The Long Hot Summer
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“I’m a good swimmer.”
With lightning-quick reflexes, Johnny shot his arm out past her head and yanked the snake out of the tree. As it dangled from his outstretched hand, thrashing to free itself, he drawled, “And just how good are you with curious snakes?”
To his surprise, she didn’t go crazy on him and start screaming the way he’d expected she would. She did, however, take several steps back. “I didn’t see it,” she admitted.
“I know.” He gave the mottled brown snake a mighty heave into the woods. “It’s just a harmless milk snake, but until you see it, how would you know? By then, it could be too late.” Lesson over, he changed the subject. “You call Craig about those supplies we need? Talk to him about ordering shingles?”
“I tried.”
“What do you mean, tried?”
“Farrel Craig wasn’t in his office when I called this morning. It’ll have to wait until Monday. I’ve decided to go into town, that way then I can order the shingles.”
His bar of soap must have slipped out of his pocket. She bent to pick it up and tossed it to him. “When you decide to wash, don’t forget to use it.”
She was past him before he had a chance for a comeback. Johnny watched her go, her hips swaying slowly. Each step she took appeared innocent enough, and maybe that was the turn-on. There was something erotic and very inviting about a woman who had no idea how completely she affected a man, inside and out. And there was no doubt Nicole Chapman affected him. He’d spent half the night thinking about her, and most of the morning.
Once she was gone, Johnny unzipped his jeans and shoved them to his knees. He was just stepping out of them when he saw her shoes sitting on the stump.
Nicole stopped to examine her injury. The inch-long cut on the bottom of her foot wasn’t deep, but it hurt like the devil. Angry with herself for forgetting her shoes, she started back to the pond, limping like a lame bird. She wouldn’t have forgotten the damn shoes if it hadn’t been for that blasted snake. It had taken all the composure she owned to keep from screaming and acting foolish.
If she’d returned to the pond a second sooner, Nicole was sure, she would have caught Johnny Bernard buck naked. He looked as surprised as she did when she reappeared—his hair loose and hanging free to his shoulders, his jeans riding low on his hips, the zipper at half-mast.
She motioned toward the stump where her shoes sat. “I—I forgot them.” She took a step to retrieve them, and winced when a sharp pain shot into the bottom of her foot.
“What happened?”
“Just a scratch.” Nicole tried to downplay her injury and the pain it was causing. Johnny Bernard hadn’t come right out and said what he thought of a city girl moving to the country, but she sensed he didn’t think she would last long.
His gaze sharpened. “You didn’t step on something you shouldn’t have, did you?”
Was he trying to be funny or was he serious? She had thought it was a stick that she’d stepped on, but now suddenly worried, Nicole hobbled to the nearest tree. Leaning against it, she raised her foot to examine the injury. The blood covering the bottom of her foot made it difficult. She wiped it away, trying to pinpoint the pain.
“Here, let me have a look.”
Nicole glanced up and found him standing over her. “No, really, I’m fine.”
“Let’s make sure.”
She slid down the tree and sat. “Just don’t make it hurt worse.”
He crouched in front of her and took hold of her foot. His hands were big and warm, rough from the kind of work he did. He wiped away the blood on his jeans, then carefully examined the cut. Finally he said, “You’ll live, but you need surgery.”
“What!”
Nicole tried to jerk her foot back, but he hung on. In fact, he tightened his grip. “Easy. There’s a sliver in there, and you could drive it deeper if you’re not careful.”
“A sliver?” Relieved, Nicole sighed and relaxed against the tree.
“A good-size sliver,” he corrected. “It needs to come out.”
“And it will,” Nicole assured. “Gran can—”
“I don’t think you should wait.” His dark eyes found hers. “If you put your weight on it, you could break it off or force it deeper. ’Course, I could carry you to the house…”
“Carry me? No. I—”
“Yeah, that’s what I figured.” He worked his hand into the front pocket of his ragged jeans and came up with a long sleek knife that unfolded into something that looked like it came straight out of a Rambo movie. That he owned such a knife was bad enough, but to think he was going to use it to probe the bottom of her foot was worse.
“Wait!”
He looked up. “You change your mind, cherie? You want a ride to the house?”
Damn him, but he almost looked as if he were enjoying this, Nicole thought.
When she didn’t answer, he settled more comfortably in the grass, tucked his hair behind his ears, then took hold of her foot again. She wasn’t expecting him to be gentle, but as she leaned her head against the tree and braced herself for what was to come next, she had to give him more than a little credit; he treated her foot like a piece of fragile glass.
She closed her eyes at the first prick of pain. “Talk to me,” she insisted. “Say anything. Gran said you were a marine,” she began, sucking in her breath as the pain began to build.
“For five years.”
“Ouch!” Nicole bit her lip.
“Easy. This damn thing’s twice as long as it is deep. Just breathe slow and even.”
He sounded sincere. Nicole braced herself and tried to do as she was told. “Why did you quit the military?”
“I didn’t quit. I was medically discharged.” His hand stilled, and he glanced up. He offered her a smile before he lowered his head and went back to work. Quietly, he drawled, “I won’t cut your toes off, cherie. I promise.”
“I didn’t mean to—”
“I spent some time in Kuwait.” He looked up, laid the knife in the grass. “This isn’t working, cherie, but I know what will.”
Before Nicole could ask him what he had in mind, he lifted her foot upward and pulled. The movement dragged her away from the tree, and, to keep her balance, she arched her back and rested on her elbows for support. He took in her sprawled position and said, “Now, don’t move, no matter what. Okay?”
Nicole hesitated, then nodded warily.
He lowered his head, and a moment later his warm breath touched the bottom of her foot. Nicole had no idea what he meant to do until she felt his tongue slide over the cut. She clutched the grass at her sides in tight fists and craned her neck to see what was going on. He’d said don’t move, but my God, he was licking the bottom of her foot!
She tried to sit up while at the same time pulling her foot away. He looked up. “I said, don’t move. Trust me. I know what I’m doing.”
He went back to work, and Nicole felt his tongue glide slowly over her foot once more. She decided to give him exactly one minute, and if he didn’t—
“Ou-ouch!” Nicole jerked her foot away from him with such force that it sent her falling onto her back. She closed her eyes for a second, the pain momentarily stealing her breath. It had felt as if he’d sent the sliver clean through the top of her foot.
“You all right?”
Nicole slowly opened her eyes. Johnny was kneeling over her, the ends of his black hair almost tickling her face, those unnerving eyes smiling down at her. He opened his mouth and stuck out his tongue. And there it was—the wicked-looking sliver.
“It’s huge,” Nicole gasped.
He turned his head away from her and spit the splinter into the thick brush, then sat back on his heels. “When I was a kid, my mama used to take slivers out that way. We never owned a pair of tweezers.” He reached for his knife and slipped it back into his pocket, then stood and held out his hand to help her up.
Nicole took his offered hand, and he easily pulled her up. She tested out her foot, the pain only slight now. “Thank you,” she said softly.
“You’re welcome.”
Now that her crisis was past, Nicole once again became fully aware of Johnny Bernard. They were standing close, his chest gleaming and hard, his half-zipped fly exposing an appealing dark navel. Yes, she’d noticed his attributes yesterday and again this morning in her bedroom, but that didn’t mean she wanted anything from him, because she most definitely did not.
“I need to get back,” she announced quickly.
“Yeah, me, too. I’ve been invited to supper.”
Nicole reached for her shoes and slipped them on. “I thought you said you didn’t have many friends.”
“That’s right. Just so you know, cherie, the old lady invited me to join the two of you for supper. See you at seven.”
Chapter 4
“A little warning would have been nice,” Nicole insisted.
“Warning? Why would you need to be warned?” Mae asked. “You don’t have to do any cooking. Clair will take care of that like she always does. All you have to do is show up. You don’t even have to change your clothes or comb your hair if you don’t want to. You look fine.”
Gran had completely missed the point. She wasn’t talking about her clothes, for heaven’s sake, or the menu. She simply saw no reason for Johnny Bernard to share meals with them. He had a kitchen in his apartment above the boathouse. Wasn’t that good enough?
“I still can’t believe how much he’s changed,” Mae mused. “I tell you, Nicki, when Johnny stepped into the garden today, and I got my first look at him after fifteen years, I couldn’t believe it was the same scrawny youngster. Oh, I knew it was him—he’s got his daddy’s eyes and his grandpa Carl’s mouth.” Mae plucked another wilted blossom off the azalea in the corner and dropped it into her lap, then focused her attention on Nicole once more. “Did you say it was at the swimming hole you ran into him?”
Nicole sat a little straighter in the white wicker chair on the front porch. “Yes. I went to cool off.”
“Ninety-eight in the shade today,” Mae confirmed. “Tomorrow is supposed to be even hotter.”
“Oh, goodie.”
Mae chuckled. “You’ll get used to it, dear. Now then, down to business. Over supper, I think we should discuss our remodeling ideas with Johnny—the first being the attic. I know there are other things that seem more important, but it would make such a lovely studio for you, Nicki.”
“I know you think so.” Nicole did, too. It was a wonderful idea; that is, it would have been if she felt at all creative and focused these days. Only, she hadn’t been able to do much of anything but feel sorry for herself the past three months. She wanted to return to work, she really did—but just thinking about painting caused her palms to sweat.
She stood and crossed to the porch railing, unwilling to let her grandmother see her anxiety. “I’ve been thinking about taking the summer off,” she said, struggling to keep the emotion out of her voice. “I haven’t had a vacation away from my career since I sold my first painting four years ago. I’m tired and—”
“The entire summer?” Mae gave a hollow whistle. “Do you think that’s smart? You love your work, and the galleries…won’t they be anxious to get something new on their walls?”
“I’ve taken that into consideration,” Nicole assured, leaning against the support post. But she wasn’t worried about the galleries; what she wanted most of all was the fever back. She wanted to wake up tomorrow morning with a driving need to create something alive and beautiful. But what if she never felt the fever again? What if she had lost her talent? What if it had vanished along with everything else? She couldn’t begin to describe the fear that daily clawed at her insides. And if she tried to explain it to Gran, she would have to reveal everything. And right now she simply couldn’t do that.
She closed her eyes and willed herself to think of something else. She was successful in putting it out of her mind, but, in the trade-off, the topic circled back to another unpleasant topic. Her grandmother asked, “Did you see Johnny got rid of that old dead tree in the yard?”
Nicole concentrated on growing a nasty headache, the kind that drained your complexion and dulled your eyes. The kind that would excuse her from the supper table.
“Nicki, did you hear? The tree’s gone.”
Nicole opened her eyes and glanced out into the front yard. “Yes, I noticed,” she said without emotion.
“Make sure you comment on it at supper. Say he’s done a fine job, or something to that effect. A little praise is what he needs to hear right now. It will boost his confidence.”
“I think I’m coming down with a headache,” she primed.
“Well, take something before it gets out of hand, dear. You wouldn’t want it to spoil supper.”
“No,” she agreed, “that would be unfortunate.”
A stingy breeze, slow and barely evident, drifted onto the porch. Like a greedy beggar, Nicole raised her chin in an attempt to cool her warm cheeks. She could smell the potted azalea in the corner, the fried chicken Clair Arden was preparing for supper. “Will it rain tonight?”
“No, but maybe tomorrow. So did we decide on green or gray shingles, Nicki? I think you said green, right?”
Nicole felt a tug on the uneven hem of her orange tank top. She glanced down to see that Gran had wheeled up close.
“The shingles, Nicki. What color? I can’t remember what we agreed on.”
“We didn’t, did we?”
“We certainly did.” Mae arched a thin brow. “This drifting in and out that you do—is it a creative thing, or is there something on your mind I should know about?”
“What?”
“I keep telling myself it isn’t that I’m a boring old woman, but that you’re simply creating upstairs.”
“Upstairs?”
“In the mind, Nicki. Honestly, one minute we’re having a conversation, and the next you’re lunching with the fairies.”
“I was thinking about how to remodel the attic,” Nicole lied.
Mae pointed at Nicole’s splattered tank top. “Is this another one of those fashion statements? What do they call this one? Homeless, or the rag of the month?”
Nicole didn’t feel like smiling, but Gran’s comments were always amusing. The dress code in Common was definitely not as liberal as in L.A. “Have the ladies at the garden club been talking?”
“Of course,” Mae admitted honestly, her eyes reflecting not a bit of censure. “No one moves to Common without getting a head-to-toe and a couple dozen opinions for free. Pearl Lavel tells me her son saw you last week at the post office and he’s been talking about you ever since. Sounds to me like you made quite an impression on Woodrow. If you’re wondering, he’s single and twenty-seven. I don’t believe he’s a strong enough personality for you, though, and Clair agrees.”
They’d had a similar discussion earlier in the week. Only, it had been in reference to Gordon Tisdale’s son, Norman. He was single, too. A thirty-six-year-old teacher at the grade school. Gran and Clair’s assessment of Norman, however, was that he didn’t have a sense of humor—a vital component for a lasting marriage.
Nicole rubbed her temple, the headache she’d been hoping for was going to be a reality very soon if they started talking about eligible bachelors, marriage and babies.
Mae glanced at her watch. “It’s almost seven. Johnny should be coming soon.”
The comment prompted Nicole to look across the road to the wooded trail. The sun was sinking, causing shadows to grow between the trees. Soon the mosquitoes would come, and like a gray cloud of doom they would chase anyone with half a brain inside. “Did you know his family well?”
“Yes. Delmar and Madie were good people, honest and likable. Madie was the prettiest girl in town, I always said. And the men agreed. They were all after her.” Mae returned to the azalea bush and began plucking dead blossoms. “That old farm was a curse, though. Nothing ever grew in those fields, no matter how hard Delmar tried. Finally, he gave up and took himself off to town. Got a job at the lumberyard working for Jasper Craig. No one else in town would hire him, but Jasper surprised everyone and took Delmar on. It lasted a few months, then the accident happened.”
“What accident?”
“Delmar was run over.”
“Run over? Was he killed?”
“I’m afraid so. The driver of the car must not have seen him. It happened down the road about a mile. They never did learn who was behind the wheel. Henry found him early that morning. We called Sheriff Tucker, and he came out. Delmar was so badly mangled, they didn’t show him at the funeral. Poor Madie cried her eyes out for months. Johnny…well, after that, things just got harder for him. Then Madie got sick a few years later and died from cancer. Day after we buried her, Johnny ran off.”
Nicole turned to face her grandmother. “You wanted him to stay, didn’t you.”
Mae’s eyes turned warm with affection. “The first time I saw that boy something inside me melted. He was barefoot and so skinny he was all ribs and legs. He had a smart mouth and language like nothing I’d ever heard. ’Course his orneriness was just a front, you see, a way to cover up being scared. The kids in town were awfully mean to him. It’s why I know that fight at Pepper’s wasn’t all Johnny’s doing. I’m not saying he didn’t participate, but I know in my heart he didn’t start it.”
“And how can you be so sure?”
“Farrel Craig was on the other end of that fight. Anytime that boy got near Johnny, there was trouble. Farrel and those two puppets of his, Clete Gilmore and Jack Oden, used to chase Johnny home after school everyday. It started way back in grade school.” A honeybee buzzed around Mae’s head. She paid no attention as she went on. “I’ve never told this to a soul, but Henry and I would have adopted Johnny if he hadn’t run off. Yes, Nicki, I wanted him to stay, and I would be lying if I denied I want him to stay now. Running away from your problems isn’t the answer. Deal with the demon, I always say. Or the demon will chase you all your life.”
Nicole gazed across the yard, not knowing what to say. The summer oak leaves began to rustle, and she angled her face to catch the elusive evening breeze. She closed her eyes and concentrated on the night sounds coming alive in the distant bayou.
Suddenly the feeling of being watched intruded on her, and she opened her eyes just as a shadowy figure broke through the oak grove and started across the road. She fixed her gaze on Johnny Bernard’s slow, ambling gait, on the quiet strength he exuded with each step. No one else walked quite like he did, she decided. There was something mesmerizing about the unhurried way he moved. Something raw and earthy. Primal.
He wore a white T-shirt stretched over his iron chest. He’d even taken the time to tuck it into a pair of jeans that were in better condition than she’d seen him in so far, but even at this distance, she could see they weren’t hole-free. He was crossing the yard now, his shiny black hair moving slightly in answer to the sultry summer breeze. She hadn’t wanted to think about their afternoon meeting at the pond, but suddenly she could think of nothing else. The memory of how easily he’d handled the snake, the way he’d gotten her attention by skipping rocks practically under her nose. The way his silky tongue had slid over the bottom of her foot.
Aware that her heart had begun to race, Nicole quickly spun away from the railing.
“Nicki! Nicki, where are you going?”
“He’s coming.” Nicole headed for the open French doors that led into the study, her voice straining to sound normal. “I’ll tell Clair supper will be on time.”
Mae arrowed her wheelchair in front of the open French doors leading into the study. “You don’t mind wheeling an old lady in, do you? Nicki went to tell Clair we’re on our way.”
Johnny had seen Nicole shoot inside like someone had lit a fire under her. Instead of commenting on it, though, he sauntered up the steps and positioned himself behind the old lady’s chair. “You trust me to keep it under the speed limit?”
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