Читать книгу Sweetheart Reunion - Lenora Worth - Страница 9

Chapter Two

Julien unloaded his catch of the day at the back of the Fleur Bakery, his eyes ever wary but hopeful for the sight of Alma. Wary because he knew she didn’t like having him around. Hopeful because he liked seeing her around.

Couldn’t be helped, either way, since they did business together. He occasionally provided fresh seafood to her restaurant and she cooked it up into some of the best around. And tonight, he had a few hundred pounds of fresh crawfish from the small farm he worked during the season. It looked to be a good year, even after all the heartache of storms and oil spills.

Julien loved springtime the best. It was a time of renewal and hope, a time when he remembered being young and carefree and in love. Fish jumping, fresh vegetables and fruit growing, swimming holes open and flowing, and long ago, Alma in his arms dancing at the annual spring festival. Lately, however, he didn’t seem to enjoy dancing the way he had when he was young and carefree. Nothing was the same without Alma, anyway.

Why had he waited so long to see that, to admit that?

The poet in him wanted to be young and carefree again, wanted that innocence of a first kiss, that newborn hope of a first dance.

He wanted what he’d had with Alma. That realization had hit him like a gale force wind the day they’d buried his daddy last fall. But it had taken him all winter to figure it all out.

The pragmatic side in him knew to quit dreaming and get on with the here and now. His late father’s birthday was coming up in a few days. That reminder made Julien less carefree and more somber. That and the fact that his baby brother, Pierre, twenty-one and on a path of self-destruction, needed Julien to be a better role model. No revelation there.

But Julien had managed a few epiphanies lately. He believed in signs, little hints from the Almighty. He didn’t have to be hit on the head to get it through his noggin that something in his life needed to change.

Alma walked out the back door, and both of those conflicting sides of him merged into a hopeful regret. Or maybe a regretful hope. Technically, they’d broken up in high school but Julien had never let go. Besides, they couldn’t avoid each other in such a small town. So they’d learned to be polite to each other, and over the years that politeness had aged into a patina of respect and appreciation, along with a rub of regret. He’d always been conflicted around Alma. Now he wanted to start over, all new and improved, and he wanted to win her back.

He smiled up at her now, determined not to show that conflict. Alma could sense turmoil the way an old-timer could predict a storm coming in off the gulf. She had that ability.

“Look, Alma. Got you some big, juicy bugs here.” He watched as his grumpy younger brother finished carrying the heavy bags full of still live crawfish into the storage area. Shooting Pierre a hard glance, Julien added, “Gonna be a good night on the bayou.”

Alma stood with her hands on her hips, looking for all the world like a pirate queen about to make a man walk the plank. “I reckon those will do just fine. Thank you, Julien.”

“Thanks back to you and I’ll take my check now.” He handed her a receipt, grinning to stop the pain edging through his heart. “You look tired, chère. Long day?”

Alma glanced away, irritation marring her pretty face. “It’s always a long day around here.”

Julien leaned one booted foot up onto the steps. “You work too much. You need to take some time away.”

“Since when are you so worried about my work schedule?”

Since he’d had an epiphany or two. But he couldn’t explain that to Alma. She worried about his lack of faith. She’d have him by the ear and through the church doors before he could say “Praise the Lord and pass the salt.”

So he said, “Since I’ve seen you in this place mostly every day and night for as long as I can remember.”

She fussed with checking his haul. “I get days off every week.”

“Oui, and you spend them mostly right here.”

“How do you know what I do?” Alma asked, her deep-blue eyes crashing like an angry ocean.

“I see you most every day so it’s kinda hard to miss,” Julien replied, the smile gone out of his words. “I worry for you.”

“Don’t,” she said, tossing hair away from her face. “Just get your load finished so I can get back to my customers.”

Something inside of Julien snapped. He’d had a long, hard day, too, and too long of a time thinking about her. And he was proud of his catch. He wanted Alma to be proud of him. Or maybe he just needed Alma to see him, really see him, again. She thought he was heartless, without a soul. But she’d never know how he prayed in the long, silent nights of longing for things he might not ever have. He’d prayed all right. He had faith. He just wasn’t one to go shouting it to the world.

“I think you should get away from this kitchen and your customers for a while.”

“I have work to do, Julien, so stop thinking and get back to unloading.”

“All done.” He hopped over the last two steps then said something to his brother in French. Pierre rolled his eyes but nodded then went back to the truck and cranked it.

“Your brother is leaving you,” Alma pointed out, nodding toward the roaring pickup.

“I told him to go on home,” Julien said, taking her by the hand. Then he turned to the window into the kitchen. “Miss Alma is taking a little break. Winnie, you can keep everyone happy for a while, can’t you?”

Winnie grinned into the window, her brown bangs flipped over the crinkles in her eyes. “Oui! Take your time.”

Alma pulled away. “Since when do you go ordering my staff around, Julien LeBlanc?”

He grabbed her hand and held tight. “Since you look like you’re about to fall out. Since you need to rest but you won’t do it. Since…just now when I decided to take matters into my own hands.”

Alma held back, glancing through the window to frown at the still grinning Winnie. “I don’t have time for your foolishness. I have people—”

“Who can cook and clean and smile at other people while you take a walk with me along the bayou. Five minutes, Alma. That’s all I ask.”

* * *

Alma stared down at his hand in hers, wondering why his big, tanned fingers seemed to fit so closely to her own work-worn hands. And wondering why she just wanted to sit down and have a nice little cry. Why did she feel as if she’d missed out on something important?

Pushing that idea aside, she tried once again to pull away. “Julien, I’m fine. I can’t go for a walk during suppertime.”

He didn’t let go. “Yes, you can. C’mon. It’s a nice evening.”

She couldn’t argue with that. A cool spring breeze played through the bald cypress trees lining the banks, the gray-beard moss swaying against the branches like old lace falling against leather. A flock of brown pelicans flew by, the symmetry of their wings lifted high up in the sky in perfect formation over the water. The sight was as natural to her way of life as breathing. Scenes such as this normally brought her a certain calm. But with Julien nearby, her heart spurted like a burned-out boat motor.

Sighing, Alma followed Julien down the steps in spite of the need for self-control shouting in her head. “Five minutes, then I have to get back. I’ve got pies to bake tonight and bread to mix for the morning rush.”

He nodded and held her hand tight to his. “I won’t take you far.”

Oh, but he would, she knew. He could, if she let him. Julien was a ladies’ man, handsome and playful and larger than life. A man who danced with the girls at the fais-do-do. A man who charmed women with just a wink and a smile. He could take her to places she’d stopped dreaming about going. He could also break her heart again.

But Alma had enough heartbreak already to last her a long, long time. She wouldn’t add falling for Julien LeBlanc to that list. Not a second time, anyway.

“It is a nice night,” she said, just to test her voice to see if she could speak. The sweet scent of honeysuckle tickled her nose.

“It is at that.”

He glanced over at her while they strolled along the worn dirt path beside what they called Bayou Petite. It was just a small tributary shooting out of the big open canal that ran along the main road in Fleur. Big Fleur Bayou, that one was called. The town had been built around Big Fleur.

“So you had a productive day?” she asked, simply because being silent made her think way too much about him. And wonder why today of all days, she’d let him get to her.

Maybe because, today of all days, he’d actually made the effort.

“We did. Crawfish season is wide open but prices might be steep. And this year’s spring shrimp season has to be better than last fall.” He rubbed his hands together. “I’m ready. More than ready.”

Alma pushed aside a low cypress branch, the greening of the tree shining in the dusk like fireflies. “It’ll soon be time for the spring festival.”

“And the blessing of the fleets,” Julien added. “We need lots of blessings.”

Alma stopped at an old bench. “Let’s sit.”

Surprised colored his face. “You want to sit with me a spell, catin?”

“I’ve been on my feet all day.” It was the best excuse she could find. She didn’t dare tell him that even while making small talk around him, she became breathless.

He gave her a low bow and, with a flourish, wiped the wooden bench clear of fallen leaves and debris. “Your throne awaits, my queen.”

Alma laughed at his antics, her face muscles stretching wide. Maybe she should laugh more. “You’re such a clown.”

He sank down beside her then smiled over at her. “I made you laugh, so I don’t mind being called a couillon. And you have to know, when you laugh it sounds like a melody.”

“You’re also full of baloney,” she retorted, touched that he liked her laugh. She had to admit, it was good to see him laughing, too. They’d both lost a parent and while her mother had been gone for years, Julien’s father had died only a few short months ago. Had that changed Julien?

“I do put on a good show.” He went quiet and kept his eyes on her. “But then, you know that better than most.”

She couldn’t answer that. She did know it better than most. Underneath all that jovial bluster, Julien had a heart as big as the bay. He laughed a lot, talked a lot and held a lot inside.

“It’s been a while since we’ve just sat and visited,” he said, looking out at the dark water. “Life just keeps on going.”

“It does. I’m always so busy with the café.”

“You need to slow down.”

“You could take that same advice yourself.”

Julien nodded, his actions causing his wild mop of dark hair to fall around his forehead. “Can’t rest, darlin’. Too much to do. Work’s hard to come by these days.”

“You’ve always been a solid worker.”

He turned then, moving close. So close she could see the flecks of brown in his onyx eyes. “So you have noticed some of my redeeming qualities?”

“You have redeeming qualities?”

He laughed again. “Non. Not a one.”

But Alma knew that wasn’t exactly true. Julien loved living here on this bayou. Like most of the men around here, he’d learned how to fish and hunt while he was still practically in diapers. It was in his blood. And like most of the people she knew, he worked two jobs just to help his family make ends meet. He had changed a lot since high school. She’d heard through the bayou grapevine that he’d stopped drinking after his daddy died.

Alma prayed that was the truth. She prayed that Julien would settle down and find true happiness. But she didn’t dare pray that he might one day love her again.

“How’s your mama?” she asked now, always worried. The women around here didn’t take care of themselves and health care was a joke—not very affordable or available. Julien’s mother had a lot of health problems.

“She’s doing okay,” he said, the sparkle leaving his eyes. “She has her good days. Just has to watch that old ticker. Heart disease ain’t pretty.”

“Take care of her, Julien.”

He took her hand again. “I will, I promise. But what about you and your sisters?”

Alma knew what he was asking. What about the cancer? Are you all safe?

“Callie is doing great. Her last checkup was a positive one—all clear.” She thought about what Callie had been through and said a silent prayer for her sister. “And Brenna—you know her. Always going and doing. A busy career woman. But she’s good at her job and she loves working for the art gallery. She talks about planning her wedding, but I’m not sure that will ever happen.”

He turned toward Alma then. “And you?”

What about her? She couldn’t tell him the secrets of her heart. “I’m okay. Tired. Missing my mama today. Wishing for things—”

“What kind of things?”

Alma swallowed back the hopes and dreams, refusing to let them float to the surface. “You know, more money to pay bills and less hours spent in that café. More time with Papa and my sisters. More… I don’t know. I’m content, Julien. Just content.”

“Is that all you want out of life? To be ‘just content’?”

She wanted to shout to him, no, she wanted more. She wanted him to tell her he had changed…she wanted to forgive him for his youthful indiscretions. But Alma had been through so much pain, she was almost afraid to look for love and a family. What if she found someone—other than the man staring at her now—and then she got sick like Mama had? Would that person stand by her through such a sickness? Or worse, what if she gave in to Julien’s flirtations and fell for him all over again, only to get her heart broken one more time or to only get sick the way her mama had gotten sick? She couldn’t put carefree, laid-back Julien through that. She didn’t want to put any man through that.

“You have that look, chère,” he whispered against her hair.

“What look is that?”

“That faraway look. It breaks my heart.”

Did everyone around here know her so well?

“I’ll be fine, Julien. It’s just, spring always makes me think of Mama. She loved her garden, loved spring on the bayou. It’s hard sometimes.”

He looked out over the water, his gaze following two fussy wood ducks. “My daddy’s birthday is next month.”

Alma’s heart broke open a little bit. “Oh, that’s right. He always loved this time of year. He used to tease that we only had the seafood festival to celebrate his birthday.” She touched a hand to Julien’s arm. “I miss him, too.”

Julien shrugged, as if shaking off the pain. “Oui, we all do. But I want to see you laugh again, so let’s talk about something else.”

She got up, pulling away. “I need to get back.”

“But we were just getting started.”

Alma looked at her watch. “Your five minutes are up.” She turned to head back up the path, this new intimacy startling her and leaving her unsettled. “But I do appreciate the little break.”

Julien got up to follow her. “What if I want more than five minutes?”

Shocked, she stopped. “Since when?”

He put his hands on her arms. “Since I’m getting older and wiser and you’re getting prettier and smarter.” He turned serious then. “I can’t seem to settle down, Alma. And I’m thinking it’s your fault.”

“My fault? You’re crazy.”

“No, just a man with a purpose. I’m thinking you’ve spoiled me for other women.”

Her pulse jumped like a fish coming out of the water, just a flash. “Then you need to rethink that.”

Alma pivoted and started walking. She heard him running to catch up with her. What had come over him?

His words echoed up to her. “You like bothering me, don’t you? I mean, you like making me suffer.”

“I don’t want to be a bother,” she said over her shoulder. “And I don’t have time to make anyone suffer.”

Except herself.

“You are a bother, though. You won’t go away. Always in my head, always the smell of flowers and the image of those pretty eyes of yours.”

There went her pulse, her heart, again. “I don’t want to be there—inside your head. Let me out.”

He tugged her back just as they reached the back porch of the café. “I can’t shake you.”

“So what are you going to do about it, Julien?”

He didn’t speak. But he did something, all right.

He leaned down and kissed her smack on the lips. A long, measured, meandering kiss that bubbled and churned with as many undercurrents as that big bayou. His kiss was certainly as dangerous as those ancient waters.

She pulled away long enough to whisper a plea. “Stop it, Julien.”

But he didn’t stop, even when the few customers and workers on the big porch started whistling and clapping.