Authors: Sharon Sala
“Mike! Look! Grannie’s glasses and silver…and my mother’s china! It’s all here. I can’t believe it.”
Mike didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Her joy in the midst of such devastation was heart-wrenching.
“I’m so happy for you,
cher,
” he said. “I’m thinking we need to do a quick salvage job here…just in case of more bad weather.”
“Yes!” she said, and began turning in a little circle, clutching her hands against her chest. Then she caught sight of Aaron again and threw herself in his arms. “Thank you.”
Aaron grinned as he hugged her. “Well now, ma’am…I didn’t have any hand in how this happened. I just found it.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Cari insisted, then turned to Mike. “Can you drive the Range Rover over here? I want to get everything out now.”
“Absolutely,” he said. “Just let me grab a bunch of towels out of the motor home for packing.
And…I’ll need to unload the suitcases so the back will be empty.”
“I’ll help,” Aaron said, then added, “Uh…Mike said you guys had a dog. A black-and-white long-hair?”
Cari’s eyes widened as she remembered Tippy. “Yes.”
“I found him last night. Buried him under those trees over there. I laid that big rock on it to mark the place. Was that okay?”
A lump rose in Cari’s throat. “It’s more than okay,” she said.
Aaron patted her awkwardly, then hurried after Mike, leaving her to visit Tippy’s grave on her own.
Cari stopped at the mound of freshly turned earth, remembering the last time she’d seen Tippy alive. She’d been on the rise above the farm, and he’d been running for cover toward the barn.
“Poor Tippy,” Cari said, her voice trembling. “I hope you’re chasing lots of squirrels and butterflies. You earned the right to your own brand of heaven.”
Impulsively she knelt at the grave and pressed her hand hard and deep into the loose dirt, then stood. Looking down at the imprint of her hand, it almost appeared as if she’d given the old dog one last pat on the back. After that, she turned and walked away.
Lance was on the rise above the North property, careful to stay hidden behind the trees. He’d parked the four-wheeler about fifty yards back, just to make
sure the sound of the engine didn’t alert anyone to his presence. He’d been there since just before 10:00 a.m., watching a bald, middle-aged man digging through the debris, and decided he must be the man Jim Bob Greeley had mentioned, then dismissed him.
He’d been on the rise almost two hours when he’d seen a black Range Rover suddenly appear around the bend in the driveway. At that point his heart had started to pound. That had to be them! Any minute now he would have his answer.
He lifted the binoculars to his eyes, focused them on the arriving vehicle and waited for them to park. When they parked off to the side, just out of his view, he cursed in frustration and shifted position to the other side of the trees and focused the binoculars again.
He saw Mike Boudreaux first and began to fidget. He hadn’t expected the man to come with her. Boudreaux was a multimillionaire, for God’s sake. Even if Susan was really Susan, why would he be here cleaning up storm debris?
Then, suddenly, he saw a woman coming out from behind the motor home. Her head was tilted down, as if she couldn’t bear to look at her surroundings, but she walked like Cari, with a long, easy stride.
He saw Boudreaux take her hand. Then the woman lifted her head, and in that moment, Lance was seeing her—really seeing her—without bandages on her face or a sling around her neck, without the artifice of makeup or under the duress of a public
funeral. The hair was different. But the oval-shaped face was the same. Round eyes. Curved lips with the lower just the tiniest bit fuller than the upper.
“Fucking A,” Lance said, and let the binoculars fall until they dangled against his chest. It was just as he’d feared. Carolina North wasn’t dead. Not only had she put one over on the entire town of Bordelaise, she’d put an even bigger one over on him. He knew why she’d come back, and he would bet money it had nothing to do with clearing property. She was going to try to find that body she’d seen him burying. And when she did, she would turn his ass over to the police.
Now that he knew for sure she was alive, he knew that he’d been right about what he had to do. Get rid of the only witness to Austin Ball’s murder.
Frustrated and pissed, he stomped back toward his four-wheeler. He’d learned everything he needed to know. It was time to go home.
Hershel Porter was working a fender bender in front of the bank when his day dispatcher, Vera Samuels, called him on his radio.
“Porter here.”
“Chief. Just got a call from Katie Earle. She said she came home from the grocery store and found a message from J.R. on the answering machine. I don’t know the details, but it appears he’s surfaced. Maybe now we’ll find out what’s happened to Bobby.”
“Fan-freaking-tastic,” Hershel muttered, then re
alized he was on the air. “Uh…10-4, Vera. I’ll be heading over to Mrs. Earle’s shortly.”
“I’ll let her know. Oh…and one other thing.”
“What?”
“Um…a team of four men showed up here earlier asking for you. They said you were expecting them.”
Hershel immediately remembered the DEA agents coming to try to find their man.
“Fine. Tell them I’ll be in shortly.”
Hershel finished writing up the ticket he was giving to Prentiss Johnson for pulling away from the curb without looking and banging into a car that had been passing by. That the driver of the second car happened to be a teenager was immaterial to Hershel. The kid was in the right, and Prentiss was just going to have to deal with it.
Hershel ripped the ticket off his pad and handed it to Prentiss. “If you need a copy of the accident report for your insurance, it’ll be ready by tomorrow,” he said.
Prentiss was still cursing as he drove off. The teenager, a boy named Junior Emerson, was still upset. Prentiss Johnson had put a huge dent in the front right fender of his father’s car, shoving the metal hard against the tire and making the car unfit to drive.
“Daddy’s gonna blame me for sure,” Junior said, as he gazed morosely at the big dent in the white Chevy.
“Then you tell Daddy to give me a call,” Hershel said. “I’ll make sure he knows what happened.”
“Yes, sir. I will, sir,” Junior said, and then sat back on the curb to wait for the wrecker, as Hershel Porter sped off toward the Earle place.
Cari was stacking her mother’s china on the extra bed in the motor home when Mike came in with the last load. She pointed to an empty spot beside a stack of plates. “I’ve made a place over there.”
Mike put down the platters and bowls, then stepped back, examining the lot with a practiced eye.
“Looks like you’ve got it pretty well secured.”
Cari nodded. “I think so. I still can’t believe it. It’s like a sign from God, reminding me that I didn’t really lose everything after all. And I didn’t, you know? Besides this…I have memories. Precious memories.”
Then Aaron came in behind them carrying a large cardboard box. “Here’s the last of what I could salvage,” he said, as he set the box down on the floor. “There are a few pictures, a couple of figurines…anything that wasn’t completely ruined or too broken to reclaim is in there.”
“Thank you. Thank you, both,” Cari said, and dropped to her knees as she began to dig through the box.
Everything she touched, everything she saw, brought back a memory…a memory that brought tears to her eyes and a lump to her throat. All she had left of her world was these boxes.
Overwhelmed again by the scope of her loss, she covered her face and started to cry.
There was nothing Mike could do to make this better, but he wasn’t going to let her grieve alone. He sat down on the floor beside her, then pulled her into his arms.
“Cry,
cher
…that’s good, that’s good. Cry it all out and know you’re not alone.”
N
ight was coming to Bordelaise, bringing with it a dark, moonless sky. The air was still, leaving it with a hot, muggy feel. Lightning bugs were beginning to appear. An owl hooted from the woods nearby, and in the distance, a whippoorwill’s call lent a sad, lonely sound to the proceedings. Even though the sun had set and dusk was turning into night, Cari continued combing through the debris.
Mike had been beside her every step of the way, lifting the heavier pieces so she could search beneath and making sure she didn’t come to any harm. As the day had passed, he’d watched her steps slow and her stride shorten. There was a smear of dust on her cheek and a thin coating on the legs of her jeans. He’d watched waves of fresh grief come and go on her face so often he was physically sick. Finally she stumbled across a jumble of broken rafters and came within an
inch of running a nail through her tennis shoe and into her foot. That was when he called a halt.
“
Cher.
Enough.”
As Cari straightened, a bead of sweat took a dive down the middle of her back. “What did you say?”
Mike stepped across what was left of a small rocking chair and took her by the shoulders.
“You’ve done enough for one day. You’re so hot and tired you’re beginning to stagger, and I, for one, do not want to see you injured again. Please, Carolina…it’s time to go inside.”
She might have argued, but the gentleness in his voice was her undoing.
“Yes, okay. I didn’t know it was so late,” she said, as she wiped the dust from her hands onto the legs of her jeans.
“Take my hand,” Mike urged, as they moved toward the motor home. He knew she’d pushed herself beyond the limits of her endurance. He understood the anxiety that drove her, but it didn’t stop him from feeling concerned.
Cari didn’t know until they got inside how truly exhausted she was. Too weary to appreciate the luxurious furnishings or to cry another tear for the devastation of what had been her family home, she was still grateful for the air-conditioned comfort. The bits and pieces that she’d recovered from the wreckage were the only tangible memories she would ever
have of her life before the storm and were well worth the effort it had taken to find them.
“You shower first,” Mike said, and aimed her toward the bathroom.
Cari did as she was told, taking a clean nightgown from her suitcase before slipping inside the small, perfectly appointed bath. Conscious of the compact hot water heater and the need to share their resources, she didn’t linger in the shower, even though the hot water felt wonderful on her aching body. She dried quickly, found some talcum powder and lotion on a shelf, for which she blessed whoever had stocked the camper, and was beginning to feel like a new woman by the time she pulled the nightgown over her head.
As she exited, she could hear Mike on the phone in the kitchen. From what she could tell, he was firming up tomorrow’s plans with Aaron, although she hadn’t seen the man since the middle of the afternoon. Just after three, another member of Mike’s security team, Trent Joseph, had arrived in a red Jeep, picked Aaron up and driven away. From the snippets of conversation she was hearing, whatever they were planning had something to do with Lance.
She entered the bedroom, moving quietly on bare feet, then stopped in the doorway. Since she’d piled her mother’s dishes on the extra bed earlier in the day, there was no getting around the fact that this was the only bed left. She also knew that Mike had made a big deal out of the blankets and pillows he’d carried
into the living area earlier, obviously as an assurance that the bed would be hers alone.
She sighed.
There was no denying the attraction between them. If there was anything deeper than consideration and affection alongside that sexual attraction, only time would tell. What she did know was that the past week would have been hell without his care and attention. She knew he wanted her. The hard jut of his erection against her belly had been impossible to ignore, but to his credit, he’d never once pushed her to do something she wasn’t ready to consider.
But that was then, and this was now. She did want him—in the most elemental of ways. She needed to be someone other than a woman on the run. She wanted to feel something besides gut-wrenching grief. Mike had given her so much already, but if he offered more tonight, she knew she was going to take it.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
Cari felt his hand on her shoulder and turned around. “Feeling much better, thank you.”
“Give me five minutes to clean up and then we’ll eat. In the meantime, I made some sweet tea. It’s not as good as Songee’s, but it’s passable. Help yourself,
cher.
I won’t be long.”
Cari nodded, then tried not to stare as he pulled his T-shirt over his head and disappeared into the bathroom. It was the first time she’d seen his body, and while she wasn’t surprised by the lean and
muscled physique, the warm, olive cast of his skin was intriguing. She couldn’t help imagining what the rest of him must be like, then shivered with sudden longing.
Startled by the emotion, she decided iced tea was in order and headed for the kitchenette. Ever the perfect host, Mike had set out a small plate of appetizers, along with the pitcher of tea. Cari chose a bite of ham roll and popped it in her mouth, then took her tea and sat down on the sofa. The small flat-screen television on the opposite wall was on. She found the remote and upped the volume, then curled her feet beneath her, letting the sound wash over her without actually focusing on what was being said.
She thought back over the events of the day. The trauma of coming back to the scene of so much death and devastation, followed by the joy of finding the china cabinet. The consideration that Aaron had shown by burying the family dog. The box of keepsakes that he’d found, as well as the bits and pieces of memorabilia she’d uncovered later. But even more, Mike’s unfailing presence at her side, and his constant care for her comfort and safety.
A few moments later she heard the bathroom door open. She looked up just as Mike exited with a towel wrapped around his waist. She got a quick glimpse of long legs and a broad back before he slipped into the bedroom.
Startled by the surge of longing to follow him, she
jumped up from the sofa and went to the refrigerator to add some ice to her tea—anything to keep her mind off lying naked beneath Michael Boudreaux. She was putting a second ham roll in her mouth as Mike arrived.
“Those are good, aren’t they,
cher?
I think it’s the Dijon mustard Songee uses in the cream cheese that gives them such a kick.”
He reached over her shoulder and took one for himself, then gave her a quick kiss on the back of her ear before he put the food in his mouth.
A sharp rush of longing shot through her so fast it made her weak, and at the same time, she was shocked at herself. She wasn’t the kind of woman who fell into lust with a good-looking man. Then she shifted her inner guilt to the lifetime’s worth of drama she’d lived through this past week. Maybe it was her instinct for self-preservation reminding her to tap into something life-affirming that was causing all these emotions. And maybe not. All she knew was, she needed to feel something besides sorrow.
Mike swallowed, then licked a smear of cream cheese from his thumb as he sorted through the covered dishes in the fridge. “We have some chicken salad sandwiches on croissants, Cajun potato salad, pickled okra and deviled eggs. And…my favorite dessert, bread pudding with raisins and Bourbon sauce.”
Cari managed a smile. “Sounds like Songee knows the way to your heart.”
Mike turned around, about to tease her, but the look in her eyes ended the thought.
“Food fills my stomach…not my heart,” he said softly, then cupped her face with his hands, leaned down and slid a soft, searching kiss across her lips.
Cari moaned as she reached for him. Encircling his waist with her arms, she returned the kiss with intensity and the promise of more.
He took what she offered like a dying man in search of redemption, pulling her hard against him and then lifting her off her feet. He practically growled as he lowered her to the edge of the table. When he stepped between her legs, she shuddered.
“Ah…
cher,
do you know what you’re doing to me? You are playing with fire.”
Cari saw her reflection in the wild green of his eyes. She didn’t have time to be shocked by the wanton woman she saw there.
“I know perfectly well what I’m doing, and I’m not asking you for promises. Just solace. I’m tired and broken, and, oh God…I’m empty…so empty. Fill me, Mike, please fill me.”
She leaned forward until she was so close she could feel his breath on her face, then slid the tip of her tongue between his lips.
Mike grunted as if he’d been kicked, then picked her up from the table and carried her back to the bed. He paused long enough to slide the door shut, then dim the lights. Cari was already naked as he stepped
out of his sweatpants and dropped his T-shirt on the floor. Within seconds, he was beside her on the bed.
While there was something to be said for taking one’s sweet time, this wasn’t the moment for delay. The tension of the past week and the buildup of their emotions faded in the face of unstoppable passion. In a tangle of arms and legs, they held on to each other in a frantic manner, as if losing contact would mean being lost themselves.
And then they kissed. Until their lips were swollen and their breath was gone.
And they touched. Until their skin was on fire and their bodies aching.
Then they stroked. Until they found the rhythm to the dance of love.
Nothing mattered but the desire to reach their impending climax, and to reach it together.
Cari was the first to beg, but she didn’t have to ask twice. When Mike raised himself up and then over her, she was ready.
She felt him slide between her legs, then in.
She closed her eyes as he went deep.
When she wrapped her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck, a deep groan slid out from between his lips.
Cari sighed. “So good,” she whispered. “Don’t stop. Don’t stop.”
“Not until I die,” he said softly, then began to rock and thrust, hammering into her body in a wild animal
rhythm over and over, until she thought she might faint from the intensity.
Her climax came as suddenly as the tornado that had nearly ended her life. Consciousness burst behind her eyelids, disappearing in a white-hot flash of rushing blood and light.
Her cry shattered Mike’s concentration instantly, blinding him to everything but the shattering feel of his own release. He groaned as he held her fast, while the echoes of his climax rocked his body just as he’d been rocking hers.
“Ah…sweet Lord…sweet Carolina.
La…petite morte,
” he muttered, then collapsed on top of her.
Cari was still riding her own aching echoes when she heard the words. She sighed, complete within herself as she held him fast against her. Only the French would have such a beautiful phrase for the moment of climax.
La petite morte
. The little death. When the heart stops and the body gives up to the culmination of true passion. So he’d done as he’d promised: he hadn’t stopped until he’d died.
Finally he rose up on his elbows to look down at her.
Breath caught in the back of Cari’s throat as she looked her fill in turn. Black hair, green eyes, and that smooth, olive complexion, coupled with those high cheekbones and sensuous mouth, were enough to make a woman weep. Then he spoke.
“Tell me, Carolina…does your heart still ache?”
She shivered. “No.”
He kissed the right side of her mouth.
“And tell me, Carolina…are you still lost and empty?”
She cupped his face with her hands, memorizing the contours of his features, knowing this moment would be forever marked in her memory as the perfect act of healing and compassion.
“No, Michael. Not anymore. I’m full.”
He kissed the other side of her mouth, then touched his forehead to hers. “While I,
mon cher,
have been emptied of all that I am,” he said softly. Then he rolled onto his back and stared up at the ceiling above the bed. “And I can honestly say, I have never been so happy to oblige.”
Cari smiled, then rolled over onto her side and slid her arm across his chest. She didn’t want to think about tomorrow, or why she was so reluctant to let him go.
It was the way she turned to him instead of away that made Mike’s heart leap with longing. He didn’t know how he was going to make it happen, but for the first time in years, he knew what he wanted besides another successful business deal.
He wanted
her.
He wanted Carolina North—and not for just tonight. He wanted her in his world, in his bed—in his life. Every night and for the rest of his life. All he had to do was figure out how to get her in the same frame of mind.
He turned to face her, taking pride in the very satisfied expression on her face.
“I know you’re full,
mon cher
…but are you still hungry? And before you answer, please say yes, because
I
am starving.”
Cari laughed, then pushed herself up on one elbow. “Then I say, yes, Michael Boudreaux. I am very, very hungry…for food.”
Mike smiled, then watched as she got out of bed without any hint of embarrassment, picked up her nightgown and slipped out of the room and into the bathroom. A short while later, he joined her in the kitchenette, where they ate Songee’s cooking while going through the treasures Cari had found. With each one came a story. Mike let her talk, knowing that, with the telling, would come the first steps in healing, then eventually the time when remembering lost loved ones was a thing to savor.
Lance was a privileged son. He wasn’t accustomed to doing without. He liked to think of himself as a gentleman farmer. The tractors he used had air-conditioned cabs, while he hired local help for the harder, heavier work. He’d studied crossbreeding cattle, as well as new techniques in farming. He liked fine wines, good food and hot sex, and not necessarily in that order. The fact that he was readying himself for a nighttime foray through the woods, on foot, at the mercy of mosquitoes and snakes, was indicative of how desperate his situation had become.