A Forever Kind of Love

Is he her favorite mistake?

Fifteen years ago, Mya Dubois couldn’t get out of her small Louisiana town fast enough. Especially after Corey Anderson showed her what heartbreak really was. Now a family tragedy has brought Mya home to Gauthier—and the man she vowed to forget forever. But when memories flame into rekindled desire, Mya is ready to flee again…before Corey discovers her painful secret.

Or the love of her life?

In high school, Mya was Corey’s girl. Now she’s a sought-after Broadway designer who won’t give the former pro-baseball player the time of day. Until they’re brought together to revive their close-knit community…and their passion is reawakened. This time, Corey isn’t letting her get away. Not when he has a second chance to win back his first—and only—love.

“We always did make a good team,” she said, her voice husky.

“Always,” he agreed. He lowered his head and brushed his lips against hers.

“Corey,” she whispered against his lips. But it was spoken too softly to be a protest. He took it as encouragement.

Angling his head, he deepened the kiss, reacquainting himself with a mouth he had not tasted in fifteen long years. He bathed her lips with his tongue, back and forth, molding his mouth to hers, urging her to open for him. With excruciating sweetness her resistance relented, making way for his tongue to sweep in.

Corey slipped an arm around her waist and settled his hand at the small of her back.

“God, you taste good,” he whispered against her lips.

The soft moan that rumbled deep in her throat traveled along his skin like a caress. She brought her hand up to the back of his head and held him in place.

Corey’s body ignited with sparks of desire. They ricocheted against the walls of his chest, imprisoning his breath. He clamped his palms on Mya’s firm backside and pulled her flush against him, nearly dying at how perfectly she fit into the cove of his body. She was soft and warm and woman, smelling like spring, tasting like heaven.

Just as he remembered.

FARRAH ROCHON

had dreams of becoming a fashion designer as a teenager, until she discovered she would be expected to wear something other than jeans to work every day. Thankfully, the coffee shop where she writes does not have a dress code. When Farrah is not penning stories, the avid sports fan feeds her addiction to football by attending New Orleans Saints games.

A Forever Kind of Love

Farrah Rochon

Dear Reader,

When I was a little girl I was fascinated by the big city, with its bright lights and tall buildings. It wasn’t until years later that I came to appreciate the true charm of small-town life. The mom-and-pop stores, friendly faces and yes, even the gossip—they all combine to create a sense of community that warms my heart.

That’s what I’ve tried to depict with the fictional town of Gauthier. I drew upon my own experiences growing up in a tiny town on the Louisiana bayou to show how supportive close-knit communities can be. May you feel as at home in Gauthier as I do.

I hope you enjoy this first book in my Bayou Dreams series. Look for Always and Forever, the second book in the series, in early 2013.

Be sure to look me up online at Facebook, Twitter and my website, www.farrahrochon.com.

Blessing,

Farrah Rochon

Many thanks to Pat Duncan at the Louisiana Office of Cultural Development: Division of Historic Preservation for generously providing her expertise.

Any mistakes regarding historic building preservation and the National Register are my own.

Dedicated to the residents of my small hometown.

The community of believers was one in heart and mind. No one claimed that any of their possessions was their own, but they shared everything they had.

—Acts 4:32

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 1

The tips of black four-inch heels sank into the soft earth, blades of grass fanning around the base of the slim pedestals. The shoes were the first things he noticed about her, but now his eyes traveled upward, taking in the thin, gold ankle bracelet underneath stockings so sheer they were almost invisible.

Her black skirt was shorter than most in this small town deemed decent for such an occasion. It hugged her hips and cupped her perfect rear end. His eyes continued their slow trek, passed her delicately rounded shoulders, to her unyielding neck and finally to the wide-brimmed black hat tilted at an angle atop her proud head.

Mya Dubois stood before the charcoal-gray casket holding a single-stemmed white rose he’d seen her slip from the generous spray draping the head end of the casket. She’d stood in that same position for the past ten minutes, preventing the cemetery workers from lowering the coffin into the ground. He’d caught several shared looks of agitation between the workers, but they seemed resigned to it. They must be used to guilt-laden family members holding up their day.

Corey Anderson pushed away from the wall of the stone mausoleum he’d been resting against and walked over to where she stood, stopping a foot behind her.

“Welcome back home, Peaches.”

Her back became even straighter, that proud neck stiffening even more.

“And here I was hoping to get through the day without speaking to you,” Mya said without turning around, her bland words laced with sarcasm.

“And here I was hoping you’d left that sass back in New York City,” Corey replied, unable to keep the tinge of amusement from his voice. Not really appropriate given where they were standing. “Come on, Peaches. These guys need to finish their work.”

“Can I finish saying goodbye to my grandfather?” she snapped.

Corey looked over at the two workers. One held up his gloved hands in a “what can you do?” gesture. He heard a delicate sniff, and Corey’s heart softened just a bit as he saw Mya’s shaking hand wipe at the trail of tears that had begun cascading down her cheek.

She looked over at the two cemetery workers. “Thank you for waiting.” Then she did an about-face and headed in the direction of the church hall.

Corey was next to her in three strides. “Mind if I attempt to be a gentleman and escort you?”

“I can manage,” she answered.

“Peaches, don’t be this way.”

She stopped and turned. She sauntered up to him, one delicate brow raised over her topaz-colored eyes. “That’s the last time I hear you say the word peaches,” she said with quiet warning. “Even if you’re eating one, you’d better call it a plum. You hear me?”

This time Corey didn’t try to stop the smile from pulling at the corner of his mouth. Very few people in the small town of Gauthier, Louisiana, could talk to him in that tone of voice and get away with it.

And only one could look so good while doing it.

Damn, he’d missed her. As far as he knew, this was Mya’s first trip back to Gauthier since she’d left over fifteen years ago, and Corey doubted she would stay one minute longer than necessary. She probably had her boarding pass tucked inside that little black purse she’d been clutching throughout her grandfather’s funeral service.

Mya took off again for the church hall. Corey followed a few steps behind, admiring the view. How she managed to balance on those sexy heels once they reached the gravel parking lot was beyond his comprehension, but that was the case with just about everything Mya Dubois had ever done in her life. Why should this be any different?

* * *

Mya pushed off with her toe, setting the porch swing on a gentle sway. Her iced tea had grown watery, but she sipped anyway, hoping to quell the heat.

“Springtime in Louisiana,” Mya murmured as she used her forehead to wipe condensation from the glass. She could go back into the air-conditioned house, but the atmosphere in there was more oppressing than these record-high temperatures.

Mya knew she should have booked her flight for this afternoon. Guilt had forced her to add another day to her trip, but with Elizabeth milking the grieving-daughter role for all it was worth and the houseful of nosy neighbors prying into her life, Mya wanted nothing more than to be on a flight back to New York.

Maybe she could come back in a few weeks. Then she could sit back and enjoy a rare visit back home with her grandparents.

Her grandmother. Granddad was no longer here.

Mya took another sip of tea. It had a hard time flowing past the lump in her throat. Maybe she should go back in the house. She’d rather be curled up in Granddad’s old recliner, inhaling the scent of his pipe smoke. But the thought of facing the dozens of townsfolk who’d followed them back to the house after the repast at the church hall kept her butt planted firmly on the swing.

If she had to hear one more I’m so sorry for your loss, she would start screaming and never stop, which was why she’d changed into a pair of khaki capris and a sleeveless V-neck tee and had escaped to the porch nearly an hour ago. Mya welcomed the solitude like the unexpected breeze that blew every so often. She knew she should be social and help entertain the well-wishers who’d come to help her family grieve, but her grandma, Aunt Maureen and her mother, Elizabeth, were in there, and if there was one thing Elizabeth Dubois knew how to do, it was work a crowd.

Mya heard the squeak of the screen door’s hinges, followed moments later by, “What are you doing out here?”

Speak of the devil. Still wearing her Prada pumps, no doubt.

“I’m enjoying this nice spring day,” Mya answered with a drawl as her mother walked over to the swing.

“Nice?” Elizabeth scoffed. “It feels as if it’s a hundred degrees out here. Al Gore warned everyone about global warming.”

Mya rolled her eyes, placing her glass of iced tea on the thick railing that ran across the top of the porch.

Her mother waited for the swing to sway forward then sat on the opposite end from Mya. “So, how’s it been, honey?” She patted Mya’s knee as if it were the most natural thing in the world for the two of them to chitchat like a normal mother and daughter. Normal and Elizabeth Dubois should never be used in the same sentence.

“Let’s not do this,” Mya implored.

“I’m just trying to make conversation,” her mother said in that prim and proper way that went down Mya’s spine like fingernails on a chalkboard.

“When you have to try, that’s a good indication that two people probably shouldn’t be conversing.”

Elizabeth’s perfectly made-up face twisted with reproach. “When did you become so angry?”

Mya squinted as if thinking hard. “Around 2007 or so. March, if I remember correctly. Snagged my favorite panty hose on the subway. Everything’s just gone downhill since then.”

Her mother stood. “I don’t know why I even try to talk to you.”

“Makes two of us,” Mya murmured underneath her breath. She watched her mother walk back through the door she’d just come from, her entire body heaving a sigh of relief.

Even if she were up for drama today, she still wouldn’t give Elizabeth the satisfaction. A post-funeral catfight would be the hand her mother fanned. She would play the victim card until its edges were tattered.

Mya pushed the swing again, then brought her other leg up and wrapped her arms around them, resting her head on her knees.

She wasn’t an angry person; Elizabeth just brought out the worst in her. Always had. Mya knew it wasn’t healthy to hold such a long-standing grudge, but despite many attempts, she just could not let go of the resentment she felt toward her mother.

Maybe if she had ever, just once, sensed an ounce of regret in Elizabeth for walking away from her own child.

“Yeah, right,” Mya snorted.

The few times Elizabeth had bothered to visit after leaving Mya’s grandparents to raise her, she spent the entire time talking about the glamorous life she was leading with whomever happened to be her boyfriend at the time. She’d tell Mya she needed to straighten her hair, learn to flirt, do whatever it took to attract a man so he could rescue her away from this godforsaken town, before she ended up like her Aunt Maureen. Mya would prefer to be like Maureen over Elizabeth any day of the week and twice on Sunday.

Mya had made it out of Gauthier, but she’d done it on her own. She hadn’t needed anyone to rescue her. And, unlike Elizabeth, she hadn’t left a baby for others to raise.

Even though she’d come close.

Mya shook off the disturbing thought. She continued to sway, pulling in deep breaths as the swing rocked back, letting them out when she went forward. She’d love to spend the rest of the afternoon out here, but it was time to go into the house and face the judgmental stares. Every expression said the same thing: it took her grandfather dying to bring Mya Dubois back to Gauthier.

Just as she reached out to grab the rail post, the swing stopped and Corey Anderson plopped down next to her. She hadn’t even heard him approach.

She had managed to avoid him since their meet and greet in the cemetery. It was a trend Mya wanted to continue.

“Believe it or not, I was just leaving,” she said, rising from the swing.

“You don’t want to go in there,” he warned her.

She glanced at him and raised her brows in question.

“Act two,” Corey answered. “A solo performance by the great Elizabeth Dubois. Someone picked up one of your granddad’s pipes, and she went into hysterics. Last I saw, three people were holding her up and one was fanning her.”

Mya clenched her fists at her sides and opened her mouth in a silent scream toward the sky. She resumed her seat on the swing, bringing one leg up again and resting her chin against her knee.

“You think I could get away with shaking her senseless just one time, or would I go to jail for assault?” she asked.

Corey shrugged as he looked out over the yard. “Kandice Lewis is the district attorney now. Doesn’t she still owe you a favor for filling in on the cheerleading squad when she was too drunk to make the games?”

“Stop it.” Mya laughed. “She suffered from some kind of stomach thing. I doubt Kandice has ever been drunk a day in her life.”

“She was always one of the good girls.”

“Unlike me?”

“You said it,” Corey returned with a chuckle. Mya caught him with an elbow to the arm. “Hey.” He held up his hands. “I always liked the bad girls.”

“Only fair, since you’re the one who helped them earn their reputations in the first place.”

Mya watched his profile as a slow smile drew across his face. She could only imagine what was going through that pretty little head of his.

She couldn’t deny that he was still pretty, though Corey would throttle her for using that particular word to describe him. Mr. Macho Baseball Hero never considered himself pretty, but with that strong jaw and those signature light brown Anderson eyes, Corey was not just pretty, he was as gorgeous as ever.

Mya was touched that he’d returned for her granddad’s funeral. Coming back to Gauthier was probably as hard for Corey as it had been for her. As far as Mya knew, he no longer had family here. According to her grandmother, the last of the Andersons, his eldest brother, Leon, had moved somewhere up north after their father died of a heart attack a few years ago. It was the same thing that had taken their mother during Corey’s first year of high school. The two middle boys, the twins, Stefan and Shawn, had both left with the assistance of the legal system.

Baseball had saved Corey from a similar fate, but for most of his youth, he had been as bad as his twin brothers. Especially when it came to her. With her he had been deliciously bad. The kind of bad that made a girl’s toes curl and her skin tingle. God, it had been a long time since she’d had that kind of bad in her life.

If only things had ended differently.

Mya put a choke hold on those thoughts and wrestled them back to the corner of her mind she wasn’t allowed to visit unless she was drowning her sorrows in a glass of merlot. Today had been enough of an emotional brain suck; she didn’t need the ghosts of her past mistakes adding to her inevitable breakdown.

“Gosh, I’m just ready for this day to be over.” Mya pushed her fingers through the tight, springy ringlets that her naturally curly hair produced when dried by the sun.

“Been rough on you, huh?” Corey asked.

She hunched her shoulders. “I just thought he would be here longer, you know? He always used to say that dying wasn’t an option.”

“Sounds like something Big Harold would say.” Corey chuckled. He pushed the swing with his foot, then stretched his right arm across the back.

Mya let the motion lull her back to that calm place she’d found before her mother had interrupted her peace. Her bare foot lightly grazed the porch’s floorboards as it swayed back and forth. The paint had started to peel in spots, another indicator that Granddad had been suffering with cancer long before he let anyone know. There’s no way he would have allowed any part of this house to go downhill if he’d been feeling well enough to fix it.

If she had been here, maybe she would have seen the pain in his eyes.

Guilt twisted in her gut, but Mya accepted the pain as penance. She looked out over the yard of the house where she’d spent the first seventeen years of her life. Cars were parked haphazardly within the fenced-in portion, while others lined both sides of the street. Everyone had respected the side yard where Granddad’s vegetable garden brimmed with plump tomatoes drooping from the vine, flowering heads of cabbage, peppers, okra and about a dozen other vegetables that had fed the people in this small town for years.

Before she returned to New York she would pick the vegetables that were ready. She couldn’t stand the thought of the fruits of Granddad’s hard work falling to the ground and dying.

Mya blew out a shaky breath, willing the tears to remain at bay.

“It was a nice service,” Corey said after a stretch of surprisingly comfortable silence. Though it wasn’t all that surprising. She and Corey had always been at ease with each other. That had been part of her downfall.

“Granddad deserved it,” Mya said. “He’s probably walking around heaven with his chest sticking out, bragging about all the people who showed up for his funeral.”

“People around here loved Big Harold.”

Mya simply nodded. If she tried to speak, the tears would start flowing again.

Too late.

She swiped at the moisture that had collected in the corner of her eye. “Don’t even try it,” she said when she saw Corey’s hand reach for her. “Just because we’re talking, it doesn’t mean you can touch me. Keep those paws right where they are.”

He held his hands up, then placed them on his thighs. Mya studied the fingers fanned out across his black slacks. The nails were clean, cut nice and short. He’d always taken extra care in making sure he didn’t bear the telltale signs of an auto mechanic like his dad.

All those years ago, when they would lay wrapped in each other’s arms talking about their futures, Corey used to tell her that he refused to get trapped in the family tradition of fixing cars for a living. It’s what his twin brothers had done in between their many run-ins with the law.

After an incident that nearly landed him in jail, Corey had turned his life around in their senior year of high school. He did everything he could to show the people in Gauthier that he was not going to follow in Shawn and Stefan’s footsteps. Yet the people around here had lumped him in with his brothers anyway.

“Thanks for coming back here for Granddad’s funeral,” Mya felt the need to say. Facing the judgmental tongues of Gauthier could not have been easy for him.

He stared at her for a long, drawn-out moment before finally answering with a simple, “You’re welcome.”

She zoomed in on the curve of his jaw. His skin was still smooth, that beautiful, roasted pecan color. It was marred by a thin strip of pink that stretched from his ear almost to his neck.

“What happened here?” Mya asked, trailing her finger along the slightly puckered skin. Touching him was a mistake. Her finger burned hot.

He turned to her, those light, grayish-brown eyes taking on that smoldering look that was the precursor to her panties sliding off back in high school.

“Car accident,” Corey answered. “About three years ago.”

His voice had lowered. It had the same effect as his gaze. Both caused her heart to beat faster within the walls of her chest.

No way. She was not going there again with Corey Anderson.

Mya tore her eyes away and sat up straight. “I need to get inside.”

“I’ll come with you,” Corey said, pushing himself up from the swing.

“No.” She put a hand on his shoulder, then jerked it back. Stop touching him! “I don’t need you to follow me.”

“Peach—Mya,” he corrected. “I’m trying to be a nice guy. It’s been fifteen years. All that stuff should be behind us.”

That’s what scared her. It should be behind her. But one look at those sexy eyes and that just-right-for-her mouth and she was that stupid teenage girl who used to escape out the window of this very house to be with him.

“It is behind us,” Mya lied. “I’m just tired. It’s been a rough day. I’m going to go inside, kiss a few cheeks, say a few goodbyes and head to one of the back rooms for a nap.”

“You sure?”

She nodded. With a slight smile, she said, “It was good seeing you, Corey.” And she meant it. It was good to see him. Despite the agony Corey Anderson had unwittingly put her through, a part of her heart would always belong to him.

And if that wasn’t reason enough to get her butt back to New York, Mya didn’t know what was.

“Thanks again for coming to the funeral,” she said.

Against her better judgment, Mya leaned over and placed a kiss on his cheek. Then she quickly headed into the house, escaping temptation.

* * *

Corey watched Mya slip back into her grandparents’ house and had to force himself not to follow her. His skin tingled where her lips had touched, warming his body from the inside out.

How could she still have this effect on him?

His heart had started beating triple time when she’d walked through the doors of New Hope Baptist Church that morning. The small sanctuary seemed to have shrunk around him. Throughout the entire service, the only thing Corey could focus on was the woman who’d been a girl the last time he’d laid eyes on her.

There had been speculation over whether or not Mya would return to Gauthier for her grandfather’s funeral. Corey could not deny the bone-deep relief he’d felt the minute he set eyes on her in the church. He’d smiled at her—a smile she had not returned—and Corey figured that maybe fifteen years had not been enough time for Mya to get over what had happened the night of their high school graduation.

Not that he could blame her.

Regret lanced his chest as the image of her pained face jumped to the forefront of his mind. He would never forget the moment he’d looked up and found her staring at him through the window of his dad’s truck, where he’d sat half-naked with another girl’s legs wrapped around his waist. It was in that moment—when he knew he’d lost her—that Corey had realized just how lucky he had been to have her in the first place.