appendages.”

Darby closed his eyes for a moment. Dealing with his mother had never been easy. They brushed against each other like earth along a fault line. Many said their butting heads were a result of being too much alike, but Darby knew it was because his mother tried to control every aspect of life surrounding her, including his own. Only he and his siblings saw it. Everyone else thought her harmless and loving.

Picou had been avoiding the topic of his heading to Seattle since he’d arrived home a day before. Any time he mentioned his intent of interviewing for the position with Mackey and Associates, she snorted, sniffed or blatantly ignored him. At times she resembled his boyhood pony Marigold, but somehow he doubted feeding her an apple would appease her.

She turned back around to face him, her face softening into the woman who’d wiped his brow when he’d vomited or blown on his boo-boos after applying antiseptic. “I understand it’s your life to live, sweetheart, but I think you should give considerable thought before making such a drastic decision. You haven’t been home in years. The distance has distorted your image of this place.”

He blinked. “Mom, I’m not moving back to Bayou Bridge. I’m not moving into Beau Soleil. I’m nearly thirty years old, and I’ve been on my own for a long time now. I can’t go back in time.”

“I know how old you are, and I’m not pulling out your old Star Wars sheets to put on your bed. All I’m asking, even if it sounds unreasonable, is for you to spend some time thinking about what moving to Seattle to pursue a career and wife there means in the long run.” He could see his mother tried to say the right things, the things he wanted to hear, but he knew her. On the surface she said one thing, but underneath she plotted something quite different. She wanted her baby home. She wanted him to be part of the family—a family that was finally complete with the discovery of his twin sister, Della.

Everyone but he and Picou had believed Della to be dead. Picou proclaimed some spiritual knowledge about her children, but Darby had known. Like in his bones. When he was young, he’d dream about his sister, wake crying, asking why no one would go and get her.

And he’d been right.

Della had been living two hours southeast of Beau Soleil in the backwaters off Bayou Lafourche, raised by a tough old bayou woman named Enola Cheramie. Even Enola hadn’t known the girl she called Sally was the long-lost Della, for the child had been hidden there by her kidnapper, Enola’s grandson, whose body had been discovered in the waters not far from Bayou Bridge. That Della had been found was a fluke, one started when Sally discovered by accident that she wasn’t related to Enola. One thing led to another and her file had landed on Nate’s desk. His older brother said it had taken one glance to know the young teacher was a Dufrene—Della had looked almost exactly like the young Picou Dufrene in the wedding photograph sitting in the formal living room.

So, yeah, Picou wanted to gather her brood together so she might tend them all without any interference from a husband whose will was as strong as hers. But like Martin, she’d had a hand in making Darby feel as he did. Picou had not made waves when his father sent him away. She couldn’t undo what she’d done easily.

Picou wanted him to live the life she’d built in her head for him—living down the street, eating at her dinner table every Sunday, fishing with his brothers, basically just being at hand. But Darby had not been part of life at Beau Soleil for some time. He didn’t feel comfortable here, didn’t know what doors stuck or where Lucille hid the cookies she baked. Even hunting with Nate that afternoon had felt forced.

Darby sighed. “I’m considering all things, Mom, but I can’t imagine a life here in Bayou Bridge. If I stayed in Louisiana, I’d be looking at New Orleans or Baton Rouge. I’m different now, and I won’t go back to being the boy I was.”

“Whoever said you were so awful as a child? I hope the past is not keeping you away from the present,” she said, her voice soft as the velvet hanging in the windows in the front parlor.

“Seriously? You and Dad sent me away. Remember?”

His mother shook her head as tears gathered in her eyes. “To grow up, not become like—”

“That’s what I did,” he interrupted. “I grew up and I became a man who recognizes responsibility and doesn’t shirk it. A man who doesn’t want to come back to a place that is finished for him. I like where I’m headed.”

Picou bit her lip and said nothing.

He didn’t understand why his mother was so disappointed. His parents had sent him away, hoping military school would break him. It had. Broken him down then built him up. The navy had taken over and done the rest, and he’d emerged a skilled, reliable attorney and naval officer. “I’m here, aren’t I? This was what you wanted—for me to come home, meet Della, and sew things up for the family. But I’m not staying.”

Picou stared at him for a full minute before shaking her head. “I don’t expect you to fix anything, Darby. I only wanted you to meet your sister and help her if you can. Just be part of this family, and don’t be afraid of finding a piece of the boy you left behind. You don’t have to live here, but you shouldn’t close your mind off and dust your hands of who you are.”

Darby shrugged. “I’ll try.”

He didn’t want to admit part of that boy he’d left behind had showed up that afternoon at first sight of Renny. Sheer lust had lurched through his body, stirring him, waking him, making him want to do irrational things.

Which was a bad idea.

Renny might be his legal wife, but that title meant little. In fact, before he’d come to Beau Soleil, he’d stopped in Lafayette to talk with Sid Platt, his father’s former college roommate and long-time legal advisor to the Dufrene family, and had him discreetly initiate divorce proceedings. Since neither he nor Renny would contest and neither had cohabited, the case should move through the cogwheels without difficulty. Six months easily, but if Sid could work some magic, maybe even sooner.

“There is no try, only do.”

Darby rolled his eyes. “Yoda?”

Picou gave a small smile and turned back to whatever brew she was concocting as he slipped out the swinging door and headed up to his former room for a quick shower. Maybe he could stop by Renny’s place and break the news they were married. Didn’t know how he’d do it, but the longer he waited, the more the secret burned inside him.

She needed to know.

Of course, he had no clue where she lived or if she had plans for the evening, but once he cleared the air, he’d feel better. Maybe.

Then he could focus on meeting Della and getting his ass to Seattle to start a new life.

Seattle. He’d been kicking around the possibilities of where to settle as his time in the service wound down and the Pacific Coast city was high on his list. Then when he met Shelby at an officer mixer and struck up a conversation with her, things fell into place. She was from Seattle, leaving to return to her home in mere weeks, and her father was looking for a new associate for his firm situated in the heart of the city. At that moment, standing there holding a gin and tonic, he’d felt destiny tap him on the shoulder and ask him to dance the pretty teacher all the way to a new life.

So he’d taken Shelby’s hand and vowed to listen to reason. To fate. To what the stars had lined up for him. It was as if life had laid all the pieces out in front of him and said, Here you go, Darby.

Seattle and Shelby sounded good. There he wasn’t known and could be whoever he wanted to be without any preconceived notions. Without a family name. Without whispers of his past or a meddling mother trying to dredge up history so she could spackle it with plaster and make it all better.

Onward and upward.

Or maybe backward and downward.

He wasn’t sure.

But before he could move anywhere, he had to divorce Renny.

* * *

RENNY GLARED AT THE MAN standing on her front porch holding two take-out boxes and a bottle of wine.

What in the hell did he think he was doing?

She gripped the French door and tried not to let her bad leg buckle. “What do you think you’re—”

“I’ve got to talk to you,” he said, shouldering past her into her house. “Better to do this in private.”

She spun around. “Get out.”

“You don’t want the neighbors to hear this. I brought food.” He walked through her living area to the adjoining dining area and set the boxes on her newly restored antique drop-leaf table, looking as if he had every right to stalk into her world and tilt it on its side. Typical Darby. It was how he’d always been. Presumptuous and entitled. A true Dufrene.

“I didn’t invite you in, and I really don’t want to hear what you have to say to me. Nor do I want any food. So get the hell out before I call the police.” She waved toward the open door. Her body trembled with rage and something unidentifiable. She didn’t have time to worry about what that was. She needed him to take his larger-than-life body and remove it from the intimacy of her living room.

“Give me a few minutes, okay? You need to hear me out. Trust me.”

“Trust you? I don’t even know you anymore. You’re a memory. That’s it.”

He turned around and waved the wine bottle. “Do you have an opener? Trust or not, you’ll need a drink for this conversation.”

“I don’t want a drink. I want you to leave. Don’t be an asshole, Darby. If you need closure, fine. I forgive you for getting drunk, hitting a tree, nearly killing me and then forgetting about me while you went off to the East Coast. There. Done. Now get out.” Her knee did that buckle thing and the scar on her thigh ached. She wanted to sit down, but didn’t dare show weakness in front of this man.

“I didn’t forget you,” he said, his brow crinkling in confusion. “I don’t even know what you’re talking about.”

Realizing he wasn’t going to leave without her actually calling the sheriff, she slammed the door. “Fine. You want to talk. Bring it on. I’ll get the damn bottle opener.”

Renny moved toward the kitchen, more aware of her limp than normal. She didn’t want him to watch her. Didn’t want his pity or his guilt, but even so, she felt it with every step. “Stop looking at me.”

She swallowed unshed emotion that had appeared out of nowhere and entered the kitchen, yanking open a drawer and ignoring the fact her cat, Chauncey, had leaped onto the counter and drank milk from the cereal bowl she’d left in the sink that morning.

She turned and jabbed the opener toward the man who’d followed her into the kitchen. “Here.”

“Why wouldn’t I look at you? You’re still so beautiful it takes my breath away.”

His words slammed her and she flinched. “Oh, God, Darby. Are you serious? That’s what you’re going to say. I’m beautiful?”

He shrugged in a matter-of-fact manner that was so achingly familiar it made her heart hurt.

“Look, I know what I am, so don’t give me your pity. At least show me that courtesy.” She waggled the opener before thrusting it at him once again.

His blue eyes darkened and his mouth softened. She wished she hadn’t noticed, but she had. The man was abnormally good-looking with that golden hair and tan skin. Probably had a six-pack, too. He was too good to be true...like most things were. She wasn’t biting whatever worm he wriggled at her. She knew what trusting Darby had gotten her. “Lord, Renny, I don’t pity you.”

She rolled her eyes. “Okay, sure. No one pities me. I don’t have a complex. I swear. Something about you here in my kitchen, in my space, freaks me out. Let’s go back into the living room.”

He reached out and brushed a piece of hair from her cheek and she flinched again. Not because she didn’t want his touch, but because the heat in that simple gesture seared her. It was as if a match had been struck and the air thickened with something dangerous. “I don’t want to freak you out. I’m sorry about that, but don’t ever think I would pity something as rare as you.”

His words plucked a chord in her and she didn’t like where her heart and head were sliding. She needed to get it together. Fast. “Lay that manure on someone else, Darby.”

She jerked away from him and headed back to the dining room. As she pulled out a chair, she begged her body to obey the dictates of her mind. Stay away. Keep the wall up. Don’t allow Darby access to anything he could use to drag the past forward. Be polite and aloof. Be the woman you are today, Renny. “So, you brought dinner. At least I’ll get something out of this.”

“Your cat is drinking something out of your sink. Is that okay?”

“You implying that I’m a lonely cat woman?”

The sound of the wine bottle being uncorked accompanied his question. “Well, if you’re a cat woman, I wanna see you in that black leather costume and not that weird white furniture cover.”

Renny stifled a smile. Here was the charm that bled out of Darby as easily as the sun shone. It played havoc with a girl’s intent. “In your dreams, Officer.”

He emerged from around the corner. “How did you know one of my fantasies is you in a catsuit?”

“You were always a degenerate.”

At that, his eyes shuttered and she felt his mood shift. “I was many things, wasn’t I?”

She didn’t answer because suddenly it felt a little like swimming into the unknown, so she stalled by prying open the nearest take-out box. Steam rose off the crawfish fettuccini inside and made her mouth water.

He set the bottle on the table. “I know you get lots of home cooking, but it’s been a while for me, so I stopped at Jacqueline’s.”

“Good choice. Her food’s the best, so I guess I’ll have to force myself.” She tempered her words with a small smile, determined to throw a speed bump in front of their forthcoming conversation so she could enjoy the meal. No sense in letting good food go to waste, even if it was with a man she’d hoped never to lay eyes on again. Darby had obviously snagged two wineglasses from her cabinet while in the kitchen. He poured a healthy portion into each glass and handed one to her.

“Please don’t toast,” she warned, taking the glass from him, careful not to touch his hand. She wanted no more flares of awareness. Couldn’t handle them.

“I wouldn’t dare,” he muttered, taking a big gulp of the chardonnay. He opened his own box, revealing another serving of crawfish pasta, and dug in. A semi-comfortable silence settled in as they ate.

After several minutes, Renny looked up. “I don’t like being forced into something, but I do appreciate dinner. The wine’s not bad, either.”

He wiped his mouth. “I’m not real comfortable being here myself, but it’s got to be done.”

Renny cocked her head. “Why? It’s been years and we’re both different people. Is there really a need to drag up old feelings? I’ve moved on. You’ve moved on. Can’t we let it be what it was—two crazy kids looking to thumb their noses at authority then learning they weren’t as smart as they thought they were? We were both to blame for what happened, so we don’t need apologies.”

Darby took another swallow of the crisp wine and leveled his blue eyes at her. “It’s not about apologies though I do think I owe you one. I had no idea you were injured so severely.”

The sorrow in his gaze melted something and for the first time in a long time a familiar longing wormed its way along the tunnels of her soul, convincing her the misery she’d suffered after the accident hadn’t been so awful after all. She dashed that devil of a feeling against the stone-hard resolve built long ago in the recesses of her heart. “You wouldn’t have, because you never bothered to come see me.”

“What are you talking about? You refused to see me.” Truth sat in his gaze. He wasn’t jerking her chain. The reaction was honest.

“I never refused you anything. Ever. That was the problem.”

For a moment, they held each other’s gaze. Dawning descended and in that moment, they both seemed to understand something—they had not been the only players that moonlit night. There had been others involved, each with his or her own motives.

“No, you never did, did you?” His words were almost a whisper and the tone in those words made Renny swallow hard.

“But that’s the past,” she muttered, reaching for her wineglass so quickly she knocked it over. The liquid splashed across the buffed cypress table she’d found in an old warehouse outside Lake Charles and ran off onto the carpet.

“I’ll get it,” Darby said, leaping to his feet, jogging toward the kitchen and reemerging with a dish towel. Chauncey shot out behind him as he knelt to wipe up the spill. Renny sat glued to her chair, mostly because she didn’t trust her legs, especially the one that had been broken in several places and gouged by the splintered fence...but that wasn’t the true reason she couldn’t manage to rise. No, the true reason hummed inside her.

Most of what she’d believed about the man stooping at her feet had been a lie—a lie perpetuated by her mother. The Dufrenes. Hell, even the hospital staff.

He hadn’t denied her.

Why hadn’t she known that?

Darby tossed the cloth on the table and looked up. His eyes were so blue and the chin that had once been smooth to the touch was scruffy and manly.

It was a face she knew well.

It was a stranger’s face.

“You know why I came tonight?”

She licked her lips and shook her head. “I guess I don’t.”

He eased forward and lifted one of the hands she’d curled in her lap. The warmth of his touch and the heady smell of the spilled wine kick-started something slithery and dangerous in her belly.

“It’s not about apologies.” He shook his head. “Man, this isn’t easy. I don’t know how to do this.”

“What?” She looked down at him on his knees and for an instant her mind flitted back to an eighteen-year-old Darby on his knees outside the Bayou Bridge high school football stadium. The flash of a simple gold band—one still lying at the bottom of her jewelry box. The flash of his smile. The hope and possibility of young love under a February moon.

“Renny, I’d like to ask you to unmarry me.”

She pulled her hand away. “What? Unmarry you? We’re not—”

“You remember what happened that afternoon before we guzzled two bottles of champagne?” Darby interrupted, wiping his hand on the thigh of his jeans. Now her mind flashed to champagne dripping down her neck and Darby licking it off before his head went lower and lower still. Before they spread the blanket he’d packed in the back of his pickup and made love beneath the arms of the live oak in the center of the property his grandfather had left him. “Before the car accident?”

Renny shook her head as something much heavier replaced the desire brewing inside her. It felt like she’d reached the zenith of the world’s highest roller coaster and the track tilted south. “Oh, God, we got married.”


CHAPTER FOUR

DARBY WATCHED THE EMOTIONS dance across Renny’s face—dawning, incredulity, anger, and then confusion. All the same things he felt nearly two weeks ago when he’d found the marriage certificate among his old papers.

“How? It wasn’t legal.”

Her question was the simplest of questions, but he didn’t have a good answer. “I don’t know. Somehow the license was filed. I’m checking into that, but hold on a sec—”

He went back to where he’d laid the boxes, picked up a manila envelope she hadn’t seen earlier and gave it to her.

Renny pulled the document from its sheath and studied it with a little crinkle in her forehead. He sank back into the chair he’d abandoned and waited.

“This is official? Not a joke?”

“Who would have forged a marriage certificate and mailed it to me at Winston Prep?”

She shrugged. “I don’t understand. That boat captain was drunk and there wasn’t really anything official about it. I don’t even remember signing this.”

“But it’s my signature, and if I’m remembering correctly, that’s yours. Whatever may have happened, somehow we ended up married.”

Renny slumped back in her chair, fork abandoned in the half-eaten pasta, and rubbed her face. “This is crazy.”

“Yeah. More than a little.”

She sat up straight. “Oh, my God! What if one of us had gotten married...had kids?”

“That would have been...awkward. Guess that’s a silver lining in all this. We both stayed single...or rather secretly married.”

The sound of the chair scraping against the floor jarred him. Renny launched herself from the table, whipping up his empty container along with her empty wineglass, and headed toward the kitchen. “I can’t deal with this right now. This is nuts.”

He didn’t move, because he knew she needed time to process. Likely she was in the kitchen trying not to hyperventilate. Maybe he should go check on her, but that didn’t feel like the thing to do. She needed space—from him. Her cat curled in and out through his outstretched legs and purred. Any other time, he’d have reached down and given it a pat, but he didn’t feel friendly toward any creature at the moment, so he jerked his legs away and shooed the long-haired cat away.

The sound of glass breaking in the kitchen made him leap to his feet.

“Damn it.” Her words sounded tinged in tears. Or hysteria. He wasn’t sure which but neither was good.

He nearly tripped over the cat as he hurried to the kitchen. A yowl later, he found Renny standing at the sink with a broken wineglass in one hand, her other under the faucet.

“You okay?”

“No.” She held up a hand and studied the blood streaming down her finger and dropping into the ceramic sink. “I cut my finger.”

“Here,” he said, taking her wrist in his hand and studying the gash on her pointer finger. No slivers of glass and no need for stitches. “Don’t think we’ll have to go to the hospital. Let’s put pressure on it.”

He grabbed a clean white towel from the half-open drawer next to the sink and wrapped her finger in it, holding it firmly to stop the bleeding. Renny studied his hand curled around hers, reverting to careful observation like any good scientist. He followed her gaze and noticed their two left hands were linked together and wondered about her thoughts.

“Better?” he asked, dropping his voice to a lower, softer register.

Renny shrugged and lifted her brown eyes to meet his gaze. The emotions pooling within the depths socked him hard in the solar plexus and sucked him back in time. How many times had he looked into those eyes? How many times had he smelled that scent that was hers alone? How many times had he bent his head to hers? Too many to name. Déjà vu blanketed him, covering him in memories, forcing him to remember how much he’d once loved this woman.

“Renny,” he breathed, exhaling her name like a prayer. He didn’t want to want her with such intensity. But he did.

“Don’t,” she whispered, stepping back.

But he couldn’t help himself.

Old feelings had tumbled down, slamming into them both. He could see the same in her eyes—the want, the confusion, the desire.

He lowered his head and caught her lips as he’d done so many times before. Her slight intake of breath only invited him further.

Ah, sweet, sweet Renny.

“Darby,” she whispered, before closing her eyes and surrendering. He needed no further invitation. He slid his free arm around her waist, trapping her between him and the sink, and deepened the kiss.

Something slammed him for a second time. Raw desire. The kind with hooks that latched tight and refused any rational thought. Damn. She tasted so good. Like Louisiana spice. Like all things good, sweet and bitter. She tasted like home and he couldn’t get enough of her.

“Mmm,” he groaned as he slid his free hand up to cup her jaw, angling her head so he could draw in more of her essence, more of some elixir he couldn’t name but was so good it made him forget the man he’d become.

Renny’s hand fisted in his shirt and she gave as good as she got. He felt her hand relax and then the brush of her fingertips on his jaw and something more ignited in him. He wanted her beneath him, naked, open to him. He wanted—

She broke the kiss. “Stop. This is—”

Her eyes closed and she shook her head, sliding to the side, tugging her injured hand from his grasp. Her shallow breaths accompanied his as he inwardly shook himself.

What had he done?

Never should have gone down that path. Her taste had struck a match in him, undoing what years of repression had given him—some kind of closure or peace with how they’d left things.

All that had been destroyed with one little kiss.

Her eyes opened and her gaze met his. “We shouldn’t have done that.”

“No, we shouldn’t have,” he said, moving away from her, resting his backside against her oven range. “Guess old feelings came back and I got carried away. Won’t happen again.”

Something flickered in her eyes, but he didn’t want to acknowledge exactly what that was. He wasn’t living in the past. He was very much in the future with a new path set out before him. A path that included a prestigious law firm, rain-soaked Saturdays in out-of-the-way cafés, and a teacher with soft blond hair and a weakness for chocolate.

Not a golden-skinned biologist with hair the color of café au lait and kisses addictive as caramel candy. Not Louisiana with its curling bayous, graceful oaks and soulful vibrations wrapping around him like the roots hidden beneath the fertile soils. He was done with Renny and Louisiana.

Something he needed to remember before he went planting his lips where they didn’t belong.

“Good,” she said, dragging her wrist across her lips as if she could wipe the taste of him away. He didn’t fail to notice her hands trembled. She’d been more affected than she wanted to admit.

But so had he.

“So what do we do now?” Her words were cold water down his back.

“About the kiss?”

She shook her head. “No. This crazy marriage.”

“Oh,” he pushed off from the stove. “I’m working on that. Put in a call to Baton Rouge to check on the filing, and I’ve already talked to Sid Platt. He’ll draw up papers so we can proceed with a divorce and bring by the petition by the end of next week. It’ll be filed ASAP.”

She nodded. “Anything I need to do?”

“We haven’t lived together and neither one of us has any issues with division of community property since we’ve had none together. If you’re willing to waive papers being served, then we can shorten it even further.”

“So it should be cut-and-dried.”

“Should. Six months at tops.”

“I still can’t believe this.” She scooped up the cat that had started yowling in displeasure, opened the back door and deposited it on the back stoop—all with one hand.

“Yeah, it’s a little hard to wrap the mind around.”

Renny held up her injured finger. “I need to put something on this and grab a bandage. Are we through?”

He shook his head. “Not really.”

She cocked her head. “Is there something else left to say?”

Wasn’t there? Perhaps he should ignore the unanswered questions, but he’d wondered for so long why Renny had given up on them. “Maybe. Yeah. There are some things.”

Her mouth thinned. “You’re talking about the accident?”

“I’m talking about what happened after the accident. About why you wanted to skewer me when you first saw me this afternoon.”

Renny pushed back her hair. “Okay, but can I deal with my finger first? I don’t want blood all over my furniture. Make yourself useful—put on some coffee—and we’ll try to get that closure you seem to need.” She turned and disappeared.

“So you don’t need closure?” he called as he searched the white-tiled counters for the coffeepot.

“No. I got past us a long time ago,” she yelled from the back of the house.

“Yeah? Well, I don’t think so,” he muttered as he pulled out the carafe and walked to the sink. “You think you’re over me, but your body didn’t get the memo, sweetheart.”

And obviously neither had his.

Which could end up being a big problem if he wasn’t careful.

* * *

RENNY TRIED TO CONTROL her trembling hands as she pulled the backing off the bandage. Shaking was becoming a habit ever since Darby had stalked across that rice field and back into her life. Her body felt not her own. Obviously. She’d just about tossed her clothes to the floor of the kitchen and climbed on top of Darby moments ago. Yeah, control might be an issue.

Her words to her mother earlier that afternoon rang in her ears. Okay, she hadn’t actually jumped his bones upon first sight. Did second sight count?

“Coffee’s ready,” Darby called, his voice echoing through her bedroom into her restored turn-of-the-twentieth-century bathroom. She closed the mirrored cabinet and glanced at herself.

Good gravy. Her lips were swollen from his kiss. And her hair swirled around her wantonly, making her look like some sexed-up wild woman. She grabbed a ponytail holder and a brush. After taming her hair and tucking her T-shirt into her well-worn jeans, she felt stronger. She even shoved her bare feet into the sheepskin mules sitting beside her closet.

There.

Ready for closure.

She walked back into the living room and found Darby sitting on her pink sofa stroking Chauncey. Something about his very masculine hands stroking the back of her cat made her mouth grow dry.

“He was meowing, so I let him in,” he said, crossing his legs casually and picking up a steaming mug of coffee. “I fixed yours the way you like it. One sweetener and a dollop of cream.”

“I drink it black now.”

Darby gave her a smile that would make a less stable gal drop her panties. “Grown-up girl, aren’t you?”

“Mmm,” Renny said, scooping Chauncey up for the second time and carrying him toward the door. “He’s spoiled, but he’s going outside no matter how much he cries.”

“Not just grown-up, but tough.”

She turned around, closing the door with a definitive click. “You have no idea.”

He stared at her as she walked back, picking up the mug from the old trunk that served as her coffee table. For a few seconds, neither of them said anything.

“I didn’t leave you, you know.”

Renny averted her gaze and took a sip. Sweet and creamy. A cup of coffee for a naive girl—the girl she’d once been. “Well, I thought you had. When I woke up, you weren’t there. You were in Virginia.”

“Not by choice.”

“It didn’t feel that way, Darby,” she said, all those old feelings flooding back, hurting her all over again. “Come on. We were in our senior year. You were eighteen. A man. You had the choice to stay with me, but you didn’t. When the going got tough, you got going...in the wrong direction.”

“So you would think, but that’s not what happened. Not when faced with my father’s wrath. Not when faced with an ultimatum.”

She sank into the reupholstered armchair that wasn’t so much comfortable as it was beautiful. “Ultimatum?”

“After the doctor released me from the emergency room, the sheriff put me in his car and took me to the parish jail where my father waited. He’d already made some kind of deal with Ed Bergeron, the D.A. Dad dragged me to the car, took me home and told me to pack my camp trunk. He said one way or the other I was leaving Beau Soleil.”

“He kicked you out?”

“Not exactly. He gave me the choice—hit the streets with nothing but the clothes on my back or go to Winston Prep in Virginia where he’d already bought me late admission.”

Renny took another sip, accustoming herself to the taste of the sweeter brew. Martin Dufrene had always been something of a bastard. Hard-nosed businessman who controlled all aspects of his life with an iron fist. When the one thing he couldn’t control spiraled away from him—the kidnapping and presumed murder of his daughter—he’d become even more intolerable. His crushing dictates and forcing of his will on his remaining children had had varied effects. In Darby it had manifested itself as rebellion. Darby had been as wild as the creatures that crept along the bayous and prowled the Louisiana woods. And he had taken her along for the ride.

“So you just did what he wanted?”

Darby frowned. “I didn’t see it that way. I thought of it as buying us some time. If I went to Virginia, graduated and saved enough money, I could find us a place in Baton Rouge. I wrote all of that in the letters I sent. I thought you’d understand I went to Virginia because it would be better for us in the long run.”

“I never got any letters.”

“I mailed one a day for a month and a half.” His words sounded almost accusatory, as if he thought she lied.

She didn’t say anything because her mind reeled, trying to pull out fact from the fiction painted so long ago. She was married. Darby hadn’t abandoned her. Her mother had lied. Her brain was at full capacity on what it could deal with and Renny felt on the verge of hysteria.

She took a deep breath and exhaled. “So you’re saying you didn’t ‘leave’ me. Just went to Virginia to buy time? You’re saying everything I believed was a lie? And you’re saying our parents sabotaged us? But you didn’t know this until...?”

“Tonight?” His steady gaze said it all, and she knew it was so. Betrayal stabbed, an echo of the cut to her finger. “Honestly.”

Silence crouched between them as the past came winging back, knocking down grudges held for too long. She’d sat with this man so many times. Knew what it meant when he stroked his chin, when he rotated his ankles, cracking them in the silence. Relief tinged her uncertainty.

He’d not abandoned her.

Darby folded his arms across his chest and stretched his legs. “I didn’t realize you thought I’d abandoned you. All these years I believed you hated me because I had hurt you. It sounded pretty damn convincing when you told me you never wanted to see me again, and it felt pretty damn final when you chose something other than us.”

“What?” Renny shook her head. “I don’t—”

“You do remember the last time you spoke to me?”

Closing her eyes, Renny wished she didn’t remember her cold words, the pain that spurred her to tell him to leave her the hell alone. Forever.

“I called the hospital every chance I got, and finally, your mother let me talk to you. You said those words.”

She wanted to tell him she’d never meant it, but that would be another lie, and it seemed fairly obvious there were far too many lies to deal with at present. “I was hurt and angry. Two months had gone by without word from you.”

He arched an eyebrow and it made him even more handsome.

She leaned forward onto her knees. “Okay, I know. You sent letters, but I never received even one of them. The only certainty I knew was the four gray striped walls of my hospital room and the unceasing pain in my leg and head. I knew only what my mother told me. What your parents told me. You were gone and not coming back for me, and it felt like the worst betrayal.”

“Renny, why would you think that? You knew me. You knew what we had was real. Am I right? Was I the only one who wanted us on a forever kind of basis?”

His words made her bleed. She had thought what they had was real but hadn’t held on to that conviction. She could blame the drugs and her mother, but maybe her love for Darby hadn’t been strong enough to weather what happened. Perhaps, he’d been the one to face the world, chin out, daring someone to separate them...and Renny had been the one to fold.

Or maybe she’d folded because she’d believe his father’s words when he’d come to see her.

Darby wanted to marry you because it defied me. You understand this, don’t you, Renny? It wouldn’t have worked out, because that boy has never faced any person or thing he couldn’t have or manipulate...including you.

And there had been truth in Martin Dufrene’s words.

Whether she’d given up or had her love ripped from her, her dream of being with Darby had died. And either way, she knew they wouldn’t have lasted. With Darby, she’d always felt like the other shoe was about to drop.

She’d never been good enough for a Dufrene.

Her voice sounded froglike when she said, “I thought I wanted forever. I did. But things were so skewed...so backwards. I needed to be strong, but my body and my heart were broken. You weren’t there. It was easy to believe you’d abandoned me and moved on. It was easy to believe our running away was another way for you to poke sticks at your father. I always felt I was into you way more than you were into me.”

He raked a hand through his honey hair, making it stick up, and his Paul Newman blue eyes met her gaze. “You know, I could ask why you thought that, but I already know the answer.”

She wished he would tell her. She didn’t know why she’d believed everyone else rather than her own heart. Why she hadn’t had faith in Darby. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Maybe there isn’t anything left to say now,” he said, leaning forward, pressing his elbows to his knees, a mirror pose to hers. His shoulders were much broader, the jaw bristled with golden scruff was more pronounced, the hands clasped were no longer a boy’s.

Even though tears seemed precariously close, her internal thermometer rose a few degrees, but she couldn’t give credence to desire. She’d already made that mistake in the kitchen moments ago. “Maybe not, but we still have to deal with our future.”

“When I get the paperwork, I’ll come by.” He rose and looked around her house. “I’m sorry to disrupt the life you’ve built, Ren. Seems like a nice one. We’ll get through this. Now go on back to your Friday night.”

She followed his gaze about her room. She had built a nice life for herself, even if it was a bit lonely. At that moment, she really wished she were dating someone if only so she didn’t look quite so pathetic with her cat and polished antiques. Maybe she should call Carrie and go out. Pick up a dude to try and forget the trouble that had landed on her door. But would that make her an adulterer? Dear Lord. She couldn’t believe she was married. “Yeah, it was a little disruptive—helluva curve ball.”

“So let’s turn on it and hit it out of the park,” Darby smiled, moving toward the door. His demeanor had shifted again and he was back to being light and charming. How could he accomplish that so quickly? She felt pressed down by an unbearable weight with the news he’d delivered, with the falsehoods uncovered. She needed time to process. Time to grieve. Time to confront. Time to...drink enough wine to forget what had transpired over the course of the past two hours.

“Yeah, hit it out of the park,” she echoed, following him to the door, trying not to wince at the ache in her leg. It was always worse at the end of the week, which was another reason she usually spent Friday nights with Chauncey, a glass of white and three hours of Lifetime TV.

Darby opened the door and Chauncey shot inside. “He seems pretty attached to you.”

“Or his food bowl.”

He turned and brushed a lock of hair that had escaped her ponytail behind her ear. “I think it’s you. You have a way of growing on people...and cats.”

Her heart flopped over at his touch. At his words. “God, Darby, you say things that make me want to—”

“Kiss me?”

She shook her head and smiled. “Make me want to forgive you.”

“And you have to forgive me for...what? Loving you once?”

“I really don’t know.”


CHAPTER FIVE

DARBY WATCHED ANNIE ROLL a ball across the hardwood floor to Paxton, who immediately picked it up and shoved it in his mouth.

“No, Pax. Dirty,” Annie said, wrestling the soft ball from her ten-month-old son’s mouth. The kid cranked up like a siren.

“Get used to women denying you, kid,” Darby said, clinking a beer bottle to the one in his brother’s hand. They sat in double recliners centered in front of a big-screen in Nate’s den. For the first time since he’d hit land in New Orleans, Darby felt at home. Odd, since he’d never even glimpsed the new house Nate had built nor met the tenacious Annie.

“Yeah, Nate’s living a hard life sitting back in that leather recliner drinking Abita. Denial is the man’s middle name.” Annie scooped up the wailing kid and plopped a pacifier in his mouth. Pax’s super-suction made the car or train or whatever was on the end of it bob like a cork on a fishing line, but it appeased. Darby wished he had one of those for hard times, then he looked at the amber bottle in his hand. Guess he kind of had a little something to soothe him.

Nate belched. “Yeah, life’s tough.”

Annie rolled her eyes, settled the kid on her hip and regarded her husband. “It’s your turn to change Pax.”

“Come on, hon, I’m hanging with my little brother.”

“And that gives you reason to shirk your duty? This is an equal partnership, bud.” Annie’s gray eyes were sort of shardlike. He could see former FBI agent written all over her.

Darby struggled up from the depths of the recliner. “Give him here. I’ll do it. Been wanting to spend some time with my nephew anyway.”

His new sister-in-law raised her eyebrows. “You know this is a poopy diaper, don’t you? Might ruin the relationship before it’s out of the gate.”

Darby set his beer on the table. “How hard can it be? I’ve had plenty of practice.”

Nate’s bark of laughter startled Pax, who started fussing again. “On who?”

“Myself.”

Nate rose and shook his head. “Totally not the same thing. Trust me.”

His brother held out his hands and Pax sort of fell into them with a drooling grin behind his enormous pacifier...and that’s when Darby got a whiff.

Dear God.

His nephew smelled dead.

“Um, on second thought, I’ll keep Annie company. Haven’t had the opportunity to spend much time with her, either.”

His brother frowned but dropped a kiss atop the baby’s head. Yeah, Nate knew when he’d been suckered, but he didn’t say anything more as he left the den, noxious fumes trailing behind him.

“You’re good.” Annie smiled as she sank onto the couch adjacent from the recliners and propped her bare feet on the ottoman. “Almost as good as me.”

Darby shrugged. “I’m the baby of the family—we’re born knowing how to manipulate the oldest.”

“So does the wife. It wasn’t even his turn to change the baby.”

Darby laughed. He liked this new addition to the Dufrene clan. Spunky might have been Annie’s middle name, something she’d need when up against his headstrong, set-in-his-ways brother. “Nate’s happy finally.”

Her eyes darkened. “Yeah, so am I.”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t come to the wedding.” Darby had felt guilty about missing his brother tie the knot, but could do nothing except send a nice gift since he hadn’t had enough leave to head stateside.

“He missed having you there, but he understands. That’s the good thing about Nate. He’s reasonable, otherwise, he wouldn’t be here at Beau Soleil.”

“Mother?”

Annie laughed. “She’s hard to live next door to at times, but we love her. She’s a good mother even if a bit, um, managing.”

“You mean Attila the Hun tries to control your life?” Darby shook his head. “Give her an inch of rope, she’ll take a mile, truss you up and drag you screaming and kicking behind her.”

“She’s not that bad. Just always at war with herself. She professes to allow life to take its course, but like those engineers who control the Mississippi River levee, she wears herself out trying to steer it to come out the way she wishes.”

Darby shifted in the recliner and took another slug of beer. His brother’s wife had Picou pegged, but she seemed remarkably tolerant of the interfering woman. He glanced at his sister-in-law and she stared back, an almost odd probing in her gaze. She shoved a brown curl behind her ear and sighed. “You’re her logjam in that river.”

“Huh?”

Annie shook her head. “Nothing. Never mind. Tell me about Spain. Did you enjoy living there?”

He didn’t want to talk about Spain. He wanted to talk about what Annie meant, but she’d closed that chapter. Something told him not to try and go backward with this woman. So he didn’t. Instead he chatted about the country he’d left behind—the food, the culture, the really bad drivers.

Nate walked back into the room during a story about getting lost when out on his motorcycle. He was Pax-free.

“Where’s the kid?” Annie interrupted.

“Left him in his crib gumming that toy you bought him. Turned on music to stimulate him.”

“Classical?”

Nate smiled. “Classic rock.”

Darby vaguely heard Eddie Van Halen’s infamous guitar licks coming from the hallway. “Nice.”

“We want a well-rounded kid,” Annie said, patting the spot next to her. Like a spaniel, Nate went to her. Bet she scratched his belly regularly. Of course, Darby understood the appeal of belly-scratching from a woman who had a vibe like Annie—that sort of vibe would have a man happily doing as bidden.

It made him think of Renny.

She had that vibe. Or she had at one time. Beautiful golden skin, tumbling caramel hair and a soft laugh that made a man twitch thinking about her hands on him. But she’d changed. Her laugh wasn’t easy, her disposition more guarded...even if some remnant of the past lurked in her eyes, in her voice. It was like a promised resurgence.

He wanted to make her laugh again. To watch her glow in the light of the sun sinking over the Atchafalaya. To tangle his hands in that hair and make love to her under the full moon just as he’d done so many times.

Hunger clawed at him.

“Darby?”

He blinked. “Huh?”

“Want another beer?”

“Sure.”

Nate stared blankly at him. “Grab me one, too, when you come back.”

Checkmate. Older brothers always had the last laugh. Darby huffed and got to his feet, heading toward the kitchen. “Annie?”

“Me, too.” She nodded. Nate hooked her around her neck and kissed the side of her mouth. Darby made a face but smiled as he turned toward the kitchen. Seeing his brother happy satisfied him on a lot of levels. Nate had suffered through so much guilt regarding Della and had shouldered much of the burden of dealing with the estate and their mother that Darby figured the man deserved some peace with his woman.

The kitchen was clean and modern with the smell of rich wood and laundry soap, and it had a specialty fridge built in for beer and wine. He grabbed three Abita Turbodogs and started back toward the den, wondering if he should confide in Annie and Nate about his strange marriage and ensuing divorce.

Nice to share a burden, but did he want the drama?

Because Picou would find out.

Maybe.

If he could keep it under wraps that would be best. Picou wanted a reason to keep him in Louisiana under her thumb. What better way to chain him here than to encourage some sort of romance between him and Renny?

He knew that’s what she’d do.

And there was a tiny part of him that wanted it, too.

But the grown-up part of him knew he needed to forget his past and move toward a future. In Seattle. With Shelby.

Damn it.

He couldn’t summon Shelby’s face. She had blond hair, a nice pair of blue eyes to match a nice pair of breasts that filled out tight sweaters, but her face escaped him at the moment. His thoughts were full of sun-kissed skin and golden-flecked eyes. God, he had to stop thinking of her.

“Lucille said you went to see Renny. Did you get to have that talk you wanted to have?” Nate held out an expectant hand.

Ah, there it was. The best reason to head to Seattle—nosy kinfolk. “Yeah, just some things from the past. An apology and all that.”

“For what?” Annie asked, accepting the cold bottle from him. “And we’re talking about Renny Latioles? The woman who lives in that restored gatehouse on the outskirts of town?”

“Yeah. Darby and Renny were an item in high school. In fact, they tried to run off and get married when they turned eighteen. They were seniors and Dad blew a gasket. Only thing that saved Darby’s ass was that wreck. Of course it screwed him, too, since he got sent to military school.”

“You tried to get married? At eighteen?”

Darby shrugged. “We were young and in love. When you’re eighteen you think anything is possible...even getting out of being sent away.”

“I thought I was in love with Lily Bamburg. We were going to get married and then breed and train lab puppies for hunters.” Nate ignored the bitterness in Darby’s voice, obviously not wanting to travel down that path of discord.

“The waitress at Marmalades?” Annie’s eyebrows arched into her bangs.

Nate laughed. “Two hundred pounds ago and before she had five kids, Lily was a looker. Plus she had an eye for a good retriever.”

Darby didn’t like the direction the conversation took. He didn’t want to talk about his father, marriage or past loves—it was all too close for comfort. “So tell me about Della. What’s the deal?”

Nate shrugged as Annie shifted her eyes away for a moment, growing contemplative as the conversation took a serious turn. “She’s scared...and she’s still grieving for Enola Cheramie.”

Nate nodded. “It’s been more difficult than I thought it would be to reconcile her to this family, and some of that might be because your twin sister is a Dufrene through and through. Nothing done the easy way.” Nate took another pull on his beer and curled his arm around his wife again. Annie settled against him, but not in a girlish way, merely in a comfortable way. Nothing girlish about Annie except for her size. She was barely five foot two.

Darby knew the MO of his family. They weren’t an easy lot. Fiercely loyal, insufferably headstrong and irrevocably passionate, the children of Martin and Picou Dufrene got their temperament honestly. Though his sister had been kidnapped and raised by an old bayou woman, she’d be no different. It was in her blood. “I guess I’m not good with understanding women, so I don’t know what help I can be. I—”

“This is not about gender,” Annie said, a furrow between those serious gray eyes. “This is about being part of a family that is, uh, difficult at times. She’s been thrust into this culture, this name, and that’s a hard thing. Trust me.”

Nate looked sharply at his wife. “What do you mean by that?”

“You know who your family is. Been here longer than any other family in the region. Your great-grandfather was mayor, your uncle ran the bank, streets are named after your great-grandmothers and there’s a statue of your cousin in front of the city hall. About forty percent of the lands surrounding Bayou Bridge bear the name Laborde or Dufrene. It’s unsettling at times.”

Darby’s gaze crashed into his brother’s. “Well, put like that...”

“And your mother is a most determined woman.” Annie propped her chin on her hand and leaned forward. “That’s been the hardest thing for Sally.”

“Is she still calling herself ‘Sally’?” Darby asked.

“Why wouldn’t she? That’s what she’s been called since she was a baby. It’s what she knows and right now she’s clinging to everything she’s ever been and running from who she’s likely to become. She doesn’t feel comfortable in her skin, so she damn sure doesn’t feel comfortable here at Beau Soleil.”

Darby sank back into the chair, knowing exactly how his sister felt, but even that might not be enough to put him on even keel with her. After all, he hadn’t seen Della since his parents had driven away that morning over twenty-six years ago to take him to town to see the doctor. He couldn’t remember that day without thinking about his mother’s face. It was all he could recall in his feverish state. His mother collapsing on the floor that night, holding the ransom letter left nailed to a tree in the garden. Something like that made an impression even on a three-year-old child.

He didn’t know the woman his sister had grown into, raised in the backwaters of Bayou Lafourche with a woman who made her living from the land and waters of South Louisiana. She would be a stranger to him, so he doubted anything he said to her would change the way she felt about the Dufrenes or Beau Soleil. He told his mother he would try, and he would. That was the reason he’d dug out that old book the therapist had him make. The grief book that was to have helped him cope with losing his twin—the book that had led him to the marriage certificate.

“I told Mom I would go down to Galliano and try to talk to her. I don’t know how she’ll react, but your insights help.” Darby rose from the cushioned leather depths of the chair and stretched. “I guess I should head back to the big house.”

“I’d recommend you don’t alert our sister that you’re coming,” Nate said.

“You don’t think?”

Annie nodded. “I agree. May be a little unfair, but you don’t want her prepared to meet you. She’s hiding...and that means she’s hiding her emotions. And what this family needs, what your mother needs, is for your sister to let go and feel. Until she does that, she’s never going to heal from Enola’s death and she’s never going to open her heart to our family.”

Nate smiled. “You said ‘our’ family.”

“And I meant it.” Annie reached over and rubbed her husband’s shoulders.

“If y’all start canoodling again, I may vomit.” Darby pulled on his boots and stood up, trying to ignore the warm, fuzzy vibes coming from the couch. “But thanks for the beers. I’ll let you know how it goes with Della. Sally. Whatever her name is.”

“How about sister because that’s what she is,” Annie said, rising and grabbing a magazine. “And all you can do is try, right?”

“Right.”

Nate rose also, glancing at the clock. “I’ll catch up with you later. Annie and I will be in Baton Rouge tomorrow on a case so you’ll have to call on my cell.”

“I think I might wait until Sunday afternoon. Maybe wait and catch her after Mass. And I didn’t know you worked on Saturdays. What do you do with the kid?”

A glint hit Annie’s eyes. “Why? You wanna babysit?”

“Um, after getting a whiff of that diaper, not really.”

“He has a sitter who comes most days, and we work every day. Crime doesn’t take a break, so neither can we. Got an interview with a woman who may have witnessed an abduction and murder. She’s off tomorrow so we’re on the case.”

“You see why I love her?” Nate smiled at his brother.

“She was made for you,” Darby said, heading to the front door. For some reason those words conjured up the image of Renny. Made for him. How many times had he told her that, whispering it into her ear as they made out in the back of his truck? Plenty.

But that was then and this was now. He was a different person, so Renny wasn’t made for him any more than Lily Bamburg had been made for Nate. Those had been the thoughts of an irresponsible boy. The hopes of a naive bayou girl. The dreams of two eighteen-year-olds who didn’t know the way the world worked. That dream was gone, cold ashes on a grate.

But as Darby pushed out the front door into the cloak of the Louisiana night, sticky even in September, he knew he lied to himself.

Because there was a spark smoldering beneath those ashes, awaiting a slight stirring, and Darby knew he needed to stay away from them.

Needed to stay away from Renny or he’d be sucked into his past. And that might leave little room for the future he wanted.

Far away from Beau Soleil.


CHAPTER SIX

RENNY WATCHED HER MOTHER’S Pomeranian hop about her feet before begrudgingly bending down and petting Hopscotch. The yipping dog squirmed, a stark contrast to Chauncey with his lazy swoop about the feet or aloof stare from across the room. Hopscotch was as in-your-face annoying as she was cute.





Конец ознакомительного фрагмента. Получить полную версию книги.


Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/liz-talley/the-road-to-bayou-bridge/) на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.