A Forever Kind of Love (Kimani Romance) (8 page)

“I’m not here to do yard work,” he said. “I’m coming with you to the library in Baton Rouge.”

“Excuse me?”

He shot her a grin as he walked over to Maureen’s car, opened the passenger door and got in.

Mya looked up to the sky as if it would provide answers, then went over to the car and leaned into the open driver’s-side window. “How did you even know I was going to the state library, and why would you think I need you to tag along?”

“Because Mrs. Eloise mentioned it when I called to see how she was doing yesterday, and because you like my company.”

He flashed a set of perfectly white teeth, and Mya was tempted to run into the house and grab another one or two or
ten
bottles of water. Corey Anderson was temptation incarnate, and with all the extra time she had on her hands, spending any of it with him was a green light for trouble.

“Do you expect me to believe you have nothing better to do than to ride all the way to Baton Rouge to search through dusty library books?”

“Believe it,” he said. “Come on, Mya. Even though I still think this new store is the best thing for Gauthier, I told you I would help with the work you’re doing for the civic association. This is me helping.” He gestured with his head. “You’d better get in the car. It’s a long drive to Baton Rouge.”

The prospect of being confined to a car with him for several hours set off a string of alarm bells in her head. Their bodies went with backseats the way peanut butter went with jelly.

Sensing his resolve, she gave up her futile effort to get rid of him and slid behind the wheel.

“And who says I like your company?” she grumbled as she jabbed the key into the ignition and started the car.

Corey’s head tilted back with his deep, rich laugh.

Nearly an hour into their drive on Interstate 12, Mya was once again struck by the ease with which she found herself conversing with Corey. In a way, it felt as if the tension and distance of their fifteen-year estrangement had never existed. Mya was surprised to learn that he’d followed her career after her Tony nomination had put her on the proverbial map for costume design.

“Do you think you’re going to stick to Broadway, or have you considered maybe going to Hollywood and working in the movies?” he asked.

“The thought never crossed my mind,” Mya admitted. “I love New York too much.”

Corey huffed out a genuine laugh. “I never understood how a girl who grew up in a small town like Gauthier could feel comfortable in the big city. It seems so impersonal.”

“But it’s not,” Mya said. “That’s one of the biggest misconceptions people have about New York. It’s not impersonal at all. It’s made up of dozens of small neighborhoods where people look out for each other. That’s what I love about it. There’s this feeling of community.”

“You had that here,” Corey stated.

Mya took her eyes off the road for a moment to glance at him. The set of his jaw was as rigid as stone.

“Why did you really leave?” The question held no accusation, just honest curiosity. “Maybe I shouldn’t ask that. I already know why you left.”

Her heart stopped; for a full three seconds it congealed with fear that he had somehow found out about the baby she’d miscarried. Her heartbeats resumed only after Corey continued, “I know I hurt you when I slept with Tamika Hillard on graduation night. I’ve never forgiven myself for that. You do know it was only that one time, right?”

She nodded, and her throat pinched with guilt as she remembered the knock-down, drag-out argument they’d had when she caught him with her rival on the cheerleading squad. She had let him believe that his infidelity was the reason she was breaking up with him and leaving Gauthier, even though Mya had already made the decision to leave the night she’d lain in a hospital bed after losing his baby. Two weeks prior to graduation.

“I’ve forgiven you,” she said.

“You have?”

“It was a long time ago, Corey. What good does it do anyone to hold on to the anger and resentment?”

“But I hurt you so badly that night.”

“You did,” she said in a small voice. “And it made me want to leave Gauthier even more, but it wasn’t the only reason I left.”

“I know it’s not the
only
reason you left,” he said. “You always talked about getting out of Gauthier and making a life for yourself. What I really want to know is why didn’t you come back? What made you stay away for all those years? You had to know it was hurting your grandparents.”

Mya swallowed the rock-hard lump that formed in her throat. She’d asked herself that same question so many times it had been permanently etched into her soul. She had tried to come back over the years, had made it all the way to the airline gate once. But something had always held her back.

Fear.

It was fear that had made her gut clench whenever she thought of coming back here. Fear of being sucked into the teenage pregnancy trap that had snared girls like Shelly. Fear that she would get stuck in this small town and never experience anything outside of it. She had been so,
so
afraid. And those fears had all combined to create an invisible barrier that had, until one week ago, blocked her return to Gauthier.

But she couldn’t tell that to Corey. He would never understand that way of thinking. Even after people here shunned him, he’d still returned. He would never understand how something as intangible as fear could keep her away.

“Time just got away from me,” Mya said instead. “One year turned into another and then another. And, just like that, fifteen had gone by.” She tightened her grip on the steering wheel. “I still saw my grandparents, though. I flew them up to New York at least once a year, sometimes more.”

“It’s not the same as you being here,” he said.

“Does it count that I’m here now?” Mya asked, glancing over at Corey.

One edge of his mouth lifted in a brief smile, and he said, “Yeah. It does.”

A half hour later they pulled into a parking spot adjacent to the Louisiana State Library. She popped the trunk before getting out and grabbing her backpack.

“That brings back memories,” Corey commented, eyeing the bag.

Mya held up the backpack and grinned. “I became a pro at fitting an extra set of clothes in with all of my school books,” she said. “Two, depending on if there was more than one party on a Friday night.”

“I really was a bad influence, wasn’t I?” His smirk was pure sin.

“Oh, yeah.” Mya nodded. She regarded him with subtle amusement. “But it was the best kind of bad.”

His grin deepened with shared remembrance, and Mya had to mentally stave off images of all the deliciously bad things Corey used to do to her. Even at seventeen he’d had skills to rival a man twice his age and with double the experience.

As they climbed the steps of the four-story, glass-fronted building, his arm brushed against hers, setting her already heated skin to danger-zone temperatures. Mya wasn’t sure how much longer she could fight this lust without going insane.

He opened the door and motioned for her to go ahead of him.

“I checked out the website, and from what I gathered the best place to start looking would be the Louisiana Collection,” Mya told him.

She headed straight for the information desk and was pointed in the direction of the room that housed books and documents pertaining to Louisiana history and culture. It was practically deserted, with only one other person sitting at a square table. Mya went for the farthest table on the opposite end of the room.

“Where should we start?” Corey asked in the hushed tone one’s voice automatically assumed when in a library.

She pulled the notepad from her backpack and flipped it open. “I wrote down the titles of a few books that may have some information. I also want to look through the newspapers. The library has copies of the
Gauthier Courier
and
Maplesville Gazette
on microfiche.”

Mya enlisted the help of a librarian to set her up at a microfiche machine while Corey went in search of books. After a quick tutorial in how to use the machine, Mya turned the knob on the first film and her heart immediately sunk.

“Oh, crap.” The paper was in French, which made sense since that was the predominant language in the area back then. “Well, this is going to be harder than I thought,” she murmured.

She returned to the information desk, hoping there was some sort of electronic translator she could borrow, but the desk was unoccupied. Figuring the librarian’s absence was nothing more than a short bathroom break, she went over to the stacks to see if Corey had managed to find one of the titles on her list. She found him sandwiched between the walls of books, his head bent over a thick tome. He looked up at her and Mya’s breath caught.

He wore a pair of thin, wire-rimmed glasses. They were, without a doubt, the sexiest set of spectacles to ever grace a man’s face.

“Any luck with the newspaper?” he asked, completely unaware that just the sight of him in those unassuming glasses had her blood racing like a marathoner’s.

Mya coughed in an attempt to clear the lust from her throat. “It’s in French,” she said.

“Makes sense,” he said. “There may be an English version. Some of the papers had started printing in both.”

She was about to ask how he knew that, then remembered that he taught American history. Corey Anderson, heart-stoppingly handsome, cocksure, bad-ass baseball star was now a high school history teacher. Mya still had a hard time correlating the two.

“I’ll ask the librarian,” she said. “Have you found anything?”

He shrugged a well-muscled shoulder. “Just your typical rundown of how so many of the towns were formed back then,” Corey continued. “Slavery is abolished. The slaves are given some land to start their new lives. And, abracadabra, a new town is born.”

“I figured as much,” she said. “But as long as I find
something
to put in Grandma’s pamphlet, she’ll be happy.” She gazed at the stern slant of his jaw as he concentrated on what he was reading. It was strong, but she knew from experience that his skin was soft as butter. “I guess I’ll check to see if the librarian is back at her desk.”

“Okay,” Corey said, not looking up from the book.

Mya stared at him for several moments, captivated by the way his light blue polo shirt stretched across his chest, and how the fluorescent lights illuminated his close-cut, naturally wavy hair. He truly was a beautiful specimen.

He looked up from the book and cocked an inquiring brow. “Need something else?”

“No,” Mya said with a vigorous shake of her head. “I’m...uh...going to the...over there.” She pointed toward the microfiche room.

The knowing grin that crinkled the corners of Corey’s eyes sent a shower of embarrassment over her. She was a grown, sophisticated, urban woman, yet one smile from him could reduce her to acting like the small-town country girl who had worshipped him all those years ago.

Mya marched over to the librarian’s desk and—
thank you, God!
—found the woman behind her computer. The librarian helped her to find English versions of the
Maplesville Gazette
and several other papers from surrounding towns. Before long, Mya was completely engrossed. She was startled when she glanced down at her cell phone and realized that more than an hour had passed.

She heard footsteps approach and Corey’s gently whispered, “Knock, knock,” just over her shoulder. Mya turned and was once again caught off guard by how sexy he looked in those glasses.

“I think I found something,” he said, excitement lighting up his eyes. He rolled a chair from a nearby microfiche station and sat at an angle to her. Pointing to a spot on the page, he said, “According to the historian who wrote this book, Micah Gauthier and his wife, Nicollette, were both arrested for harboring slaves in their home during the time of the Underground Railroad, and they were known to sympathize with the abolitionist movement.” He looked up at her. “Their home was in the building that now houses Matthew Gauthier’s law practice.”

It took Mya a moment to comprehend the enormity of his words.

“Oh, my God,” she whispered. “Are you telling me that Gauthier was a stop on the Underground Railroad? Corey, this is huge. I mean this is really,
really
huge.”

“I’m a history teacher, remember? I know how huge this is. It’s more than just huge, Mya. It’s historic. This changes everything.”

Mya pushed back from behind the microfiche station and started pacing, trying to piece together the thoughts that crowded her brain. “Okay, okay. Let’s calm down,” she said. “First things first. We need to contact the state’s historical society.”

“No, the first thing we need to do is get back to those books and find out more about what went down back then. We’re going to need documented evidence before we go to the historical society.”

“You’re right,” she said. He just looked at her with a look that said,
well, duh! History teacher here
.

“We also need to find out what other historical sites there are in Gauthier,” Corey continued. “I’ll bet Matthew Gauthier’s law practice isn’t the only place with some historical significance.”

Mya pointed to the archives room. “You get back to the books. I’ll use one of the computers on the main floor to see if I can find what kind of documentation is needed for the historical society and the state’s tourism board. There should be something on their websites.”

“The tourism board?”

“Of course,” Mya said. She realized she hadn’t taken the time to share the ideas that had bombarded her brain. “Corey, don’t you see what this means for Gauthier? People travel to New Orleans for three things: food, music and the history. Gauthier is less than an hour’s drive away.” She paused for a moment, remembering. “Do those tour buses still go out to that plantation home in Maplesville?”

“Every Tuesday,” Corey said, understanding flourishing in his gray-brown eyes.

Mya’s mouth curved in a conspiratorial grin. “They’re about to add an extra stop to their tour.” She leaned over to peer at the pages of the book, but could make nothing out under the dimmed lights of the microfiche room. “Does it say anything else that the people back home should know?”