The Red-Hot Cajun (10 page)

Val said something unladylike to his aunt.

His aunt just smiled sweetly, as if she didn’t understand. “I had been thinkin’ there was as much chance of you two hookin’ up as gettin’ cats to march in a parade, but now I ain’t so sure.”

Not in this lifetime, Auntie.

Remy called next. “You and Valerie Breaux alone together? Oh, that’s right. Tante Lulu is there as a chaperon. Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha. Sorry. I’ll call back later when I’m able to stop laughing.”

Rene made a face at the phone.

The next caller was a surprise. “Rene, are you there?” It was Jack Reidell, his ex-boss from DC. “Just heard about the documentary. Great idea! Let’s talk, my friend.”

How could my life get so screwed up in such a short time?

“Hello. Is this the Rene LeDeux residence? This is Simone Breaux. Mr LeDeux, do you know where my daughter is? If so, I recommend you call me immediately. If you don’t, I will assume you are involved somehow in her disappearance and will take the appropriate legal actions. I know the police chief personally, and...”

So do I. And he’s Cajun, Ms Snooty.
Rene fast-forwarded to the next call.

“She sounds just like you, Valerie,” Tante Lulu observed.

Val glared at Rene’s aunt as if she’d just said she resembled Attila the Hun.

“Or maybe not,” Tante Lulu conceded, smiling sweetly again.

There were three requests from news media—the
Houma Courier,
the
New Orleans
Times-Picayune
and the local TV station. They all wanted to interview him about the kidnapping and the documentary.

When gators fly!

Even his father had called, and Valcour LeDeux hardly ever contacted him. “Rene”, you are in a heap of trouble if yer plannin’ on stirring up those tree-hugger pals of yours. I’m warnin’ ya, son. My friends at Cypress Oil are not gonna stand fer yer shenanigans again. Best you and that Breaux bitch watch yer backs.”

You never change, do you, old man? If you could, you’d probably pull off your belt and try tobeat me into compliance. Well, not anymore!

“Nice guy, your father,” Val commented.

“Yeah, real nice,” he agreed with equal sarcasm.

“Nice, huh? He’s a bastard and allus has been,” Tante Lulu said. She and his father were enemies from way back.

On and on the phone messages went till Rene just erased them all. The bottom line was he was involved in this fiasco now, even if he didn’t want to be.

“I could use a drink,” Val said, which pretty much reflected his own sentiments. “Is there any booze in this cabin?”

Tante Lulu’s face lit up. “How ‘bout dandelion wine?”

“Perfect,” Val said.

Two hours later, they all sat at the kitchen
/
card table, which Tante Lulu had covered with a lace tablecloth from his hope chest. The red beans and rice, along with the broiled trout and crappies he’d caught this morning, had all been consumed. Mosquitoes, out in full force due to the earlier rain, did kamikaze dives against the screens, but none of them cared.

All three of them were crocked.

And Val was back to wearing just her tube top, sans shirt.

And she was no longer looking at him as if he were soft stuff under her feet; instead, she kept licking her lips and staring at him as if he were covered with soft whipped cream that she wanted to lick off.

A bad idea, that.

Says who?
His own brain countered.

This woman is going to be out of here soon enough. Why give her more ammunition to useagainst me?

Maybe I could charm her.

He was laughing inside his head now, at his own idiocy.

She is under the influence, just like that other time. No way would I take advantage of her.

Maybe I could sober her up a bit first. Not too much, just a little.

More mental laughter.

It would be a mistake. Me and Val are like oil and water, like pigs in a parlor, like the princessand the farmer, like...

Enough already! You are so hopeless,
the voice in his head said. This time, he was pretty sure it was St. Jude and not his conscience, although they might be the same thing.
Face it, boy, you are more
like a match to kindling.

But he’d already called Remy, told him to fly his copter in tomorrow morning and get Val. Tante Lulu would leave, too. And then he’d be alone.

There is always tonight.

That was the wine speaking in his head. He knew that. But, frankly, he didn’t give a damn.

On the other hand, he did give a damn. He was not going to get intimate with Valerie Breaux; that would be comparable to skipping through a mine field. It would hurt him and the whole bayou environmental cause. He needed to be the one to take the high road here. He had to be the chivalrous knight who forsakes the fair maiden for a greater cause.

How do I come up with this crap? I just wanna save my sorry ass.

With that decision made, he slammed his glass down on the card table, which caused Val and Tante Lulu to jerk upright with surprise, and said, “Good night.”

Except he knew without a doubt it was not going to be a good night for him.
Chivalry suck s,
he decided, slamming the screen door behind him.

“What’s wrong with him?” he heard Val ask Tante Lulu.

His aunt, bless her meddling heart, answered, “I ‘spect it’s the thunderbolt, honey.”

“I didn’t hear any thunderbolts,” Val said, her voice a little slurred.

“Ah, but thass the best part. You only feel ‘em.”

CHAPTER SIX

Sleepless in the bayou . . .

Two hours later Rene’s wine buzz had worn off, but buzzing surrounded him nonetheless.

The mosquitoes, which abounded here in the swampland under any circumstances, were out in triple force after that soaking they’d had earlier. Inside his mosquito net tent on the porch, he lay sleepless on his sleeping bag, able to see by the light of the full moon the masses of the golf ball-size insects hanging onto the fabric.

It had taken him a long time to bank down his testosterone level. Thank God, he’d succeeded. Now that he was stone-cold sober, the implications of what he might have done with Val scared the crap out of him. He’d dodged a bullet big time.

But wait a minute.

The bullet—dressed in a white T-shirt of his that reached only mid-thigh—sashayed out onto the porch, down the steps, and headed toward the stream.
Mon Dieu!
Was she sleepwalking or what?

As quick as he could, he scrambled out of his net tent and called out to her, “Val! Wait a minute.” But she was already dipping her bare feet in the stream, about to step in. “Are you crazy?” he yelled just as she hit the water.

She pulled off the T-shirt, then dunked herself under the thigh-high water and came up soaked all the way to the ponytail atop her head. She put the T-shirt back on, which molded to her wet body like a Frederick’s of the Bayou piece of erotic lingerie.

“Did you say something?” she asked, reaching up to whisk back loose tendrils off her face. With that action, her breasts became more prominent and the indentation of her waist and flare of her hips were accentuated. With his excellent night vision, aided by the full moon, he took it all in. And his once-banked lust jump-started back to full-tilt boogie.

“Yes, I said something. You can’t go traipsing out to the water in the middle of the night.”
Especially
looking like you do. Especially with me looking at you looking like you do.

“Why not? It’s blistering hot inside that cabin.”

“Because you might bump into an alligator or a water moccasin.”
Or me.

“Oh.”

“Oh? That’s all you can say?”
Holy crawfish! I can practically see through that wet shirt.
“Are you still drunk?”

“No. Well, maybe a little.”

More like a lot. Oh, great! Now I can’t hit on her. Not that I would do that. Note to me: nohitting on Valerie Breaux.
“A little bit drunk is like being a little bit pregnant,” he muttered as he reached out a hand and helped her up the bank. Immediately, the mosquitoes started to attack.

“Oh my God! They’re biting me all over, even with that Skin-So-Soft stuff of Tante Lulu’s slathered all over me.”

Why that slathering image turned him on, he had no idea. But it did.
Man, I am pitiful. Two week s of
celibacy will do that to a guy.
“Hurry. Get inside the mosquito netting.”

They both ran for the steps. Unfortunately—or fortunately, considering his lust mode—Val thought he’d meant
his
mosquito netting, not the one where she slept with his aunt.

He stood outside the netting for only a bug-biting second before he scooted inside, too. It was a cramped space for the two of them.

“This is a bad idea, Val. A very bad idea.”
But, man oh man, it sure feels like a good idea.

“Why?” she asked, pulling his T-shirt over her head and using it to blot her hair and whisk over the itchy bites on her arms and tummy.

He stood glued to the spot.

Valerie Breaux was standing before him, bare-assed naked. Well, bare-breasted naked, considering the frontal view he was getting. And, yeah, he was viewing it, all right. Full breasts. Small waist. Long legs.

And that enticing scrap of tiny fabric in between.
Mercy, mercy, mercy!

“Will you dry my back?” She handed him his T-shirt and turned around.

You would think he would be disappointed to get only the back view now, but hot damn, Val had the sweetest upside-down-heart-shaped ass in the world.

“No,” he said as emphatically as he could.

“Huh?” She started to turn around.

“No, no, no. Do not turn around again. Oh, jeez! Oh, hell! Okay, I’ll dry your damn back.” With those words of surrender, he began to dry her off with the T-shirt, but only as far as her waist. And he wasn’t looking any lower, either. In fact, he threw the shirt down and faced away from her, giving her time to get decent.

“You are acting really weird.”

“No, Val, weird is when a woman who hates me shucks down to practically nothing. That’s really weird.” He still refused to look at her.

“You’re afraid of me,” she accused.

Great! Now we ‘re going to play “I dare you.”
He heard a rustling sound and assumed she was pulling the shirt back on. “Damn straight I am.” He turned then and his eyes about bugged out. Val was lying on his sleeping bag, propped up on her elbows, still 99 4
I
10-percent pure naked. He couldn’t have spoken then if he’d wanted. He put a hand to his mouth to make sure he wasn’t panting or drooling.
I
am in
male fantasy heaven. So why do I feel like hell?

“Why? You weren’t afraid of me before.”

What time before? Oh, that.
“I was fifteen freakin’ years old then. Now I know what could happen... all the repercussions.”
Like coitus too quick it us. Like lawsuit it us. Like morning after it us.
He tried but couldn’t help staring at her. She was not super skinny, which seemed to be the trend for women today.

Instead she was round in all the right places.
If I didn’t know it before, I do now—I am a man who
favors round.

“I would be better this time.”

Whoa, whoa, whoa!
Every hair on his body was on an all-points red alert. “I beg your pardon.”

She put both palms to her face for a second as if she were embarrassed... finally. “Actually, Rene, I don’t recall much about that night, except that I threw up on you afterward.”

She doesn’t recall... does that mean?... Thank you, Jesus!
He barely restrained himself from doing a little Snoopy victory dance in the cramped space.

“You might not have realized it but that was my first time...”

You might not have realized it, but it wasn’t your first time.

“... and I don’t even remember the details.”

Irepeat: Thank you, Jesus!

“I must have been awful, though, because you never called me or tried to see me again.”

All these years I worried about what a bad performance I put on when she never evenremembered it. Should I tell her? Yeah. Will I tell her? Nah.
“Don’t lay the blame on me. I never tried to see you because you avoided me after that night.”