“Bien merci! You’re so kind.” Flame cast a small triumphant glance over her shoulder at Gator behind his grandmother’s back before putting her head down as she walked off. “My family is going to disown me. I don’t know what to do, but I’m so sorry for coming here, I shouldn’t have. It was a mistake. Now he hates me more than ever.”
“He don’ hate you, child, He’s just shocked. Men never think their chickens is goin’ to come home to roost. Don’ you worry, cher, I’ll help you. We’ll get this straightened out fast. Gator, he lives up to his responsibilities. He’s been brought up right.”
“I need to leave. I can’t face him right now,” Flame said, flicking a glance toward the door. She’d have to leave without her bike, but she could make it to the Jeep before he could get dressed, pacify his grandmother and come after her.
“You look ill, child. Let me help you.”
Flame patted her arm, swallowed the sudden, unexpected lump forming in her throat. Gator’s grandmother’s concern was genuine and there was no doubt in Flame’s mind that she would have done her best to help out a pregnant, unwed mother. Damn Gator for his selfish choices. This woman was to be treasured, his family valued. He had no right to sell himself as a Whitney puppet.
“Merci. Bien merci.” She stammered it several times as she bolted toward the door and out into the heat and rain of the night. There were tears in her eyes and she didn’t know why, refused to ask herself why. She dashed them away and ran for the Jeep.
CHAPTER 4
The sun sank deep in the bayou, raining fire and pouring gold into the dark waters. Several great blue herons silhouetted against the horizon appeared like enormous stick figures cut from black paper as they crept slowly through the shallower edges of the canal. Long ropes of moss dangled from cypress trees and swept the water creating a red and gold jungle of feathery arms dipping into the shimmering surface. With humidity so high, even the night creatures moved slowly and easily. Snakes plopped into the water from the low-slung branches and snapping turtles slid much more silently into the murky depths.
The cloying perfume of gardenia and jasmine hung heavy in the air adding to the oppressive heat. A small expanse of grass and several stumps of trees covered a small area between a large cabin and the rickety pier. One alligator stretched along the pier, much like a guard dog, eyes half closed, mouth wide open exposing sharp teeth, watching the boats chugging toward the cabin with lazy disinterest. Two other alligators snoozed on the grass in between the stumps and flowers quite close to the stairs leading to the porch. Neither looked up as several noisy people tied off pirogues and small fishing boats and clambered along the pier. The crowd made wide berths around the guard alligator with small salutes. Friday nights brought the boisterous throng and the loud, up beat music.
“Laissez le bon temps rouler!” Wyatt grinned at his oldest brother, and pointed to the ice chest in their boat as he shoved the long pole along the bottom of the canal, driving the pirogue toward the pier. “Of course, Grand-mere may never forgive you if you don’ marry that girl and raise a family with her.”
“Oui, tais toi, Wyatt,” Gator groused. “Although the idea of taking her to bed does make my heart sing.”
Wyatt toed at him good-naturedly. “And other body parts as well. She was damned fine-looking, even when she had the knife to your throat.”
“I’ve seen him in action,” Ian MacGillicuddy announced, shoving at the lid of the ice chest. “I believe her. He’s been frequenting the clubs and I’d be willing to bet he charmed her into his bed.”
Gator threw a beer cap at Ian. “You know I haven’t been here long enough to be makin’ babies, much as the idea of trying with her may be appealin’.”
“I don’ know, bro, they have these tests now that can tell practically overnight. Grand-mere has a royal bee in her bonnet now. She wants a marriage and it ain’t gonna be me.” Wyatt grinned at his brother. “And that woman, she held that knife like she knew how to use it. She’s a wildcat, that one.”
Gator’s teeth flashed. “Yeah, she’s that, all right. Made me sit up and take notice.” He hadn’t stopped thinking about her. When he’d thrown his body over hers, her skin had been the softest thing he’d ever touched. He’d wanted her with every cell in his body. The blood had surged hot and greedy through his veins, pouring into his groin so that he still ached just thinking about her. He liked women, loved women, but he didn’t lust after any particular one-not like this. He forced his smile wider. “Laissez le bon temps rouler!”
“What the hell does that mean exactly?” Ian demanded. “That and your tuto comment to your brother. I had the feeling that wasn’t very nice.”
“He told me to shut up.”
“Let the good times roll,” Gator interpreted for the big Irishman, ignoring Wyatt. “The Huracan Club is owned by Delmar Thibodeaux. And his place is always hoppin’.”
“It’s good to have you home, Gator,” Wyatt said. “You made Grand-mere happy. I haven’t seen her smile like that in a couple of years. Well, until you got that woman pregnant, but I think if you marry her, Grand- mere will forgive all.”
Unfortunately, his grandmother wouldn’t listen to him even when he pointed out he’d only been home four weeks. Technically four weeks was plenty of time for a Fontenot to get a woman pregnant. Nonny wanted her grandsons married and settled down, not wild and running free. She wanted another woman close and little babies to hold in her arms. He turned his head away from his brother and Ian, afraid his expression might give him away. He had a sudden longing for those very things- now that they might be out of his reach. Funny how he’d taken it all for granted. The home. The family. A wife and children.
“Grand-mere says twins run in the family, Gator. She’s hoping for two from you right away. You best be finding that woman and ropin’ her in fast, bro.”
“Keep talking and I’m going to pin your ears back for you,” Gator said, forcing a soft laugh as he turned back toward his brother. The sound carried in the stillness of the swamp, but the smile didn’t reach his restless eyes. He searched the bayou, noting every canal, the lay of the land, the birds in flight. Even here at home with his friend and family, he made sure nothing got by him.
Wyatt leaned on his pole a moment, studying the harsh planes and angles of his brother’s face. “You haven’t changed much. You still act as easygoing as ever, but there was no one tougher in the bayou.” He grinned at Ian. “The boys want to fight every night, but not Gator. They never wanted to get him stirred up.”
Gator grinned but kept his gaze on the people on the pier and in the boats. It was good to be home in spite of the reason for his homecoming. His last trip had been so fast, a hit-and-run through the bayou with trouble on his tail. This time, he could savor being home. The way his grandmother’s face lit up when she saw him had been worth the trip alone.
Well… until she got it in her head he needed to take responsibility for his actions. Flame had made quite the impression with her poor-innocent-woman-seduced-by- the-charming-playboy act. It didn’t help that he had a certain reputation with the ladies and his grandmother knew it. She’d always been sharp; the boys had been certain when they were growing up she had eyes in the back of her head catching their misdeeds. And now she wanted Flame brought into the family fold. He’d stopped denying he’d slept with her.
And he’d even stopped denying she might be carrying his child. What was the use? His grandmother wanted it to be true and nothing he said was going to change that fact.
“I’m about to die of thirst,” Ian said. He pressed the icy bottle of beer Wyatt snagged for him to his brow. “I’m just replacing what I been sweating out.”
Wyatt laughed at him. “You’re soft, mon ami, can’t take the heat with all that fine living you been doing.”
“Fine living?” A slow grin spread over Ian’s face. He shook back his shock of red wavy hair. “Oh, I like that, Gator. We been living fine up there in Miss Lily’s big house.” He tipped half a bottle of beer down his throat. “You’re a good man, Wyatt, but you don’t know the half of it.”