BayouBabe99er

BayouBabe99er How many things can go wrong at one time? That question plagues feisty divorcée Sharlene Mouton. The banking department she heads takes a trip overseas. She pounds the pavement—and the keyboard—with resumes for ninety-nine weeks. Going home to regroup lands her in the middle of an ecological disaster that threatens her rural Louisiana community. What else can happen? How about repeated run-ins with suave Drake Cormier, the oil company’s liaison officer? Jobless, yet not hopeless. Oil spill fiasco. Mouton-Cormier feud. Suitor not much older than her daughters. Sharlene now wonders—how many wrongs make a right? Genre: Contemporary, Interracial Length: 25,980 words

BAYOUBABE99ER

Mickie Sherwood

ROMANCE

www.BookStrand.com

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A SIREN-BOOKSTRAND TITLE IMPRINT: Romance

BAYOUBABE99ER Copyright © 2012 by Mickie Sherwood E-book ISBN: 1-61926-506-0 First E-book Publication: April 2012 Cover design by Jinger Heaston All cover art and logo copyright © 2012 by Siren Publishing, Inc. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission. All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.

PUBLISHER www.BookStrand.com

DEDICATION BayouBabe99er is dedicated to romance lovers everywhere.

BAYOUBABE99ER MICKIE SHERWOOD Copyright © 2012

Chapter One BayouBabe99er on the blog, bringing you the latest on the atrocities in the Gulf. Don’t fall for everything you see on TV. Would you believe they tried to sop up all that black slop with diapers big enough to fit Little Lotta? I kid you not! The load they’re shoveling, shifting the blame, is maddening. Some of the locals are able to earn a little money, risking health issues in the process, by picking up tar balls. What’s the monetary value of tar balls, you want to know? Ask those whose livelihoods are destroyed. Until my next update. Forty-four-year-old Sharlene Mouton networked her ass off. But it was to no avail. Outsourcing had her outraged, out of her banking position, and after more than a year, out of options. Now, she was one of the maligned ninety-niners. However, she’d be damned if she wore the label pinned on people in her situation. Her meager savings tided her over while she worked up the nerves to make the life-altering decision. Coming back home—even for a brief month’s stay—was as hard, if not harder, than when she left. Only difference—this time—she returned alone. Here she sat, a divorced empty nester, all because of her ex-husband’s roving eyes and groping hands.

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Sharlene squinched her eyes against the setting sun’s glare bouncing off the Louisiana Gulf. The trawler rocked as it strained on the anchor. Between the waves slapping the hull and the serene stillness, she drifted off into space propped comfortably on the back wall in the August heat. Her bout with lethargy was short-lived when the drone of a racing motor shattered her peace and quiet. Above the motor’s rumble was the clash of hard-rock music beating the airwaves. Shifting her body for a look, she reacted to the pressure of the hard wooden bench on her bottom. Apparently, daydreaming took its toll on the rear end. She kept tabs on the boaters. The advancing powerboat zoomed perilously close to hitting her, rocking the small trawler like a cradle. Noise blasted passed her ears as the driver whipped the wheel and the speedboat leaned into a cresting curve. The close call left raucous laughter in the air and a body over the side. It was long gone before the splash sounded or the call for help went out. He bobbed in the wake a good distance away, still shouting and calling names. It wasn’t long before the name calling took a vulgar turn. She watched as he swam to the nearest buoy where he clung for dear life. He swept the horizon with his eyes while circling his life preserver, one hand always in contact. Then—his eyes caught sight of her. A hand swiped water from his face. “Hey!” his baritone timbre rumbled. That same hand flagged overhead. The next thing Sharlene knew, he took off in her direction. Strong strokes propelled him within reach of the side ladder in no time flat. That was as far as she permitted for she swung the oar like a weapon. “You’re drunk as a skunk.” “No, I’m not, Captain,” he countered. “Permission to come aboard.” “Don’t patronize me, mister.”

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“Look around you.” He floundered to stay afloat. “I’m not in any position to patronize anybody. Please.” She wasn’t feeling very sympathetic at the moment. “I’m Drake Cormier. I don’t bite.” Something unexpected happened in her spirit. Laughter bubbled even as she gave him a direct stare. “I wasn’t born yesterday. You’re a man, right?” “Last I looked.” His comment sobered her. She disappeared from the side of the boat. It shocked him when the motor started and his lifeline puttered away. To add insult to injury, she slung a life ring overboard and nearly clocked him. Hearing his pitiful cry, she cut the engine. **** Drake gulped, sputtering water in his attempt to yell. “I’m sorry!” He hung on to the life preserver for dear life. He saw his chance as the boat slowed. Long pulls had him within grasping distance of the ladder, and he hauled his tired body onboard. All he could do was lie facedown in a puddle of his own making. Smooth—brown— shapely—legs came into his line of sight when he dared to look up. He allowed himself the luxury of scanning her anatomy at his leisure from the top of her short, curled, cayenne-pepper hair down to her snow-white deck shoes. His eyes retraced their trek to land on hers. “Are you finished?” Her candid way of putting him in his place affected him. Yet, it was the dazzle in her sparkling brown eyes that captivated him. He knew better than to respond, for his sarcastic wit was well known in his circle. Instead, he devoted all of his energies to getting off the deck. “Thank you.” “You’re welcome.”

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Those words zipped passed his ears as she marched back to the wheelhouse. He turned to follow, only to be barred by the extended oar she brandished in his face. “You’re welcome on the boat,” she reiterated. “Not in the cabin.” “I really mean it.” He humbled himself. “Thanks for taking me on.” He stood at the bow, keeping an eye on her and the direction they traveled. “City’s that way.” He pointed while making his voice heard above the engine’s repetitious twang. “I’m not going to the city.” “Why not?” “Because I don’t live in the city. That’s why.” Those words slammed the subject closed. Drake leaned on the railing, taking in the approaching shore. That wasn’t all capturing his attention as a sheen floated on the surface of the water. The oily swirl parted when split by the boat’s progression. He watched with immense curiosity while almost on the verge of skimming his hand in the water. “Going in for another drink?” His slow turn revealed a scowl as he looked at her. He received a facetious grin, which made him think of his sopping clothes and slick, black hair. He was sure he looked like a scrawny mutt. They inched along, closing in on the channel entrance. Cypress stumps lined both sides of the waterway before finally giving way to groves of green-leaved, moss-draped trees. There were telltale signs crude settled around their trunks for quite a while. Every now and then, the tragic evidence of swamp creatures caught in the mire appeared. “What’s the name of this canal?” he asked, unable to take his eyes away from the disastrous sight. “Pauchex Pass.” “Pauchex Pass.” He repeated the name several times to mark it in his memory.

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**** Sharlene felt terrible about the conditions of the swamp she traveled so much in her younger days. The Black Gold found its way into the deepest reaches of the waterway that led to the village. It turned up in the primary food source that, in the past, made the area a popular draw for those seeking a scrumptious seafood meal. That way of life was teetering on the edge. The trawler crawled into the dock, with Sharlene displaying her finesse at the wheel. A smug grin touched her glossed lips. It was like riding a bike. Once one learned one never forgot. She shut down and closed up the wheelhouse. Deck shoes silenced her appearance at his side. He leaned forward with both arms braced on the railing. The way his thumbs beat a cadence on his clasped hands hinted at internal turmoil. She waited on him to acknowledge her presence. Even closer to him now, the expression he wore piqued her interest. Finally, he realized she was beside him and pushed off. The distressed look faded as his black-eyed, penetrating gaze once again swept her person. They stared at each other while standing on the open deck. Sharlene never said a word when she sidestepped him to take the gangplank down, forcing him to trail behind her. Drake lagged along all the way up the hill. She turned to face him without warning. “You can use the phone over there.” There wasn’t much to see when he swung to follow her finger point. The community looked every bit of two blocks long, with one dangling red light at the crossroads. By the time he looked back, Sharlene was bearing down on a gravel lot at the opposite end of the street. He took a couple of steps toward the building marked CLYDE’S, keeping tabs on her with the flat of his hand braced on the door of the business. Cowbells clanked and the door opened from the inside.

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“Ya lettin’ the air out.” Drake came face to face with the store clerk’s curious expression. “Doused ya, huh?” Drake pivoted to resume his watch of Sharlene, momentarily, ignoring the Southern drawl with the Cajun flavor. She seemed to have trouble starting her vintage truck before the engine rattled in cooperation. She drove off the lot and moseyed by them toward the light. “Why do you say that?” he asked halfheartedly, for his eyes were glued to the departing truck. He prepared to wave, but she never gave him the time of day. “Hmmm. Didn’t know she was back.” That made Drake face him. The shop clerk seemed to size him up. “Ya don’t wanna mess with them Moutons.” “And why not?” “They’a ornery bunch. Stay mostly to they self.” He left Drake hanging out at the entrance—spying—until Sharlene turned and was out of sight. Drake entered to wafting cool air pushed around by a couple of strategically placed black oscillating fans. The overpacked interior boasted everything from dry goods to a small deli counter complete with an eating area off to the side. The place also appeared to be the location to purchase bait for fishing excursions. It didn’t look like there’d been much business lately out back on the dock. “Do you have a phone I can use?” “Gon’ cost ya.” Drake shook his head. “I can pay,” he reassured and pulled his water-logged cell phone and soggy wallet from his wet cargo kneeknockers.

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Chapter Two Fishing was the way Sharlene and her elderly uncle hoped to spend their free time since her return to the hamlet. They stayed away from the job loss topic, opting for one just as depressing and twice as emotional. Their feet dangled off the pier as they studied the changes in the environment. Once upon a time, the lake they admired teemed with water traffic. Today’s absence of boaters was the new norm. It was mosquito-buzzing quiet out there. “Meet’n in the gym t’night.” Sharlene whacked at a bug. “I thought all of that was over, Uncle Moot.” “They can’t jus’ come down here like a flock’a pigeons and crap all over us.” His voice grated in his throat. That sound was so familiar. His colloquialisms amused her. Sharlene had to laugh. “Some folks settled. Some didn’t,” he explained in his Cajun vernacular, looking at her with eyes filled with hope. Her uncle’s countenance revealed he weathered many storms in his lifetime. He was a fighter from the heart. She’d be damned if he fought this battle alone. “What time do we have to be there?” He perked up a bit. “Six.” “Well, how about a bite to eat at the grill?” “Girl, you know ain’t nothin’ they fix I don’t fix better.” A gloating grin caused that glint in his rheumy eyes. “Of course, you’re right, Uncle Moot,” she agreed. “I just thought since we were already here, it would be a nice outing until it’s time to go.” He seemed to think hard about her proposition. “My treat.”

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Her uncle objected. “No, girl. Hold on to yo’ cents.” Lithe movements had him on his feet with a hand to her elbow. He collected their rods. She latched onto the bucket. Together, they marched up the hill straight to the truck for the drop-off and then to the eating place. “Moot!” The greeting came loaded with surprise. “Long time no see.” “Say, Clyde.” Uncle Moot pushed Sharlene up to the counter. “Sha, here, feelin’ brave. Wanna try some of that slop you call food.” Sharlene listened hard to be able to tell what they said, because of their heavy accents. Before long, they conversed in a language she hadn’t heard, let alone practiced since leaving the area years ago. They ribbed each other before turning their attention back to her. “Moot ordered ya a catfish sandwich. Okay wit’ that?” the storekeeper asked. A big smile crossed her face. “Sounds yummy.” “Won’t be long, then.” Clyde was gone. Those words sent Sharlene and her uncle to the small eating corner. They talked softly about Sharlene’s children whom Uncle Moot hadn’t seen in years. She brought him up to date on her twenty-four- and twenty-two-year-old girls, boasting her oldest made her a grandmother two years ago. Her eyes focused on something far away as she fought to extinguish the fire of loneliness. The aroma drifting in the air drew her into the present. Clyde handled two platters along with the same number of cold strawberry drinks. She couldn’t resist snatching a golden french fry just as the plates landed under their noses. “Here ya go. Bon appétit.” Uncle Moot waited until Clyde disappeared into the back then leaned down for a whiff. The all clear was simply the way he manhandled his po’boy. The first bite of the catfish and potato salad sandwich threw Sharlene back to those glorious days as a kid growing up in the

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bayou. Flavors blended to caress her tongue. She chewed slowly to savor each mouthful while eagerly anticipating the next. One look across the table certified she wasn’t the only one enjoying the meal. A swig of red soda set the whole thing off. “Not bad as I remember,” Uncle Moot said, gulping down his last bite. “The fish was flaky, tho’ I tasted a lil’ oil.” She was practically finished, and all she tasted was goodness. “Gon’ be hard for folks to fight that devil. He got too much money and too many people in his back pocket.” The issue of injustice was now on the table along with their plates. “Do you really think so, Uncle Moot?” She wasn’t as sure. “Not enough fighters left, Sha.” “These families have been here for generations. They know no other way of life. Most of those who left came back.” Sharlene grunted. “Look at me.” “Us ol’ ones tried to hold on to be able to pass on our way of life. But the new world opened up, claiming our young.” He shook his head in remembrance. “And—they disclaimed our ways.” He didn’t say so, yet, but she fell into that category. “Don’t worry,” she comforted. “I’ll fight right beside you.” “You a good girl, Sha. Sorry my brother ain’t ’round to see the wonderful woman you growed into from a wee—” “Skeeta,” they said in unison and had a good laugh afterward. Sharlene wiped her hands on her napkin. Her chair scraped when she rose to kiss his cheek. He beamed at her as she reclaimed her seat just as the bells clanged when the front door opened. A new customer stepped in. “Miss Mouton,” Drake Cormier greeted. He smiled when she turned at his salutation. He definitely looked completely different dried and creased. “I never told you my name.” Her retort drew Uncle Moot’s keen interest. “This is the catch I told you I made the other day,” she informed. “No, you didn’t. I found out from—”

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“Well, Moot? What ’cha think?” Clyde made his way over to them. “Him,” Drake continued his answer. Uncle Moot’s reply was none too friendly. “I think you got a big mouth, Clyde. That’s what I think. You know this boy?” “Look at him good, Moot.” Clyde’s defense was still to come. “Who do he look like to you?” All of them gave the newcomer the once-over. Uncle Moot even stood as if measuring Drake’s stature against his own tall, although slightly stooped, frame. The resemblance to his old nemesis was an eye opener. “You a Cormier, ain’t ’cha, boy?” Clyde bellowed. “Yes, sir, I am,” Drake admitted. “Knew it when I first laid eyes on you.” Clyde wiped his hands on his apron. “You folks finished?” “Not me.” Sharlene resumed her meal while monitoring all that went on. Clyde took Moot’s plate before addressing Drake. “What ’cha having, son?” **** “Nothing for me. Thanks.” He didn’t have time to eat. It was too close to meeting time. “I will take one of those strawberry drinks.” “Coming right up. Take a load off.” He invited Drake to join his other two customers. “Do you mind?” he asked. She quipped, “It’s a free world.” “No, Sha. Everything got a price.” Drake looked at the man who seemed to take exception to his presence as he eyed him long and hard. The urge to look at Sharlene was just too great to ignore. His view switched. She was stunning. He

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admired her cute little fro, her smooth, silky-looking brown-sugar skin and her inquisitive look that searched his inner being. “Uncle Moot, meet Drake Cormier. He says he doesn’t bite.” Uncle Moot leaped to his feet without warning. “Cormier wit’ teeth…bites.” Drake observed as the testy old man stomped to the door. The last of Sharlene’s tasty drink swirled in the bottle as she struggled out of her corner seat. It was said haste made waste. Sharlene proved that to be so. Tripping over her own feet landed her where she had no right to be—smack dab in Drake’s lap. His hands connected with her body right at the hips. A deep breath filled his lungs with her soft, rose-petal scent. Her body’s stiffening alerted him to her embarrassment. At that point, Drake expected her to go on the defensive. But she didn’t. **** Oh, my God! She hoped he didn’t feel her trembles as her insides shriveled from the heat of his touch. Each long digit on her body singed her skin. If she didn’t move—and move soon—she would certainly smolder into ashes. “I’m sorry,” she uttered. He boosted her as she attempted to rise from such a compromising position. “My pleasure.” “Skeeta!” Uncle Moot yelled from the walkway. “Coming, Uncle.” Embarrassed at the public use of her childhood nickname, Sharlene made a hasty exit, fighting down the giddy feeling that lingered. She reacted more like a schoolgirl. Her elder’s admonishment spurred her on. But the jolting physical contact made her senses reel. A look back as she retreated let her see Drake and the wide-toothed smile on his swarthy features.

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Chapter Three “Order! Order!” Tempers in the audience flared. Angry yells were directed at the panel lining the dais. “Please, everyone!” Residents packed the small school gym to the rafters and announced their disapproval with loud, objecting rants. They had the appearance of hardworking people because that was what they were. They were people connected on one accord in the face of their community’s possible extinction. “Ya’ll can take yo’ oily money and stick it where the sun don’t shine,” one disgruntled participant yelled. “It was an offer some of your neighbors found very generous.” “Traitors!” “Sellouts!” “Who sold out?” Sharlene leaned over to loudly whisper in Moot’s ear. “Folks ya never woulda thought. Guess love of money topped heritage.” The panelist said, “We’ve brought with us this afternoon someone to help all of you cut through the red tape of your claims.” “We not selling!” the man behind Sharlene yelled. “Clean up yo’ mess and get out!” “The oil company’s success of the cleanup is clearly seen around the pumping stations in the Gulf’s perimeter. Pretty soon, you’ll be able to resume your fishing businesses in pristine waters.”

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“Oil’s been leaking outta some of them pumps for decades. Your company counts the amount as negligible. No big deal!” someone contested. “It is a big deal if the seafood tastes like crude.” “Uncle, what the company spokesperson said is not true.” Sharlene defied the notion of clear water. “I saw oil residue in the Pass.” His look said he wasn’t surprised. Another member of the panel took the mike for the handoff. “Please give your undivided attention to our next committee member.” The man bounding up the steps to accept the mike was tall, dark, and sinfully handsome. “Good evening, everyone. I’m Drake Cormier, the liaison officer.” Sharlene sat straighter on the bleachers. Moot snorted. “Tol’ ya he bites.” “I know this is a very frustrating time for all of you. It’s my pledge to speed up the payment process. The swifter things move, the faster you get on with your lives.” Drake’s commanding presence caused a lull in the heckling. “Each head of household here should have a packet like this one distributed this evening.” He held up a golden envelope. “In that material is complete instructions on how to place your claim. A website address and telephone numbers are provided to answer questions that may arise.” Pacing to center stage, he added, “Remember, I’m here to help.” “The so-called compensation I’ve heard isn’t enough to make up the difference of what we’ve already lost,” a voice in the crowd sneered. “Got bills I can’t pay ’cause I can’t fish!” “I understand—” Drake didn’t get the opportunity to finish. “Don’t say you understand how we feel, Mr. Highfalutin!”

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Drake never lost his outward composure. He began his statement, again. “I understand—the importance of returning your lives to normalcy. My intent is to help you do that.” “What about the oil collecting in the Pass?” Sharlene was on her feet as the question spilled out. His double-fisted grip on the mike produced feedback when his thumbs did that nervous thump she’d witnessed on the boat. “How does your company plan to ensure for the cleanup? To protect the people’s safety and their health from the effects of the oil?” “Health issues aren’t a remote concern seeing that the accident occurred offshore.” He then called her out. “Ms. Mouton, this meeting is for the residents of this community. Do you fall into that category?” “Corm-i-er!” All eyes swung in Moot’s direction. He rose with purpose. “Don’t let yo’ mouth get yo’ ass kicked.” The shoo-shooing started in the audience. “I mean no disrespect, Mr. Mouton.” He wasn’t feeling any Southern hospitality. “They might not know who you are. But I do.” “You’re right, sir. I should have made my connection known. I’m a distant relative of the Cormiers who used to live here.” Drake tried to relate to Pauchex Pass’s residents. “That means I have a personal stake in helping the people here.” “Or—ya tryin’ to smooth over the damage!” Moot challenged. **** Drake couldn’t mistake the pure hatred Moot displayed when he looked at him. “I’m here to help, not hurt, Mr. Mouton. Give me a chance to prove it to you.” “Then answer Sha’s question. When will the cleanup of the Pass start?” “Actually, there is no evidence of trouble in that area.” “That’s not true, and you know it,” Sharlene argued.

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“Evidence is the operative word, Ms. Mouton.” Drake turned to the panel. “Pauchex Pass is miles from the origin of the spill. But there’s a visible sheen along that route.” A panelist contended, “Probably nothing to do with why we’re here.” “Here we go,” said a voice in the crowd. The buzz continued around the gym. His eyes strayed to Sharlene. Her lovely face relayed none of the angst he suspected she felt. The dead-on glare she hurled his way said more than any words could express. He broke eye contact because now was not the time for a one-on-one debate in front of a hostile audience. “Look,” he started. Drake took the steps down and planted himself firmly in their midst. “Now, the panel will present this new concern for investigation.” Murmurs from the bleachers grew aggressive. “It’ll get buried just like our little town.” “Trust me. I won’t let that happen.” One of the committee members jumped to commandeer the floor. “We respect what we’ve heard this evening. Mr. Cormier’s passion is to be commended.” Drake raised his eyebrows in surprise at the snub. “What we need from you is your cooperation,” the member continued. “Take care of your part and our company will handle the rest.” The people on the dais stood. “Thank you for coming.” The facilitator closed the discussion with those words against the wishes of the residents. They swarmed the floor as the panel disappeared through the side doors. “Traitor!” Drake felt the sting of that slur. He squared his shoulders on the walk to his vehicle, feeling inept at easing the pain so many experienced. A chance encounter with the disrespectful panel member

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was too good to pass up. “You do plan on reporting the situation at Pauchex Pass?” “Listen, Cormier. Don’t stir up more trouble than we already have. You are the go-between. Not the people’s spokesperson.” Incensed, Drake challenged. “If you don’t look into this matter, I’ll have no alternative but to submit the suspicions myself.” “You’ll have an answer by the end of the week.” The man’s whole demeanor swelled in rage. He confronted Drake with, “Better remember who you work for, Cormier” and marched off. The implied threat set Drake on fire. His mind stayed on the troubles he knew to come as he slid behind the wheel. The decision to volunteer as the middleman came about when he witnessed the despair on numerous news reports. The sight compelled him to act. This added crimp had him question whether he could positively impact the outcome for the people. Beating outside on the hood of his rental stifled the thoughts roiling in his head. The culprit never stopped moving and was out of sight when Drake stepped out of the car. He endured caustic glances as people milled around in the parking lot, at odds with approaching him directly or going about their business. He watched worry etch every face. It wasn’t long before he was one of the few who remained outside the gym in moderate darkness. The period of time he stood like a statue cemented in his brain the difficulty of his task. Something told him fairness and profit was like oil and water. Right now, he could think of no way to get the two to mix. Drake entered his car in a contemplative mood. To add fuel to the fire, Sharlene and her uncle strolled by him as if he was non-existent. He conceded this looked to be a tough assignment. However, the tools for developing a compromise strategy just got into their rust-red pickup and drove away.

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Chapter Four BayouBabe99er with the latest on the Gulf crisis. The oil’s not the only thing slick down here. What’s another name for the yucky, green slime in ditches? If you answered “scum,” you’d be right on the money. The scum I’m speaking of walks on two feet and makes believe he has the best interest of the people at heart. Some may call Louisianians daft. But—I beg to differ. Stay tuned for more. Sharlene awoke in the doldrums a week after the big meeting. She muddled through the morning a bit perturbed her Uncle Moot sneaked out on a compensated fishing expedition without inviting her. There was no way he misunderstood her desire to accompany him. She made that clear last night. The rocker squeaked on the wooden planks of the front porch as she sipped from her coffee mug. Swamp sounds marred the quiet morning, from the fowls’ inflight cries from branch to branch—to the croaking bullfrogs in the brush. Sticky humidity hung low, settling all over her. She hadn’t bothered to change and lounged about in soft, cottony sleep pants topped with a short, ribbed undershirt. Quite frankly, she was surprised anyone would pay to fish in the waters around there. In her opinion, it provided proof to the theory money, power, and access skewed the perception and minimized the fallout of the spill. The company’s ad campaigns succeeded. On the other hand, some people had work. Boredom drove her from the chair to meander the dirt path to the dock. The water bi-way barely allowed small craft traffic to pass. Its

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use was primarily as a backdoor to and from the village when the road was impassable. It took a pro to navigate the invisible pitfalls. “Going in for a drink?” She didn’t startle at the voice behind her. Her heart did. “Lost, Mr. Cormier?” He wanted to share more time with her each time he saw her. Drake walked right up next to Sharlene, immersing himself in more than nature’s eye-catching beauty. The sky streaked cobalt blue through the tops of the Cypress trees. The eastern sun hit them with powerful rays. At least he saw no ecological damage from their current viewpoint. She already faced him when he looked down. His answer was yes, he was lost. He lost himself in the depths of her soulful eyes. “I came to solicit help.” “Un–Uncle Moot isn’t home,” she stuttered. Sharlene sidestepped him to lessen the fizzle fusing them together. “Anyway, you know that’s not likely to happen. You’re the enemy.” Her move failed to sever the underlying current. “He holds grudges,” Drake announced. She had to agree. “For some reason, particularly against Cormiers.” “Something happened that soured the relationship shared with some of my kin.” He had her undivided attention. “I guessed that much. I suppose blood makes me guilty, too.” “Along with working for the oil company culpable in this entire mess.” The Mouton in her came out. “What is it you want from my uncle?” “A ride through the marsh.” Sharlene wondered about that request. “You’re just the liaison officer. Shouldn’t any investigative research be done by the experts?” ****

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Drake circled to lean with his back against the sun, admiring the woman before him. She was the epitome of loveliness and unintentionally rattled his chain. He was thirty-four but felt like a teen on his first date. “Actually, there isn’t going to be any investigation.” “You’re kidding!” she nearly shouted, shading her eyes with her hand. “Right?” “Over the past week, a research team collected and examined residue from the Pass. Their findings substantiated the company’s initial denial of further compensation related to unsupported loss of revenue.” Sharlene’s mouth twisted in a wry smile. “I’m sick and tired of greed winning out. Wait here. I’ll be right back.” “What’re you going to do?” The sight of her sashaying off was daunting. Sharlene paused to turn back. “Change and take you where you need to go.” “Shouldn’t we wait?” he asked worriedly. “I think it’s now or never, Mr. Cormier.” “It’s Drake, Sharlene.” He thought she blushed. “If you’re game—I’m game.” “Be right back,” she huffed and strutted off. Watching her go was his thrill of the morning. He scoped out the Mouton habitat, concluding it had rustic charm. The log cabin home stood high in the air on pilings. The outer buildings hinted at activities he hoped never to be an active participant in, like the skinned animals grimacing on the walls. A door slammed, breaking into his observation. She appeared on the porch. “Let’s get going.” He noticed Sharlene dressed for the hot, humid weather and didn’t show up empty-handed. In her possession were items necessary for a trip in the swamp. A compass dangled from her wrist. Strips of vibrant cloth slung over her

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shoulder. A boonie hat rested on her head. Along with all of that, she juggled a beige and brown crock jar containing cool, fresh water. Drake tracked all of her moves. “I can use your help over here.” He closed in on her as she accessed the shed. Once he got there, he took possession of the bulky items she transferred to him. Drake came to her rescue when the tippy-toed reach she made for the pole stored overhead was just shy of her snagging it. “Let me get that,” he offered. His release of the pole marched him behind her, right out to the dock. Drake grasped the overhead lines of the moored skiff. “No,” she whispered. The warm, soft hand on his arm halted him. He gazed down at her ring-adorned left hand—happy, for some reason, the jewelry was on her pinkie finger. Sharlene bumped the hanging skiff, tilting it with the pole. The questioning look he threw drew a response. “Just wait.” She tried again and heard a rustling on the canvass cover above their heads. One more thump and the snake plopped to the ground, curled for action. “Whoa!” Drake took an unconscious step backward. They watched it slither into the water. “You’re making a habit of this.” Sharlene tussled with the manual pulley to get the pirogue into the water. Drake freed his hands to assist. They worked as a team lowering the boat. It wasn’t until that chore was completed that her focus fell on him. “A habit of what?” she replied, a perplexed tilt to her head. Sunrays glittered off of the diamond now poised on her hip. Drake’s interest intensified as his smile broadened. “Saving me. This is the second time.” “Third. But who’s counting?” She giggled. “Uncle Moot was ready to tear you limb from limb, if you recall.” “Touché.”

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“Anyway, a big, strong man like you can handle anything.” No matter how he tried to cover, his jovial attitude was gone. “I’m sorry. Did I say something wrong?” “Don’t worry about it.” He left her gaping as he all but stormed toward his vehicle. **** “So you’re one of those!” she antagonized, mustering all of her courage to catch up to him. “Well, here’s something I learned from the master of you all.” Drake spun around when he was caught by the crook of his arm. “You don’t walk away from a fight!” While her eyes slung daggers, it was the smoke behind them setting him on fire. “I don’t know you, Drake. Yet I know I’ve offended you.” His finger stroked her cheek in a very familiar way. “I’m not offended, Sharlene.” His words came out sort of hoarse. “You just reminded me I thought like that some time ago. My shoulders were broad enough to handle whatever obstacles came my way.” A faraway look entered his eyes. “Reality check. Life proved me wrong.” Sharlene moved back a few inches. Surely the electricity jolted him, also. The proof was in the way his hand lingered on her cheek. It was eons ago someone touched her so intimately. That person now had ex in front of their association. “Do you still want to go?” She had to break the spell. Drake confessed, “I was going to the car to get my camera.” “Oh.” “I’d appreciate it very much, Sharlene, if you’re the Mouton who doesn’t hold grudges.” “What you’re looking into is greater than hurt feelings. It could mean life or death to this community.” She left him, heading for the

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house to loop a strip of cloth on the handrail. Sharlene did the same action on the dock rail as they piled into the boat. A couple of quick yanks on the starter string produced a cough. “Gas.” Drake stopped Sharlene’s attempt to leave the boat. “Tell me where and I’ll get it.” “To the right of the door in the shed.” She watched him lope away, deciding it prudent to offer a bit of advice. “There’s another stick over there. Use it to scatter sleeping critters before getting the can.” Drake screeched to a stop. “I can do this.” He gave himself a pep talk, relied on her instructions, and returned to the skiff with success written all over his face. Gassed up, they were off.

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Chapter Five The pirogue’s tiny motor pushed them deeper into the marsh bypassing masses of water lilies hugging the perimeter. So far, their search for oil proved fruitless. And that was a good thing because hoop nets dotted the outer area. Those results met with Sharlene’s approval. Drake’s fascination with the swamp was exhibited in the way his camera whirred at the press of the button. Sharlene left a flag at every turn. “Almost like Hansel and Gretel.” He had recovered, she realized by his teasing tone. “It’s picturesque, Drake. But don’t let the idyllic setting lure you to carelessness. The denseness of this swamp can swallow a body whole.” Drake swung and snapped numerous times, capturing her against the natural backdrop. They traveled the narrow ways, sometimes losing sight of the sun through the overhanging and binding branches. It reappeared lower on the horizon, indicating the length of time spent on what turned out to be a wild goose chase. Sharlene decided to pack it in and maneuvered the craft around the next bend. One last search place came to mind. “I’m glad this was a waste of your time,” he said. “Not a complete waste. Allowed me to concentrate on something other than my pitiful problems.” Honesty was her strong suit. Saying something personal like that to a complete stranger was uncharacteristic. Sitting backward on his seat to face her, Drake’s stare held open curiosity. This event brought to mind the last time he felt so

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emotionally connected. He faced the heart-wrenching rawness rather than withdrawing psychologically as he’d always done in the past. Drake took aim with the camera, zooming in for the perfect shot. Sharlene never altered her expression. What she offered right then was a look into her inner soul. That was a look the camera didn’t do justice. A spirit-connecting shiver rocked him. Sharlene devoted all of her energies to keeping her mind on the delicate operation and off the feelings of infatuation warring inside of her. Her sensitivity heightened. The stagnant water smell in places absent of sunlight drifted passed her nose. Feathery wisps of wind touched her skin. Every stimulus around her sharpened. The sight of dark, gooey slickness clinging to Cypress knees put her back in a serious frame of mind. The shutter snaps ceased when Drake read her current expression. Swinging forward, he immediately began logging the unfortunate sight. “Damn!” “What’s next?” Sharlene asked. “A fight.” She brought them safely through the alternate route, noting the heavy coverage of oil ended where the passage forked. They were chugging along on the return route when the three-propeller trolling motor clogged in debris. Sharlene saw an unwelcomed sight when she looked up ahead. “Oh, no!” He whipped her way. “Water lilies.” He looked away. “Yeah. So?” The motor resisted her efforts at clearing the strangling vines from its blades. “We’re stuck.” “No, we’re not.” Drake sounded confident. “We have the pole.” She exclaimed with a smile, “The pole!” Wrangling it from under the seat with a little too much enthusiasm courted disaster. The end hit the under-seat, Sharlene lost her grip, and the life-saving stick slipped into the murky water. “No-o-o!” she cried, peering over the side.

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“Well,” he said to reduce her ire, “I can clear a path by hand.” “Are you out of your mind?” “You have a better idea?” “Hopefully, there are other fools out today besides us.” “Have you seen anyone else all day?” He had a point. “No.” “Then we don’t have a choice.” Sharlene noticed a defiant look in his black eyes. She gave a stern warning with a hand on his shoulder. “This place is called Alligator Bayou.” She ordered him to reconsider. “We wait, Drake. There’s no other choice.” **** Drake gulped because a log in the lilies submerged right on cue. “I’m sorry, Sharlene. To have gotten you in this mess.” “Like you twisted my arm.” “I should have resisted.” I was too tempted by just being in your company. “Uncle Moot’ll find us.” Looking at the marshy jungle inspired little hope in him. “How can he?” She had the gall to laugh a throaty vibration that closed her eyes in enjoyment. She was the only one basking in the moment. Nevertheless, he soaked up all the charm she exuded, even in those uncertain moments. “He knows these swamps like every line in his face.” When he seemed doubtful, she added, “Plus the breadcrumbs will help.” His skeptical look caused another laugh to puncture the deathly quiet, scattering the birds from the trees. Drake followed their flight, a smile of his own slipping across his face. “You do that so easily.” “What?” “Laugh.” “Hmmm. Sometimes that’s all you have left.”

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They lapsed into silence. Drake fiddled with his camera for lack of anything better to do. “Can I see?” Sharlene broke the silence, rocking the boat as she shifted to get closer. “Sure.” He handed her the camera after toggling the dial to slideshow. “You have a good eye. The pictures of the swamp are magnificent,” she complimented. Her thumb continued to hit the back button until one of her popped up. “I hate taking pictures. But I guess this one’ll do.” She turned the screen to him. “I’ll say.” Taking the camera back, he scrolled to another. “Now, this one deserves a frame.” She hesitated when he handed it for her to see. Sharlene made a face. “Ummm.” “You know you like it,” he teased. She rewarded him with her fabulous grin. “Told you.” **** The urge to continue the slideshow garnered her attention. Soon, the subjects turned personal. “Is this your wife?” A dark-haired woman heavy with child showed screen after screen. “She’s lovely.” Finally, Sharlene looked up. That miserable look was back on Drake’s face. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to be nosy.” His answer was trancelike. “She is—eh—was my wife.” Was could mean any number of things. She hoped it meant was as in was but now we’re not together instead of was but she’s— Sharlene halted that train of thought. “Me and my big mouth.” All of a sudden, she desperately tried to get the motor going. “Sharlene, it’s all right,” he soothed. “No, Drake. It isn’t.” She pulled and pulled, forcing him to risk capsizing them to stop her erratic behavior. Each of his hands claimed

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one of hers. Words failed her as her eyes shut in sorrow. The feel of his thumbs massaging the backs of her hands opened them back up. He didn’t force the interaction. It just happened. Not another sound passed their lips while they submerged themselves in the other’s eyes. The gentleness of the handhold surpassed the need for communication. It was the climax of her day. The orange ball in the sky blinded her with its intense brightness as it slid closer to the water. Along with the waning light came a horde of flying insects. Shooing and slapping did no good. Mosquitoes zeroed in on them, stinging in swift repetition. “Ow!” The kamikaze pests dived at the skin on her bare arms and legs. She could tell he felt responsible for her plight even though he had his own battle raging. “Come here.” Sharlene allowed him to move her to the flat bottom in front of him. She reveled in the way he hovered over and around her in his efforts to fend off the attacking swarm. “My apologies for bringing up what I know are terrible memories,” she uttered, rubbing at the stinging skin on her legs. **** Drake took his voluntary duty to heart, answering, “That awful time will be with me for the rest of my life. It’s just like the night swallowing us up as we sit like sticks in the mud. Nothing we can do because life goes on all around us.” His pain was profound. “My wife and baby died in childbirth.” She swiveled in the new darkness to cast enormous eyes on him. “That just doesn’t happen today. Maybe years ago when I had my girls.” Her voice diminished to a whisper. “Not today.” “Unfortunately, it does.”

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“Oh, Drake,” Sharlene moaned. “I’m…so…sorry for your loss. You’re young. Just give it time.” Any response he considered died on his lips when a throttle echoed in the inky blackness. Streaks of light sliced through the trees. Sharlene jumped to cut off his yell with a hand to his mouth. Drake dragged her fingers from his lips. “They can’t find us if they don’t know we’re here.” “Exactly.” He sensed rather than saw her wary expression. “You’re afraid.” “Cautious is more like it. We could be taken for poachers stealing traps. Or they might be poachers. Do you understand?” “Sitting ducks,” he surmised. “That’s what we are.” “Not necessarily. The traps were in the waterway. As long as we’re silent, they’ll pass us by.” She prayed that into truth for the boat continued on by. Yet, to his chagrin, the sound veered back in their direction, coming nearer at a steady pace. “Get back by the motor,” he ordered with his hands firmly under her armpits for the lift. His voice brooked no defiance as he planted her there. “Sit on the bottom.” “Drake?” “Don’t talk,” he commanded. “And—keep still.” Her heart pounded in her chest loud enough to give their location away. Out of the blue, the brilliant white light hit them. Drake sat defenseless. But he’d be damned if he wimped out. “Maybe I can reason with them,” she whispered. “I know a lot of the people here. I’m sure they’ll remember me.” He debunked that suggestion without turning by shaking his head “no”. Her warm palm on his back instilled in him the will to go down fighting. He owed her. And—he would protect her at all costs. The metallic reverberation of a cocked weapon assaulted his ears. Drake jerked around because Sharlene lunged from her hiding place against his order. “I’m a Mou—”

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He heard her breath snag as she caught an elbow to the middle when he reacted to her outburst. As he fought to save her, the force of the blow knocked her off-balance, and she toppled over—right into the marsh. Drake didn’t waste a second debating what to do. His arms submerged to pluck her straight out by the elbows with a big heave-ho that sprawled them on the bottom of the boat. Bullets whizzed by their moving bodies into the very spot of water she vacated. “Get closer!” The recognizable accent shouted orders. More shots rang out. “Dumbass kids!” Sharlene’s tremors caused Drake to fit her reclined body closer to his. “What ’cha say, Moot? A waste of good alligator, if ya ask me.” Clyde lamented the creature’s destruction. “No hide. No meat.” Apparently that was all it took to tickle Sharlene’s funny bone. Containing her mirth was impossible. She clung to Drake, seemingly unable to shut down her laugh attack. The gentle way he wrapped her up—stroked her back—seemed to calm her to take a cleansing breath. He was glad when her hysterical laughter quieted. “You’re safe, now.” Somehow, she actually felt that way and cuddled comfortably against the length of his body.

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Chapter Six Sharlene fidgeted between the two men as Moot drove them back to his house. Drake, the interloper, rode along purely at the whim of her uncle’s good nature—toward his niece. She was sure her tonguelashing time would come. The Mouton men whipped one first with silence. Moot doled out deep, measured breaths. “Coulda got yo’self killed.” “I know.” She stopped scratching long enough to kiss his wrinkled cheek, remembering she smelled like muck. “I’m glad you didn’t let that happen.” Drake smiled. With an inconspicuous lean, he taunted, “You…are…good.” What he got for his interference was an “accidental” elbow to the ribs. He let out a grunt. “Payback,” she responded under her breath. Moot pulled into the yard, unable to get into his usual spot because Drake’s rental occupied that parking place. “Clyde think he gon’ collect for using his airboat. Gon’ be yo’ bill, Cormier.” “Yes, sir,” he agreed. “I take full responsibility.” Moot grabbed the rifle from the gun rack and slammed his door. Sharlene slid out after Drake. That reply didn’t satisfy Moot. “Git goin’. Don’t let me catch you on my place, again.” “I won’t bother you again, Mr. Mouton.” Drake scratched his way to his car. “He did yank me into the boat, Uncle. That should count for something.” “Only right he did. Knocked ya in, didn’t he?”

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Neither Sharlene nor Drake could argue with that logic. All stood in the encroaching moonlight serenaded by swamp songs. Moot remembered his cargo in the truck bed, reseating his rifle and himself behind the wheel. He backed up to the water’s edge, guided by bright silver beams. Moot apparently wanted no help from Drake, who jumped to assist. “Stay yo’ distance.” “Let him help, Uncle Moot,” she encouraged. “The pirogue’s not on the trailer. So the extra hands will lighten the load.” He strapped the motor blades up. Each man took a side to muscle the boat and engine into the water. Once done, Moot charged across the yard, up the steps, and burst into the house. Sharlene drove the truck to the front porch while Drake watched. He was near his vehicle when a rapid-fire order stopped him. “Inside! Both ya!” Anybody observing would think they marched to purgatory. “Skeeta, in the shower!” He didn’t say another word until she moved to obey. “You, Cormier. Wash at the sink.” **** Moot slung a towel at Drake once he finished. Before long, Sharlene reappeared. Her tight curls had changed to a darker shade of red due to dampness. She appeared so cool and refreshed in her shorts and sleeveless top that complemented her skin tone. Beyond all of that, Drake took in the knots pimpling her fresh-looking skin. “Sit!” Sharlene and Drake dropped into chairs. A bottle hit the table. Moot stood guard. “No, Uncle.” Drake monitored their interaction. “I’m a woman with two grown daughters and a granddaughter.” Sharlene’s refusal was to sit on her hands—a stunt that indicated anything but maturity. Moot shifted the bottle nearer and went to the refrigerator. “What’s going on?” Drake inquired, rubbing furiously at his face, arms, and legs.

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“Calamine lotion.” She had to admit, “It works. But—” Finishing her statement was useless since Drake snatched the bottle for the pour. He lathered a handful over his face and neck first, opening his eyes to see her amused gaze. He wondered why Sharlene resisted. The stinging promptly subsided. Next to follow were his arms and legs where the medicated lotion smeared over his skin without disappearing. The harder he rubbed—the wider the smear. He peered at his outstretched limbs. “Tried to warn you, but, you wouldn’t listen.” Her belly laugh was at his expense. It was her turn to take possession of the medicine. Sharlene used the dab approach, dotting only the raised areas of her skin. Soon, the delicious aroma of eggs replaced the smell of the calamine lotion. Moot stepped to the table with three plates weighed heavily with grits, eggs, and pan sausage. Toast and coffee came on his return trip. That was when Sharlene’s stomach did a recall. Her last meal was hours and hours ago. Moot took his place with a hearty bite before his rump hit the seat. Sharlene dug in. Drake eyed his meal with his full fork stranded in the air. Moot’s head bowed over his plate. “Uncle, you’re a hoot a minute.” Sharlene directed Drake’s fork to her mouth, did an exaggerated chew, and clutched her throat with her tongue hanging out the side of her mouth. A snicker spilled out. “Not yo’ time, Cormier,” Moot relayed. “Not yet.” “Uncle Moot, don’t say things like that.” Her attention returned to her plate. “You’ll scare him.” Drake braved a bite while listening to the banter across the table. He watched the exchange, noting the two shared a genuine affection. They forgot about him as their conversation lapsed into Cajun French, Sharlene stumbling to find the right words. Moot instructed her when memory seemed to fail her.

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There was no denying they talked about him, for occasionally all eyes shifted his way. He didn’t care. He was confident Sharlene held the key to his survival while in the Mouton household. So Drake let his tired muscles relax. “This is good sausage,” he exclaimed. The talking stopped. “Alligator,” Moot offered. Drake choked. “Better you eat ’em than they eat you,” Moot declared with a hint of humor. “I see your point.” He suffered another big bite to keep from offending his host. “How old is your granddaughter, Sharlene?” The question clearly caught her totally off-guard. Yet she smiled pleasantly when she replied. “She’s two and quite a handful.” “Is she as easygoing as her grandmother?” “In my company less than five hours and already you know I’m easygoing?” “Your contagious smile supports that.” His fork scraped up the final dregs of food. “What you see is what you get, Drake.” She looked over her fork at him. “Unlike the fake concerned façade of your coworkers.” That was a jab if ever he heard one. He wouldn’t take the bait. Not while under the roof of his known enemy. “The shots I got today will definitely come in handy. They’ll force their hand.” “Call me a cynic. I don’t believe it’ll make a difference. The only thing that matters to the powers that be is the bottom line.” Sharlene pushed her unfinished plate away. “Ask me. I know.” Drake called her bluff. “How do you know, Sharlene?” Moot’s fork rang when it hit his plate. “I’m a casualty of the quest for a bigger bottom line, Drake.” “You lost your job,” he surmised, slapping his hand on a paper towel.

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“The banking department I headed took a trip overseas. All of my people ended up on the street.” She took her plate to the sink, raking the scraps in the garbage. “Damn. That’s too bad,” Drake said sympathetically. “You’ll find something better.” “Where have I heard that?” she asked with loads of sarcasm. “Oh, yes. After every rejected interview for the last ninety-nine weeks.” “Ninety-nine weeks?” “Did I stutter?” she quipped. “I’ve been living off my savings and what little freelancing brings in.” “I’m sorry, Sharlene.” Drake left the table. “Save your pity for the ones big oil is messing over.” Her reach for his plate was futile. Drake emptied and washed his own to drop it in the drain board. “I mean it when I say I’m here to help.” He snagged her hands. “Trust me.” The silent member in the room recognized a scene from his own storybook. He was of little consequence during their dialogue. At this point, he was invisible. There was one way to break the spell. Moot threw the towel Drake had earlier, and it hit Drake’s chest. Moot had his attention. “Wash up and get out, Cormier.” He did exactly that with no fanfare—only a soft “good-bye” to Sharlene.

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Chapter Seven “Well, wouldn’t you know it? He did it, again.” Sharlene traipsed down the hall that was brightened by the early morning light. The door to Moot’s bedroom swung open on squeaky hinges. Sharlene peeped in to satisfy the belief he dodged her purposely. His sanctuary was orderly and spotless, all except the crumpled bedspread caught under the mattress. Sharlene went to straighten it out when a sliver of yellow under the closet door hooked her attention. The lure was too great to ignore. She was powerless to initiate a retreat. Her feet glided and the next thing she knew, she was standing in the open closet. Beside the business mailer was an unlocked metal box that provoked Sharlene to give in to the temptation. She lowered her standards and snooped through all of his personal papers. “Oh, Uncle Moot.” A hand flew to her chest in accompaniment to the hollow intake of breath. Shoving the papers back into the envelope, she ran from the room. A quick shower, light makeup application, and she hopped into the two-piece banker’s skirt set she brought along for another round of interviews in the city. All dressed up and smelling good, Sharlene stepped into her supple leather pumps, latched on to her shoulder satchel, and dashed to the front door. All of a sudden, she screeched to a stop. Transportation. She had none to town. Not by land, anyway. A brief visit back inside for sneakers and off she raced to the waiting pirogue.

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Soon, she cut the motor and paddled to the pier outside of Clyde’s once getting to town. The boat bobbed and weaved as she draped her jacket over her shoulder. The shoulder strap held it in place as she hiked up her skirt for the one-handed climb up the ladder. Although the going was rough, she managed to get to the landing without incident. Sharlene hustled into the establishment, glad for the rush of cool air that greeted her. “Sha,” the proprietor called out. “What brings ya here all gusset up?” “The pirogue,” she supplied flippantly. Then, remorse set in. “I’m sorry, Mr. Clyde. That was uncalled for. I’m just hot, tired, and bothered.” She headed to the ladies’ room in a hurry. Once refreshed and presentable, Sharlene made her appearance. “I need a taxi. Is there one in town?” “No, Sha. But the local runs through here.” “What time does it pass?” “’Bout ten.” She looked at her watch. It wasn’t quite nine-fifteen yet. “I’ll just have to wait.” He moved from behind the counter at her distressed look. “Things okay?” “Honestly, no.” His interest seemed sincere. Yet she dared not share her uncle’s predicament. “Something’s come up. I’ll run into the city and be back by the time Uncle Moot docks.” “Well, you better get going. Got to catch it at the filling station.” “The more things change, the more they stay the same, I guess.” Sharlene had to shake her head at the throwback to days gone by. She changed into her dress shoes. “See you later.” Sharlene left the shop with a sense of urgency that had her at the ticket window and the only one in line to board the bus. She shifted her weight from hip to hip impatiently. Before long, the Greyhound pulled up to invite her onboard with open doors. There weren’t many

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riders. However, all eyes were on her as she scanned for just the right seat for the trip. The door closed, starting her on the journey of discovery. A taxi ride after the bus and now she crossed the threshold of the banking institution holding Moot’s loan. She was immediately doused with the regrets. It took a little finagling to shove all of her private anxiety back into hiding. Her mind had to be clear for this meeting. “I’d like to see the manager,” Sharlene requested once reaching the receptionist’s desk. The younger woman answered, “I’m sure one of the representatives can help.” Sharlene smiled sweetly and agreed. “I’m sure they could. But they’d end up referring me to the manger, anyway. So I’d like to cut to the chase.” The receptionist gave in, made the call, and a stone-faced man materialized. “May I help you?” “Are you the branch manager?” “I am.” “My name is Sharlene Mouton. I’m here on behalf of my uncle.” “Won’t you come this way, Miss Mouton?” He ushered her into his office behind a glass partition. “I’m Mr. Palmer. Won’t you have a seat?” “Thank you for seeing me.” She sat to withdraw the envelope from her bag. “I believe you’re in violation of the law, Mr. Palmer.” He reached for the extended papers. “I’m sure you’re mistaken, Ms. Mouton.” “Mr. Palmer, I don’t have a lot of time. It took me two hours to get here. And I know your time is valuable.” She waited, watching as he scanned the pages. “Melvin Mouton’s livelihood was impacted by the Gulf oil spill. He made timely payments prior to that fiasco.” He looked up but remained mute.

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“I’m here to cover his past-due payments and request an extension.” Walking around his desk, the banker responded, “The circumstances are unfortunate, Ms. Mouton. Lots of people are in the same shape as your uncle. We’re not in a position to give preferential treatment no matter how tempting.” He laid the notification on the desk in front of her. “Take a closer look at the date.” He reclaimed the pages. “The new disclosure law went into effect before the issuance of this notice of default.” His grotesque expression said he realized he had a big problem. “What you’re holding in your hand borders on predatory lending practices, Mr. Palmer.” “Miss Mouton, our bank didn’t create the problem—” “I’m aware who’s at fault, Mr. Palmer,” she interrupted, her mind swinging to Drake and back to the problem at hand. “I hope you and I can bring this to a reasonable conclusion that benefits everyone involved.” “I can see your point,” he admitted. “Let me see what can be done to correct this.” He rose and started to the doorway. “My papers, please.” She wasn’t about to lose the only proof she had. “Wait here.” Watching him go, Sharlene’s mind traipsed back to the real culprits. **** Drake held down a seat at the impromptu meeting in the conference room. Getting summoned at the end of his day was just what he needed on a Friday evening. Voices droned on and on with insignificant complaints directed at media bias. According to the public-relations officer speaking, the oil company was getting

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hammered, not only by print and visual, but by the blogosphere, as well. Drake squirmed in his chair, disinterested. “Who is this BayouBaby, anyway?” A member corrected, “BayouBabe99er.” The tone of the question held such animosity it got Drake’s undivided attention. Still, it was the screen name that jerked his thoughts elsewhere. “This blogger is singlehandedly stoking the fires with posts critical of our management of this problem. Like we controlled the mechanical operations of that rig! There was a failure. But it wasn’t ours!” The speaker’s jowls sagged. “Find her. Now!” “Do we know she’s really a she?” Drake pitched out his theory. “Could be a male hiding behind the name to avoid detection.” All in the room seemed to consider the possibility, evident by their thoughtful stares and shaking heads. “He…she, I don’t care! Put a stop to it!” The man in charge punctuated the command by stomping out of the room. Everyone took his departure as a dismissal, except Drake. He propped his elbows on the table as he sieved through the tidbits that mattered to him. Typing in the name provided, his cell phone’s browser came back with a surprising list of results. He spent the next few minutes reading the posts and subsequent comments. In the midst of his concern was laughter at her thinly disguised referral to him. His broad view narrowed. He was on his feet, practically running to his office for the mad dash to the village. From what he read, there was nothing libelous in the posts. Basically, they were simply uncomplimentary. His keys rattled as he swept his office with his eyes before leaving. ****

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Sharlene sat, victorious, and scanned the countryside from her bus seat. She felt like she could take on the world. A plan formed in her mind based on the success of her venture. Empowerment flowed in her veins. Maybe, it was her calling to help residents navigate the red tape. It paid zero in monetary benefits. On the other hand, the payment yielded was the potential for a humongous euphoric dividend.

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Chapter Eight Drake missed Sharlene the other day, which was why he waited his turn in line for an audience. People milled outside of Clyde’s to have their turn at her expertise. She reviewed documents with true diligence to recommend a course of action. Simply put, a large number of the public wasn’t aware the consumers had added protection against the overreach of some in the lending community. She provided them a starting point to have loans reevaluated. Finally, it was his turn to stand at her table. She graced him with the smile she shared so freely. It dismantled all of his defenses. The course he charted to call her out became difficult to maintain. “Got a few minutes to take a break?” “Why not?” I’m finished for the day.” Stuffing her case, she invited, “Walk with me.” They left Clyde’s to stroll the quiet street to Moot’s truck. Sharlene stored her things and led him down to the water’s edge. “You look troubled, Drake. Have you gotten the results back?” “Not yet.” He guided her to another area lined with benches where he brushed at the dust with his hands before she sat. “It’s beautiful out here today. Wish I was on the boat with Uncle Moot.” Drake claimed Sharlene’s hand. The contact triggered a rush in his bloodstream. “I’m concerned about you.” “Me?” She wiggled her hand free. “Why?” “BayouBabe99er.” “What?” Her shock was undeniable. “Are you BayouBabe99er?”

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“What’s a—what was it? Bayou babe—” Drake saw skills in the way she smiled at him while keeping the surprise off her face, even if it did come across in her question. “Don’t act innocent with me, Sharlene.” Drake’s expression was stern. “Okay. If that’s the way you want to play,” he began. “Whoever she is…they’re launching a crusade to stop the blogging.” **** What Drake shared was very interesting to her. “Should this bayou booby be worried?” She snickered. “This isn’t a joke.” His eyes were coal black and hard-looking. “They’ll devour you faster than any alligator in the swamp.” He left her sitting with a stunned expression when he stomped to the railing. “Last time I looked…this was still a free country.” Sharlene missed when their conversation took such a personal turn. She approached him while noting the darkening clouds on the horizon rolling their way. “I believe you’ve veered from the true reason you’re in the village, Drake. And that’s to help the people here.” He faced her. “That includes you.” Drake’s voice was low and husky, hinting at intimacy. She looked up at him. “You didn’t think that a few days ago.” “I was wrong for that. I apologize.” A stray raindrop landed on her cheek. He took it upon himself to smooth it away with his pointer finger. The gentleness of his touch tripped her heart. The time for a man to make her knees tremble was in the past. She refused to get trapped into falling for that tingly feeling, especially when someone who looked to be only several years older than her daughters brought it on. Sharlene pretended indifference. “You guessed right,” she admitted. “I’m BayouBabe99er.” She threw that smile on him. “What gave me away?”

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Drake grunted. “Moot’s boat is named—what? BayouBabe, right? How long have you been unemployed?” “Too much?” “Just a bit.” They spent quite awhile on the dock—just talking. The longer they shared stories, the deeper the infatuation that took hold. It took nature to break up their little tête-à-tête with a sudden deluge that sent them running for cover. Once up the hill, Drake broke toward Clyde’s. Sharlene took off in the opposite direction, heading for the truck. Drake stopped. “Where are you going?” he called over his shoulder. “Home.” Sharlene thought it best to call it a day. Drake was dangerous to her well-being, for he awakened feelings she had managed to subdue for years. “But we need to decide what—” “Drake, there is no we. I can take care of myself.” She took off again as the raindrops got bigger. Her voice drifted on the breeze. “You just take care of the people.” She threw herself under the wheel to quickly turn the key in the ignition for the getaway. It finally happened. The truck refused to start. Not a whine or even a groan from the engine. Sharlene looked at the heavy rain sheeting the windshield. “Great!” A horn tooted. It was Drake. The passenger-side window of his car glided down. “Hop in.” Amusement crossed his face at her perturbed expression. “Come on, Sharlene. I don’t bite.” She rolled her window down. “Let me try it once more.” The rain nearly soaked her. So, she took cover behind the glass once again. Sharlene’s insides quivered as her wrist twisted to turn the key. “Shoot!” Could she bear the ride beside him? She lowered the window again. “I’ll just wait at Clyde’s for Uncle Moot.”

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Woman power sent the window flying back up. Drake was out in the downpour and next to her door before her lips shut. “That’s crazy. You don’t know how long he’ll be gone.” She gazed through the glass. “This liquid sunshine is mighty wet.” He opened the door without her permission. “Grab your things.” Here she was—acting like a bashful schoolgirl. The insistent hand on her elbow goaded her out of the truck. She held on to all of her paraphernalia as she made the dash from plastic to leather. Sharlene peered at Drake’s profile when he joined her and took off. The rain didn’t let up during the twenty-minute ride. As a matter of fact, the sky opened up, pouring out buckets of water. Drake parked across the walkway directly in front of the steps. Sharlene took that as her cue and bailed from the car. “Thanks, Drake.” She hustled up the steps trying to dodge the wet drops. “See you later.” Sharlene heard the motor purr as he headed off. Then the slam of his car door jerked her around. Big mistake, for her foot skidded on the slippery surface. His rush to the rescue landed both of them on his back, flat out in the mud. Air whooshed from his lungs as he squeezed out, “Are you hurt?” Her breath caught in her throat. But it wasn’t from the blow of the landing. She lay spread-eagle on his rock solid frame. Every time his chest rose, her intake of breath failed from the force. However, she managed a breathy murmur. “No. Are you?” Neither moved a muscle as the rain continued to pelt them. “You forgot your purse,” he explained as the reason for his delay. Sharlene relished the feel of his taut body as her softness draped all over him. She delighted when his muddy hands cupped her cheeks to draw her lips to his. Offering no resistance, she first tasted the watery grit before the sweet flavor of his seeking tongue. She lost herself in the moment, reciprocating his actions with fervor. There was no doubt about it. He broke down barriers she’d erected to

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maintain her sanity after her divorce. So what was she to do now that the natural urges suppressed for an eternity were unleashed?

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Chapter Nine The question rattling around in Sharlene’s head soon had an answer. Drake’s hands slid from her face to her shoulders, from her shoulders to the small of her back. He cradled her gently while shifting his weight until they lay side by side on the saturated earth. The kiss shared got longer—deeper. She didn’t shy away from feelings heated to the boiling point. The loud thunderclap warned of lightning that struck too close for comfort. The sky briefly illuminated. Yet, that was no comparison to the explosions she experienced. Water poured from the sky like the clouds ripped open at the seams. She couldn’t help herself. He filled her to capacity as she wallowed in his masculine hold. The only reason she broke away was to allow space due to the unexpected, heady contact. And—also, she had to give her body time to recover from the obvious distress of being so close to him. The torrential rainstorm nearly drowned them. Now untangled from his body, Sharlene endured Drake’s grip under her arms that lifted her to her feet. She started up the steps to the porch at his nudge. Debris was flicked from her hands before she nervously searched her purse for the keys and unlocked the door. A look over her shoulder at the clapping sound Drake made as he shook off the excess mud let her see him begin to retrace his steps to the yard. Her voice stopped him. “Where’re you going?” “Get out of these wet clothes.”

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He was filthy all because of her clumsiness. “I caused the mess. I’ll clean it up.” She opened the door wider. “Come on in.” Both dripped their way inside where she turned on a soft light to shoo away the dimness. Sharlene kept on to the back of the house returning with a robe held by her fingertips. Drake responded to the handoff as she skirted him to take the adjacent hall that swallowed her up in darkness. “Help yourself to a shower,” she yelled. “Towels are in the overhead cabinet.” The way that exchange went baffled him. Why didn’t she make the offer face-to-face? Was she angry? Was he mistaken about her reaction to that mind-blowing kiss? Drake mumbled loud enough for his voice to carry as he stepped into the bathroom. “Thanks.” Sharlene reappeared just as he shut himself in. “You’re welcome. Toss your things out, and I’ll start the washer.” “You don’t have to do that,” he called through the closed door. “I know.” She hung out on the other side. “Show me to the washroom when I’m finished.” He began to disrobe. “Just do as I ask, please, Drake. The sooner the wash is done, the faster your clothes will be dry and you on your way.” His head peeped out at Sharlene, who now wore a cinched robe that did little to disguise her curvaceous, mature figure. Their eyes locked. Drake dropped his bundle at her feet. His rapid retreat put him in reach of the shower faucets. When she heard the water running, Sharlene thought it best to put distance between them. The storm’s tempest was evident from her vantage in front of the window. Tree limbs bowed under the gale force winds. The howling sound invaded her space. Yet it wasn’t enough to eclipse the beating water from Drake’s shower. Sharlene’s mind wandered where it didn’t belong. She absently walked over to retrieve his soiled clothes. The washer cranked up, the gush of cold water adding to the already noisy background. Maybe doing something with her hands would occupy her mind. So she

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moved on to the kitchen sink, turned on the cold water, washed her hands, and let it run while she emptied the coffee basket. She was in the process of rinsing the pot when the yowl went up in the bathroom. She slapped the faucet off. “What happened?” she screamed in alarm while rushing to Drake’s aid. Sharlene burst into the bathroom without knocking precisely the moment he slung the shower curtain aside. Drake charged out in all his glory, visibly shaken and as red as a lobster on his right shoulder. “You tell me.” He winced while grabbing at his injured arm. “I don’t know.” Sharlene had a difficult time keeping her eyes on his face and not his bare, bronzed body. Coming to her senses, she grabbed the robe at the same time his wits returned. Drake snatched the bath towel to shield his naked body. “If I didn’t know better”—he wrapped it as he spoke—“I’d say your uncle tried to boil me alive.” Sharlene liked his teasing tone of voice. It helped lighten the mood. “That looks pretty painful.” She stepped nearer to finger the area. “We’d better put a cool towel on that right away.” There was no way around it. Sharlene’s soft touch ignited Drake’s fire. He made the rash decision to pull her into his arms. His hand traveled up her back to control the tilt of her head. His fingers slid through the softness of her curls. Sharlene participated fully in the all-consuming kiss. Then realization struck. She pushed off, surprised at his crushing hold before he let go. She was engulfed by his smoky stare. “I need a bath first.” The very idea she uttered “first” spoke volumes. The constantly running water beat a cadence behind them. Drake brushed passed, leaned to twist the stopper in the tub, and tested the water temperature. “It’s not too hot, now.” The buffer she tried to provide by moving aside as he raised up was futile. His look sizzled the closer he came in her direction.

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Sharlene swallowed—hard—at the touch of his lips now on hers. Her hands braced on his chest. “Unlike me,” he moaned. His raspy words stoked her snuffed-out embers that were beginning to glow again. However, having been inactive for quite some time, she hedged. “Maybe we shouldn’t, Drake.” “Why not?” She fidgeted as his lips nuzzled the hollow of her neck. “Short acquaintance. Family history.” Her arms wound around his neck of their own volition. “Take your pick.” His head lifted. His black eyes smoldered. “All genuine concerns.” “But more important is the epidemic in the Black community. I value my life.” “As do I,” he soothed. “I’m a thirty-four-year-old man, Sharlene.” He continued with a dry laugh. “That doesn’t necessarily equate to being a fool.” Confirmed age difference. Add that to the list of “why nots.” Sharlene allowed Drake to twiddle with her fingers while his amorous gaze acknowledged to her that he got her drift. She enjoyed the thrilling sensations coursing through her bloodstream. The fact he drew her bath created a tingling feeling in the most private of places. She relented without hesitation when his hands brushed her robe from her shoulders. He assisted her into the tub. Any concern for his scalded shoulder vanished as other things took precedence. He crouched beside the bathtub, dragging his hand in the water to evenly distribute the heat. An inadvertent touch—and sparks flew. Neither of them could manage a dignified reaction. Drake’s audible moan sounded with his next move. She clung to him when he scooped her up, sopping wet and all, snatched his wallet from the sink, and with determined steps, carried her from the bathroom.

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Her dripping body puddled water at his feet when he stopped in the middle of the common room. Sharlene’s pliant form matched the aroused expression on her face. She recognized the burning intensity of his look. And—felt it, too, in his clutch. Her simple finger point had Drake flying in the right direction to her bedroom. The blaze couldn’t be contained for the lid was off. The fire raged. Drake’s hands were everywhere even as he made himself ready. His fleeting embraces sizzled wherever he touched, stopping Sharlene’s breath. The glorious sensations revved up her responses. He became more than an acquaintance. At that moment, the connection was undeniable, the treat immeasurable. It was Sharlene’s turn to enrapture Drake. She trailed her fingertips up and down his spine, drawing a guttural sound. Her mouth pressed the skin on his sore shoulder, and she felt his trembles. Her lips streaked across his chest on their way to the throbbing vein in his neck. The knee she positioned against his inner thigh sent shockwaves rippling through him. The delightful benefits were hers to enjoy as Drake asserted his skills at lovemaking with masterful finesse. Sharlene laid claim to her own special moves that drove him wild. An immense pleasure encompassed her as she endeavored to make up for the long nights spent alone and celibate. The tempest inside rivaled the raging storm on the other side of the closed bedroom door as the surge built within. She was recharged every time his groan accompanied the powerful thrusts that elevated her higher and higher toward the realm of satisfaction.

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Chapter Ten BayouBabe99er with a surprising turn of events in the Gulf. It gets more complicated every day. Oil is less evident in the water around the rigs. Not so the bayous and canals surrounding the small communities. You don’t see anything about that on the evening news, do you? Let the games really begin. Now you see it. Now you don’t. More to come. Sharlene’s contortionist move let her slip out of her robe and back into Drake’s grasp without waking him. The early darkness pervaded, playing up the eerie noises made by the wind and rain. His rhythmic breathing was a complement to the encroaching sound. He looked so peaceful. She hated to disturb him. “Wake up.” Drake stirred at her command. “I am awake.” She thoroughly enjoyed his constant caress of her upper arm. It planted ideas in her head. Those same ideas were obvious in his mindreading eyes. “Have been for about the amount of time it took you to…post.” “Your clothes are dry.” She ignored his probe. “If you know like me, you’d get moving before Uncle Moot gets in.” “I’m not afraid of your uncle.” She mocked. “You should be. He has it in for you, remember?” The fact they lay on one pillow was testament to how comfortable she was with what transpired between them. “I can handle Melvin Mouton,” he bragged. “The problem is his niece.” Drake tapped her playfully on the tip of her nose.

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“Good thing she’s not your concern, Drake.” “She is if she insists on bringing unwanted attention to herself.” He cut her off just as her lips parted. “Save your breath if you’re about to deny it.” Sharlene braced up on her elbow with a hand under her chin. The man watching her, all of a sudden, looked so serious. The expression was similar to the one he wore in the boat that day. He had no right to look at her that way. “I don’t have to justify a thing to you, Drake.” Sharlene disengaged in preparation to leave his side. His steel-banding arms locked around her. “You’re right. It’s just—” He stopped midsentence. “Just what?” She pressed the issue. “Just a little thing called conflict of interest?” Then she had a heart-wrenching thought. “Was this your way of getting me to shut up? To clear the path for the crooks in your company to continue to pad their pockets at the expense of the people here?” Sharlene pulled from Drake’s embrace. “Sharlene, you know that’s not true!” His features furrowed, alerting her to his hurt feelings. “I don’t know anything,” she blasted, leaving the bed and only getting as far as the door. “I don’t even know you.” Her hand hadn’t twisted the knob before her body was entrenched in his stranglehold. Drake raked his lips over her cheek on his way to nibbling her ear. The breath she released filtered softly across his hairy chest. Sharlene panted. The throbbing changes in his body answered her unspoken desires, confirming that he, too, fought the same war. “You now know more than anyone has since…since—” Feathery wisps of air fanned her ear from his failure to continue. Drake’s light kisses to the tender spot at the base of her jaw jolted her. “I came to the bayou to help, not get caught up in a net. But here I am…snared…hook, line, and sinker.”

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“I’m not going to stop,” Sharlene uttered. “Nothing you can do to make me.” “I love a challenge.” He steered her toward the bed. His whispered words drenched her, causing her imagination to roam. “Oh, no you don’t.” Her feet became stone blocks. A look into his face and her knees quaked. The intimacy gleaming in his eyes tripped her heart. Sharlene called on every fiber of her being to regain self-control. “Fine.” He crawled back into bed where he threw the covers aside for her. “Let’s talk.” “You’ve got to be kidding!” “Come on. I don’t bite.” A sly grin spread across his face. “Well, maybe, just a little.” “Uncle Moot warned me,” she admitted. “I just wouldn’t listen.” “Tell me about your Uncle Moot.” Drake patted the bed, and Sharlene sat but remained on guard. “He’s a pushover for his family.” She looked at him from under her lashes. “Could skin and gut you before you felt the first slit of his filet knife.” “My kind of man.” Sharlene relaxed just a bit. “He’s lived here for as long as I can remember. Never married. Simply eked out a life he found rewarding.” “You, however, contracted the wanderlust, I suppose. Wanted to see the world. Taste new things.” She added to his list. “Meet new people. See amazing wonders. Chase the American dream.” Sharlene shut up. “Did you?” “Did I what?” She lay opposite him, her feet to his head. Drake pulled the bedcovers askew to partially cover their nude bodies. Propped up on a pillow, he tossed the other to her. “Catch up to the American dream?”

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Sharlene smiled a dreamy smile. “I did. And—I have two beautiful children to prove it.” Again, almost as soon as the words hit the air, she regretted them. “Don’t be sorry.” Drake beat her to the punch. “Losing my wife and baby will always be with me. But I’m not so sensitive that I begrudge you your piece of the American pie.” Sharlene studied him. “I hope you’re someday able to fill that hole in your heart, Drake.” “I’m working on it, Sharlene.” His eyes devoured her. “This is a dangerous game you’re playing, you know that, right?” “Game?” Sharlene beat the pillow in agitation before settling back down, again. “Pretending interest in the people to smooth over deceptive practices.” “People? Or one person in particular?” “I’m not talking about me. We are a means to an end. We ended the other’s bout with loneliness…not to mention the intimacy dry spell.” Beautiful white teeth flashed as his lips twitched into a crooked smile. He didn’t say a word. She watched him watch her from his angled position. There wasn’t a doubt he memorized every inch of her body for future reference. “Stop it! You make me feel like a piece of meat.” “Sweetmeat. You definitely have that ‘Whip Appeal’”—he paused—“to quote Babyface.” She responded with an uncontrolled giggle. There was that schoolgirl attitude he brought out in her. “Like you know anything about Babyface.” “I might have been in high school at the time. But I remember how the girls loved his songs.” His hand slipped under the cover. “The guys—well, they thought he was spineless.” He connected with her ankle. “I tried to tell them he was cool…had his thing together.” Drake’s long fingers traveled up her smooth calf.

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Sharlene wasn’t laughing anymore. In fact, she barely breathed. He followed his hand as his body curled to switch to the foot of the bed beside her. “What girl could refuse his enduring promises?” By now, his lips nearly burned the skin off her shoulder while his hand branded her thigh. “His irresistible charm?” Pillow talk was over. Sharlene raised his head. She caught his jaw with her fingertips. Emotions swirled wildly in his eyes, gluing their stares together. Drake’s intimate touch made contact just as her lips fused to his. “Ahhh!” Her exclamation mushroomed in the space, mingling their breaths together. Suddenly, banging at the front door interrupted the mood. “Who could be out in this awful weather?” he growled, never stopping his onslaught. Her words were difficult to deliver. “Ig—nore it. Th–they’ll go away.” Fist pounding rattled the doorframe. Drake’s reluctant separation helped Sharlene recover—somewhat. She was out of breath and shaky when she finally slid from the bed and straight into her robe. She padded barefoot to the door. “Who is it?” Her tone was far from congenial. “Sha?” She’d recognize that accent anywhere. “Mr. Clyde?” Sharlene flung the door open in the dusky, dark evening. “Lines down.” Clyde’s gaze strayed behind her into the gray interior. “It’s Moot!” Sharlene turned. A half-dressed Drake stood in the middle of the gathering room. He’d donned nothing but his trousers that still had the belt buckle dangling. He didn’t make another move. “Get her to the store, boy.” Clyde was off the porch by the time Drake pushed the door from Sharlene’s hand. He wrapped her up from behind. His grasp brought

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her fingers to his lips. That spurred her to flee and him to give chase to hurriedly dress for the departure.

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Chapter Eleven “What in the name of heaven?” A flurry of activity met their eyes as Drake bypassed the store in search of a parking place. There were none to be had as people swarmed all out into the street. He decided to double-park right in front of Clyde’s. Sharlene was out in the storm that continued to roar. Drake brought up the rear, maneuvering her in and out of the maze of people with an arm over her shoulders. “It’s a media frenzy,” she declared, ducking a time or two to avoid the cameras. Sharlene burst into the store and hustled on over to where Clyde sat manning the mobile radio. The scratchy transmission was loud enough to cause pain to the eardrum. Yet the jargon was too unclear to decipher. He looked up at her. She dashed water from her face. “Uncle Moot?” Her voice was hopeful. “He came tru’ clear as the day was bright early on, askin’ for you. Now, I can’t raise him.” “What happened, Mr. Clyde?” Drake’s agitated demeanor was pronounced when he stepped nearer. His eyes zoomed in on something on the rear dock. Correction. He zoomed in on someone on the rear dock. Her gaze swung to him. The suspicious look she laid on him was telling. Drake saw all the barriers dismantled by the quality time they spent in one another’s arms quickly reassembling. He knew the instant her emotions shut

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down. He no longer held any importance in her life, if ever he began to, except for being the enemy’s mouthpiece. “Why are they here?” She looked from him to Clyde for an answer. The store proprietor spoke up. “See them fellas over ther’?” He pointed to the deli corner of the store. “Moot’s fares.” Sharlene stared at the two shivering strangers. “Back ther’.” His head beckoned to the oil company’s public relations team. “Rescue boat was theirs.” Sharlene was confused. “Rescue boat?” Clyde offered what he knew of the continuing saga. “The storm came up out of the blue. No small craft warnings at all. Caught the BayouBabe six hours out. Around a rig being evacuated.” He paused to give Sharlene time to digest his story. The tale created a crack in Drake’s aloof façade. “Big waves rocked the boat. According to them, the pumps stopped working. The Babe listed starboard.” She closed her eyes tightly and gulped. “Uncle Moot’s—” “No, Sha!” He jumped to stop such talk. “You know Moot. He gon’ bring his Babe in.” Clyde and Drake shared a conspiratorial look. “That’s all. Found you in the swamp against the odds, didn’t he? Gon’ find his way home, too.” “Excuse me.” All three swiveled to face the two stragglers rescued from Moot’s boat, who now huddled under blankets. One asked, “Are you Skeeter?” “I am.” Drake took in how her spine straightened, like she wore the nickname with pride. “Moot asked us to see that you got this,” the other said while lifting a chain over his balding head. Sharlene accepted the chain from which hung a key. There wasn’t a doubt in her mind what it opened. “How was he when you last saw him?” “Determined.” The one speaking sought confirmation from his companion, receiving it in the form of a headshake.

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“That’s a Mouton for you,” she interjected. Drake leaned in. “I’ll be right back.” She gave him her back, mumbling, “Don’t bother.” Her eyes swept the room. Cameras, with their white lights, blinded her before she had time to blink. The next thing she knew, a microphone was shoved under her nose. “Nate Jackson. WXUE TV. Are you the next of kin?” “Next of kin indicates someone’s demise.” She took offense. “My uncle is very much alive.” The statement seemed to fly over the news reporter’s head. “I’m told he’s one of the early settler’s of this close-knit community.” Sharlene thought for a second. “I guess you could say that.” “He was a…scalawag…I believe is the term used to describe him in his early days.” “I’m not familiar with him in those terms,” she defended. Her attempt to end the unwanted interview took a nasty turn. He put the mike to his mouth. “I also heard there was a real Hatfield-McCoy encounter between the Moutons and the Cormiers. Are you familiar with that?” Her interested eyes searched the shadows for Drake. He was in deep conversation with a company man. And from the looks of things, he was far from happy. To be truthful, neither was she. “I’ll tell you what I’m familiar with as it relates to Pauchex Pass, Nate Jackson.” She used his entire name to add emphasis to what she was about to say. “I’m familiar with the fact people here are losing their way of life thanks to the negligence of an uncaring business neighbor.” “You’re talking about the oil spill,” he pronounced. “I am.” Sharlene challenged further. “Why aren’t you?” She looked dead into the camera. “I gather you hold the company totally responsible for what happened here?”

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“If you know otherwise, I’m sure the community would love to hear your findings.” “Let’s get back to the human interest story unfolding involving your uncle.” Angry now, Sharlene snagged the hand holding the mike. “I’ve used my background in finances to help some of the residents in the area avoid foreclosure of their properties. A major setback for lots of hardworking people caught up by greed and corruption.” “You have strong feelings about what happened here, don’t you?” “Of course I do. Any person unaffected by the plight of these people are either cold or callous, if not both.” “Did you know that same company used their resources to bring those two to safety?” He let that sink in. “That—your uncle refused the offer of rescue.” “No,” she muttered. “I wasn’t aware of that. But it doesn’t surprise me. He’s a principled man—” Sharlene’s narration ended abruptly when the newsman reclaimed his microphone and did the “cut” cue by slicing his hand across his throat. “Guess that was too much human interest for you.” She wiped her sweaty palms on her jeans in disgust. He shot back, “Not as much as the story about the duel over Becky Cormier will be.” Then he was gone. It was like changing dance partners for another strange man stared down on her. He was the same one who previously conversed with Drake. “Can I help you?” The inflection of her words held a lot of haughtiness. His look of disdain was unmistakable. Although the storm raged outside, he was immaculately dressed with not one blond hair on his head out of place. “You’re treading on dangerous ground, Miss Mouton.” “I could say the same about you—whoever you are.” “I represent the company you vilify on your blog.” “Mister, I can’t say this any plainer. You’d better get out of my face.”

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“Be careful, BayouBabe99er.” As quietly as he slithered in, he slithered out, baring his fangs as he went. “Two can play that game. Wonder if the authorities would be interested in an unresolved shooting?” Her jaw dropped. Drake stomped up on her so fast, she jumped at his voice. “What did he say to you?” His eyes narrowed when she looked at him. “Nothing,” she lied. Why she felt compelled to do so was beyond her. He was nothing to her. So what did it matter if her uncle was just implicated—twice—in a dubious act against his family members? “Was he rude?” His questions kept coming. “Drake, I can handle him. Don’t worry about it.” “Why the cold shoulder now, Sharlene?” His voice was gruff. “You weren’t so cold a few minutes ago.” “There’s no cold shoulder event going on. We had a momentary lapse of judgment. That’s all that it was.” She talked too much and was unable to stop herself. “What I’d like you to explain is…what nefarious deed is your company up to? Why is the media circus in town?” He remained silent though noise was all around them. Her head shook as she figured it out. “This is the beginning of a media blitz to gain sympathy and support, isn’t it? They were good neighbors because they came to the rescue of citizens in need.” She waited on him to dispute her conclusions. He never did. “They’ll use my uncle’s dilemma to skew public opinion.” She waited on his response. When none was forthcoming, she also asserted, “You tattled before…before—” Embarrassment colored her features reddish-brown. “I thought you were different.” Sharlene headed toward Clyde’s corner. “Guess I was wrong, traitor.” Drake found his tongue. “Sharlene?” Sharlene never stopped walking until she reached the mobile station. “Anything, Mr. Clyde?”

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“Sharlene!” It was Drake’s turn to be the center of attention when all eyes swung his way. Sharlene completely ignored him to concentrate on the crackly noises coming out of the speakers. Her only concern now was her uncle’s welfare. Nothing more. Nothing less.

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Chapter Twelve Twelve miserable hours was how long it had been since her arrival to town. She had twelve long hours to imagine the worst because there was no word on Moot. It turned out he was the only person unaccounted for of all the boats that were out yesterday. The surprise squall blindsided other experts as well. Sharlene took no consolation in that revelation. In fact, she pretty much kept to herself during the night feigning indifference as Drake went about his company’s business. He contributed to her misery. But he wasn’t solely to blame. The crowd ballooned as he kept tabs on her from afar. Every now and then, she saw a wistful look in his eyes when he looked at her. Somehow, Sharlene knew he would hang close even if she didn’t want him around. Her disappointment in his betrayal at outing her alias was never more obvious. He was persona non grata as far as she was concerned. Clyde waded through the throng of fishermen who stood vigil at the front door. “Sha, they leave in a minute. There’s a break in the storm.” She monitored the men geared up for the weather, surprised at what they were about to go do. Their scruffy, strong jaws were set with determination, giving her a glimmer of hope. They had their own problems. Yet, Moot’s friends and longtime neighbors were ready to take a risk on his behalf. “I’m going, too.” She pushed unsteadily from her seat. Her eyelids were so heavy that sandy irritation made her vision grainy.

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“No, Sha.” He batted down her idea. “You stay here. They best do this alone.” Sharlene took her place at Clyde’s side. They headed to the door where the group parted to make way for their exit. A murky mist filtered in the air, getting thicker as it rolled toward the water. The drizzle didn’t matter to her. All she visualized was the return of the BayouBabe with Moot at the helm. The people parade gathered in the gray morning on the dock where the boats and trawlers were moored. The fishermen broke ranks to continue on their way. As well-wishers waited, the deep rattle of motors signaled the fleet’s departure. Boat lights faded into the haze leaving behind the constant hum of straining motors. Slowly, the crowd dispersed, leaving her alone and shivering in the drizzle. Her ears perked to keep track of the diminishing pulsating sounds. She stared off into space, willing her eyes to focus into the cloudy vapors. They were out of sight no matter how hard she concentrated. Finally, all she heard was the waves lapping the support beams. A heavy yellow rain slicker settled around her. Sharlene didn’t have to guess the identity of the meddler. She recognized the grip caressing her shoulders from behind. The move to shield her head with the hood was the last straw. He made it too hard for her to hate him. Drake tagged along when Sharlene moved to a bench. She tried to keep her distance, because she didn’t want anything to do with him. That should have been clear from her name-calling outburst at the store. It seemed he failed to understand why she, all of a sudden, felt such animosity toward him. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have been dogging her steps. He claimed the far end of the same seat, like he was determined to wait her out. Sharlene kept her eyes averted, not wanting to give away the interest she had in why he didn’t just drop off the raincoat and leave.

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She wrestled with the sensational memory of his body all over hers. Just as those thoughts bubbled through her veins, branding her brain, his clandestine meeting in the back of the store swooped in to disintegrate the sizzling image in her head. She concluded Drake couldn’t be trusted. Drake could stand no more of the silent treatment. “Don’t lose hope, Sharlene.” His voice was barely audible. She looked at him— long and hard. The look scorched. However, it wasn’t with the same fire shared while in her bed. He inched closer. Sharlene took in his conspicuous movement while noting he sat unprotected in the inclement weather. The misty rain pasted his hair to his scalp. She stared at his profile. It seemed his chin jutted in defiance. “I’m a Mouton. They give hell. They don’t give up.” One minute he attempted to soothe her from a distance. The next, Drake slid right next to her. She searched his face as his eyes trained on the empty spaces over the water. A cunning reach stole her hand from her lap where he cupped it in his. “You sicced your dogs on me.” The complaint hit him out of the blue. “Something did happen back there,” he deduced. Drake was wrong if he thought they were on the way to recapturing the camaraderie. Her hand slowly slipped from his grasp as she rebuffed his touch. “I got a not so subtle suggestion that BayouBabe99er should think real hard before writing another post.” Drake dried his face with his hand. “You think I ratted you out. Is that it?” Sharlene pushed the hood back to look him in his eyes. “It’s funny how quickly the vultures dived in.” “I wouldn’t have made the trip down here if I had a hand in fingering you…” He hadn’t intended the double entendre and quickly corrected. “I mean, your identity.”

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His meaning was crystal clear. “This is getting extremely complicated, Drake.” He remained seated when she stood. “It was a fulfilling fling. But I think it’s best for us not to see each other anymore.” Now, he stood and towered over her. “That’s not going to happen, Sharlene. I work where you live.” “I mean socially.” Sharlene’s senses swirled at his closeness. Several steps put her at the end of the pier. “Any association we have should be kept on a business level.” The static crackling in the air was from the push and pull of her catapulting emotions. “The people need you to be impartial. I realize that’s a hard row to hoe, your being a company man and all. You have a difficult job to do. I don’t want to interfere with that.” “My job is tricky. But—I’m good at what I do, Sharlene. I admit you’re an integral part of circumstances here. I just don’t see any reason to erase you from my personal life.” The sight as he rushed to her little corner of the world, as if he couldn’t stand the separation one more second, let fluttering butterflies loose in her stomach. “I hope you don’t think I condone how things transpired here. I mean, to benefit from someone else’s despair is not my forte.” The deathly quiet played up the sincerity in his voice. He held her at arm’s length while staring right into her eyes for consensus. “Believe me, Sharlene.” “I do believe you, Drake.” She yawned just as he released a relieved sigh. “I do, however, resent the oil company’s ploy to make nice for appearances’ sake. Just for the cameras.” Sleep dropped on her like a ton of bricks. It became impossible to keep steady on her feet or keep her eyes open. Full-blown fatigue commandeered her body. His weight caused the planks to creak as he sidled within inches of her. His body heat lulled her to lie against him. By this time, the drizzle stopped and the sky lightened.

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Guiding her back to the bench, he crooned, “It’s okay to nap, Sharlene.” Drake snuggled her under his arm. “I’ll wake you when Moot gets in.” She read the hopeful expression on his face that she would comply with his wishes, tempting him to put in, “He’s a Mouton, right?” She conveniently forgot about the pledge enacted to spare their feelings from hurt. Sharlene curled her legs while fitting her shoulder under Drake’s arm. A staggering breath was her defenses lowering. The thrill of her warm, pliant body nestled into his renewed his hope. She could shove all she wanted. But no way would he let her shove away their burgeoning relationship. Drake gladly welcomed the entanglement, for it held long-lasting promises.

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Chapter Thirteen Streaks of cottony strands highlighted the grayish-blue sky over the village. The sun peeped out, transforming the atmosphere, giving all those who still lingered high hopes for the outcome. Drake’s chin brushed his chest periodically. Refusing to succumb to exhaustion, he kept a diligent lookout for her sake. Sharlene’s head rested comfortably on his lap. She slept on even as a firm hand shook his shoulder. His head jerked up, and he worked the kinks out of his neck. He turned and looked directly at Clyde, whose expression was hard to read. Drake laid a protective hand on Sharlene’s shoulder, hoping to get the lowdown before she awakened. He gave Clyde the quiet signal. Clyde squatted at Drake’s ear. “They spotted the Babe.” Drake’s neck craned to get a glimpse of Clyde’s features as he spoke because those words could have meant anything. “She cripple, but bobbin’.” Something just wasn’t right with the information Clyde shared. “What’s the problem?” “No sign’a Moot. Sea too rough to get close.” Drake took in the view before him where the weather remained dark and gloomy over the horizon. “So the trawler’s just drifting?” “Got a grapple hook on ’er,” he answered. “Can’t raise him on the radio, neither.” Clyde hesitated. “They headed back, boy.” Drake’s hand tightened. His eyes closed in disappointment. How could he soften the blow he wondered. Her world was about to fall apart. “They ’bout four hours out.”

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Sharlene shifted. He knew it was hard to get the blood flowing in her limbs, for she’d been on one side for so long. Drake removed the slicker trapping her from freely moving. Her look was soft, sleepy looking. Nonetheless, her wide, dry eyes hinted she suspected everything when she dared to search his and Clyde’s faces. “You heard?” Drake asked. A nod of her head was his answer. “I’m so sorry, Sharlene.” “Go away, Drake.” A note of finality rang in her voice. “Sharlene?” Her expression vacillated between anger and sorrow. “Uncle Moot wouldn’t’ve been out there trying to squeeze a dime from a nickel if you and your cronies hadn’t screwed things up down here.” “You’re upset.” “No, I’m pissed!” She switched her emotions off, tuning him out. “Can we take the airboat and meet them, Mr. Clyde?” “Look at that sky.” He pointed to the metal gray clouds that blended with the dark waters. “Not on the open water, Sha.” “Then is there someone I can hire to get me out there? I need to get out there,” she repeated. “Sharlene—” She cut him off. “Are you still here?” “Sha, all reliable vessels are already in the hunt.” He patted her shoulder. “We wait.” That seemed to seal it for Sharlene, who moseyed up the hill en route to the store. Drake watched her dragging steps carry her away from him. All he could do was follow behind and monitor her progress. Her appearance caused a hush to come over the small gathering huddled on the sidewalk. He prepared to brave her wrath with one more plea when a nattily dressed man broke from the group. “Ms. Mouton?” Sharlene paused and turned at the calling of her name. “I’m Gary Maine. May I have a few minutes of your time?” “I have no comment regarding my uncle.” She started to push on.

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“I’m not a reporter, Ms. Mouton,” he explained. “I’m an attorney.” Drake and everyone within earshot listened. “Mr. Maine, your timing is atrocious. Please. Leave me alone.” Drake was about to intervene when the lawyer clarified his motives. “Ms. Mouton, I want to offer you a position with my New Orleans firm.” That stopped Sharlene dead in her tracks. She looked confused. “You came all the way down here to offer me a…a job?” Her eyes narrowed. “I don’t have any legal training, Mr. Maine. I don’t see how my presence would benefit your firm.” “You have exactly what we need, Ms. Mouton, a background in finance. We need a consultant.” “How do you know my qualifications?” she interrogated. “I have clients from this area since the spill. Some spoke highly of your knowledge in helping them weed through their contracts before they came to me.” His bushy silver brows slanted when his brown face frowned. “In addition, I saw your interview from last night that made mention of your blog.” Her eyes widened in surprise. “I didn’t say a thing about any blog,” she contested. “No, you didn’t,” he concurred. “The reporter did in his subsequent piece with the oil company’s spokesperson.” “Mr. Maine, I know I should be all over this opportunity because so many are in need of work and here you are…laying a prize at my feet.” She hesitated. “I can’t ask you to hold the position until my family situation is at least updated, if not resolved.” “But I can,” a voice in the background spoke out. Sharlene whipped to face Drake. “Butt out of my business.” Drake noticed everyone was looking at them as they sparred. “Who are you?” the lawyer asked. “A friend,” he said.

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At the same time, she snapped, “Nobody!” “Hmmm. I see.” He extracted a business card from his holder. “We’re in urgent need of your expertise. For that reason, I’ll give you a week to respond with your answer.” Accepting the card, Sharlene glanced at it. “Thank you, Mr. Maine. You’ll be hearing from me.” Drake watched the exchange as the attorney advanced on his black, foreign-made sedan. “Remember. One week from today.” Watching him drive off, she surmised anything could happen in a week. “Are you going to take it?” She turned a peeved expression on Drake. “I’d be a fool not to.” “I’ve got a feeling the Moutons don’t raise no fools,” he corroborated. Sharlene left him standing in the street as the crowd thinned out. He muttered out of her hearing range as he followed her into the store. “Now we may have a conflict of interest, Skeeter.” A sullen Sharlene went sat in a corner with her chin perched on her hands when he entered the store. It saddened him to know she was all alone in her misery. That was why he chanced another go at bridging the chasm between them. He sought Clyde out and now bore down on her with two cups of coffee. One cup hit the table under her nose, bringing her eyes up to his. A huge teardrop hung on her lower lid before spilling over. The sight mesmerized him as he watched it slide halfway down her cheek, cling there for all of a second, and plop right into the cup. That did it. The sight of her tears twisted his insides. Drake stalked away and out the front door, with a brand new purpose.

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Chapter Fourteen The rumbling sound vibrated the wooden dock behind the store. A tri-horn blasted the quiet and brought Clyde out on the run. He admired the cut of the sleek white racer with the bold red stripes. Clyde hustled his arthritic body back inside with a yell. “Sha, come see!” Drake, who’d changed into casual wear, jumped to the dock just as Sharlene came rushing outside. She faltered, he supposed, at what met her eyes. But she acknowledged him with a slow, sad smile. The act caused his heart to go ca-boom. “Let’s go.” He ushered her up the walkway by the hand and onto the deck, making introductions as they took the center aisle to the cockpit. His companion merely smiled and nodded as he brought the throttle down to reverse. Drake helped Sharlene into her life vest as the boat eased away. Clyde saluted their departure. Soon they cruised the open water, their bodies rocking to the motion as they cut through the waves. Drake positioned himself at Sharlene’s back. His hands held the rail on either side of her body as a deterrent to her tumbling from the jerky gyration. A fine spray misted them as they sailed along. The constant swaying bumped Sharlene and Drake’s bodies together continuously. Passionate thoughts stayed at bay because of the serious nature of the expedition. They sped into the gray day on a mission of mercy. Drake did what he did for Sharlene, because he suspected it would do her good to escort her uncle’s pride and joy

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back to port. For him? Well, he drew satisfaction knowing he provided her that small bit of relief. “There they are!” Sharlene exclaimed. Drake saw the faint black spots dotting the surface of the water, way in the distance. He also felt the sporadic tremors she attempted to hide. The tight grip she had on the iron rail was another giveaway. “Relax, Sharlene. We have quite a while to go.” Sharlene looked at him over her shoulder. “Thank you so much, Drake. I can’t explain it…I mean…” “You’re welcome.” He kissed the side of her face exposed to him, continuing in a somber voice. “I think I understand.” They rode in silence as the boat bounced and bumped over the choppy water. The minutes ticked down to seconds with the flotilla enlarging in size. The BayouBabe lurched along, pulled by a tow. Trawlers flanked her on all sides. The captain of the speedboat slowed to maneuver a wide arc around the group, doing an observation lap. Sharlene’s posture stiffened. Drake felt her heart racing so fast the beat competed with the thundering motor. A shaky hand wiped moisture from her unbelieving eyes. “Uncle Moot!” she screamed while scrambling to be free of Drake’s shielding embrace. He held tight. “He’s alive, Drake!” “I see him.” Moot stood at the wheel as big as day. Pausing from the strenuous steering job, he gestured to Sharlene by tipping the brim of his cap. The use of one hand nearly cost him control of his hobbling craft. The quick recovery brought a smile to his lips. Sharlene escaped Drake’s hold and darted to the narrow foot ledge rimming the boat. The going was risky for the surface glistened with water. The deck shoes she wore hardly mattered for she slid a time or two before arriving safely on the forward platform. Drake closed in on her sporting a not-so-pleased look. “You’re going to get yourself killed!”

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The bite of his words stung. Sharlene was just about to retaliate when she recognized that mournful look in his eyes. Her ire deflated. She refused to blast him after realizing he only had her best interest at heart. Besides, she was elated with the turn of events. Her world revolved from tragedy to triumph. Her uncle survived a horrific ordeal. Thanks to the stabilizing effect of the man next to her, Sharlene had reasons to smile again. Drake shepherded Sharlene to the captain’s chairs situated in the bow. He stole her hand once they sat in the open air. They had front row seats, which enabled them to see Moot hard at work. Drake marveled at Moot’s abilities to wrestle with the wheel, especially at his advanced age. He had no idea Moot tussled with the outrage of him getting too chummy with his kin. Or that he overlooked the fact Sharlene was very receptive to him. It was sailing at a snail’s pace, but they finally floated into port to the accompaniment of boat horns and cheers from the dock. Drake was astonished by the number of residents gathered to welcome home one of their own. He witnessed Sharlene’s hyperactivity. She barely contained her eagerness to disembark with restless pacing until their boat pulled up at Clyde’s. He had an image in his head of her leaping to the dock because the gangplank took forever to go down. Drake trailed her, keeping a close eye out for her safety. Sharlene was off and running through the store to get to the street. She trampled anyone in her way, slowing only when she reached the dock. He heard her uncle before he even rounded the corner. Moot aggressively resisted all attempts to load him onto a stretcher. “Nothin’ wrong wit’ me!” He fended off his would-be helpers. “Uncle,” she called. Drake delayed his approach while she stood at Moot’s side. “You need medical attention.” “I need a swig,” he balked, pushing up on one elbow to leave the stretcher.

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“You deserve one, ol’ friend.” Clyde rushed up, out of breath. “On the house!” Sharlene eased closer when Moot seemed to have trouble finding his land legs. His gait had him staggering all over the place. She stepped every time he did to maintain close proximity. Drake stayed his distance primarily because Sharlene’s uncle insisted on clinging to whatever happened years and years ago. Until now, the story held no importance. The fact he desired to act on his attraction to Sharlene Mouton changed his outlook on things. She offered no put-ons. The enduring qualities she possessed reeled him in every second he was in her company. Her caring nature and uplifting smile enchanted him. Prior to this, he had all but given up on the dating scene. Too much drama. Too little substance. A simple swamp tour whetted his appetite to indulge again. The brief, electrifying encounter with Sharlene lit the spark of life dimmed by his loss. He would chance her rejection rather than not give himself a chance at all. He wasn’t the only one following them into the store. Those instrumental in pulling off the daring rescue sent their loved ones home. They hung around swapping stories and hoisting a few in celebration, thanks to Clyde’s generosity. Drake took in the way they closed ranks around Moot at the nosiness of an embedded reporter. She didn’t go away empty-handed. Her persistence got her a quick interview with lots of local flavor. But not one with Moot. The festivities carried on with Drake winding his way out back to the dock. The waterway shimmered silver in places highlighted by the bright shining moon in the sky. Diamonds cluttered the inky night, a stark difference from the day’s dawning. A flash streaked across the sky to fizzle into the darkness. “That was gorgeous!” Drake turned. It was as if the star’s trail transferred its energy to them as they looked at each other from across the open spaces. His emotions rioted.

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Her graceful stride brought her toe-to-toe with him. “You’re gorgeous,” he blurted. “My head says I slept the enemy. My heart has no business hinting—it’s not so sure. “Skeeta!” Moot rammed the fission to smithereens before Drake could answer. “Uncle Moot,” Sharlene protested. “It’s time to use my real name.” He stumbled forward. “Time to head to the house.” She grinned. “You’re drunk.” “Got a right to be.” “Yes, you have,” she agreed. “Come on. Let’s get you home.” Starting him on his way, she paused to look at Drake. “Do you always redeem yourself with such flair?” He looked puzzled. “The boat was a nice touch.” “Wait’ll you see what I do for an encore.” Her brows quirked. “Need a ride home?” “No, thanks.” She refused his kind offer. Sharlene corralled Moot as he headed off down the pier. “The truck.” The realization she was stranded struck. They thanked Clyde on the way out the door. Drake and Sharlene sandwiched Moot between them on the walk to his car. A couple of times he halted midstride to scrutinize Drake, weaving back and forth in his boots. “Son of a bitch!” His condition exposed a side that surprised Sharlene and apparently flabbergasted Drake. Moot moved on, leaving them with their jaws hanging.

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Chapter Fifteen The ride to Moot’s progressed in companionable silence until Sharlene gave in to temptation. “Who’s Becky?” she whispered, certain Moot’s snoring in the backseat covered her question. “My grandmother.” She tried to find his eyes, but the dash lights couldn’t compete with the darkness. “Why do you ask?” Sharlene’s inquisitive nature took hold. “Did she ever live in Pauchex Pass?” “I don’t believe so.” “Drake, who was the relative you mentioned that resided here back then?” “My grandfather was born and raised here. Left in his early twenties after his father was killed in the war.” Even though they spoke in lowered voices, Drake’s rumbling punctured the quiet. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Sharlene swiveled his way. “That’s there’s a connection? Yes, I am.” “You believe Mr. Mouton and my grandfather were sworn enemies?” “No.” She rejected his conclusion. “Not at first, anyway.” “Come on, Sharlene. If you know something, spit it out.” The edge in his voice told her he didn’t like where this topic headed. “I think my uncle and your grandfather were in love with the same woman.”

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Drake let loose a hearty laugh that circulated in the car and cuddled Sharlene all over. She liked what she heard. Hearing that degree of cheerfulness from him was encouraging. Maybe he was on the way to healing. “Well, I guess that’ll do it…turn friends into enemies every time,” he rationalized. “Their dislike apparently went to the extreme, Drake.” “Explain that.” “They seemed to have had a…a duel.” “What?” he exploded. “Shh,” she cautioned. She twisted around to see Moot, head thrown back, mouth wide open. “I have your company contacts to thank for that piece of info.” The need to twist the knife was too hard to resist. “The reporter poked me in the ribs with the name he intended to investigate. The public relations man used the duel to bribe BabyBabe99er into silence. Need I say more?” “Goddammit!” “Don’t talk to me like that,” she demanded, preparing for a fight. “And lower your voice.” “Why didn’t you tell me he threatened you?” “What would you have done, Drake? You work for them.” The headlights cut a perfect horizontal line, splitting the darkness in half. Trying to mask the fallout of the argument was virtually impossible for Sharlene as Drake flew down the two-lane highway. Personal overtones of the dispute clamped her mouth shut. Disappointment and anger, emotions she had no right to entertain, reared their ugly heads. Shortly afterward, Drake veered off the highway and directly onto the private road that lead to Moot’s house. They traveled the half-mile through the thickets to the front door where he and Sharlene got out without a passing word. Sharlene opened the rear door to rouse Moot. Drake waited at her elbow to lend a hand.

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“Uncle Moot, we’re home.” She clawed at his arm to get him to stir. “I’ll get him,” Drake said. Sharlene pivoted only to find herself physically shuttled aside. “You get him then.” She had her doubts about Drake handling her uncle’s dead weight because of his wiry appearance. Apparently, Drake had no such qualms. She scrutinized him when he shifted Moot’s lower torso to clear his legs from the car, bent with a shoulder to his middle, and heaved him out—up—and over his shoulder. Sharlene retreated a step to avoid a collision as he backed into the clearance to avoid bumping Moot’s head. The quizzical look on his face deserved acknowledging, but she remained quiet about it. “What?” “What…what?” She covered her disbelief by preceding him up to the porch. He admired her sensual moves as she hopped up the steps in a hurry to open the door. Her actions caused him a tremendous discomfort. Moot’s frame was a feather compared to the pressure in other parts of his body. Just remembering the last time he and Sharlene climbed those steps together simmered the blood in his veins. She turned on the light, faced Drake suddenly, and caught the diamond glitter in his ebony eyes. Oh my God! I’m a cougar, and he’s a cub! “Bring him in here.” She dashed to Moot’s room and threw back the covers. “Lie him down. I’ll get him out of those damp clothes.” As soon as his head hit the pillow, she braced her palm on Drake’s upper arm to start his departure. “Thanks for your help.” Sharlene exchanged places with him and sped toward the door. “See you later, Drake.” The disapproving grunt swung her around. Drake had already removed Moot’s boots and worked on getting his wet jeans off. Next to hit the floor beside the sweat socks was his T-shirt. Sharlene cut him off when it seemed he was about to say something.

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“If you know like me, you’d stop right there.” “He’s a man. I’m a man.” He braced for a discussion he knew to come. “Better me than you.” “He’ll be so angry I let you anywhere near him.” “Sharlene, you had no choice due to your concern for his health. Remember, he spent hours battered by an angry sea. Your defense is his well-being.” She ransacked Moot’s chest for nightclothes, providing Drake a pair of clean striped pajamas. At that point, she left a man to do a man’s job. Sharlene busied herself in the kitchen putting the finishing touches on the coffee started last evening. Drake’s appearance provoked her to head for the door. “Thanks again.” She flung it wide open. “Aren’t you going to offer me a cup?” “I’m worn out, and I’m sure you are, too.” “You owe me the rest of the story, Sharlene.” “You know all I know.” She kept her answers short and curt to discourage his visit. Drake covered her hand, the one holding the door. “I really came to warn you yesterday.” He eased the door to a close. “I didn’t tell anyone your identity,” he promised, leaning closer. Sharlene ducked. “Business association only.” The coffeepot beeped right on time. She escaped right under his nose. Two mugs and the fixings hit the table. Sharlene used that distraction as her invitation for him to wander over to a seat. She bustled about the kitchen in an attempt to give the goose bumps that sprang up on her arms time to vanish before she joined him. She’d forgotten the warm, homey sensation that surrounded one when in the presence of someone special. Sharlene poured the steaming hot coffee, took her seat, and sampled her creamy, sweetened brew. She eyed Drake over the rim of her cup, cognizant that he pretended indifference to her blatant

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observation. Her secret thoughts evaporated into thin air throughout the cozy kitchen with each hindered breath she inhaled. **** The very idea Drake faced a challenge to his love sobriety intensified the nagging question about his future. He had muddled through life on autopilot since the tragic deaths of his family nearly four years ago. Work was his company keeper—his sanity regulator. Looking at the gorgeous redhead on the other side of the table had him wondering if he was ready for a heart fixer. Better yet, was she ready for him? He spooned sugar into his coffee, lounged back in his seat, and kept a daring eye on Sharlene. Sharlene returned his gaze. Her eyes shifted from his face to keep track of each sweep of his hand as the spoon clanged against his cup. The ticking seconds strengthened his resolve to pursue her affections. They sipped through a six-cup pot— slowly. Drake was satisfied to savor the quiet moment where only she existed in his world. **** Yet Moot’s eyes trained on them as he drew up short at the edge of the darkness. His drunken stupor caused the eerie sight before him. His knuckles pressed into his eye sockets. All was the same when they reopened. A time warp swirled, spinning him years in the past. The Cormier sitting at his table was none other than his lifelong enemy and girlfriend-stealing ex-friend. Rage ignited. **** Movement in the hall lured Sharlene to look over Drake’s shoulder just as Moot tottered forward. The determination on his face

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alerted her to his intentions. She knew Drake was unaware of the impending attack on him and yelled, “Uncle Moot!” She jumped too late to thwart the altercation, seeing the entire episode in slow motion. Drake struggled to his feet under Moot’s haphazard hold on his collar. His body knocked the table several times before he wrangled himself into position to subdue the older man. His arms angled under Moot’s armpits to latch his hands behind her uncle’s head. Moot’s thrashing collided with the table, crashing their cups to the floor, scattering stoneware shards all over the place. It was just Sharlene’s luck to get pushed down on her hands and knees in the debris field. Her screams halted the tussle as both men spun at the sound. Only Moot was out of breath and panting. “Stop it!” she yelled, angry at them for dominating her emotions. On all fours, Sharlene lifted one hand and then the other to inspect the damage. Fortunately, her injuries were minor cuts to the heel part of her palms. Drake’s strong hands on either side of her body hoisted her to her feet. She wrenched free and headed for the sink. Water irritated the red-tinged areas, prompting her to fan away the pain. Sharlene counted to ten in an effort to tame her temper. From her perspective, Drake was completely free of fault. He only defended himself. In her opinion, her uncle’s actions were unjustified. “Ya look just like ’im. Guess my head was mixed up.” Sharlene endured her uncle’s apologetic look. A swipe of a paper towel to dry her hands and she stooped to clean up the mess instead of responding to his comments. If she spoke up now, she was liable to say something regrettable. He’d had enough turmoil without her adding to his already weighty load. “Sha?” She gave him her undivided attention. “My head was fuzzy.” The trip to the trashcan cooled her temper. A covert look at Drake, and Sharlene remarked, “You owe us the short version of the long story, Uncle.”

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Drake stood riveted in place. Moot ho-hummed in indecision. Ghosts of the past seemed to haunt him. Would the likelihood of alienating her make him come clean? His eyes dissected Drake. Sharlene pushed the table back in place, claimed a seat, her mannerisms signaling her willingness to listen. “The duel?” “Back then, people lived by the code. Some even died by it. His grandpa was a poacher. Got what he deserved by his own wild shot. Weren’t no duel!” “This is all about poaching your traps, Mr. Mouton?” Sharlene heard Drake rush to wrap up the details in a nice, neat package. “Nothing, whatsoever, to do with my grandmother,” Drake proclaimed. “Ya do have her eyes…and his gall.” “He poached more than traps.” Sharlene summed it all up. “Sweet Becky was a bus rider on a mission to register voters back in them days. We soughta hit it off…me and her. Worked the area together ’til things got too dangerous and violent.” He sat like the load was too much to bear. “Took a lot to convince her she did her part— that, the rest was up to the locals. Put her on the Greyhound myself.” Moot’s look drifted into space. “Went behind my back, yo’ grandpa did. By the time I made it up north, he don’ snibbled, snuggled, and snatched her away.” They looked from one to the other. “Probably for the best, Uncle Moot.” Sharlene patted his wrinkled hand. “Those were intolerant times.” “Thought that part of my life was put to rest.” He got up slowly without his usual pep. “Guess I was wrong.” Those words conjured up the terrible loss as Moot slipped back into the darkened hallway. Sharlene chanced a look at Drake. He rooted in the same spot near the door. The strained silence was a partition separating them. She didn’t know what to say as her thoughts ran wild with the “what ifs”

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as it related to Moot and his trials, and the “why nots” concerning her friendship with Drake. Reasons not to get involved with him circulated in her brain on their second meeting. The list just kept growing. It was time to put an end to their fling. Nothing good could ever come of it. She was far too seasoned. He was too sorrowfully afflicted. She sighed before getting up to come his way. The hand she dabbed with the paper towel was confiscated by Drake, who tenderly thumbed the scratches. The premonition this was the finale of their friendship was overpowering. Her refusal to respond to his touch was the clincher. “Thanks for everything, Drake.” He didn’t argue when she withdrew her hand and opened the door. “I’d like to spend more time with you, Sharlene.” A timid smile touched her lips. “There’re too many years—” “Don’t do that. Make age an issue when it’s not.” “It’s not an excuse, Drake. It’s simply the truth. Your associations should enrich your life…get you closer to establishing your new future.” “I’m not opposed to a new future,” he explained. “If something develops in a relationship, that’s a good thing. I know I enjoy your company. The question is do you enjoy mine?” “My…company…is off-limits.” “I’ll take that as a yes.” He smacked her quickly on the lips and left her swallowing her rebuttal.

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Chapter Sixteen Once again, Sharlene sat in the bleachers with her uncle awaiting the start of the scheduled meeting. She sifted through the low-key murmurings detecting an attitude of hopefulness. Her outlook was similar because of her reinstatement into the working community. Her career bloomed. Now she divided her time between New Orleans and Pauchex Pass, continuing her endeavors to give something back. She searched the attendees for any signs of Drake. They managed a brief supper at Clyde’s one night over a week ago and had no contact since that time. She was extremely busy consulting. The everevolving crisis lassoed his time. She knew they would hook up sooner or later. The rolling hush over the crowd whipped her head around to take in the march of the company’s entourage. They settled onstage, their grim faces giving a sneak peek of what was to come. They were all pinstriped and dress-shirted down, including the lone woman in the group. Their aloof air screamed unapproachable. A sightless person could see the meeting was a wrap before it even got started. Sharlene ducked and dodged to peer between bodies in her effort to spot Drake. He wasn’t on the stage. He wasn’t at the info table. His face wasn’t one of those hanging in the doorway. She slumped back at the noise of the gavel rapping the table. “This meeting is called to order,” the man in charge said. “New developments have caused revisions in some of the stipulations set forth by the company.” That statement started the hiss and catcalls from the audience.

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“Mr. Esterhaus, our new liaison officer, will bring you up-to-date on the conclusions about the oil sighted in Pauchex Pass.” **** Sharlene’s erect posture alerted Moot to an internal storm in the brew. Her life was slowly getting back on track since she started work. There was a noticeable difference, too, in the return of her easygoing manner. He saw her stress reduce with the interest shown by that pain in his ass, Cormier. Moot solemnly admitted to the fascination Cormier emitted when in her company. Moot called it like he saw it. Their infatuation was a spark for all to see. He glanced at Sharlene. Who was he to object? Anyway, times had changed. Or had they? The steel in her spine compounded by the current introduction hauled his attention back to the stage. He zoned in on the multitude of complaints from his fellow residents and sniffed betrayal in the air. Moot didn’t have to look at Sharlene to know how she felt. The deep breaths and fidgets exposed feelings rubbed raw. “Wher’ that Cormier boy?” Sharlene’s mouth dropped at Moot’s question. “Mr. Cormier has moved on.” **** That answer was short and very telling. Sharlene heard little of the discussion after that revelation. Her mind wandered to private places shared with Drake. Remembering them, even now, set her adrift. “Sha.” The calling of her name burst the cloud bubble. She landed hard. “Yes, Uncle Moot?” “It’s over.” “Yes, it is,” she agreed, but for other reasons.

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Sure enough, the meeting ended and people escaped to either take their places in line at the table or shoot out of the door. She was clueless as to what happened. And—there was no way she’d ask her uncle for a rundown. To do so would give her dilemma away. Sharlene and Moot descended the bleachers, one careful step at a time. “It was kinda short this time,” he supplied, filling in the blanks he knew she missed by that faraway look in her eyes. “More paperwork ’cause they couldn’ rule beyond a shadow of a doubt the oil in the Pass weren’t their fault.” They streamed through the crowd tailing a line to the parking lot. Moot waited patiently while she absently took her time in closing the door. Her body was finally in, though the rest of her wasn’t there. The motor did its usual whine before it started up. Her mind was a million miles away. Yet Sharlene’s instincts kicked in when she realized he turned in the opposite direction from the house. “Where’re we going?” “It’s early. Thought a nibble at Clyde’s would be good.” “I’m not really hungry, Uncle.” “When you don’t want that red syrup?” He tried to make her feel better and she knew it. “You’re right.” She perked up a bit. “That’s just what I need.” A cool drink, not reminiscing about a warm body. Sharlene and Moot followed a line of vehicles, and they all headed to town. As it turned out, they weren’t the only ones patronizing Clyde’s this evening. He just made it there to unlock the door as they arrived. The Open sign flashed on in neon colors while they parked. “What’s going on?” Sharlene asked. “Clyde touched in the head, that’s what.” They parked up the street and got out to live Zydeco music strumming in the air. The stroll back to the store lightened her mood, especially seeing the string lights decorating the al fresco eating area.

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Her walk took on a little bounce the closer she got. Laughter swelled as those on the makeshift dance floor enjoyed themselves. They crossed the threshold, and the next thing Sharlene knew Moot had her in a backhand twirl in the middle of all the action. Her uncle was a real stepper in his alligator boots for someone nearing eighty. The gaiety infected them as they Zydeco-stepped their troubles away along with the rest of the town. The exertion stimulated the return of Sharlene’s appetite. After a while, she parted ways with Moot, who showed no signs of tiring as he crowded in with two female dancers, whirling one by each hand. Clyde had help behind the counter fulfilling orders as fast as requested. She waited her turn to order, keeping a lookout at the partygoers. The kaleidoscope of colors mesmerized her. Clyde’s tap on her shoulder startled her. “What ’cha having, Sha?” “I think we’ll try that boudin plate”—she pointed to the menu on the wall behind him—“with potato salad on the side, Mr. Clyde.” She had to yell over the music. “What are we celebrating?” “The annual white shrimp season.” “From what I’ve seen, there was barely any season at all.” She beat back the sadness. “All the more reason for this outlet. Gator huntin’ ’bout to start. We need to kick up our heels a little. Just look at Moot.” She scoped out the dance floor as he talked. “He don’t squander no second chance.” Sharlene’s grin showed all of her teeth as she spun completely around to watch. Her gaze faltered when a familiar outline dotted the doorway. She vacillated between her uncle’s constant movements and Drake’s stationary form. He staked out a new place just inside the door to observe the happenings. Then—their eyes collided. Sharlene couldn’t deny the current that zapped her. A happy look touched on his face as she watched. She wanted Drake to whisk her

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onto the dance floor just to feel his strength against her body. The longer they stared, the more intense the surge. The queasiness in Sharlene’s stomach drove her out for a breath of fresh air. She lost herself past the small group gathered under the sprinkle of white lights on the rear dock. The fact his presence affected her in such a way heaped on the guilt of blatantly ignoring her “why not” list. Her mind traipsed back there. “Going in for a drink?” He hovered at her back. “Thought you were long gone.” She never turned. “I’m not going to let you get rid of me so easily.” Sharlene crunched her shoulder upward, trapping his head in the spot where he nibbled her neck. His breath seared her skin making breathing almost impossible. His magnetism was so alluring. Her body molded to his when Drake’s arms solidified the bond. She had to project some control even if she didn’t feel any. “Heard about your new job.” “Yes. I’ve been reassigned.” “So we were told today at the meeting.” She pretended to be unfazed. Her body tensed. “I had to be free to pursue my options.” “Of course. I’m happy for you, Drake. The situation here could drag on for years.” The topic of discussion dimmed the beauty of the mystic swamps before them. “Aren’t you curious why the sudden change?” “Not really.” She told a shameless lie. Drake spun Sharlene and kissed her tenderly, all in one fell swoop. He parted, dispensing tiny nips with his teeth. “I’ll tell you anyway.” Sharlene reacted too late. Her lips tingled from the close encounter. She was statue-still, for his thumb and finger kept her in that pose. His other hand braced the small of her back. The twinkling lights reflected in his eyes. “Drake?”

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“Shh.” His lips seized hers, again. “The last thing the people need is a hint of impropriety.” Honesty brimmed in his eyes. “Don’t fight the inevitable, Sharlene. Your new job, congratulations by the way”— he digressed to show his support—“convinced me to request a transfer.” “You…you requested? That was completely unnecessary and you know it.” “What I know is…I’ve come alive in the short time I’ve known you,” he admitted. Let’s see where this takes us.” “It can’t take us anywhere, Drake,” Sharlene whispered glumly. “We’re too far apart in too many ways.” He wouldn’t be dissuaded. “Go on. Get it out of your system. Tell me how our ethnicities matter…our ages. One thing you can’t count—and that’s conflict of interest.” He was right about that last factor. “This conversation isn’t going to happen.” She fell short of breaking his hold. Drake meant business. He was ready to heal his hurt. His head dipped to reverently touch his forehead to hers. “This is a long time in coming for me, Sharlene. I’m asking you not to send me away without exploring what could be.” **** Moot joined Clyde at the rear window as Sharlene and Drake hashed out the terms of their blossoming romance. Clyde felt his old friend’s distraught presence. “New day, Moot.” “Same ol’ Cormier, Clyde.” He didn’t like what he saw, even if he’d apologized later for his attack. “Gon’ put a stop to that!” Moot got no farther than the end of the counter. His eyes cut to the hand on his arm. “You gon’ do to them what was done to you all those years ago?” “Not the same thing,” Moot declared.

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“Is if they want to be together and someone stop ‘em.” Clyde knew the depth of their relationship—something he kept to himself. “You ain’t gon’ let Sha miss out ’cause she don’t want to go against you, are ya?” Moot seemed to debate the question as he advanced on the door in time to see Sharlene palm both of her hands to Drake’s chest. What she said to him was anybody’s guess. What tumbled from her mouth as her eyes closed and her head shook made him wish he was a lip reader. **** While Moot spied, Sharlene continued to discourage Drake. “You’ve skipped over the most important ‘why not.’” Her eyes batted to dispel her flagrant admiration for the man. Drake’s arm snaked around Sharlene’s waist. He trapped her in his web of desire, weaving his spell like a sorcerer. She scuffled with temptation, trying to remain clearheaded and detached. His magnetism was just too strong. Her will weakened. Then her uncle filled the doorway. “Corm-i-er!” The couple froze. Sharlene sensed Drake’s adamant nature by the way his fingertips charred through her clothing. She clutched his biceps for a long, scrutinizing look into his eyes. “Uncle Moot—” “Quiet, Sha.” Moot came over to where they commiserated. “See them swamps out ther’?” His pause urged them to look into the dense darkness. “One sad tear roll from her eyes ’cause of you, Cormier…and ya alligator chum.” He didn’t linger for a reply. His menacing stamp of approval eased Sharlene’s affliction. She rested her head over Drake’s heart, hearing the kettledrum beat of excitement. Her arms slithered under his to grasp his shoulders. His excitement transferred. Sharlene nudged him lightly, and Drake leaned to take control of her lips. The taste was intoxicating.

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He came up for air. “I hope this means you’ll give me a chance.” His voice was gravelly when he spoke, his breathing irregular. A surrendering smile graced her lips. Sharlene traced the outline of his bottom jaw, whispering, “My answer…is…yes,” to the full complement of his teasing kisses. Her hands shifted to fondle the hair at the nape of his neck. The look in her eyes caressed him like a warm summer’s breeze. His flood of loneliness was over. Drake’s clinch tilted her into position to receive his passion-laced kiss. Her sensual zeal caused everything else in his world to gradually recede. Sharlene answered his epic show of fondness with a soft moan, realizing sometimes good things sprang from bad events. The Gulf oil catastrophe perpetuated a domino effect that Pauchex Pass would feel for years to come. She committed to continue to do her part in the recovery for she owed her new infatuation to that tragedy. She was ready to spread her wings. There was no one she’d rather soar with than the man who presently rained warm, tender kisses all over her face, proving he shared her affection. Their embrace loosened as the seal of silence cracked and allowed the surrounding noises to rush into their cocoon. Sharlene swayed to the music as an excuse not to let him release her. The powerful charge that jolted her obviously zapped him, too. She had no crystal ball to look into the future. Only the shimmering aura surrounding them forecast the magical promise of an enduring, loving relationship, as once more, he ravaged her lips. **** BayouBabe here. It’s been a while. Some things have changed. My handle is one of them. But the reasons for the posts haven’t. It’s been a year since the spill and a month since my arrival. Recovery is a slow, inconstant process continually hindered by bureaucracy and red tape. Depending on whom you ask, livelihoods in Pauchex Pass will

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or will not ever get back to normal. Yet, my fellow readers, you can play a role in the Pass’s revitalization. Come down for a meal. The waters fished, crabbed, and shrimped have been cleared. We’re only two hours or so from the closest big city. We welcome you. So come for a visit. Until the next time. Formerly BayouBabe99er

THE END WWW.MICKIESHERWOOD.COM

ABOUT THE AUTHOR Mickie Sherwood is an author and novice photographer, who takes nature pictures right in her own backyard. She loves to engage in her favorite pastime which also incites her creativity. Combine that aspect of her life with the enjoyment of spending time with her family and cruising vacations, and the development of interesting characters who encounter intriguing circumstances is not very far behind. Mickie also likes a good laugh. Enjoy the humorous stories she tells about life at her blog—Mickie’s Mutterings.

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