Monique blinked. Yet? What was she thinking? She could not let him touch her
that way, couldn
’
t let him do anything to her that way. Ryan
Chappelle
was a
spirit. She wasn
’
t. Case closed. And she
’
d do good if her mind remembered that
fact, instead of letting her libido take over the reins.
He simply had to cross. That was all there was to it. And Monique had to find a
way to make that happen.
Hearing a car door slam, she wrapped the towel around her and moved to the
window. Gage stood beside his pickup and rolled his head from shoulder to
shoulder, then stretched his arms and yawned broadly. No doubt her older brother
had been up most of the night in the E.R. at
Ochsner
Hospital, and he
’
d probably
spent the early hours of the morning in a female
’
s bed. A lack of sleep didn
’
t
appear to affect his sexual appetite at all, yet he never seemed quite
satisfied.
As if sensing her presence, Gage turned his attention from assessing the storm
damage to the window where his sister stood. He grinned and gave her a friendly
nod, before turning toward Tristan, hauling a tree limb the size of a small car
toward the burn pile by the sugar cane. Shaking his head, Gage moved to join
Tristan, the oldest male cousin of the lot, currently using every one of his
firefighter skills to teach that big hunk of oak who was boss.
Monique smiled. Gage probably had had E.R. patients most of the night, and
Tristan had undoubtedly battled a fire during the same time period, yet both of
them were here, bright and early, ready to help with cleanup. Though they might
not live in the family plantation, the two oldest
Vicknair
males definitely did
their part to keep the place running. And speaking of
Vicknair
males…
Where was
Dax
? True, he usually visited a couple of the doctors on his
pharmaceutical route on Saturdays, but never this early.
Monique scanned the yard, covered in leaves and limbs that had been hurled from
the string of magnolias and huge oaks during the storm. The yard was a muddy
mess, plain and simple, and would require all of them working together to remove
the debris. Good thing she
’
d woken up early; she could help for an hour or two
before work. However, it was also Saturday morning, which meant Nanette would
expect all of them to gather, at least for a brief period of time, to discuss
restoring the house. Another fun day in the
Vicknair
neighborhood.
At least Monique had one positive thing on her mind to keep her going. Ryan
Chappelle
. Have mercy, he
’
d given her the best orgasm of her life last night,
and have mercy, she was determined to give him what he deserved, too. A trip to
the other side and to happiness. She just had to figure out how. But first, she
had to help the family.
She entered the kitchen to find Nanette, sitting at the ancient mahogany table
that had enhanced the center of the room for as long as Monique could remember
.
Eight people could sit comfortably around its perimeter, though
Vicknair
reunions often found many more huddled around it enjoying platefuls of
jambalaya,
étouffée
and
boudin
. Today, however, Nan was the only
Vicknair
around
and there were no plates at all on the table, just a big stack of papers and
notes, and a single steaming mug of coffee.
“
Morning.
”
Monique crossed the room toward the coffeepot, already half-empty
.
Either Tristan had enjoyed a cup or two before heading out, or Nan was working
on a serious caffeine fix.
Monique guessed the latter.
“
Dax
brought beignets before he left,
”
Nan said, indicating a brown-and-white
bag by the stove. She took another sip of coffee, then stood and crossed the
kitchen to rummage through the cabinet by the sink.
The kitchen cabinets were a deep mahogany that matched the table perfectly and
contrasted starkly with the white-tiled floor. Unfortunately, most of the
cabinets were scuffed and scratched, with a few lacking essential pieces of
hardware, like the one Nan had opened with her fingernails since the handle was
missing in action. The floor tiles had plenty of cracks and crevices too and
needed a good dose of TLC. However, next to her bedroom, the kitchen was still
Monique
’
s favorite room in the house, and she had the sudden desire to show it
to Ryan before he crossed over.
“
Someone named Pierre called last night after you went to bed,
”
Nan said,
jerking Monique
’
s thoughts out of this kitchen and into Pierre
’
s, where she
remembered his promise of doing her on his center island before the night ended
.
When she
’
d left him, she
’
d been miserable that it hadn
’
t happened; now, she was
elated that it hadn
’
t. Pierre would have been a quick fix to her sexual needs,
but he wouldn
’
t have affected her the way Ryan had. She swallowed. Ryan hadn
’
t
touched her, not physically, but he had touched her, emotionally.
She had to get him to cross.
“
Do you want the number?
”
Nan asked, finding the industrial-sized bottle of
ibuprofen in the cabinet and bringing it back to the table.
“
Number?
”
Monique asked.
“
Pierre
’
s number. He left it for you to call.
”
Nan grimaced as she pushed on the
cap.
“
It
’
s on the notepad by the phone.
”
“
No,
”
Monique said. She didn
’
t want to call Pierre, didn
’
t want anything to do
with Pierre, which was surprising, given she hadn
’
t had more than an orgasm with
Ryan. Logically, she should still want full-fledged sex, but she didn
’
t. Not
with Pierre, anyway. In fact, she realized with a tinge of disbelief, she didn
’
t
want full-fledged sex with anyone right now, except Ryan.
“
Oh, my,
”
she
whispered. She really needed him to leave, before he completely ruined any
chance of her having a normal relationship with a man again. Normal. As if she
even remembered the meaning of the word. Nothing about the
Vicknair
family was
anywhere near normal. Even so, she didn
’
t plan on adding
“
full-fledged sex with
ghost
”
to her ever-growing list of abnormal qualities.
“
What?
”
Nan asked, still working on getting the bottle open, her forehead
wrinkled in obvious discomfort. She wore a black tank top and khaki shorts,
quite a difference from the conservative attire she chose during the school
year, and black onyx studs were in her ears.
Monique stared at the dark, sparkling earrings, intense and round, like Ryan
’
s
glittering eyes. Her breathing hitched as she recalled the way they had darkened
even more when he was aroused.
“
What?
”
Nan repeated, her irritation palpable.
“
Nothing.
”
Monique placed her cup of coffee on the table, then reached for the
medicine bottle.
“
Let me help.
”
Sighing heavily, Nan handed it over, then smiled gratefully when Monique twisted
off the cap.
“
Advil and Community Coffee, the breakfast of champions.
”
Monique laughed softly, then took a sip of her own coffee and wondered if she
needed a few Advil, too, to help ease the tension caused by Ryan. Sexual
tension. Emotional tension. All-out tension. What if she never wanted another
man again? What if no one else would do?
With her mind on that agonizing possibility, she took a way-too-big gulp of
coffee then coughed her way through the scalding liquid passing down her throat.
“
Easy now,
”
Nan said.
“
Something wrong?
”
“
You
’
re the one popping Advil with your coffee,
”
Monique pointed out between
coughs, not willing to share her own personal dilemma. Heaven knew that Nanette
was worried enough about saving the plantation; Monique didn
’
t need to add the
fact that she wanted to do a ghost to Nan
’
s current troubles.
“
Tristan brought some information on the
Godchaux
-Reserve house, that plantation
further down River Road that was approved for the National Register of Historic
Places. He thought we could look at what they did to get added to that list and
follow their example. Right now, we
’
re just trying to get restoration money from
the local Historical Society, but if that place got national status and national
funding, we might have a chance at that, too.
”
“
Sounds like a good idea.
”
Nan flipped through the pages and took another sip of coffee.
“
Why couldn
’
t the
Vicknair
family have gotten into selling coffee like the
Saurage
folks in Baton
Rouge? With their Community Coffee—
”
She took another sip from her mug.
“
—and
the fabulous way they blend the chicory just right, they
’
re set for life. We, on
the other hand, are still dealing with sugar cane and surviving year-to-year
.
You never know what the cane is going to bring in, and with all of these
hurricanes and not enough flood insurance, it
’
s never enough.
”
“
But this is a sugar cane plantation,
”
Monique reminded her.
“
I know, and so is this
Godchaux
-Reserve house,
”
Nan said, holding up a page and
frowning.
“
Then why don
’
t we do what Tristan said and follow their example?
”
Monique
asked, thinking he might have actually found a way to end all of their
post-hurricane troubles. For nearly two years, they
’
d been trying to bring the
house back to the way it was before Katrina, yet even with all six of them
working constantly to follow the instructions Nan had regarding full
restoration, they had too little time and way too little money to do the job
right.
“
The thing is,
”
Nan said, getting up to pour another cup,
“
the way that
plantation got approved to receive money from the River Road Historical Society
was to turn the place into something like a museum. You know, a place where
people walk through and learn the history of a sugar cane plantation, that kind
of thing.
”
She paused to savor the first hot sip from the new cup.
“
Based on the
information in those papers, the federal government would even give us a tax
credit if we restored the house, but only if it
’
s income-producing, such as a
museum, like the
Godchaux
-Reserve place, or a bed and breakfast.
”
“
We could do that.
”
Monique brightened at the thought.
“
And we could probably
make enough off the tours to supplement the cane income, too.
”
Monique couldn
’
t
fathom why Nanette wasn
’
t outside hugging Tristan
’
s neck for finding the answer
to their prayers.
“
Hello,
”
Nan said sarcastically,
“
Think about it. A nice little group of folks
decides to take a nice little tour through our big ol
’
house and just happen to
cross the sitting room when a pale purple envelope materializes on the tea
service.
”